Magic Hunter: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Vampire's Mage Series Book 1)

by C. N. Crawford

  As she and Caine pushed further into the club, Rosalind caught a glimpse of two female water nymphs wrestling in a sparkly liquid, surrounded by a crowd of leering male onlookers. The demons certainly had more exciting parties than the Brotherhood—she’d give them that—but she was completely out of place here.

  She focused on forcing her features into an approximation of a “doe-eyed” expression, though she’d never really known what that meant.

  Caine turned, frowning. “What are you doing with your face?”

  “I was trying to look seductive.” She kept her hand locked in his, anchoring herself to his aura.

  “You look terminally alarmed.”

  Frustration simmered in her chest. “I told you. Acting seductive wasn’t part of my training.”

  He leaned in close, his breath warming her neck as his aura gently licked her skin. “I can, of course, help you with that—one of the incubus talents.”

  Warmth radiated off his body, and she glanced at his full lips, slightly open. Her eyes trailed down his arms. His skin looked gloriously soft, but the muscles under them hard as steel. She inched closer, overcome by a sudden urge to pull him in for a kiss. Get a hold of yourself, Rosalind. He’s using his incubus magic. “I didn’t say you could do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Use your incubus seduction talents.”

  He whispered into her ear. “I’m not using any magic.”

  Her pulse raced. He wasn’t using his magic, or she would have felt his aura strengthen. She swallowed hard, trying to gain mastery of herself. She wasn’t going to fall for the charms of an incubus. “I knew that.”

  “You’ve got that seductive look now.” He brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Shall we continue on?”

  She tried to ignore the heat tingling through her body. She was here for the sybil—not to enjoy herself.

  As they approached the booths at the back, a human woman in an emerald-green corset held a tray over her head. A single margarita stood on it.

  Caine touched the woman’s arm, and she turned, flashing a stunning smile at him. Flame-red hair cascaded over her shoulders. “Hi, gorgeous.”

  “Hello. I need this drink.” He plucked it from the tray.

  “Oh.” The girl’s face crinkled in confusion. “It’s for Sambethe.”

  “I’ll bring it to her. And while you’re at it, two Manhattans for us. Dry.”

  Looking him over, she licked her lips. “I’ll be right there.”

  Caine threaded his fingers through Rosalind’s, and wove his way to a darkened corner of the club.

  In a booth, lit from above by glowing golden orbs, sat a white-haired woman in a stunning, coppery gown. Her frosty hair contrasted starkly with a smooth, creamy complexion. The woman’s milky eyes landed on the margarita in Caine’s hands, and she jabbed a finger at it. “Is that for me?”

  “I brought it specially for you. My name is Caine.” He took a seat across from her in the booth, and Rosalind followed, squeezing in next to him so she could anchor herself to his aura.

  Sambethe snatched the drink from the table, extending a long, pointed tongue to lick the salt off the rim.

  Caine leaned in close, peering at Sambethe from below his lashes. “Is it true that you are very discreet with your oracles?”

  “Don’t try to flirt with me, boy. I’m far too old for that.” She lifted her drink. “You keep these coming, and I’ll do whatever you want.”

  Smiling obsequiously, the red-haired waitress rushed over to the table, her tray laden with two Manhattans.

  Caine leaned back in his seat, eyeing the redhead. “How did you get those so fast?”

  She glanced away, blushing. “I took them off another waitress’s tray. I thought you were more important.”

  “Well done,” Caine said, snatching them from her tray. “Now, we’ll need five margaritas.”

  Sambethe chuckled. “Now we’re talking.”

  The waitress hurried away, and Rosalind turned back to the sybil. Was she still supposed to pretend to be mute? This was getting old.

  Sambethe drained her cocktail. “We’ll need a private space.”

  Caine closed his eyes, whispering an incantation. As his aura swirled through Rosalind’s body, a black curtain closed around the booth’s opening.

  Sambethe’s milky eyes swerved to Rosalind. “You can stop pretending to be a courtesan. I know what you are.”

  Rosalind’s chest tightened. Is that a warning? “But you won’t tell anyone?”

  Golden light shimmered over the sybil’s skin. “What do I care? I’m seven thousand years old. Ask your question.”

