Divine Hunter

Book Four of the Vampire’s Mage Series

C.N. Crawford

Divine Hunter

Book 4 of the The Vampire’s Mage Series.

Copyright © 2017 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.

Contents

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

Also by C.N. Crawford

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Chapter 1

Rosalind sat between Tammi and Aurora on a soft, silver blanket, listening to the bells tinkling over Miranda’s grave. Shimmering ribbons intertwined with the yew branches, and with the baubles and trinkets left to remember the dead. On a long, opalescent ribbon, Caine had written the name Miranda.

With the picnic spread out before them, she couldn’t help but think of their last picnic together—just like their last party, except one of them was dead.

It had been three weeks since they’d buried Miranda. For some reason, Rosalind felt the need to show up here every now and then for lunch or dinner to keep Miranda company, even though Miranda’s soul had already moved on.

She took a sip of strong coffee from a silver thermos, the bitter brew sparking her mind with energy.

Tammi toyed with the ends of her silver-white hair. “If the bells are the spirits speaking to us, how are we supposed to know what they’re saying?”

“I have no idea,” Rosalind said. “I think they just like attention.”

Aurora frowned. “Not sure I really believe the legend. Bells also chime when wind goes through them, and being as it is that we’re outside, the air is moving a bit.”

“You’re the one who told me about the bells in the first place,” Rosalind said.

“I talk a lot of shit.”

“Someone’s a bit cranky this morning,” Tammi mumbled.

“I suppose,” Aurora said. “I spent too long at Cerberus’s last night. I didn’t know it was still possible to get hangovers when you’re dead, but apparently it is.”

“Who is Cerberus?” Tammi asked.

Aurora took a sip of coffee. “He runs one of Lilinor’s bars, not far from Ninlil Fortress. The one with the gargoyles. Blood, vodka, a bit of brawling, all the good stuff.”

“And why haven’t you taken us there?” Tammi asked.

Aurora scowled. “We are in the middle of a crisis here in Lilinor. Rosalind’s cousin broke our defenses again.”

“Please,” Rosalind said. “Don’t remind me that I’m related to him.” After all, Drew was the reason Miranda was no longer here. And then, two weeks ago, he’d stolen Erish from Lilinor’s prisons. The former queen of Lilinor was Drew’s key to creating demons—his secret weapon.

Aurora straightened. “In light of these disturbing events—and our possible impending demise—it seemed more appropriate to go to the bar on my own. Less cheerful, you know? I could hunch over the bar, brood about things, have my bloody Marys that way. More respectful.”

“Fair enough,” Tammi said. “Any ideas about how we’re getting out of this crisis so we can hit the bars together?”

Rosalind heaved a sigh. “Sure, I have an idea. We just have to break into the Brotherhood’s magically-protected headquarters and retrieve an ancient succubus from an insane god-man. Then kill his entire empire of fanatics. Simple.”

Tammi narrowed her eyes. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Perceptive as usual, but Rosalind was saying no more. “It’s as simple as that.”

Tammi pointed at her. “And you don’t have a particular plan that you’re hiding from me?”

“I’m still working on something, but if you have any ideas, let me know.”

Tammi couldn’t know the truth, or she’d never let Rosalind leave.

Aurora refilled her cup with steaming coffee. “Any idea what Drew is up to with the succubus?”

“Creating his legion of demons, I imagine, so he can invade Lilinor, kill everyone, and impregnate me with his hell-spawn.” She bit her lip. “I think I might need to hit up Cerberus’s for a brooding drink after this discussion.”

Tammi winced. “What are Ambrose and Caine planning to do to stop that from happening?”

“Just that we get Erish back from Drew before we find ourselves completely outnumbered. I’m sure Caine will come up with a plan.”

A flicker of movement under the stars caught Rosalind’s attention. A raven circled overhead, her wings silvered in the moonlight.

Lilu—Caine’s raven.

“I guess lunch is over,” Rosalind said. “I think that’s my signal that I’m due for training again.”

Standing, she surveyed the Gelal Fields. Even from here, she could see Caine’s powerful, sterling aura curling into the air, gleaming against the night sky. His magic called to her like a siren song.

“More fighting?” Tammi asked.

“He’s more keen on teaching me to land punches than for me to use the gods-magic that would actually destroy the Brotherhood.”

Aurora narrowed her eyes. “Unlike Caine, I have full confidence in your destructive abilities. Now if you could manage to fuck up the enemy instead of causing chaos on our own side, we’ll be getting somewhere.”

“Thanks, Aurora,” Rosalind said dryly. “Honestly. You kill one demon queen, and no one ever forgets it.”

Tammi gave her a thumbs-up. “Go save the world and stuff.”

The air felt warm and heavy, full of Lilinor’s intoxicating scent of lavender and jasmine. As Rosalind crossed the field, she ran her fingertips over her weapons. She’d dressed in her fighting leather, laden with knives and stakes, and a black corset, her hair pulled into a ponytail.

As she walked toward Caine’s aura, she searched the sky for cracks in the shield. The silver barrier—wrought with shadow magic—shimmered faintly, but it had thinned in some places. Drew was eating away at their defenses again, with his magic. No wonder he’d been able to break into the city and capture Erish.

Cleo, her second soul, coiled angrily around her heart. We’ll kill the Hunter King, someday. We’ll watch him burn.

“We certainly will,” Rosalind whispered.

As she crossed the grasses, she reached down, plucking a bluebell from the grass. She wrapped the stem between her fingers. Miranda had loved these little blossoms, and they seemed to calm Rosalind’s thoughts a little.

Unfortunately for her, the bluebells weren’t going to cure the raw ache in her thighs. Caine had been running her ragged with his training, until her muscles burned.

He didn’t seem to want her practicing too much magic, so she’d been using swords and axes, and learning to hunt him through the woods. But on her own, when Caine was occupied elsewhere, she spent her free time on the cliffs over the Astarte Sea, trying to master the gods’ powers on her own.

The magic itself felt glorious, but she still couldn’t control it. Every time she used too much power, the gods would begin to claim her mind, taking over until she’d find herself running wild through the woods, looking for something to kill.

And yet, with every spell, and every throw of a punch, she was one step closer to ridding the earth of the Brotherhood—assuming she hadn’t already lost the war.

As she approached Caine, her heart thrummed. Even after everything they’d been through—even after he’d kicked her out of his bedroom for a twat named Esmerelda—she’d never get sick of the sight of him. Slowly, she took in his muscular form, and the starlit gaze that had an irritating tendency to rob her of the power of language.

With the silver magic winding through the air around him, Caine exuded pure power. If she hadn’t been jacked up on the magic of seven gods, she never would have dared to fight him—even in training.

“Rosalind.” The corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyes slid down her body.

He didn’t even have to touch her. Just his gaze made her stomach flutter, and yet—she still didn’t know what that woman had been doing in his room.

Esmerelda.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked.

“Battle magic?”

He took a step closer, now so close she could feel the heat coming off his body. “I want to see what you can do in hand-to-hand combat. I don’t want you to rely on gods-magic alone.”

“How did I know you were going to say that?”

“You’ve been using it too much. You shouldn’t overuse it. You saw what happened to Drew.”

“I’m not going to win this war by punching people. I’m gonna need to blow things up.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You’re not going to win this on your own.”

She folded her arms. “Right, but I won’t be any use at all without magic. You know that. So we practice both. We fight with our fists, and with the gods-magic that we both possess. Fair?”

Amusement danced in his pale eyes. “Aren’t you imperious?”

“I learned from the best.” She raised her hand, letting fire spark from her fingertips. Caine might be a demigod, but he wasn’t immune to fire the way she was. She smiled at him. “Are you ready for this?”

Before she could work up a real flame, Caine flicked his wrist, freezing the air around them and snuffing out her fire. “You’ll have to do better than that, Rosalind.”

She closed her eyes, letting the power of the storm god flood her body. Thunder rumbled over the horizon, and electricity charged the air. Ancient rage sang in her blood, and she opened her eyes again, ready to inflict some damage—

Caine was already gone. Storm clouds seethed above. The air was thick with moisture, and she scanned the darkened landscape, searching for the whorls of Caine’s silver magic. Pale light shimmered by a blackthorn grove, and she shadow-ran to the spot, letting Nyxobas’s magic flood her body.

She arrived, breathless, but Caine’s magic was nowhere to be found.

Chapter 2

The storm clouds she’d created began to unleash their rain, hammering her skin with fat droplets. Beneath the churning storm, an unkindness of ravens circled. Was Caine among them?

With her gaze fixed on the birds, she almost missed the silver aura curling around her. Caine’s strong hands slipped around her, pinning her arms to her sides. He leaned in, whispering, “You’re going to have to move faster.”

Her body thrilled at his touch, her desires warring with the battle fury. She moved her hips against him, just enough to throw him off guard. Then a quick shift to the side, and she pumped her elbows back into his chest, breaking his grip. Pivoting, she threw a punch, but he caught her fist in his.

His grip was crushing, and he forced her hand down. It took a fraction of a second for him to pin her other wrist. His pale eyes bored into her.

Rain poured from the sky, soaking her clothes.

She let the vernal power of Druloch rush over her skin. She had to control Druloch’s power. The forest god was a god of true chaos, and who knew what he’d unleash if she gave in to his will entirely. Druloch’s magic whispered of savagery and orgies, mob rage and lust-crazed lovers fucking against tree trunks. She clenched her jaw, determined to stay in control this time.

While Caine gripped her wrists, she focused on the blackthorn behind him. Willing Druloch to do her will, she forced the boughs to reach for Caine. But as they did, another emotion heated her body.

Visions burned in her mind: The first time she’d kissed Caine in the Salem woods, straddling him in the dirt, fingertips digging into the mud. The feel of his bare skin on hers, his hands on her thighs, the embers burning hot inside her when she kissed his perfect mouth. That was what she should be doing. Why didn’t she just do what she wanted? Druloch would set her free.

She focused on the blackthorn boughs, drawing them closer to Caine. She’d root him in place, then make him hers. It was what Druloch wanted—what she wanted. The blackthorn branches snaked around Caine’s waist, thorns cutting into his skin in streaks of crimson.

He dropped his grip on her, and she moved in closer, pressing against him. She licked her lips, letting her gaze linger over his powerful body. Then she slid her mouth over his rain-slicked neck.

“Rosalind,” he said. “This will not be an effective strategy against the Hunters.”

She ran her fingertips over his muscled chest, down to his waistband, listening to his sharp intake of breath. Leafy magic whirled around her. She wasn’t Rosalind anymore—she was one of Druloch’s nymphs.

Caine flexed his muscles, breaking through the ropes of plant that encircled him. The feel of his aura caressing her skin, stroking her thighs, sent shivers of pleasure through her body.

He spun her around, pinning her arms to her waist again. “Rosalind,” he whispered. “You’re letting the gods take over. This is why gods-magic is dangerous.”

Her pulse raced, and his body felt amazing pressed against hers, but she tried to gather her thoughts. She tried to remember what she was supposed to be doing.

“Fighting,” Caine said, as if hearing her thoughts. “You were letting Druloch take control.”

Druloch’s earth magic still pulsed through her body, and the rich scent of the Edin Woods enveloped her. She leaned back into Caine, arching her neck. “I can learn to control it. Tell me how you control it?”

His grip on her softened, and he ran his fingertips over her waist, his touch now slow and lazy. “The gods are like clinging vines. The more you resist them, the tighter they grasp.”

“So I need to give in to them? That seems… dangerous.”

“Druloch is the god of trances and liberation. You can’t resist him too strongly, nor the others.” He moved his fingertips to her arm and extended it, before folding her arm to bend at the elbow. She watched, entranced, as he guided her hand into his. “You have to learn to the bend to the gods, too. Let down your defenses a little. Yield to them, because if one unyielding force meets another, one of you will break. And it won’t be the god.”

His loamy scent distracted her. “Right,” she said. “I guess I need to work on that.”

He pulled away from her, sitting beneath the low boughs of the blackthorn tree.

Rosalind joined him, leaning against the trunk. After the glut of gods-magic, her body hummed with a strange mixture of exhaustion and excitement.

Caine gazed at her. “And that’s why you need to take care. Before you know it, you can lose yourself in the insane minds of the gods.”

“Like Drew,” she said. “I get it. You’ve said this before.”

“I don’t want to see you turn into your parents.”

She frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m nothing like them.” She plucked a spray of grass, and tossed it at him. “You don’t really think I’m evil, do you?”

He shook his head. “Of course not. It’s not that simple. But it’s like you said before you drank the ambrosia: humans weren’t meant to wield gods-magic.”

“How do you know? It’s not like there’s a book about this.” A sigh slid from her. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to keep me from becoming powerful because it makes you uncomfortable?”

“You already are powerful.”

“Not the way I need to be.”

“You’re perfect the way you are.”

She smiled. “A rare compliment from Caine. But the truth is, I have to do this, even if it means burning myself out. I have to kill Drew, for Miranda’s sake. There’s nothing left for me, apart from that. I can’t have a normal life as a normal person. That dream is dead.”

“What exactly is a normal life?”

“I suppose if you’ve been living in a vampire realm for centuries the concept of normality would be a bit confusing.” She bit her lip. “I guess my vision of a normal life is the same as Miranda’s dream. She wanted us to live in a protected world—like Lilinor, but full of life and light. One where we could all live in the sun, and feel the rainwater on our faces. Where we could pluck wildflowers, bake bread, read by the fire. All that normal stuff.”

“It sounds idyllic,” he said. “But I suppose idylls are rarely real.”

“So you’ve never had just a normal, human-like life with a family and… I don’t know, normal family meal times, walks in the park?”

“Not really.”

She frowned. “Where were you born, anyway? Maremount?”

His jaw tightened. “No.”

“Silly of me to think you’d actually answer a personal question.”

“It’s not important.” He pushed his rain-soaked hair off his forehead. “What’s important is that with every victory Drew wins for the Brotherhood, they are able to absorb more humans into their cult. Every Brotherhood victory and glorious new building signals that Blodrial is all-powerful, a god who will bestow success and wealth on his followers.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m familiar with their P.R. tactics.”

“And worse, Drew is using Erish to create demons that have not walked the earth for centuries. Storm demons, uridimmu, wraiths of famine… and that’s just the start, if we aren’t able to stop Erish from creating more. There could be no end to Drew’s power, and we will find ourselves in the midst of a true apocalypse. Considering Drew is slightly fixated on you, I’m guessing Lilinor will be his first stop with his new legions of the damned.”

Rosalind hugged herself. Her clothes were sodden. “How do you know the specifics?”

“I have a spy among his people—someone who can shift into human form and disguise her magic.”

“Who?”

“Esmerelda.”

“Oh. Right. The unpleasant woman you had a dinner date with.”

He took a deep breath. “I allowed you to think it was a dinner date, but it wasn’t. She was reporting to me.”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “First a compliment, then an open admission. I’m starting to think the apocalypse is upon us already.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Perhaps. It is one of the seven signs, I believe.” He reached for her face, then tightened his fist again and pulled it away, his expression darkening. “I think I should go alone to get Erish. You should remain in Lilinor with Malphas.”

“No.” She swallowed hard. “We should stick with the plan I’ve been working on for weeks.”

“The one that I think is a terrible idea?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said firmly. “Don’t underestimate me.”

“I hate this idea,” he said fiercely.

“It’s my decision.”

He held her gaze for a long time, a look that stripped her bare. “We’ll need more time to get ready,” he said, sounding as if he was trying to reassure himself more than her.

“I’ll be fine. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to finish my lunch.” She started to leave, then thought better of it and turned back to him. “Are you going to admit why you wanted me to think you and Esmerelda were having a little romantic evening?”

He shrugged. “Because I was angry with you.”

“You’re over that, right? You understand now, surely, that it wasn’t me who slept with Ambrose? It was Miranda.”

The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but a chill rippled through the air. “It wasn’t Miranda who kissed my brother.”

She shook her head. “No. That was Cleo. She was controlling my mind.”

He smiled wryly. “Just Cleo, was it?” Abruptly, the amusement left his expression. “I’m not sure what bothers me more: the fact that you kissed my brother, or the fact that you’re unable to take responsibility for things you’ve clearly done.”

Above, the clouds began to thin, letting in shards of moonlight.

“And why is this so hard for you to understand?” she asked. “I’ve heard all about the fact that you did something terrible when you got your second soul. I kissed Malphas—big deal. I’m guessing you did something worse. What was it?”

His frigid aura snaked from his body, icing the air around them. “Much worse. But I don’t blame it on my second soul.”

“Maybe you should. Then maybe you could ease up on the self-loathing and relax a little.”

His body had gone completely still, and shadows slid across his eyes. “A second soul is not entirely a foreign entity. It brings out your true nature, your true desires.”

“That’s not a real thing. You just made that up.” She cocked a hip. “And what are you suggesting my true nature is?”

“I’m not suggesting it’s anything,” he said. “Only that your true nature has chosen Malphas—and of course it would. It’s destiny that you should choose him.”

Chapter 3

Cold rain slid down Rosalind’s skin, chilling her to the bone. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s not important.”

“What did your second soul bring out in you, then? What’s your true nature?”

For just a moment, darkness crept over his eyes like pooling ink, giving her a dizzying glimpse into the void. “You’re kidding yourself, little girl, if you think you don’t already know.”

A shiver snaked up her spine, and she let out a long breath. “You’re going to have to stop calling me that, when I’m wielding the power of seven gods. Perhaps that’s the real obstacle for you, isn’t it? A woman with power greater than yours?”

“No, Rosalind.” His eyes brightened to silver again. “But the important question is, are you sure you’re ready for what lies ahead, even with your power of seven gods?”

Her stomach flipped. She wasn’t ready—not at all. But she wasn’t about to tell Caine that.

“Of course I’m ready,” she lied. “And I need you make me a promise: When I go into Cambridge, you can’t come after me. I need you to trust that I can do it on my own. Don’t underestimate me, okay?”

He stared down at her, and she was certain the starlight dimmed in the sky for a moment. “If that’s what you really want.”

She turned to walk away from him, dread blooming in her chest.

Perhaps this would be a good time to get herself acquainted with Cerberus.

* * *

The light rain continued to fall, and Rosalind rubbed her arms for warmth as she walked down the cobbled path to Cerberus’s bar. Drew and the Brotherhood had the upper hand in every way, creating dreadful armies and palaces, recruiting new converts with the promise of wealth and riches from a benevolent god. Her cousin would be sitting on a marble throne, presiding over the kingdom he’d always wanted… and planning how to capture his queen.

Cleo’s aura roiled restlessly in Rosalind’s chest. Rosalind wanted a few hours off, but, as ever, her second soul was hungry for bloodshed and vengeance.

Kill the Hunters, Cleo sang.

“I will,” Rosalind whispered. “You and I will kill them together.”

Rosalind’s footfalls clicked over the stones. There was a time when she had no chance in hell of walking through these streets unscathed, but since she’d been using gods-magic, the vampires had begun to ignore her.

The street curved down to a steep-roofed stone building, a grimacing, winged gargoyle looming over its entrance. Cerberus’s. Perfect. With any luck, a few hours there would mean a few hours where she could forget about Drew—and perhaps forget about Caine’s bizarre proclamation that she and Malphas were destined for each other.

She pushed through an arched wooden door into the bar. As the breeze filtered in, candles guttered over the shadowy stone walls. In alcoves around the bar, vampires hunched over silver cups, barely registering her arrival.

Faint moonlight streamed through multi-paned windows, onto an oak bar. A man stood behind it, his jowls as formidable as his velvet suit.

Rosalind crossed the stone floor to him, raising her eyebrows. “Cerberus?”

“Yeah?”

“Looks like I’m in the right place.” She took a seat between two vampires—a woman casually dressed in a T-shirt, and a distinguished, silver-haired gentleman in leather pants and a frilly white shirt.

Cerberus leaned on the bar. “What’ll it be?”

Rosalind scanned the offerings. Crooked stone shelves were crammed with bottles of blood, and amber and clear alcohol. Two large barrels with taps hung above the bar, simply labeled Red and White.

“Red wine, I guess. No blood. Just the wine.”

“Suit yourself.” Plucking a silver goblet from behind the bar, Cerberus shuffled off to fill it.

Rosalind peered at the young woman to her left, whose dark hair had been dyed purple at the tips. On closer inspection, she was surprised to find her wearing a Count Duckula T-shirt, jeans, and frilly bunny slippers.

The woman sipped her drink, then caught Rosalind’s eye and raised her glass. A faint sheen of blood glistened on her lip.

Cerberus slid Rosalind’s wine across the bar, and she lifted the goblet to the purple-haired woman before taking a sip. The clear, fruity taste danced on her taste buds.

“Rebecca!” The older man on her right leaned over her to yell at the woman in the T-shirt. “Must you bring down the tone of the place every evening with your ridiculous clothing?”

She scowled. “First of all, I go by Becca now. Second of all, I am two thousand years old. I remember when Caligula made his horse into a consul, because I was there. I will wear what I want, Duke Ricard, and I want to be comfortable.”

Duke Ricard sniffed. “Vampires are supposed to comport themselves with a sense of dignity. Bunny slippers and Count Duckula T-shirts do not qualify as dignified.”

“Says the man in leather pants.” Becca rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Ricky. The nouveau mort are the worst.”

The Duke’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You do not have permission to call me Ricky. I am the Duke of Death and Rain. Furthermore, I have impeccable taste. You have wine stains on your shirt. Mine is spotless.” He gripped his cup so hard he crushed it. “You take back what you said.”

Becca swiveled on her chair, then leaned back on her elbows, curling her lip. “I stand by it. Nouveau mort.” Despite her pink bunny slippers, she managed to inject her voice with some serious menace.

The Duke rose, his eyes darkening to midnight black. Snarling, he revealed his fangs. Rosalind turned to watch the action unfold. She was about to witness one of those bar brawls Aurora had mentioned. She’d come to forget about Drew and Erish for an hour or two, and she would not be disappointed.

In a flash of pinkish light, Becca leapt over the bar and plucked a bottle of vodka from the shelf. On her way back over the bar, she shattered the bottle against the oak, splashing Rosalind with vodka.

“You need a weapon, do you?” snarled the Duke.

Becca’s lip curled, and she lunged for him. He dodged back, and soon they were caught in a wild dance of lunging and whirling, striking and ducking, the Duke always just out of reach of her broken bottle. He managed to land a wild haymaker, but Becca followed up with a jab of the broken bottle. Streaks of crimson stained the front of his shirt.

Okay. Time to step in.

Rosalind stood, stepping between the two vampires, just as the Duke was lunging again. Using silver night magic, she formed a shield. “Okay, this has been fun, but maybe let’s just drink now, shall we?”

Becca, who had lost one of her bunny slippers in the fray, simply shrugged. “Sure. But I would just like to note that Duke Ricard’s shirt is no longer pristine.”

“Gutter vampire,” the Duke muttered, taking his seat again.

Becca returned to her chair, smoothing her hair. She scowled at the Duke. “Come back to me when you hit five hundred years, and we’ll see how much you care about dignity.”

The Duke straightened, looking straight ahead. “I might not live that long, not with the Brotherhood gearing up to slaughter us at any moment. Bastards keep raising the sun in the land of night.”

Okay. So apparently there was no escaping this current crisis.

Becca arched an eyebrow at Rosalind. “Aren’t you that mage? You’re not a vampire. And you’re not human.” She looked Rosalind up and down. “So you’re the person who’s supposed to save us.”

Rosalind swallowed an enormous gulp of her wine. “I will have help.”

“So what’s the plan?” the Duke asked. “Aren’t you supposed to turn us into daywalkers? Ambrose promised us.”

This particular trip to the bar was about as relaxing as hip surgery. “We needed my sister for that. We had a bit of a setback—namely, she died.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Becca said. “Sorry.”

The Duke raised his glass. “To your sister.” He knocked it back.

“So,” Rosalind continued, “we’ll find another way. But for tonight, I just want to drink wine.”

“Fair enough,” Becca said.

Rosalind finished off her wine in silence, half listening to Becca and the Duke bicker about shoes. When she finished, it suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t brought any money with her. She channeled the icy magic of Nyxobas to create three silver coins and dropped them on the counter.

