“We keep going,” she said.
He narrowed his eyes. “But how is your mind?”
Cleo purred. Why not let me take over again, little thing? It’s time for you to rest and let the real warrior take control.
Rosalind plastered a smile on her face. “No worse than usual. Let’s go on.”
Chapter 28
Surrounded by towering elms, they walked through the forest. Here, the air felt damp and salty, and she could hear the distant crashing of waves.
Somewhere, under Cleo’s visions, the mystery of Caine nagged at the back of Rosalind’s mind. What did Stolas mean? And what had he been punished for so viciously in Maremount?
But she could hardly keep her thoughts straight with Cleo taking over.
She found herself staring at Malphas—and when she spoke, the words that came from her mouth were not her own. “You act kind. But surely it’s an act. I believe that demons are driven to totally dominate anyone who is weak. For some it’s through violence. For some, it’s mind control. For incubi, sex. Am I wrong?”
“I suppose it’s part of our nature.”
Her lips formed Cleo’s thoughts. “A demon can never truly love.”
“Is that what you believe?”
She could feel Cleo’s will urging her to say yes, but a little bit of her own remaining resolve stopped her mouth from moving.
Malphas took a deep breath. “We are driven by the instinct to dominate. If an incubus is injured, he will do anything he can to heal himself. If our lives our threatened, we’ll do whatever it takes to survive. Incubi are born to seduce, I’ll admit. But I know of only one incubi who takes women by force, and he’s a deeply twisted soul.”
The wind rustled the leaves, distracting her for a moment. Pale moonlight illuminated the leaves, and a sparrow fluttered from one tree to another. Had she never noticed before how truly alive the forest could be? “What were you saying?”
“I was talking about my father. And Caine’s. Anyway, we’re not just driven by lust and rage. We want to protect, too. To guard what’s ours, what we love.”
The certainty in his voice angered Cleo. If a demon could actually love, then why had Ambrose abandoned her?
Rosalind turned, clasping his arm. “Can demons love humans?”
His eyes widened. “Of course. But which demon in particular were you curious about?”
Cleo’s magic snaked up her spine. Take it from me, little girl. He’s lying.
“Never mind.” She dropped the grip on his arm.
“Anyway, we’re not that different from you. Demons are driven by lust and violence, fucking and killing. But so are humans.” His eyes slid to hers. “Even you, Lady Rosalind.”
A moth circled the air above her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“And now that you have become one with Druloch’s magic, maybe you’ll find out just how wild you can get in a divine frenzy. For a mortal like you, it lets you forget the greatest mortal curse.”
For a moment, Cleo slammed Rosalind with an image of a charred body, tied to a stake. “Death,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper.
He shook his head. “Your knowledge of your death—the anticipation. That is the real curse. A divine frenzy frees you, just for a while.”
“And there we have the stories of witches dancing naked in the woods,” she said bitterly. “And the Puritans afraid of life itself.”
“Dancing naked in the woods. Is that something you’re hoping to try today? I suppose I could accommodate.”
Pale hands on my body, stroking my skin… “What?”
His eyes slid down her body, then slowly up again. “Frankly, I’m surprised my brother hasn’t seduced you by now. You look amazing. And you smell amazing.”
“I do?”
“Like Hawthorn wood, and lindens in full bloom.”
Her footsteps crunched through the deadfall. Somewhere, under Cleo’s thoughts, a painful thought nagged at the back of her mind. What was it she needed to remember now, while she was out here building her power?
Miranda. We’d lay together in the grasses, making wreaths of dandelions.
Rosalind fought to clear her mind from the webs of green magic. She’d been out here for a while, hoarding magical powers. But how was her sister doing right now?
This whole charade of pretending she didn’t exist was getting ridiculous.
She blinked, trying to clear her mind. Recklessly, she asked, “What do you think Caine would say about raising Miranda from the grave, to get her soul back—”
He whirled, gripping her arm. His pale eyes burned into her. “Don’t even think about it, Ros. Nyxobas doesn’t do favors like that without a price.”
