Magic Hunter: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Vampire's Mage Series Book 1) (9 page)

“That’s just because you’re an incubus.”

“No, it’s because magic
doesn’t
deform the human body. When will you understand that the Purgators are wrong about nearly everything?”

“I
felt
this thing corrupting me. I felt the evil when Ambrose yanked off the ring.”

“You’ve been trained to fundamentally reject magic, and that’s why it feels evil. You’ve been hiding from it for most of your life, and that means you’re at war with it. You need accept that it’s a part of you now.”

If he thought she could master this particular fear, he was wrong. The spirit’s mind was the seventh circle of hell. Of
course
she was scared. Fear was a normal human emotion, absent only from demons and psychopaths. And while Caine fit at least one of those categories, Rosalind still felt a natural, human terror at the idea of losing her mind.

Even so, it wasn’t like she’d admit
to being scared. She had her pride.

She lifted her face. “If anyone should be scared of me taking off the ring, it’s you, since I’m pretty sure this mage is a psychotic murderer. But if that’s what you want, then fine. Just stand back so I don’t rip your spine out through your throat.”

Nice. I’m starting to talk like a vamp
.

Caine smiled. “Don’t get cocky. You speared one demon prince, but I’m not overly worried about my chances in a fight against you.”

Now she kind of hoped the mage would do a tiny bit of damage. She sucked in a shaky breath, and slipped the ring off her finger.

A
s soon as
she slid the ring off, the second soul inside her opened like a flower, and another presence filled her mind.

“Druloch calls to me,” it whispered. “I live within the tree’s shadows.”

Someone looked out at the world through her eyes, and sent energy through her legs, forcing her to run. Bright, silvery light pierced the oak leaves above her. Elms towered over the forest floor. In the bright moonlight, they cast long shadows—the woods’ fingers.

The forest teemed with life. Hawthorn petals carpeted the mossy earth. Around the path, blueberry bushes grew, and wild fox grape vines climbed over trees, their branches full of sparrows and blackbirds. The rich, peaty scent of the woods hung thick in the air. But there was death here, too, and sacrifice. Something drew her into the trees’ shadows.

She slammed to a halt, feeling the vibrations of the surrounding woods. A flutter of movement caught her eye from a tangle of roots on the ground—black wings, a squawking bird. In the shadows, a crow ripped out a sparrow’s entrails, and the tiny bird screeched in agony.
The crow was eating it alive. Lost somewhere in the aura, Rosalind felt sick. She wanted to wring the sparrow’s neck to end its misery.

But the thing inside her relished the electrifying cycle of life and death.
In the dark parts of the forest, the strong feed on the weak.

The spirit wanted to feed.

It forced her to her knees, and made her plunge her fingers into the ground. Vernal power coursed through her veins, and a green aura swirled through her body. This mage wanted her to bury herself in dark moss.

I’m in here,
her mind screamed
. My name is Rosalind
.

The mage forced back her head, scanning the woods. Sage-colored algae grew on felled tree trunks. In the distance, an elk tore along a path. The trees’ spirits breathed around her, trunks swelling like bellows, the air thick and sweet with their whispered breath.

Power charged her body, and the mage compelled her to rub the dirt over her arms and chest. The rejuvenating power of fertile soil.

Her mind shrieked with the invader’s thoughts.

The hawthorns. The sharp claws of lust.
The fire. You led me to the fire. You will burn.

Somewhere inside this chaotic mind, Rosalind tried to make herself stand.
Rosalind
… The name grew fainter.

Something was wrong. Rage tightened around her heart like a cinquefoil vine. The moonlight burned too strong, dazzling through the leaves, blinding her. The smell of burning flesh filled the woods. Within moments, agony ripped her apart, her skin burning, blackening, and cracking. Pain splintered her mind until the world tilted.

The mage was burning her body.

Something else needed to die to stop this. Her blood boiled, and around her, oak leaves blazed like candles, lit with the witch’s fury.

Oh gods
. The agony warped her mind. Someone was here. An agent of the night god.
Break his ribs. Rip his heart from his chest. Drink the blood to cool your flames.

