“You don’t need to know the whole story. Only that Erish is the one who turned me, centuries ago.”
Understanding dawned in Rosalind’s mind. When she’d been in the Brotherhood, she’d learned that vampires who’d been turned by high demons were more powerful than the rest. This would explain how Ambrose ended up as a king.
“She wanted me to live forever,” Ambrose continued. “She seduced me, convinced me to drink her blood. She slit my throat, performed a spell. And I rose from the earth as a vampire.”
Rosalind hugged herself. “And what happened between you and Bileth?”
“He was in love with Erish. Always has been. She’s nearly the last succubus, and her powers of seduction are legendary. Erish’s love for me sparked his rage, and so he got his revenge.”
Rosalind’s blood chilled. “How?”
“He locked me in a wine cellar, and sealed it off, chained me with iron.” For just a moment, Ambrose’s expression was unguarded, and raw pain flashed in his green eyes. “He starved me of blood for weeks. Bileth took the chains off eventually. But not until he locked my entire family in there with me.”
Horror slammed Rosalind in the gut. “You killed them.”
“They didn’t stand a chance. And that is why I escaped to Scotland.”
“Where you met Cleo,” said Rosalind.
“As you can imagine, I don’t think fondly of Bileth. I have made several attempts to kill him, with no success. I’m fairly certain Nyxobas doesn’t care if I live or die. Bileth is one of his twelve lords. Bileth was with him in the Great Fall, a hundred thousand years ago. That’s all that matters to him.”
“We’ve got to act quickly, then. Bileth will be trying to destroy us from the inside. And the Brotherhood will be trying to kill us from the outside. And there’s no one to help us.” She paused, grabbing Ambrose’s arm. “So will you do it? Will you convince Erish to help us? I know she still loves you. She is thousands upon thousands of years old, and she chose you. That must mean something.”
“She committed treason and waged a war against me. That means something as well.”
She tightened her grip on Ambrose’s arm. “Look, every relationship has its problems, but you’ve known each other for centuries. Before the treason thing, what did you love about her?”
His cold gaze slid to Rosalind. “Everything.” He shrugged, looking away. “It doesn’t mean I didn’t love others as well.”
“All you have to do is have dinner with—”
“—No.”
Clearly, this wasn’t getting anywhere. She’d have to find another way to persuade Erish to pass on her wealth of magical knowledge.
“Fine,” said Rosalind. “I’ll persuade her on my own, even if I have to glamour myself as you and seduce her myself.”
Ambrose quirked a smile. “That sounds like something I’d enjoy watching.”
She turned to walk away before he could see her eyes roll, and she began walking back to the Ninlil fortress, its dark stone walls bathed in silver.
Surely she’d built up goodwill of her own with Erish at this point. Rosalind had brought the succubus food and blankets in the dungeons. She’d freed Erish from the Brotherhood dungeons, and convinced Ambrose to give her a luxurious bedroom with a bath instead of a rat-infested cellar.
Maybe Erish owed her a favor at this point.
Rosalind shivered as she walked, her mind whirling with visions of the story Ambrose had just told. Was there anything crueler than forcing someone to kill their family? The thought of it made her sick. Apparently, it had become a favorite tactic of Drew as well. No wonder Bileth and Drew got along so well, bonded in depravity.
Drew had tried to do the same to her, to force her to murder her sister. Here, she wasn’t far from the cemetery, where her sister lay buried between the roots of a yew. Tonight in the cold, her sister’s resting place seemed especially grim. The air smelled like the bottom of a grave, and the breeze had died. Not a single leaf or blade of grass twitched in the wind. In fact, as she walked past the abandoned temple of Nyxobas, her footsteps crunching in the snow, a dark power thrummed over her skin.
Still as the dead. Her skin grew cold.
Shivering, she pulled her coat tighter around her. A shiver snaked up her spine. This wasn’t just the cold magic seeping from ancient graves, or the temple of Nyxobas. A living being lurked in the shadows, his magic dark and powerful.
