Divine Hunter (The Vampire's Mage Series Book 4)

by C. N. Crawford

  Randolph, on the other hand…

  Randolph is the one who’d threatened to find her on her wedding night, to rape her first before Drew had the chance.

  Iron barricaded the door. A safe room—just the place a coward like Randolph would hide.

  When she’d been imprisoned, her mind encased with ice, a dark rage had bloomed in her chest, curling around her ribs like dark vines. Now, it thrived.

  “Randolph,” she whispered. “You sick fuck. Are you in here?”

  She took a step back from the doors, whispering a spell in Angelic—the one for bending iron. Slowly, the iron creaked and groaned, contorting until it fell to the ground with a heavy clang that echoed off the walls.

  She let the rage flow through her body like shadow magic, then she kicked through the oak doors.

  They splintered into a million tiny shards of wood, opening the way into an enormous octagonal hall. Randolph sat at the back of the room, guarded by three scorpion men.

  An oblong table stood between her and Randolph, who leaned back in a leather armchair.

  For just a moment, she saw a flicker of fear in his eyes, but the satisfied smirk on his face told her that he had no idea how quickly she could kill the scorpion men. Before the oval table, the scorpion men stared down at her, their dark eyes locked on her like prey.

  “Hi, Randolph,” she trilled. “If I’m not mistaken, you wanted to rape me and then burn me alive. I do believe we have a score to settle.”

  His face paled. “You can still repent. If you don’t, you will find yourself in one of the earthly hells after you die instead of fractured into seven.”

  She took a step closer. “You must be fucking joking, Randolph. I don’t need to repent, and I don’t need to worship Blodrial. The gods are in me. Do you understand that? I know their secrets, better than they know their own. I saw their birth. I know what they fear, and I know what makes them suffer. So I will not be repenting to Blodrial. But I will make a little sacrifice to him.” She took a slow step closer to him, smiling slyly. “Do you know what I’d like to sacrifice, Randolph? I’ll be serving them up a fresh coward today.”

  His throat bobbed, and he no longer looked convinced the scorpion men would win in a fight against her.

  Randolph shot a nervous look at the scorpions, then nodded at them—his signal to kill.

  Rosalind readied her sword. “You, Randolph. In case it wasn’t clear, I’m going to sacrifice you.”

  Shaking, he stood. “I had understood the implications. But perhaps you forgot what my scorpions did to that servant girl.”

  Battle fury ran through Rosalind’s body, making her legs tremble—and with it, shadow magic whispered through her blood, filling her muscles with a preternatural surety.

  The scorpion men clacked over the floor to her, their tails extending closer to her. A dark smiled curled her lips, and she rushed into action, shadow running for the table. From the oak surface, she swung her sword, cutting through the first scorpion’s head. One.

  His muscled body slammed to the ground, blood spurting from his neck.

  A scorpion swung his tail for her, and she ducked out of the way, moving like the night wind. From a crouching position, she thrust her sword into the scorpion’s chest. He lurched back, and she sprang up again. Whirling, she cut through another scorpion neck, listening with a grim satisfaction as his head thudded on the ground. Two.

  The injured scorpion swung his tail again, and she dove, touching down on the floor for just a moment before springing up again. She carved her sword into his neck, hacking through it.

  His head rolled on the floor, his enormous body slumping. Three.

  She turned, her gaze landing on Randolph. The coward was trying to run for the doors. She flicked her wrist, slamming him with a blast of shadow magic that froze him in his tracks.

  Slowly, she walked closer to him. “Randolph. Remember when I was frozen, and you came into my room? Remember when you forced me to my knees?”

  Slowly, she circled him. “How does it feel, Randolph, to be completely at my mercy?”

  His mouth opened, only a choking noise rising from his mouth.

  She stood in front of him, grabbing his jaw, hard. “I believe you wanted to burn me, Randolph. How many demons have you burned at the stake? I was supposed to be one of them. My sister Miranda would have been one of them, if Drew hadn’t killed her first. Maybe you need to feel what it’s like to burn. Do you think?”

  Randolph’s body began shaking, and his pale eyes opened wide. His face had gone completely white.

