“Where my heart is.” She breathed deeply, trying not to focus on where his finger was.
“Good.” He pulled his hand away. “Cleo will be easier to control when the magic isn’t in your head.”
In Rosalind’s mind, Cleo screamed. You trap me in your ribs, in a coffin of bone? You want to bury me under the earth, feed me to the worms?
“I need to stay in control right now,” Rosalind said out loud. “I’ll let you out to play some other time.”
When I come out to play, I’m going to find Ambrose, and then watch the world burn.
Rosalind tightened the magical coils down, tighter in her chest. Ambrose? What the hell did Cleo want with Ambrose? Whatever it was, she didn’t have time to get into her second soul’s drama now. She needed to get to Tammi—fast.
I need a spell for speed, Rosalind thought. If we make it out of here alive, I’ll take you to Ambrose or whatever other hot guy you fancy. As long as you help me.
Rosalind wasn’t going to let the world burn, but she could take the crazy mage to the vampire lord if that was what the spirit really wanted.
Ambrose, Cleo’s aura breathed in her chest.
Rosalind’s body buzzed with the mossy aura, and an image arose before her—the Angelic spell, engraved in light. Rosalind chanted the words, and a thrilling power invigorated her muscles. She opened her eyes, a smile curling her lips. “Let’s go.”
She launched into a sprint. Briny air rushed over her skin as she whipped past the river birch trees, crunching over deadfall and flying over rocks.
By Caine’s side, she ran like a storm wind.
She ran—until a familiar sight slammed the wind from her lungs. She ground to a halt, and her heart hammered like a war drum.
Before the forest line, four stakes stood along the rocky shoreline, their wood old and rotted. Dread tightened its grip on her heart.
This is where it happens. This is where I die.
Chapter 22
She stared at the wooden posts, her legs trembling. Something sharp and desperate slammed at the walls of her mind, a ravenous image trying to free itself.
“What?” Caine asked. “Why have you stopped?”
She wanted to keep the thought locked away, but it hurled itself against its prison, demanding to be seen.
Rain sliding down her skin, Miranda’s scream piercing the air. Miranda’s scream…
“What?” Caine asked again.
Shaking, she pointed, and Caine turned his head to look at the stakes. His body went still.
My feet sank into the dirt. Miranda screamed. He made us watch…
The air around her chilled. When he looked back at her, his eyes were pure ice. His aura snapped around him.
A shudder ran up her spine. “Have you seen them before?”
“You’ve seen them before, too,” he said, his voice distant, as though it were coming from a chasm.
Her world tilted. The memory in the back of her brain was screaming at her, coming for her blood. “Where did I see it—in my dream? Will you please tell me what the fuck is going on for once?” The hair on her arms stood on end. She could feel Caine all around her, darkening the shadows and whispering over the back of her neck.
Far beyond the river, charcoal storm clouds rolled in, and distant thunder rumbled across the horizon. Just like it did the other time.
Her fists clenched, and she shook her head. What other time?
Caine’s icy gaze bored into her. “I thought you wanted to save your friend. I thought we were here on a rescue mission. If it was important for you to know right now, I’d tell you.”
The thing in her mind clawed and bit at the edges of her consciousness, stoking her anger. Why do you have to be such an enigmatic bastard?
Anger smoldered, and Cleo’s aura fanned the flames. “We are on a rescue mission. But I want to know what the stakes mean. What did you mean I’ve already seen them?”
He’s lying to you, Cleo whispered. Never trust a beautiful shadow demon.
Lighting cracked the sky, and the gathering clouds began to unleash a torrent of cold rain. Just like it did the other time.
Caine merely stared at her, unmoving.
Anger hammered at Rosalind’s skull, and she lunged, grabbing him by his shirt collar, now wet with rain. “Tell me,” she seethed.
He cupped her face—an oddly gentle gesture, given the circumstances. “Or what? You’ll torture it out of me? Anything to get your hands on me.” It was his usual cocky comment, but this time no humor sparked in his eyes.
She tightened her grasp on his shirt, and Cleo’s aura flared, breaking free from its box.
