The redcap spun, and Rosalind flung her stake. Even while sprinting, her aim was precise, but the redcap grabbed the weapon from the air. Rosalind’s cheeks blanched, and she grasped for something in her belt—one of those flamethrowers he’d seen that morning. Before she could pull it out, the demon was upon her. He grabbed her arms, whispering in her ear—no doubt something filthy. A gorgeous girl like Rosalind was pure demon-bait.
Caine could intervene now, but curiosity stayed his hand. He wanted to see exactly how strong she was.
She slammed her knee into the demon’s groin. The redcap groaned, hunching over, and Rosalind hammered his trachea with a hard blow from her palm. Not bad, Hunter. There was something thrilling in watching her fight. Surprise flickered through him. He hadn’t expected her to be much of a warrior.
She yanked another stake from her belt, and when the redcap lunged for her, she rammed it into the demon’s chest. Too bad for her, she missed his heart by at least an inch. Her aim had been so exact before. He had a sense that sympathy for her enemies might be her vulnerability. It was not a mistake Caine would make.
He stalked closer. Even from this distance, he could hear her heart hammering, and the sound of her pulsing blood sent his own heart racing. She pulled the flamethrower from her belt, but something stopped her from unleashing the fire. That was twice now she’d hesitated. She’d have to get over that habit if she wanted to play among the demons.
Her hesitancy cost her. The redcap lunged, knocking her to the ground. Caine heard a crunch as the filthy creature sunk his teeth into her neck.
The show was over. Caine dropped the invisibility and rushed for the redcap, ripping the demon off the girl. Caine wrapped his hands around the redcap’s head, his body coursing with a visceral thrill as he twisted. The redcap’s neck snapped with a loud crack. It was the same move that Erish had used earlier—only this guy had deserved it.
It wasn’t over yet, though; redcaps weren’t slain as easily as humans. Before the body even hit the ground, Caine had drawn his sword. He sliced through the creature’s neck, and the headless corpse thudded against the pavement. Caine thrust his hand inside the demon’s ribcage, snapping bones with his fingers. He slid his fingers around the redcap’s still-beating heart, feeling the hot pulse of blood, then ripped it from the chest cavity.
As he held the organ aloft, he let the warm gore trail down his forearm, feeling the life seep out of the arteries. There was no point in fighting it. He was a monster, an angel of death—just like Erish.
He tossed the heart to the ground and glanced at Rosalind, his real prey. She lay sprawled on the pavement, clutching her wounded throat. She stared up at him, eyes shining.
He hardly recognized her. She was stunning—flushed cheeks, full lips. Rain completely soaked her black Hunter’s clothes, and they clung to her curves. Right now, she looked a lot like prey.
Rosalind narrowed her eyes, and along with the fear he caught a glimpse of something more interesting. Defiance. She wouldn’t give in to him easily, and that only fueled his fascination.
Of course, she hadn’t felt his magic yet.
He whispered a spell under his breath, and his aura blazed, curling around her body as she gazed up at him. As the spell froze her limbs, fixing her in place, his gaze trailed down her chest. She breathed fast, her ribcage moving in and out like a panicked rabbit’s. The sound of her pattering heart stirred his demonic instincts. Something in the hollows of his mind told him to hunt, but it wasn’t death he wanted. He wanted to lure her into his world, to envelop her in darkness.
His eyes darted to the wound at her neck. Rain mixed with her blood, running in a river of pink down her throat. As she gaped at him, he almost wanted to reassure her, but that was absurd. Like him, she was here to hunt. If he let down his guard, she’d be his angel of death.
He forced himself to focus. Ambrose had told him to warn her. He whispered another spell—this one to heal the bleeding wound at her neck. She gasped, and surprise washed over her features. She’d been expecting to die at his hands.
She rose, her legs trembling, trying to control her fear. She pulled a metal canister from her belt and pointed it at his face. Still defiant, even when confronted with my immense power.
He eyed her weapon. “Purgator dust.”
He could almost see the internal struggle written on her features—her desperate attempts to hide her fear. But even if she wore a mask of calm, there was raw terror pulsing off her—the metallic scent of cortisol and adrenaline that sent his demonic heart galloping.
She gazed into his eyes, her stare unwavering. “It’s my job to catch monsters.”
Lilu, his raven, circled overhead before perching on his shoulder.
She knows I’m a monster. Truth be told, he was probably far worse than she imagined— yet her high-handed declaration irritated him. Nothing had changed since she was a snobby little girl in the Atherton household. To her, the world was simple and ordered. Some people were simply better than others. So what if he was a monster? The Brotherhood weren’t any better. “You think I’m a monster. Why am I not surprised?”
