vampires mage 02 - witch hunter (21 page)

Rosalind opened her mouth to scream.

Instantly, a cool, soothing presence rushed over her skin, caressing her body. Muscled arms wrapped her in a masculine embrace. She was dimly aware of a strong body carrying her, chasing away her nightmare. Her eyes slid open, bleary with sleep, and she stared at the smooth skin on Caine’s neck.

Bending down, Caine gently laid her on the bed. She stretched her arms over her head, staring as Caine carefully unzipped her boots, pulling them off. She’d felt it like it was her own death, but this couldn’t be the man who would kill her.

His gaze met hers, and the way he looked at her made her pulse speed up. He leaned in closer, his eyes lingering over her clothes, still soaked in Hunter blood.

He traced his fingertips over her shoulder blades, whispering a spell. His light touch sent shivers over her skin, and the Hunter’s blood lifted off her body.

“I was having a nightmare,” she said.

He leaned in closer, stroking her cheek. “I know. You can tell me about it when you wake up. Don’t think about it now.”

He smelled amazing—that beautiful, loamy scent. It was hard not to stare at his exquisite beauty: his pale eyes and full lips, his eyebrows dark against his skin. She felt electrified under his gaze. A lock of his dark hair hung in his eyes, and she pushed it away, listening to his sharp intake of breath.

He let his eyes run up and down her body like he was memorizing it, and she had that feeling again, that he could see right through her black clothes and her lacy blue underwear to her bare skin, taking in every curve.

She stared at his beautiful mouth. Reflexively, she licked her lips, and he caught the movement, his eyes flashing hungrily. She wanted his lips on hers.

There were a million reasons she should turn away from him—not the least of which was his angry outburst just minutes ago—but right now she didn’t care. She just wanted to feel his bare skin against hers. She was burning up in her clothes, and she wanted to strip them off.

Caine slid his hand under her shirt, then his fingers roamed just below her waistband, sending a hot thrill through her belly. “I want to explore every inch of your body.” When his thumb grazed the hollow of her hip, just along her hipbone, her back arched. Her breath quickened. He leaned in closer, his breath warming her neck. “But tonight isn’t my night.” Another slow, lazy stroke of her hip, lighting her on fire with his touch. “Tonight, I need you to sleep.”

He pulled his hand away, and she nearly groaned with frustration.

Staring into his pale eyes, she took a deep, shuddering breath. Her whole body was damp with a light sweat.
Gods below
. She was burning up.

She bit her lip, trying to marshal some control over herself. “Whatever you say, Caine. But in the meantime, I’m not sleeping in leather. It’s far too hot.” She unzipped her pants, sliding them off her sweat-dampened legs. They dropped to the floor.

Caine’s eyes flashed with pale light, his gaze slowly tracing up her bare legs, lingering on the thin blue lace of her underwear. She pulled off her top, and heard his breath catch. His carnal gaze devoured her, and she could see him warring with himself for control.

Rosalind leaned back, letting him get a full view of her body before she slid under his covers. “Are you going to sleep next to me again?”

His eyes fixed on her, he exhaled slowly. He rose, pulling off his shirt.

She swallowed hard, gazing at his muscled torso—the tattoos of constellations, the moon’s cycle, and the pointed alchemical symbols that covered his skin. For the first time, she noticed a tattoo on the inside of his arm that stood out from all the others. Not a magical symbol—more like a thin, sharp blade with a design at the top.
I’ll ask him about that later, when I can remember how to talk again.

He pulled off his pants and, clad only in his black boxer briefs, crawled in bed next to her.

With him so close to her, electricity still rippled across her skin.
I am never going to sleep with him next to me.

“Sleep,” he said quietly. He reached out to touch her forehead, and his aura caressed her skin, soothing her muscles like a gentle wind.

She felt her eyes drift closed—but when she did, an image slammed into her mind like a brick: Caine, bestial and enraged, driving an iron nail right into her heart.

She gasped, her eyes flying open.

Caine propped himself up on his elbow, dark hair hanging into his eyes. “What the hell was that?”

Swallowing hard, she stared at him, clutching the covers by her shoulders.
Maybe it’s time to come clean.
Her heart banged against her ribs. “I’ve been having the same nightmare. Repeatedly. About you.”