She whipped her head around, searching the cemetery shadows. Inky magic pooled around her, and as its power curled around her limbs, she realized that smell—that dank scent—wasn’t the cemetery at all.
It was Bileth. Perhaps she could fight him on her own, but not if she didn’t know where the hell he was right now. The bastard had cloaked himself with magic.
Her pulse raced. Probably best to just get out of here for now. Rosalind summoned her magic, letting it thrum over her skin. Her body began to blaze with the ancient power of the valkyrie.
As the storm winds filled her blood, she started to soar into the air, but a rough hand grabbed her ankle, pulling her back to the earth. Her body slammed against the frozen ground. As her back slammed against the snow, pain ran up her spine. She still couldn’t see Bileth.
Run, her mind screamed. Frantically, she kicked at him, catching him in the jaw with her heel—she thought. On her hands and knees, she scrambled to get up, but Bileth grabbed her by the back of the hair, yanking her to the ground again.
She reached for the dagger in her sheath, but in the next second, she felt his weight on her, crushing her ribs like a ton of rocks. She still couldn’t see him, but if she could just summon her fire magic—
Bileth hammered her with a hard punch to the back of her head, and pain exploded through her skull. In the next moment, Bileth was flinging her onto her back, climbing on top of her.
Anger wound through her. Frantic, she thrust her hips upward, knocking Bileth off her. She turned, slamming her elbow where she imagined his head would be. A stroke of luck—it connected with a loud crack. She hooked her leg over his enormous body, raising her blade above her head.
“I know what you did to Ambrose, you sick fuck.” Nyxobas’s power ignited her body, and with it, she started to see Bileth’s silhouette, a dark chasm, like the opening of the cave.
Clenching her jaw, she brought the knife down, aiming for his heart—but Bileth gripped her wrists just in time.
He let out a low snarl, tightening his fingers around her wrists in a death grip.
He’d crush her bones. “Like I said. I will live long after you begin to feed the worms by your sister’s side.”
“What do you want from me?”
“What I’ve always wanted from your kind.” He tightened his grip further, until she cried out with pain, dropping the knife. “Submission.”
Fury stole her breath. I need Borgerith’s power. Pushing out the excruciating pain in her wrists, she closed her eyes, imagining a mountain.
Ancient, coppery magic sang through her body, strengthening her bones, lending her power. And with it, she summoned the flames of the fire goddess.
She opened her eyes again, staring at Bileth, power rippling through her body.
Bileth’s body had begun to smoke. “I see you’re toying with gods-magic,” he grunted.
She ripped her hands free from his grasp. With a roar, she slammed her fist into his face—once, twice, three times, listening to his skull crack, smelling the searing of his flesh, watching the flames flicker around his silhouette.
But as she reared back for another punch, two gunshots rang out, and pain seared through her gut. She shrieked, clutching her bleeding stomach. Iron bullets.
Already, she could feel the gods-magic weakening in her body. Bileth had brought a gods-damned gun.
As her magic dampened, her body began to tremble. She rolled off Bileth, weakened, nausea welling in her gut.
Run. Without magic, she didn’t have a chance in hell against an ancient demon in a fight. Sh
e pushed herself to her feet, and pain splintered through her core.
Gritting her teeth, she broke into a run, her breath ragged in her throat. With iron searing her insides, she wouldn’t be able fly, or even sprint, but she had to get the hell away from him. Right now, she was closer to the forest than to the fortress—if she could find her way within those towering, gnarled oaks. Thirty more feet.
She could lose him in there, maybe run into Ambrose. The vampire king would help even the odds in this fight. Ten more feet.
As she ran, her blood roared in her ears. At last, she reached the forest’s edge, her feet pounding the deadfall. And slowly, she felt Bileth’s dark magic creeping over her skin, curling around her body like an invasive vine.
Her heart threatened to gallop out of her chest. Why hasn’t he caught up to me yet? The pain from her bullet wounds split her in two.
