vampires mage 02 - witch hunter (20 page)

Malphus, meanwhile, stared right at her; Rosalind’s chest ached.

The younger incubus was so much like Caine: the same straight nose, black eyebrows, and sharp cheekbones; same wintry eyes framed by black lashes; same beautiful, full mouth. But Malphus’s expression was softer, and his skin was the color of porcelain instead of pale gold. He had large, poet’s eyes, without Caine’s calculating glint.

She swallowed hard. She hadn’t thought about what she was going to say to him.
What do you say to a man you tortured? Sorry for the drowning?

“Sorry about the…” she stammered. “Sorry about the drowning.”
Shit.
She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry about everything.”

Free from the chains, Malphus shook out his arms, rubbing his wrists. “You didn’t remember me,” he said. It seemed half a question, and half an accusation.

“I don’t remember much from Maremount—mostly glimpses of Miranda.” She reached out and touched his hand lightly, and he jerked it away. “But I do remember you. I remembered someone giving me flowers. I didn’t know it was you, until after…” She bit her lip. “Until after the…”

“Until after she tortured you,” Aurora cut in. “Gods below, you stammer a lot.”

Wordlessly, Malphus turned, walking through the woods.

Aurora sighed, following after him. “That was awkward.”

As she trudged through the woods, Rosalind’s whole body was tense.
Switching sides in a war isn’t exactly easy.

Caine whispered a spell and the forest thinned before her eyes, replaced by the field of wildflowers and the stone building that towered over the pond.

She stepped into tall grasses, the air fragrant with the scent of wildflowers, and her thoughts whirled back to the scaffold. She was gaining in her ability to control Cleo’s magic, but the aura had started to churn out of control when Cleo had laid eyes on Randolph Loring. Whatever her history was, the woman absolutely hated Hunters.

Maybe she’d prove to be a useful ally after all.

Chapter 20

I n Caine’s bedroom, Rosalind sank into an armchair, her muscles screaming. Candles cast long shadows over the walls, shadows that twitched and danced like unquiet spirits.

Rosalind reached inside her shirt, running her fingers over the small divots in her flesh where the harpy had sunk her talons.
Malphus isn’t the only one in rough shape
.

Still, the incubus wasn’t meeting her gaze. Her chest ached; she wanted to help him, but to him she was basically a monster.

Caine nodded at his bed. “Sit down, Brother.”

Grimacing, Malphus sat the edge of the bed.

Caine crossed his arms. “How did you end up with the Brotherhood a second time?”

“Erish poisoned me before she left Lilinor,” Malphus said. “A legion of keres transported me, unconscious, to the Chambers.”

Caine’s gaze flicked to Rosalind. “So the Brotherhood
are
in league with the demons.”

The concept burned into Rosalind’s mind. For nearly a hundred thousand years, Hunters had been serving Blodrial, their sole purpose to rid the world of the Angelic language. Their whole reason for being was to destroy the demons that served other gods.

And now—for the first time—Randolph was changing the rules. With magic, the Brotherhood would be nearly invincible.

Their motivations were clear. Malphus, Rosalind, Tammi, Miranda, Caine—they were all scapegoats. They were the monsters—the raveners—who would haunt people’s nightmares, the specters on whose bones the Brotherhood would build their empire.

But what the hell was Erish getting out of this? “I don’t understand,” Rosalind said. “Wouldn’t a succubus hate Hunters?”

“She does,” Malphus said, his pale eyes boring a hole into her. “With good reason.”

“But she recognizes power when she sees it,” Caine added. “And the more the demons attack, the greater the Brotherhood’s power grows. Demons win. The Brotherhood wins. The only losers in the scenario are ordinary humans.”

Rosalind shook her head, trying to puzzle it out. “The Brotherhood are creating a new empire, a new reality. They hate magic, but they can always change the definitions of things to suit their purposes—just like they redefined what it means to be human. You’re not human if you consort with demons. And it’s probably not magic, anymore. It’s an
enhanced warfare tactic
, or something like that.” She crossed her arms. “Angelic isn’t the only language that can create reality.”

Caine’s fingers curled into fists. “This is going to make them much more formidable to target.”

