Magic Hunter: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Vampire's Mage Series Book 1) (3 page)

B
y the time
she returned to Thorndike’s campus, the rain had slowed to a light drizzle. Rosalind stalked across the quad, trying to sneak through the shadows undetected. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her. At least she had her weapon belt if the mage planned to stalk her.

Once inside her dorm building, she released a breath. Demons and mages could enter here, but their magic wouldn’t work within the walls.

After the monsters had come out of the magical closet five years ago, Thorndike’s buildings had been refitted with aura detectors that sprayed iron dust. At least the building would keep her safe from the lethal spells of a psychotic mage.

She strode down the hall to her room and unlocked the door. After pulling off her coat, she flicked on the light.

She gasped. Two men in black suits stood in her room—one thin, with impossibly long legs, and the other roughly the size and heft of an industrial fridge.
What the fuck?

Instantly, her hand flew to her vial of dust.

Fridge smiled. “Well-trained, I see. But that won’t work on us.”

“We’re from the Brotherhood,” said the long-shanked one. “We don’t use magic.”

Her mind turned from confusion to horror. She really
was
in trouble. “I just saw my Guardian. I thought everything was going to be okay. What are you doing in my room? And where’s my roommate?”

Longshanks tilted his narrow head, studying her. “Randolph Loring sent us.”

Randolph Loring knew who she was? She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or terrified. “Is this about the mages? How did you hear about that so fast?”

Fridge licked his pale lips, edging closer. “I’m sure we will enjoy hearing about the other mages. But no. This is about
you
, Rosalind.”

“I want to see Josiah,” she managed. “I just gave him intel about two mages on campus. You should be hunting them.”

“Josiah can’t help you now,” said Longshanks.

Fear crawled up the back of her neck. “Josiah is my Guardian. I need him here for this conversation.”

Fridge smiled, his long teeth like a row of tombstones. “No. You don’t.”

She took a step back, her mind burning with panic. She shouldn’t be afraid of her own people, and yet… “Why are you here for me? I haven’t done anything wrong. There’s a shadow mage
and
a sea-mage stalking the campus, and you’re here harassing me.”

Longshanks edged closer, and Rosalind took another step back—right into another body. A quick glance behind her told her the third person was a woman—a very large, muscular woman. Her heart clenched. There were three of them, trapping her in the dorm room.

“We know you’re a mage,” the woman whispered in her ear. “And I know you’re not stupid enough to resist us.”

A wave of horror slammed into Rosalind.
A mage.
Now
that
wasn’t possible, even if she didn’t know who her birth parents were. Unlike the other monsters, mages were made, not born. To become a mage, you needed to actually commit to learning magic. It could take years to learn Angelic, the magical language. It wasn’t like it happened by accident. “You’ve made a mistake. I’ve never learned a spell in my life.”

“The Brotherhood doesn’t make mistakes,” Fridge said. “Cuff her.”

The woman gripped Rosalind’s arms, and Rosalind’s adrenaline surged. Once the Brotherhood had someone in their sights, they didn’t tend to change their minds easily. She didn’t know what they did with convicted mages, but she was pretty sure no one arrested by the Brotherhood made it into the daylight again.

Tammi was right about one thing: the Brotherhood didn’t do trials.

A survival instinct—pure panic—blazed through the ancient part of her brain.
Run, Rosalind.

Before the woman could finishing cuffing her, Rosalind reached back, grabbing the woman by her neck. She locked her arm around the woman’s neck and, using her body weight as leverage, flipped the woman over her shoulder and onto the floor. Free, Rosalind rushed for the door to the hall, slamming it behind her.

By the time Fridge busted through, she’d pulled her gun from her belt, already loaded with silver bullets. She pointed it at the Hunter’s head. The bullets were meant for werewolves, of course—not other Hunters—but they’d still kill a human.

Was she pulling the dumbest stunt of her life right now? Probably—but it was too late to turn back. She just needed to get down the stairwell, and out the door, then find a quiet place to get in touch with Josiah. He’d help her sort this out. He had promised to protect her.

Fridge paused at the edge of the doorframe, blocking in the others. He raised his hands, his face reddening with rage. “The mage has a gun.”

“If I were an actual mage, I wouldn’t
need
a gun. But like I said. I’m not a mage.” It wasn’t like she was going to
use
it on him, but he didn’t need to know that. Slowly, she backed away from him, edging closer to the stairwell with her gun trained on the Hunters.

When she reached the stairs, she bellowed at the top of her lungs, “Streeaaaaaak niiiiiiiiiight!”