She just needed to focus on the running. If she could lose in him in the shadowy forest—
Bileth’s hand grabbed her by the hair, yanking her back. His other hand slipped around her stomach, gripping her hard, pressing into her bullet wounds. Pain screamed through her body, and she thrashed against him.
He chuckled in her ear. “How amusing to watch you try to run from me, as if you had a chance.”
She kicked at his shins, but he held tight to her, enjoying her agony. “I told you what I wanted from you. Submission.”
He pulled her to the ground, and in the next moment, he was climbing on top of her, his body now fully visible. “But let me revise my requests. I want submission, and then your death. And I will enjoy both equally. I don’t need Ambrose using you as a weapon, though right now you don’t seem so powerful.”
He clawed at her jacket, ripping it open. Frantically, she grasped around her for something—any kind of weapon. Bileth reeked of death.
Bearing his fangs, Bileth leaned in, biting her throat. Pain ripped through her neck, and a scream tore from her throat. He’s going to eat me alive.
She could feel the blood rushing from her body, just as her fingers grasped a rock. She slammed it into Bileth’s head—once, twice, three times. Dazed, he fell back onto the ground. As her vision dimmed, she grasped for the gun in Bileth’s belt. She pulled it out, pointing it at him. She fired it, aiming right for his chest, and he let out a roar. Then, his body thinned to a black smoke, and floated away on the wind.
Her entire body shook, and she crawled along, over the roots and moss of the forest floor. She had to find her way back to Ninlil fortress before the bullets poisoned her. If only her world weren’t going black...
Chapter 18
Pain wracked Rosalind’s body, so sharp she thought her mind might rip apart.
She drifted in and out of a fevered sleep, dreaming of Maremount—of Malphas, leading her by the hand through a field of seagrass, to Athanor Pond—of Miranda, waiting to practice magic by the shore. Miranda had made wands out of mayflower wood, and she’d held them up proudly, bathed in milky light.
The memories came so clear now, burning in her mind like the sunlight glinting off the pond.
All these years, she’d stored these memories deep under her mind’s surface, not wanting to remember. Trying to shut out the painful, gnawing loneliness she’d felt when Caine had left her and Miranda by the river’s edge, the darkness so profound she thought she’d never find her way out of it. She’d closed it all away, deep under the surface. But along with her terror, she’d robbed herself of her beautiful memories, too.
Her vision rippled, giving way to another, darker memory—she and Miranda, walking down the damp stone stairwell to the cellar, hearts beating fast, hands clammy with sweat.
Malphas had said that she was fearless. She hadn’t been, though. It was more that she liked being afraid, liked the rush of adrenaline, and the pounding of her heart. She’d known then, that something terrifying lurked in the cellar—a monster. She’d heard the chains rattling, heard the roars of rage.
It had been her idea to lead Miranda down the cellar stairs, and her sister stopped partway, unwilling to go on.
For just a moment, Rosalind’s eyes snapped open again in her bedroom in Lilinor. Agony shrieked through her body. What was happening to her? Surely, this was more than just bullet wounds. Her body was on fire. Something was very wrong. She was supposed to be immune to fire.
Pain clouded her mind, and her vision dimmed again, until she was walking down those stairs once more, back in her parents’ wine cellar, cold water dripping down the stone.
Her parents had constructed a cell for him down there—a dungeon of sorts, with three stone walls. As she’d moved closer to the sound of those rattling chains, fear had raked its claws up her spine. But she’d pushed on anyway, her own nerves exhilarating her.
And when she’d rounded the corner, deep in the cellar, she’d seen him—the inhuman monster with black eyes, the powerful body that towered over her, capable of ripping a human to shreds in seconds. Someone had impaled his wrists with iron spikes, pinning him to the wall, blood seeping down his fingers.
And yet still, he held something in one of his hands—a sharp, iron hairpin. The one tattooed on his arm.
Trembling, she took a step back from him, cowering in the shadows. And just then, her gaze darted to a figure lurking in the shadows.
The monster wasn’t down there alone. There were two monsters.
