“Wouldn’t be the first time. Would you heal me again?”
A deep, rumbling noise resonated through the house, shaking the walls and rattling the windowpanes.
“He’s outside,” Caine said. “I’m going. Please stay in here.” He wrapped his fingers around her knife-holding hand. “If he gets past me somehow, use this.”
He turned, stalking down the hall, moving silently as the wind through the trees.
She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and trying not to think of her nightmares. I can’t dwell on my worst fears.
She stepped into the hall and peered out the window, staring at the moonlit street outside Caine’s house. Mounted on an ivory horse—just like in her dream—Bileth strode into a streetlight. Tendrils of his red aura curled off his skin like smoke. His steed’s eyes blazed red, hooves clopping slowly over the pavement. He carried a scythe slung over his enormous, bare back. Curling tattoos covered his pale, muscular body, and horns swooped back from his forehead. She almost thought she heard the low rumble of a drum…
At the sight of him, fear stole her breath.
Caine pushed open the front door and strode toward the high demon. Bileth halted and dismounted, nostrils flaring. When the demon’s feet landed on the pavement, the ground trembled, and shock waves shuddered through the earth.
Caine held up his hands, as if trying to placate Bileth, but the high demon pulled his scythe from his back before charging. Bileth swung, but Caine lifted his forearm, blocking the attack. In a blur of movement— so fast Rosalind’s eyes could barely track it—Caine maneuvered behind Bileth, pinning the demon’s arm behind his back. As Caine pushed Bileth’s neck down, forcing him lower, the high demon lost his grip on the scythe. Caine leaned into him, whispering in his ear, no doubt trying to placate him with promises of submissive courtesans.
But Rosalind knew what the high demon really wanted. He wanted her.
Bileth’s body vibrated with fury, skin blazing bright red with his aura. When he flung out his arms, he threw Caine back in a blast of magic. The incubus landed hard on the pavement; in the next instant, he was on his feet again, his silvery aura whirling around him.
What the hell is he supposed to do? He was clearly the stronger fighter, but he couldn’t kill Bileth, which meant he was at a severe disadvantage. Diplomacy clearly was not on the table, and neither was an all-out battle with Nyxobas’s crony.
Bileth snatched his scythe from the ground, and Caine slid his sword from his scabbard, blocking another swing. The two demons whirled and parried in an intense blur of movement, their blows ringing out into the air. Metal sparked in the night air.
Bileth’s aura burned hot around him, and he intoned a spell. His voice rang through the air like the knell of a hundred discordant church bells. As he spoke, Caine’s spine arched, and his body lifted into the air, suspended in apparent agony. Caine dropped his sword, and a look of intense pain contorted his beautiful features. His eyes turned black as pitch while his primal instincts took over.
Bileth was torturing him. Caine’s fingers curled, his body shaking.
Horror spread through her. This was her fault, and she needed to help him. Clutching the iron blade, she sprinted through the hallway, thundering down the stairs. She had no plan beyond ripping Bileth’s attention away from Caine, and her seething fury leant her courage. She slammed through the front door, heart pounding.
Bileth whirled, locking his red eyes on her.
“Bileth,” she said. “I think you were looking for me. What the fuck do you want?”
His lips curled in something like a smile, and he beckoned her closer with a long, taloned finger. She gritted her teeth, but his noxious red aura seeped into her body, infecting her limbs. She clamped her eyes shut, imagining a clear sphere that forced out the red tendrils. Her pulse raced with the effort. When she’d pushed his magic out, she threw the knife.
The blade pierced Bileth’s shoulder. He roared, and the sound slid through her bones. In the next instant, his hands were around her throat, pressing hard on her airway. In about six seconds, her neck would be crushed. “You filthy, human animal. You were born to serve,” he whispered.
Panicking, she strained her foot up until she could yank a knife from her boot. She slammed it hard into his arm, and he lurched back, roaring. She reached for the other knife, ripping it from her boot.