A tendril of dread curled in her chest. “And what’s the price?”
He turned, walking on again. “You must understand that death is the domain of the gods. It’s not for you to toy with. And when we get Caine back, you must not speak to him about this. Don’t even let him hear you contemplating it.”
Cleo whispered, If a demon could truly love, he’d entertain the idea. Caine can never love you, Rosalind.
“Time to change the subject,” she snapped.
Malphas shot her a sharp look.
She schooled her expression. “I mean, it’s obviously a touchy subject, so we might as well move on.” Power. She was here for the power. “What can I expect from the storm god?”
“I will tell you this much,” he said. “You ever met a valkyrie?”
“Yes.”
“Did she fill you with wrath?”
“Yes.” And you need to feel that thrill again. “In fact, the last time a valkyrie touched me with her rage, I nearly murdered your brother.”
He smirked, like this was a ridiculous concept. “Is that so?”
“I put a stake in his heart.”
He arched an eyebrow. “If you got that close to his heart, I’m sure he allowed it.”
“Why would he do that?”
“You know how incubi heal. Maybe his well had run dry.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Maybe I’m a better fighter than you imagine.”
At last, the woods thinned, opening to a rocky cliff that overlooked the star-flecked sea.
This is where I gain the power of the storm god.
Malphas opened his arms. “The realm of Mishett-Ash is in the skies. Stand at the edge of the cliff.”
Deep in her chest, Cleo’s aura stirred. This power belongs to me. Give in to me, Rosalind.
Rosalind trod over the jagged rock to the cliff’s edge, and the sea wind whipped at her skin, biting her stomach through the tear in her dress. From here, she had a stunning view of the Astarte sea.
Malphas stood behind her, as he had on the sea shore. “Drop your shawl, and hold out your arms to the side.”
Rosalind let her shawl drop to the rocks, and held out her hands to either side. Far below, waves crashed agains the rocks. From behind her, Malphas’s powerful body warmed her skin. Just being in the presence of an incubus filled her with a strange mixture of emotions—thrilled and soothed at the same time.
His silver aura, scented of lilies, curled around her body. His fingertips skimmed over her hips.
Incubi can’t help themselves, Cleo whispered. They just need to touch.
Malphas leaned down, whispering into her ear. “Feel the wind skimming over your body.”
Gusts of marine air raised goose bumps on her skin.
“Now,” he continued. “Let the wind flow into your chest.”
The wind howled around her, and she arched her back, opening herself to the sky. Nearby, thunder rumbled across the sea. Clouds gathered in the distance, rolling over the horizon.
As she stood on the cliff’s edge, raw power flowed into her, spiraling inside her ribs.
This is what I need.
Another clap of thunder boomed. Rain began to hammer her skin, soaking her hair and dress. She could feel Malphas’s warmth moving away from her.
Then
, her shoulder blades cracked, and agony ripped through her back. With a sound like the tearing of tendons and bone, she felt wings sprout from her back. She arched her spine, reaching behind her. Her fingertips skimmed over feathers. Her wings felt as if they reached nearly to the ground.
Now the wind and driving rain sent a delicious chill over her body. As if driven by some ancient instinct, she walked to the very edge of the cliff, and lifted off the ground. She soared into the stormy air, the wind and rain whipping through her hair. Gray magic whirled around her, imbuing her muscles with strength. She soared higher into the storm clouds, above the churning sea, thrilling at the speed of her flight. Power surged through her veins.
This is what I need.
In the distance, she heard the cry of the valkyries. A white streak of lightning speared the sky.
She wasn’t Rosalind anymore. She was an angel of death, and this didn’t feel like hell at all. This felt glorious.
She circled slowly over the sea, but as she did a new feeling gripped her heart—a slowly building battle fury, so powerful her limbs began to tremble. As gray magic surged, her anger was nearly as blinding. She needed to rip into flesh, to tear through bone. She needed to slaughter, wanted to rip Drew’s head off his neck. Her face grew hot, body shaking.
