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

M
agic Hunter

Book 1 of the The Vampire’s Mage Series.

Copyright © 2016 by C.N. Crawford.

All rights reserved.

N
o part
of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

A
hard rain
drenched Rosalind’s black clothes, plastering them to her body like a second skin. Despite the downpour, she pressed on over the pavement, skulking past the library. Her thoughts roiled through her mind like the dark storm clouds above.

She really wasn’t up for killing someone tonight.

Not someone,
she reminded herself.
Something.

Either way, she’d much rather be spending the night at one of the dorm parties—warm and dry, drinking cheap beer, flirting over red plastic cups. That was what most people did on a Friday night, right? Beer pong. DJs. Hook-ups with hot guys.

Sadly, none of that was an option tonight.
Someone
had to keep the demons from slaughtering Thorndike’s student body.

The new iron walls built around the campus had failed to keep the monsters at bay, and two students had been killed in the past month. And to make matters worse for her, personally, if Rosalind screwed up tonight’s mission she could kiss her life’s dream goodbye. No more demon-hunting for her.

She pulled a hawthorn stake from her belt, whispering the Brotherhood’s motto: “
Lux in tenebris lucet.”
Light shines in the darkness.

Though right now she could barely see through the pouring rain.

She couldn’t let the nasty weather stand in her way, though; she really didn’t want to lose this job. For one thing, as a member of the Brotherhood, she belonged to an ancient and noble tradition of Hunters: the protectors of humankind. Not to mention that she got really nice boots out of the deal, and the Brotherhood kept her well-supplied with money and lethal gadgets.

While checking over her shoulder, she almost tripped over a collection of votive candles.
A few skittered across the pavement. She scanned the shadows to see if she’d attracted any attention, but nothing moved.

As she pressed on, she mentally cursed the students who left all that crap lying around campus—as if candles or pictures of angels could scare away demons. Superstitions were for the desperate, a way of giving the illusion of control—not that Rosalind was in a position to criticize. No one in the world could pry her lucky ring from her finger.

Stake in hand, she continued on, striding past Thorndike’s new mascot: a vampire effigy, sewn from black felt, impaled on a wooden stake. Some art students had thrown it together after a few local attacks, and the fabric sagged in the rain.

She hurried down a winding path, and thunder rumbled—almost as if nature wanted
to ratchet up her nerves—like she wasn’t stressed out enough.

Tonight’s assignment wasn’t just a low-level goblin or a boggart, like the usual jobs she’d had in the past few years. She was supposed to eliminate a redcap, a powerful demon of the mountain goddess.

Rosalind wasn’t thrilled about the prospect. Redcaps couldn’t live without human blood, and this one had slaughtered two cashiers in the Somerville Market Basket just yesterday, gnawing through their guts while shoppers stared in horror over packaged cupcakes and Twix bars.

Even aside from the supermarket murders, she had a good reason to be nervous. She’d already screwed up
two
assignments—both vampires—and now her whole future was on the line. One more failure, and she’d be kicked out of the Brotherhood—set adrift in the world of ordinary people who relied on angel pictures for protection. And she was fairly certain a redcap wasn’t any easier to kill than a vamp.

She paused to survey the lawn, trying to get a sense of magic curling through the air. She let her body attune to the atmosphere’s vibrations. This part of hunting was her strength. Many people could feel magic’s frequencies, but Rosalind’s skills went further. She could actually
see
magic—and smell it, too.

An aura tickled her skin, raising goose bumps. As it moved around her in smooth, blue waves, she shivered. The magic carried the briny smell of the ocean.
Not a redcap’s aura. Fascinating—but not my target.

She slipped into one of the alleys by the old theater, scanning the shadows. Her Guardian still hadn’t told her where to find the demon, but she had a pretty good idea. If she were a redcap, she’d be heading for one of the frat parties on Wendell Ave. If a demon wanted to feast on nubile flesh, the drunk college students at those parties would be an easy bet.

At the mouth of the alley, Rosalind tightened her fingers around the stake, knuckles whitening.