Malphus winced, rubbing his shoulder. “I’m going to need to heal.” His gaze flicked to Rosalind—still angry, but there was something else there, too. Hunger?

“What did they do to you?” Caine asked. “Take off your shirt.”

Grimacing, Malphus complied, pulling off his torn gray shirt. Rosalind gasped at the sight of his skin. Unlike Caine, no tattoos covered his muscled chest, but his perfect porcelain skin was marred by ragged scars and a few open wounds. Dark shards riddled his body, and it looked like fragments of iron.

Caine growled, his aura flaring around him. He shot a glance to Aurora. “I need you to go outside and find some yarrow. Now.”

Aurora stood, rushing from the room.

Caine turned to Rosalind, watching her carefully as if considering something—probably something to do with the fact that she’d once put Malphus in a similar state.

Rosalind took a deep breath, her fingers curling. “Let me help.”

Caine’s face darkened. “Help how, exactly? I don’t think you should go anywhere near him.” He glanced at his brother again; Malphus’s face had paled to the color of milk and he lay back on the bed, his breathing labored. “I’m going to find someone to heal you. Just give me one minute.”

Caine rushed from the room, slamming the door behind him, and Malphus clutched his chest, closing his eyes.

Rosalind rose, her legs shaking from fatigue. “Well for fuck’s sake. We could take the iron out in the meantime.” If she could help him, maybe it would be the first step toward redeeming herself.

Malphus’s eyes snapped open, darkening to black. “Don’t come anywhere near me.” The anger in his voice tightened her gut.

Despite the anger on his face, she took a step closer. She was already growing used to the demon-death-stare from Caine. “I’m good with a blade. We had to learn how to remove bullets in the Brotherhood. I’ll get the iron out.” She desperately wanted to take his pain away, to make up for what she’d done as a Hunter.

His breath was labored. “You want to jam a knife into my flesh again.”

“I’m going to help heal you.”

His black eyes locked on her, and his silver aura beckoned her closer. His magic slid over her skin like silk, scented of lilies.

He was definitely looking at her like she was his next meal. She swallowed hard, glancing at Caine’s alchemist table. “I’m going to fix this,” she said. She rushed to the table, her gaze roaming over Caine’s collection of tools. She pulled out a long, thin blade with a silver hilt.

Malphus’s black eyes were on her as she crossed the room to him, the blade in her hand.

She took a deep breath as she approached.
I’m good with a blade, but I’ve never done this on a real person before.

“Lie back,” she said, in what she hoped was a soothing and authoritative tone. No one wanted a hysterical lunatic standing over them with a knife.

“Try to resist cutting any deeper than you need to.”

“I’m not a sadist,” she said quietly. She sat at the edge of the bed, leaning down to examine his injuries. “I didn’t enjoy hurting you.”

She scanned his chest. She’d start with the one by his shoulder. It looked the worst, the skin around it swollen and purple—possibly necrotic.

A shiver ran up her spine. She was pretty sure the bastards had rammed iron into an old wound—the one he’d had when she’d tortured him in the prisons.
Might as well get that one out of the way.

She swallowed hard, and realized that she needed to come at it from above. “This isn’t the right angle,” she said. “It will be easier if I’m on top of you.”

“Fine,” Malphus said, closing his eyes.

Rosalind hooked a leg over him, straddling his waist. From here, she could lean down and cut the thing right out. She leaned closer, inhaling. Despite his prison sentence, he had a clean smell—like soap and sage.

Rosalind looked at him. “Maybe Cleo knows a spell to numb the pain. This is going to hurt. A lot.”

“I’m a demigod,” he shot back. “I don’t do painkillers. I have my pride.”

Okay, then.
Rosalind gripped the knife’s hilt. “Are you ready?” When he nodded, she added, “Like I said. This will hurt.” Carefully, she slid the blade into his wound, to the very bottom of the shard, and circled around slightly until she could scoop it out.

Malphus closed his eyes, grimacing as she forced the iron upward until it protruded enough that she could grab it between her fingers. He grunted as she pulled it from his flesh, and she threw the gore-streaked piece onto the floor.

They each let out a long, slow breath. Malphus opened his eyes, his lips tight. “Can you get the next one over with?”

