She arched her back, relaxing her muscles; as she did, an image burned in her mind of an angel, falling to earth. Bronze skin, dark hair and eyes, a face so beautiful it hurt to look at him. He tried to fly, but his wings were like lead, dragging him to earth. Down was up, and up was down. Light was dark. With his wings dragging him to the earth, the world no longer made sense. He screamed to the heavens, for his brother who’d betrayed him, for the loss of everything that made him whole.
Had he really deserved this? He’d given humanity a gift—that was all. And for his sin, he’d suffer eternal torment.
But he hadn’t felt the worst of it yet—not until his mind began to fragment. As his magic rippled through her body, Rosalind felt his pain, the indescribable agony of ripping apart, until he no longer knew who he was anymore. Slowly, as Azazeyl fell closer to earth, he shattered into seven tormented pieces, each one trapped—in the mountain and sea, the skies and trees, the inferno and the void. And after him, fell the lesser angels, transforming into demons of shadow and light.
And Blodrial—the final insult—coursing through the blood of the beasts themselves. If Azazeyl loved the beasts so much, let him suffer there.
From one angel came seven warring demons, with no memory of their past, no understanding that they’d ever been united. They only knew that every moment was an exquisite agony, and that they yearned to join the heavens once more, to be whole again.
Rosalind’s eyes opened again, and she stared at the vampire before her. The magic of Azazeyl swirled around him, filling the temple of Nyxobas, and the vampire’s eyes opened wide. As if sensing something terrible might happen, Erish and Caine had stepped away from her.
I can do this. I have the power of Azazeyl.
Rosalind tightened her grip on the vamp’s head, bringing to mind the spell Erish had woven. And when she opened her mouth, the words tumbled from her lips as though she’d always known them, as if they were a part of her. And perhaps they were.
When she chanted the final word—the Angelic name for wood sprite—she felt magic coursing from her own body into his, invading his cells and his veins, melding them to her own will. The vampire’s skin hardened, turning to bark, and an array of leaves grew from his head. Within moments, his entire spindly, arboreal body constricted down to a few inches, and the wood sprite ran off through the grass.
Rosalind turned to the others, who stared at her warily.
“What?” she asked.
“You look a little scary,” said Tammi. “Your hair has gone a bit medusa.”
Aurora grimaced. “Yeah and your eyes are doing that chasm of terror thing. Like Erish, only creepier.”
“I’m sure it will wear off,” said Tammi.
Malphas smiled slyly. “I find it oddly attractive.”
Caine glared at him, shadows flitting in his eyes. “Right. Rosalind has made her point. She can create wood sprites.”
“This is potentially a brilliant plan,” said Malphas. “If we had an entire army of valkyrie—”
“Not valkyrie,” said Ambrose. “I won’t have any army entirely made of women. I don’t need to be outnumbered to that degree. Not to mention that valkyrie are demons of light. We belong to the shadows. I realize that doesn’t mean anything to you, Rosalind. But it means something to us.”
Erish cocked her head. “I don’t feel especially loyal to Nyxobas. He fathered an incubus, but he’s not particularly fond of incubi and succubi like us. I think he’d rather we all died.”
Rosalind’s mind burned with the vision of Azazeyl plummeting to earth, fracturing into seven parts. “Light and shadow demons are just an illusion. We all come from the heavens, and all the earthly gods come from one angel.” She shouted the words, desperate to make them all understand. “We’re all one, infinitely powerful. Don’t you see?”
“Right,” said Aurora. “I was wondering how long it would take till she completely cracked.”
“What?” asked Rosalind.
Tammi grimaced. “Your hair is still doing that thing, and you sound kind of like an insane mystic.”
Rosalind threw up her hands. “Fine. But the point is, let’s not worry about allegiances to shadow and light, or to gods who really don’t care if we live or die. Our allegiance is to Lilinor, right? I don’t even come from here, and neither does Tammi, but we’ve got no other home right now. So this is our home, and we will fight for it. And it doesn’t matter if we are vampires, or keres, or insane mystics. We’re all abominations. Let’s embrace it, shall we? And let’s kill the motherfucking Hunters so they stop invading our home. And maybe when we’re done, if you’re all still worried about being vampires, we can change you back.”
