Blood Hunter (The Vampire's Mage Series Book 3) Read online

  Blood Hunter

  C.N. Crawford

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Also by C.N. Crawford

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  About

  Blood Hunter

  Book 3 of the The Vampire’s Mage Series.

  Copyright © 2016 by C. N. Crawford.

  All rights reserved.

  No 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.

  Chapter 1

  Rosalind pushed through a tall oak door, leading to the Gelal Field just outside Lilinor’s walls. The waxing moon hung in the sky like a god’s eye, washing the shadowy landscape in silver. Even though she’d been in Lilinor for two full weeks now, she still hadn’t become accustomed to the utter dominance of the moon over the kingdom.

  A perfect home for creatures of the night.

  But it was Caine’s home. Not hers.

  Her footsteps crunched over a dirt path. Lined with myrtle trees and sycamores, it meandered down a hill in gentle curves. The wind rustled through the leaves; nearby, a raven cawed.

  In the crook of one arm she carried a wicker basket. She’d filled it to the brim with fresh-baked corn muffins, butter, and a jar of honey. Steam from the muffins warmed her arms as she walked, a small smile curling her lips. The idea of sneaking out of the castle thrilled her—plus tonight would nearly resemble a normal night. Food, wine, gossip. What more did she need?

  At least she had her friends here in this city of darkness. She was supposed to meet Tammi and Miranda at the old Temple of Nyxobas. Aurora had said she might stop by, too.

  Since arriving in Lilinor half-dead, Rosalind had hardly seen her friends—and that was probably because she hadn’t wanted to leave her room over the past two weeks. For one thing, she’d been avoiding Caine. Whenever she thought of him, the first thing that sprung into her mind was his divine beauty. The softness of his kiss. The gentleness of his fingertips over her skin.

  And the second thing to spring to mind was the image of him brutally slaughtering her parents while she watched.

  The cognitive dissonance was a little too much for her to handle.

  But it wasn’t just Caine that kept her locked in her room. She also had to deal with the lunatic spirit in her head—Cleo, her batshit-crazy second soul. Since Rosalind had fought her cousin weeks ago, Cleo’s voice had only grown louder. And the iron ring no longer kept her quiet.

  Half the time, Cleo’s thoughts drowned out Rosalind’s own. Mostly, Cleo begged to see Ambrose, to touch the vampire lord. And when she didn’t want to touch him, she wanted Rosalind to light him on fire.

  And yet … out here, in the fresh air, her second soul had mostly muted. Maybe, when insomnia and Cleo’s thoughts ripped her mind apart, she could creep out to nap among the bluebells and sycamores.

  Rosalind inhaled the rich scent of jasmine and followed the curving path that wound down the hill. Her silky gown slid against her legs as she walked, and she pulled a black cashmere shawl tighter around her shoulders. At the bottom of the hill, she spotted the stone ruin—a forgotten temple—and her pace quickened. Somewhere in there, Miranda and Tammi waited for her.

  As she neared the arched doorway, a murder of crows took flight from one of the crumbling towers. Shivering, she crossed into the temple—if it could still be called a temple. The ruin no longer had a roof, and moonlight washed over tall grasses and wildflowers.

  “Rosalind!” Miranda and Tammi called out in unison.

  Rosalind grinned. “Hello, my dears!”

  Miranda and Tammi sat below an arched window, with a spread of food laid out before them: cheese, bread, grapes, a bottle of wine, and a few glasses. Around the blanket, bluebells and white poppies dappled the grass.

  Rosalind joined them on the crimson blanket, folding her feet beneath her. “I’m starving. Sorry I’m late.”

  Tammi straightened, flicking her pale hair behind her shoulders. “Not to worry. I’ve been drinking all the wine.”

  From her seat on the grass, Rosalind surveyed the old hall. Only three walls remained, and six cracked columns formed a sort of aisle. Vines clung to the stone surfaces, as if trying to reclaim nature’s territory.

  Miranda leaned over to hug her, enveloping her in the scent of the ocean, and Rosalind smiled. This is what it’s like to have a sister. “Have you been waiting long?” Rosalind asked.

  “Only ten minutes,” Miranda said.

  Rosalind dropped her basket in the center of the blanket. “I brought some muffins.”

  Tammi shook her head, frowning. “I’m not hungry.”

  Miranda wore a wreath of wildflowers threaded with seashells. She picked up the bottle of wine, and filled a glass, handing it to Rosalind. “How’s your extra soul? Is Cleo still messing with your thoughts?”

  Rosalind groaned. “A little obsessed with Ambrose’s dead body. The woman needs a cold shower.”

  “Or maybe she needs to get laid,” Tammi said.

  Rosalind frowned. “Not gonna happen here.”

  “Ambrose might be technically dead,” Tammi said, filling her own glass, “but he is hot as hell. I wonder if he likes sharp teeth and creepy, empty eyes.”

  “Oh, stop,” Rosalind said. She eyed Tammi’s hair—the pale blue of starlight—and her glimmering eyes to match. “You’re not creepy. You look beautiful, honestly.”