  “You’re not like some of the others. You’re a true believer, but the Brotherhood was never supposed to use magic,” she continued. “You thought you could use it just long enough to get what you wanted, that the ends would justify the means. But you tainted your soul for nothing, and I want you to die knowing that you failed. I want you to die believing that you’ll suffer eternal torments in one of the hells.”

  As the power of the gods flooded her body, they spoke to her in whispers. They spoke to her of their torment, of fragmenting into pieces, of needing to be whole again. They whispered of rock and fire, storms, and the darkest depths of the oceans. The gods didn’t want repentance from her or Randolph or anyone. They were simply broken.

  As their power flooded her body, she tried to force out their voices. They were overwhelming her, and her own thoughts clamored to be heard.

  Rosalind slid her hand around his neck, squeezing. “There is no way for you to repent, Randolph, because the gods don’t care.”

  Power flooded her body, the auras of the seven gods. As they whispered in her skull of all the ways she could kill the man who’d hurt her. Fire, perhaps, or peeling off his skin. Lightning to roast him. Rip his blood from his veins…

  Molten rage ignited her body, and the voices of the gods blared in her skull.

  She lifted her fingers, letting flames dance from her fingertips, then touched them to Randolph’s black shirt. As smoke curled into the air, his eyes widened in fear. The scent of charring flesh wafted into the air as his skin burned.

  She tightened her jaw. No—they were the gods’ desires, not her own. She wanted Randolph dead, but she wasn’t a sadist like he was. With icy shadow magic playing about her fingertips, she flicked her fingers, freezing the fire.

  Randolph’s body shuddered, and Rosalind eased her mental barrier to the magic, letting her body relax.

  She took a deep breath. She didn’t need fire or magic to kill this man. She lifted her sword. Swift as a lunar wind, she ran it through his heart. His eyes opened wide, and a stream of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

  She pulled her sword from his chest, cocking her head.

  Humans. So fragile.

  Randolph crumpled to the ground. Now, she just needed to find Drew.

  Chapter 34

  Rosalind stepped out into the bone-walled hall, her fingers gripping the iron nail in her pocket. In here, tall windows interrupted the vast ivory expanses, and rain hammered the glass. The valkyrie were channeling a storm to battle the helicopters.

  Outside, the battle raged, and she pressed her fingertips to the window. Lightning cracked the dark sky, illuminating Caine, flying through the air, directing the winged cohorts. He moved in a terrifying maelstrom of silver and black, his shadow magic curling around a helicopter. Rosalind scanned the crowd for Tammi, her heart skipping a beat when she caught sight of a Hunter aiming his gun at her. But Tammi was fast—she blasted him with two shots to the head from her own gun before he could pull his trigger.

  Rosalind loosed a sigh of relief.

  She turned, stalking through the hall again. On the top floor, silence reigned, and the stillness sent a shiver crawling up her spine. A powerful, corrupted magic snaked over her skin. Drew’s magic.

  Her heart pounded hard, rattling her ribs. He was here—not far now. She just had to follow his aura. Her footsteps echoed off the high ceiling, and she gripped her sword. Randolph’s
blood dripped onto the ivory floor, leaving streaks of crimson. As she moved through the hall, Drew’s magic grew stronger, pulsing over her skin.

  She could see it now, weaving through the air in tendrils of silver and gold, copper and gray.

  “I’m coming for you, Drew,” she whispered.

  He had to know she was coming. He could sense her magic, just as she could sense his. That meant he’d be waiting for her, totally prepared while she had no idea what she’d be bursting into. As much as she wanted to blow his doors open and rip his spine out of his neck, she needed to act carefully.

  Cold sweat beaded over her skin as her gaze homed in on an oak door at the end of the hall. This door was different—no chalices or Latin inscriptions. This one bore the mark of Azazeyl—that sharply pointed sigil enclosed within a circle. Apparently, Drew didn’t see the need to hide himself. No iron barring his entrance, and a giant bullseye right on his door. Thick magic coiled into the air from the door.

  Of course, he didn’t need to hide. He was one of the most powerful beings on the planet, and he sure as shit wasn’t scared of Rosalind. But maybe he should be.