A burst of powerful magic from Bileth surged through her veins, overtaking her. It seeped into her limbs, claiming territory in her muscles too fast for her to block it out. Her stomach churned as Bileth compelled her to stalk over to Caine.
Caine’s large eyes landed on her, black as smoke from a funeral pyre. Her heart squeezed in her chest. Bileth would force her stab Caine.
This is my nightmare come true. I’m going to murder him.
Her arm reared back, ready to plunge the knife into Caine’s neck, and dread ripped her apart.
Caine’s silver aura exploded from his body, and in the next second his hand darted out to grab her arm, lightning fast. He tightened his fingers around her wrist until she dropped the knife, and pulled her closer, slipping the iron ring from her finger.
Power bloomed in her body as her mage took over. Caine chanted an ancient spell, and something in her mind recognized the words: a spell for traveling. Instantly, she joined in, the familiar Angelic words tumbling from her lips. As they spoke, their bodies glowed with a protective light—a thick, vernal aura that rushed over her skin, whirling around the pair like a storm wind.
At the spell’s completion, mist surrounded them, and Caine slipped the ring onto her finger again. His arms encircled her protectively, his heart pounding hard against her chest.
Where were they? She didn’t want to utter a word in case Bileth still lurked nearby, but when the air thinned, she found herself looking at a thick grove of firs. This wasn’t Salem.
Rosalind let out a long, slow breath as relief flooded her. “Where are we?” she whispered. Caine’s body was a beacon of warmth in the cool forest, but she forced herself to step out of his embrace.
He smiled. “Great Misery Island. You do realize we just performed a powerful spell together? Our auras mingled beautifully.”
Her head throbbed. “You mean, your aura mingled with Cleo’s perfectly.”
“Either way, I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said.
In the chilly sea air, she hugged herself. “I didn’t feel the flames. The mage seemed more focused.”
“I was with you the whole time. And Cleo must have known it was life or death. Maybe she hates you, but she doesn’t want her host’s body to die. Especially not before she got a chance to get her hands on me.”
Rosalind studied him. “Were you pinioned by Bileth’s magic the whole time? It seems awfully convenient that you only broke free at the last second when I was about to stab you.”
“I let Bileth torture me,” Caine said. “He wanted revenge, so I let him have some. And I wanted to see what you would do. I would have stepped in if it seemed like you were about to die.”
“Seven hells, Caine. He practically murdered me.”
“I did tell you to stay in the house. If you were a foot soldier in the army I commanded, I’d have to punish you.”
She forced that image out of her mind. “You’re not my commanding officer, and I don’t foresee that happening. We’ve already established I can take you in a fight. But maybe you should find some courtesans for Bileth so he’ll leave us alone. Perhaps you could glamour yourself to look like a beautiful, submissive woman and tend to his needs. I hear you’re an expert in the seductive arts.”
He grimaced. “Ugh. That sort of comment would get you a severe punishment if you were my foot soldier.”
“Stop with the punishment thing. You like that idea a little too much.”
“Right.” He turned, trudging through the thick undergrowth. “We need to keep going. We must find Tammi and Aurora. Omerelle lives somewhere nearby, and they may arrive so
on.”
She followed him, snapping over twigs. “Omerelle? Who is this woman?”
“She’s a mage. She’s quite lonely out here. Her husband died a few years ago, and I keep her company sometimes. She’ll probably be thrilled at the visit.”
Rosalind didn’t want to think about what sort of “company” he provided.
Lilu circled over their heads, fluttering through oak leaves. Streams of cold moonlight pierced the canopy, and a cool breeze kissed her skin. A heavy scent of brine, moss, and oak leaves hung in the damp air. She could envision herself living out here in the wilderness, lulled to sleep every night by the gentle sounds of the waves against the shore, and the wind rustling the trees.
“Rosalind,” Caine said. “There’s something I have to ask you.”
His grave tone had her full attention. “Yes?”
“You said you remember my eyes from your childhood. Do you remember anyone else?”