  Tammi’s eyes lingered on Rosalind for just a little too long. Her friend’s body went completely still, and she ran her tongue over her teeth.

  Rosalind looked away quickly. Okay, that look was a bit creepy. Shaking it off, she turned to her twin. “What do you think of Lilinor?”

  “It’s beautiful.” Miranda plucked a bluebell, and began threading it into a poppy’s stem. “But I’m not sure we belong here. Apart from Aurora, most of the vampires can’t look at us without thinking about our blood.”

  “I know,” Rosalind said. “That’s why I suggested we meet up outside. In the palace walls, there’s always a vamp sniffing around.”

  Tammi emitted a low growl.

  Okay. That was creepy, too.

  Miranda pulled a seashell from her pocket, threading the poppy’s stem through it. “All the vampires resent us.”

  “Us? Why?” Rosalind asked. “We’re neither as glamorous nor as powe
rful as they are.”

  Miranda tied a pair of stems in a knot. “Haven’t you noticed? Human women are here only as servants. As courtesans. Nothing more. Demons are supposed to use us. Not work with us like equals. And we have the ear of the king.”

  Tammi twirled her glass. “Honestly, the three of us don’t belong anywhere. You’re both an unholy combination of mage-spirits and gods-blood. I’m some kind of human-demon abomination created through your family’s unholy magic. None of this was meant to be. Basically, we need our own world at this point.”

  It was true—they didn’t really belong anywhere. Yet somehow, with Tammi and Miranda here, Rosalind felt like she was at home. Even here in the city of night, where everyone wanted to drink their blood.

  “I feel like I belong with the two of you,” Rosalind said. “Both of you are my family, and that’s all I need to be happy. As long as we can avoid dying at the hands of vampires.”

  Miranda plucked another wildflower. “After we serve our purpose here, we’ll just have to make our own tiny little kingdom, the three of us. We’ll get a little house by the water, and we’ll build a magical shield around it, and we can sit around reading books. I can paint landscapes. You can…” She frowned at Rosalind. “What do you like to do?”

  “I used to be into demon hunting. Guess I need a new hobby.”

  “I’ll read romances and sew amazing dresses for us,” Tammi said, brightening for a moment.

  Miranda pointed at Rosalind. “Muffin-baking. That’s your new hobby. You bake the muffins, Tammi reads to us by the fire, and I can paint portraits of us all. Caine can visit us if he wants. He’s a demigod with an extra soul, so he’s an abomination, too.”

  Tammi raised her glass. “We will call it Abominatania! Only the godsforsaken may enter.”

  Rosalind bit into one of the muffins, relishing the buttery taste. “I don’t bake muffins. Ambrose has instructed Caine’s fae cook to send us these.” Every day, an aggrieved vampire showed up at her door with a steaming basket of meat pies, bread, cheese, and pastries.

  “This is from Caine’s cook?” Tammi asked. “Another reason to invite him to Abominatania.”

  “No,” Rosalind said sharply.

  “Why not?” Miranda asked. “He’s just like us.”

  “Um, because he crucified our parents in front of us?”

  “Oh, that.” Miranda waved a dismissive hand. “Well, they did ruin his life. They chained him to a wall in the basement for a year.”

  Rosalind’s heart clenched. “True.”

  “When our parents gave him the extra soul, he went insane.” Miranda shook her head. “And our parents ruined our lives too. For years, anyway. We could have been together that whole time. We could have had a family. But they were mad for power. So maybe they got what they deserved.”

  Tammi sipped straight from the wine bottle, then wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “And I thought my family was screwed up.”

  Miranda reached out, touching Rosalind’s hand. “Well, we have each other now. Let’s not dwell on the past.”

  Rosalind smiled faintly, her thoughts circling back to Caine. Maybe he had a good reason to kill my parents. They’d chosen to imprison a shadow demon—a demigod, in fact—and they’d nearly destroyed his mind. Of course a demigod would seek vengeance. That’s what demigods did when they were wronged.

  Still, it didn’t change the fact that he had a disturbing habit of keeping the truth hidden. He’d known all along what had happened to her parents, and he’d never told her. And clearly, he was still keeping his darkest secrets buried deep. What terrible revelation was coming next?

  From outside the temple walls, the faint tinkling of bells whispered on the wind. The sound sent a shiver up Rosalind’s spine.

  Chapter 2

  Footfalls made her turn her head, and she saw Aurora crossing the grass with a silver flask in her hand. She wore a beautiful nectarine dress that hugged her slender figure. “There you are.”

  “Aurora!” Rosalind smiled. “I’m glad you could join us.”

  Aurora took a sip from her flask. “Sometimes I forget this place is here. No one worships in the temple anymore.”

  Rosalind pulled her shawl close, still listening to the tinkling bells. “What’s that noise?”

  “What noise?” Aurora asked.

  “The bells.” Rosalind held up a finger until she heard it again. “There. Did you hear it?”

  “Oh.” Aurora nodded at one of the half-collapsed walls. “The Garden of the Dead. I’ve got to give you a tour. It’s right over here.”

  Rosalind stood. The Garden of the Dead. Now this I need to see.