Within moments, hallway doors slammed open. Rosalind didn’t wait around to watch her classmates strip off. She was already gunning down the steps. The horde of naked college students would cause just enough chaos to let her slip outside undetected.

With a racing pulse, she burst through the front doors, careening for one of the dark alleys between the campus’s brick Victorian buildings. She knew exactly how to hide on the Thorndike campus, and slipped past some recycling bins into an unlit passage. From there, she could sneak through to the football field and jump into a cab.

She’d have just enough time to call Josiah—assuming he could help her at all. Maybe she’d just watched her entire life blow up before her eyes.

From the alley, she sprinted past the darkened, tree-lined tennis courts, heading for the football field. Fear blazed, giving her extra speed, until a rhythmic noise stopped her in her tracks.

Rotors beat overhead, and a circular light danced over the tennis courts.
Search helicopters.
Were they for
her?
When the light swerved over the football field, she saw men, swarming the grass in dark clothes. The light swerved again, and she caught a glimpse of flame-red hair, and the glint of an iron chalice pendant. A chill gripped her spine.

Randolph Loring
. He’d come for her, leading the hunt.

Seven hells
. What the fuck was going on? The Brotherhood had brought down their whole damn army, searching for her. Her body buzzed with panic.
This is all wrong.
She belonged
with
the Brotherhood—not fighting them. It was her destiny to become a Guardian.

Yet here was Randolph Loring, hunting her.

Tendrils of a cold, ancient magic tickled her body, and she whirled, nearly jumping out of her skin. Someone was coming right for her on a sleek, black motorcycle.

The shadow mage.

Her mouth went dry as he pulled to a stop beside her. “Get on the bike or you’ll die.”

She wasn’t sure if that was a threat or a rescue attempt, but his commanding voice was awfully convincing either way. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

As if he’d tell her the truth.

“I already told you what’s happening. They know about you. I told you to run, and you didn’t listen.”

She shook her head. “But—”

“You don’t have time. You can come with me, or let the mage-Hunters murder you. Your choice.”

She wanted to throw up. She couldn’t believe she was even contemplating the advice of a shadow mage, yet Randolph Loring was hunting her. There would be no trial, no chance to explain herself.

Gunshots rang out, and an unholy pain splintered her shoulder. She screamed, instinctively dropping to a crouch, hands clutching the bleeding wound. The pain ripped her chest apart, taking her breath away.

I need to get the hell out of here before they slaughter me.
Trying to block out the pain, she jumped on the bike and wrapped her arms around the mage’s waist. With her face tucked in close to his leather jacket, she stifled a scream as he took off.

The helicopter swerved above, and another hail of bullets ripped through the night air. She flinched.
She would die, slaughtered by her own people before she got the chance to defend herself.

The mage sped through a roundabout. A powerful wave of magic vibrated over her skin as he chanted a spell.

The gunshots fell silent, and the helicopter wavered in the night sky before careening off course. Was the mage actually controlling the goddamn
wind?

Horror punched a hole in her gut. She’d just been shot by the Brotherhood and taken up with a powerful monster—one capable of murdering a whole legion of Hunters. Tears pricked her eyes, and she clamped them shut, trying to gain control. She couldn’t let herself fall apart.

As they raced through Cambridge, the wind rushed over her skin, making her shiver. Or maybe she was shivering from the certainty that the rest of her life would be spent as a fugitive. She’d end up as the mage’s sex slave, or a vamp’s blood-bag, until someone decided to reap her soul for the god of night.

The searing pain in her shoulder stole her breath.
Think of something calming.
That was what she always did when the world seemed in danger of shutting her down.
The beaches in England, the hawthorns, blue and yellow wildflowers.

It wasn’t working.

Nauseated, she heard the sorcerer chant another spell—and gaped as both their bodies glimmered out of view.
Gods, the invisibility is a mind-fuck.

That’s it, then.
She’d just hurled herself into the dark side, and now she couldn’t help but second-guess her choice. Had Randolph Loring really come for her? What if this was some sort of test—one that she’d failed, wretchedly? Or what if it had been a horrible series of accidents, and she’d just thrown herself at a seductive shadow mage?

She should have gone willingly with the Brotherhood when they’d first arrived, but she’d panicked. They didn’t evaluate the guilt of their prisoners, because they operated with one hundred percent certainty. To be honest, she’d never questioned them before either. The Brotherhood was always right, and the world needed them to act decisively or the demons would win.

At least, they’d always been right until now.

Now, even Josiah wouldn’t be able to help her. Kind of hard to claim you were innocent of magic when you ran off clinging to a shadow mage’s chest.