Malphas smiled. “I like the new Rosalind.”
Ambrose folded his arms. “And what demon type do you suggest we convert my soldiers into, Rosalind?”
“Why not let them choose?” she asked. “They can be whatever they want to be, as long as they can kill.”
“I like being a vampire,” said Aurora. “I’m a creature of the night, and I like drinking blood. But you know what I like better than being a vampire? Not bursting into flame every time the sun rises. I could perhaps see myself as a valkyrie. I’ve always wanted to fly.”
“Good,” said Rosalind. “Because we know that this works. We could give Malphas another soul, and wait for however long it takes him to regain his sanity long enough to perform the spell with us. We could wait to see if the spell even works, since this theory is based on nothing but three-thousand-year-old legend. Or we could do something now, before we all die at the hands of one of Erish’s monsters.”
Ambrose stared at her. “You make a compelling case.”
Aurora lifted her flask. “I like the option that doesn’t involve death by fire.”
Rosalind smiled, and the voices of the gods quieted in the back of her mind. “Good. Tomorrow, we assemble the vampires.”
“And I’m supposed to convince them,” said Caine. “I understand your logic, but you’ll be using intense gods-magic for several days straight. Is that really a good idea?”
Rosalind’s mind roared with the voice of Azazeyl. I fell to earth, shattered into seven tormented pieces, each one trapped—in the mountain and sea, the skies and trees, the inferno and the void.
Rosalind nodded. “I know you will. You know it’s the right thing to do. And when they’re convinced, they just need to choose a new identity. Erish and I will transform them, one by one. If we attack at sunrise, Drew will never see us coming, and he won’t expect to be fighting creatures who can fly. The Brotherhood’s defenses will be down, and we will have a tactical advantage.”
Ambrose nodded slowly. “I promised my army they could walk in the daylight.”
“And they will,” said Rosalind.
Ambrose turned to Caine. “Convince them.” He turned, his footsteps crunching over the gravel.
Chapter 23
Rosalind sat in a throne on a dais before a blood-red hall, the stone walls bedecked with a terrifying array of weapons. Several thousand vampires had crammed into the Great Hall, all of them staring at her and Erish. She wore a long, black gown, dripping with silver jewelry she’d borrowed from Aurora. If the vampires were going to assent to her transformations, she probably needed to at least look like she belonged here.
Despite her outfit, the horde of vampires standing before her didn’t look particularly thrilled to be here. Rosalind tightened her grip on the throne’s armrests, waiting for Caine to arrive.
She scanned the crowd, looking for a friendly face, and she relaxed a little when she spotted Tammi and Aurora standing near Becca, who wore a cartoon vampire T-shirt that read Vampires Suck. Perhaps Rosalind had overdressed.
At last, the enormous wooden doors at the back of the hall swung open, and Caine stood in the doorway, dressed in his black military gear, a sword slung over his back. Even now, his otherworldly beauty took her breath away.
The hall fell completely silent, and the entire
legion of vampires parted for him, making way. He strode across the red floor, his silver eyes locked right on Rosalind, his aura whipping from his body in vicious silver curls. She could feel the tension in the room. The vampires respected him, but they feared him, too. And with his eyes boring into her, she couldn’t help but feel that he was studying her, judging to see if she was transforming into her insane parents.
The man knew how to make an entrance, she’d give him that.
He ascended the stone steps, then turned to face his army. “Like me, you’re creatures of Nyxobas. We dwell in shadows. We thrive in darkness. The void terrifies us, but it’s also part of us. But you don’t need to hide in the darkness to be a shadow demon. I’m a creature of night who sometimes walks in the daylight. I know you want this, too. You want to fight in the daylight, kill in the daylight. Maybe fuck in the daylight.”
“Hell yes!” someone shouted from the back.
“Drew’s greatest weapon against us has been the sun, which he controls. It means we haven’t even been able to attack his empire at night, because he can easily raise the sun against us, and burn the entire army to ash in an open battle field.” For the first time, he turned to Rosalind. “Rosalind, our mage, wants to help you walk in the daylight.”
