Read Online Magic Hunter: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Vampire's Mage Series Book 1) by C.N. Crawford - Free Book Online
Authors: C.N. Crawford
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cultists who’d been paying someone to look after her, and who’d let her think they were dead. Seven hells . That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Her fingernails pierced her palms, but this time, she wasn’t going to let herself cry.
She glanced at him. “Why is it that you’re able to live with two souls? Why haven’t you lost your mind?”
“Keep your voice down. You’re going to attract a legion of human traffickers who will force you into one of the brothels.”
Obviously, she needed to get this witch’s soul the hell out of her body. And then she’d explain it all to the Brotherhood—how none of it was really her fault. If she exorcised the spirit, she could get her life back. After all, she was still human. “How do I get the mage out of me?”
“I think you need to focus on the problem at hand. You must have had ambrosia recently, because you smell like a Hunter. It marks you out as a demon’s natural enemy. Any one of this world’s inhabitants would love to keep you as a pet. And if you get even the slightest cut on your skin, the whole city will descend to feast on a Hunter.”
She frowned. He was being dramatic. “That seems a bit extreme. And you’re human. Why don’t they kill you?”
“Never mind that.”
The narrow street opened into a long esplanade dominated by the towering stone castle. Moonlight glinted off its sharp spires, and a silver portcullis barred the gate. Gargoyles leered from buttresses high above.
She had no desire to go through that gate, but apparently she needed to speak to the Vampire Lord. This was what her life had become.
Caine paused, touching her wrist. His fingers warmed her skin, sending a thrill through her arm.
“When we go in there, someone might attack.” He reached for his back pocket, pulling out a hawthorn stake. “From what I saw earlier, I understand you know how to defend yourself.”
“Believe me. I’ve killed plenty of vampires.” And by “plenty,” she meant the few she’d just killed.
Caine led her to the portcullis, and chanted a spell to lift the silver gate. When it cranked and groaned to the top of the entrance, he led her into a long hall. Ivory rib vaults towered high above them like bones and, within steep-peaked arches, the walls were painted a deep crimson. Since her parents were apparently mages, they’d be right at home in a place like this, Rosalind sure as hell wasn’t. The look of the place sent a shudder up her spine.
As they walked through the hall, she caught glimpses of tapestries. Some were threaded with portraits of Nyxobas, the cloaked god of night. Others depicted horned demons with red eyes.
At the end of the hall, ornate wooden doors barred their path. Caine whispered another spell, and the doors creaked open into a great hall, its walls formed by what appeared to be human bones inset with sapphires, pearls, and moonstones. An array of silver weapons lined one of the bone-walls, and the air smelled of gardenias.
Vampires stood along the sides of the room, their shoulders rigid with military discipline. Horace stood among them. Of course, vampires easily outpaced humans.
Candles burned in chandeliers that hung from arches thirty feet above, casting a wavering light over the room. Horace’s cold, dark eyes darted to Rosalind, and he flared his nostrils.
But Rosalind’s gaze was most drawn to the stunning blond vampire in the silver throne: Ambrose, his face cold and beautiful as a renaissance statue. He didn’t look more than twenty-five, but as a Lord he was probably centuries old.
As she followed Caine into the hall, her muscles tensed. Her little hawthorn stake suddenly seemed inadequate in a room full of vampire nobility.
Her eyes flicked to the rows of vamps. She could actually see their desperate attempts at restraint. Horace trembled visibly, working his jaw. Apparently, her ambrosia-filled blood smelled amazing—or maybe her second soul smelled amazing. Either way, she was a rabbit in
She glanced at him. “Why is it that you’re able to live with two souls? Why haven’t you lost your mind?”
“Keep your voice down. You’re going to attract a legion of human traffickers who will force you into one of the brothels.”
Obviously, she needed to get this witch’s soul the hell out of her body. And then she’d explain it all to the Brotherhood—how none of it was really her fault. If she exorcised the spirit, she could get her life back. After all, she was still human. “How do I get the mage out of me?”
“I think you need to focus on the problem at hand. You must have had ambrosia recently, because you smell like a Hunter. It marks you out as a demon’s natural enemy. Any one of this world’s inhabitants would love to keep you as a pet. And if you get even the slightest cut on your skin, the whole city will descend to feast on a Hunter.”
She frowned. He was being dramatic. “That seems a bit extreme. And you’re human. Why don’t they kill you?”
“Never mind that.”
The narrow street opened into a long esplanade dominated by the towering stone castle. Moonlight glinted off its sharp spires, and a silver portcullis barred the gate. Gargoyles leered from buttresses high above.
She had no desire to go through that gate, but apparently she needed to speak to the Vampire Lord. This was what her life had become.
Caine paused, touching her wrist. His fingers warmed her skin, sending a thrill through her arm.
“When we go in there, someone might attack.” He reached for his back pocket, pulling out a hawthorn stake. “From what I saw earlier, I understand you know how to defend yourself.”
“Believe me. I’ve killed plenty of vampires.” And by “plenty,” she meant the few she’d just killed.
Caine led her to the portcullis, and chanted a spell to lift the silver gate. When it cranked and groaned to the top of the entrance, he led her into a long hall. Ivory rib vaults towered high above them like bones and, within steep-peaked arches, the walls were painted a deep crimson. Since her parents were apparently mages, they’d be right at home in a place like this, Rosalind sure as hell wasn’t. The look of the place sent a shudder up her spine.
As they walked through the hall, she caught glimpses of tapestries. Some were threaded with portraits of Nyxobas, the cloaked god of night. Others depicted horned demons with red eyes.
At the end of the hall, ornate wooden doors barred their path. Caine whispered another spell, and the doors creaked open into a great hall, its walls formed by what appeared to be human bones inset with sapphires, pearls, and moonstones. An array of silver weapons lined one of the bone-walls, and the air smelled of gardenias.
Vampires stood along the sides of the room, their shoulders rigid with military discipline. Horace stood among them. Of course, vampires easily outpaced humans.
Candles burned in chandeliers that hung from arches thirty feet above, casting a wavering light over the room. Horace’s cold, dark eyes darted to Rosalind, and he flared his nostrils.
But Rosalind’s gaze was most drawn to the stunning blond vampire in the silver throne: Ambrose, his face cold and beautiful as a renaissance statue. He didn’t look more than twenty-five, but as a Lord he was probably centuries old.
As she followed Caine into the hall, her muscles tensed. Her little hawthorn stake suddenly seemed inadequate in a room full of vampire nobility.
Her eyes flicked to the rows of vamps. She could actually see their desperate attempts at restraint. Horace trembled visibly, working his jaw. Apparently, her ambrosia-filled blood smelled amazing—or maybe her second soul smelled amazing. Either way, she was a rabbit in
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