She should focus on the positive. If she succeeded in tonight’s task, she’d get her chalice—the pendant given to novices after their first big kill. But, after a string of failures, she couldn’t shake the cloud of dread hanging over her, and she was just starting to catch a glimpse of a burnt-orange aura curling through the air…

Her phone buzzed, and she nearly jumped out of her boots. She yanked it out of her pocket. It was Josiah, her Guardian from the Brotherhood, texting her an update.

Redcap is heading for the Delta Theta Alpha house. Intercept him there.

With the fetid smell—like a dank cave—wafting into her nostrils, she didn’t even need the text.

She hurried across the lawn. From the top of the hill, she scanned the row of frat houses until she homed in on the aura’s source.
There he is.
A shiver crawled up her spine. Wispy copper tendrils rolled off him—the redcap’s magic.

His red hat shone brightly under a yellow streetlight, glistening with gore. Crimson drops of blood dripped onto his zebra-print suit. Redcaps didn’t normally wear clothes, and the sight was jarring to Rosalind—like she’d spotted a fox walking on its hind legs, dressed in a wedding gown. Perhaps the demon planned to blend in at a
pimps and hoes
party, and hoped no one would notice the human blood dripping from his hat.

Stalking along the sidewalk, she gripped her stake. With the two vamps, she’d hesitated. They’d looked so
human.
But this time, she needed to hit her mark. If she didn’t, dozens of students would die.
In fact, if the next few minutes didn’t go the way she planned, the redcap would be dipping his hat into
her
blood.

He isn’t human,
she reminded herself.
He isn’t even a person. He’s a thing.

One of these days, she’d just like to stay in, playing beer pong.

Gritting her teeth, she broke into a sprint. She pumped her arms harder, her breath growing ragged. If he managed to get inside the party, the slaughter would be horrific.

Her boots pounded the pavement, and the demon whirled, teeth bared.
Good.
The less human he looked, the easier this would be.

Twisting her torso, she hurled the stake at his chest with all the force she could muster, but his hand flew out and snatched it from the air.

His grin was a thing of terror.

Uh-oh.
That’s not how it went in training.
She screeched to a halt, scrambling to grab the handheld flamethrower from her belt. The weapon wasn’t much larger than a can of Coke, but it produced a three-foot flame that burned at 1,000 degrees Celsius.

Before she had the chance to blast him, the creature’s hands were on her, gripping her wrists to stop her from accessing the arsenal on her belt. He was younger than most redcaps—his face elegant, his grasp iron-clad. Beauty and strength were just two of the weapons that demons had in their arsenal.

And what did Rosalind have? A bit of wood and some gadgets.

He inhaled deeply, licking his pale lips. “I like it when my dinner puts up a bit of a fight.” His voice slithered over her skin.

Ugh.
Even for a demon, this one was creepy as hell. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to stab him.

She brought her knee up hard into his groin, and his pale eyes bulged. He might be a monster, but he still had nerve endings where it mattered. He loosened his grip on one of her wrists, just enough for her to wrench it free. She twisted her hips, bringing the full force of her palm into his Adam’s apple.
Crunch
.

As he hunched over, gasping in pain, she grabbed another stake from her belt.

He was lunging for her neck, teeth bared, when she plunged the stake into his heart.

Or, at least, she’d been aiming for his heart. What she got must have been a lung, because he gripped his chest, stumbling back but stubbornly refusing to die.
Shit.
Josiah would be pissed.

As the redcap ripped the stake from his ribs, she pulled the flamethrower from her belt. The demon’s eyes widened, and for the first time, she saw genuine fear.

Disturbingly human-like fear.

This caused an extra moment of hesitation on Rosalind’s part, and the redcap had the upper hand again.

As he leapt for her, she pressed the button on the flamethrower, but it was too late. The demon knocked her to the ground. Almost instantly, his sharp teeth pierced her neck. White-hot pain exploded through her throat.

At this moment, on the edge of death, she could think of only one thing:
I am the worst demon Hunter in the world.
Pain blazed through her body.

The knife.
She had a knife in her belt.
Come on, Rosalind. You got this.

Just as she pulled it out, a pair of strong hands clamped around the redcap’s head, twisting it sharply to the side with a sickening
crack.