Hurt the shadow demon. You know what he did. It’s the same—he’s the same.
“Rosalind,” Caine whispered. “We’re here to stop Tammi burning to death. We don’t have time for this.”
She closed her eyes, coiling Cleo’s aura tighter under her sternum. The bastard had a point—the clock was ticking on Tammi’s life. If she didn’t get to her friend in time, Tammi would end up an ashy pile at the bottom of a Brotherhood stake.
Through clenched teeth, she said, “Cleo wants me to hurt you. I’d like to hurt you. I’d like you to know I’m exercising a significant amount of restraint. We’ll keep going. I’ll torture the answers out of you later if I need to.”
She unclenched her fingers from his collar and turned, breaking into a sprint again. Her feet moved swiftly over the riverbank, spattering mud on her thighs. There was something wild in her now that wanted to get out—but if she gave in, she’d never find Tammi. The thing would eat her alive.
As the rain fell, her boots pounded the muddy shoreline. He doesn’t kill Miranda. Miranda was screaming on the shore.
Her mind spun. But as they ran, the sound of beating wings turned her head, and she lifted her eyes to the sky. Ice flooded her veins, and she ground to a halt. Streams of brightly colored auras roiled in the skies, just below the storm clouds.
Caine stopped running, his fists clenching. “What do you see?”
“Some sort of demons are coming right for us. I can’t tell what kind yet, but I can see the auras.” Her heart sped up, smashing against her ribs. “How the hell did they know we were here?”
“What do the auras look like?”
“All different kinds, like the keres in Harvard Square.”
Caine sucked in a sharp breath. “I see them now. I see their black wings. Definitely keres. But if they’re the same kind who attacked in Cambridge, my magic hardly did a thing against them.”
“It’s their auras. There are so many types of magic to protect them. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Shadows gathered in Caine’s eyes, but his voice was low and controlled. “Ask Cleo for a war spell. Now.”
She reached for her sword, pulling it from its sheath, and closed her eyes. Cleo. Help me fight the Brotherhood’s monsters. I need a spell for war. And like I said—if we get out of here alive, I’ll take you to Ambrose. Whatever you want.
Green light flashed from her chest, then a spell dedicated to Nyxobas rose in her mind. She chanted the words out loud, and the air filled with the scent of hawthorns and moss.
As she chanted the spell, something ancient and angry simmered in the back of her brain. A preternatural surety ignited her limbs. The battle is coming. I’m ready. Smoldering rage lit her up. Kill.
She glanced at the sky again, her cheeks burning with her pumping blood, limbs shaking with anticipation. The air was dense with the keres’ beating wings—whirling with copper, black, silver, green, and blue auras.
Battle fury ignited her nerve endings, and she felt a growl rise in her throat. She wanted to see the spray of blood, hear the crunch of crushed skulls.
Her teeth chattered.
The keres drew closer in a writhing cloud—and she wanted to sink her sword into all of them. Their black wings pounded the cool air, and the breeze whipped Rosalind’s hair around her head. Her senses were piqued, and as they dre
w closer, she took in every feather, every bead of sweat on the creatures. They had swords of their own—iron swords—but she didn’t feel fear at the sight.
A growl tore from her throat. What the hell kind of demon carries iron? What are these things?
Caine’s gaze slid to hers. “I can feel your bloodlust from here—and I like it, but I want you to understand that they’re harder to kill than you’d think.”
Fury simmered in her chest. “So let’s start killing them now.”
A smile flickered across his lips, and he held out his hands to the side, chanting a spell. His aura burst from his body in a thrilling flash of power that pulsed through her bones. Electrified, Rosalind joined in. Her aura intertwined with his; spirals of green and silver wound together, dancing toward the heavens.
Tendrils of his magic snapped around the keres’ bodies. A few of them burst into flame, plunging from the sky, wings burning like torches. Black plumes of smoke spiraled from their falling bodies, and the sight of it filled her with a dark thrill.