Chapter 4

Rosalind spent another hour in the bar, drinking her way through a few more glasses of wine, before she returned to the fortress. As soon as she was inside, something compelled her to seek out Caine. She wanted to know exactly what he’d meant about the whole You’re destined for my brother thing. Caine had been keeping secrets from her for too long now.

Rosalind’s and Caine’s lives were now completely intertwined, twin vines searching for light—and the secrets Caine carried were a blight that would rot them from the inside out.

Should she tell him that when she’d woken that morning, tangled in her sheets, she’d reached for Miranda’s hand? And that when she didn’t find her sister there, she’d been able to think of only one other person she desperately wanted to see.

Caine. Not his brother.

He needed to know that. But she also needed him to let down his defenses a little and actually tell her about himself. She wanted all of him—not just his beauty and grace, but all the dark, sharp edges. He was her blackthorn tree: dark, beautiful, and savagely spiked. She wanted him just as he was—assuming he could learn to trust her.

After all they’d been through together, he still wasn’t telling her the truth.

In the high-arched hall, candlelight danced in the lanterns, casting writhing shadows over the floor, like half-living creatures. By now, her clothes had totally dried, though her hair still hung damp over her shoulder.

Her gaze landed on the portrait of Lord Byron outside Caine’s room. Standing before his door, she took a deep breath, then knocked on the oak.

After a few moments, the door creaked open. Eerily, no one stood before it. Caine sat in a silver armchair, reading a large book by candlelight. He wore a black T-shirt, short-sleeved, showing off his muscles.

He arched an eyebrow. “We’ve already finished our training for the day. You were supposed to be resting. Eating. Whatever it is humans do.” The breeze lifted strands of his dark hair. “If you’d like to bathe here, of course, feel free. I’ll be happy to help.”

She folded her arms. “About our conversation earlier…”

He closed the book, sliding it onto a small oak table. “Yes?”

“Why are you so certain that my true nature wants your brother, and that Malphas and I are destined for each other? I don’t understand.”

Caine looked at the window. “When I was locked up in your parents’ house, there was one ray of light: Malphas. Unlike me, he wasn’t chained. He could move from place to place. He’d come see me in the cellar. He’d leave, and travel through the fields, through the forest.” He met her gaze again. “Always, when he came back to me, he was talking about one thing: Rosalind. Rosalind is brave. Rosalind led us on an adventure. You weren’t the good twin, but you fascinated him. That’s part of it, anyway.”

Rosalind’s heart tightened. “And what’s the rest of it?”

Caine rose and crossed toward her, his movements smooth but precise, his hands in his pockets. His icy eyes—starlit on the inside, with a deep pewter ring around the irises—made her stomach swoop. She’d never quite appreciated their depth before.

As he stepped into her space, he pressed his hands against the wall on either side of her head, boxing her in. His powerful aura caressed her skin, lighting her body up. She glanced at the sharp tattoo on his forearm—the heart of his dark secrets.

Her breath hitched in her throat. She would ask him about his secrets, and he would dodge her questions. This was their eternal dance.

“In the vision of your life that I saw, there was a blond woman brushing her hair in a cracked looking glass.”

Shadows flitted across his eyes. “And what does that have to do with you?”

“Who was she?” She reached up, touching the tattoo on his arm. “This was hers. The hairpin.”

He flinched. “She’s the real reason why Malphas is your destiny, and I am not.”

Suddenly, her legs were trembling. Her pulse raced. So this blonde was another lover, perhaps. “Why? Who was she?”

Caine’s eyes darkened, became black as the void. The candlelight in the lanterns guttered, and the temperature in the room dropped. An icy chill ran up Rosalind’s spine.

“He’s here,” Caine whispered.

Dread stole Rosalind’s breath. Drew.

Caine cupped her face, staring into her eyes. “It’s too soon.”

Rosalind glanced over Caine’s shoulder as the rising sun had stained the sky blood red. A tendril of horror coiled around her heart. “We don’t have a choice,” she said. “We need to act now. Find Ambrose.”

“I’ll stay with you. We can defeat him together, now.”

“Go.” She tried to steady her voice. “See that the vampires are safe. I’ll handle Drew. It’s what I’ve been training for. You know this.”

This was it. This was her actual destiny.

But Caine didn’t respond to her command. Instead, he seemed to be searching her face for something, and every moment he wasted meant another vampire could die in sunlight flames.

Gently, she pushed at Caine’s powerful chest. “He’s going to kill again. He’s going to kill every last one of Lilinor’s citizens. Keep the vampires in their rooms. This is your duty now.”

He clutched her waist, his fingers tightening possessively. “I’ve changed my mind. This isn’t a good idea. I’ll face Drew. You look after the vampires.”

“Caine. I can survive sunlight. I can survive fire and drowning. I can call up fire and storms. The vampires are helpless against him; I’m not. You need to trust me.”

He leaned in, his hard body pressing against hers, and kissed her hard. It was a desperate kiss, as if he thought this might be his last moment on earth. His fingers gripped her, and a wave of molten heat surged through her blood. Visions danced in her mind of Caine, cradling a blue-eyed baby.

Slowly, he pulled away, his eyes closed.

She touched his face. “I’ll be fine. Cleo will take care of me.”

“She’d better.” Caine kissed her one last time, then disappeared in a flash of silver, a few whirls of his magic lingering like smoke.

Cleo’s aura curled around her ribs, hungry for blood. We’re going to slaughter the Hunter King. I want to bathe in his blood. I want to light the corrupted Brotherhood’s city on fire.

“We will,” Rosalind promised.

As Rosalind moved through the halls, Cleo’s memories sparked in her mind. The night—centuries ago—when Ambrose had betrayed her. The Hunters had arrived for her, iron tools in hand. The field of bluebells and aster, stained in blood. The Hunters had locked her in a cell, cut her skin, broken her thumbs. Raped her. They’d burned her alive in the town square while her lover looked on.

And now, Rosalind was about to face the Hunter’s king She had to defeat him—not just for herself, but for her twin sister. For Lilinor, and for Cleo.

Amber rays from the rising sun slanted through the window, filling her with dread. Never before had she been so terrified of daylight. Long shadows crept over the ground, and between them the rising sun stained the floor red. Within the rooms, the vampires began to scream, desperate to hide themselves from the sun. At least they were awake this time, not completely defenseless.

It’s time to face Drew.

She moved faster through the hall, shadow-running down the stairs. She needed to stop him now, before he slaughtered the entire city. Duke Ricard had been right—the vampires were vulnerable here, just waiting for the next slaughter—but she was not.

Like a phantom wind, she moved swiftly down the long hall toward the portcullis. Goosebumps rose on her skin, from a mixture of fear and anticipation. This was what she’d trained for.

As she approached the portcullis, she let the storm god’s magic sing through her blood. Electricity sparked from her fingertips. With each step toward the entrance, her body charged.

She strode over the crimson carpet, an angel of death with storms in her blood, and Cleo’s aura writhed around her body.

Let’s kill the Hunter King.

Chapter 5

Even from inside, she could feel the storm clouds gathering overhead, ready to unleash their fury. At the end of the corridor, she pulled a lever, and the enormous latticed doors creaked open.

There, in the center of the stone esplanade, stood Drew, dressed in white. At the sight of him, rage stole her breath—tinged with a little bit of fear. The expression on his face didn’t quite look human, and whorls of magic snaked from his body in colored tendrils. Somehow, his body had grown in size, and his eyes blazed with pure flame.

For what he’d done—for what he still wanted to do to her—she wanted to rip his heart right out of his chest. He was here for her, and she was here to kill him.

She stepped into the cobbled esplanade, just as the roiling clouds began to unleash their rain.

“Cousin,” she said. “I knew you’d come for me.”

He flexed his fingers. “We’re going to create our dynasty, Rosalind.” His voice sounded distant, as if it were coming from a void. “It’s your destiny.”

The wrath of the storm god rippled over her skin, cold and vengeful. This was where Drew had murdered her sister, just twenty feet away, at the wooden stake. This was where Rosalind had felt the world end.

She lifted her hand, letting the magic surge to the end of her fingertips. I want to watch you burn.

When she flicked her wrist, a bolt of lightning shot from her fingertips to her cousin’s chest.

The scent of burning flesh curled into the air. Drew arched his back, paralyzed, then fell to the earth. She took a deep breath. Maybe her plan wouldn’t have to come to fruition at all. Maybe she should just kill him now…

Had she killed him? No—his chest still rose and fell slowly. She’d merely slowed him down.

Burn him, Cleo whispered.

Molten rage imbued her body, and the fire goddess’s magic ignited her veins. But he’d been through Emerazel’s inferno, and fire wouldn’t burn him. Could he be killed?

Now, in his presence, something in the back of her mind whispered that he couldn’t, that he was as enduring as the gods themselves…

She felt Mishett-Ash’s electricity surge through her blood again, the ancient chaos of the storm god; she struck Drew again, in the center of his chest, with a stunning spear of lightning.

His body shook, convulsing, and smoke curled into the air. Yet he still breathed, his chest rising and falling.

Her mind whirled. How do I kill him?

He sat up, his eyes blazing with a fiery light, and Rosalind kicked him hard in the side of his head. His neck snapped backward, and she kicked him again. In the next moment, his body flashed with colored light, and he sprang up from the ground, his mouth bleeding.

Before she could strike him gain, he lunged for her with the full force of a hurricane wind. He grasped her around the ribs, hurtling with her through the air.

Her breath left her lungs, and then he was slamming her against the wooden stake with one hand, his other tightening around her throat.

Her stomach churned. This is where it happened. This is where he killed Miranda.

As Drew squeezed her neck, she stared into his eyes, but she could see no humanity there. In his burning eyes, she saw the gods looking back at her.

At that point, she was certain of one thing: the gods weren’t evil. They weren’t loving.

They were simply insane.

Revulsion turned her stomach as she felt Drew’s fingers crawling over her flesh, his magic claiming her body like an infection.

Panic stole her breath. How could she fight him, if the gods’ fire and floods couldn’t hurt him?

He squeezed her throat harder, pressing on her trachea until the pain ripped her mind apart. Her mind spinning, she closed her eyes.

This is how the world ends, in the darkness and the damp. Quietly, and utterly alone.

Her eyes snapped open again, and a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Tammi stood in the entrance of the Ninlil fortress, rain soaking her thin white dress.

“Rosalind!” she shouted.

No! Rosalind’s mind screamed. Get out of here! This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Tammi shouldn’t be here.

“Rosalind,” Drew whispered, his fingers inching up her flesh. “You belong to me now.”

Rosalind wanted to scream to Tammi to rush inside, but Drew was crushing her trachea.

The song of the valkyrie rushed through her body, filling her with power. A burst of electricity surged through her, knocking Drew back on to the soaked cobblestones.

Drew’s face contorted with rage as he sprang to his feet. Flames blazed from the tips of his fingers. “You need to understand. You won’t be able to kill me. I’m a god now, and gods don’t die; we create.”

What the hell was he talking about? Was this true, or the product of an insane mind? “I think all that magic warped your mind, Drew. You sound like a lunatic.”

“Using gods-magic changes you. It’s changed me, and it will change you, too.” Slowly, his movements reptilian, Drew shook his head. “I know your weaknesses, Rosalind. You’re not scared you’ll be hurt.” He pointed to Tammi. “You’re scared they’ll be hurt. Your little friends.” Rage flashed in his eyes, and his aura whipped the air around him. “Your lover!” He bellowed this last word, and the sound rumbled through Rosalind’s gut.

A wave of horror washed over Rosalind, and she turned to Tammi. “Run!” She screamed.

Tammi’s eyes widened, and she turned to flee. As she did, Drew turned to face the fortress, and hurled a ball of fire at the gate.

Icy wrath blazed through Rosalind, and she rallied her shadow magic, then hurled a stream of frigid shadows at the flames. The rush of silver magic froze his flames in the air.

Rosalind rushed for Drew, yanking an iron knife from her belt.

Kill him… Cleo whispered.

Rosalind brought the iron down toward Drew’s chest. At the last moment, he dodged, and she pivoted. When she’d been a Hunter, she’d learned to anticipate her opponent’s next move, and Drew tended to dodge to his left. The next time she lunged for him, she shifted lightly to the right. She plunged the knife between his ribs, pulling it out again for another strike.

But this time, Drew grabbed her wrist—twisting it, crushing her bones. Pain ripped through her arm.

She called on the power of Borgerith, Lady of Stone, and filled her body with the strength of the mountains. Already, her bones were healing where Drew tried to crush them.

I am the dark places under the earth, the cave and rock.

Rosalind ripped her wrist from Drew’s grasp, following up with a hard punch to his jaw. Her body blazed with power.

When her fist connected, his bone crunched; he stumbled off course.

I am the things you want to forget. I am your guilt, the weight of the lives you’ve taken.

She rained blow after blow onto his head, each punch delivering the force of a ton of rocks. Drew stumbled back, and she pressed on, trying to break him.

I am Miranda’s broken body. I am Cleo’s tormented soul.

Drew fell back, and Rosalind leapt on top of him, pounding his face with her fists.

I am your judge, and your executioner.

Blood poured from his mouth and nose, and his eyes dulled. Miranda. Slam. She died, she lived. Slam. She died again.

Blood streamed from his face, mingling with the rain in rivulets through the cobblestones. Rosalind had broken every bone in his face, smashing it beyond recognition. Now, she needed to finish the job—if she could. Was he telling the truth? Was he really a god now? Was she?

She pulled another iron knife from her belt, gripping it high above her head. But as she brought her hands down to deliver the death blow, Drew caught her wrists, his grip vice like. Where had he found this reserve of strength.

“Rosalind,” he rasped, his words slurred through his broken jaw. “You can’t kill a god this way. Didn’t your lover tell you?”

He snarled, his body glowing with golden light until the rays nearly blinded her. Tammi was long gone by now, but what sort of a blast was he working up?

I have to stop him.

Rosalind let the frigid rage cool her blood as she geared up for another strike of shadow magic.

Just as she wrenched her wrist away, an explosion of flame burst from Drew’s body. The blast knocked her back into a stone wall, her back cracking. The earth shook, rock and debris raining around her. Screams ripped through the air. When she pushed herself to her feet again, pain splintered her body, and she stared in horror at the decimated fortress walls.

Drew stood before her, immense as a god, his back arched, body vibrating with white light, like the birth of a star.

From the skies, balls of fire rained, igniting rooftops all over the city. Everyone she cared about in the world was in this city.

Caine, Tammi, Aurora…

Her world tilted. Drew was going to murder everyone, and she wasn’t strong enough to stop him.

This had gone on long enough.

“Stop!” she screamed.

Drew turned to look at her, his eyes blazing like hellfire. “My bride. Are you ready to give in, or do you want me to keep going?”

Her legs trembled. “Yes. I’m ready!” she screamed. “Stop the fire!”

In a flash, he was standing before her, grabbing her by the throat, thumb pressing into her trachea. In his eyes, she saw only the fractured madness of the gods.

“Tell me you’ll agree to be my mate,” he growled, his face mangled beyond recognition. “Or I will burn the entire city while you watch. You and I will live through the flames while you listen to their screams.”

Through her half-crushed throat, she choked, “I agree.” Revulsion turned her stomach. She didn’t want to go anywhere near him, but this was the only way.

As he tightened his grip on her, the skies turned to a midnight black.

This is how the world ends.

Drew’s smile was a thing of terror, his eyes dancing with light. He pulled out a set of iron cuffs, pinning her arms behind her back. Magic whirled from his body. The ground gave way beneath Rosalind’s feet, and a flood of dark water rushed up. Drew dragged her into its murky depths.

Chapter 6

She plunged deeper into the portal, with Drew gripping her waist, her hands chained behind her back. She was sinking deeper underground, plummeting with him. Something sharp pierced her flesh below her ribs, and she looked down to see a syringe. Drew, his face mangled, was injecting her body.

And when he’d finished, she stared as he sealed her skin with his magic. This time, he was going to make sure Rosalind was unable to flush the iron from her system.

Panic ripped her mind apart—but only for a few moments—until the iron began to dull her thoughts again.

Now he’d be able to control her mind. The iron from the syringe was seeping into her body, polluting it. And yet, it wasn’t working as quickly this time.

This couldn’t be it—she wasn’t going to end it this way, to make her grave in his palace, to live as a breathing corpse. Whatever it took, she would fight until she took her last breath.

She wasn’t the same girl she’d once been. She’d seen too much death to remain unscathed, felt her own heart stop when Miranda’s had. She’d lost a piece of herself, buried under the yew.

Drew dragged her deeper under the water, his hands rough around her waist, and she detached her mind from the feel of his fingers on her skin. She’d told Caine to have faith in her, and she’d meant it. It wasn’t over yet.

There’d been a time when this plunge into the water would have burned her lungs, would have pierced her muscles with the cold. Maybe Drew was right—maybe gods-magic had changed her. Her descent through the portal felt no colder than the icy dread in her heart. Was she transforming, too? Becoming a god?

According to Drew, this was her destiny. Seemed like a lot of people had ideas about her destiny, and none of them had bothered consulting her on the matter. I’m not done yet, please gods, don’t let me be done yet. She had to write her own destiny.

She looked up at the murky surface. Golden rays of light streamed through the water.

Never before had daylight so unnerved her. Like a Pavlovian response, the amber rays of day now filled her chest with dread.

Drew pulled her up through the water’s surface, dragging her onto a cold mosaic floor.

She lay flat on her back, staring at a ceiling painted to look like a blue sky, with astrological signs etched in copper.

Drew stood above her, staring down at her. Already, his face had begun to heal, his bones regaining a semblance of their former shape. The water seemed to have washed the blood off him.

Rosalind swallowed hard, standing to survey the enormous, octagonal room. Gold and maroon fabric hung draped over bone-colored walls, and chalice insignias had been embroidered all over the rich silks. In the center of the room stood a bed on dais—a gold, winged base, with platinum silk draping from a golden-crowned canopy.

Two demons stood in the corners of the room. Rosalind’s mouth went dry as she looked at them. Their bottom halves looked like scorpions, with long, pointed legs, and enormous tails that curled high over their heads, twelve feet long at least. Their chests and arms were human-like, their torsos thickly corded with muscle, and each one gripped an iron spear. They stared at Rosalind through empty black eyes, and she shivered. When she turned to look at the other side of the room, she found two more blocking the door.

Slowly, the iron seeped deeper into her blood, weakening her senses, sapping her magic. She blinked, staring at the iron rings studding the room, protruding from the walls and bedposts. All the places Drew could chain her…

From the corner of her eye, she could see Drew’s magic curling all over the walls in colorful strands. He’d created this entire palace, and it bore his signature like magical DNA. It felt corrupted, toxic.

Drew was studying her, and she wanted to get as far away from him as possible.

Her body was moving sluggishly now. Slowly, she stumbled to a set of French windows, staring out upon the transformed city of Cambridge. A vast courtyard stretched out before them—nearly a mile of grass surrounded by marble buildings, each one brimming with Drew’s rotten magic.

As the iron’s magic began to cloud her mind, she tried to clear her thoughts, forcing herself to focus. Besides the magic, there was something really not right about this place. As she studied the wall by the window, she noticed its surface seemed oddly smooth—and under the surface, it appeared as if a network of veins spread through the building. Somehow, the windows seemed to breathe, flexing gently in and out.

She swallowed hard, her mouth tasting of ash, trapped in Drew’s kingdom of blood and bone. He’d made sure there was no way out. She blinked, searching for an exit route. Cold mists clouded her mind, but she knew it would be important later, that she needed to study everything here.

Around the city, marble walls closed them in, nearly a hundred feet high. And if she knew the Brotherhood, every inch of those marble walls was rigged with anti-demon weapons: iron dust, hawthorn stakes, flamethrowers. The place was impenetrable. Dimly, she could imagine herself standing on the other side of the walls, blasting them with magic, decimating them. She’d storm into the empire, blazing with fire, and burn down the city that never should have been. She’d… burn… What was I thinking about?

She pressed her forehead to the window, the glass cool against her skin. Morning sunlight blazed over the city, turning her blood to ice. My new home.

She felt Drew walk up behind her. He swept her hair out of her face, and leaned over her shoulder, breathing down her neck.

“What do you think of your new home?” he purred.

She shuddered at his touch. Something wasn’t right. Her thoughts were muddied, but… “This isn’t my home,” she slurred.

“Rosalind, my little pet. You will learn your place.” His fingers slid around her waist. “Tell me that you worship me.”

She clenched her jaw, fighting the compulsion to say what he wanted her to say. His iron had infected her system, but deep in the hollows of her mind she could still form her own thoughts. Dear gods. How long would it be until she could get out of here?

Without warning, he spun her around, slamming her against the window. Her head smacked against the glass, and she winced.

“You are my queen,” he said. “And you will treat me as your king. Did you know that I no longer need to drink the blood from Blodrial? The magic of the gods is simply within me now. I am a god. I am Azazeyl, and so are you. And the two of us—with gods-magic in our bodies—we will never die. You and I will live together forever, do you understand? And that is why I am your destiny.”

Panic ripped her mind apart. He tightened his fingers around her throat, crushing the air out of her. Pain blazed through her body, searing her lungs. He liked this move—strangling her. He liked the control, like the pain he inflicted. More than that, she was certain he liked being close to her. He was desperate for human touch, and he had no idea how else to get it.

Her lungs burned. How long until I can get out of here?

“Rosalind,” he purred. “I will make you behave. Looks like one injection isn’t enough for you now. Not to worry—there’s plenty more.”

The needle pierced her skin, just between her ribs. His charmed serum would allow him to control her mind. And when he finished, he pressed his hand hard against her ribs, sealing her skin.

The charmed iron spread through her body; ice encased her mind.

As if watching from a distance, she saw Drew press a finger over her mouth. “There, there, my little queen.”

All the anger had left her body. Now she didn’t feel anything at all.

Drew stared down at her, his face still lumpy and red from the beating. “Now. Tell me what I want to hear.”

* * *

Hours passed in a fog, and Rosalind knew only that she’d been chained to a bed. Sunlight streamed in through the thin curtains, burning her eyes, and the iron shackles around her limbs and neck chafed her skin.

Sometimes, Drew would come in and force her to speak, to say the things he wanted to hear.

She’d feel her mouth forming the words, but she couldn’t quite decipher the meaning—only that he seemed desperate for something, and that he’d tear out his hair with rage if he didn’t think she was saying it right.

Glaciers slid across her mind, and her thoughts moved sluggishly beneath them like ice floes. Every now and then she’d catch a wisp of a feeling floating by… a fleeting stab of sadness, a spark of rage. And then, just ice and iron, and the burning sunlight.

For the first time, she realized someone had changed her clothes, dressed her in sheer wisps of white fabric that hardly covered anything. Goosebumps rose on her skin, and she shivered.

She closed her eyes; somewhere beneath the ice, images flitted through her mind: a girl who looked like her, pinned to a stake with a nail through her heart. A beautiful man with porcelain skin and gray eyes. And another like him, with sun-kissed skin and a dark secret…

The door to her room creaked open, and someone strode in, the strike of his heels echoing off the ceiling. It was someone different this time, not the cousin who called her “queen.” A man with flame-red hair who made her skin grow cold… He stared down at her, a dark smile curling his lips. In another life, she’d known him…

Desperately, she tried to grasp a tendril of a thought. There was something dangerous about him.

“Do you remember me, Rosalind?” he asked. “I suppose you might not.”

He wore an iron chalice pin on his lapel, and the sight of it sent a shock of panic through Rosalind, but she wasn’t sure why.

“Allow me to reintroduce myself, now that you’ve been given that little brain-altering treatment. You once knew me as Randolph Loring. I was your leader, when you fought the witches and demons. Before you turned into their whore.” He frowned, taking a deep breath. “I know what you’re thinking—assuming you can think at all. I have surrounded myself with magic now, and this is never how I imagined it would all turn out. But you can’t fight magic without magic. I know that now.” He gestured at the building. “And all this—it’s for the glory of Blodrial. The populace must know how truly dangerous magic is, and I’m teaching them.” His eyes burned with the fervor of a fanatic. “When my work here is done, when the old ways have returned once more, then anyone defiled by the use of magic will feed my flames of righteousness.”

Rosalind felt a chill wash over her, and for just a moment, she jerked against her chains.