  Rosalind took a long breath. “I have another soul in my body. A mage’s soul. If I take off this ring—” She lifted her hand. “—I plummet into a world of hell. It’s like my mind is fracturing, and my body is on fire. I want to know how to fix it. How do I get the mage out of me?”

  Sambethe held Rosalind’s gaze for an uncomfortably long time. “Hold on to your cocktails. This could get messy.” She slid her own empty glass out of the way and climbed onto the table.

  After throwing back her head, the Sybil began to sway and jerk. Her arms twitched to the rhythmic pulsing of the club’s music. Then, with a frantic snarl, she hunched down to a crouching position, her head weaving around in the air like a snake’s, her muscles taut. Her eyes locked on Rosalind’s before she reached out to grip Rosalind’s head. A powerful aura coursed through Rosalind like a mountain wind, clean and ancient.

  “Blodrial’s child, split in two.” Her deep voice howled like a gale. “The mage, tormented by fire. Nyxobas’s servant made her burn.” Her head lolled, eyelids fluttering. “On a full moon, find the hawthorn grove. The spell belongs to Blodrial. Coat yourself in iron, and the incubus will chant. He will take on the extra soul.”

  Relief flooded Rosalind. They had an answer—a solution at last.

  Sambethe threw her head back, sighing. She wasn’t done. “The incubus will take on the extra soul. Three souls in one body. Two that don’t belong together, shattered by broken love. Someone must be sacrificed. The incubus’s body will sicken and die.”

  Horror slid through Rosalind’s bones. The incubus’s body will sicken and die. If Caine took on the soul, he would die? That was supposed to be the solution?

  Sambethe’s muscles relaxed, and she slid back into her seat just as the black curtain disappeared.

  Rosalind dropped her head into her hands as panic clenched around her lungs. This had been her one hope.

  Caine took a gulp of his drink. “Just to clarify, I will die if I take on the other soul?”

  The sybil lifted her empty margarita glass, shaking it. “Seems that way.”

  Devastated, Rosalind trembled. This was it—her life was over. She lifted her eyes to the sybil, fingers tightening around her drink. “Is there another possible solution? Couldn’t the soul go into the afterworld, where it belongs?”

  The waitress sashayed over to the table, lowering the tray of margaritas, and Sambethe grabbed another. “No. It’s stuck in a body until someone dies with it. That’s your parents’ fault.”

  “What about another person?” Rosalind asked, desperation eating at her.

  “Who would want to take that on? You could force someone, I guess.” The sybil rose, licking the salt off her drink as she shuffled out of the booth. “You kids have a lot to talk about. I’m going to dance.”

  The news knocked the wind out of Rosalind, and she could hardly breathe. She was ruined. And, with a wave of dread, she realized Tammi’s life was destroyed too. Unless Rosalind turned herself in, the Brotherhood would hunt them both to the ends of the earth.

  Her fingers tightened around Caine’s arm. Corrupted. For good.

  He eyed her warily. “I can feel your panic. You need to calm down. The other demons will be able to smell your fear.”

  She shot him a dirty look, then gripped her Manhattan and chugged it down in one go. “Of course I’m fr
eaking out. I’m cursed. And Tammi’s life is ruined too.”

  He leaned in close, his breath warming her neck. “You can’t make a scene here. You’re supposed to be a courtesan.”

  Anger burned through her body. “What difference does it make? My life is over. I might as well let one of these monsters drain my blood now. Then maybe the Brotherhood will stop coming after Tammi.”

  Caine narrowed his eyes. “Your life is not over, but it will be if you don’t get a hold of yourself.”

  The weight of the sybil’s revelation crushed the air from her lungs. “Tammi and I have nowhere to go. We can’t escape the Brotherhood.” She scanned the room, her eyes landing on the flame-haired courtesan, eagerly massaging the feet of a horned demon. “We’ll have to become courtesans for real. I’ll have to rub demon feet.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Caine said. “You’d make a terrible courtesan. You’re going to become a mage.”