Still, even through the red mist of battle fury, a chill washed over her skin. There are so many of them…
Ignoring the fallen, the rest of the horde pressed on. Caine shot her a look—was that a flicker of concern in his eyes? He raised his fingers to the heavens, switching to another spell—one about the winds of Nyxobas. As he spoke, an icy breeze rushed over her skin. Rosalind joined in with him, and their auras clawed higher into the sky, buffeting the keres in hurricane winds.
A few keres veered off, straying from the swarm—but most stayed on course. She’d seen Caine knock helicopters from the sky in the same way, but the keres’ strange, powerful magic kept them on course.
She chanted louder, and her green aura brightened against the dark sky, curling around the oncoming horde.
But there were just so many, flying lower now, heading straight for Rosalind and Caine. She gripped the sword’s hilt. The closest were only a few hundred feet away now, their eyes flashing with cold, pale light. She lifted the sword, her body singing for blood and broken bones.
A hundred feet away.
Caine gripped his weapon, changing spells once more. He called on Druloch for a great shield of tree branches.
Fifty feet.
Rosalind chanted with him, and Cleo’s vernal aura strengthened the spell’s power.
Thirty feet.
Green and silver boughs shot through the air around them, knitting together in a branchy dome. As the last of the branches knitted together, enclosing them in darkness, the oncoming keres slammed into the shield. They thudded against the bark like birds hitting a window.
In the dark of the arboreal vault, Rosalind let out a long, slow breath, her body surging with a strange combination of fear and frenzy. I want to cut them to the bone, I want to burn them to the marrow. The keres stood between her and Tammi, and if she didn’t destroy them soon, her friend would be dead. She growled, fingers tightening on the hilt in a death grip. Nyxobas demands blood.
Caine sparked a sphere of light, and it cast an amber glow around them. He cast a critical eye at her. “The downside of that shielding spell is that I’m now trapped in a tree with a full blown berserker.” He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t even think about trying to disembowel me. It will not end w—”
A great crack rent the air, and Rosalind’s head snapped up at the sound. Light pierced the dome where the keres had smashed a hole. Rosalind raised her sword, ready to slice into flesh.
Caine began whispering another spell. Before he could finish, a horde of snarling keres poured into the gap.
Chapter 23
Rosalind unleashed a fierce battle cry. A ker flew at her, and she sliced into the creature’s neck. Guided by Nyxobas’s spell, her sword carved vicious arcs, keeping the keres at bay.
Battle frenzy electrified her body, lending her an otherworldly speed. She whirled as the keres closed in, her sword clashing against their iron. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Caine, a ferocious blur of silver and black.
Surging with strength, she sliced through another ker neck. Blood sprayed in a wide arc above her. The old Rosalind, a dull voice buried under red fog, recoiled at the carnage. The old Rosalind wanted to teleport back to the city.
But the old Rosalind wasn’t in control anymore.
Nyxobas’s spell drove her on. Time seemed to have slowed down, allowing her to slash into each target. Swing. Stab. Bathe your sword in their blood. But this battle couldn’t last forever—not when there were so many of them. Even drunk on bloodlust, she had a faint sense of being hopelessly outnumbered.
A battle shriek turned her head, and she swung her blade at another ker, tearing into the demon’s gut.
The keres were pressing in closer. So many of them. They didn’t seem to care for their own lives. What the hell is wrong with them?
A sharp pain pierced her skull, and she staggered, dropping her sword. At the sound of it clanging to the ground, some of her battle fury ebbed. This is not good.
Dizzy, she felt the ground sway below her, and fell forward into the mud.
A horrible realization hit her like a fist. They’re going to eat me alive.
Pain splintered her head, and she began pushing herself up, but a ker boot slammed into her back, smashing her down. Sulfurous dirt filled her mouth, and sharp-clawed ker hands pinned her to the ground. Grunting, she struggled against them, trying to free her limbs.
They’re going to eat me alive.
Frantic, she tried ripping her arms free, but their grip on her was iron-clad, fingernails piercing her flesh. They yanked her arms behind her back, nearly ripping them from their sockets, as a boot pressed her back into the mud.
One of the demons snapped iron handcuffs on her wrists. As soon as the iron touched her skin, the magical aura rushed from her body, leaving her muscles with a burning fatigue, her limbs trembling and weak.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck.