The man wagged his finger. “Uh-uh-uh. Lie still, Rosalind.” His forehead creased. “I’m not sure why he has you chained. It’s not like you can go anywhere, not with all that charmed iron in your blood. But I suppose he likes the way it looks on you.” He stroked the chain attached to her collar. “I can’t fault his tastes. It is a good look on you.” He leaned down, staring into her eyes. “You know, I would tell you to forget everything I’ve said, but I’m fairly certain I don’t have to. But I’ll be seeing more of you soon.” He scanned her body. “A lot more.”

He turned, walking out of the room. Rosalind couldn’t quite figure out why, but a gnawing dread climbed up her chest.

Chapter 7

Rosalind stood by a bay window, squinting in the milky sunlight. Gauzy curtains, like moth wings, fluttered in a draft from the window. She wore a silky, cream-colored bathrobe, cool against her skin. Around the room, the scorpion men stared at her.

That painful, soul-sapping ice encased her mind, freezing her thoughts. As she stood by the window, she was dimly aware of servants bustling around her, stripping off her clothes.

This can’t happen… a stray thought screamed under the ice. There was something she needed to return to—deep silver eyes, flecked with starlight. Golden skin. Cool and warm, dark and light. Soft lips on her neck…

She just couldn’t remember who that was, or why she cared. As she stood, dumbly, a woman smudged blush on her cheeks, then painted her lips with a blood-red lipstick. Another woman stood behind her, braiding flowers into her dark hair.

Rosalind’s hands hung limply at her sides. A servant with pale blond hair and gray eyes stepped in front of her and looked up, her eyes pleading. She held a piece of stuffed bread in front of Rosalind’s face.

Rosalind’s lip curled in disgust, and nausea turned her stomach. With all the glaciers in her mind, food seemed repellent to her right now. She didn’t want to eat or drink. She wanted it to end.

A voice underneath the ice floes in her mind screamed, and yet all she could do was stand still, gaping at the soft light of the window, waiting for her own funeral. For the dirt that would cover her corpse. I lived. I died.

“Please.” The girl’s lip trembled. “I’m supposed to get you to eat.”

Rosalind blinked, trying to clear the fog of her mind. Slowly, she shook her head. How could she eat when she wasn’t truly alive at all?

The girl lifted a chalice of red wine, and Rosalind stared at it dully. “At least drink this.” Fear glimmered in the girl’s gray eyes, and Rosalind wanted to help her.

She didn’t quite understand why, but this girl needed her to drink the wine. Rosalind nodded, and the girl brought the wine to her lips. Slowly, she tipped the cup, letting the wine flow into Rosalind’s mouth. It tasted fruity and crisp, but Rosalind didn’t want any more than a sip. For some reason, she was certain this entire marble palace was a mausoleum, and she didn’t want to drink in a tomb.

The girl lowered the cup, shooting Rosalind a grateful look. The door creaked open, and footsteps echoed off the ceiling. The pale girl began shaking as she stared over Rosalind’s shoulder. She turned to look at the new person.

It wasn’t Drew, she thought—but the man with the bright red hair. A man she’d once known and revered. The one who called himself Randolph.

He crossed to the blond servant, who stared at him, wide-eyed.

Randolph looked the girl up and down. “You may leave.”

Even through Rosalind’s clouded thoughts, the girl’s terror was palpable. When she moved to leave, she stumbled, spilling her wine onto Randolph’s chest. Slowly, she raised her eyes to him, her entire body shivering.

Randolph’s features darkened, and he stared down at the girl with barely controlled rage.

Something terrible is about to happen…

Randolph pivoted, his gaze sliding to one of the scorpion men, and he nodded curtly.

“No!” the girl shrieked. “Please!”

The scorpions moved closer, dark eyes locked on the girl, tails lowering.

Numbness spread through Rosalind, and she stared as Randolph backed away from the girl, letting the scorpions close in.

The girl screamed. Rosalind wanted to help her, to stop whatever was happening, but her body wasn’t responding the way it should. She took a step closer to the girl. There was something she could do to help…

Randolph shot her a sharp look, his jaw clenched. “Stay where you are, Rosalind. Or there will be consequences.”

At the sound of his command, her body slowed against her will. But the scorpions were closing in, and the girl’s screams pierced the air. Rosalind needed to stop them.

Fighting against the ice in her mind, she forced her body to take another step—but she was moving too slowly, as if the weight of a thousand rocks pulled her down. She stared as one of the scorpions snarled at her. He looked older than the rest, his hair streaked with gray, and he lowered his tail piercing the girl’s shoulder.

The servant’s agonized screams slid through Rosalind’s bones. As the girl fell to the ground, tears stung Rosalind’s eyes. The girl’s body convulsed, jerking and writhing on the floor as her muscles seized. Her pale face contorted with pain, her eyes pleading with the gods to end her torment. She rolled onto her side, vomiting red wine onto the floor again and again, until nothing but bile came up. Her mouth frothed with red and white foam. Under the glaciers in Rosalind’s mind, a dark rage began to bloom.

The girl’s agony seemed to go on forever, her body bucking and writhing, until at last she lay still. Wide open, her eyes gaped at the ceiling.

Rage curled around Rosalind’s ribs like wisteria vines. She turned to look at Randolph, her body shaking.

Smoothly, he moved closer to her, and the sinister curve of his smile made the hair rise on the back of Rosalind’s neck. He wore a black suit with an iron lapel—a chalice, decorated with rubies. That symbol had meant something to her once, long ago.

He reached for her, stroking her face, gently at first. Then, he grabbed her by the jaw, squeezing hard. He smelled of onions and ambrosia, and the combination turned her stomach. “I told you there would be consequences if you defied me.” He pressed harder on her jaw. “Lucky for you, the iron in your blood stopped you before it could get any worse for you. I wouldn’t want to have to mutilate a bride just before her wedding.”

He leaned in, his voice sending ice through her veins.

“I know you’ve broken free of Drew’s mind control before. I want to make sure that it’s worked properly this time.”

He dropped his grip on her, then smacked her hard across the face.

She fell back on the floor, and pain exploded through her head. While a cry of despair keened under the surface of her mind, she simply lay there, staring at the blond girl’s corpse.

“Stand,” Randolph commanded.

She felt her body respond to his commands, and she pushed herself up on her elbows and rose. Her face still throbbed where he’d smacked her.

Slowly, her gaze drifted to the scorpion men. They watched, unmoving.

“Walk closer to me,” Randolph said.

Slowly, one foot in front of the other, she moved into the center of the room, where pale light streamed through a window.

“You’ve caused such problems for us, Rosalind. And I’m pleased to see Drew has tamed you. I wanted him to kill you, but he was so keen to keep you. And I need to keep him happy until I’m done using him.”

The chill in the room went right to Rosalind’s bones.

Randolph walked in front of her, looking her up and down. “In the ancient custom of the Brotherhood, the high priests have the right to a bride on her wedding night. In this case, I am the high priest.”

Rosalind couldn’t quite make sense of his words, but she began to shiver. She’d freeze to death in here.

“Perhaps a preview of tonight is in order,” he purred. “Take off your robe.”

Deep in the recesses of her mind, a vernal aura began to stir. And yet, she felt herself untying the bathrobe. She let it slide off her shoulders, and fall to the ground.

She had the sense that the scorpion men were looking on, that laughter danced in their dark eyes. She looked down at her trembling body, surprised to see that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Someone had dressed her in white panties.

“I want you to kneel,” Randolph said.

As a voice in the back her skull raged, she dropped, the cold tiles biting into her knees. That strange, green aura roiled around her mind, threatening to snap. One of the scorpion men cocked his head as he stared down at her, his lips curling in a wicked smile.

Randolph crossed to her, and he reached down to stroke her hair. “I never supported women as Hunters or leaders, but times changed. I guess I was right to have my reservations. Since your betrayal, we’ve begun to rid our ranks of women. Your place now is to serve us, as it was in the old days.”

He stroked her face, then smeared his rough thumb over her lips. “You’re lucky you’re not in the dungeons with Erish.”

At the sound of Erish’s name, a flicker of recognition sparked in her mind. Erish is important… The secret weapon.

“You’re going to be married in our amphitheater today. And when I’m ready to purge the demons and heretics from my city, you and Drew will burn there.”

Dread bloomed in her chest, and she stared at the floor. Randolph raised his hand, smacking her once more, and pain burst through her cheek as she fell back on the floor. She lay on the cold tiles, her head throbbing, and Randolph stood over her.

“I’ll leave you there for now,” he said. “Someone will be in to dress you soon, but I look forward to our meeting tonight.”

Her skin felt cold against the tile, and the floor seemed to pulse beneath her, throbbing with Drew’s magic. Erish is in the dungeons… Magic stirred in Rosalind’s ribs as she lay staring at the corpse on the floor. Such a strange thing when a building seemed alive but the girl on the floor didn’t…

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before two girls came in, and pulled her off the floor, fussing over her as they pulled a corset around her, tightening the stays until she thought her ribs would crack. They dressed her in a white gown—a cage of lace, ribbons, and frills.

My wedding gown… Her heart tightened with dread.

One of the girls tied a bow just below her breasts. “Your groom will untie these later.” She frowned. “Or the high priest. I’m not sure which comes first.”

Rosalind’s stomach lurched. She swayed slightly, as nimble fingers wove flowers through her hair.

Deep within her, a green leafy aura stirred, bringing with it the scents of the forest, of life. Rosalind’s heart beat a little harder.

She wasn’t sure why, but she turned to one of the servants, and felt her mouth form words: “Can you please tell me where the dungeons are?”

The girl’s eyes widened in surprise. “Below the palace.”

As if from a distance, Rosalind heard herself ask, “But how do I get to them?”

The girl frowned. “You’re going to marry the emperor today. Why would you need to get to the prisons?”

Rosalind’s lip curled. Something inside her mind didn’t like this answer. Her hand shot out, and she snatched the girl’s wrist, tightening her fingers. She would get the answer to this question, whatever it took. Her mind flickered with visions of the rowan grove, the silky dress that caressed Cleo’s thighs—then the flames that seared her milky skin.

Gritting her teeth, she tightened her grip on the girl’s wrist until she screamed. “Tell me, Hunter,” she snarled, her voice laced with venom. “How do I get to the prisons?”

The girl’s eyes widened, and she stammered. “There’s a tunnel that connects to the prisons from the amphitheater where you’ll be getting married today. Please don’t tell your husband that I told you.”

Rosalind nodded and dropped the girl’s wrist. Once again, the icy mists returned to her mind, clouding her thoughts, and her muscles relaxed.

One of the women pulled a thin, gauzy veil over Rosalind’s head, making the world even hazier, then grabbed Rosalind by the hand. As she led Rosalind into the arched hall, one of the servants turned to her, blinking. “I don’t know why they wanted you there for this part of the ceremony. Drew wanted you to see it. After the prayers, the wedding begins with a sacrifice. It won’t be pleasant.”

Rosalind’s heart slammed against her ribs. A sacrifice.

“Oh, don’t worry,” the girl said. “They’re just demons and witches.”

Chapter 8

The girl led Rosalind through a long hall, and Rosalind’s gaze trailed over the bony walls. Statues stood in alcoves, most of them depicting Drew with a crown. As her shoes clicked over the floor, she had the sense that shadows were flitting around the walls, watching her. A shiver snaked up her spine.

A breeze rushed over her skin, and at the other end of the hall, sunlight slanted in through an arch. She squinted at the light, that leafy aura curling around her ribs. Buried in the depths of her mind, a voice whispered a tunnel from the amphitheater…

The servants led her into the open air, and the hall opened into an imposing amphitheater, a sandy pit surrounded by a vast semicircle of stone benches. They moved on to a seat not far from the orchestra pit. In the center of the sand stood an iron altar, set with ruby-flecked chalices. And fanning out on either side of the altar were iron stakes, encircled by bundles of wood.

Her blood ran cold. We start with a sacrifice. Leafy magic licked at her ribs, and rage smoldered under the surface of her mind.

Slowly, Rosalind surveyed the space. Banquet tables had been set around the edges of the pit, laden with fruit, meat, and wine. A cool breeze rushed over the stone, toying with Rosalind’s hair, and she shivered. Slowly, the wedding guests began to fill the rows, pouring out from arched halls, staring at their new empress. They’d come to watch a sacrifice. Embers of wrath seethed in the hollows of Rosalind’s mind.

The afternoon sun dipped low, staining the guests with a lurid ginger light as they took their seats. Their bodies cast long shadows, and the guests’ voices echoed off the stone.

Cleo’s leafy aura churned in her chest, and she glanced to the right, where a tunnel opened directly into the pit. She couldn’t remember why, but that tunnel was important. The prisons…

Slowly, the rows of seats filled with guests, most wearing the iron chalice insignias. All around the amphitheater’s pit stood scorpion guards in iron armor.

Something moved in the corner of her eye, and she turned, her pulse racing. A man loomed over her, his eyes like flames. Tendrils of colored magic whirled from his body, staining the air with gold, green, and silver…

It should have been beautiful, but something about the sight of him filled her with dread. And under that, pure rage. Drew.

“Rosalind, my bride…” His voice wasn’t quite human. It sounded like seven people speaking at once—feminine and masculine, old and young—and all filled with a strange, lonely sort of agony. She would have felt sorry for him if she didn’t want to kill him.

A dark smile curled his lips. “I’ve so looked forward to this day. To making you mine. You do look beautiful.” He cocked his head. “I like you when you’re silent and still.”

That delicious aura stirred in her chest. I will watch you burn. I will sear your skin, melt your bones. Rosalind smiled placidly.

Drew sat by her side, and grabbed her right hand, pulling it into his lap. His grip crushed her fingers, his nails piercing her skin, drawing blood. He wanted to hurt her. He knew she wouldn’t cry out—she’d just sit there smiling numbly.

And yet, as magic stirred in Rosalind’s mind, it began to eat away at those cold, icy mists. Slowly, the scorpion guards began leading chained men and women to the stakes. Rosalind’s gut churned. A girl with short brown curls sobbed uncontrollably, and a young man with tattoos wailed to the skies. Their pain pierced Rosalind to the bone.

Drew pressed his fingernails further into her skin, letting her blood drip down her hand. He leaned into her, whispering, “Grooms are supposed to make their brides bleed on their wedding night, Rosalind.”

His breath, hot on her neck, fanned the flames of rage burning in her chest. She’d beaten his face once, broken his bones. Smashed it to a pulp. Under the icy stillness of her mind, she wanted to break him again, to crush him like an unwanted doll.

A heavy silence enshrouded the crowd, and they stared at the line of sacrificial victims. Rosalind’s gaze landed on one of the humans— a young girl with pink hair. She stood trembling in her thin, yellow dress, muttering to herself. She knew what was about to happen. She was about to burn.

Slowly, Randolph strode into the orchestra pit, and the sunlight lit his red hair ablaze. He wore a white robe, stained pink in the setting sun. The high priest of blood.

Rosalind needed to stop this somehow, if she could remember how to move. She scrambled to grasp at the strains of cloudy thoughts. I lived. I died.

Drew dug his nails further into her skin, moaning slightly. He was enjoying himself, drawing blood.

Randolph stood before the altar, and picked up a goblet. Raising it to the sky, he shouted, “Blodrial grants us power!”

The crowd roared back the same call. “Blodrial grants us power!”

Randolph began leading the crowd in a long, rambling series of prayers—prayers that Rosalind had once memorized as a novice in the Brotherhood. With the fog in her mind, it was hard to remember what they’d meant, but it was something about blood and iron, and ridding the world of evil.

As Randolph solemnly droned on, the guards chained the men and women to the stakes, and their panicked sobs and cries pierced the air. Rosalind’s blood roared in her ears.

Randolph raised his hands to the reddening skies. “We require a truly stunning sacrifice today, in honor of the one true god!”

The girl with the pink hair shrieked, her screams unrelenting. The sound of her panic tightened Rosalind’s heart.

By Rosalind’s side, Drew mumbled, “Azazeyl is the one true god.” He spoke in the voices of seven tormented gods. “Azazeyl rules the heaven and earth.”

She glanced at the blood on her hand where he pierced her flesh. Deep in her skull, a green aura roiled.

Around the amphitheater pit, the scorpion guards began moving, snatching torches from iron holders. One by one, they lit the torches, and with each blaze of flame, the angry fire in Rosalind’s mind burned hotter.

An image flashed in her skull—she was chained to a stake, and flames climbed up her body. She screamed for Ambrose, for Richard…

I can’t watch this happen…

Her aura was ready to explode from her body. She needed to stop this, if she could only free her thoughts from this mist clouding her mind, filling her skull like an icy miasma. If she could only…

Without understanding why she was doing it, she clenched her free fist, piercing her own flesh with her fingernails until she drew blood.

While her betrothed muttered about Azazeyl, Rosalind’s lips began moving, until she was muttering along with him. They weren’t her own words, and she wasn’t entirely sure what she was saying, but that vernal aura that was roiling in her skull, the one that smelled of oaks and moss, compelled her to speak, compelled her to pierce her own skin, making holes in her palm.

As she stared down at her hand, blackish blood flowed from the cuts in her skin. And as it did, the icy miasma clouding her mind slowly began to thin. Blood and iron poured from her hand, spurred on by the spell she’d just chanted, and it freed her from her icy prison.

I lived. I died. I lived again.

As the ice melted from her mind, clarity bloomed. Slowly, she looked around the amphitheater, at the guests who’d come to watch the sacrifices burn. Rosalind should bathe this entire place in fire, but she wouldn’t. She’d come here for a reason. She’d risked the charmed iron, and infiltrated the empire—she’d endured Randolph and Drew and the scorpion men or one reason, and one alone. She was here to stop Drew from creating any more demons to fuel his armies.

Maybe Rosalind had been mesmerized the entire time, but Cleo hadn’t. When she’d developed this plan, she’d been counting on her second soul. She swallowed hard, eyeing the scorpion guards as they moved around the edges of the pit, lighting torches while Randolph continued his lengthy preamble.

Her gaze flicked to Drew, whose fiery eyes were locked on Randolph. Even while Randolph chanted about Blodrial, Drew was muttering about Azazeyl, his voice growing louder, face redder. To him, this was sacrilege.

As her thoughts crystalized, she surveyed the amphitheater pit, where the prisoners stood chained to the stakes. The human witches among them screamed. The demons stood in stony silence, their bodies curling with colored auras, one of them a woman with a deep silver aura, like Caine’s. Caine. As soon as she thought of his name, his absence felt like a hollow ache in her chest.

She scanned the rest of the sacrificial victims, taking in their aura. Besides the witch and the shadow demon, there were three valkyrie, two keres, and two hellhounds.

Slowly, she turned to take in the crowd. All around her, the wedding guests wore the iron insignias of Blodrial, their god. They smiled blandly, watching the guards chain the prisoners to their stakes, listening to the terrified screams. They’d come to watch a bloodletting.

Horror welled in her gut. This was supposed to be her wedding day, a gruesome slaughter. Later, Randolph planned to rape her. And who knew what horrors Drew had in mind.

But Rosalind had planned all of this—the drugging, the mind control. Infiltrating the Empire. For weeks, she and Caine had practiced, experimenting with charmed iron that clouded her mind, letting Cleo take over while Rosalind’s body went numb. And it had worked.

Now, she had to stop this slaughter before it happened. And that meant channeling all the magic she could—without Drew noticing a thing.

Randolph finished his prayers, and held his hands to the skies as if he were some sort of god. Prick. I will kill you some day. Not today, but some day I will watch you take your last breath.

Bearing torches, the scorpion men crossed to the stakes. A young witch with curly brown hair and large glasses shrieked in terror, and the sound turned Rosalind’s blood to ice.

She glanced at Drew. He clutched her hand in a death grip, but he wasn’t paying her attention. She surveyed her surroundings. Here, in the open air, the Hunters didn’t have a single weapon aimed at her. No iron powder or flamethrowers to stop her.

They’d underestimated her.

Drew closed his eyes, chanting about the seven gods. While he lost himself in the hell of his own mind, Rosalind let the power of Nyxobas flood her body—that cold magic, scented of lightning and peat. At the same time, she channeled the storm god’s magic to surge through her blood. Her pulse raced as she watched one of the scorpion gods bend lower, touching his torch to the pile of wood beneath one of the valkyrie.

The valkyrie—an Amazonian woman with pale white hair—was staring directly at Rosalind, watching, as if she could sense the storm power building in Rosalind’s body. Perhaps Rosalind could use the valkyrie’s power, too. Subtly, Rosalind nodded at her. The valkyrie nodded back.

Now raw, electric power blazed through her blood.

First she needed to take out Drew. He was her biggest threat here, and he alone had the power to stop her magical assault.

Over the reddening sunset, dark clouds rolled in. Electricity began to charge the air, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

After she immobilized Drew, she’d free the prisoners. Unshackled, they could slaughter the whole crowd of bloodthirsty Brotherhood wedding guests.

Flames began to ignite on the bottom of the valkyrie’s pyre, smoke curling around the demon.

Rosalind glanced at the sky, narrowing her eyes, letting her body fill with Nyxobas’s power, his speed. In a blur of cold shadows, she ripped her hand from Drew’s grasp, then shadow-ran into the pit. In there, the growing storm winds rushed over her skin, tearing at the ribbons of her wedding dress. Surging with the power of the storm goddess, she whirled in the air, churning it. Before her feet touched down in the pit, she sent a spear of lightning racing directly for Drew. Once.

It struck him just as her feet landed in the dusty earth. Twice, another bolt for good measure. Dust clouded over her white dress.

Drew fell back, the scent of burning flesh filling the air. Her body sparking with electricity, Rosalind summoned the storm’s power, and she struck Drew a third time. Around the amphitheater the crowd began screaming, now sounding a lot like the terrified witches as the stake.

Rosalind smiled darkly. Where’s your god now?

Chapter 9

She couldn’t kill Drew now, but the lightning would knock him out for long enough to get the real chaos going. Rosalind pivoted, flicking her wrist to send an icy stream of shadow magic at the pyre’s flames, extinguishing their fire. She pivoted again, snuffing out the torches.

Then she let the power of the fire goddess burn through her veins, a molten inferno welling within her. She held out her hands, calling a ring of fire that encircled the wedding guests, trapping them where they sat. Screams rose to the darkening sky. The fire goddess in her thrilled at their cries.

Boil their blood, Emerazel whispered. Melt the marrow in their bones.

She searched the crowd for Randolph, but she couldn’t find him in the chaos, and there wasn’t much time to look for him. The scorpions were moving for her, but Rosalind shadow-ran away from them, rushing around like a phantom wind. As she moved, her attention focused on the prisoners, and she felt the power of the mountain goddess light up her body. As coppery magic spiraled from her chest, she focused on the chains, twisting them from the prisoners’ necks.

I am the ancient mountains and stone, goddess of strength… I will bury you in your guilt. Images of Miranda’s dead body flickered in her mind, and Rosalind’s body tensed. I will bury you under the rocks.

Rosalind tried to block out the goddess’s voice. She needed to stay focused.

As five scorpion-men closed in, running over the red sand, Rosalind summoned her fire magic, letting it build in her body. The good people of the Empire had come here to watch a massacre, and she couldn’t disappoint them, could she? She lifted her hands, letting fire blaze from her fingertips, streaming in five perfect arcs into the scorpion-men’s chests. Within moments, fire engulfed their bodies, and they writhed in the dancing flames.

Rosalind’s lips curled in a dark smile at the scent of searing flesh, and the terrified screams filling the air. Melt the marrow in their bones.

The people in the seats were desperate, falling all over each other to rush from the amphitheater, shoving and screaming. She couldn’t let them get away that easily, could she? Humans needed to learn that Blodrial wouldn’t protect them.

She summoned the power of Nyxobas, letting it thrum through her body, ancient and cold. Silver streams of magic whirled from her fingertips, curling around the panicking humans, freezing them in place. Rosalind stared through the flames, a dark thrill rippling up her neck. The humans’ skin glazed over with white webs of frost, their eyelashes peaked in frozen icicles, hair dusted with white.

Fire and darkness, flames and ice… such a beautiful combination.

Let them feel the cold. And now, let them feel the gnawing dread of isolation. She closed her eyes, letting wisps of the void stream from her body into theirs, streaming into their chests as they slowly froze.

Shadows whirled around her, and she rose into the air, staring down at them. “Where’s your god now?” she roared. “Did he save you?”