“No. Just you, and glimmers of the sea and of flowers. And—weirdly—I remember seeing my own face a lot. When I told Tammi that, she thought I must be a narcissist.”
Caine paused, lightly touching her arm. “That wasn’t your face.”
His words made her stomach swoop. “What do you mean?”
He inhaled sharply. “That was Miranda.”
She gasped. “Who is she?”
“Your twin.”
The ground seemed to tilt beneath her feet as this news hit her. “I have a twin?”
“Miranda, yes.”
“And the Brotherhood have captured her?”
“According to Josiah.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“You’ve only just given up your allegiance to the Brotherhood, and I had no idea if you were trustworthy. And moreover, you’re impulsive and overly emotional. I didn’t think you’d approach it strategically. You’ve been very worked up this whole time.”
Everything about what he was saying made her blood boil. “You can’t trust me because I’m impulsive?”
“You followed me through a portal into another world, with no thought for your own safety. You decided to defy the orders of the Vampire Lord.” He held up his fingers, counting out her offenses. “You threw a fit in Elysium that drew attention to us. Oh, and you stabbed an ancient high demon—three times—in a direct contradiction of my orders. You’re not trustworthy.”
“Well when you list it all out—” She stopped herself. She didn’t want to get sidetracked by an argument. “Forget about all that. I need to know more details. Where has Miranda been this whole time? In Maremount?”
He started walking again, and she followed. “Miranda has been living in Maine. Your parents sent her to live with another member of the Brotherhood, but he didn’t treat her well. She ran away at some point.”
“Where did she go?”
“I have no idea. She must have been sleeping in the streets like a peasant.”
A flood of guilt and anger rushed through Rosalind. “I wish I’d known.”
“I wish I’d known too,” Caine said. “I assumed you were both living safely in the pedestrian world, until Ambrose told me otherwise. I was supposed to bring you both to safety, but the Brotherhood came for you first.”
“And she’s possessed, like me?”
“Yes. And that’s why Ambrose is interested in the both of you,” Caine said. “He wants all three of us together for a triumvirate of power.”
Stunned, Rosalind tried to picture her twin. “I think I remember her braiding my hair.”
“She was the sweet one. She used to give the servants food when they were hungry.”
The servants. There was that third person again. “And I used to torment them. Are you telling me that I’m the evil twin?”
“If you forced me to choose between good and evil, that would be my best guess.”
“What else can you tell me about her?”
“I haven’t seen her since she was four or five. But I know she completes our circle. Three mages, each aligned with one of the shadow gods. Together, our power would be unparalleled. He has a few old scores he’d like to settle, including one against the Brotherhood.”
Rosalind’s knees felt weak. “Three shadow gods.”
“Right. The night god, the forest god, and—”
“The sea god.” Her mouth went dry. She’d felt the sea mage on Thorndike’s campus.
She’d sent the Brotherhood after her own sister.
She stumbled over a tree root, her mind a whirlwind of revulsion and guilt. “Caine. What if I’ve done something terrible?”
“What have you done?”
Her heart pounded in her rib cage. She had to tell him about Miranda, and the temptation to confess about the incubus was overwhelming.
She closed her eyes, an image flashing in her mind of Josiah, handing her the knife. “If you don’t do this, humans will die,” he’d said.
Rosalind’s body shook like a leaf in the wind. “I did terrible things for the Brotherhood. And I think I’m responsible for—”
“Shhh,” he lifted a finger to his lips. “Something’s happening.”
She listened to the wind whispering through the trees. Distant screams floated along the breeze, and her chest tightened.
“We need to go.” Caine broke into a run.
She sprinted with him, snapping through twigs and branches. The screams grew louder as they ran. As orange flames came into view, Rosalind’s heart constricted. Was this their destination—burning?
She pushed on faster, her breath ragged in her throat, until they reached the clearing. A young woman stumbled in front of a blazing gothic mansion. Blood streaked her beautiful face, and a tiara hung limply from wild, blonde tangles. A black cat stood before her, its back arched.