That was it. She had no power left. She was just… Rosalind.
A ker punched her in the back of the head, slamming her face into the mud. She spat out a mouthful of dirt. Nausea climbed up her throat, and her teeth chattered uncontrollably. Sorrow extinguished her fire.
A ker bit into one of her shoulders, and she screamed. She bucked, managing to flip herself over again, knocking the ker off her—but a mob of keres still stood over her, hissing.
Caine’s roar rumbled over the dome, and she watched as a burst of his silver magic flared into the air.
The keres around her seemed to falter, their eyes bulging for just a moment—but the spell hadn’t worked, and the keres turned their cold gazes on Rosalind again. Caine’s magic doesn’t work on them. And I’m going to die here, lying in the mud in this wretched place.
A ker boot slammed her hard in the gut. As she coughed and spluttered, trying to catch her breath, rough hands grabbed her body, hoisting her up. With claws digging into her flesh, the keres began to beat their wings. The pain from her bite mark ripped her shoulder apart, and she gasped, frantically searching for Caine. But the keres were everywhere, lifting her off the ground, gripping tight to her shoulders and waist.
As they took flight for the opening, a phalanx of flying demons surrounded her, their black wings pulsing in the air. Fear sank its talons into her mind, and she glanced down at Caine. A whirlpool of keres surrounded him. For just a moment, his arctic eyes locked on hers, and his lips moved in a spell. But as his magic burst around him, the keres closed in, dragging him to the ground, trampling him into the mud.
“Caine!” she screamed. One of the keres yanked her head back by the hair, hissing. One final burst of Caine’s aura flashed as they lifted into the sky. His silvery magic curled around the keres. One of the demons at Rosalind’s shoulders moaned, her eyes rolling back in her head. Her grasp on Rosalind weakened, her head lolling. Her fingers slipped away. She dropped from the sky, her black dress whipping in the wind. Still, the other two keres tightened their sharp grasps.
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br /> Rosalind turned her head to glance down over her shoulder, hoping to see a raven taking flight—Caine coming to save her. Instead, she saw only a writhing mass of white-haired demons on the ground, smothering Caine. The sight cut her to the bone. I need to get back to him.
Maybe his demigod status could get him through a legion of iron-wielding demons—but it was a long shot. She’d seen what happened when she drove a single iron stake into his heart in Salem. Was that what it had been—her nightmares, her visions? Simply guilt, for what she’d done to him?
Her chest ached, and she stifled a sob. High in the stormy sky, rain battered her body. She had a gnawing certainty that she was being dragged to her own death. Around her, cauldron-dark clouds seethed, and lightning cracked.
The keres’ black wings rhythmically beat the air, their pale eyes glowing with an empty light. Something about them seemed different from the keres she’d encountered in Lilinor—their expressions were blank, their features a little more human. Beautiful, but vacant. If she didn’t have handcuffs on, she could do some damage with that battle fury spell—maybe crawl on one of their backs like she had with the harpy. Please, Nyxobas, don’t let Caine die.
She flexed her wrists. Bound by the damn iron shackles, she wasn’t going to get her frenzy going. Her gaze flicked to the keres. Not only did they wield iron weapons—they wore iron necklaces. What the fuck? How was their magic still working? Iron was supposed to destroy magic. It certainly did in her case.
Strong storm winds whipped over her body, freezing her skin, and her teeth chattered. She glanced down at herself, at the ker blood soaking her clothing. This is a complete disaster. They were supposed to sneak up on the mountain fortress, undetected—that was the whole advantage to keeping their group small.
How did the keres manage to find them in all this wilderness—to home right in on them like a beacon? The demons had known exactly where they were. A tracking spell, perhaps? But somehow Drew had known exactly when he’d needed to search for them, had known that they were coming into his city. How?
And why were they dragging her off to the fortress, and leaving Caine behind? Surely a demigod was a greater prize than her. She swallowed hard. She couldn’t leave him there to die. Maybe there was some way out of her cuffs. If she could get her hands on a thin enough blade in her weapon belt, she might be able to slide it into a lock. The misericorde, maybe.
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