  “You don’t understand.” Her pulse raced, and she couldn’t keep her voice from rising. She needed to get a grip, but her world had just completely crashed down on her, and she could no longer control herself. She waved a hand at the crowd. “All of this disgusts me. Demons use humans for their own pleasure, and I don’t want any part of the magical world.”

  “For a smart girl, you have awfully simple analyses of complex situations.”

  He wanted to distract her with his moral equivalence again. “Using humans comes easily to you, doesn’t it? I saw how you treated Josiah. It’s just in your nature. You were born to feed from humans for sustenance.”

  “And you were apparently born to make my life hell by recklessly invoking the wrath of every demon you encounter. Including me.” He took a slow, steadying breath, clearly trying to control himself. “You need to stop talking. I’m going to help you calm down, not because I want to control you, but because it’s the only way you’ll get out of here without one of these demons murdering you.” He whispered, and his aura wound around her skin before pulsing through her chest, relaxing her muscles.

  Some of the panic ebbed, leaving behind a gnawing emptiness. The world as she’d thought she understood it was gone—the divisions between good and evil, the order of things, her place in it all. None of it had meaning anymore, so what was the point of her life?

  Trying to ignore the hollowness in her chest, she rose.

  Caine stood, taking her by the hand to lead her from the club. The lights flashed garish shades of red and orange, pulsing over gyrating dancers. The thumping bass rattled her bones, and she tried to push out all thoughts of the evil lurking in her body.

  She caught a glimpse of Tammi and Aurora dancing, losing themselves in the music. How was she going to break this news to her friend?

  The question didn’t linger in her thoughts long because, in the next moment, the valkyrie stepped into Rosalind’s path, her cold eyes scanning Rosalind’s body. “You’re not a real courtesan. You don’t behave like one.”

  Dread rushed up Rosalind’s spine, mixed with an odd sense of relief. Maybe this encounter would end it all.

  “I’m a novice courtesan,” she said, her voice hollow.

  In a blur of white and copper, the valkyrie lunged, long fingers clamping tighter on Rosalind’s throat. Mists’s aura, cold and furious as storm clouds, flooded Rosalind’s body.

  As the aura filled Rosalind, she surged with icy rage, and a deep desire to hurt anyone around her. Kill. She slammed her arms through the valkyrie’s grasp. She ducked to avoid a punch, then brought her fist up hard into the demon’s ribs, hoping to snap something. Caine pulled her back, wrapping his arms around her.

  With Caine’s arms around her, her body began to calm again, her pulse slowing. What the fuck had Mist just done to her? The demon wasn’t lunging again, but her gray eyes locked firmly on Rosalind, glowing with a stormy fury. From the growing crowd, Aurora and Tammi looked on, eyes wide.

  “Get Tammi out of here,” Caine shouted to them.

  The valkyrie’s steely stare had Rosalind rooted to the spot. “I knew you were a fighter.” Her eyes flicked to Caine. “You brought a human warrior in here?”

  Caine began whispering a spell. His aura swirled through Rosalind’s chest, stroking her skin. Heat shot through her core, and she could think of nothing but his warm, strong body pressed up against hers. She had a sudden desire to spin around and kiss him hard. What the hell?

  The valkyrie seemed to be thinking the same thing. As she approached Caine, cheeks flushed, her finger trailed down her chest. She licked her lips.

  That was when Rosalind understood: Caine was using his incubus magic, and she’d been caught in the crossfire. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to run her hands all over his bare skin.

  Mist stepped closer, a low moan escaping her lips—until her gaze landed on Rosalind again. A look of confusion crossed the valkyrie’s beautiful face, and she clamped her eyes shut, shaking her head. “Don’t use your magic on me, incubus.” Her voice was a low growl, and when she opened her eyes again, savage rage contorted her features.

  She ripped Rosalind from Caine’s embrace before raising her clawed hands, transfixing the pair in place.

  A pale blue light flowed from her hands, freezing Rosalind’s body.

  “Let’s see which of your lovers is stronger,” the demoness said.

  As the light hit Rosalind’s body, the valkyrie’s aura slammed into her like a hurricane wind. A cold, deadly battle fury coursed through Rosalind, so powerful that her limbs trembled. Anger blinded her like a white light, and she clenched her fists, fingernails piercing her palms. She wanted to break through bone and gristle, to slice through necks with a sword.