Murmurs erupted over the room, and Caine held up a hand to silence them. “But not as vampires.”
The crowd fell silent again, and the air in the room seemed to cool. She could feel the vampire’s auras thickening the air.
Caine turned to her. “Rosalind. Would you care to explain?”
She took a deep breath, rising from the throne. Okay. Maybe she should start with the truth. “Look. Ambrose wasn’t lying to you. There’s a three-thousand-year-old legend about daywalking vampires in Macedonia. There’s a chance that three mage souls could get you there. We’ve got two mages right now. But the truth is, when Drew murdered my sister, he killed the best chance we had of making that happen.”
Caine faced the vampires again. “Of course, we can imbue the soul into Malphas. We could wait for however long it takes for Malphas to recover his mental state, and hope that it doesn’t break him. And while we’re waiting, Drew could break through the shield, send his legions into Lilinor. He could send more ifrit to rain fire upon us. In the last attack, we buried six people. Before that, it was two, and before that, twenty-seven. Here’s the thing about being a creature of Nyxobas. It doesn’t simply mean we’re shadow demons. It means we value strength. It means we act on the offensive to destroy our enemies.”
Another murmur rippled through the hall.
“Rosalind and Erish can transform you into different types of demons. You can choose to be a shadow demon if you want. An oneiroi, or a ker. An Incubus, if that suits you. Something that can walk in the light. Or you become something else, a creature of another god. A valkyrie. A hellhound. A fae—unaligned, but powerful. Maybe your appearance and your magic changes, but the important things that make you a citizen of Lilinor remain the same: strength, dominance. A home in the shadows.”
As he spoke, shadows seemed to writhe and dance around him.
“As daywalkers, we can attack the Brotherhood in their own city, in the daylight. When they’re not expecting us. When Drew’s greatest weapon against us—the sun—will have no effect.”
Aurora pushed through the crowd, climbing onto the dais. “The Brotherhood captured me, and eight other vampires. They dragged us into the sunlight.” She turned, exposing her backless dress, the one that showed off the burn marks on her back, then turned back to the crowd. “And that’s why I’ll happily live as a valkyrie, or a shadow demon, or whatever. At least for as long as it takes to kill the fuckers.”
Rosalind nodded. “Let me put it this way. You can stay as vampires and probably die terrible, fiery deaths. Or you can transform into another kind of demon. And we destroy the Brotherhood together.”
The mood in the room seemed to have shifted, and she saw heads nodding, a bit of interest sparking in the vampire’s eyes.
From the front, a muscular vampire stroked his beard. “If it’s temporary, I’d like to become a woman.” He looked around him nervously. “Just to see how it feels.”
Aurora raised her arms to the ceiling. “I’m turning into a valkyrie. Who’s with me?”
Slowly, one after another, hands began to raise around the hall. Relieved, Rosalind smiled.
* * *
Rosalind sat in one throne, Erish in the other—her own throne, in fact. Rosalind scanned the crowd. “Who wants to be the first to volunteer?”
Someone was pushing through the crowd, forcing them to part. At last, Becca climbed the steps, nervously toying with the hem of her Vampires Suck T-shirt.
Rosalind smiled encouragingly at her.
Shyly, Becca returned her smile. “Do you think you could turn me into a hellhound? I’d like to be able to light people on fire, and watch their skin burn.”
Rosalind’s smile faded. Apparently, Becca had a bit of a dark side. A bit brutal, but this is a war. “Okay. Hellhound it is.”
Becca knelt, and Rosalind placed her hands on her purple hair. Azazeyl’s magic pulsed down the length of her arms, burning through her fingertips.
As Rosalind chanted the Angelic spell, she drifted into the world of Azazeyl, feeling the terrifying rush of his fall to earth, the wind whipping over his skin as his leaden wings pulled him to earth. When dark was light, and up was down, and nothing meant anything anymore.
The power of seven gods dizzied her. As the magic flowed, it felt as if the ground had been torn out from under her feet.