Her stomach flipped, and she shoved the demon off her. She stared, open-mouthed, as a black-clad Hunter sliced off the redcap’s head with a sword in one shockingly swift motion. With a morbid fascination, she stared as the stranger plunged his fingers into the demon’s chest. For one horrible moment, the air filled with the sound of crunching bone and tearing flesh. As the redcap’s headless body twitched on the ground, the Hunter ripped out his beating heart.

Her first thought was:
Shit. I was supposed to kill the demon.

Her second was:
How the hell could a human rip a heart out like that?

When she glanced up at the Hunter, her body froze.

Not a Hunter. Not even close.

Despite his beauty, the man before her was twice as horrifying as the demon he’d killed. He was human, but not like her. A tattooed crescent moon, dark and sharp as a dragon’s claw, marked his neck, and a raven perched on his shoulder. He held the demon’s heart in his hand, crimson blood dripping down his arm.

A cold and silvery nocturnal power crackled in the air around them, old as night itself. Before her stood a shadow mage, and the aura unfurling from his body was ancient and terrifying.

He stared at her, his eyes cold and pale as glaciers, and dark shadows whispered around him. A pit opened in the hollow of her stomach.
He knows what I did, and he’s here for vengeance.

With a flick of his wrist, the mage tossed the demon’s heart to the ground. Rosalind gripped her bleeding throat with one hand, grasping for a vial of iron dust with the other. Fear tore her mind apart.

Even as she reached for the dust, the mage was already whispering in a demonic tongue. His spell transfixed her in place, freezing her muscles. She couldn’t move, and her mind screamed with pure panic.

As the mage spoke, his aura strengthened, permeating her bones.

Her blood roared in her ears, and she tried desperately to command her muscles to obey her.
This is it.
He’s going to compel me to bash my own brains out on the pavement.
And the one stupid, useless thought pounding in her skull was:
I haven’t even achieved my chalice pendant.

A powerful magic crackled over her skin as the raven fluttered around her. Rosalind flinched, waiting for the
coup de grace
.

But, instead of a death blow, she felt the sharp pain in her neck subside, and her arms relaxed, free to move. A shuddering breath slid from her, and she pulled her hand from her throat. He’d
healed
her. Why the hell would a shadow mage heal a Hunter? Mages and Hunters were ancient enemies, and if he’d known what she’d done…

She locked the thought away. She had no idea if mage skills included telepathy.

As his magic caressed her skin, it occurred to her she’d never felt this aura before. It wasn’t the briny scent from earlier. It was rich and earthy—and strangely sensual, as if it was licking her skin.

As she rose, she gripped the vial of aerosolized dust, holding his gaze. He stood at least a head taller than her, and something about his predatory stillness told her to
run.
Still, she schooled her features into calm. Showing fear to a mage would only provoke his bloodlust.

She swallowed hard, trying to gather her thoughts as she stared at him, stunned as much by his beauty as by his feral gaze. Slate-gray eyes, tousled brown hair, sharp cheekbones—he looked more angelic than demonic. How could a mage be so gorgeous? Magic was supposed to corrupt human bodies.

His gaze slid to her weapon. “Purgator dust.” His voice chilled her skin. “You mean to burn the magic off me, after I just saved your life?”

She gritted her teeth. She knew one thing: he hadn’t saved her life because he was a nice guy. But either way, she wasn’t supposed to kill him. As humans, mages were to be taken back to the Brotherhood’s Chambers alive. Of course, that assumed she actually stood a chance against him. In reality, he could probably pulverize her with a spell in a fraction of a second.

She tried to steady her voice, refusing to show submission. “It’s my job to catch monsters.”

She eyed his physique—pure, lean muscle, his forearms tattooed with a forest of magical symbols. Everything about his appearance screamed at her to get away—yet there was something oddly
familiar
about him. She’d seen those pale eyes before. And what was with his accent? Not American. Not English. Something older, that tickled the darkest recesses of her memory.

The raven—his familiar—perched on his shoulder, its dark gaze fixed on her.

“You think I’m a monster.” The mage’s tone conveyed only the faintest hint of interest. “Why am I not surprised?” With the bestial glint in his eye, he’d clearly lost his humanity long ago.

“Well, yeah.” She didn’t want to tempt his wrath, but there was no point lying to a mage. It would only make him angrier.