Magic Hunter: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Vampire's Mage Series Book 1) (15 page)

A
s they stood
in Salem Woods, the wind rushed between birch and ash leaves, and Lilu circled overhead.

Caine stood across from her in the grove. Before they’d left, he’d created a new outfit for her—black jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Of course, because he was Caine, they fit her like a second layer of skin. But at least if the spirit wanted to jump his bones again, Rosalind wouldn’t end up with a skirt around her waist.

Caine looked down at her. “When you take off the ring, I want you to imagine the mage’s aura inside your mind. Concentrate on trying to condense it smaller, so it no longer takes over your whole body. I want you to imagine it as a ball of light, right here.” He touched her sternum, and her skin sparked at his touch.

“Is that how you stay sane?”

“Eventually I figured it out,” he said. “Are you ready to start?”

“I thought we would learn some spells first.”

He shook his head. “The mage already knows the spells. I’m going to prompt her to think of them, and then you need to draw on her knowledge.”

“What if she tries to assault you again?”

“I don’t mind.”

“I don’t want it to happen.” Sure, Caine was beautiful, but it wouldn’t be
Rosalind
kissing him. It would be the mage. On top of that, she knew better than to get involved with an incubus. “What happened outside Elysium was just strategic so you could heal. And anyway, we’re here to learn magic so we can save the captives, not to get distracted by having fun.”

“Fine. If you’re worried about what the mage will do, I can tie your arms and legs.”

Just like Mason used to do when he beat the crap out of me.
“No way.”

“It would help keep you safe. If she wants to do something against—”

“—I said no. The whole idea of it makes me want to stab you with another hawthorn stake.”

He glanced at her shaking hands. “Gods below. What’s wrong with you?”

Shit
. Why was this coming up now? She didn’t need to dredge up her screwed up childhood with Caine. “It doesn’t matter. I’m just overtired. Let’s get on with what we need to do.”

“Fine. I’ll keep control of the spirit. And when we get home, you need to eat and sleep, because you seem like a mess.”

“It’s been a rough night.”
Understatement of the year, right there.

“You’re a warrior. Your enemy has made a move, and its time for you to fight back. Muster your mental strength and take off the ring.” He closed his eyes, marshaling his patience. “Please take off the ring when you choose to.”

She twisted the ring around her finger, trying to work up the nerve. “If I seem like I’m burning, will you touch my shoulder or something? It seemed like your aura helped stop the pain.”

“Of course.”

After closing her eyes, she yanked the ring from her finger, shivering at the tumultuous presence of the aura. It swirled through her body, skimming over her skin with a tingling and buzzing. Tendrils of green unfurled in her mind like spectral ferns.

Rosalind tried to curl them up again, forcing them together into a small sphere, but the aura wouldn’t obey. In the heavy spring air, her body vibrated with exertion.

The spirit was winning, forcing her to move, making her open her eyes. She stared up at the stunning incubus. Pearly moonlight filtered through the oaks, dancing on his smooth skin, glinting in his pale eyes.

The spirit wanted Rosalind to run her hands over his strong, tattooed arms, his perfectly muscled chest. But it wasn’t just how he looked. Something in his aura drew her closer, like a gravitational pull. The spirit
knew
his aura.

She took two steps, slipping her arms around his neck, reveling in the warmth coming off his body. She thrilled at his sharp intake of breath when the spirit pushed Rosalind’s body against his.

She studied his face, and the ethereal silver aura spiraling skin. Another soul lay inside the incubus, one the spirit knew well. “Richard.”

His muscles tensed, a hint of confusion in his beautiful eyes. “Cleo.” He gripped her forearms. “Rosalind. You need to control the aura.”

His touch sent thrills through her body, but the spirit looking out through her eyes didn’t like the name
Rosalind.

“That’s not my name,” she warned, her voice laced with venom, no longer her own.

His grip tightened. “Rosalind. I need you to gain control. Close up her aura.”

The aura surged through her body, and her voice came out low, strangely accented. Her arms tightened around the incubus. His body was rigid against hers, and she tried to pull his head down for a kiss, but his perfect lips were out of his reach.

He swallowed hard, closing his eyes, and took a steadying breath. “Rosalind. Crush the aura.”

The spirit forced her to stand on her tiptoes, but she couldn’t reach his mouth. “Richard. I missed your touch, but I like your new body better.”

Caine pulled her arms from his neck, gently pushing her back. “Rosalind. Get control of the aura.”

The green tendrils spiraled through her in whirlwinds, and she tried to get control of them, but the spirit was stronger. It began speaking in Angelic, and Rosalind’s body hummed with the growing aura, a thrilling rush of power.

At her words, the incubus’s eyes widened, and he spun her around, wrapping his strong arms around her. He clamped a hand over her mouth to silence her.