His entire body went rigid, and his aura sliced the air around him. “Tell me.”

“It’s not something from the past. So I guess it’s from the future.”

His eyes flashed. “Tell me.”

She looked down at her shaking hands and took a deep breath. “There are four stakes on a shoreline. It’s night, and there are waves lapping the rocks. The stakes are old and rotted, like an ancient pier. Then you show up. You’re with a woman, and she looks like me. Only older.” She shook her head, her pulse racing. “I thought it was me.”

Caine had gone completely still, and shadows seemed to draw up behind him, cloaking his body. Only his wintry eyes shone.

Rosalind bit her lip, suddenly unsure of herself. “But I figured maybe it’s not me. Maybe it’s Miranda.”

Not a single muscle seemed to move on Caine’s body. His eyes were locked on her. He wasn’t pressing for details anymore, and she had a strange sense that he might know what was about to happen.

“You take the woman—me or Miranda—and thrust her up against the stake.” The words came out in a rush. “She’s scared. And then you shove a nail into her heart. You nail her to the stake, so she’s stuck there, dying.”

Caine’s eyes darkened. A chill fell, frosting the room. Goosebumps rose over Rosalind’s skin, and she suddenly felt completely cold in nothing but her underwear.

“Go to sleep, Rosalind,” he said softly.

She frowned, disbelieving.
That’s it?
“What do you think it means?”

“It means you need sleep if you want to fight whoever is tormenting you.”

Now that she’d finally got this out in the open, he just wanted her to shut up about it? “I thought dreams meant something. Do you think you’re going to kill Miranda? I feel like this deserves a theory, at least.”

The gray returned to his eyes, and he lay down, folding his arms behind his head. “I’m going to kill you if you don’t stop talking. When day breaks, we have to transport into another dimension and fight our way through the wilderness, probably plagued by bone wardens and all manner of lethal creatures, and then defeat an unknown enemy to rescue your sister. We’re not going to stay up all night discussing dreams that probably don’t mean anything.”

“Right. If it didn’t mean anything, why did you go all weird and shadowy?” Her whole body was tense
.
“This is feeling a lot like when Orcus pulled the book out of my hands and threw it in the fire because he didn’t want me to know things.”

“I really liked you better when you were just sitting there in your lacy blue underwear and looking at me lustily. With your mouth shut.”

Anger flared, and she glared at him.
Dickhead.
She rolled over, her chest tight.
No way am I going to sleep now.

She could feel Caine shifting in the bed. He wrapped an arm around her. She had half a mind to elbow him away, but he folded her into the curve of his body so gently, his smooth skin pressing against hers. Her hair stuck to her damp cheek, and he brushed it off her face.

“Sleep, Rosalind,” he whispered.

Despite herself, his soothing aura whispered over her skin, sending her into a deep sleep.

She dreamed of a starlit field of wildflowers, completely devoid of stakes.

Chapter 21

Rosalind woke, tangled in Caine’s bedsheets. Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes and surveyed the room. The first rosy blush of dawn glowed through the dome, washing away the darkness—and with it, the strangeness of the night before.

Caine was nowhere to be found, but someone had left a silver tray on his dining room table.

Rosalind stood, letting the sheets fall, and crossed the floor. She pulled off the top of the tray to find a pot of herbal tea on the silver platter next to fresh bread, butter, and jam. Her stomach rumbled, and she sat in the chair, slathering a pat of butter over the bread. She ate her way through three chunks of bread, washing them down with the tea. Hunger and fatigue wouldn’t slow her down today.

When her belly was full, she stood, crossing to Caine’s silver-framed mirror. At least she looked strong and rested now, but she still had ragged hair.

I’m not going to turn up to fight my estranged family looking like I’ve clawed my way out of the grave.

She grabbed a towel, a fresh bra, and a pair of underwear from the bag of clothes—red this time, the color of war—then crossed to the bath. Leaning down, she turned on the faucet, then stripped off her underwear. She let them drop to the floor and stepped into the bath as it filled.

She leaned back, breathing in the steamy air. She had no idea what lay ahead for her in Maremount—only that she would have to confront her own family. Her parents were dead. But how many other Athertons would she find in Ekur Fortress?

