At last her gaze landed on the succubus, huddled in a corner in filthy rags. Erish was still beautiful, of course, her skin golden and her dark eyes captivating, but her body had transformed. In the prisons here, her body had become gaunt, her collarbone protruding. Her cheeks looked hollow, her lips thin. Once, long ago, Erish had been worshipped as a goddess. A pang of pity tightened Rosalind’s chest.
“My old friend,” the succubus rasped. “Have you come to bring me food and blankets again?”
Rosalind crossed to Erish’s cell, wrapping her hands around the bars. “I’ve come to bring you back to Lilinor.”
Erish narrowed her eyes. “From one prison to another. How tempting. Why should I go with you? Might as well stay in this festering cell, where I have company.”
With all the power pulsing through Rosalind’s veins, she could probably just take Erish. The succubus was halfway into the grave. Still, the journey would be much easier if Erish came willingly, and something told Rosalind she might actually need Erish’s help at a later time.
She couldn’t promise Erish much. The queen was still a traitor, and Ambrose wouldn’t want her roaming freely around Lilinor, stirring up trouble. But she could promise something. “You’ll still be imprisoned, yes. But we can put you in one of the palace rooms, with a guard outside. You’ll have food, a bed, a bath.” Rosalind surveyed Erish’s tattered dress, a filthy brown that had once been white. “You’ll have clothing.”
“When I arrive, I want a visit to my husband.” She straightened. “After I have time to clean myself up.”
“I’ll make it happen.”
“And why should I trust you, Rosalind Atherton?”
The magic of the gods rippled through Rosalind’s muscles, and she cast a glance over her shoulder, to see if anyone was coming for her. Her grip tightened on the bars. She was quickly losing patience. “For fuck’s sake, Erish. It’s not going to get much worse than this. Randolph plans to use you to build an army. And when you’ve created all the demon species he could have ever wanted, he won’t need you anymore. He’ll simply breed them together, creating new breeds under his control. He’ll keep you in rags, and starve you down here. And when he’s done, he’ll burn you at the stake.”
Erish’s cheeks blanched, and her body began to tremble.
“Don’t you understand what a prize you are, Erish? You’re a succubus. You were once worshipped as a goddess, and your power scares the shit out of them. It scares the shit out of most men, and they want to kill you for it.” Rosalind clenched the bars so hard her knuckles whitened. “Do you understand? You can’t count on them. We need to make our own destinies. If you come with me, you’ll live. That’s got to be better than this.”
Erish stared at her, and something flickered in her dark eyes.
“Are you in or are you out?” Rosalind demanded.
Erish stood unsteadily, still chained to the ground. “Get me out of here.”
“Good. I just have a few other prisoners to get out, too.”
She stepped back from the cell bars, summoning the power of Borgerith. She lifted her arms, the magic of the goddess dizzying her, its power intoxicating. Copper magic spiraled from her chest, twisting around the iron bars.
Her body hummed with magic, until she no longer felt like Rosalind, but like Borgerith herself. I am the icy winds over Monte Bianco. I am the fiery depths of Etna. And I will crush Drew with his guilt.
Rosalind gritted her teeth, trying to control the goddess’s raw strength. I’m in control here. And yet even as she thought it, the euphoria of power thrummed over her skin. She had an overwhelming desire to hunt down Drew and rip his spine out of his back. She’d draw and quarter him, sever his head and limbs and scatter them over the earth. Even for an immortal, that would be a difficult situation to recover from.
But she had to stick with the plan, had to get out of here, back to Lilinor. If she gave Drew another chance to capture her, it would all be over for her. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice, and she’d find her own body dismembered, impaled with iron spikes. A difficult situation to get out of, and Drew would find a way to control her, one way or another.
Coppery magic swirled from her body, curling around the iron prison bars. Around her, the bars groaned as they twisted and bent.
She glanced at Erish, whose iron chains fell from her body. “Let’s get to the portal. We need to get to Lilinor.”
A moaning noise from one of the cells caught Rosalind’s attention, and her throat tightened. One of the prisoners had been left behind.