  Aurora led her to another tall window, open to the air.

  As Rosalind approached, her gaze landed on a moonlit cemetery. She clutched the crumbling stone windowsill, gazing out at the small necropolis. Crooked, old statues of angels and dragons jutted from the ground. Scattered around the cemetery stood yew trees. Even from here, she could see flecks of color decorating their boughs.

  “The garden of the dead,” Aurora said in a hushed voice. “When you hear the bells, it’s the spirits, speaking to us.”

  The hair rose on the back of Rosalind’s neck. “Who is buried here?”

  “Courtesans, mostly, but some vampires too,” Aurora said. In a heartbeat, she was over the windowsill. “Let me show you.”

  Rosalind followed after—landing not quite as gracefully, dust clouding around her.

  Aurora started down an old gravel path that meandered between the graves, and Rosalind hurried to catch up. As they walked, the sound of tinkling bells grew louder.

  Aurora pointed to an ornately carved obelisk towering over most of the other stones. “That’s Old Willard’s grave. From what I gather, he was a sexy little minx in his prime. The personal concubine of Lady Albintheen.”

  “How did he die?” Rosalind asked.

  “Of old age. Lady Albintheen kept him youthful by feeding him her blood. But there’s only so long that can go on. Eventually, his heart finally gave out over his dinner of lamprey pie.”

  “Right.”

  Before Rosalind could ask another question, Aurora was already hurrying toward another cluster of graves, surrounded by a small iron fence.

  “These are the Aspinwall Sisters.” Aurora shook her head “Mind you, they weren’t actually sisters. Everyone called them that because they dressed identically. Same hair. Same clothes. Same makeup. Same knickers. The vampire they served, Otto Aspinwall, had a bit of a thing for twins.”

  “Oh.” Rosalind grimaced. “Is he still alive?”

  “Nah. Quite tragic, really. Otto was obsessed with his twins. Loved their blood. Loved the weird role playing twincest shit they did. And one night, when they got him a little too excited, he totally lost control to the blood-hunger. Drained them both. He was inconsolable for weeks. Then, he just gave up and went through a portal to the sunlight.”

  Rosalind winced. “Charming. I didn’t know vampires committed suicide.”

  “Not often.”

  Rosalind ran her fingers over a rough stone, webbed with moss. “So, are there funerals for the dead concubines?”

  Aurora shrugged. “For the ones who were loved. They get funerals and gravestones, and the rest are… sort of jumbled together in unmarked graves.”

  “And what are the funerals like in Lilinor?”

  “They’re called feasts of the dead. The ceremony opens a gateway to the afterlife, so the dead don’t end up trapped in the House of Shades.” She turned to Rosalind. “Others give their souls to Nyxobas, and they get stuck in the shadow hell—especially those who die at the hands of a vampire. Bottom line: don’t take a vamp as a lover. It tends to end in death.”

  “Surely death among the vampires isn’t permanent?”

  “It usually is. Ambrose doesn’t permit the creation of new vampires without his permission. And Caine doesn’t allow bone-conjuring or necromancy.”

  The neared a strange
ly enormous yew. Great boughs, large as tree trunks, curved over them in a canopy. Ribbons and streamers, now faded by the weather, hung from them like Spanish moss. Keepsakes decorated every branch: ribbons and jewelry, tiny framed pictures, notes and letters. Some of them hung intertwined with the ivy that snaked around the trunk. Tiny, silver bells hung from the branches.

  A breeze puffed the branches, and the bells rang softly in the darkness. Rosalind shivered. The dead may whisper to us, but we can’t know what they’re saying.

  Under the canopy, Aurora reached up to pull down a blue ribbon, tied to an old skeleton key. She unfurled it, and read out loud. “Samuel Stocktown.”

  “Another concubine?

  “I have no idea. Most people buried in this cemetery get their name hung from a branch. Some are vampires, killed in battle or by the sun. And some are human, like you.” Aurora pointed to a large mound. “But most humans are buried there, in the common grave. No one remembers their names. Humans die so easily.”

  Loneliness welled in Rosalind’s chest, and a cold wind whipped over her skin. Under the tinkling bells, a faint scratching noise rose floated on the breeze. “What is that scraping?”

  “Ah. Those are the vamps Ambrose buried alive.” Aurora shot her a sharp look. “So don’t go digging around the roots of the yew, unless you have a death wish. Though I kinda get the feeling that you do, sometimes.”

  Rosalind’s mouth went dry. Suddenly, she had a strong urge to get away from the terrible noise. She turned back to the gravel path that lead to the Temple. “Let’s go back to the muffins and wine. This place is giving me the creeps.”

  Miranda was right: humans could never be at home here in Lilinor. Maybe humans and vamps were equal in death, but not in life. As far as she could tell, humans were basically here as sex slaves. And every now and then, a vampire might lose control to his blood-hunger and suck one dry.

  If she and her friends stayed in Lilinor too long, there’d be nothing left of them but a few ribbons and bells on a yew.

  Ambrose… Cleo whispered. Touch me again…

  “Shut up, you lunatic,” Rosalind muttered.