Rosalind scanned his athletic chest. Three more small chunks of iron were lodged in his body, the skin around them red and swollen. Carefully, she worked one iron shard after another out, tossing the blood-drenched fragments on the floor.

When she’d finished, she ran her eyes over his skin. “Is that it?” Rosalind asked.

“That’s all the iron,” Malphus said, a hint of color returning to his cheeks. She could already feel his aura strengthening, slipping over her skin like silk. Something about the way he was looking at her transfixed her, and his hands roamed up to her waist.

Her pulse raced. Of course. This was how incubi healed—but she hadn’t bargained for this part of his healing when she pulled the iron out.

The door slammed open, and Rosalind’s head turned. Caine stood in the doorway, his eyes flashing with pure ice. The room chilled, the long shadows deepening across the walls. It took only an instant for Caine to cross the room and grab her off Malphus. He pushed her against the wall, his fingers tight on her shoulders. “What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was a low snarl.

Her heart pattered fast, and she stared into his wrathful face. Obviously, he didn’t trust her around his brother, not after what she’d done. She’d seen him angry before—but not like this.

Except in my dream.

Fear slid over her skin at the completely inhuman look on Caine’s face. “I was just healing him.”

“Healing him? And what happened in the torture room—was that some kind of fucked up foreplay to you?”

She shoved him away, glaring at him. “I was just taking the iron out. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Malphus was sitting up now, completely ignoring his brother and looking at her like she was completely naked.

Rosalind cleared her throat, the tension in the room so thick she could hardly breath. She was getting the impression that coming between two incubi was a very dangerous idea. She folded her arms, shooting a sharp look at Caine. “Did you find another human for him?”

Breathless, Aurora ran into the room, clutching a fistful of yarrow. “I got the herbs. What’s happening? Is Rosalind going to heal Malphus?”

“No.” Caine was doing that eerie thing again where he didn’t move, and only his aura whipped around him. “Not Rosalind. She’s still in a weakened state from her ill-advised battle with the harpy, and I’m going to need her power when we go into Maremount.” He turned to Malphus. “There’s another human woman for you downstairs.”

Malphus rose, his eyes still on Rosalind as he crossed the room. “I know my brother has good taste.”

Caine nodded at Aurora. “Take him to the Orion room downstairs. There’s a bath for him there, and you can staunch the bleeding with the yarrow. Lola will heal him. She’s very good.”

Who the fuck is Lola?
Rosalind crossed her arms.
And why does it matter?

As Malphus and Aurora left the room, Rosalind went back to the armchair and dropped into it. She desperately wanted to rest her burning limbs, but her muscles had gone completely tense. Caine’s fit about going near his brother stung quite a lot. “What was that all about? You know I’m not going to hurt him now.”

Caine crossed to a table below his window and uncorked a bottle of wine. He poured two glasses. “I just didn’t want you near him. That’s all.” He moved to her, handing her one of the glasses.

She took a sip, trying to blink away her tears. Caine’s angry outburst, combined with her complete exhaustion, had her feeling overwhelmed. The battle with the harpy, followed by the use of all that powerful magic, had completely sapped her energy. She took another sip of wine, her muscles finally relaxing.

Under the pale, glowing light of the starry dome, her eyelids drifted closed, and her breathing began to slow. She didn’t want to dream, but she couldn’t fight it anymore. Sleep enveloped her.

Her mind spun with silver, gold, copper, and green auras, and when they disappeared, she was staring at a stunning vault of stars. Frothy waves lapped at the rocky shore. A warm sea breeze whispered over her skin, soothing her, and it smelled just like Miranda. She started to turn slightly, but something tugged in her middle, keeping her from turning all the way.
I don’t want to see what’s going to happen.

Pale blue wildflowers, like the ones Malphus had given her, dappled the seagrasses. She glanced down at her toes, sunk deep into the sand.

But a cold feeling of dread began to crawl over her skin.
I know what’s coming
.
This is where I die.
She braced herself, forcing her head to turn. That familiar wave of horror slammed into her. Four stakes stood by the shore, their wood old and rotted in the sea air, like decayed piers.

As sure as death, Caine appeared in a vortex of menacing silver and shadow, moving like a storm wind. He gripped the woman and slammed her against the stake. Her brown eyes—Rosalind’s eyes—snapped open with horror.