Just as she felt Azazeyl’s soul fracturing, she opened her eyes again, staring at the red-eyed hellhound before her. Becca held up her hand, smiling, and flames sparked from her fingertips.
At the sight of fire, panicked screams echoed through the hall.
Rosalind held up her hands. “Easy, Becca. Let’s save the fire until the battle, okay?”
Suddenly, Becca’s eyes widened, and a look of pain contorted her face. She clutched her heart.
Shit. Rosalind held out a hand. “Are you okay?”
Her skin pale, Becca shook her head. “There’s something wrong with my chest.”
Concerned murmurs rippled through the crowd.
“What does it feel like?” asked Rosalind.
Becca swallowed, her face pained. “Like a pounding in my chest. Like a thumping… things moving…”
Rosalind loosed a breath. “That’s your heart. You’re feeling your heart beat again, pumping blood around.”
Relief washed over Becca’s features, tinged with confusion. “Oh. Yeah.” Muttering to herself, she turned and walked down the steps.
Next, Duke Ricard ascended, adjusting the flounces at his wrists.
“What have you decided on?” asked Rosalind.
“A fae lord.”
Rosalind frowned. “I’m not sure that I can make you a lord, per se—”
“—A fae lord,” he repeated, kneeling.
“Fae lord it is,” she said.
She touched his head, and the vision of Azazeyl burned in her mind—the dizzying fall, the screams the angels ignored… Azazeyl’s mind began to fracture into seven pieces, and Rosalind’s eyes snapped open again.
Before her stood a formidable fae warrior with long, silver hair and pale blue eyes. For a moment, confusion clouded his features, and he gripped his stomach. “What’s this feeling?”
Rosalind leaned forward. “What feeling?”
“I feel… empty. Like I need something. In my stomach.”
“Ah. That’s hunger. Actual hunger, not blood hunger. You’ll need to find the fae chef. And I hope his fae magic allows him to make food for five thousand people at once, because we’re gonna have a lot of hungry soldiers.”
Duke Ricard’s lip curled with disgust. “You want me to eat… a meal of food?”
“You’ll love it. Trust me. Ask him for corn dogs.”
“Corn dogs,” he repeate
d slowly.
“It’s an American delicacy. Fit for a fae lord.” Her stomach rumbled. When was the last time she’d eaten? Just part of a baguette hours ago. “And while you’re at it, could you ask him to send some corn dogs this way? Like, three of them.”
The Duke sniffed as he rose. “I suppose I could try them.” He strode down the steps.
One by one, the vampires climbed the steps to the dais. They knelt before her, and she touched their heads, letting the magic curl around them, transforming them into woodwose, keres, shadow demons, valkyrie… Azazeyl’s magic rattled in her skull, splintering her mind every time she transformed a creature. Time seemed to slow down, her body burning with fatigue. With each spell, she felt a little emptier, more fragmented, but she kept going.
Just as a leggy redhead got ready to ascend the stairs, she held out her hand, pausing the line of vampires.
Exhausted, Rosalind leaned back in the throne, her mind whirling with the screams of the gods. Fatigue sapped her strength. According to Drew, at some point this magic would no longer tire her, but for now, she felt ready to burn out. Each time she performed the spell, Azazeyl’s torment felt a little more vivid.
She glanced at Erish, who’d just finished transforming a male vampire into a long-fingered woodwose, covered in hemlock leaves.
Erish’s eyes had darkened to black voids, her dark hair writhing around her head. Rosalind cringed. Gods below. Is that what I look like? She touched her hair, feeling it snake around her head like a living thing. Yep, that is what I look like.
From the crowd, Caine pushed through, then climbed the stairs. His glacial aura cooled the air around him, and sent shivers over her body. “You don’t quite look like yourself anymore. This might be a good time to stop.”
The gods whispered in her mind, make me whole again, and their agony put her on edge, angering her. Someone needed to pay for what had happened to Azazeyl.
She glared at Caine. “Why do I get the feeling you’re a little threatened by this?”
The air seemed to cool. “I was born a demigod. I’m not threatened by anything.”
Divine Hunter (The Vampire's Mage Series Book 4) Page 15