Magic Hunter: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Vampire's Mage Series Book 1)

by C. N. Crawford

  Josiah glared at her, rolling his shoulders. “I don’t need a gun.”

  He uncorked a right hook to Rosalind’s head, but she ducked, and his swing failed to connect. He threw another punch, and his fist grazed her head. Gods damn it. His arms were much longer than hers. This was not a fair fight. What had Aurora told her? That she was awfully preoccupied with fairness, and sometimes bad things happen to good people.

  She just needed to keep her distance until the right moment. She backed away, weaving away from his blows until he started to overextend his reach. When he pitched his body forward too far, she slammed her foot into his gut with a front kick, and he doubled over. She used that moment to ram an elbow into his lower back, bringing down the full force of the blow right into his kidney. Josiah grunted, trying to right himself. She threw a right cross, connecting hard with his temple, and he staggered.

  Adrenaline coursed through her veins. “Screw you, Josiah.”

  As Josiah stumbled back, she scanned the floor for the gun. This was the moment she needed to end this, or get out of there fast. She heard the sound of a gun cocking, and turned to find Miranda pointing the barrel in her face.

  Tears streamed down Miranda’s face. “I don’t want to do this. But I know it’s what Josiah wants. And he’s the only one who can keep me safe.”

  Horror coiled through Rosalind. “Miranda. You don’t have to do this anymore. You’re free. You can use your magic now.”

  Josiah straightened, pulling the gun from Miranda’s hands. “She knows what’s good for her. She’s going to chain you to the stake.” Josiah pulled out a small metal spray can and soaked Rosalind with liquid. The sharp smell of gasoline burned her nostrils. “You broke one of my teeth,” he said evenly. “And you stabbed me.”

  A pale, pink light glowed through the oculus. The sun was beginning to rise, and for the first time Rosalind realized there was someone else in the room. A stream of rosy light fell on Randolph Loring, who sat on one of the benches, watching.

  “Are you here to watch the show?” Rosalind asked him, her legs trembling.

  Randolph leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The flames will purify you. They illuminate the truth.” He lifted a hand to the sunlight. “Lux in tenebris lucet: light shines in the darkness.”

  “Stand in front of the stake,” Josiah said, still pointing the gun. “Miranda will bind you.”

  She glared at him. Maybe she could get close enough to kick him right in that injured leg. “No fucking way.”

  Josiah pulled the trigger, and pain exploded through her thigh. She moaned, and he unleashed another shot. Agony ripped through her stomach, and she clutched the bleeding wound. I’m going to die here. She staggered back, stumbling over the wood that surrounded the stake.

  Josiah drew closer over the marble floor, and her mind blazed with pure panic. Run, Rosalind.

  “Stand by the stake,” he said through gritted teeth. “That’s how it’s supposed to happen.”

  Another gunshot ripped through her ankle, and she whimpered, nearly collapsing. Stand up, Rosalind. Show him you won’t bow to him. Blood seeped from her stomach.

  Randolph rose. “This is your chance to atone, Rosalind. This is the only way you will keep your soul. Better that you burn now than suffer an eternal torment in one of the shadow hells.”

  The door slammed open. Caine stood in the entrance. His black eyes glinted with ancient, primordial rage.

  His sterling aura radiated around him, filling the large space. His magic enveloped Josiah’s body, making him tremble. Josiah still held the gun, but his body stood immobilized. Clutching her stomach, Rosalind shuffled over the floor. She threw a punch to his temple, as hard as she could, though pain screamed through her gut.

  Wrath burned through her blood. “You’re a monster, Josiah.” A part of her wanted to bash his skull into the floor, but she didn’t have the strength, plus she’d lose the moral high ground. Still, she could get in one more punch. With a grunt, she slammed her fist into his throat, and he emitted a choking sound.

  “Stop it!” Miranda screamed, pulling at her hair. “He promised to protect me!”

  Rosalind stumbled back, and the pain she’d been ignoring flooded her body. She clutched her bleeding stomach, ready to collapse.

  She watched with awestruck fascination as Caine’s magic forced Josiah’s arm to bend. Grunting, Josiah pressed the barrel against his own head.

  “Stop!” Miranda shrieked.