From behind her, an electric power thrummed over her skin, and she turned to see one of the valkyrie rising into the air, filling the skies with her song, her eyes dark as death. The valkyrie struck Drew with another gleaming shard of lightning.

But the valkyrie wasn’t the only thing taking to the skies. In the distance, helicopter rotors beat the air. The Brotherhood were sending in their troops.

As much as she wanted to stay and fight in the battle, she’d come here for one reason. She needed to get Erish from the prisons, and return with Drew’s secret weapon to Lilinor.

Silver magic whirled around her body, scented of Caine, and she used it to propel her into the tunnel, her stupid wedding dress whipping in the wind as he ran.

She shadow-ran through the hall, and as she moved, the smooth sandstone gave way to dark, rough walls. Filled with the power of Nyxobas, she moved on the wind.

She wasn’t Rosalind anymore—she was Nyxobas, ancient god of the void. The god of stealth and terror, death and the vastness of space…

As she moved, emptiness gnawed at her chest.

Focus, Rosalind. You’re still Rosalind. As the air rushed over her skin, she turned a corner, finding one byzantine curve after another. This place had been built like a labyrinth, and she couldn’t say how long Nyxobas’s power would spur her on before she sacrificed her mind completely to the god of night.

She sniffed the air, scenting the seductive, jasmine scent of a succubus. Tendrils of black magic curled through the air toward her. Erish.

She followed the dark aura around another corner, and her gaze landed on the rows of iron cell bars. Bingo.

She slowed her pace, peering through the cells as she walked. Huddled in filthy corners were clusters of humans and demons, many so sick they hardly registered Rosalind’s arrival. Rough stone walls enclosed the cells, the floors covered in mud and rats.

Rosalind swallowed hard, her pulse racing. She’d come here for one reason, and one alone: to bring Erish back to Lilinor. But she couldn’t leave the prisoners here, either. Drew would burn them all in the amphitheater stakes.

First, she needed to heal them, and then she’d set them free. She wasn’t leaving anyone behind her to burn.

Slowly, she paced between the cells, letting the healing power of Druloch thrum over her skin. Foxglove and oak, the medicinal strength of moss—Druloch’s magic whirled around her. Green forest magic curled into the prison cells. And with it, curling around the green in strands of silver, Rosalind sent shadow magic to heal the pain.

Power ignited her body, and her back arched. I live again.

All around her, she could hear the prisoners rallying, shifting on the stone floors as they healed. She could even hear their hearts beating louder, stronger.

As she healed them, she moved from one cell to another, searching for Erish.

At last her gaze landed on the succubus, huddled in a corner in filthy rags. Erish was still beautiful, of course, her skin golden and her dark eyes captivating, but her body had transformed. In the prisons here, her body had become gaunt, her collarbone protruding. Her cheeks looked hollow, her lips thin. Once, long ago, Erish had been worshipped as a goddess. A pang of pity tightened Rosalind’s chest.

“My old friend,” the succubus rasped. “Have you come to bring me food and blankets again?”

Rosalind crossed to Erish’s cell, wrapping her hands around the bars. “I’ve come to bring you back to Lilinor.”

Erish narrowed her eyes. “From one prison to another. How tempting. Why should I go with you? Might as well stay in this festering cell, where I have company.”

With all the power pulsing through Rosalind’s veins, she could probably just take Erish. The succubus was halfway into the grave. Still, the journey would be much easier if Erish came willingly, and something told Rosalind she might actually need Erish’s help at a later time.

She couldn’t promise Erish much. The queen was still a traitor, and Ambrose wouldn’t want her roaming freely around Lilinor, stirring up trouble. But she could promise something. “You’ll still be imprisoned, yes. But we can put you in one of the palace rooms, with a guard outside. You’ll have food, a bed, a bath.” Rosalind surveyed Erish’s tattered dress, a filthy brown that had once been white. “You’ll have clothing.”

“When I arrive, I want a visit to my husband.” She straightened. “After I have time to clean myself up.”

“I’ll make it happen.”

“And why should I trust you, Rosalind Atherton?”

The magic of the gods rippled through Rosalind’s muscles, and she cast a glance over her shoulder, to see if anyone was coming for her. Her grip tightened on the bars. She was quickly losing patience. “For fuck’s sake, Erish. It’s not going to get much worse than this. Randolph plans to use you to build an army. And when you’ve created all the demon species he could have ever wanted, he won’t need you anymore. He’ll simply breed them together, creating new breeds under his control. He’ll keep you in rags, and starve you down here. And when he’s done, he’ll burn you at the stake.”

Erish’s cheeks blanched, and her body began to tremble.

“Don’t you understand what a prize you are, Erish? You’re a succubus. You were once worshipped as a goddess, and your power scares the shit out of them. It scares the shit out of most men, and they want to kill you for it.” Rosalind clenched the bars so hard her knuckles whitened. “Do you understand? You can’t count on them. We need to make our own destinies. If you come with me, you’ll live. That’s got to be better than this.”

Erish stared at her, and something flickered in her dark eyes.

“Are you in or are you out?” Rosalind demanded.

Erish stood unsteadily, still chained to the ground. “Get me out of here.”

“Good. I just have a few other prisoners to get out, too.”

She stepped back from the cell bars, summoning the power of Borgerith. She lifted her arms, the magic of the goddess dizzying her, its power intoxicating. Copper magic spiraled from her chest, twisting around the iron bars.

Her body hummed with magic, until she no longer felt like Rosalind, but like Borgerith herself. I am the icy winds over Monte Bianco. I am the fiery depths of Etna. And I will crush Drew with his guilt.

Rosalind gritted her teeth, trying to control the goddess’s raw strength. I’m in control here. And yet even as she thought it, the euphoria of power thrummed over her skin. She had an overwhelming desire to hunt down Drew and rip his spine out of his back. She’d draw and quarter him, sever his head and limbs and scatter them over the earth. Even for an immortal, that would be a difficult situation to recover from.

But she had to stick with the plan, had to get out of here, back to Lilinor. If she gave Drew another chance to capture her, it would all be over for her. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice, and she’d find her own body dismembered, impaled with iron spikes. A difficult situation to get out of, and Drew would find a way to control her, one way or another.

Coppery magic swirled from her body, curling around the iron prison bars. Around her, the bars groaned as they twisted and bent.

She glanced at Erish, whose iron chains fell from her body. “Let’s get to the portal. We need to get to Lilinor.”

A moaning noise from one of the cells caught Rosalind’s attention, and her throat tightened. One of the prisoners had been left behind.

Erish stepped from the cell, rubbing her wrists. “Are you coming?”

“Go.” Rosalind’s heart thundered. “There’s one more thing I’ve got to do. Get back to the portal before the Hunters track you down, okay?”

Erish nodded once, then disappeared in a blur of dark shadows.

There, in a shadowy corner, a hunched and huddled form. A child, by the looks of it, no more than three or four, and completely human. He looked too weak to move, untouched by the healing magic.

Rosalind crossed into the cell. “Hello?”

The child’s ripped clothing exposed his spine, which protruded from an emaciated back. Rosalind crouched next to him, touching his back. Mossy green healing magic rippled down her arm, swirling from her fingertips, and curled around the boy. After a few moments, he heaved a deep breath, stretching his arms. He lifted his head, blinking large, brown eyes as though awaking from a deep sleep.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Owen.” He looked around himself, confused. “Where’d Mama go?”

A lump rose in her throat. Mama had probably died, but he’d been too sick to realize, or too young to understand. “Was she here with you?”

He nodded.

“Was she sick? Was she sleeping a lot?”

He nodded again, tears filling his eyes. “She wouldn’t wake up.” His face crumpled, cheeks reddened, and he let out a wail.

Rosalind reached for him, picking him up. Wailing, he wrapped his arms around her neck, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Shhh… It’s okay, Owen. We’re going to need to run fast. Real fast. Are you ready?”

“Where’s my mama?” His pained screams echoed off the walls.

Shit. It’d be hard to move inconspicuously with Owen in her arms, and if Drew caught them, they could both end up dead. But there was no way she could leave him behind now. Gripping him tight, she summoned her shadow magic, feeling its power thrum through her body.

But before she could break into a sprint, fear slammed her in the gut. There, snaking down the curve of the hall, the long tendrils of Drew’s magic, curling closer, feeling her out like insect antennas.

She held Owen close, whispering Shhhh…, her pulse racing. The truth was, even without Owen’s siren-like wail, Drew would seek her out. She knew how to sense Drew, and it worked both ways. He could smell and feel magic just like she could.

Still, she felt a sudden surge of protectiveness for Owen. If she wasn’t able to get away from Drew, she wanted to hide Owen long enough that just maybe, he’d be able to find his own way out.

Nyxobas was the god of night, and the god of sleep, too. As Drew’s magic moved closer through the hall, she stroked Owen’s head, letting the magic of the night flow from her fingertips into his skull. Slowly, his body relaxed, his chest rising and falling slowly, until he was sleeping on her shoulder.

Her heart hammering, she hurried into one of the cells, tucking him in a dark corner. As she crossed out of the cell again, she called upon the ancient strength of the mountain goddess.

With the sandstone hall emptied, Drew’s footsteps echoed off the ceiling. She glanced down at her hands, at the place where fingernails had pierced her palms. Already, the skin had healed over, leaving only a faint, white line. Perhaps she was immortal now, just like Drew. He could torture her, imprison her. Cut off her head. But he wouldn’t be able to truly kill her.

In the distance, footsteps pounded through the hall, so powerful that the stone trembled. A faint layer of dust rained from the ceiling, and her heartbeat sped up, hammering against her ribs.

He’s coming.

“Rosalind!” Drew’s voice reverberated through the halls—the voice of many, of young and old, male and female, icy and hot. But one, clear emotion rang through the chorus: agony. “Rosalind!”

At the sound of his strange voice, her heart skipped a beat, and she thanked the gods Owen would be asleep for whatever was about to happen next. She wasn’t sure exactly how this fight would end, but it would be bloody and brutal, and the poor kid was probably emotionally damaged enough as it was.

As Drew’s magic strengthened around her, the seven gods’ own thoughts mingled in her mind. She was going to face Drew, the architect of this living nightmare. A man who saw fit to imprison toddlers, to let them watch their mothers die.

As the gods-magic ignited, a cacophony of rage rang inside her skull. He’ll get what’s coming to him. She was going to get out of here alive. And she was going to take Owen with her.

Her fingers twitched with anticipation. When Drew came into view, the first thing she noticed was the iron nail in his fist. He wanted to hurt her the way he’d hurt Miranda—the way Caine had killed her parents.

It wouldn’t happen. Drew had no idea how strong she was now, had no idea of the power coursing through her body. I will drive that into his heart. I will hear the sound of his ribs cracking…

Propelled by the gods of storms and night, she broke into a sprint. When she reached Drew, she slammed a punch into his face, fist against bone. The crack reverberated through the hall, and his head whipped away, blood pouring from his mouth.

The next punch he was ready for, and he blocked it with his arm. His eyes burned with the madness of seven tormented gods, and his lip curled. “You should have been controlled, my wife.”

“I was,” she murmured. “But Cleo wasn’t.”

She let Borgerith’s power flow through her veins, and she smashed her fist into his chest. She knocked him back into the dirt, the nail falling from his hand with a clang.

For just a moment, fear flickered across his features, and she lunged for him, hammering him in the head with one powerful punch after another, a punishing hail of blows—snapping bones, drawing blood.

Slam. Droplets of blood flew through the air as she smashed his teeth, and he staggered on his feet, eyes wide.

Destroy him.

She smashed her elbow into his temple—a move that would have killed a mortal man—and Drew’s eyelids drooped. Dazed, he searched for the iron nail, fingers scrambling around him. He’d come here to torture her. Truly, that was his one burning obsession in life, to punish the woman who’d abandoned him—who’d humiliated him by loving his worst nightmare.

Slam. Her elbow struck him in the side of the head again. Now, somewhere under the fog of his pain, he was having second thoughts, a frightened animal ready to crawl back to his hole.

Slam. He grunted from the pain.

Desperately, he tried to block the blows, probably hoping for mercy. He wouldn’t get it. Rosalind reared back for another blow to Drew’s head, one that would truly crack his skull, and his eyes opened wide, flickering with flames.

Before she could land the next blow, silver magic exploded from his body, knocking her off him. Drew was gone, disappearing in a blur of silvery shadows, so fast the wind rushed over Rosalind’s skin.

Give him what he deserves, Borgerith whispered.

She clenched her fists, torn by an overwhelming desire to hunt her cousin down, and the certainty that she should get back to Lilinor, and to get Owen to safety. The longer she stayed here, without backup, the greater the risk that she’d get herself into some kind of trouble, or end up buried in the cold earth with her sister. She couldn’t die, but she could be buried deep under the earth…

At the thought of Miranda six feet underground, grief bloomed in her chest.

I need to return to Lilinor. I need to get Owen out of here.

A lump rose in Rosalind’s throat as she turned for the prison cell. She crossed through the warped bars, swallowing hard. The kid looked so peaceful in his sleep, tears making clear tracks through the dirt on his cheeks.

But as she reached for him, someone violently yanked her head back by the hair, pulling her onto the floor. Her body slammed against the sandstone.

Chapter 10

Rosalind’s back screamed with pain. Panic stole her breath as Drew climbed on top of her, straddling her waist. He tore at the front of her lace dress, trying to rip it off. She swung for him, but she hadn’t had enough time to prepare. Borgerith’s power no longer blazed through her body, and her blows weren’t doing the damage she needed to do.

Drew pinned her arms, snarling. “My loving wife.” Leaning down, he opened his mouth wide, biting deep into her neck like a wild animal.

Pain ripped through her body, and she thrashed beneath him, her screams echoing off the ceiling. She knew one thing for sure. If she didn’t get out of this, it was all over.

She summoned the power of Borgerith, letting it explode from her body and into Drew’s. He fell back, clutching his chest as if a great weight were crushing him.

Her pulse racing, Rosalind snatched Owen’s sleeping body from the ground, trying to block out the pain splintering her body. Blazing with shadow magic, she clutched Owen tight to her chest, rushing through the hall at the speed of a hurricane wind.

But she was losing too much blood, couldn’t keep moving this fast. She faltered, stumbling against the wall, still clutching the child.

Think, Rosalind. Cleo’s aura bloomed in her chest. There was one way out of here: an Angelic spell. Holding the boy tight against her chest, she launched into the teleportation spell. At the final syllable, her body flickered away from Drew’s until the world around her shifted, the sandstone floor giving way to a flooded crypt.

She was free, and she loosed a long sigh of relief. In one arm, she cradled the child, and with the other, she gripped her neck, trying to stanch the bleeding where Drew had torn out part of her flesh.

She’d better be immortal, or she’d be dead soon. Within minutes, she’d find out whether Drew had been telling the truth.

Blocking out the pain, she inched closer to the portal of water. She knew hardly anything about trying to swim with another person in your arms, except that it was supposed to be easier if that person wasn’t thrashing and kicking. Was it better to leave Owen asleep? But then, perhaps, he’d drown. Gods damn it. Whoever had designed these water portals clearly hadn’t thought about transporting babies and toddlers.

Perhaps awake was better. She waved her hand in front of the child’s sleeping face, pulling the shadow magic from his body, leaving just enough to keep him relaxed. Slowly, he opened his eyes, blinking at her blearily.

“Owen. Have you ever been swimming?” she asked.

“Milk.”

She gritted her teeth. “Have you ever been swimming? In a swimming pool?”

He nodded. “I go swimming. I’m a super super big super strong swimmer, like the Octonauts.”

Good. Promising. “Do you know how to hold your breath under water? Like the Octonauts?” Whoever the hell they are.

He nodded. “I’m gonna need you to do that Owen, okay? We’re going under water for a little bit. You need to take a deep breath, okay?”

He stared at her neck, concern flickering over his features. “What’s that red stuff?”

She was still clutching her neck. “It’s just paint, honey.”

He seemed dubious, but didn’t ask any more questions.

“I’m gonna hold you tight, Owen. And you’re gonna hold your breath. Like the Octonauts.”

Slowly, her body shuddering, she inched over to the filthy water. “Now, Owen. Hold your breath.”

She watched as he took a deep breath, and she plunged under the icy surface. Blood poured from her wound as she drifted beneath the water, losing blood in the murk. A bone-deep chill spread through her body, and she began shaking uncontrollably, holding Owen tighter.

She needed to get out of here fast, but her body wouldn’t stop shaking. Probably the blood loss. Fight, Rosalind. Just as her vision began dimming, she glanced up once more at the surface. This time, faint beams of light piercing the darkness—pearly light, faintly streaming. Moonlight—not sunlight.

Thank the gods. We’re in Lilinor.

Her body burning with fatigue, she kicked her way to the surface, desperate to get Owen into the air again.

At last, her head breached the air, and she hoisted Owen out. He grasped for the fountain’s edge, crying. She’d never been so happy to see the night sky in her life. “Hang on, Owen.”

She hoisted herself over the fountain’s edge, tumbling onto the cobbles. Then, she reached for Owen, pulling him out of the water. His teeth were chattering uncontrollably, and she held him tight, slipping down against the side of the fountain. She sat at the fountain’s edge, wet clothing clinging to her body, heavy and cold, and shivers overtook her.

She held Owen close, cradling him in her arms. He was wailing, and she was beginning to question her choice of bringing a human toddler into a vampire realm. Still—it’s not like she’d had a lot of choices.

“Shhhhh…” She cradled his head, summoning her soothing light magic, feeling his muscles relax. “Go to sleep, Owen.”

Within moments, his eyes had closed, his limbs going limp. Now, she just had to summon the energy to walk up to the fortress.

As she listened to the sound of the water dripping from her sodden hair and clothes onto the stone, her eyelids slowly drifted closed. Somewhere in the distance, a raven cawed.

Rosalind wasn’t sure how long she’d been lying on the stone when powerful arms scooped her up, a loamy, comforting scent enveloping her body. A soothing aura slipped around her skin, caressing her, warming her body, and Rosalind felt herself melting into an embrace. A rhythmic sound of beating wings filled the air, and the wind rushed through her hair.

As the healing aura wrapped around her, Rosalind’s eyes fluttered open. She looked up at Caine, whose deep silver eyes peered down at her, bright as the starlight.

“Rosalind,” he whispered. “What happened?”

Wincing, she reached for her neck, feeling the ragged wound.

“Seven hells,” he snarled. “I knew I should have gone after you. What did he do to you?”

“I told you not to come—” Oh gods, it hurt to speak. Shit. What had happened to the boy? “Where’s Owen?”

“Don’t talk if it hurts.” His powerful arms tightened around her, and she rested her head against his chest. “Owen is the child you returned with, I suppose? Tammi’s up ahead with him. He woke, screaming for milk and for his mother. I’m not sure how you slept through that, but I need to finish healing you. Then, you’re going to rest.”

Her mind flashed with images of a palace full of bone, of walls formed from corrupted veins, a building breathing. The thought of being trapped in another room sparked a burst of dread. “Don’t lock me inside again. I need to stay in the open air.”

As Caine’s magic whispered over her skin, soothing her entire body, her eyes fluttered closed, and she drifted again into a deep sleep.

Chapter 11

Rosalind woke wrapped in silky bedsheets, a floral breeze kissing her skin. For a moment, dread tightened her chest, until her eyes focused on Lilu, Caine’s raven. The bird stared right at Rosalind, her head cocked, candlelight glinting in her black eyes.

Clearly, Rosalind was no longer in the Brotherhood’s malignant palace. She pushed herself up on her elbows. Instead of a ripped, bloodstained wedding dress, she was wearing a silk nightgown. Black.

Caine dressed me.

She rubbed her eyes, clearing the sleep from her mind, then surveyed the room. It wasn’t the room she’d been sleeping in before—the one she’d been sharing with Miranda before she died. This room was enormous, fit for a queen.

Through the open glass doors, she had a view of an enormous stone balcony lined with myrtle trees. Moonlight bathed the leaves in silver, and streamed through their leaves onto a small, round table on the tiled balcony. The wind toyed with delicate silver curtains, and she breathed in the fresh air. Caine had been paying attention when she’d asked not to be locked in a room. In fact, he’d found her the closest thing to being outside.

By the wall near her bed, a silver, domed tray sat on an oak table. The smell of bacon made her stomach rumble. When was the last time she’d eaten? When she touched her stomach, she could feel her ribs protruding. Her memories of Drew’s palace were hazy, but clearly she hadn’t eaten much while she’d been there.

When she thought of the palace, nausea rose in her stomach. Disturbing memories flickered through her mind. The scorpion men, stinging a girl to death. Randolph, forcing her onto her knees in some sick sort of power play. At the thought of him and Drew, bile rose in her throat, and she closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind. Lilinor. I’m in Lilinor now, in a city of lavender and jasmine, of eternal night. My new home.

When she opened her eyes, her mind began adjusting to the dim room. In the far corners of the room, sleeping in two enormous velvet armchairs, were Tammi and Caine. Tammi lay curled up, her pale hair draped over Owen, who slept nestled into the crook of her arm. Somehow, they’d found a pink plastic sippy cup, and Owen clutched its handle in his sleep. Someone had dressed him in clean clothes that looked like they were from the 19th century—a velvet jumper with a lace collar.

A faint noise like a low, uneven growl filled the room. Across from Owen and Tammi, Caine slept, his powerful chest slowly rising and falling, his eyelashes a stark black against his golden cheeks. He wore a black T-shirt, its short sleeves exposing the severe tattoo on his arm—the hairpin she’d seen in his memory. His aura curled through the room, soothing and electric at the same time.

Between the two chairs, an enormous, silver-framed mirror hung on the wall. Rosalind straightened, gazing at herself in the reflection. Her cheeks looked gaunt, and purple circles darkened the skin below her eyes. How long had she been trapped in Drew’s hellish fantasy? She shuddered. The next time she saw Drew, she hoped it would be the day he died.

As she watched Caine sleep, his chest rising and falling, his breath hitching slightly, she realized the source of the low growl. Caine—the demigod—snored lightly in his sleep, and his chest seemed to pause at the end of his inhale. In his sleep, he seemed strangely human, and Rosalind felt a sudden rush of warmth for him. She’d never seen him sleeping before, and she had an overwhelming desire to curl in his lap and kiss his cheeks.

Even if she’d been in a hellish fog for her entire time in the Empire, somehow she’d felt his absence like a hollow in her chest, like she’d been missing an important part of herself.

She’d needed his smell, the feel of his skin against hers, the faint brush of his stubble against her cheeks, his fingertips stroking her thighs. She needed to feel her hand pressing over his heart, the blood rushing through his body. She’d wanted to tuck her head into the crook of his neck, to smell his deep, earthy scent, to feel her lips against his, his large hands on her skin.

Before she’d left, he’d told her that she wasn’t destined to be with him. Something about a woman with blond hair—the reason she was fated for Malphas, and not Caine. It made no sense to her, and she had no idea what he’d meant by that. He must be wrong, because Caine felt like a part of her now—a part of her she'd never before known existed. If she lost him now, she’d never feel whole again.

As she looked at him, she traced her fingertips over her lower lip, imagining what it had felt like the last time he’d kissed her.

As if hearing her thoughts, his eyes opened, and her breath hitched in her throat. What would he say if she told him everything she really felt?

Within moments, Caine seemed completely alert, his silver eyes fixed on her. Apparently, he didn’t need much time to gather his thoughts after waking.

He rose, walking to her, and sat at the edge of her bed, studying her closely. “How do you feel?”

“About what?” she asked, still slightly dazed. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, to pull him close, and she had to restrain herself.

“Your neck. How does your neck feel?” His fist clenched, and he traced his fingertips over her throat, pain flickering in his eyes. “Drew tore half your neck out. I can’t understand how you survived that. It should have killed you. How were you able to swim back here? With a child, no less?”

She touched her neck. For the first time, she realized she’d nearly completely healed. Where a deep wound had been not long ago, now lay only a faint scar where Drew had bit her. “I feel fine, apart from the memories.”

Shadows clouded his eyes, and the candles guttered as the temperature dropped. “What did he do to you?” Rage laced his voice.

Rosalind swallowed hard. “Did you know that you snore?”