She didn’t like being pinned. Rage burned through her nerves, and she bit into his fingers, drawing blood. He released her, and she broke into a run through the forest, the damp air whispering over her skin. This was Cleo’s true home, her world before the evil ones snatched it away from her..
How would you like the flames, Rosalind?

The spirit forced her to stop and hold out her arms. Somewhere inside, Rosalind screamed, trying to regain control. The scent of burning flesh filled the air, and in the next instant, searing pain ripped her apart. Flames blazed from her limbs, and she loosed an agonized scream.

It must have been only a few moments before a pair of masculine arms surrounded her again, cooling the flames.

In the next instant, Caine slipped the iron ring on her finger, and Rosalind let out a long, shuddering breath. Her body trembled. She’d only been on fire for a few moments, but the ghost of her torment still whispered through her nerve-endings, reverberating in her skull.

“Fire,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was so quiet she hardly heard him.

Her breath rasped, and he held her from behind, his skin smooth over muscled arms.

Exhausted, she melted into him. “She called you Richard.”

“I never knew my spirit’s name before,” said Caine. “But as soon as she said it, I recognized it.”

“You said the name Cleo.”

He took a deep breath. “Richard knew her. There was some connection between them. I’m guessing they were lovers.”

“She was starting to chant a spell. What did it mean? Why did you stop her?”

His arms loosened. “An aphrodisiac,” he said, his voice husky. “If she’d finished it, I wouldn’t have been able to control what happened next.”

“She has a one track mind.”

“Can you blame her? It’s probably been hundreds of years since she inhabited a human body. She obviously wants to make the most of it.”

She stepped out of his arms, turning to look at him. “That was a total disaster. She
wanted
me to burn. She was vengeful, and I had no control over her. I don’t think I’ve ever failed at anything so shockingly. I’d rather fight the Brotherhood with weapons.”

“That won’t work.”

“
This
won’t work.” Her nerves were frayed, the memory of pain still whispering through her. “I can’t control her. She’s too powerful.”

“It was only your second try. Aurora was right. You need to rest and eat. You won’t be able to gain control of anything when your body is falling apart.”

She dug her palms into her eyes, trying not to think of what might be happening to the captive incubus. “We need another plan.”

B
y the time
they reached Caine’s house, the rising sun stained the sky a pale coral, streaked with steel. Caine opened his front door into a quiet house.

In his living room, someone had drawn the curtains closed, and only a faint glow filtered in through the edges, dimly lighting the living room and kitchen.

In the darkness, Rosalind could just make out that Aurora had fallen asleep on the sofa, while Tammi dozed in an armchair, wrapped up in a blanket.

Caine trod quietly into the kitchen, motioning to one of the chairs that stood by the marble island. “Have a seat. I’m going to make you some food.”

He lit a candle, and it cast a wavering light over the countertop.

Her stomach grumbled, and she wasn’t going to argue with that declaration. “You said you didn’t know how to cook.”

“I lied.” He pulled a bowl of eggs and another of ricotta from the refrigerator.

At the sight of actual human food, her stomach rumbled. “What are you making?”

He cracked an egg into a bowl. “Something you may remember from Maremount. Or not, in all likelihood.”

She straightened, suddenly alert. “I don’t remember the food. The one thing I remember clearly is your eyes.”

He paused for a moment, his hand hovering in the air, clutching an egg. “You remember me? Are you sure?”

“I remember a boy with eyes your color. They’re quite memorable.” Her gaze roamed over his muscular arms, and an uncomfortable thought twisted in her gut. “You promise you weren’t my stepbrother?”

He worked the eggs and ricotta into a batter. “Would it bother you if I was your stepbrother?”

He loves making me uncomfortable.
“You know it would be weird. I mean, after I healed you.”

He opened a metal canister, scooping out a measure of corn flour into the batter. “You can calm your fluttering heart. I’m not your stepbrother. The few remaining incubi are enslaved in Maremount. All the succubi have been killed. In fact, the entire city is built around the Lilitu fountain, where the last remaining succubus was killed. Her petrified head spews the town’s drinking water. A few incubi were kept around for the pleasure we provide. You and I were not of equal standing in the Atherton household.”

“Atherton.” It struck her suddenly that she hadn’t ever known her own birth name. “Rosalind Atherton.”

“
Lady
Rosalind Atherton. It has a nice, noble ring to it.”

“And you were some kind of
slave?
I don’t remember a boy in chains.”
That didn’t suit his imperious nature at all, though neither did the fact he was cooking her breakfast. She watched as he pulled out a steel skillet, turning on the burner to melt a hefty dollop of butter. “How could they keep you enslaved?” He was far stronger than any human.