She leapt up from the ground, her pain blinding, and slammed into the mage, her fist ramming into his skull. After knocking him to the ground, she jumped on his chest, hands slipping around his throat.

But the flames faded, her skin cooled, and a long sigh slid from her. Now the pain was just memory. She could see him now—so beautiful, his eyes a pale gray. The mage wanted him, and now Rosalind wanted him, too. She ran her fingers over his chest. The spirit forced her to lower her mouth to his and lick his lower lip, pressing her body against him, burning with need as she kissed him—

He slammed the ring back on her finger, and the thing withered in her mind, its presence only a faint echo.

She was lying on top of Caine, her hands fisted into his tousled hair and her mouth pressed against his. His soft, warm lips were electrifying, sending a different kind of heat through her—one that she liked. She forced herself to inch back, and stared into his eyes, trying to catch her breath.

Caine’s breath warmed her neck. He murmured, “Apparently, your spirit wanted to get her hands on me, but not for fighting.”

Her dress was torn, hiked up to the waist. Heat warmed her cheeks, and she said the first thing that popped into her head: “This is why I don’t wear dresses.”

His eyes blazed with a pale light, and he trailed his fingertips down her back, leaving a trail of tingles. “If you’re going to straddle demons in the woods, you might as well show a little leg.”

Oh, gods.
She’d just pushed him onto the forest floor and assaulted him. And he’d clamped the ring back on her finger. For an incubus, that must have taken an awful lot of self-control—or maybe she wasn’t his type.

Caine glanced at the mud and dirt coating her body, and whispered a spell. As he spoke, his aura whispered over her skin. She watched the muck lift into the air.

As much as Caine’s aura soothed her, the thought of the mage inside controlling her body made her stomach turn. She unclenched her fingers from Caine’s hair, gazing into those glacial eyes. “You shouldn’t have made me take it off. I don’t want that thing inside me, forcing me to do things against my will. Just like Bileth.”

He frowned. “Forcing you to do horrible things like kiss me.”

“Exactly.” Seven hells. If the other novices knew what she’d been getting up to, they’d celebrate her downfall. The golden Hunter, covered in alchemical tattoos and mud, straddling an incubus in the Salem woods.

His hand slipped around the back of her neck; at his touch, another electrical charge sparked through her skin. “And yet, I don’t see you jumping off me very fast.”

Shit.
He was right. Embarrassment warmed her face. She leapt up, tugging down her hem. Though, really, it was probably a little late to reclaim her dignity now. “I don’t know what happened. I couldn’t stop the witch.”

He propped up on his elbows. “You can’t expect to master it right away. You need to be stronger than the spirit.”

A ghost of that crazed blaze still burned in her mind. Her fingers trembled as she brushed the leaves off her dress. “That’s not the kind of war I know how to fight. She’s completely crazy. I’m not taking that ring off again. Not until I get the spirit out.”

“She’s absolutely not crazy. Jumping on top of me was the first sensible thing I’ve seen you do, and honestly the first time I’ve seen you enjoy yourself.”

She shivered. Didn’t he realize? The agony had been unbearable. “My body was on fire.”

He flashed a smile, and she knew he was thinking of the kiss.

“I don’t mean with lust. I mean my skin was literally charring, and so were the trees. My body was blistering with flames.”

He arched an eyebrow. “When you were on top of me?”

“No, before that. I was angry. Enraged. And everything was aflame. And then when I—when the mage jumped on you, I guess she felt something else. The pain subsided, and it felt calm again.”

“See? I’m magic.” He rose, pulling a stray leaf from his hair. “Maybe the flames were a vision of your future if you give yourself back to the Brotherhood. I don’t know what else it would be. Your spirit isn’t a fire mage. Ambrose said you tasted of hawthorns.”

Rosalind nodded. “She’s a forest mage. That explains all the tree stuff. I should have felt it through her aura, but it’s too intense for me to even think straight.”

“My spirit worshipped Nyxobas. Yours was aligned with Druloch, the god who lurks in the woods’ dark shadows.”

“The mage was drawn to the darkness. Something about the cycle of life and death. But the flames were so strong. She must be using fire magic.”