“Don’t change the subject.” His jaw tightened. “And I absolutely do not.” Caine took her hand in his. “What happened to you there? You look like they starved you.”

“It wasn’t pretty, but I did what I had to do. And just like I told you, Cleo looked after me. I’ve come back unscathed.”

“Apart from the part where you had your throat ripped out and nearly died.”

“About that,” Rosalind said. “Drew claims that he and I are now immortal. He says that using gods-magic has fundamentally changed us, and that we are basically gods now.”

Caine narrowed his eyes. “That sounds absurd.”

“And yet, I’m here, alive, when I shouldn’t be.” She loosed a sigh. “The downside is that I failed to kill Drew, since he is immortal, too. Surely there must be a way around the whole immortality thing. What if I severed his head and buried it under the ocean? Or burned him to ash, and kept his cinders in separate vaults. I’m just trying to think creatively here.”

“What do you mean you ‘failed to kill Drew’? We discussed this.” He studied her closely. “You weren’t supposed to attempt to kill him. You were there only to retrieve Erish, which you did. You didn’t fail at anything.”

“How long was I gone?”

“Eight days. Did they starve you?”

She hugged herself, shaking her head. “No. I didn’t want to eat, because I felt like I was already dead.”

Caine looked deep into her eyes. “If Drew has become immortal, that might explain why he’s lost his mind. Why your parents did. Humans were never meant to be immortal.” He brushed his knuckles softly over her cheeks. “And yet, you seem sane.”

Exhausted, she rubbed her eyes. “I told you I’d be fine. I managed to use Azazel’s power without becoming overwhelmed by lust for power.”

“For now.”

She thought of the gods’ voices, whispering in her mind when she used their power. “Admittedly, sometimes they compel me to destroy things. But they don’t control me completely.”

“If you’re going to use their power, you need to yield to them just a little.” He pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “The important part is you deprived Drew of his secret weapon. And, it seems, a horde of refugee prisoners who we now have to look after. I hope you realize the vampires will want the humans to donate blood in exchange for their stay here.”

She swallowed hard. For a moment, hazy memories flitted through her mind—Randolph telling her to take off her robe, making her kneel before him.

Caine studied her closely. “What? Tell me what Drew did to you there?”

“I’m fine,” she repeated. “I’ll tell you this much. Randolph might be the real mastermind. Easier to kill, definitely. But also much, much smarter. I don’t think Drew is in control of his own mind. He’s too lost in the world of the gods. On our wedding day, he was muttering to himself about Azazeyl. The gods are mad, I think—and Drew is merely a puppet of their whims.”

Caine’s silvery aura whipped around his body. “I will relish the day I rip both their heads from their bodies.”

Rosalind shook her head. “I think that’s my privilege. But I’ll let you watch.”

Caine shook his head. “You won’t be able to kill Drew.”

“Why not?”

“If he’s immortal like I am, there’s only one way to end him. It’s secret knowledge. It’s not something immortals tend to pass on.”

“Oh, I see. You have trust issues. You don’t want me to know how to kill you.”

He quirked a smile. “I would enjoy watching you eviscerate Drew.”

She frowned. “Why do I get the feeling like that would be some kind of weird foreplay to you?”

He shrugged.

Rosalind glanced at the window, at the white flowers blooming in the moonlight. “You got me a room open to the air.”

Caine had been locked up once, too. He clearly knew a thing or two about needing the open air, about yearning for freedom.

She pulled off the sheets and rose on unsteady legs, then crossed to the open doors. The breeze kissed her skin, and she hugged herself.

The balcony was enormous—thirty feet across. From the myrtle boughs hung small lanterns, their candles twinkling in the darkness. Sighing, crossed to the balcony’s edge, gazing at the Astarte sea. From here, she had a perfect view of the shimmering phosphorescence, and the waves breaking over the rocks.

Caine came up behind her, his body warming hers. He pointed at the sea. “There, you can see the nippexies. The water spirits that flicker through the ocean.”

The scent of moonflowers, orchids, and lilies hung heavy in the air, and underneath that, the briny scent of the ocean. Miranda’s scent. “Are you the one who put me in this nightgown?”

With a sly smile, he shrugged. “Someone had to do it.”

Rosalind’s stomach rumbled, and she grabbed it. She had only hazy memories of mechanically eating dry pieces of bread, and drinking black tea. If it hadn’t been for Cleo keeping her alive, she probably wouldn’t have eaten a thing. “I’m starving.”

He grabbed her hand, pulling her back into the bedroom. “That’s why I ordered food for you.” He led her to the oak table, and she plopped down in one of the chairs.

She pulled off the silver tray, finding a plate laden with bacon, buttered toast, and steaming coffee. Her mouth watered, and she piled a few strips of bacon on the toast.

The rich, smoky taste sent a shiver of pleasure through her body. Caine reached for a bottle of wine and poured himself a glass, then one for her. “Do you remember anything from the palace that might help us when we go to war with them? Any weapons, or defenses we need to know about?”

Rosalind swallowed an enormous mouthful of toast and bacon. “He’s built an enormous marble wall around the city. Since it’s the Brotherhood, I’d guess they have it rigged with stakes, iron bullets, anti-magic dust… If I could get close enough, I could blow the damn walls up.”

“Mmm. You’re not going back without an army. What else did you see?”

“It’s hazy.” She took a sip of the wine. “They have an amphitheater, and I think they like to burn people there. Oh, Erish created scorpion men. They have the torsos of men, but the lower halves of scorpions. I watched them sting a girl to death. Punishment for spilling wine on Randolph.”

Caine’s jaw tightened, and he stared at her.

Rosalind finished the last of her toast and bacon, washing it down with wine. “What?”

“I shouldn’t have let you go,” he said quietly.

She leaned back in her chair. “And yet I got Erish back. And I saved a bunch of prisoners while I was at it.”

Before he could reply, Tammi stretched her arms over her head, yawning loudly. Owen rolled over next to her, sticking his thumb in his mouth.

Tammi blinked, slowly awaking. “You’re awake!”

Rosalind couldn’t face more questions about what had happened in Drew’s empire of nightmares. Time to change the subject. “I’m awake, and Caine was just about to tell me what’s been going in Lilinor while I was gone.”

“Caine was mostly waiting by the fountain, threatening to go through it to find you. And I would have gone with him, if Ambrose hadn’t stopped us.” Tammi frowned. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me your plan before you left. Letting Drew poison you and counting on your second soul? That was insane.”

“So I’ve heard.” Her gaze flicked to the moon, and relief washed over her. She’d turn into a creature of the night, whether or not she wanted to. Might as well join the vamps.

Tammi crossed to the table, taking a seat. “You missed eight days of Caine snapping at everyone and terrifying the shit out of people. None of us slept the whole time, because we were all imagining the worst. Oh, and because he had us all sun-proofing the entire fortress. There are sheets of silver over every damn vampire room in the fortress, in case Drew decides to raise the sun again, and some sort of dome above Ambrose’s open air bedroom.”

“And we’ve been building sun shelters in open areas,” Caine said. “Pity we don’t have Drew to just magically create an entire city in a few hours.”

“Beautiful work.” Rosalind lifted her glass. “And now, we just need an army of our own. If only we had no sense of morality, we could turn thousands of humans into lethal demons, like Drew did.”

Caine shrugged. “That’s not a bad idea, honestly.”

“I wasn’t serious,” Rosalind said. “We’ll find a way to create the daywalkers, and invade with the army we have.”

Tammi winced. “There’s a bit of a complication.”

Wonderful. “And what would that be?”

“Do you remember Bileth?” Caine asked.

Rosalind frowned. “The demon who I stabbed with a fire poker? The terrifying horned creature who has repeatedly tried to murder and mind-control me? Yeah, he left a bit of an impression.”

“He’s here,” Caine said. “In Lilinor.”

Rosalind’s heart climbed into her throat. “Why?” She remembered seeing his portrait hanging over the hall, but she’d never known him to actually visit. And if she remembered correctly, Ambrose and Bileth seemed to hate each other.

“Bileth does not think Ambrose is in control,” Caine said. “He plans to restore law and order to the vampire realm.”

Rosalind’s jaw dropped. “So, I probably need to find refuge elsewhere. We’re not exactly on good terms.”

Caine took a deep breath. “Supposedly, he has promised to leave you unharmed. He understands your importance to our army. Of course, I don’t trust him.”

She glanced nervously at the door. “Neither do I, and he could easily murder me in my sleep. He’s a high demon and probably several millennia old.”

“The plan,” Caine said, “is that I keep you in my sight at all times. Maybe he won’t protect you, but I will.”

“I guess you’re just gonna have to sleep together,” Tammi said. “I mean, in the same room.”

Rosalind thought back to her encounter with Bileth in Cambridge. “I don’t understand. I found him working with the Brotherhood in Cambridge. He’s literally working for the people who are trying to kill us. He said, ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ And his enemy, if I recall, is Ambrose. So how is Nyxobas allowing this to happen?”

Caine’s brow furrowed. “Bileth has convinced my grandfather that he is simply spying for the enemy. Like you said. Bileth has been on earth for several millennia, and he’s been closely serving the god of night for the entire time.”

“So Nyxobas is blind to his faults.” Rosalind asked.

Caine cocked his head. “Nyxobas is too lost in the void to understand what’s happening in the real world. So, he’s ordered that we accept Bileth as a temporary leader, until order is restored. And we just have to play along for now. Even I can’t fight the god of night.”

Something in the back of Rosalind’s mind whispered. And what if I’m a god, more powerful than the rest… Her fingers tightened into fists, and gods’ magic whirred through her chest. “I need to get back to Cambridge. I need to murder Drew and Randolph, and raze their cursed city to ash.”

Tammi touched her arm. “Simmer down, girl. We just got you back. And now you apparently have a toddler to look after.”

“Me?”

“You brought him back.”

“He looked quite cozy with you there.”

Tammi frowned at the child. “I’m gonna find some of those harem girls to help with this one.”

Rosalind was still lost in thoughts of battle. She stared into her wine, her lip curling. She could envision herself flying over Drew’s empire, fire blazing from her fingertips, melting the cold marble. “If I cut off the head of the snake, the battle will be over.”

Caine shook his head. “No. It’ll grow another head. There are plenty of Brotherhood fanatics to take Drew and Randolph’s place. We go in together, when the army is prepared.”

Destroy him, her mind whispered. Her back arched, desperate for the thrill of powerful magic. In the hollows of her mind, an image flickered—her own hand, plunging into Drew’s chest and ripping out his heart.

“Besides,” Tammi said. “I’ve been learning to fight, too. You’re not going alone, because I’m joining your army.”

Rosalind shook her head, the magic roiling inside her skull. “I can do it on my own. Slaughtering Drew is my destiny.”

Caine was studying her carefully. “Rosalind.” He leaned closer. “Be careful. If the gods’ power claims your mind, we may never get you back.”

Chapter 12

Rosalind walked through the Gelal Fields, her long, silky dress sliding against her legs. The landscape had transformed, with three silver-domed constructions jutting from the grass. Some of the sun shelters the vampires were working on.

In the nearby elms, nightingales trilled, filling the night with their song. The air felt warm and heavy tonight, and the full moon bathed the fields in pearly light. As she walked, tall grasses and wildflowers tickled her ankles.

If she squinted her eyes at the moon, she could just see the sterling shield that protected the vampire city from Drew’s invasion. Her stomach tightened. The shield appeared thinned in several places, which meant that at any moment, Drew and his Hunter friends could create a portal into the city. She’d escaped once—what would they do to her the next time they managed to capture her? And she couldn’t ignore the possibility that Bileth would hand her over to his Brotherhood allies at any moment.

Rosalind took a deep breath, searching the dark field for Caine. Just ahead, by a lone rowan tree, Caine stood by his brother. Their stunning silvery magic curled to the heavens, spreading over the thinned parts of the shield. She breathed in, inhaling the electric scene, like the smell of burnt air after a rainstorm.

The Mountfort brothers didn’t need to work alone anymore. Rosalind could use shadow magic nearly as well as they could, and her body ached to unleash the power of the gods.

As she moved closer through the dandelion-dappled grasses, Caine turned to look at her, arching an eye brow.

“I’m here to help,” she said. “You should have woken me when you were coming out here.”

“You needed rest,” he said. “I’ve warned you about using too much gods-magic.”

Irritation simmered. “I’m fine.”

Malphas eyed her with concern, moonlight washing over his porcelain skin. A faint smile curled his lips, and for a moment, Rosalind had a vision of him as a wide-eyed little boy, standing by the edge of Atherton Pond, pushing his hand-made sailboat into the water. “Rosalind.” He touched her shoulder. “When you were with Drew, it was hell. I’m so happy you’re back. And my brother is right. You’re not returning to Drew’s empire without us.”

She smiled at him. “We’re going to have to work together to keep Lilinor safe until we get our army together. Okay?”

Caine turned to face the shield again. “Far be it from me to argue with seven gods.” His aura snaked around his body, blazing from his chest. Malphas’s curled into the air, rising toward the moon.

Rosalind took a deep breath, luxuriating in the feel of the powerful shadow magic that electrified her skin.

Then, she arched her back, letting Nyxobas’s power surge, starting with her ribs and curling into the night sky. Her magic intertwined with Caine and Malphas’s in a perfect stream of gleaming silver.

Her arm brushed against Caine’s, and a shiver of pleasure ran over her skin. This was where she belonged. This was how it was meant to be.

For just a moment, she opened her eyes, meeting Caine’s gaze. He was peering down at her, his skin glowing like a god’s.

Their magic surged, streaming over the night sky. As the magic flowed between them, images flitted through her mind—running through the woods with Malphas, holding his hand, a carpet of mayflower petals below their feet, his laughter filling the air. Leading him into the forest to search for buried treasure—a toy soldier’s torso, a rusty coin. Malphas held each treasure aloft in the chinks of honeyed sunlight that streamed through the hawthorn trees—each discovery was a jewel, a magic talisman to bless them with unimaginable powers. Every stick was a wand, every flower a transformed nymph.

They couldn’t have known then that talismans weren’t needed, or that powers came with a price.

Then Caine’s memories whirled through her skull: the queen’s dress fluttering in the night air, after he’d thrown her from the window. A beautiful woman with blond hair. Men were dragging her screaming from her house, blood trickling down her chin. Caine bleeding and nailed to a stake, the word Stolas on his lips. The first time he saw Rosalind, lying on the rainy sidewalk, her eyes wide, body shaking with fear at the sight of him. Until at last, an image of something beautiful—a vault of stars above a grove of cherry trees, a stolen cup of fresh milk.

Filled with the memories around her, she stared at the canopy of silver magic above them. Caine and Malphas: both demigods of the shadow realm, and yet one brother was shadow, the other light.

At last, a thick shimmer of silver magic covered the entire sky, and Rosalind took a deep breath, her magic retreating into her chest.

But as she finished her magic, a chill rippled over her skin. Another aura lurked nearby—black and scented of an old grave. Her heart skipped a beat. Bileth.

Just as the warning was forming on her lips, Caine’s head whipped around, and the air around her thinned.

She turned, her pulse racing at the sight of the horned demon stalking through the tall grasses. He was still a hundred yards away, but even from here, she could smell the fetid magic snaking from his body. As he moved closer, anger simmered. Bileth had manipulated his way into this city, and she didn’t trust him in the slightest. At the sight of him, goosebumps rose on Rosalind’s skin.

As Bileth stalked toward them, she had the strange sense that the grasses were wilting around his feet, the birds fluttering from the trees, desperate to get away from him. Gray shadows whispered over his waxy skin.

Seven auras coiled through her bones, their essences as mad as they were ancient. Even if he was several millennia old, she was beginning to wonder if she could take Bileth on her own—with all that gods magic on her side. Her fingers twitched, body buzzing with explosive power.

Caine leaned close to Rosalind, whispering, “It’s not the time to attack. Not yet.”

Clouds rolled over the moon, and Rosalind shivered. Caine and Malphas might be related to the god of night, but Bileth seemed a true emissary of the void. At the sight of him, Rosalind could feel the valkyrie’s icy rage rippling through her body.

With each of Bileth’s footsteps, a distant war drum seemed to beat, the sound reverberating through Rosalind’s core. Thunder rolled over the horizon, and a few fat drops of rain began falling from the sky.

As Bileth drew closer, he snarled, “Incubi. And the woman.” The last word he spat like an insult.

Rain began to fall harder, streaming down Rosalind’s skin, and she took a step closer to Bileth. “How lovely to see you here.”

“I see you’re toying with the magic of the gods,” he growled. “Humans weren’t meant for such powers.”

Rosalind waited for him to continue. There was obviously a point to all this.

Lightning flashed, glinting off Bileth’s pale horns.

The rain picked up, plastering her hair to her face, her dress to her body. “Demons,” she said, “were not meant to roam the earth. And yet here we all are. Funny how life is.”

Caine cocked his head. “None of us were meant to be. The angels were never meant to fall from the heavens. Humans were never meant to learn Angelic. Dead things were never meant to live again. And yet—as Rosalind says—here we all are, in a city of vampires.”

Rosalind narrowed her eyes at Bileth. “The last time I saw you was in the Brotherhood’s headquarters. You seemed to know the Hunters very well.”

Bileth’s eyes were empty pools. “As Nyxobas knows, I was there as a spy.”

“Bullshit,” Rosalind muttered. “Anyway, what do you want from us?”

His gaze slid to Caine. “You’ve been Ambrose’s general for centuries. And where has it gotten Lilinor? An insane human terrorizes your kingdom. You hide behind a shield. This is not worthy of a son of Nyxobas.”

Rosalind felt the air around her chill by twenty degrees. As the cold rain slid down her skin, her breath clouded around her face, and she hugged herself, shivering.

Malphas took a deep breath. “What brilliant plan do you propose to protect Lilinor, Bileth?”

Bileth’s nostrils flared, and he pounded one of his fists into the other. “If vampires cannot fight mortals, then they do not deserve to live. We fight the Hunters as we are. Only the strong survive. The rest must give up their souls to the void. This is as it should be.”

“And this is your plan,” Caine said, his voice low and controlled. “Sacrifice the vampires to make a point about strength.”

Bileth’s lip curled. “Nyxobas does not need the weak.”

Rosalind stared at him, thinking of what he’d said to her in the Chambers. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

And for whatever reason, he’d been talking about Ambrose.

That ancient magic, the song of madness and power, whispered through her mind again.

Perhaps I could end this right here. “And what sort of leader are you, if you’re willing to give up without a fight?” She tightened her jaw. Rein it in, Rosalind.

Bileth’s lip curled. “One who will survive, when your vampire city lies in ashes. I will live, as I have done for a hundred thousand years on earth, and I will live long after your body has begun to feed the worms by your sister’s side.”

“Sounds like an interesting challenge,” she said. She pushed past Bileth, stalking over the grass, her fingernails piercing her palms.

Bileth needed to die, but it wouldn’t happen today.

Chapter 13

Flanked by Tammi and Aurora, Rosalind stalked through the hall toward Ambrose’s bedroom. Ivory rib vaults arched high above them, and moonlight streamed in through tall, peaked windows. Just an hour before, a servant had arrived at the door, instructing her to wear a formal gown for a visit with the king. The servant—a tall man with thin features and green eyes—had suggested that she might want to wear the frothy chiffon gown he’d brought for her. It was the exact shade of crimson that the king most admired.

Instead, Rosalind had pulled on her leather pants and a tank top, and she’d zipped her tallest boots. Until Caine and Malphas started wearing frothy chiffon to military meetings, she’d wear whatever she damn well pleased.

Aurora’s boots clacked over the tile. “Any idea what this meeting is about?”

Rosalind frowned. “My guess is Ambrose is getting desperate. Bileth seems ready to torpedo all his daywalker plans.”

“Really?” said Tammi. “And Bileth seems like such a reasonable man. You know, apart from being a king of hell who kills people with his mind.”

“And what are the plans Bileth is supposedly screwing up?” Aurora unscrewed the cap from her flask. “Who is this third human we’re supposed to use for the daylight spell?”

Tammi bit her lip. “I would have volunteered myself, but I kinda lost my human status.”

“I don’t know,” Rosalind said. “We’re at a bit of a stalemate. Caine won’t allow Malphas to do it, and Ambrose won’t allow anyone but Malphas to do it. I’m just glad you both were willing to come with me. Maybe you can help us talk some sense into Caine.”

At the end of the hall, a set of marble stairs led to an imposing set of oak doors, carved with wicked looking weapons. Two Viking guards with long, blond braids stood before them. As Rosalind and her friends moved closer, the guards shifted, pulling open the doors.

Inside Ambrose’s room, Caine's silver aura sparked through the air. He stood with his hands in his pockets—a casual stance—but anger writhed in his darkened eyes.

And between the two Lilinor leaders, Malphas stood with his arms folded. Flames in lanterns around the room seemed to flicker and dim. Moonlight washed the room in cold light, gleaming over Caine’s aura.

Aurora took a sip of her drink. “Well, this meeting looks like it’s going well. Glad you brought me.”

“Mmm…” said Tammi. “I always get the hint that Caine is annoyed when the air begins to frost, and darkness envelops the light. It all gets a bit apocalyptic. I’m not sure he’d do very well in a poker game.”

Aurora nodded. “Not very subtle.”

Caine’s eyes had turned black as the void. “Find another human.” He enunciated each word as if he’d said them a million times. Which, perhaps, he had.

Malphas stared at his brother. “The spell worked for you. I don’t see why it shouldn’t work for me.”

Caine shook his head. “If you think it worked for me, you remember nothing.”

There it was again—the reference to Caine’s insanity after he’d been given his second soul. And she still had no clue what they were talking about. Irritation simmered. Caine knew all her secrets now, but he still kept his own closely-guarded.

Malphas’s pale eyes blazed. “I remember everything, Caine. I was there. But who’s to say it would be the same with me?”

At his words, a chill spread through the room, and the moonlight itself seemed to dim. Caine kept his hands in his pockets, and though his body looked relaxed, his silver aura whipped viciously around him.

His eyes were chasms of black. “And why would it be so different for you, Brother? We’re both born from the same father. We’re both tainted by his darkness. Or you do think there is another reason why I did what I did?”

“Is this really relevant?” Ambrose asked, his jaw clenched.

Rosalind’s stomach fluttered. Okay. So I’m witnessing some weird family drama.

Malphas took a slow breath. “It will be different because we’re prepared this time, and I have you to guide me.”

Caine took a step closer to his brother. “Perhaps you should just say what’s on your mind Malphas. We have the same father. But not the same mother.”

Tammi wrinkled her nose. “We can come back later, if this is a bad time.”

Ambrose paced over the flagstones, glancing at Rosalind. “I need a status update about Drew’s army. What did you see?”

Rosalind shook her head. “Not much. I was in a fog the whole time. I saw guards, but nothing of their army.”

Caine frowned. “I’ve been interrogating Erish. She isn’t telling me everything, but my spies are feeding me more information. Your wife created legions of demons who haven’t darkened the earth’s surface for millennia. Ifrit, Pazuzu, Uridimmu, Asag… I’m still learning what else.”

“What?” Rosalind asked.

Aurora leaned in, whispering, “Fire demons, plague demons, gruesome hounds, and… I don’t know.”

“Right.”

“All waiting to attack,” Ambrose said.

“Last night, some of my spies reported that a horde of Pazuzu were trying to break through the shields through a portal Drew had created.”

“And what did you do about it?” Ambrose asked.

“It was daylight in the human world.” Caine glanced at Rosalind. “Rosalind helpfully brought us a small troop of valkyrie who’d been imprisoned by Drew, and they’re after his blood. I led them through the portal, and we fended off the attack. And moreover, the shield is holding for now. It won’t last forever, but we have plenty of supplies. There are the women in the harem for blood, and Rosalind has brought us a fresh supply of humans.”

Rosalind raised her hand. “I wouldn’t call them supplies. If they give blood, it should be voluntary.”

As Caine and Ambrose continued arguing, Rosalind turned to Tammi. “Who is Owen with?”

“He’s in the harem. Those chicks are obsessed with him. And there’s a fae warrior guarding him. He’s fine.”

Breaking off from his argument with Ambrose, Caine glanced at Rosalind for the first time. “You have the power of seven gods.”

“You don’t say.”