Her dark hair whipped wildly around her head, and the wind stung her skin through her blood-soaked shirt. The mage had offered to help her, but there would be a price. With mages, nothing was ever what it seemed.

She forced herself to block out the agony. They raced down Mass Ave, heading for Harvard Square—the location of the Brotherhood’s Chambers.
Why the hell would he take her to the Brotherhood?
But as they wove through Harvard Square’s congested intersection it was clear the mage had other plans. He was probably ushering her to his demon harem right now.

She felt sick. Her life was over, and she didn’t even know why. Sure, she’d screwed up tonight, but she was innocent.

If anyone had answers to this catastrophe, it was the shadow mage. She wanted to ask him everything he knew, even though he turned her stomach in knots of fear.

“Why do they think I’m a mage?” she shouted as they tore down Brattle Street.

He ignored her.

They zoomed past a row of old Victorian mansions before veering sharply left—heading right for wrought-iron cemetery gate. It swung open just as they approached.

At the sight of the gently sloping paths and marble graves, she shuddered with cold recognition. He’d taken her to Mount Auburn Cemetery. The place wasn’t so much a graveyard as a full-blown Victorian necropolis—a walled city of the dead, complete with street names and towering mausoleums.

And this was the point where she’d learn how she would die.

S
he ran
through the options of what might happen in the next hour. Hanging? Impalement? Crushed to death by rocks? Like an idiot, she’d come here willingly—though her shoulder hurt so badly that death almost seemed like a mercy at this point.

Just as their bodies shimmered back to visibility, the mage pulled up outside a looming gothic chapel, its towering walls built from dark granite. He parked his bike in the shadows and turned off the engine.

She loosened her grip on his waist, grimacing at the pain when she shifted position. “What are we doing here?”

“This is your safe haven. Abduxiel Mansion.” He stepped off the bike. “I’m going to heal your shoulder, and then you’re going inside.”

Rosalind gritted her teeth, crippled by pain. It felt like the bullet must have shattered her collarbone.

He moved closer. Gently, he tugged down the collar of her white shirt, exposing her wounded shoulder.

Pain ripped through her entire arm. If the agony from the gunshot weren’t drowning out all other thoughts, she’d probably be running in terror from the mage right now.

As he traced his fingers over her flesh, he whispered a spell. His aura seeped into her body, drawing the pain from her shattered bones and caressing her skin. She glanced down to see her wound healing, and let out a long breath. Gods, it felt so much better. As if that weren’t enough, the blood disappeared from her shirt.

She took a steadying breath as the mage covered her shoulder with her shirt again. Something about his proximity deeply unnerved her. Maybe it was the fact that he served the night god—just like the vamps who’d murdered her parents.

“What about the bullet?” she asked.

“Gone.”

She still had no idea why he was helping her. “You even cleaned the blood out of my shirt.”

“It would attract vampires.”

She shuddered. “Thank you. I guess.” He’d just saved her life, yet he was her natural enemy. Frantic thoughts whirled through her mind. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Why are we here? Why is Randolph Loring hunting me?”

At that moment, the chapel doors creaked open, and a man in a black robe motioned for her to enter. A dark hood cast his face in shadow.

“You’re safe here,” the mage said. “Orcus will look after you.”

“You want me to stay in this mansion?”

“The Brotherhood won’t be able to find you here.”

The sight of the cleric tightened her chest. He looked like a grim reaper. In fact, he probably
was
a grim reaper. “Do I have a choice in any of this? Am I a prisoner?”

The mage’s raven circled overhead, then landed on his shoulder. “You came here willingly, but I have instructions to make sure you’re safe, which means staying in the mansion. Orcus will make sure no one hurts you.”

Desperation warped her mind, and she struggled to string a coherent thought together. “I can’t stay here. There’s obviously been some sort of mistake. I’m not a mage. I’m a Hunter. When things have calmed down, I’ll explain everything to the Brotherhood. I’ve never even
seen
a spell book.” She suddenly felt a desperate need to convince him.

Dark lashes framed his pale eyes, and his unwavering gaze almost hypnotized her. “The Brotherhood execute people without trials, and they want to burn you,” he said matter-of-factly. “You won’t be able to reason with them. On some level, you understand that, or you’d never have come with me.”

The night wind kissed her skin. “They execute demons. Not people. And they don’t
burn
people anymore. That was just a medieval thing.”

“The medieval ways are returning.”

“I’m not a mage.” Her mind raced with panic. What if this whole thing had been an illusion concocted by the demons to tempt her away from her true path? “I’ve never learned any magic.”

Moonlight bathed his cheekbones and pale eyes in silver. “It doesn’t matter what you are. It matters what they think you are.”