In Lilinor, Rosalind gasped, her eyes snapping open. The air sparked with the scent of electricity, and Caine’s silvery presence curled around her.
Her stomach clenched, and she leaned over the edge of the bed, vomiting a clear liquid onto the floor. She clutched the bedsheets, dry-heaving.
Grimacing, she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “What’s happening to me?”
Caine brushed his hand down her back. “Ambrose found you. We took the bullets out, but you have a toxin running through your system. I think I know who did this to you.”
“What’s your best guess?”
“Bileth.”
She nodded weakly.
“When he bit you, he filled you with his demonic venom.”
Her muscles seized, her stomach tightening. “I saw you in the cellar,” she whispered. “My parents’ cellar. You weren’t alone.”
Agony rippled through her bones, and darkness claimed her mind again.
* * *
She woke, clutching the damp bedsheets, her body soaked in sweat.
Her mouth had gone dry, and her stomach tightened in pain.
“Rosalind,” Caine said softly. His silver magic blanketed her body, soothing her limbs.
He lifted a silver cup to her lips, and she took a sip of cool water.
She looked up at Caine, her vision blurred. Even through her haze, she could see his silvery eyes blazing.
“You weren’t there alone,” she whispered. “In my parents’ cellar. You were with another person.”
He traced his fingertips down her collarbone, his touch soothing. “Was I?”
“You were holding the hairpin.”
He brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheeks. “It was my mother’s hairpin.”
“Your mother, from London,” she muttered. “Malphas told me you were from London.”
“She’s the woman you saw in your memories. The one with the blond hair. I’m the son of a South London whore. I grew up in a whorehouse, in a tiny room. And when her clients came in, she’d close the filthy curtain between us. When I wanted to get away from the city’s filth, I’d flee the city walls, to the fields to the east, where the cherry trees grew.” He began brushing his fingers over her ribs again, so gently she could hardly feel it, just the soothing thrum of his magic.
She tightened her fingers around his hand. “I saw the cherry trees in one of your memories.”
“My mother took me there sometimes, too. Her name was Jane, and she died young. So you see, I’m not from the same sort of stock as Malphas, even if we’re brothers.”
“Comin
g from good stock is a bit of an archaic concept, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but demons don’t live in the modern world.” He traced his fingertips from her shoulder down her arm, and with every inch he covered, he took a little more of her pain away. “Are you feeling better?”
She swallowed hard. “Only when your hands are on me.”
“Happy to oblige, as always.”
Dizziness overwhelmed her, but she had so many questions she wanted to ask him. “The hairpin belonged to your mother. I saw it in your memories. But there was someone else in that vision. A baby.”
The candles flickered in the sconces, nearly snuffing out, and Caine caressed her skin. “My little brother. Not Malphas. Stolas.”
Stolas… She’d heard that name before, in a vision. But before she could ask another question, her mind spun, and her vision went dark.
* * *
The sound of a knock on a door pulled Rosalind from her sleep. Slowly, she opened her eyes.
Caine still sat at the edge of her bed, frowning at the door. “Who is it?”
“Malphas.”
“Come in.” Caine looked down at Rosalind, pushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “She’s awake.”
The door creaked open. Slowly, her gaze shifted to Malphas.
His clothes were soaked by rainwater, and he ran a hand through his wet hair. “He’s gone. I might not be as skilled as Rosalind at sensing magic, but his aura is powerful enough that I’d feel it. He’s left Lilinor.”
“Of course,” Caine said. “He knows that the next time I see him, I will slaughter him, no matter what Nyxobas thinks. And I’m one of the few people who actually knows how.”
Rosalind’s throat felt like sandpaper. “Why did Bileth try to kill me?”
“One,” said Caine, “He’s hated you ever since you impaled him. Two, he wants to destroy Ambrose and claim Erish for himself. After what you did with the ifrit, he knows just how powerful you can be.”
Malphas took a step closer to her. “Did you get the poison out?”
Rosalind winced, her muscles burning. “It doesn’t feel like it.”
Divine Hunter (The Vampire's Mage Series Book 4) Page 12