“So perhaps we don’t need a third human,” Caine said. “When the first three mages conducted the spell, they had only human powers. They had extensive knowledge of Angelic and how to manipulate magic, but they were still mere humans. Rosalind and I have their magical knowledge, and we are gods.”

“That’s a bit much,” Aurora muttered, giving Rosalind the side-eye.

Rosalind crossed to Caine. “It’s worth a shot. I don’t really understand Caine’s objections fully, since he’s never told me what exactly happened when my parents gave him that extra soul. But this journey with another soul hasn’t been an easy ride. When Cleo first started inhabiting my mind, she kept trying to light me on fire. She could have killed me.” She glanced at Malphas, thinking of their kiss. “And at times she has taken over my body completely. We don’t know what Malphas’s second soul would do to him.”

“So you agree with me,” Caine said.

“Not entirely.” She cocked her head. “It’s worth a shot to see if we can spare Malphas what we went through. But if it doesn’t work, we’ve run out of options. We can’t keep waiting around while Drew plans the next invasion. Even if you’re protecting against the sunlight, his powers are growing. I could feel them.”

Caine stared at her for a long moment. The air had gone so cold, that her breath misted before her face. “Fine. First we try on our own. If it doesn’t work, Malphas gets the third soul.”

Shadows darkened the air around Ambrose. “I’ve read the legends, the historical accounts of Alexander the Great’s army. It won’t work with two mages. You’re wasting my time.”

She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. “We might as well try Caine’s idea. What do we have to lose? It either works or it doesn’t. Then we move on.”

Ambrose stared at her for an uncomfortably long moment before straightening. After a moment, he snapped his fingers. “Kevin! Come closer.”

Rosalind jumped, startled to realize that another vampire guard had been lurking in the shadows. A tall, thin man with long hanks of ginger hair lumbered into the center of the room, a silver pike in his hands.

Kevin. Rosalind frowned. They really needed some better vampire names around here. Mentally, she was renaming him Vlad the Eviscerator.

“Kevin,” Ambrose said, interrupting her thoughts. “We’re going to try an experiment on you.”

Kevin—Vlad—furrowed his brow, his eyes widening. Clearly, he didn’t like this idea, but he seemed to like the idea of arguing with Ambrose a little less. Smart man.

Vlad cleared his throat. His fingers visibly tensed on his pike, knuckles whitening. “What do you need me to do?”

Ambrose cocked his head. “Just stand there, I believe. We’ve never done this before.” He turned to Rosalind. “I take it your second souls know the spells?”

“Let’s find out,” Rosalind said.

She stood next to Caine, staring at Vlad. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure she was ready for this. She had no idea what would happen to Vlad. He seemed like a nice enough guy, and for all she knew, she was about to kill him with magic.

“Just give me a second.” She threaded her fingers together, then flexed. “I just have to get in the right zone.”

Caine quirked a smile, his body already glowing with silver light. “Certainly. You wouldn’t want to pull something.”

Rosalind closed her eyes, summoning Cleo’s vibrations, that leafy, green power that curled through her body. Cleo. I need to turn this vampire into a daywalker.

Tendrils of Cleo’s magic enshrouded her body like vines. In the next moment, she was whispering the words to an ancient spell, a song that spoke of light and darkness, day and night, a union of opposites. As she chanted, she could feel Cleo’s aura mingling with Caine’s magic, shadows entwining with life, birth with decay. She could feel Caine’s body drawing her closer, like a magnetic pull, until her arm brushed his…

As magic unfurled from their bodies, she began to lose all sense of time and space. They were simply the night and the forest, the crows feasting on dead deer, the yews growing above graves, sun dappling their branches.

The whispers of the ancients whispered in her mind. Dizzy, she opened her eyes, staring at the stars, staring as the constellations shifted around the North Star, the slow waltz of Cassiopeia and Ursa Major.

She had the sense of shifting winds, shifting stars, time slowly passing while the words of the spell tripped off her tongue, over and over, while magic whirled from her body. As her magic whirled around the room, her body began to grow tired, her legs shaking. How long had she been chanting for? Since the beginning of time, perhaps.

The ancient song of magic knelled in her skull, the power of the gods, until her legs began to shake, and her breath grew ragged in her throat. And in the vault of stars above them, the night sky danced on—until shadows crept over the pearly light. She stared above her as a dark wind snuffed out the stars. At last, nothing remained but the darkness.

A painful void gnawed at her chest, and in the hollows of her mind, her sister’s face flickered, eyes wide. Sorrow climbed up Rosalind’s throat, and she sank deeper into the darkness. Caine’s magic was overwhelming her, his shadows seeping into her body. And yet, she couldn’t feel his presence anymore. She only felt alone. Stolas.

The void would suck her in, and never let her out again.

Light. I need more light. If she couldn’t conjure the light, she’d die here, alone and insane.

And that’s when the screams pierced her concentration. Her eyes snapped open, and she stared at Vlad, his clothes blazing like a torch, smoke curling through the open roof.

In the next moment, shadow magic surged from Caine’s wrist, and he iced the flames, snuffing them out in cold shadows. Vlad’s body shook, holes burned through the fabric of his clothes, and smoke curled through the open roof. The air smelled of burnt flesh.

Rosalind rolled onto her hands and knees, her body shaking. Nausea welled in her gut, and she suppressed the urge to vomit.

I guess that didn’t work out so well.

Caine held out his hand to her. “Are you all right?”

She grabbed it, standing on shaky feet. Fatigue burned through her muscles. “I’m fine. More importantly, is Vlad alright?”

“Who?”

“I mean, Kevin.” She turned to the vampire, who shuddered, smoke still rising from his skin. “Are you okay, Kevin?”

Mutely, he nodded, then shot a panicked look to Ambrose. “Do I have to do that again?”

Ambrose frowned. “Yes.”

“No.” Rosalind loosed a sigh, fighting the nausea that climbed up her throat. “I don’t think this is a good idea. It didn’t feel right. If the spell was meant for three mages, I don’t think it will work. How long were we going for?”

In the corner of the room, Tammi had fallen asleep in an armchair, and Malphas sat at the edge of a bed, sipping wine, watching them. Aurora had already left.

Ambrose shrugged. “Eight, ten hours. The servants have been supplying me with blood.”

No wonder her legs were trembling. “You do know that humans need food and water, right?”

Ambrose frowned. “It sounds vaguely familiar.”

“One more time.” Caine ran a hand through his hair. “It didn’t work that time, but we can try it one more time. I felt it working before Rosalind succumbed to the magic.”

“Don’t blame this on me,” Rosalind said. “You were using too much magic. I could feel it overwhelming me.”

Shadows thickened around Ambrose. “I don’t want to wait any longer. Caine, fetch the sigil. It’s time to grant your brother another soul.”

“One more try,” Caine said, the air chilling around him. “Then we use the sigil.”

Dizzy, Rosalind faltered and Caine caught her by the elbow. He tucked a finger below her chin, looking into her eyes. “You don’t look like you’re ready to try again.”

“I may have the magic of seven gods, but I still need to eat and sleep like a human. Whatever we’re doing, I’m not doing it now.”

Caine glanced at Ambrose. “She hasn’t learned how to absorb the gods’ power yet. If she uses too much at once, she’ll become lost in the magic. It’s already overwhelmed her. We won’t be using the sigil nor the spell again until Rosalind has rested.” Caine slipped an arm around Rosalind’s waist. “I’ll help you get back to your room.”

She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m fine. I can get back on my own.” She pulled away from Caine, walking for the door.

“Rosalind,” Ambrose called out before they got to the door. “Whatever you do, don’t let Bileth know about this. Any of it.”

She turned to look at him. “What’s the story between you two? Why does he hate you so much?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Ambrose said.

“I’ll find out, one way or another.” As she began walking again, her eyes started to drift closed, but she fought against the urge to sleep, blinking to keep her eyes awake. She couldn’t let her mind rest yet—not until she’d figured out a way to save Lilinor.

Chapter 14

Rosalind lay back on her bed, letting her muscles melt into the soft blankets. Her mind churned. Was Malphas really the only answer to this problem? In a world of magic, there had to be more than one way to achieve their goals.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Peeling herself off the bed, Rosalind rose. On the way to the door, she caught a glimpse of herself in the enormous, silver-framed mirror. Even now, her cheeks still looked gaunt and pale, her shoulders a little bonier than she’d like.

She pulled open the door—expecting Caine, but finding instead a young vampire, whose long black hair tumbled over a white dress. She held a domed tray, and steam curled from the top.

“The beautiful incubus said you’d be hungry. He sent me with dinner.” A blush rose to her cheeks. “If he ever needs anything else from me, tell him he can ask me anytime.”

“I’m starving. Thank you.”

The scent of garlic and fresh fish wafted into the air.

“Where should I put it?” asked the vampire.

“I’ll take it.” Rosalind’s mouth watered as she pulled it from the vampire’s hands. “Thank you.”

As she turned to walk to the balcony, the vampire propped open the door, adding one final request. “Like I said. If he needs anything, I’m available.”

“Got it.” Rosalind practically slammed the door in her face, then crossed to the balcony. She wanted the open air as much as possible.

She slid the tray onto the table. She took a seat, then pulled the dome off the tray, her stomach rumbling at the sight of salmon and garlic mashed potatoes, seasoned with rosemary. At this point, she was so hungry her entire body was shaking.

A corked bottle of wine lay out from the night before, and she pulled the cork, filling the empty wine glass on the tray.

It was peaceful out here, with flickering lanterns hanging from the myrtle trees, and the faint rhythm of the waves pounding the rocks below. She cut into the fish, spearing it with just the right amount of potato on her fork. The flavors melted in her mouth, and she closed her eyes as she ate. Heaven. The vampires had no idea what they were missing.

When she was halfway through her meal, someone knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” she called out.

“Malphas.”

Interesting. “Come in.”

He pushed through the door, crossing to the balcony. As he pulled out a chair for himself, he smiled. “I see you’re making fast work of the meal I ordered for you.”

“My hunger waits for no man.” She smiled. “So you’re the beautiful incubus.”

His eyebrows rose. “As if you just noticed.”

She giggled. “Where’s Caine?”

“Busy scouring the harems. I believe that was once a favorite pastime of his.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“Looking for a third human who Ambrose will approve of.”

Rosalind took another bite of the salmon and potatoes. The rich, buttery food melted in her mouth. Lilinor’s fae chef was amazing. “Do you want any of this food?”

“No. I’ve eaten already.”

Good. She didn’t particularly want to share.

The lantern-light wavered over his porcelain skin, flickered in his pale eyes. When she looked at him, she could see the boy he once was. She could almost hear his laughter filling the air, as they trampled over the mayflower petals, running through the hawthorn grove.

He poured himself a glass of wine. “Despite what Caine said earlier, he’s still resisting allowing me to take on the soul.”

“He’s awfully protective of you.”

“Do you think this spell will work, even if Caine finds another human?”

“I have no idea. It’s not like we have a lot of information to go on.” She took a sip of the dry red wine. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why Caine is so determined to stop you from taking on this role?”

He loosed a long sigh, staring at the moon through the myrtle leaves. “Before you began using the gods-magic, you were human. You were human when you got the second soul. Caine and I are demigods. We’re descendants of Nyxobas, the lord of darkness. He believes that we’re tainted somehow. That darkness runs through us, and that with all this power, it will turn us into monsters. He believes that a second soul unleashes your true nature, and that because of who our father is… our true nature is malignant.”

“And what is your father like?”

Malphas shrugged. “Neither of us really knows him, but he’s on Nyxobas’s council. Caine says he’s a rapist.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t think Caine really thinks we are the same, though.” Malphas’s gaze met hers. “He wants to think we are, but he’s worried that we’re not.”

“What do you mean?”

“We were born several centuries apart, from different mothers. My mother was from the noble classes of Maremount.” His eyebrows drew together, and he took a sip of his wine. “He doesn’t talk about his own mother. Not even to me.”

Caine was never as open as Malphas, and she was so fascinated she nearly forgot to eat. “Was Caine’s mother from Maremount too? Is that where you both were born?”

He shook his head. “Caine is from South London.”

How strange that after all this time, she’d never even known where he’d been born.

“Where is your mother now?” Malphas was close to her age. His mother might be in her forties or fifties.

“Dead. I never knew her. After my father seduced her or raped her or whatever he did, her reputation was ruined. Not long after I was born, she jumped from the Silver Tower of Throcknell Fortress.”

“I’m sorry.” Her heart ached for him. “If that’s how they treat women, I’m glad to be out of Maremount.”

He swirled his wine in his glass. “It’s an unforgiving place. Or it was. Things might have changed now. The King was imprisoned, by his own daughter I believe.”

“Your mother was nobility, even if her reputation was ruined. And Caine’s mother…?”

Malphas took a deep breath. “I only know she wasn’t nobility. Caine was born five hundred years ago, in a time when everyone believed that some people are better than others by virtue of their lineage. I think that concept stuck with him. I think that deep down, he thinks my mother’s lineage made me different than he is. Purer, or something. He calls me the good brother.”

Rosalind thought back on the things Caine had said to Malphas in Ambrose’s room. “He was trying to goad you into saying it. He wants to hear you say it out loud.”

“But I don’t believe it’s true. I don’t believe Caine’s theory, that his second soul brought out his true nature. He is lying to himself.”

Rosalind nodded slowly. “So when he said you can’t handle a second soul either, it’s because he needs that to be true. He’s not trying to convince you. He’s trying to convince himself. He truly believes that a second soul brings out your true nature. And if you could handle a second soul better than he could, what would that say about him?”

“That he’s tainted through and through. At least, that’s my guess.”

Rosalind took another bite of her food, the salmon a perfect complement to the mashed potatoes. “It seems very astute to me.” Since Malphas was much chattier about his personal life than Caine was, this seemed a perfect opportunity to find out more. “How did you and Caine end up with my parents in the first place?”

Malphas drummed his fingertips on the table. “You know some of my brother’s history now, don’t you? You know he killed the king and queen of Maremount, centuries ago.”

“Ah yes, the Ravener threw them out the window. He told me. Considering they’d enslaved him for a year, I can’t say I blame him.”

“You wouldn’t blame him, but others did. After he escaped Maremount, the King’s son placed a bounty on his head. Parents told their children stories of the Ravener, the demon who slaughtered innocents in their beds. The monster who raped queens.”

A chilly night breeze whispered over them, and the lanterns groaned, swinging the branches, their candlelight flickering.

“But that’s not the way it happened,” Rosalind said. “It was the other way around. I saw it in his memories.”

“Well, Caine wasn’t around to tell his side of the story, and no one would believe a shadow demon anyway. Especially not one with a father like Abrax.”

Rosalind nodded slowly. “I get it. But that was centuries ago. Long before my parents were alive. How did he end up back in Maremount?”

Malphas traced his fingertip around the rim of the wine glass, the movement hypnotic. “One generation after the next, the mortal kings sought to bring Caine back to Maremount. They wanted to torture him publicly, to hang his ruined body in Lullaby Square.”

“To keep Erish’s sister company. Her petrified head decorates the fountain.”

Malphas raised his glass. “Nothing can bring a city together like a demonic scapegoat. As you can see, the Brotherhood continues to use that strategy to perfection. It would have been a beautiful way for the king of Maremount to unify a city, to appease ordinary citizens with a show of bloodletting.” He raised his hand like an orator. “You see, peasants? We’re not the monsters oppressing you, keeping you from learning magic. Keeping you in the dirt. It’s the demons you should fear. And we’re here to kill them for you. We are your protectors.” He shrugged. “So the kings of Maremount hunted my brother for centuries. What a boon it would have been for them to torture the Ravener in the town square.”

“And Caine evaded them.”

“The Throcknell family had no idea he was here, in Lilinor. They’d completely lost track of him. After Caine first escaped Maremount, he found his way to this shadow realm for safety. As a grandson of Nyxobas, he could claim sanctuary here. Ambrose took him in, gave him a place in his army. And in a short time Caine proved he was capable of leading it. He was fearless. He liked fighting. And men respected him.”

A marine wind rushed off the sea, whispering over Rosalind’s skin. “If no one knew where he was, how did my parents end up imprisoning him?”

“They had leverage on him.”

“What?”

“Me.”

Rosalind let the wine roll over her tongue for a moment before swallowing, and her chest tightened. “They found you after you were orphaned.”

“It wasn’t just that my mother had gotten pregnant outside of marriage. It was that the child of the father was a demon. One who’d produced the Ravener himself. You can imagine how much that would have impressed the rest of the king’s court. After she gave birth, they locked the two of us in a tower room. For three years, it was just me and her. I was happy, I think. We played games. She told me stories about talking rabbits and dragons.”

I swallowed hard. “So why did she jump out of the tower?”

His expression darkened. “I don’t know, exactly. I remember that she cried a lot, and spent a lot of time just lying in bed. I think she had no one to talk to, besides me. And I could hardly talk.”

Rosalind’s throat tightened. “And after that, you had no one.”

“Within an hour of her death, I was out on the streets, a beggar and an outcast. Half-brother to the Ravener. It was a wonderful opportunity for social climbers like your parents.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your parents were smart. They knew Caine’s weakness: family. They knew his history. And they believed they deserved a more powerful position in the city of Maremount. They wanted a prime spot in the Throcknell Fortress, on the council. They wanted more control.”

A lump rose in Rosalind’s throat. It was starting to become clear to her. “So they thought they would deliver a prize to the royal family. The Ravener. And you were the bait to lure him to the city.”

Malphas shrugged. “It worked. Your parents sent ravens throughout the realms to deliver a message to Caine. They used scrying mirrors to prove that they had me. Anyone could tell by looking at my eyes that I’m a son of Abrax, a descendent of the shadow god.”

“And Caine came for you.”

“Your parents were waiting for him. He didn’t come alone, of course…” He trailed off, clearing his throat. “Well, never mind that.”

Rosalind leaned forward, the ocean wind toying with her hair. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not important. The point is, when he arrived, they were holding a knife to my throat. From there, it wasn’t difficult to control Caine.”

“And they thought they’d present him as a gift to the king, so he could be executed.”

“Tortured, yes. I’m not sure the royal family knew how to kill a demigod, so he probably would have been trapped, still alive, in amber, with his limbs cut off. Something like that.”

Rosalind covered her mouth, nausea climbing up her throat. She no longer wanted any more of her meal. “That’s what the Throcknells did to people?”

“I told you. It’s an unforgiving place. Unfortunately for your parents, King Balthazar didn’t care. He was caught up in his own machinations. Namely, he was busy having his wife executed to impress his mistress.”

“So my parents had an incubus on their hands, and his little brother. And they weren’t going to let the opportunity go to waste.”

“This is how Caine tells it. If the king wouldn’t give them more power, they would make themselves rulers of Maremount, by creating supreme magicians they could control. They summoned the spirits of the three greatest mages who ever lived, and trapped them in a sigil. First, they experimented on Caine. It seemed to go well. It didn’t kill him. He didn’t seem mad. They learned everything they could about magic. They learned of their own history, the rumors of Azazeyl. They believed themselves to be gods, and they moved in and out of the city, from Boston to Maremount, collaborating with the Brotherhood, drinking Blodrial’s blood.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Ah. That’s where they got their blood.”

“The blood drove them mad.”

Rosalind took a deep breath. “Caine is certain that it will drive me mad, too. I guess, given the available data… My parents and Drew…”

“It doesn’t look good.”

“When you say that my parents went mad, what do you mean? What happened?”

“My memories are hazy. I wasn’t much older than you at the time. I mostly know what Caine told me. They believed they were gods, and that they deserved worship. And that’s when they decided what to do with their two other souls. They would have three powerful mages in their control, to build the empire of their dreams.”

Goosebumps rose on Rosalind’s skin. “But then something happened with Caine.”

“That’s not my story to tell.” Malphas’s eyes seemed to deepen to a dark pewter. “The stuff about your parents, that’s for you to know. If Caine wants you to know what happened to him, he will tell you.”

“I understand. But I saw him, how he was punished in the square. The iron nails through his arms and chest. The royal family got their Ravener after all, and they didn’t want to let him get away that time.” She shook her head. “So how did he get out?”

“In the dead of night, I freed him. And when he recovered, he went after your parents.”

“For revenge,” she said.

“No.” Malphas leaned back in his chair, studying her. “Perhaps that, too. He knew they had two more souls, and that they planned to use them on other humans. He didn’t know who. And he didn’t know that it was already too late.”

He’d never mentioned that before—that he’d killed them to try to stop them from ruining other people’s lives. He kept secrets even when the stories would exonerate him. “Do you have any idea how Miranda and I ended up separated, and living with the Brotherhood?”

Malphas slid his glass across the table. “That might be a question for Caine.”

“What do you mean?” Her pulse sped up. “Caine sent me to live with the Brotherhood?”

Malphas cocked his head, considering what to tell her. She’d never seen him looking quite this beautiful before, with golden light tinging his skin, the amber flecks in his eyes. She couldn’t remember seeing him in the sunlight before…

At that thought, the world tilted beneath her. Sunlight.

Malphas turned, his jaw dropping. There in the sky—a winged demon, blazing with a fire so hot she had to shield her eyes.

Chapter 15

Rosalind’s pulse raced as she stared at the sky. Around the flaming demon, cracks opened in the silvery shield. She gaped, watching the shadow magic disintegrate before her eyes.

The winged demon had enormous, curled horns and long talons. Silhouetted by the rising sun, his wings beat the air. Behind him, the sun began to rise, staining the sky a hot pearly rose, washing the world in lurid pink. Panic tightened its cold claws around Rosalind’s heart.

He’s coming. Drew is coming for me.

“I don’t understand,” she shouted, her heart hammering. “I can see the shield falling apart. Why? How is this happening?”

“I don’t know. No one from the outside should be able to destroy it so quickly.”

She swallowed hard, glancing at Malphas. Already, his black wings were growing from his back, his pale gaze locked on the fiery demon. Sunlight gilded him.

“It’s an ifrit,” he said. “They haven’t walked the earth in thousands of years. One of Erish’s creations. They come from her part of the world.” Golden sunlight gleamed from his wings. “Unfortunately, they don’t usually travel alone.”

As soon as the words had left his lips, another demon emerged from the glaring sunlight, seeming to fly from the center of the sun itself.

From below, shouts pierced the air. The silver curtains should shield them, but clearly, some kind of attack was imminent. Time to take action.

Rosalind’s body was still exhausted, but she closed her eyes, summoning her fire magic, letting it roil in her chest. And the best way to defeat fire is with ice. And with it, she rallied her shadow magic. Nyxobas’s cold power rippled through her body. She and Malphas should be able to take down two demons together.

Malphas turned to her, nodding once. And in the next moment, he burst forth from the balcony, rising into the reddening sky.

Gods-magic rushed over her body, and she took flight, the wind whipping at her hair. She soared around one of the ifrit, circling him. His eyes blazed with the heat of a dying star, so bright she couldn’t look at him directly. The ifrit opened his mouth, and with a gut-churning shriek, he spat out a ball of fire. In the air, Rosalind dodged, the sea winds tearing at her hair.

After going through the fire hell, fire would no longer burn her. But she saw no reason to waste a perfectly good outfit by letting it incinerate.

She circled the ifrit again. She could take one demon easily. Let’s see what Nyxobas’s magic will do to him.

Dark magic ran through her body like ice floes, and she flicked her wrist, sending a surge of night magic at the creature. The ifrit threw back his head, shrieking to the skies, his enormous body sizzling as her magic extinguished his flames. Writhing, he fell to the earth, and she glanced at Malphas. Malphas’s black wings beat the air, his opponent already fallen.

But already, a third demon was coming for her, silhouetted in the sun as if the great star had birthed him. And behind him, a fourth, and a fifth. Her heart began to race. Within moments, a stream of the creatures headed right for them, flying for the fortress. Dread coiled around her. They were flying straight for the vampires—for the very flammable vampires.

Rosalind circled in a wide arc, summoning Nyxobas’s magic. Shadows surged through her body, reaching for the sky in pearly tendrils.

“Strengthen the shield!” she shouted to Malphas. “We need to stop them from coming in!”

Immediately, a stream of night magic rushed from his body, spreading out in a dome above the sky.

Another burst of night magic surged—from below her this time. Caine was flying into the air, his black wings pounding the air like an angel of death. Thick coils of silver magic spiraled from his powerful body.