Erish stepped from the cell, rubbing her wrists. “Are you coming?”
“Go.” Rosalind’s heart thundered. “There’s one more thing I’ve got to do. Get back to the portal before the Hunters track you down, okay?”
Erish nodded once, then disappeared in a blur of dark shadows.
There, in a shadowy corner, a hunched and huddled form. A child, by the looks of it, no more than three or four, and completely human. He looked too weak to move, untouched by the healing magic.
Rosalind crossed into the cell. “Hello?”
The child’s ripped clothing exposed his spine, which protruded from an emaciated back. Rosalind crouched next to him, touching his back. Mossy green healing magic rippled down her arm, swirling from her fingertips, and curled around the boy. After a few moments, he heaved a deep breath, stretching his arms. He lifted his head, blinking large, brown eyes as though awaking from a deep sleep.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Owen.” He looked around himself, confused. “Where’d Mama go?”
A lump rose in her throat. Mama had probably died, but he’d been too sick to realize, or too young to understand. “Was she here with you?”
He nodded.
“Was she sick? Was she sleeping a lot?”
He nodded again, tears filling his eyes. “She wouldn’t wake up.” His face crumpled, cheeks reddened, and he let out a wail.
Rosalind reached for him, picking him up. Wailing, he wrapped his arms around her neck, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Shhh… It’s okay, Owen. We’re going to need to run fast. Real fast. Are you ready?”
“Where’s my mama?” His pained screams echoed off the walls.
Shit. It’d be hard to move inconspicuously with Owen in her arms, and if Drew caught them, they could both end up dead. But there was no way she could leave him behind now. Gripping him tight, she summoned her shadow magic, feeling its power thrum through her body.
But before she could break into a sprint, fear slammed her in the gut. There, snaking down the curve of the hall, the long tendrils of Drew’s magic, curling closer, feeling her out like insect antennas.
She held Owen close, whispering Shhhh…, her pulse racing. The truth was, even without Owen’s siren-like wail, Drew would seek her out. She knew how to sense Drew, and it worked both ways. He could smell and feel magic just like she could.
Still, she felt a sudden surge of protectiveness for Owen. If she wasn’t able to get away from Drew, she wanted to hide Owen long enough that just maybe, he’d be able to find his own way out.
Nyxobas was the god of night, and the god of sleep, too. As Drew’s magic moved closer through the hall, she stroked Owen’s head, letting the magic of the night flow from her fingertips into his skull. Slowly, his body relaxed, his chest rising and falling slowly, until he was sleeping on her shoulder.
Her heart hammering, she hurried into one of the cells, tucking him in a dark corner. As she crossed out of the cell again, she called upon the ancient strength of the mountain goddess.
With the sandstone hall emptied, Drew’s footsteps echoed off the ceiling. She glanced down at her hands, at the place where fingernails had pierced her palms. Already, the skin had healed over, leaving only a faint, white line. Perhaps she was immortal now, just like Drew. He could torture her, imprison her. Cut off her head. But he wouldn’t be able to truly kill her.
In the distan
ce, footsteps pounded through the hall, so powerful that the stone trembled. A faint layer of dust rained from the ceiling, and her heartbeat sped up, hammering against her ribs.
He’s coming.
“Rosalind!” Drew’s voice reverberated through the halls—the voice of many, of young and old, male and female, icy and hot. But one, clear emotion rang through the chorus: agony. “Rosalind!”
At the sound of his strange voice, her heart skipped a beat, and she thanked the gods Owen would be asleep for whatever was about to happen next. She wasn’t sure exactly how this fight would end, but it would be bloody and brutal, and the poor kid was probably emotionally damaged enough as it was.
As Drew’s magic strengthened around her, the seven gods’ own thoughts mingled in her mind. She was going to face Drew, the architect of this living nightmare. A man who saw fit to imprison toddlers, to let them watch their mothers die.
As the gods-magic ignited, a cacophony of rage rang inside her skull. He’ll get what’s coming to him. She was going to get out of here alive. And she was going to take Owen with her.