  Josiah’s face reddened, sweat streaking his temples. He cocked the gun and pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed off the high stone ceiling, followed by Miranda’s anguished screams—almost as if she cared about her torturer. Sobbing, Miranda ran from the room, slamming through the oak door.

  Rosalind glanced away, unwilling to look at the carnage. When she forced herself to glance back, she shuddered at the sight of Josiah’s crumpled body and the gore pooling across the floor in a crimson puddle.

  Caine glanced at her, and concern glinted in his eyes as she struggled to stand. He stepped over Josiah’s corpse. Something moved in the shadows behind him, and her gaze darted to Randolph. She’d forgotten about him. There was something in his hand—

  “Caine!” She shouted.

  Randolph hurled a stake right for Caine’s chest. Rosalind’s hand flew to her mouth, and her world stopped as she watched Caine’s tall frame crash to the floor by Josiah’s. Caine’s silver aura snapped into his body.

  “Caine!” With pain fragmenting her leg, she tried to hobble to him, but Randolph blocked her path.

  Stepping over Josiah’s corpse, the Brotherhood’s leader aimed a flamethrower right at Rosalind’s gasoline-soaked clothes. “Your demon lover murdered one of my finest Guardians. It’s okay. Josiah wasn’t a true believer. He didn’t belong with us. But I did want to watch you burn—not for my own pleasure, of course. But because it is Blodrial’s will.”

  Fear tightened around Rosalind’s heart like a honeysuckle vine, crushing the life out of her. With the flamethrower pointed right at her chest, Randolph was about to set her ablaze. She’d felt the flames before—when Cleo had taken over her body—but this time, her skin would blister for real.

  Cleo. The mage was her one hope.

  Rosalind pulled off her ring and hurled it at Randolph. The moment it was off her finger, Cleo’s aura exploded from her body, and Rosalind’s mouth began to form ancient, Angelic words.

  Randolph’s eyes bulged, and his flamethrower clanked against the marble floor.

  He held up his hands, screaming in Latin, “Exorcizamus te, omnis immunde spiritus, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii.” His words seemed to shield him from the tendrils of Cleo’s vernal magic that curled around him. His body glowed with a golden light, and he backed over Josiah’s body, chanting. “In nomini et virtute Domini nostri Blodrial!”

  Cleo’s temper flared. She would protect this body from the evil ones. Cleo chanted in Angelic, and her magic lashed out at him. She wanted to hurt him, to force his guts out of his throat, but those words he spoke shielded him.

  They made Rosalind’s body shake, as though he was forcing the aura out of her. Hot agony coursed through her. Still, he continued to retreat, his face reddening with the effort, and Cleo felt a thrill of raw power as he scuttled from the room like a bug.

  When the door slammed shut with finality, Cleo turned her attention to the beautiful incubus on the ground, his breathing labored. Richard was in there somewhere, but the incubus’s body was dying.

  Trapped somewhere within Cleo’s powerful vernal magic, Rosalind’s mind screamed save him.

  She walked closer. Ignoring the pain that wracked her body, she knelt down, her blood pooling on the floor and mingling with Josiah’s.

  Cleo pulled the stake from his chest. Caine gasped, his back arching with the pain. Still conscious. She lay next to him, stroking her hand over his chest, and pressed her mouth to his. His perfect lips parted, warm and soft, and he kissed her deeply
. Hungrily, he drank in her energy, and his arm tightened around her back. At his intensifying touch, heat shot through her body.

  The incubus’s aura strengthened deliciously, swirling through her belly, caressing her skin. He pulled her on top of him, the kiss energizing him.

  She had no idea who she was, or where she was, only that she wanted more of him.

  She nearly gasped when he pulled away, looking into her eyes, searching.

  “You’re Cleo, aren’t you?”

  Cleo needed his mouth on hers, and moved closer to kiss him again, but he held her at bay, staring at the blood streaming from her shoulder. “You’re hurt. I need to get you out of here. Say the spell with me, Cleo. Rosalind will die if I don’t heal her.”

  He reached out, snatching the iron ring from the floor before he returned to her. Wrapping his arms around her, he chanted a spell for teleportation, and she joined in, their auras mingling together with an intense, euphoric power.