Why did she have the feeling that Drew was here, nearby?
She sniffed the air, scenting mountain air and pine. He’s nearby. She knew he’d be here, that it was time to rip his ribs out of his back…
She turned, heading back for the cliff. Wind rushed over her skin as she dove lower. She’d find him.
There. He stood just before the forest’s edge, his colored magic whirling around his body. His green eyes pierced the darkness, and one clear thought sang in her mind: Kill.
She swooped lower and picked up an intense speed, ready for battle.
I am the bringer of death, and I will crush your bones.
Chapter 29
She slammed into Drew with the force of a hurricane wind, knocking him back into the stones. His head cracked against a rock.
That should have knocked him out, but the man was practically immortal. He hurled her off of him, and she landed hard on a jagged rock. Fury surged, and she jumped up again.
She couldn’t remember how to speak. She could only remember how to hurt.
Wrath consumed her, eating her up with a hunger she could never quench.
Drew stood, circling her. He wouldn’t go down easily.
Let’s try a little of Druloch’s magic, shall we?
She didn’t know if that was Cleo’s voice or her own, only that fury commanded her.
She flicked her hand, and ropes of thorny plants spun from her fingers and coiled around Drew. With another flick of her wrist, she wrapped them tighter, watching his eyes bulge—but before she could split the bastard in two, he flexed his muscles, breaking through the vines.
Gods, he was strong.
“Rosalind!” he shouted.
“Don’t you use my name,” she snarled. “You murdered my sister.”
Blood poured down Drew’s skin where the thorns had stabbed him, and the beautiful red streaks entranced her. He stalked toward her, a wild animal ready to pounce.
Bring him down, Rosalind, Cleo whispered. And this time, don’t let him get out.
Rosalind let Druloch’s magic sing: blackbirds trilling, wind through the leaves.
The scent of death coiled around her.
“Rosalind,” Drew strode closer, confident as a god.
The deep timbre of his voice made her falter. Was there a reason she shouldn’t hurt him?
Kill him, Cleo chanted. Kill him.
As he closed in on her, she swung for him, landing a hard punch on his jaw. Her returned the blow, and she staggered back, pain splintering her skull. His strength was otherworldly.
People must pay for their betrayals, Cleo sang.
With a roundhouse kick, Rosalind slammed her foot into Drew’s head, reveling in the sharp crack of foot against bone. He grabbed his skull.
Time to finish your work, Cleo trilled.
Drew stumbled back, dazed. His vulnerability fully enraged her. Cold wrath erupted, and she charged for him, knocking him flat onto the rock. She straddled him, raining down one punch after another onto his face.
“You killed my sister, you sick fuck!”
Fury consumed her, and the more she hurt him, the more her anger sharpened, cutting her from the inside out like a living thing.
It’s not enough. I will never be able to hurt you enough.
She grabbed a rock, ready to bash the bastard’s skull in—but fast as a night wind, his hand shot out. He gripped her wrist so hard she thought he might crush it.
“Rosalind,” he said, his voice quiet.
Not Drew’s voice—Malphas’s voice.
She caught her breath, staring down at eyes that slowly shifted from green to a pale gray, the color of starlight.
A silver aura curled around him, sliding over her skin like silk. He smelled of lilies.
She stared down at Malphas’s bloodied face, and the fury rushed from her body like a mountain stream. Cuts lacerated Malphas’s entire body, and blood spattered his forehead.
She gasped, dropping the rock. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Malphas.”
He groaned. “I thought you said you were okay.”
“What?”
He swallowed hard, as if trying to manage his pain. “You should have been able to control the rage better.”
“I’m so sorry,” she sputtered. “I thought you were Drew.”
The black clouds were still unleashing a punishing torrent of rain.
His lip curled. “You’ve used too much magic. I asked you if you were losing your mind. Cleo’s taking over, isn’t she?”