  Drew had taken her sister from her, and she needed to kill him. She was wrath, born of blood, ice, stone, and flames. Born of the forest’s shadows, where civilization fell away and nothing remained but the will to live.

  As she moved closer to his room, images flickered in her skull like a grainy old film: Drew slamming Miranda against the stake, ramming a nail through her heart. Miranda’s limp body, lying on the floor, rain drenching her clothes. She’d seemed so cold. Sorrow ate at Rosalind’s chest like a cancer. Abominatonia—Miranda’s dream. The little house in the woods, a family at last. Rosalind wanted to kill Drew extra slow for taking that from her sister.

  She moved closer to the door, nearly overpowered by Drew’s magic. She stood outside his door, flexing her fingers.

  She took a few steps to the side, then kicked the door, splintering it into tiny flecks of wood. Immediately, she dodged to the side, just in case. Waves of magic burst from the room.

  Rosalind peered around the corner, and her heart skipped a beat.

  Drew lay in the center of a circular room draped with gold and scarlet. Shirtless, he reclined on a cherry-red chaise longue. His aura formed a halo around his head. He wore nothing but a pair of white linen pants, and he sipped from a chalice.

  He didn’t give a fuck about the battle raging just outside his palace, nor that Rosalind had come here to kill him. Tightening her fingers on her sword’s hilt, she stepped into the doorway.

  Amusement danced in Drew’s emerald eyes, and his lips curled in a smile. From sharp iron sconces, candlelight wavered over his bare skin.

  “Ah. Rosalind,” he breathed. “I knew at some point, you’d come right to me. Do you know why?”

  She heaved a sigh. “Yeah. Because we belong together. Oh, no—wait. Because I’m going to kill you.”

  Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. “No. You’re going to submit to me, once and for all.” He sat up, his body pulsing with magic. “It’s your destiny.”

  “You’re so full of shit, Drew.”

  Drew’s eyes bulged for a moment, then he swiped his hand through the air. The movement sent a shock of pain through her skull, and she fell to the floor. Her sword clanged on the marble.

  The metallic taste of blood pooled in her mouth, and she struggled to stand. Maybe she needed to freeze the fucker, just like she’d done to Randolph.

  She rose, letting her mind fill with Nyxobas’s void. She gave in to the god’s will, and it rippled through her body.

  From the ground, she blasted him with a burst of shadow magic, but Drew instantly unleashed a burst of fire from his body, burning away the tendrils of silver magic. An incendiary power rippled over her body, and if her skin could have burned, the magic would have incinerated her. Around her, the silks caught ablaze, and the marble floor reddened. Slowly, Rosalind pushed herself up.

  He slashed the air again with his fist, and pain splintered her mind as she fell back against the floor. He’s going to bash my head in, without getting up from the sofa. Panic clawed at her heart. She needed to gain control of him.

  Gritting her teeth, she stared at Drew from the floor. This is where he wanted her, wasn’t it? She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. The magic of the dark god filled her body again—Caine’s magic. Before Drew had a chance to react, she shadow-ran to him, touching down just behind him.

  She gripped his head, ready to snap his neck. Before she could twist, he gripped her arms, pulling her over his head.

  He slammed her onto the floor, and her body cracked the marble. She clenched her jaw, trying to block out the pain. At least she could heal quickly.

  Pushing up to her elbows, she cocked her head. She couldn’t seem to hurt him, but maybe she needed to try something different. Something he wouldn’t expect.

  He stood above her, towering over her, his green eyes flashing. She closed her eyes, imagining a cool mountain wind—the power of Our Lady of Rock, and of Blodrial, his veins spilling open. She’d just bleed him out.

  She stared at his veins, calling his blood to her. Drew’s eyes bulged, his body shaking. In the next moment, blood began to spurt from his wrists. She could feel the power seeping from his body, and fear flashed in his eyes.

  With a bestial roar, a flare of magic burst from him. He slashed at the air with his fist, and a wave of magic slammed into her with the force of an oncoming train. Her body went hurtling back, slamming against the wall. The crack of her bones echoed through the room. Her body shrieked with pain. In a blur of colored magic, Drew shifted across the room, his hand gripping her throat before she had the chance to get the next words out, squeezing. Her lungs burned.