  Chapter 33

  In the celestial room, Caine carried Rosalind across the room. Thick, starry curtains blocked out all the sunlight, and candlelight danced over the room.

  Caine gently lowered Rosalind to the bed, propping her up on the pillows. With the iron ring back on her finger, she gripped her shoulder, no longer able to block out the agony.

  Excruciating pain blazed through her stomach and collarbone, and blood poured from her wounds.

  She heaved a sigh of relief as she heard Aurora and Tammi’s conversation pierce the walls from the next room. Thank the gods—they’re safe.

  Caine pulled off her jacket, and the pain took her breath away as she moved. “I need to heal you—now. You’re losing a lot of blood.” He ripped the front of her shirt open, unable to hide the fear flickering across his features when he saw her stomach.

  “Miranda ran off,” Rosalind said, her mind twisting with confusion. The blood loss made her dizzy, almost as if she could feel her heart rate growing fainter. “She thought Josiah was her protection.”

  “Don’t worry about that now.” Caine traced his fingertips around the wound, then closed his eyes, chanting in Angelic. His aura whispered over her skin. It pulsed through her body, slowly drawing the pain out of the wound.

  She took a slow, shuddering breath. “What happened to Malphus?”

  “I handed him over to Aurora before I went looking for you. I was nearly too late.” He scanned her body. “You need to take off your pants.”

  She leaned back on the bed, unbuttoning the top of her pants as he pulled off her boots. Grimacing, she slid her pants down past her thighs, and Caine tugged them off the rest of the way. Blood streaked her legs, and Caine winced as he looked at her ankle. It was obviously in rough shape.

  “You killed Josiah,” she said.

  “I can’t imagine you’d object at this point.” He ran his fingers over her ankle, and his aura assuaged the pain. She watched with fascination as the skin healed over, the wound shrinking.

  “Not even a little.”

  His fingers traced higher up her leg, his touch tingling over her thigh, and the pain from the last gunshot drifted away at his warm, soothing touch. As he finished healing her, she took a deep breath, her body still throbbing with a faint ache.

  “That should do it,” he said, his gaze trailing over her body.

  “I just want to clean the blood off before I find Tammi. She tends to freak out about blood.”

  “Give me a moment.” His fingers still lingered on her leg, and as he chanted, his aura whispered over her skin, sweeping away the blood and gasoline. Her body thrilled at his touch. When he finished, she was suddenly very aware that she wore nothing but the red underwear, and that Caine’s hand rested on her thigh. Her heart pounded harder, and her breath sped up as she looked into his perfect face. His soft, smooth lips had just been on hers, and—

  The door slammed open, and Aurora stood in the entrance. “Seven hells. I heard someone’s heart pumping hard, and I thought you might be injured, but no. We just barely got away from an evil cult with our lives intact and you two are stripping off to get it on with each other.”

  Caine turned, pulling his hand away from Rosalind’s leg.

  “I was healing her.”

  Aurora narrowed her eyes. “Is it just me, or are you two awfully fond of ‘healing’ each other? You know, you could just shag like normal people and not subject yourself to broken bones first.”

  Rosalind pulled her ripped shirt closed. “Josiah shot me.”

  “Josiah’s a twat.” Aurora cocked her head. “You know Caine doesn’t actually need to touch you to perform magic, right?”

  Caine rose, frowning. “It works better that way, actually.”

  With her body now healed and clean of blood, Rosalind slipped back into her pants. She tied the remnants of her shirt in a knot in front of her bra. “Is everyone okay?”

  “Fine, yes,” Aurora said. “Though I nearly burned to death in the sunlight on the way home. Next time you’re planning on rescuing me from the death cult, please do it closer to midnight. And Tammi’s not quite ready for this level of excitement. I had to give her two cocktails to stop her from babbling.”

  Tammi strolled in, her face now fully healed and slightly flushed. “There you are! What the hell happened to you? You were supposed to meet us outside the Chambers.”

  “Josiah,” Rosalind managed. It was all she could get out right then. If she divulged the full details, she’d break into hysterical sobs—and she wanted to do that when she was alone.

  Tammi frowned, approaching across the stone floor. “Caine said you found your twin. Where is she?”