“And I’m supposed to stay with the grim reaper.” She had no idea who to trust at this point, but the shadow mage ranked pretty low on the list, and she couldn’t see herself going out for Appletinis with the faceless reaper anytime soon. “I’m supposed to just take your word for all of this.”

“You’re supposed to use your own senses and capacity for rational thought. You saw the Brotherhood coming for you, and they shot you.” He glanced away. “I don’t have time for this.”

“How can I trust my own senses when you have the power to warp them?”

His cold gaze slid over her, and as he stepped closer, her heart skipped a beat. “What purpose would that serve? If I wanted you dead, you’d be in the earth right now. If I wanted you to kill people, you’d be pulling out one of those knives and thrusting it into a heart.”

Dread tightened its grip around her chest as she looked up at him. “Tell me why you helped me.”

“Ambrose wants you alive.”

“And who the hell is Ambrose?”

“You don’t need to know that right now.”

She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from screaming at him. She needed answers, and he was giving her nothing. She steadied her voice. “Okay, let’s start with this: You know my name. You apparently know things about me. And who, exactly, are you?”

“Caine Mountfort. We’ve met before.” He cocked his head, examining her. “Apparently, I didn’t leave such a lasting impression.”

Recognition flickered in the recesses of her mind—the boy with the gray eyes… “Did I know you in England? Before Mason adopted me?”

“England?” He arched an eyebrow. “Is that what the Brotherhood told you?”

She was ready to scream with frustration. “Yes, because that’s where I’m from. I lived in England until a few of your vampire buddies murdered my parents.”

He took a long, slow breath as if marshaling his patience. Something seemed to have unnerved him. “Look, I don’t have the time or the inclination to delve into this with you. You must go with Orcus.”

His habit of enticing her with hints while refusing to give a straight answer made her want to punch something. Her world had just been shattered, and the mage had answers he didn’t care to share. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about—not when he had mind-blowing magic on his side.

A hot tear spilled down her cheek. “Can’t you just answer my questions? What do you know about me? And why are the Brotherhood hunting me down? You and I both know I can’t be a mage if I’ve never chanted a single spell.”

He reached down, lifting her hand. At the touch of his strong hands, she felt a brief thrill from his magical aura, and it surged through her body like a jolt of electricity. What
was
that?

“Keep this ring on and stay away from the Brotherhood. You’ll be fine.” His gray eyes met hers. “Don’t trust anyone. Not Orcus. Not me. Not your best friends. No one. That’s all you need to know.” He turned to leave.

Don’t trust a bloodthirsty mage or the grim reaper standing behind me? Gee, you don’t say.
His evasiveness infuriated her. “Are you coming back here?”

“No.”

“Where are you going?”

“You don’t need to know that. Stay with Orcus.” It was hard to ignore the ring of command in his voice.

Just like a goddamn mage to leave her question unanswered.

As she stood there like an idiot, he slipped into the cemetery’s shadows.
My one chance at the truth—gone.

“Come with me.” Orcus’s gravelly voice made her jump, and she nearly staked him. There was no way in hell she wanted to go into Abduxiel Mansion with Crypt Guy.

Scary as Caine was, at least he was human, and a hood didn’t obscure his face.

His particularly stunning face.

The way she saw it, there were two options right now. Either the Brotherhood had made a mistake, or Caine had created this whole thing as an illusion. A cool breeze slipped over her skin, and she shivered.

What if Caine had glamoured demons to come for her? What if Longshanks and Fridge had been reapers spelled to appear human—

No.
Magic didn’t work in the confines of Thorndike’s buildings. Plus, Caine had a point. If he wanted to control her, he could hypnotize her to do whatever he wanted.

Still, her heart clung to the possibility that this was all some sort of mistake. She pulled out her cell phone, and a message flashed from Josiah.

Where are you?

While Orcus cleared his throat, she frantically typed a message back to her Guardian.

Why are the Brotherhood after me? They say I’m a witch. I saw Randolph Loring. Did he come for me??

“Miss.” Orcus touched her arm, his fingers cold and bony. “You must come inside.”

She jerked her arm away from his touch, staring intently at her screen until a message popped up from Josiah.

Someone accused you of witchcraft. I don’t know who. You must stay hidden until I can fix this. Don’t use your phone again. I will find you. Lux in tenebris lucet.

The Brotherhood would track her phone. Panic clenched her heart. Even Josiah wanted her to run. Perfect, loyal Josiah, completely faithful to the Brotherhood, thought she should flee from the Hunters. He knew that once the Brotherhood had their sights set on a target, they didn’t give second chances—no explanations, no trials, no pardons.