He shot her a perplexed look. “Magic. I wore an iron collar, charmed by a powerful sorcerer. Your father.” He salted the batter before pouring a thin layer into the hot pan.

Her stomach turned. Every new tidbit she learned about her parents only made her dislike them more, but she was still desperate for more information. This was the first conversation with Caine where he was actually willing to divulge information. Still, she knew if she pushed too far, he’d shut down. “If you’re half-incubus, does that mean your father was a full incubus? Did you know him?” she asked.
Shit.
That was probably too personal.

The look he shot her iced her veins. “Just because I’m making you food and teaching you magic doesn’t make us friends. You need to keep up your strength so we can achieve our objectives. That’s all.”

“I didn’t say we were friends,” she shot back, too exhausted to come up with a better retort. His rebuke stung, though she had no idea why. He’d already warned her not to trust him, and he’d offered nothing more than an uneasy alliance. That was all. “I get it. You’re very mysterious and you don’t like personal questions. So tell me about my own parents. Why were they so eager to experiment on us?”

He flipped her cakes onto a plate and slid them across the table. “They wanted you to be the most powerful mage Maremount had ever known. It was a time of turmoil for the city, and they wanted to take advantage of it.”

“Lovely people,” she said drily. She picked up a fritter, biting into it, her mouth exploding with the rich, buttery tastes. “Mmmmm.”

Thunder cracked outside, and the room darkened further. She glanced at Caine, his skin warmed to a deep gold by the candlelight. “Tell me, is Maremount still in turmoil?”

He leaned on the countertop, holding a fritter. “No. A war broke out a few years ago. Eventually, the monarchy was overthrown.”

“Were you involved in the fighting?”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “Is there a reason you need to know that?”

She swallowed a mouthful of her breakfast. “Right. No personal questions. But do you know what happened to my parents?”

He paused for a long time, and she almost wondered if he hadn’t heard her. “We didn’t stay in touch.”

Considering they’d ruined her life in the quest for power, she wasn’t sure she even wanted to see them. Still, she felt an overwhelming urge to ask Caine what had gone so horribly wrong that her parents had shipped her off to the Brotherhood. But the last time she’d tried to pose that question, his eyes had turned black, and he’d nearly murdered her. She took a large bite of the corn cakes, and her mouth rejoiced. “This is the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten. I think I could die happy after this.”

His face changed, and he flashed a brilliant smile. She’d never seen him smile so genuinely before, and his beauty nearly took her breath away.

Rosalind swallowed. “Was I nice to you and the other servants?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “You used to dump things on the floor just to have the servants clean them, and you only referred to them as
Servant,
never by name. But you were only four, so it was hard to take you seriously. Especially since you couldn’t pronounce anything properly, so it sounded like you were calling them
swabents.
”

She shielded her eyes with her hands.
Oh, gods. I was a nightmare.
“Please tell me you’re joking.”

Something struck her about the way he’d phrased that. He’d referred to the servants in the third person. Was he not among them?

He swallowed a bite of his fritter. “Truthfully, you were a horrible, spoiled brat.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter to me. You were only four.”

Imagining herself ordering around servants, even as a little girl, made her cringe. “Maybe it’s a good thing my parents had me sent out of Maremount so I didn’t turn into a full-blown asshole.” She finished her breakfast in silence, and glanced down at her crumb-littered plate. “I’ll clean up.”

“No need,” he said. He whispered a spell, and crumbs disappeared off the dishes.

Thunder cracked outside, and a hard rain battered the house’s old wooden exterior.

Rosalind rose, stretching her arms over her head. “Where should I sleep?”

He beckoned her to a stairwell. “My room is upstairs. Since I’m feeling generous, I’ll let you take my bed.” As they climbed the stairs, he shot her a sly look. “Don’t worry. I’ll sleep in the study.”

It was such a big house, she was surprised there was only one bedroom. “Are you sure?”

“You need proper rest if you’re going to learn magic.”

Right. It was all part of meeting their objectives.

At the top of the stairs, he led her into a hallway. Dark wood arched above, and sharply peaked windows overlooked sailboats bobbing in the stormy harbor. Lightning speared the water, followed by a loud crack of thunder. The sky was black as smoke.

She shivered. “There’s only one bed in the house?”

“No one else has ever been here. There was never a need for more than one bed. I do all my entertaining in my other apartments.”

“I guess with all those vampire women trying to kill you, you’d need a secret hideout.” She almost felt a pang of jealousy, but that was stupid. He was an incubus, and there was nothing real between them—not even friendship.

“Precisely.”

She followed him past several closed doors to the end of the hall. “What about human lovers? Isn’t that where you draw your energy from?”