  Rosalind shook her head. “I found her, but she wasn’t right. Mentally. I think Josiah warped her mind. The Brotherhood has a way of doing that to people.”

  “So what happened to her?” Aurora asked. “Ambrose will want to know.”

  Rosalind blinked, fatigue overtaking her. “She ran off. She seemed to think Josiah was her savior. My guess is that she’s wandering around Cambridge, ranting about her protector.”

  “That’s some serious Stockholm Syndrome shit,” Aurora said.

  Right now, Rosalind couldn’t handle the guilt—the crushing weight of having sent her sister to the torture chambers.

  Then again, maybe Rosalind was just as much a victim of the Brotherhood as Miranda had been—after all, the Brotherhood had a way of warping a person’s mind.

  “Is Malphus all right?” Caine asked.

  “Orcus is tending to him,” Aurora said. “What’s our plan now? How long are we staying?”

  Caine rubbed his sternum where he’d been stabbed. “Rosalind and Tammi should stay here for now. You and I will return to Lilinor with Malphus when night falls. We’ve just provoked an all-out war with the Brotherhood, and we need to report to Ambrose.”

  Aurora put her hands on her hips. “He won’t be happy that we lost Miranda.”

  Caine glanced at Rosalind. “We’ll find Miranda again. I promise. But right now I’m going to check on my brother. You should all get some rest.”

  Without a backward glance, he stepped out of the celestial room, and the girls followed behind him. Tammi closed the door, leaving Rosalind on her own.

  Alone at last, she threw herself on the bed, her body burning with exhaustion. Caine was an amazing healer, but even he couldn’t fix everything.

  She pulled down the covers, climbing into the bed before blowing out the candles.

  She closed her eyes, and the dreams that flickered through her sleep were of a girl whose face looked just like her own, of dandelions and bluebell flowers, and sea foam running over her toes.

  When she woke in the darkness hours later, she was almost certain someone had brushed a soft kiss across her cheek.

  Chapter 34

  Rosalind heated the silver kettle in the cavernous stone fireplace, breathing in the strong, herbal aroma of Orcus’s coffee. Since she’d met the night demons, her schedule had become completely screwed up.
Strong coffee at seven p.m.—in a vast, stony living room—seemed a perfectly reasonable idea.

  Tammi sat cross-legged in a mahogany chair, stretching her arms over her head. “I’ve never in my life slept as well as I have here. I don’t know if Orcus is lacing our tea with opiates or if I’m just suited to sleeping during the day, but I feel amazing. What did Orcus say this place was called, again? I want to take up residence.”

  Rosalind sat across from her. “Abduxiel mansion. And, apparently, we’re welcome here as long as we’re in good standing with the night demons. It’s kind of like a sanctuary for Nyxobas’s allies.”

  Tammi sipped her coffee. “I wouldn’t mind if a gorgeous vamp or two came in. I’ve read through half the library by now, and it’s full of epic poems about hellhounds and angels of death. Not really my thing.”

  “I’ll ask Orcus if he can find us some billionaire romances.”

  Tammi crossed her legs. “Speaking of romances—what’s the deal with you and Caine?”

  “The deal is that he’s an incubus who flirts with everyone. Oh, and I nearly tortured his brother to death. We’re not really well-suited.”

  “After Josiah, I’m not sure you can be trusted to choose your own boyfriends.”

  Rosalind flinched. “You have a point.”

  Josiah, for all his idiocy, had managed to lure her into trusting him. And what he’d done to Miranda had been even worse.

  Though Orcus had forbidden it, Rosalind had been sneaking out during the day to search Cambridge’s streets for her sister. She’d been desperate to feel that briny aura tingling over her skin, but she hadn’t sensed the slightest glimmer. Then again, if Miranda was still wearing the iron ring, Rosalind wouldn’t be able to sense her at all.

  Footsteps echoed through the room, and Rosalind turned to see Orcus, his head covered by a hood. “Rosalind. There is someone here to see you.”

  Her pulse began to race, and she stood. Miranda?

  Rosalind rushed through the door into the main hall, hurried over the marble floor, and pulled open the oak entrance. A tall figure lingered in the doorway, and the rosy sunset cast him in silhouette. Caine. Her breathing quickened.