At least her Guardian stood by her.

She swiped open another message—this one from Tammi, who’d been texting her from a campus party.

Ros where r u… I’m getting drukeus I lost one of my shoes…

Good. At least the Purifiers hadn’t involved her.

Rosalind hammered out another message.

Tammi—things have gotten weird with the Brotherhood. Josiah and I will sort it out. I’m OK, but I’ll be offline for a while. Speak soon. XO

She shut off her phone, steeling herself for a night with Crypt Guy.

She turned, but she couldn’t force herself to follow Orcus. In fact, there was no freaking way she was sealing herself up in a gothic mansion while Caine slipped off with her secrets. He’d implied her English roots were a lie, and then refused to explain. He’d known that the Brotherhood would come for her, but wouldn’t say why.

He was the only person who had the answers she needed, and she would wrench them out of him if her life depended on it.
Which it does, come to think of it.

Her entire world had just shattered, and she wasn’t giving up on the remaining fragments without a fight.

She turned to the cleric. “I’m not coming in. I have more questions for Caine.”

“You will come with me, Miss,” he hissed, grabbing her arm.

A swift elbow to the jaw sent him sprawling in the chapel doorway, and she launched into a sprint over the grass, thundering up a grassy hill.

She wove through weeping stone angels and crooked obelisks, the gravestones jutting from the ground at odd angles like broken bones.

She tore past a row of stone crypts, and down a gently sloping hill. But she was running blindly, and had lost all trace of Caine. He’d slipped somewhere deep into the cemetery’s shadows. She ground to a halt near a gently rippling pond, trying to attune her senses to the delicious tingling of Caine’s magic.

A chilly wind rustled the leaves, and the moonlight shone on a tombstone’s etching.
The Lord of Terror.
Even for someone used to hunting demons, she was getting the creeps.

The breeze brought with it the scent of thunderstorms and wet grass, and the hair rising on the back of her arms told her that a powerful aura lurked nearby.

She followed a winding path that led to the water, catching the smell of burnt air—Caine’s magic. She just needed to home in on it.

She crept closer to the pond, drawn by his powerful aura. Anyone could sense magic, if they knew how to tune in to the right vibrations, but Rosalind could actually
see
it too. As far as she knew, no other Hunter had that ability. It was the reason she was born for the Brotherhood.

Goose bumps prickled on her skin as she drew closer to a row of mausoleums overlooking the water. Caine’s sensual magic lingered around one of the crypts, nestled among the oak and beeches, pulling her closer.

As she rubbed her arms in the chilly spring air, she approached the arched crypt. Its door hung slightly open, and the crypt walls glowed, faintly silver. This was the one. Caine lurked inside; gods knew why. Probably the entrance to a personal dungeon.

The magic rippled off the stony walls in waves, skimming over her skin. It called to her, sucking her in like the gravitational pull of a black hole.

As she pushed open the metal door, it let out a loud creaking noise that echoed off a high, peaked ceiling. Empty.
What the hell?
He’d definitely come in here. She could still smell his magic and see the lingering glow.

Faint moonlight reached the interior of the crypt, highlighting marble walls and glinting off a deep pool of dark water in the center of the crypt.
What is a giant puddle doing in a mausoleum?

A powerful aura rolled off it, smelling of ozone—Caine’s magic. White-hot excitement surged in her veins. As with everything to do with mages, this mausoleum wasn’t exactly as it seemed.

It was a portal.

Of course a mage wouldn’t bother with a motorcycle when a portal could get him where he wanted instantly.

Her heart clenched. If she wanted to follow him through, she’d need to act now. Portals didn’t last forever.

There was a chance this one would take her right to Caine, and she could confront him to get the answers she wanted. There was also the possibility that he’d fly into a lethal rage. Plunging through the portal meant crossing an obvious boundary. And if she angered him, she’d suffer a slow and painful death at his hands.

Then again, he’d obviously spared her life for a reason. It was just like Josiah said. She needed to master her fear to get what she wanted. And what she wanted right now, more than anything, was answers.

The shadow mage held the key not only to her present life disasters, but to her past. He was the only remaining thread to her golden childhood memories, before the demons had ruined everything.

She gritted her teeth. The idea of jumping into a cold pool of water at the bottom of a crypt ranked only marginally higher than spending a night with Crypt Guy. She twisted the lucky ring around her finger, wondering what Tammi would tell her to do. She was pretty sure what Tammi would tell her
not
to do, starting with “don’t follow a psychotic mage through a pool of water in the bottom of a crypt.” Tammi was practical like that.