“It’s not possible. There are three shadow gods—sea, night, and forest. They’ve been warring with the gods of fire and light for millennia. That means there’s no way you’re connected to fire magic.”

The sea god.
A chill whispered over her skin.
She’d scented a sea-witch on the Thorndike Campus. Could that mage be connected to all this? Something told her not to mention it to Caine. It was entirely possible that Rosalind was responsible for yet another mage’s capture, and she had no way of knowing if that mage had been evil or just another poor idiot caught up in things beyond her control. She wanted to change the subject. “I’m not well versed in the shadow gods and fire gods. I’ve only been taught about Blodrial, the one true god.”

“Blodrial fell from heaven after the celestial wars, just like the others. The only thing that sets him apart is that he doesn’t believe humans should speak Angelic.”

Of course they shouldn’t. She’d just seen evidence of what the Angelic language could do to a human mind. “Right. Because it’s evil in human bodies, and it screws people up. Blodrial is right.”

“He’s against it because the gift of magic to human kind was the original sin that banished our gods from heaven. The gods are all trying to free themselves from their punishment.”

She’d never heard this version before. “And what is their punishment?”

“The celestial gods—those who won the war, trapped them in matter. The shadow and fire gods are trying to gain freedom by collecting human souls, competing with each other. But Blodrial thinks he can repent by stamping out magic on earth. Erasing the original sin. None of them can accept their punishment, and we all lost something. Even humans.”

“What did we lose?” She was grateful for the temporary reprieve from thinking about the flames.

“Ignorance. Knowledge comes with a price. When humans learned to speak the Angelic language, they also learned about something else—their own mortality. Pedestrians have a story about a snake and a fruit tree that covers that concept.”

“Don’t eat from the tree of knowledge, or you’ll die.”

“Exactly.”

She rubbed her throbbing temples. This was all too much for her now. She didn’t want to think about her own death, not after she’d felt so close to it just moments ago. “Okay. So you have no idea why I felt like I was on fire?”

“No idea. It never happened to me. I had a whole lot of rage and bloodlust, but no flames. Still, as long as you stay near me while you learn to control the aura, I can help. You said it didn’t hurt when you were near me.”

He still wasn’t telling her the whole story. “Why are you and Ambrose so invested in my power?”

“Unlike the Brotherhood, we want you alive. Isn’t that enough information for you?”

“No. It isn’t. And I don’t get it. How are you able to stay sane with two souls?”

“I had to accept the mage, and then bend him to my own will. I had to become stronger than him. Now I use his knowledge and power, but he doesn’t control me.”

Shuddering, she thought of her blackening skin. “If I don’t wear the ring, she’ll consume me from the inside out. I won’t be me anymore.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

She wanted to see Tammi and Josiah, and walk the halls of Thorndike University. She didn’t want to live in a world where people casually tossed human hands onto the floor, and she definitely didn’t want to live with a violent lunatic invading her brain, forcing her to do things against her will.

How could my own parents have done this to me?
Magic had obviously twisted their minds into insanity. “I don’t want to be a mage. I don’t want to be like you. I need to at least try to get my old life back.”

“The Brotherhood will not give you your life back.”

“Josiah will help me. He’s my Guardian.”

“That’s absurd. No one in the Brotherhood is trustworthy.”

“
I’m
in the Brotherhood. And anyway, am I supposed to believe you’re trustworthy? You still won’t tell me what Ambrose wants me for.”

Josiah simply
had
to help her. Even if she couldn’t rejoin the Brotherhood, she needed to claw some kind of normal life back.

His voice grew cold. “Your Guardian obviously hasn’t guarded you very well so far, but it’s your own life if you want to throw it away. I hope the burning you endure at the hands of the Brotherhood is somehow less painful than the illusion of burning that so terrifies you. Though it’s highly improbable.”

He turned, striding down the overgrown slope, and she followed, trying to maintain her balance on the slippery rocks. At the bottom of the hill, Caine paused to look at a small, flowering shrub.

His hand hovered over a cluster of white flowers before he plucked them from the plant. Wordlessly, he handed them to Rosalind, then stalked into the parking lot.

She twirled the delicate stem in her fingers. Hawthorn blossoms.