Her fingers twitched with anticipation. When Drew came into view, the first thing she noticed was the iron nail in his fist. He wanted to hurt her the way he’d hurt Miranda—the way Caine had killed her parents.
It wouldn’t happen. Drew had no idea how strong she was now, had no idea of the power coursing through her body. I will drive that into his heart. I will hear the sound of his ribs cracking…
Propelled by the gods of storms and night, she broke into a sprint. When she reached Drew, she slammed a punch into his face, fist against bone. The crack reverberated through the hall, and his head whipped away, blood pouring from his mouth.
The next punch he was ready for, and he blocked it with his arm. His eyes burned with the madness of seven tormented gods, and his lip curled. “You should have been controlled, my wife.”
“I was,” she murmured. “But Cleo wasn’t.”
She let Borgerith’s power flow through her veins, and she smashed her fist into his chest. She knocked him back into the dirt, the nail falling from his hand with a clang.
For just a moment, fear flickered across his features, and she lunged for him, hammering him in the head with one powerful punch after another, a punishing hail of blows—snapping bones, drawing blood.
Slam. Droplets of blood flew through the air as she smashed his teeth, and he staggered on his feet, eyes wide.
Destroy him.
She smashed her elbow into his temple—a move that would have killed a mortal man—and Drew’s eyelids drooped. Dazed, he searched for the iron nail, fingers scrambling around him. He’d come here to torture her. Truly, that was his one burning obsession in life, to punish the woman who’d abandoned him—who’d humiliated him by loving his worst nightmare.
Slam. Her elbow struck him in the side of the head again. Now, somewhere under the fog of his pain, he was having second thoughts, a frightened animal ready to crawl back to his hole.
Slam. He grunted from the pain.
Desperately, he tried to block the blows, probably hoping for mercy. He wouldn’t get it. Rosalind reared back for another blow to Drew’s head, one that would truly crack his skull, and his eyes opened wide, flickering with flames.
Before she could land the next blow, silver magic exploded from his body, knocking her off him. Drew was gone, disappearing in a blur of silvery shadows, so fast the wind rushed over Rosalind’s skin.
Give him what he deserves, Borgerith whispered.
She clenched her fists, torn by an overwhelming desire to hunt her cousin down, and the certainty that she should get back to Lilinor, and to get Owen to safety. The longer she stayed here, without backup, the greater the risk that she’d get herself into some kind of trouble, or end up buried in the cold earth with her sister. She couldn’t die, but she could be buried deep under the earth…
At the thought of Miranda six feet underground, grief bloomed in her chest.
I need to return to Lilinor. I need to get Owen out of here.
A lump rose in Rosalind’s throat as she turned for the prison cell. She crossed through the warped bars, swallowing hard. The kid looked so peaceful in his sleep, tears making clear tracks through the dirt on his cheeks.
But as she reached for him, someone violently yanked her head back by the hair, pulling her onto the floor. Her body slammed against the sandstone.
Chapter 10
Rosalind’s back screamed with pain. Panic stole her breath as Drew climbed on top of her, straddling her waist. He tore at the front of her lace dress, trying to rip it off. She swung for him, but she hadn’t had enough time to prepare. Borgerith’s power no longer blazed through her body, and her blows weren’t doing the damage she needed to do.
Drew pinned her arms, snarling. “My loving wife.” Leaning down, he opened his mouth wide, biting deep into her neck like a wild animal.
Pain ripped through her body, and she thrashed beneath him, her screams echoing off the ceiling. She knew one thing for sure. If she didn’t get out of this, it was all over.
She summoned the power of Borgerith, letting it explode from her body and into Drew’s. He fell back, clutching his chest as if a great weight were crushing him.
Her pulse racing, Rosalind snatched Owen’s sleeping body from the ground, trying to block out the pain splintering her body. Blazing with shadow magic, she clutched Owen tight to her chest, rushing through the hall at the speed of a hurricane wind.
But she was losing too much blood, couldn’t keep moving this fast. She faltered, stumbling against the wall, still clutching the child.