Guilt pierced her chest. “She’s been a bit loud, yes.”
Malphas’s still gripped her wrist—hard. As he stared at her, his eyes darkened, then trailed down her body, studying the tear in her gown.
Uh oh.
His other hand found its way to her waist, fingers trailing over her exposed skin, a touch so gentle she couldn’t stop herself from arching into it.
“Malphas,” she said. “What are you doing?”
His fingertips trailed lower, just over her hipbone.
Cleo’s aura whirled around her, green and vernal.
Ambrose touched me like that once, a long time ago.
I told you I wanted you to kiss him. And you didn’t listen.
Now, I take control.
Lightning flashed, and as it did an image slammed into Rosalind’s mind.
She stood at the edge of a room. Candles cast wavering light over dark wood walls and tapestries. Guests sat around the table, dressed in fine slips the color of spring flowers.
A feast spread over the table: a roasted goose, a suckling pig, spiced wines, crisp biscuits, fresh baked bread, and steaming pies.
Her stomach rumbled. So this is how the rich live.
She didn’t belong here. Alchemy didn’t pay like it should, and she’d come in a gray, threadbare gown, with yellow cowslips threaded through her hair instead of jewels.
A hand touched her shoulder, and she turned to see him, her breath hitching in her throat. That beautiful, perfect skin. The high cheekbones and soft lips that she ached to feel.
Ambrose. The only reason she’d come, to see those beautiful green eyes—the color of her god.
He grabbed her hand, pulling her into a stairwell where they were completely alone. He moved so quickly, so fluidly, and in the next moment his arms were around her. His fingers gently gripped her hair, tugging her head back, and he pressed his mouth against hers.
His lips were soft and supple. Slowly, his tongue flicked against hers, sending shivers of pleasure through her. Hungrily, he tugged down the front of her dress, his fingers skimming her breasts…
Would he think her a harlot for giving in so easily? Surely she was supposed to play some sort o
f game—but she didn’t want him. She only wanted Ambrose…
“Ambrose,” she moaned.
“What?”
The vision faded, and once again, she felt the hard rain pounding her skin. Her lips hovered just inches above Malphas’s.
His eyes widened. Suddenly, his fingers were tightening on her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length. “Did you say Ambrose?”
Her mouth went dry, and she lurched away from him. What the fuck am I doing? She leapt to her feet. All at once, her body began to ache from fatigue. “Sorry. I was confused.”
Still on the ground, he pushed up onto his elbows. He looked almost entirely healed. Gods below. How long had they been kissing for?
He knit his black brows. “I’m sorry. I’m still stuck on this. Did you say Ambrose?”
He looked deeply insulted. She couldn’t imagine anyone had ever whispered the wrong name over his lips before.
Cleo’s aura whirled through her mind. The fun is just beginning.
Rosalind pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Be quiet.”
In a blur of silver, Malphas rose. “You’re out of your mind.”
She shook her head. “I thought you were Ambrose. It’s fine. Things have… I just have too many memories.” She could tell she was rambling, but couldn’t quite stop herself. “Caine’s and Cleo’s, mine and Miranda’s… But once I sleep… I need to sleep like the dead, under that heavy dirt where my sister lay.”
Stop talking, Rosalind.
His silver aura whipped around his body. “You told me you were okay.”
Icy rain poured down her skin in rivulets, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I just need some sleep.”
He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth as if he was disgusted. “Is that so?”
Tomorrow, I take you to Ambrose, Cleo whispered. You won’t whisper the wrong name then.
Rosalind squeezed her eyes shut. “I need some bluebells to mute the voice.”
The air seemed to chill around Malphas, the shadows thickening. “We’re going back to Ninlil. Don’t even think of using any more magic until you’re ready again. If the shield needs to be strengthened, I’ll do it myself. Understood?”
Blood Hunter (The Vampire's Mage Series Book 3) Page 18