As the ifrit swarmed the sky, fire rained over the city. Caine and Malphas skillfully dodged it. Rosalind ignored it, no longer worried about her clothes. Let them burn. The flames warmed her skin, strengthening her body.

Soaring through the sky, Rosalind sent the icy magic of the void curling around the fiery demons.

And yet the creatures pressed on, swooping inexorably lower, landing on the rooftops and setting them alight. Terror ripped through Rosalind. The city would turn to ash if they weren’t able to stop the ifrit.

As the fortress burned, the vampires would run into the open air—where the sun would light them ablaze. Aurora, Ambrose, the sassy chick in the Duckula T-shirt… all of them would die. As she swooped through the air, horror hit her in the gut. The ifrit were running into the fortress, dragging vampires out into the light. The scent of burning flesh curled into the air.

And at that, icy wrath flooded Rosalind’s mind, until she could no longer hear her own thoughts. She only knew that she wanted to kill, to destroy. She wanted to send the ifrit into the center of the earth.

As the magic poured through her body in icy streams of silver, shadows claimed her mind, climbing up the walls of her skull, until she was no longer Rosalind. She was the god of night, of darkness and the void, cloaked in shadow. She was the beginning and the end of time, the universe without light.

Her body mercilessly slung night magic at the ifrit, and she listened to the hiss of their flames extinguishing. But while she fought on, her mind wasn’t in Lilinor. Her mind lurked in the void, and she closed her eyes. Deep in the hollows of her mind, she walked through the inky night, swift as an astral wind. Nyxobas reached for her, brushing her cheeks with his icy fingertips.

Today, Rosalind was the god of death.

Her body blazed with cold magic, a whirling blizzard of power. As cold winds kissed her body, her eyes flickered—opening and closing—and she caught glimpses of the sky darkening, the stars gleaming, the sun silvering into the moon.

As darkness claimed the sun, a heavy snow began to fall, frosting her skin, until Nyxobas’s emptiness whispered through her. A voice spoke through her mouth, Slaughter them all. Send them to the void. I will keep their souls, she hissed.

A vision of her sister’s face flashed in her mind, and for a moment, grief pierced her to her very marrow. She couldn’t quite remember what she was doing, and her body moved on its own, twisting and soaring through the frigid sky, until her feet landed on the earth again, inches deep in snow. The cold fog in her mind began to clear. Shivering, she looked up to find snow falling from dark clouds, Nyxobas’s icy magic still freezing her blood.

Around her, the frozen bodies of the ifrit demons lay in the snow, frosted husks. Icicles hung from their horns. Her gaze flicked to the fortress, covered in webs of frost, the fires extinguished. Holy shit. Still, the air smelled of burnt flesh.

From above, Caine and Malphas swooped lower, their black wings beating the air. A dome of silver shimmered above them. While she’d been summoning a blizzard, the two brothers had been repairing the shield.

Shivering, she looked down at her naked body. The fire had burned all but a few singed scraps of fabric off her body, and goosebumps covered her skin. Her teeth chattered; her legs shook. The magic had weakened her body, but her mind still blazed with icy magic.

In the snowy sky, Malphas circled her once before soaring away again, while Caine landed in the snow by her side, his wings covered in a layer of frost, and his silver eyes locked directly on her.

Too bad for him, the frigid wrath of Nyxobas still lit up her mind. “Your grandfather gave me the power of a god. He took over my mind.”

“I saw. You killed them all.”

Nyxobas’s void ate at her chest. When she’d first met Caine, he’d looked down on her. Who was more powerful now? She took a step closer to him in the snow, her feet growing numb.

“You’ve kept so many secrets from me.” Her body shuddered. I should hurt him for lying to me. “What happened after my parents gave you that second soul? And how did I end up with the Brotherhood?”

Caine’s eyes slid to the sky, where Malphas had been flying. “I see you and Malphas have been talking.”

Rosalind summoned her fire magic, letting the flames play about her fingertips, warming her skin, even if her heart felt frozen. With her sister dead, she had no family anymore, and she still couldn’t quite trust Caine. “Tell me the truth. Fire doesn’t hurt me. But I know it hurts you.”

“I can see Nyxobas’s darkness in your eyes right now. It’s more than a bit unnerving to look at a beautiful, naked woman and see my own grandfather there. I’m not sure if I want to kiss you or run far, far away.” He cocked his head. “In any case, this is what I warned you about. If you can’t control your magic, you shouldn’t use it.”

Her lip curled. “Always lies and diversions with you. Tell me. Did you hand me over to those sadists—to the Brotherhood?” Flames burned higher from her fingertips.

“Yes,” he said coldly, stepping closer, unafraid of her fire. “You were orphaned. And I needed to send you both to live with people who would control the insane spirits in your head. Who would stop you from ever using magic. I wanted them to keep you wearing the iron rings. You were just children, with unimaginable powers. You were a danger to yourselves and everyone around you. It wasn’t until Ambrose decided that he needed the three mages together that I sought you out.”

“Why did you separate us?”

Darkness pooled in Caine’s eyes, and his magic whipped around his body. “So you wouldn’t kill each other.” Venom laced his voice. “Are we done reminiscing, or shall we go see who died?”

His last sentence snapped her out of her trance, and the cold night magic drifted from her body. The flames died at the ends of her fingertips.

“Right.” Suddenly, the cold overwhelmed her body, and she began trembling. She still needed answers from Caine, but this wasn’t the time. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Caine stepped closer over the snow, then wrapped his arms around her. “You’re going to freeze,” said Caine.

His body warmed hers, and her muscles began to relax as she rested her head against his chest, listening to the sound of his beating heart.

“Your feet are going to freeze.” Caine reached down, scooping her up in his powerful arms. “Your power is impressive. I’ve never seen anyone kill that many demons at once.”

“Where did the ifrit come from? Malphas said they hadn’t walked the earth for centuries.”

Caine held her close, folding his wings around her to shield her from the wind. “Erish would have known about them. She probably fought them, thousands of years ago, when she was a warrior.”

“Erish created them…” she said, just as the seed of an idea began to bloom in her mind. “Maybe she can help us.”

“How?”

“Maybe we’ve been approaching the daywalkers all wrong.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’ll talk to you about it later. You were right. We need to check on the fortress. People might need healing from their burns.”

He pulled her in tight, his dark wings beating the wintry air. In the next moment, they were lifting into the sky, soaring over the snowy fields, and she held him tightly.

The shield had recovered its silver sheen, the magic thick as the fortress walls. “You did a wonderful job with the shield.”

“The question is: How was it weakened in the first place? Only someone from the inside should have been able to destroy it like that. And it wasn’t Malphas or I.”

Shivering, Rosalind looked up at Caine, at the snowflakes catching in his dark eyelashes. Her mind whirled with all he things she wanted to say to him—the questions about her past, how she’d ended up with the Brotherhood. The fact that despite it all, he was wrong about how Malphas was her destiny. She knew to the depths of her soul that she and Caine belonged together, that she loved his darkness and his thorns.

But it wasn’t the time for that now, not when the smell of death and ash still hung heavy in the air.

Chapter 16

Rosalind had quickly dressed in jeans and a warm sweater, pulling on a pair of boots, and then she rushed through the stone halls, moving from one to another. In each hall, she’d found injured vampires, their skin blistered and burned, body parts shattered by falling stones as the building had burned. As she moved through the north wing, Caine and Malphas spread out through other parts of the building, using their shadow magic to heal the injured vampires.

She’d already reconnected with Aurora and Tammi, sighing with relief when she’d found them safe.

Both had been deep in the bowels of the fortress, near the armory, when the ifrit had come through.

And outside, as the snow continued to fall over the Gelal Fields and the cemetery yews, Ambrose and his soldiers had already begun burying the dead.

On one of the top floors of the fortress, an icy wind whipped through the ceiling, chilling her blood. Fire had eaten through the stone arches, and piles of snowy ash and soot lay all over the hall. Now, a thick layer of snow blanketed the flagstones. As she moved deeper into the open-air hall, icy wind had snuffed out the candles. Rosalind could hardly see where she was going.

She flicked her wrist, and with a burst of light magic, she created a ball of light. As soon as it sparked into existence, a scream tore through the silent air.

The sphere cast a warm, glowing light on a vampire who lay curled on the floor, her skin red and raw under the snow and soot. Her hair had been singed, partially burned off. One of her pink bunny slippers had turned black, and the air smelled of burnt fabric. The girl’s entire body shook.

Of course, Rosalind had probably just terrorized the traumatized vampire with that burst of flame. “I’m sorry!” said Rosalind, hurrying over the vampire. “I’m here to help. It’s okay. It’s just light. The ifrit are gone.”

The girl continued screaming, staring at the ball of light, pointing in terror.

Rosalind flicked her wrist, snuffing out the light. “It’s okay.” She knelt by the vampire’s side. “We don’t need the light.”

The girl fell silent again, but Rosalind could still hear her frantic breaths. Slowly, Rosalind’s eyes began to adjust to the dark, and she summoned the power of Nyxobas to see through the shadows.

“It’s okay,” said Rosalind. “The city is safe. I’m going to heal you.” The leafy power of her tree god surged through her blood, and tendrils of leafy magic curled from her fingertips. She raked her fingertips through the air above the vampire’s body, watching as the vampire’s skin began to heal. Combined with the natural accelerated healing of a vampire, the girl’s body would be healed in no time.

As her hair lengthened again, returning to its original brown and purple, Rosalind recognized her. It was the Count Duckula chick from the bar—Becca. As the healing magic curled around her body, Becca stopped shaking, sighing with relief. She shut her eyes, gently touching her own skin.

“Are you okay, Becca?” asked Rosalind.

Becca nodded. “I am now. At least, my skin seems to be healed. I think I’ll be having nightmares for years.”

Another scream echoed off the stone hall, just around the corner, and Rosalind’s heart raced. “Go get some rest, Becca. I’ve got to go.”

She rose, hurrying through the hall to the next victim. An enormous male vampire, his brown beard singed, crawled on shaking limbs through the hall. The fires had badly burned his body, and he groaned. His hands and knees left bloody streaks through the snow, the skin burned off. Rosalind couldn’t imagine where he was going, but he seemed to be driven by some primal instinct to move.

She ran to him. “Wait! I can help you!”

Grunting, he paused and turned to her, his face contorted with pain. Already, the healing magic of Druloch was spiraling from her body in whirls of green, curling around the vampire’s enormous muscles. As her magic took his pain away and healed his burnt skin, he closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall. His singed beard began to grow again, his body relaxing.

His eyelids fluttered, and a sigh slid from him. “Thank you, human.” Slowly his eyelids opened again, and he stared at Rosalind with something like awe. “Not human anymore.”

“Maybe not. Are you okay now?”

He stared at the ravaged ceiling, the crumbling walls. “I’m fine. Not sure about the fortress.”

Crossing her arms, Rosalind walked further down the hall, inspecting the damage to the building. Nearly the entire roof had burned. If she hadn’t frozen the fires with the cold snap, the rest of the fortress would have gone down with it. She listened for more sounds of distress, but the hall had fallen silent. The only sound was her boots crunching through the snow.

Now, her muscles ached from the power she’d used today, her thighs trembling with fatigue. She had the strongest urge to curl up in the snow and drift away to sleep.

Still, she wouldn’t be getting much sleep in a fire-ravaged building, and neither would anyone else. As she walked further through the snowy hall, she felt a familiar magic thrum over her body, scented of peat and thunderstorms. She turned to see Caine, walking through the hall, his wings now gone. If he weren’t so staggeringly beautiful, he’d almost look human.

“I liked what you were wearing before better,” he said.

“It was a little chilly.”

“Did you find any more dead?”

She shook her head. “No. Everyone I’d found was still alive. Just barely, but they made it.”

“That means that thanks to the storm you created, only three vampires died, a fifteen-hundred year old man named Ælfwine, a young vampire named Lucia, and a woman we called Kitty.”

“Gods damn it.”

“They were all trained soldiers in Ambrose’s army, and they died fighting for their city, blessed by Nyxobas. Their souls are free now. We hold their death feast tomorrow.”

“Are there any more injured?”

“No.” He touched her shoulder, rubbing it gently with his thumb. His touch sent a surge of warmth through her. “Which means you need to get some rest now. You expended an enormous amount of energy—both from the failed daylight spell, and from the storm you created. You need to sleep. I don’t want to have to see my grandfather’s eyes staring out at me from your face again.”

She glanced at the ceiling. “There’s a bit of a hole in the roof. And over half the fortress, to be honest.”

“We can fix that.” Caine closed his eyes, and he began chanting in Angelic, his aura bursting from his body.

Rosalind stared at the ceiling as stone began to form and arch over them. Closing her eyes, she joined in with him, and their auras curled together, licking at the walls and ceiling of the ancient fortress. And as their magic mingled with the building, blending into its very fabric, she could feel the fortress’s history—over a thousand years of it: the city’s founding, by a vampire warrior with long blond hair and tattoos on his face. He ruled the city until Ambrose arrived and slaughtered him in single combat. An ancient, primal battle of kings, with Ambrose the victor. The things these walls had seen…

At last, she could feel the fortress walls healed, the stone walls and ceiling restored. She opened her eyes. Once again, stonework arched above them, and she ran her fingers over the walls.

Exhausted, she faltered, leaning against the wall for support.

Caine slipped his hand around her back. “Come. You’ve done enough for one day. We’re not far from your room.”

By his side, she walked down the hall, her boots sinking into the snow. She leaned into Caine, resting her head against him as she walked, just trying to keep her eyes open.

But she still wouldn’t be able to sleep today—not until she had more answers. “I need to know from you what happened—when you sent me to live with the Brotherhood.”

“Oh. We’re going to talk about that, are we?”

“Yes.” Irritation simmered, and she straightened. “We’re going to talk about that now.”

Silvery magic licked the air around him. “I was chained in your parents’ cellar. They thought to use me, to curry favor with the king.”

“Malphas told me this part. They were social climbers and it didn’t work. They used Malphas to lure you there and control you.”

“It was the first time I learned I had another younger brother. They threatened to cut off his fingers, one by one, until I chained myself to their cellar wall.”

She frowned. “What do you mean another younger brother?”

His pale eyes slid to her, shadows thickening around him. “Slip of the tongue. The point is, that was the first I learned I had a younger brother. When I arrived at your family’s estate, I wanted to kill them.”

“Naturally.”

“But as soon as I entered, I saw that they were holding a knife to Malphas’s throat. He only came up to my knee. He was terrified, his eyes wide. His face dirty. He was too skinny, and they really hadn’t been looking after him. With the knife to his throat, he started crying. They nicked his skin, and he let out a loud wail, panicking. It broke my heart. They’d told him he was my brother, so he was just yelling ‘brother, brother!’—desperate for me to help him. And that’s how your parents were very smart. It wasn’t the iron that controlled me—iron probably couldn’t have kept me in the cellar. It was Malphas.”

Rosalind’s fingers tightened into fists. She truly was descended from monsters. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You’re nothing like your parents.” He took a deep breath. “As you can imagine, I did what they wanted. Which was to march willingly to their cellar, where I let them chain me with iron. They kept Malphas as a servant. I supposed they thought he was harmless enough.”

She stopped as she got to her door, and she turned the knob. Here, too, a thin blanket of snow covered the ground, but the roof had since been restored by their magic. Outside, in the snowy landscape, lights flickered in the tree branches, and she caught a glimpse of Lilu circling over the myrtle branches, his wings dusted in snow. A cold wind filled the room, and she closed the balcony doors.

Caine sat at the edge of her bed and flicked his wrist, lighting candles in the sconces on the wall. “When they started drinking from the blood of the Brotherhood, that’s when they really started to lose their minds.” He scrubbed his hand over his mouth. “After they imbued me with a second soul, and I was nailed to a post in the square, Malphas saved me.”

Exhausted, Rosalind dropped onto her bed next to Caine. He’d skipped right over whatever he’d done to get himself locked in the town square, but she wasn’t going to press him on that.

“I was half out of my mind,” he continued. “I knew your parents had two more spirits. I didn’t want them to damage anyone else the way they’d tormented me. Not to mention the fact that this sort of power was dangerous for someone unprepared for magic. I hunted them down. I found them, heading west with both of you. Your father had been ranting about founding his own city.”

Rosalind nodded. “Drew’s castle in Maremount is the continuation of their work.”

“I believe so.” Shadows slid through his eyes. “I left you both there, in the mud and the rain. I left you there screaming. I’d killed your parents in front of you, and I left you there, undefended, spattered in their blood.”

A lump rose in Rosalind’s throat. “And how did we end up with the Brotherhood?”

“For the next few nights, I’d wake up every night, hearing your screams. Miranda and you. The sweet sister, and the other one. After the rage I felt at how they’d treated Malphas, and I’d left you in the wilderness. I was sure you were dead. I had my spies in Maremount check on you, and they told me something almost as bad. You were alive, orphaned. But you had been given the extra souls, with no one to train you or help you. So, I did what I needed. I took from your parents’ treasure. I used the money to pay for your care.”

“Why did you care?”

He sucked in a deep breath. “Your parents were no longer in good standing with the king. You had no money. Do you know what would happen to two little orphan girls in Maremount, with no money?”

“I can guess.”

“And moreover, you had powers beyond your controls. You would have killed. Slaughtered each other, possibly destroyed the world. Who knows. Or maybe you’d have grown into insane tyrants like your parents.”

“So you sent us to live with the only people who would suppress our magic.”

“Yes.” His sleeve had ridden up on his right arm, and she caught a glimpse of his tattoo—the sharp blade of black ink. Just like the hairpin she’d seen on a table, when she’d glimpsed a vision of his life.

“My parents threatened to kill Malphas. Like the queen threatened to kill someone you loved years ago. That’s how people control you. Love is a liability, right?” She pointed at the hairpin on his arm. “Why do you have that tattoo?”

The candles guttered, and he pulled down his sleeve. “I’ve told you your secrets. There is no reason you need to know mine.”

Fatigue mingled with the flickering sparks of gods-magic that lingered in her chest. “Why?” she demanded. “Why are you so terrified of telling me about yourself?”

His silver aura whipped the air around him. “I’m terrified of nothing, Rosalind. Count yourself as fortunate I’ve told you as much as I have.”

“Only because Malphas began the conversation with me. I tortured him in a prison, and he trusts me more than you do.”

Caine leaned back on his palms. “Of course he’s trusting. He’s the good brother. I’m not. Go to sleep, Rosalind. You’ve been awake for far too long.”

“Nice evasion.” Even as she mumbled the words, she was crawling under the covers, her body drawn to the soft bed. Caine blew softly into the air, snuffing out the candles with a stream of silvery breath.

Rosalind curled up in the bed, her muscles burning with raw fatigue, and she stared at the balcony. Outside, flurries of snow were drifting on the breeze, sticking to the window.

In the warmth of the blankets, her body began to relax, her eyelids drifting closed. “Tomorrow, I need to find Ambrose.”

“Shhhh…” Caine’s body warmed hers as he crawled into bed by her side. “Sleep.”

And at his word, calm washed over her like a blanket of snow.

Chapter 17

Rosalind couldn’t say how long she’d slept, but when she’d awoken to a fresh pot of coffee and buttered toast, her body no longer ached, and her mind had cleared. Caine hadn’t been by her side when she’d woken, but the sheets still smelled of peat and lightning-seared air.

After eating her breakfast and dressing, Rosalind had rushed off to find Ambrose. As soon as she’d awoken, a plan had begun percolating in her mind—a solution to their daywalking problem. Ambrose had reluctantly agreed to join Rosalind outside.

Now, as they walked through the Gelal Fields, her breath still frosted the air. The cold snap she’d created hadn’t yet abated. And just below the silvery sheen of magic that protected the city, northern lights tinged the air with wild swirls of green.

Rosalind found a wool coat to wear out into the night air, and she pulled it tightly around her. “Thank you for meeting me out here, Ambrose.”

“How could I refuse someone with your powers?” He gestured at the snow. “It seems you have changed the seasons in my city.”

“You did a wonderful job clearing up the ifrit bodies,” she said.

“Pity the shield you three created wasn’t any stronger.”

She frowned. “Caine and Malphas seemed to think someone inside the city must have weakened it.”

His green eyes pierced her. “And what do you think?”

“If it was anyone inside the city, I would assume it’s Bileth.”

Ambrose arched an eyebrow. “So would I. But what brings you to that conclusion?”

“He once referred to you as his enemy. What’s the deal? You’re both shadow demons. You should be on the same side.”

Ambrose narrowed eyes. “When I agreed to meet you out here, you’d promised me a plan. Are you here to dwell on history, or do you have something to propose?”

“A little of both. But if I’m going to help fight in this war, I’m gonna start needing answers to questions.”

Shadows pooled around him. “What is your proposal?”

“I’m going to need you to seduce your wife.”

He glared at her. “For what purpose?”

“Maybe we’ve been approaching this daywalker task all wrong. We’ve been trying to use Angelic to convert them, depending on the power of three mages. Maybe that’s not the only way. Erish has been turning humans into demons.”

“Maybe so. But I no longer consider her my wife. She tried to have me killed.”

“Okay, but maybe she can turn demons into… other demons. Maybe she can change your species. Vampires are the only type of demon vulnerable to sunlight.”

Ambrose shook his head. “The vampire city would no longer be full of vampires. What would we become?”

“Whatever you wanted—keres, valkyrie, oneiroi… We could mount a surprise attack on the Brotherhood, one they’d never expect, just as the sun was rising. Drew could no longer attack simply by raising the sun here. If your soldiers chose different species, you’d have different vulnerabilities. It would make you harder to defeat.”

“I’m not sure my soldiers would agree to this.”

Her fists tightened, and she tried to marshal her patience. “Maybe not. But what are you going to do about Bileth? You can’t allow him to stay here if he’s attacking you from the inside.”

“You don’t understand. It’s a long and complicated story.”

“Tell me, then.”

“Bileth and I go back a long way. To when I was first turned. Unlike other demons, vampires were humans once. Apart from hellhounds and Erish’s abominations, we’re nearly unique in this way. Our human lives continue to shape who we are today.”

“And what is your story?”

“You don’t need to know the whole story. Only that Erish is the one who turned me, centuries ago.”

Understanding dawned in Rosalind’s mind. When she’d been in the Brotherhood, she’d learned that vampires who’d been turned by high demons were more powerful than the rest. This would explain how Ambrose ended up as a king.

“She wanted me to live forever,” Ambrose continued. “She seduced me, convinced me to drink her blood. She slit my throat, performed a spell. And I rose from the earth as a vampire.”

Rosalind hugged herself. “And what happened between you and Bileth?”

“He was in love with Erish. Always has been. She’s nearly the last succubus, and her powers of seduction are legendary. Erish’s love for me sparked his rage, and so he got his revenge.”

Rosalind’s blood chilled. “How?”

“He locked me in a wine cellar, and sealed it off, chained me with iron.” For just a moment, Ambrose’s expression was unguarded, and raw pain flashed in his green eyes. “He starved me of blood for weeks. Bileth took the chains off eventually. But not until he locked my entire family in there with me.”

Horror slammed Rosalind in the gut. “You killed them.”

“They didn’t stand a chance. And that is why I escaped to Scotland.”

“Where you met Cleo,” said Rosalind.

“As you can imagine, I don’t think fondly of Bileth. I have made several attempts to kill him, with no success. I’m fairly certain Nyxobas doesn’t care if I live or die. Bileth is one of his twelve lords. Bileth was with him in the Great Fall, a hundred thousand years ago. That’s all that matters to him.”

“We’ve got to act quickly, then. Bileth will be trying to destroy us from the inside. And the Brotherhood will be trying to kill us from the outside. And there’s no one to help us.” She paused, grabbing Ambrose’s arm. “So will you do it? Will you convince Erish to help us? I know she still loves you. She is thousands upon thousands of years old, and she chose you. That must mean something.”

“She committed treason and waged a war against me. That means something as well.”

She tightened her grip on Ambrose’s arm. “Look, every relationship has its problems, but you’ve known each other for centuries. Before the treason thing, what did you love about her?”

His cold gaze slid to Rosalind. “Everything.” He shrugged, looking away. “It doesn’t mean I didn’t love others as well.”

“All you have to do is have dinner with—”

“—No.”