“I fought them,” the woman said, her eyes frantic. “I fought them with magic, but they’ll be back for me. They found me here.”
Caine rushed to her, grabbing her hands. “What happened?”
“It was the mage Hunters. I used a protection spell, but it won’t last. They wanted to burn me. They burned my house.”
“How did they know you were here?” Caine’s voice was urgent.
She wiped a shaking hand across her forehead, smearing the blood. “I never thought they’d come for me. I didn’t have the shields up.”
Caine gently wrapped his fingers around her arms, staring into her face. “Omerelle. Tell me what they said.”
“They didn’t say anything, but I read inside their minds.” Her sorrowful, brown eyes glistened. “The witch-Hunters had been spying on two women—a vampire and a pedestrian. The Brotherhood heard them saying they were coming to Great Misery Island. The girls are friends of yours. The witch-Hunters are accusing me of aiding the fugitives.”
At Omerelle’s words, a crushing panic began to take root. “Do you know what happened to the two women?” Rosalind asked.
Omerelle stared at her, and the woman’s willowy body trembled. “The witch-Hunters had already taken them by the time they got to me. They’re in the Chambers.”
Bile rose in Rosalind’s throat, and she covered her face with her hands. Not only did the Brotherhood have her twin sister, but they had Tammi and Aurora, too.
Anger crackled through her body. She wanted to storm the Chambers and punch a hole through Josiah’s face. As Caine tried to calm Omerelle, Rosalind took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady her nerves.
Omerelle picked up her cat. “I’m not staying here. Alu and I are going to hide from them.” She closed her eyes and chanted a spell; her body shimmered away.
Caine’s shot a worried look to Rosalind. “We need to get out of here now. Do you think you can do the teleportation spell again?”
She glanced down at the ring. “I think so. If you stay near—”
A hail of bullets cut through her thought, and pain speared her body. She crumpled to the ground, gripping her ribs. Caine rushed for Rosalind, his eyes black. He to
uched her chest, chanting the beginnings of a spell. Rosalind could feel the wound start to heal, until a spray of iron dust blasted Caine’s skin, snuffing out his aura. Another hail of bullets blasted Caine onto the ground. She looked up, catching a glimpse of a tall, thin man walking closer. Longshanks.
She gasped for breath.
Before she could sit up, pain exploded through her skull, and her world went dark.
Chapter 26
Icy water ran down Rosalind’s face, and she gasped. Her eyes snapped open, but she could see only white light filtering through dark canvas. Panic coursed through her, nearly drowning out the screaming pain in her lungs. Something covered her head—a hood, probably, and a rough piece of fabric gagged her mouth, compressing her tongue. She coughed, nearly choking on the cloth. Its oily taste was suffocating.
She needed to get out of there, but she couldn’t move. Coarse rope bound her wrists behind her back at an awkward angle. She tried to tear her wrists free, and her skin chafed against the rope. Terror exploded through her skull. Her arms had been fastened tightly to behind the back of a chair. When she tried to move her legs, she found they were trapped by rope, too. She was completely helpless, unable to do anything except exist.
She took a deep breath, the air burning her lungs. Gasoline. She was in one of the interrogation rooms.
By the deep ache in her chest and the sharp whistling sound, she could tell a bullet had collapsed one of her lungs, even if Caine had partially healed it.
Heels echoed on a concrete floor, and someone yanked the hood from her head. Her captor strode in front of her, peering into her bleary eyes.
Rosalind stared into the pale, freckled face of Randolph Loring. She glanced to the right and caught a glimpse of Caine, his body bound to a chair with thick, iron chains—chains that would leach all the power out of an incubus. Black duct-tape covered his mouth, and blood soaked his chest from gunshot wounds to his shoulders.
She gazed around at the iron-walled room. It was nearly bare. A bright light shone overhead, and a metal watering can stood on the floor by two cement blocks. There was a video camera mounted on a wall. She’d seen this setup before, and the sight turned her blood to ice.
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