“They want to kill me too. Only, human women aren’t much of a threat.” He stopped to open a large oak door, glancing back at her. “Though you did put up a good effort with the hawthorn stake. I’ve never had a woman come that close before.”

He held open the door, and she stepped into a tidy room. A four-poster mahogany bed took up most of the hardwood floor. The soft gray blankets and pillows looked inviting, and she wanted to sink into them. Black curtains framed tall windows. Rain hammered the glass panes.

Lanterns hung from the ceiling, carved with stars and moons. Bookshelves covered one wall, crammed with faded tomes. A painting of an imposing stone castle hung on the other.

Rosalind pointed to the picture. “That doesn’t look like the castle in Lilinor. What is it?” She was stalling. For some strange reason, she didn’t want him to leave. In fact, she really wanted to slide her arms around his neck again and find out exactly what he did to drive all those women so crazy.

“You don’t recognize it? It’s the Throcknell Fortress in Maremount. It dominates the city.”

“Have you ever been inside?”

He stared at the painting. “No.”

So much for that conversation.
It obviously had some meaning to him, but—of course—he wasn’t up for sharing.

“Okay,” she said. “I don’t suppose you have an extra toothbrush?”

He walked over to a small table by the window, set with a pewter cup and pitcher. “Another thing you don’t remember from Maremount.” He poured a pale green liquid into the cup, handing it to her. “Charmed sage water. All you need to do is drink it.”

She took a sip, rolling the clean taste around on her tongue. He pulled the cup from her, sipping from it before setting it down. “Don’t worry about our attack on the Brotherhood. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“What if you can’t control it?”

“Don’t say that. It’s not a good idea to dwell on your worst fears right before you sleep.”

“That’s not my worst fear. I don’t want to to die, but my worst fear—”

He stepped closer, touching a finger to her lips. “Not before you sleep. You’ll have bad dreams. I’m a priest of the night god. I know these things.” He lowered his hand, studying her. “And anyway—if you solidify your worst fears in your mind, they can be used against you. Some demons are just as awful as the Brotherhood have said.”

She took in his smooth skin, and the lean, muscular physique molded by years of leading Ambrose’s army. It was no wonder women lost their minds over him. Part of her wanted the release he could give her—the quieting of her raging thoughts, a short respite from her most disturbing memories. She wanted to feel his calming aura flood her body, and more than that, she wanted to feel his perfect mouth on her skin.

But getting involved with an incubus was a terrible idea, and he’d just said it himself: he wasn’t her friend. He was only working with her because it was what Ambrose wanted, and because it served Nyxobas’s goals. If she started to think of him in any other way, she’d only turn into another one of his jealous maniacs.

And more than that, she could never forget the darkness lurking inside him. Even if she’d changed her mind about the sharp divisions between good and evil, demons were fundamentally
different
from humans. A part of any demon’s mind would always see humans as toys to manipulate and use.

“Get some sleep.” As he walked to the door, he whispered a spell, and the curtains closed, shrouding the room in darkness. He gently closed the door behind him.

She crossed to the bed, pulling off her boots. She still wanted to know who Miranda was.
Caine’s girlfriend, probably.

She slipped out of her pants, leaving them in a crumpled pile on his floor.
No point mulling it over now.
She was a warrior, and had a job to do.

She slid into his bedsheets, pulling the duvet tight around her shoulders.

She closed her eyes, and the pounding rain lulled her into sleep. Her mind offered up an image of Bileth, stalking through Salem’s winding streets on a pale, white horse, hooves clopping against the pavement. As he approached, a drumbeat sounded, slow and deep, rumbling through her gut.

Rosalind stood with Caine, holding his hand in the cool moonlight, while Bileth walked closer, his eyes burning red. When he grinned, Rosalind felt horns grow from her head, her teeth lengthen. A knife appeared in her hand. Bileth howled, and forced Rosalind to jam the knife into Caine’s neck, plunging in and out until blood soaked her body.

Her eyes snapped open, and she gasped, her heart pounding
.
Caine had warned her about dwelling on her worst fears before sleep.

What if Caine knew the incubus she’d hurt?
Her pulse raced. She’d have to tell him. A part of her wanted to tear through the hallway and confess everything, but she was terrified of what he’d say.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes again. This time, she imagined Caine’s strong arms around her, his aura caressing her skin, soothing her muscles. His bed smelled like him—the heady scent of fresh earth after a rainstorm. She shouldn’t let herself think of him like that, but she was too exhausted to fight it. The sensation of his presence was so vivid that it almost seemed real, like his perfect body was pressing against hers in a warm embrace, and she melted into the illusion.

She drifted off to the sound of the rain battering the windows and steep-peaked roof. She dreamt of a hawthorn grove, with a ground blanketed by falling petals.