  I need to kill.

  Her vision cleared, and before her stood the one person that she’d been waiting for. Pale gray eyes, tousled brown hair—his whole existence was a lie, a grotesque monster wrapped in a veneer of beauty. A devil sent to test her faith.

  His gaze bored a hole in her. “I should have known how you’d turn out. You’ve always believed you were born better than others.”

  “I am better than beasts like you.” Underneath it all, he was just like the other demons—a beast of prey, waiting for the right moment to rip her to shreds.

  Her eyes lingered over his perfect form, stoking her anger further. All beautiful things must die. She wanted to crush his stunning body like a rose in her fist. She pulled the dust from her cleavage, ready to burn him.

  When his eyes darkened to a deep black, and a ghost of wings rose behind him, dread whispered through her—but her fear only ignited her rage. Dark shadows curled around his muscled body.

  Rosalind stared into the face of wrath itself, ancient and venomous—the face of floods and storms, trembling earth and mountains of fire. Something in the primal part of her brain shrieked at her to run, but her body would no longer obey. She needed to kill.

  She was no longer Rosalind. She was a great queen of war.

  With a lightning-fast gesture, she uncorked the dust, flinging it at the incubus. Primordial ferocity coiled through her, ready to strike its prey. She belonged to Rage now.

  Caine growled—a deep animal sound that rumbled through her gut, chilling her blood. But she wasn’t running away until she’d stopped his heart.

  She’d snuffed out his magic in the most painful way possible.

  He snarled, “Good. Now you know that when I win, it will have been a fair fight.”

  “I’ll remind you of that when I’m ripping your ribs from your back,” she said in a deep voice, one not quite her own. “I’ll give you real wings, and maybe you can fly to hell with Lilu.”

  She slipped the thin hawthorn stake from her hair, just as the incubus lunged. He gripped her hands, forcing them down to her sides so she couldn’t stab him. Her body pulsed with fury, and she head-butted him, listening to the delicious crack as she broke his nose. He dropped her hands.

  A smile curled her lips. As she lifted her stake again, his hands flew out
a second time, clamping down on both her wrists in a crushing grip. He was going to break her bones, but the anger dulled her pain.

  Caine leaned in close, whispering into her ear, “Give up, little girl. You’re outmatched.”

  Asshole. Rage burned through her, and she tried to kick him in the groin, but he pinned her arms to her sides with impossible strength. She strained against him, kicking at his shins, desperate to crack his bones. But instead of doing any damage, she struggled helplessly as he lifted her body in the air, as easily as if she were weightless. Her breath caught in her throat as he hurled her across the room.

  She slammed against the dance floor, toppling out of her ridiculous shoes. The fall knocked the wind out of her. She gasped for air, fighting to catch her breath as Caine closed in. As soon as he closed the distance between them, she swung her legs in a wide arc, taking him down.

  With a shrill battle cry, she leapt on top of him, raising the stake. His hands flew out, clamping onto her wrists, and he flipped her over, pinning her arms over her head. He pressed himself on top of her, and a low growl escaped his throat.

  His eyes trailed down her chest. Something else was overcoming him—not battle fury, but another type of need. His distraction was a vulnerability. He lowered his warm mouth to her neck.

  She arched her back, marshaling her strength to fling him off her. He slammed against the ground, and then she hooked her leg around him, straddling him.

  His hands still gripped her wrists, but a sense of victory bubbled through her. I am in control. She leaned closer, momentarily distracted by his earthy scent, then bit into his neck as hard as she could. Her prey instinctively released his grip on her wrists. She lifted her arms high, and plunged the stake into his heart.

  Chapter 20

  The rush of fury flowed from Rosalind’s body, like the wind over the ocean. She stared down at her blood-soaked hands gripping the hawthorn stake. Caine’s shocked eyes had returned to gray, and he glanced down at his chest.

  Panic clenched her heart, and she ripped the stake from his chest. Her mind spun with horror, and she pressed down on his heart, as if she could staunch the flow. What have I done? Blood seeped through her fingers. Caine took a shuddering breath.