She grabbed the lavender soap, lathering up her legs and under her arms. The shallow bath water filled with pale lilac bubbles. She scooped up a handful of water, splashing it over her skin to rinse off. All the aches and pains of yesterday had subsided. For the first time in a while, her body felt amazing.

Stretching her arms above her head, she rose, and the soapy water slid off her skin.

Stepping from the tub, she snatched the towel from the floor. She dried herself off, folded the towel over the tub’s edge, then picked up the pair of bright red underwear and slipped into them. Just as she bent over for the bra, Caine pushed open the door and Lilu swooped into the room.

Instantly, Caine glanced away—an unexpected move from an incubus. She hooked the bra behind her back.

Caine’s shoulders looked rigid, and he was already dressed for battle, a sword slung over his back. Under one arm, he held a small arsenal of weapons: a belt, a sword, and several sheathed blades. “Will you be half-naked around me all the time from now on?”

“Since when did you get shy?” She frowned, picking up her pants. “I’m just getting dressed.”

“It’s hot as Emerazel’s inferno out there. Dress accordingly.”

“Fine.” Rosalind crossed to the red bag Kaila had brought days ago, which still lay on the floor.

“We’re leaving soon. Malphus will be up here in five minutes.”

“I’ll be ready.” She rifled through the bag and pulled out a thin black dress. Lifting it above her head, she slid into the silky fabric, pulling it down to her mid-thighs.

Once she’d covered herself, Caine looked at her again, his body relaxing. “Any idea how to use a sword?”

She pulled on her boots. “I’ve trained with wooden sticks. And I watched you fight.”

“Hmm. There’s a battle fury spell you can use if you need it.” He slid a sword and scabbard across the table.

Her body began to buzz with nervous energy. Who, exactly, would she be fighting today? Her sister? Her own brother?

Her hands began to shake a little, and she strapped the scabbard over her back. Within the next few minutes, she’d slipped a weapon belt around her waist, then crammed it with blades.

Caine began pacing. “What’s taking Malphus so long?”

Rosalind peered at herself in the mirror again.
Perhaps it’s time for some war paint.
She crossed to Caine’s alchemical table, surveying the small pots of colored powder—the gold dust and colored pastes. “Is any of this dangerous?”

“Not really, no. Metals and berries mostly.” He frowned. “What are you planning to do with it?”

She rubbed her finger into a pot of berry-colored paste, then dabbed it onto her lips. “Getting ready for battle.” She smudged a bit of pink on her cheeks, then dusted a gold powder for highlights. She stared at her reflection.
Perfect.

When she turned, Caine was staring at her.

“How do I look?” she asked.

“Beautiful. As you did before you rubbed ox-blood paste on your lips.”

She frowned. “I don’t suppose you can fix my hair situation?”

“Are you joking?” he asked. “I rip people’s hearts out of their chests for fun. I singlehandedly killed an entire legion of hellhounds in Prussia. I don’t fix hair.”

“Fine.” She glanced down at the iron ring he’d made for her. “Let me get a little magical practice in with one simple spell.” She pulled off the ring, letting Cleo’s aura wash over her in a rush of mossy green magic. Gritting her teeth, she seized control of it, forcing the magic into a ball. When she’d pressed it down into a marble-sized sphere, she touched the ends of her hair.

“Cleo,” she said out loud. “Give me a spell for my hair, please.”

Why on earth would I do that?
Cleo snarled in her skull.

“I’ll give you something you want in return.”

Take me back to Lilinor,
Cleo whispered.
Keep that damned ring off your finger, and let me live again.

Rosalind nodded. She could promise Lilinor.
Why not?
I just need to get through this day first.

She almost heard a faint peal of laughter, and in the next moment she was whispering the words to a spell about a goddess named
Sif.

Silky locks slid over her shoulders. With a tug of rebellion from Cleo, she slid the ring back on her finger and opened her eyes. “See? I can do things on my own.”

“Good,” Caine said. “I don’t give a fuck about the hair, but you’re getting better control over Cleo.”

“I had to promise something to her in return. She wants me to take her to Lilinor.”

He frowned. “Lilinor? Why?”