She hadn’t mentioned his name, and he was fairly certain at this point she had no idea who he was. The fact he was a mage was enough to provoke her disdain.
“Well, yeah.” Her hand shook as she held the can up to his face. Something was stopping her from pushing the button. “Do you kill Hunters like me?”
“Hunters, yes.” A twisted part of him delighted in the fact that she was about to learn she was one of the monsters. “But not like you.” He could take her aside and explain it to her gently, but that would take the fun out of it. After all, even though he wasn’t going to rip her throat out like the redcap would have, he was still a demon. Like a cat playing with a mouse, he wanted to draw out the kill. Torture her a little bit.
“What are you talking about?” Her eyes roamed over him, and he could see a spark of desire warring with her other emotions. A part of her wanted him—how could she not? And she hated herself for it. “You hardly seem human anymore.”
You hardly seem grateful. “And yet I just saved your life.”
“I didn’t need your help.” She thrust out her chin, trying to project confidence. “I had it under control.”
She must be joking. “That’s not how it looked. He was gnawing at your jugular.”
“I was lulling him into a false sense of security.”
Her hands shook, and he almost wanted to pull her close, to soothe her.
“I was preparing to attack,” she said.
The streetlight glinted off her metallic ring, and his gaze flicked to fingers. Ah. Now it makes sense—a ring from the Brotherhood. It would suppress her aura entirely. “An iron ring. That’s how you stay sane.”
Her pulse raced below her skin. When she looked into his eyes, her heart beat faster, and her pupils dilated. Even if she was terrified, she liked what she saw.
“What are you talking about?” she breathed.
He stepped closer, his eyes trailing over her smooth skin, down to her heaving chest and wet clothes. Too bad Erish had murdered Alice, because he was having a hard time controlling himself. She’s Rosalind Atherton, he reminded himself. You knew her when she was four. And she’s a Hunter.
He stared at her ring. “I want to see what happens when you take it off.”
“I don’t take it off. Ever. It’s my good luck charm. Some people have votive candles. I have my ring to keep the monsters away.”
“Doesn’t work, though. After all, I’m here.” He leaned in further, past the dust, and inhaled her scent—mayflower blossoms and oaks. Rainwater streamed down her skin, and it was hard not to touch her, to make her pulse race even faster. His chest ached. Still, even if he couldn’t touch her, he could take a dark pleasure in what he was about to do. What he’d come here to tell her would completely disrupt that simple and ordered world she believed in so fervently.
There was more than one way to make a gi
rl’s pulse race.
He whispered, “You need to run, Rosalind. They’re coming for you.”
Her muscles tensed, and she clutched her weapon tighter.
“Who’s coming for me?” Her breath was hardly a whisper.
He enjoyed drawing this out. “The Brotherhood,” he spoke low into her ear, in his most soothing voice. “They want to watch the world burn, and you with it.”
“Why would the Brotherhood come for one of their own?” Her voice cracked.
This was the moment everything would change for her, and he got to witness it. “You’re not one of theirs. I know what you are. And the Brotherhood will soon find it out.”
He cast one last glance into her stunned face, into those dark, almond-shaped eyes that struck a disturbing chord of familiarity. Her family were the architects of his torment, and they had turned his life into an unending nightmare, yet at the sight of her confusion and horror he felt no triumph. He felt something else, something deeply unexpected: a strange surge of protectiveness.
When he looked into her eyes, the darkest recesses of his memory whispered to him. They offered up those ephemeral images—the dappled hawthorn grove, and the rush of sea grasses under his fingertips. For a moment, he longed for someone he used to be. But those sorts of thoughts led only to madness.
As he turned, he tightened his fists, stalking into the shadows. He pushed the images deep into his mental vault. Perhaps, even for a demon of the night, beauty dwelled all over the living world. After all, demons weren’t merely creatures of death. His senses were more powerful than an ordinary human’s. He could smell the richness of the earth and see the stars’ brilliance in a way that no mortal could.
But in Caine’s case, that sort of simple pleasure belonged to a different time, before his world had shattered. Even thinking of those idyllic days brought danger. He glanced up at the stormy night sky, trying to clear his thoughts. A spear of lightning flashed, searing the sky. The encounter with Rosalind had deeply unnerved him.
Even if he wanted to fight it, he had an unsettling feeling that Rosalind would occupy too much of his thoughts in the near future. Her combination of vulnerability and defiance was intoxicating. In any case, he must keep his distance for his own sanity. For one thing, Erish would tear Rosalind’s spine out of her throat if the succubus sensed his fascination.
For another, he’d seen what could happen to creatures of the night who came too close to the light—and he wasn’t going to let himself burn for her.
Table of Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
vampires mage 01.5 - shadow mage Page 3