  This was impossible. No matter what she did, Drew seemed to have the upper hand. Clearly, Drew had perfected his gods-magic more than she had. And yet, she had something in her arsenal that he didn’t. She knew how to fight without magic.

  In the Brotherhood, she’d been trained to manipulate, to confuse—to use anything around her as a weapon. Iron sconces hung on the walls. Maybe if she got enough iron into him, it could weaken him.

  Mentally, she merged with the goddess of stone, her body surging with the power of magnetism. She felt herself connecting to the iron around the room, as if tied by an invisible cord, and she pulled the iron sconces—sinking them right into Drew’s back.

  He screamed, dropping his grip on her; Rosalind crumpled to the floor, her body broken. For the first time, she seemed to have actually hurt him, and blood poured from his back. She blasted him with shadow magic, and his back arched as she froze him. She blocked out the pain wracking her body, and raised her hand, summoning the magic of Borgerith.

  Drew slammed into her, crushing her into the wall. In the next moment, his powerful hand was around her throat again. This was his favorite move. He liked the intimacy of choking her, liked the control it gave him. The dominance. He wasn’t going to kill her from afar. He wanted his hands all over her when she died, wanted his breath on her face.

  He crushed her throat, threatening to snap her spine. The pain was unbearable, dizzying. Starved of oxygen, her mind dimmed as Drew pressed harder. Her throat spasmed. Glimmers of Drew’s wrathful eyes flashed into her vision, then darkness. With Drew’s hands around her neck, she drifted into the void, sinking deeper and deeper.

  In the darkest hollows of her mind, she embraced the emptiness. This was Nyxobas’s world, and Caine’s, and as she plumbed its depths, she felt Caine’s silver magic whisper over her skin.

  What had he said to her that day in the sycamore grove? If you bend, you’re less likely to break. Let down your defenses.

  There’s strength in vulnerability. If she could just come out the other side of this darkness…

  Drew’s tight grasp on her neck lessened, and he let in a little bit of air. She gasped for just a moment, before he pressed on her throat once more.

 
; He leaned in, whispering, “I told you, Rosalind. You can’t die. We’re gods now, and I can kill you over and over again, for the rest of eternity, but you’ll come back every time. If only you’d given Miranda some of Blodrial’s blood, and let her become a god like us. She’d still be alive now. It’s your fault she’s dead.”

  Pain ripped Rosalind’s mind apart. She could hardly focus on Drew’s words. Any minute, he’d snap her spine.

  He whispered, his breath hot on her cheek. “I’m your king, Rosalind. I’ve always been your king. Perhaps if I cut out your tongue, you’ll find it a little difficult to defy me.”

  Panic blazed in her mind as her vision dimmed again. Slowly, she drifted into the void. Images flickered in her mind, like an old film strip showing flashes of her life: setting a tiny, flaming sailboat into Athanor Pond with her sister. Holding hands as she, Malphas, and Miranda walked into the forest, searching for adventure. Her adoptive father, red-faced, a vein popping in his forehead as he screamed at her. Lying back in the grass at Thorndike University between classes with Tammi, their bellies full of sandwiches and hard cider.

  And then Caine—his hands on her skin, his breath warming her ear as he whispered, Let down your defenses. The pain etched on his features when he told her about Stolas. At last, he told her, and she couldn’t have loved him more.

  Caine’s aura caressed her skin. And with his magic, his arms slipped around her. Sometimes, strength required vulnerability.

  Drew loosened his fingers, and Rosalind sucked in a ragged breath. She needed Drew to think she was completely defeated, vulnerable.

  Drew smashed her head against the wall again, and Rosalind let her body go limp. But with her free hand, she reached into her pocket, curling her fingers around the iron nail.

  Drew growled in her ear. “You were supposed to be mine. And I haven’t broken you yet.”

  Even as her muscles went limp, gods-magic blazed through her body. The strength of Borgerith, the fires of Emerazel, the darkness of Nyxobas. Her magic pooled inside her, blazing through her veins. As the magic burned through her, more powerful than she’d ever felt, it worked through her body, healing it. The gods knit her bones together, soothing her pain.