Think, Rosalind. Cleo’s aura bloomed in her chest. There was one way out of here: an Angelic spell. Holding the boy tight against her chest, she launched into the teleportation spell. At the final syllable, her body flickered away from Drew’s until the world around her shifted, the sandstone floor giving way to a flooded crypt.
She was free, and she loosed a long sigh of relief. In one arm, she cradled the child, and with the other, she gripped her neck, trying to stanch the bleeding where Drew had torn out part of her flesh.
She’d better be immortal, or she’d be dead soon. Within minutes, she’d find out whether Drew had been telling the truth.
Blocking out the pain, she inched closer to the portal of water. She knew hardly anything about trying to swim with another person in your arms, except that it was supposed to be easier if that person wasn’t thrashing and kicking. Was it better to leave Owen asleep? But then, perhaps, he’d drown. Gods damn it. Whoever had designed these water portals clearly hadn’t thought about transporting babies and toddlers.
Perhaps awake was better. She waved her hand in front of the child’s sleeping face, pulling the shadow magic from his body, leaving just enough to keep him relaxed. Slowly, he opened his eyes, blinking at her blearily.
“Owen. Have you ever been swimming?” she asked.
“Milk.”
She gritted her teeth. “Have you ever been swimming? In a swimming pool?”
He nodded. “I go swimming. I’m a super super big super strong swimmer, like the Octonauts.”
Good. Promising. “Do you know how to hold your breath under water? Like the Octonauts?” Whoever the hell they are.
He nodded. “I’m gonna need you to do that Owen, okay? We’re going under water for a little bit. You need to take a deep breath, okay?”
He stared at her neck, concern flickering over his features. “What’s that red stuff?”
She was still clutching her neck. “It’s just paint, honey.”
He seemed dubious, but didn’t ask any more questions.
“I’m gonna hold you tight, Owen. And you’re gonna hold your breath. Like the Octonauts.”
Slowly, her body shuddering, she inched over to the filthy water. “Now, Owen. Hold your breath.”
She watched as he took a deep breath, and she plunged under the icy surface. Blood poured from her wound as she drifted
beneath the water, losing blood in the murk. A bone-deep chill spread through her body, and she began shaking uncontrollably, holding Owen tighter.
She needed to get out of here fast, but her body wouldn’t stop shaking. Probably the blood loss. Fight, Rosalind. Just as her vision began dimming, she glanced up once more at the surface. This time, faint beams of light piercing the darkness—pearly light, faintly streaming. Moonlight—not sunlight.
Thank the gods. We’re in Lilinor.
Her body burning with fatigue, she kicked her way to the surface, desperate to get Owen into the air again.
At last, her head breached the air, and she hoisted Owen out. He grasped for the fountain’s edge, crying. She’d never been so happy to see the night sky in her life. “Hang on, Owen.”
She hoisted herself over the fountain’s edge, tumbling onto the cobbles. Then, she reached for Owen, pulling him out of the water. His teeth were chattering uncontrollably, and she held him tight, slipping down against the side of the fountain. She sat at the fountain’s edge, wet clothing clinging to her body, heavy and cold, and shivers overtook her.
She held Owen close, cradling him in her arms. He was wailing, and she was beginning to question her choice of bringing a human toddler into a vampire realm. Still—it’s not like she’d had a lot of choices.
“Shhhhh…” She cradled his head, summoning her soothing light magic, feeling his muscles relax. “Go to sleep, Owen.”
Within moments, his eyes had closed, his limbs going limp. Now, she just had to summon the energy to walk up to the fortress.
As she listened to the sound of the water dripping from her sodden hair and clothes onto the stone, her eyelids slowly drifted closed. Somewhere in the distance, a raven cawed.
Rosalind wasn’t sure how long she’d been lying on the stone when powerful arms scooped her up, a loamy, comforting scent enveloping her body. A soothing aura slipped around her skin, caressing her, warming her body, and Rosalind felt herself melting into an embrace. A rhythmic sound of beating wings filled the air, and the wind rushed through her hair.
Divine Hunter (The Vampire's Mage Series Book 4) Page 6