Clearly, this wasn’t getting anywhere. She’d have to find another way to persuade Erish to pass on her wealth of magical knowledge.

“Fine,” said Rosalind. “I’ll persuade her on my own, even if I have to glamour myself as you and seduce her myself.”

Ambrose quirked a smile. “That sounds like something I’d enjoy watching.”

She turned to walk away before he could see her eyes roll, and she began walking back to the Ninlil fortress, its dark stone walls bathed in silver.

Surely she’d built up goodwill of her own with Erish at this point. Rosalind had brought the succubus food and blankets in the dungeons. She’d freed Erish from the Brotherhood dungeons, and convinced Ambrose to give her a luxurious bedroom with a bath instead of a rat-infested cellar.

Maybe Erish owed her a favor at this point.

Rosalind shivered as she walked, her mind whirling with visions of the story Ambrose had just told. Was there anything crueler than forcing someone to kill their family? The thought of it made her sick. Apparently, it had become a favorite tactic of Drew as well. No wonder Bileth and Drew got along so well, bonded in depravity.

Drew had tried to do the same to her, to force her to murder her sister. Here, she wasn’t far from the cemetery, where her sister lay buried between the roots of a yew. Tonight in the cold, her sister’s resting place seemed especially grim. The air smelled like the bottom of a grave, and the breeze had died. Not a single leaf or blade of grass twitched in the wind. In fact, as she walked past the abandoned temple of Nyxobas, her footsteps crunching in the snow, a dark power thrummed over her skin.

Still as the dead. Her skin grew cold.

Shivering, she pulled her coat tighter around her. A shiver snaked up her spine. This wasn’t just the cold magic seeping from ancient graves, or the temple of Nyxobas. A living being lurked in the shadows, his magic dark and powerful.

She whipped her head around, searching the cemetery shadows. Inky magic pooled around her, and as its power curled around her limbs, she realized that smell—that dank scent—wasn’t the cemetery at all.

It was Bileth. Perhaps she could fight him on her own, but not if she didn’t know where the hell he was right now. The bastard had cloaked himself with magic.

Her pulse raced. Probably best to just get out of here for now. Rosalind summoned her magic, letting it thrum over her skin. Her body began to blaze with the ancient power of the valkyrie.

As the storm winds filled her blood, she started to soar into the air, but a rough hand grabbed her ankle, pulling her back to the earth. Her body slammed against the frozen ground. As her back slammed against the snow, pain ran up her spine. She still couldn’t see Bileth.

Run, her mind screamed. Frantically, she kicked at him, catching him in the jaw with her heel—she thought. On her hands and knees, she scrambled to get up, but Bileth grabbed her by the back of the hair, yanking her to the ground again.

She reached for the dagger in her sheath, but in the next second, she felt his weight on her, crushing her ribs like a ton of rocks. She still couldn’t see him, but if she could just summon her fire magic—

Bileth hammered her with a hard punch to the back of her head, and pain exploded through her skull. In the next moment, Bileth was flinging her onto her back, climbing on top of her.

Anger wound through her. Frantic, she thrust her hips upward, knocking Bileth off her. She turned, slamming her elbow where she imagined his head would be. A stroke of luck—it connected with a loud crack. She hooked her leg over his enormous body, raising her blade above her head.

“I know what you did to Ambrose, you sick fuck.” Nyxobas’s power ignited her body, and with it, she started to see Bileth’s silhouette, a dark chasm, like the opening of the cave.

Clenching her jaw, she brought the knife down, aiming for his heart—but Bileth gripped her wrists just in time.

He let out a low snarl, tightening his fingers around her wrists in a death grip.

He’d crush her bones. “Like I said. I will live long after you begin to feed the worms by your sister’s side.”

“What do you want from me?”

“What I’ve always wanted from your kind.” He tightened his grip further, until she cried out with pain, dropping the knife. “Submission.”

Fury stole her breath. I need Borgerith’s power. Pushing out the excruciating pain in her wrists, she closed her eyes, imagining a mountain.

Ancient, coppery magic sang through her body, strengthening her bones, lending her power. And with it, she summoned the flames of the fire goddess.

She opened her eyes again, staring at Bileth, power rippling through her body.

Bileth’s body had begun to smoke. “I see you’re toying with gods-magic,” he grunted.

She ripped her hands free from his grasp. With a roar, she slammed her fist into his face—once, twice, three times, listening to his skull crack, smelling the searing of his flesh, watching the flames flicker around his silhouette.

But as she reared back for another punch, two gunshots rang out, and pain seared through her gut. She shrieked, clutching her bleeding stomach. Iron bullets.

Already, she could feel the gods-magic weakening in her body. Bileth had brought a gods-damned gun.

As her magic dampened, her body began to tremble. She rolled off Bileth, weakened, nausea welling in her gut.

Run. Without magic, she didn’t have a chance in hell against an ancient demon in a fight. She pushed herself to her feet, and pain splintered through her core.

Gritting her teeth, she broke into a run, her breath ragged in her throat. With iron searing her insides, she wouldn’t be able fly, or even sprint, but she had to get the hell away from him. Right now, she was closer to the forest than to the fortress—if she could find her way within those towering, gnarled oaks. Thirty more feet.

She could lose him in there, maybe run into Ambrose. The vampire king would help even the odds in this fight. Ten more feet.

As she ran, her blood roared in her ears. At last, she reached the forest’s edge, her feet pounding the deadfall. And slowly, she felt Bileth’s dark magic creeping over her skin, curling around her body like an invasive vine.

Her heart threatened to gallop out of her chest. Why hasn’t he caught up to me yet? The pain from her bullet wounds split her in two.

She just needed to focus on the running. If she could lose in him in the shadowy forest—

Bileth’s hand grabbed her by the hair, yanking her back. His other hand slipped around her stomach, gripping her hard, pressing into her bullet wounds. Pain screamed through her body, and she thrashed against him.

He chuckled in her ear. “How amusing to watch you try to run from me, as if you had a chance.”

She kicked at his shins, but he held tight to her, enjoying her agony. “I told you what I wanted from you. Submission.”

He pulled her to the ground, and in the next moment, he was climbing on top of her, his body now fully visible. “But let me revise my requests. I want submission, and then your death. And I will enjoy both equally. I don’t need Ambrose using you as a weapon, though right now you don’t seem so powerful.”

He clawed at her jacket, ripping it open. Frantically, she grasped around her for something—any kind of weapon. Bileth reeked of death.

Bearing his fangs, Bileth leaned in, biting her throat. Pain ripped through her neck, and a scream tore from her throat. He’s going to eat me alive.

She could feel the blood rushing from her body, just as her fingers grasped a rock. She slammed it into Bileth’s head—once, twice, three times. Dazed, he fell back onto the ground. As her vision dimmed, she grasped for the gun in Bileth’s belt. She pulled it out, pointing it at him. She fired it, aiming right for his chest, and he let out a roar. Then, his body thinned to a black smoke, and floated away on the wind.

Her entire body shook, and she crawled along, over the roots and moss of the forest floor. She had to find her way back to Ninlil fortress before the bullets poisoned her. If only her world weren’t going black...

Chapter 18

Pain wracked Rosalind’s body, so sharp she thought her mind might rip apart.

She drifted in and out of a fevered sleep, dreaming of Maremount—of Malphas, leading her by the hand through a field of seagrass, to Athanor Pond—of Miranda, waiting to practice magic by the shore. Miranda had made wands out of mayflower wood, and she’d held them up proudly, bathed in milky light.

The memories came so clear now, burning in her mind like the sunlight glinting off the pond.

All these years, she’d stored these memories deep under her mind’s surface, not wanting to remember. Trying to shut out the painful, gnawing loneliness she’d felt when Caine had left her and Miranda by the river’s edge, the darkness so profound she thought she’d never find her way out of it. She’d closed it all away, deep under the surface. But along with her terror, she’d robbed herself of her beautiful memories, too.

Her vision rippled, giving way to another, darker memory—she and Miranda, walking down the damp stone stairwell to the cellar, hearts beating fast, hands clammy with sweat.

Malphas had said that she was fearless. She hadn’t been, though. It was more that she liked being afraid, liked the rush of adrenaline, and the pounding of her heart. She’d known then, that something terrifying lurked in the cellar—a monster. She’d heard the chains rattling, heard the roars of rage.

It had been her idea to lead Miranda down the cellar stairs, and her sister stopped partway, unwilling to go on.

For just a moment, Rosalind’s eyes snapped open again in her bedroom in Lilinor. Agony shrieked through her body. What was happening to her? Surely, this was more than just bullet wounds. Her body was on fire. Something was very wrong. She was supposed to be immune to fire.

Pain clouded her mind, and her vision dimmed again, until she was walking down those stairs once more, back in her parents’ wine cellar, cold water dripping down the stone.

Her parents had constructed a cell for him down there—a dungeon of sorts, with three stone walls. As she’d moved closer to the sound of those rattling chains, fear had raked its claws up her spine. But she’d pushed on anyway, her own nerves exhilarating her.

And when she’d rounded the corner, deep in the cellar, she’d seen him—the inhuman monster with black eyes, the powerful body that towered over her, capable of ripping a human to shreds in seconds. Someone had impaled his wrists with iron spikes, pinning him to the wall, blood seeping down his fingers.

And yet still, he held something in one of his hands—a sharp, iron hairpin. The one tattooed on his arm.

Trembling, she took a step back from him, cowering in the shadows. And just then, her gaze darted to a figure lurking in the shadows.

The monster wasn’t down there alone. There were two monsters.

In Lilinor, Rosalind gasped, her eyes snapping open. The air sparked with the scent of electricity, and Caine’s silvery presence curled around her.

Her stomach clenched, and she leaned over the edge of the bed, vomiting a clear liquid onto the floor. She clutched the bedsheets, dry-heaving.

Grimacing, she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “What’s happening to me?”

Caine brushed his hand down her back. “Ambrose found you. We took the bullets out, but you have a toxin running through your system. I think I know who did this to you.”

“What’s your best guess?”

“Bileth.”

She nodded weakly.

“When he bit you, he filled you with his demonic venom.”

Her muscles seized, her stomach tightening. “I saw you in the cellar,” she whispered. “My parents’ cellar. You weren’t alone.”

Agony rippled through her bones, and darkness claimed her mind again.

* * *

She woke, clutching the damp bedsheets, her body soaked in sweat.

Her mouth had gone dry, and her stomach tightened in pain.

“Rosalind,” Caine said softly. His silver magic blanketed her body, soothing her limbs.

He lifted a silver cup to her lips, and she took a sip of cool water.

She looked up at Caine, her vision blurred. Even through her haze, she could see his silvery eyes blazing.

“You weren’t there alone,” she whispered. “In my parents’ cellar. You were with another person.”

He traced his fingertips down her collarbone, his touch soothing. “Was I?”

“You were holding the hairpin.”

He brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheeks. “It was my mother’s hairpin.”

“Your mother, from London,” she muttered. “Malphas told me you were from London.”

“She’s the woman you saw in your memories. The one with the blond hair. I’m the son of a South London whore. I grew up in a whorehouse, in a tiny room. And when her clients came in, she’d close the filthy curtain between us. When I wanted to get away from the city’s filth, I’d flee the city walls, to the fields to the east, where the cherry trees grew.” He began brushing his fingers over her ribs again, so gently she could hardly feel it, just the soothing thrum of his magic.

She tightened her fingers around his hand. “I saw the cherry trees in one of your memories.”

“My mother took me there sometimes, too. Her name was Jane, and she died young. So you see, I’m not from the same sort of stock as Malphas, even if we’re brothers.”

“Coming from good stock is a bit of an archaic concept, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but demons don’t live in the modern world.” He traced his fingertips from her shoulder down her arm, and with every inch he covered, he took a little more of her pain away. “Are you feeling better?”

She swallowed hard. “Only when your hands are on me.”

“Happy to oblige, as always.”

Dizziness overwhelmed her, but she had so many questions she wanted to ask him. “The hairpin belonged to your mother. I saw it in your memories. But there was someone else in that vision. A baby.”

The candles flickered in the sconces, nearly snuffing out, and Caine caressed her skin. “My little brother. Not Malphas. Stolas.”

Stolas… She’d heard that name before, in a vision. But before she could ask another question, her mind spun, and her vision went dark.

* * *

The sound of a knock on a door pulled Rosalind from her sleep. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

Caine still sat at the edge of her bed, frowning at the door. “Who is it?”

“Malphas.”

“Come in.” Caine looked down at Rosalind, pushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “She’s awake.”

The door creaked open. Slowly, her gaze shifted to Malphas.

His clothes were soaked by rainwater, and he ran a hand through his wet hair. “He’s gone. I might not be as skilled as Rosalind at sensing magic, but his aura is powerful enough that I’d feel it. He’s left Lilinor.”

“Of course,” Caine said. “He knows that the next time I see him, I will slaughter him, no matter what Nyxobas thinks. And I’m one of the few people who actually knows how.”

Rosalind’s throat felt like sandpaper. “Why did Bileth try to kill me?”

“One,” said Caine, “He’s hated you ever since you impaled him. Two, he wants to destroy Ambrose and claim Erish for himself. After what you did with the ifrit, he knows just how powerful you can be.”

Malphas took a step closer to her. “Did you get the poison out?”

Rosalind winced, her muscles burning. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“The venom is out, Rosalind,” said Caine. “But it will take you three days to recover.”

“Three days until I can take on a legion of fire demons again,” said Rosalind. “Let’s hope no one else attacks between now and then.”

“We’ll handle it,” said Caine.

Rosalind licked her dry lips. “Not without me, you won’t. You need me now.”

Malphas frowned at her. “I think I liked you better when you were incompetent.” He turned, heading for the door. “I’m going to change out of these clothes. Caine, while I’m gone, please do your best to contain Rosalind’s ego.” He closed the door behind them.

Caine’s silvery gaze met hers. “You’re not wrong, though. You could be more powerful than we are. As long as you don’t let the gods take over and try to murder me.” He traced his thumb over his bottom lip. “Though if I am going to die someday, I might as well go at the hands of a beautiful woman.”

“And if I’m not going to gain control, I need to give a little control, right?”

He lifted Rosalind’s hand and curled it into a fist. Slowly, he brought their two fists together. “If a strong force meets another without yielding, both will break. Bend to the gods’ will, just a little, and you can mold their power.”

“Is that what you do with shadow magic?”

“I can’t ever totally give in to Nyxobas. His spirit runs too deeply in my blood. But you’re different. You’re human. You can set yourself free, and create like the gods. Just not until you go a few hours without puking over the side of the bed.”

A small smile curled her lips. Already, she could feel her eyes drifting closed again, her mind claimed by dreams of the seagrass by Athanor Pond and the waves gently lapping at the shore.

Chapter 19

Rosalind leaned over the balcony, staring at the fields of bluebells that blanketed the ground, bathed in moonlight. Lilu cut lazy circles in the sky, the moonlight glinting off her wings. The snow had melted, and whether through magic or sheer persistence, Lilinor’s wildflowers had survived the cold snap she’d created.

A briny breeze kissed her skin, rustling through the tall grasses below her window. Even now, a dull pain throbbed in her thighs—the remnants of the poison—but she’d made a nearly complete recovery.

Caine stepped onto the balcony, his gaze raking slowly over her body. “You look like you’re feeling better.”

“I’m getting there. Tell me I missed some good news while I was unconscious.”

“You did.”

“Care to share?” she asked.

“We’ve managed to kill a few hundred of the Brotherhood’s soldiers—humans and demons. I’ve been sending vampires through the shields at night, and they’ve been luring the hunters out of the gated empire with reports of demon and witch sightings in the suburbs. The vampires have been attacking from the shadows, and returning back through the portal before the sun rises.”

“Very clever.”

He frowned. “But we won’t be able to use the same tactics forever. Even the Hunters will catch on eventually.”

“And what about Bileth?” Rosalind bit her lip. “How do you plan to kill him, if he’s immortal? I rammed a poker through his chest and it barely even slowed him down.”

“Like I told you, there is one way, but I’m the only one among us who knows how. Even Ambrose doesn’t know.”

“And you still don’t care to share?”

He stared into the streams of moonlight. “It’s forbidden for this knowledge to be shared. You can imagine why. Immortals don’t exactly want this secret getting out. It makes us vulnerable.”

The wind rippled over her skin, raising goosebumps. When she shifted closer to Caine, she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “If we manage to kill Bileth, what will Nyxobas do?”

Caine’s gleaming aura slashed the air around him. “He cherishes strength above all else. There’s a chance he’d be proud.” He gazed at the moon. “Besides. I can’t have Bileth working with the Brotherhood. They’ll learn all our weaknesses, if they haven’t already.”

“Weaknesses? I thought you didn’t have any?”

“Not me, of course.” He shrugged. “The vampires. Shadowy bastards catch on fire all too easily.”

She leaned against the balcony ledge. “I may have a little way around that. I’m not sure Ambrose is keen on it, but I think it’s our best bet.”

“What?”

“We forget about the daywalker spell from centuries ago. And we try something new. We try converting vampires into different types of demons.”

Caine arched an eyebrow. “I’m not sure the vampires would go for that.”

“They’d be able to walk in the daylight. They wouldn’t have to drink blood anymore. What’s not to love?”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed, but vampires like drinking blood and being creatures of the night.”

“So persuade them. You’re their general. They look up to you. Anyway, I’m sure they can keep drinking blood if they want. The point is, you’ll have an army who can march in the daylight. They can remain shadow demons if they’re so fond of Nyxobas. Oneiroi, or keres, or—you know more shadow demon types than I do.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking unimpressed. “I’ll take your opinion into consideration.”

“You just don’t like it because I thought of it and you’re supposed to be a leader.”

He shot her a hard glare. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Tell me again how I’m stronger than you are.”

“That’s not even remotely accurate.”

She cocked her head. “Mmmm. I think I heard you say that I’m more powerful than you.”

“You have the potential—with magic only. I still have several centuries of fighting experience over you.”

She narrowed her eyes, widening her stance. “All right, old man. Prove it.”

He never took his hands from his pockets. “You can’t be serious.”

She smiled wickedly. “Are you afraid of getting hurt?”

His aura whipped around his body. “I’m afraid you’ll get hurt.”

She kicked him, aiming for his shoulder. He blocked it with his arm. Shifting her stance, she kicked again, this time hitting him in the chest, hard enough that she knocked him back a foot.

He smiled slyly. “Any excuse to touch me.”

When he stepped closer, she lunged, hooking her foot around his ankle. She pulled his leg toward her, knocking him off balance—but only for a moment.

Quickly, he righted himself, then hooked his leg behind hers, giving her a shove. She fell to the ground, and in the next moment, he was on top of her, his body covering hers. His silver aura caressed her skin, distracting her.

Okay, perhaps it had been an excuse to get her hands on him. Caine slid his hands up her arms, sending a shiver of pleasure through her body. She bent her knee, sliding it up his leg, arching her back. Slowly, Caine lowered his mouth to her neck, his teeth grazing her throat. Molten heat warmed her core, and she tilted back her head.

Caine’s knee pressed between her legs, his fingers laced through hers. “Do you still believe you’re more powerful than I am? It seems I have the upper hand.”

With a smile, she lifted her hips, flipping him off her. She slid a leg over him, straddling him, gripping his hands. His silver eyes flashed, and she breathed in his rich, loamy scent. Electricity rushed over her skin.

She leaned in to kiss him, her lips crushing against his. And when her tongue brushed against his, the earth seemed to rumble…

No—the earth was rumbling. Stone dust was shaking from the walls.

Caine’s body tensed, and she turned, looking through the stone columns of the balcony. There, in the fields, oak leaves trembled as heavy footfalls boomed over the fields. A bell began to toll from one of Ninlil Forest’s towers, signaling an oncoming attack. Rosalind rose, staring at the shaking forest.

In a blur of silver, Caine rushed into the bedroom.

She glanced up at the magical shield, reassured by the thick, pewter sheen rippling over the sky. “The shield is in place.” Boom.

Caine returned from the bedroom, strapping his sword and scabbard around his back.

Boom.

“The shield is in place now,” he said. “But perhaps something came through when the ifrit arrived. It’s a large kingdom, most of it wilderness. We wouldn’t have noticed monsters lurking far outside the city.”

Boom.

She gripped the edge of the balcony. There, in the distance over the oak trees, copper magic curled over the treetops. Boom.

And as it moved closer, she saw what was coming for them. Rustling through the oak forest, copper wings breached the forest canopy—fine-boned, their tips so thin that moonlight shone through them.

“Something is coming for us.” Her breath left her lungs. “A giant with copper wings.”

As the creature moved, it seemed to wilt every tree in its path, turning the leaves black, the branches withering. The reek of carrion wafted through the air.

“Copper wings, and it kills all the living creatures in its path,” he said, his jaw tight. “A creature that hasn’t walked the earth for thousands of years. Another of Erish’s creations from the old world that she knew, tens of thousands of years ago.”

“What is it?” asked Rosalind.

“The Asag.” Caine turned to her. “He won’t be alone. Turn away. Just the sight of him will stop your heart. Even if you’re immortal, one look at him will turn you to stone.”

“Copper magic,” she said. “Borgerith’s magic. You forget, Caine. The mountain goddess is inside me. Her magic won’t hurt me.”

“I hope you’re sure, because the vampires won’t defeat him. Only the gods-magic will vanquish a monster like this.”

Chapter 20

A half mile away, the creature breached the forest’s edge, and Rosalind’s breath left her lungs.

The monster that emerged on gnarled limbs curdled her mind. He must have been a hundred feet tall. Scars marked every inch of his naked skin, and sharp teeth glinted in the moonlight. And he wasn’t alone—a small army of rock demons swarmed around his knees—creatures that seemed to be made of gray bone, their eyes a milky white.

But it was the giant’s enormous eyes, gleaming in the moonlight, that stopped her heart. Not just two eyes, but dozens. Images flitted across them, and even from this distance she could make them out—nightmarish visions of brutal violence, of humans slaughtering, raping, torturing each other.

“Careful, Rosalind,” Caine touched her cheek, pulling her gaze from the monster. “Don’t look into its eyes. I don’t care if Borgerith is in you. You’ll get lost there.”

She shuddered. “I can see that. Are you ready to help me kill it?”

The Asag and his army were heading for the Eastern Wing—where Tammi and Aurora slept. She didn’t have any time to waste.

Against her will, her gaze turned again to the Asag, locking on his eyes. Deep within his dark irises, an image blazed—a woman burning at the stake, her blonde hair ablaze, her skin blistering… Cleo.

“Rosalind!” Caine shouted.

She snapped her gaze away, catching her breath. Okay. Even with the power of Borgerith flowing through her veins, the Asag would drive her insane. She understood that now.

Caine’s icy aura snapped from his body, and his black wings sprouted from his back, unfolding behind him. “I’m going to lead the vampires from below against the rock demons. I need you and Malphas to fight the Asag. Okay? But you need to fight him without looking into his eyes.”

“Any idea what his weakness is?”

Caine shook his head. “His skin is hard as rock, and swords will do nothing to him. I can kill the rock demons by finding their livers. The Asag is impenetrable.”

“Magic it is.”

The army of rock demons marched onward, shaking the ground with their footfalls.

Below, vampires began pouring into the field, silver armor and swords glinting in the silvery light. They were waiting for Caine to lead them.

She let her eyes lift just enough that she could see the creature’s three gnarled, gray feet clawing into the ground, a hundred feet away. “I understand. Go get your soldiers. I’ve got the Asag.”

Caine climbed onto the balcony’s edge, crouching for a moment before leaping into the air, his aura frosting the air around him.

A moment later, he landed in the field, in the front line of the phalanx of vampire soldiers. Raising his sword, he shouted an order, leading the charge of vampires.

A movement overhead caught her attention, and she looked up at Malphas, soaring through the sky, his black wings beating the air, already heading for the Asag.

Rosalind closed her eyes, summoning the power of the mountain goddess, letting it whisper through her blood, mingling with the wrathful fury of the valkyrie. Power surged, and she leapt into the air, her body blazing with the ancient magic of the gods.

The night wind rushed over her skin as she took flight. High above the charging armies, she followed the trail of silver magic that Malphas had left behind him, trying to keep her gaze off the Asag’s eyes.

She caught sight of Malphas, circling above the giant, and tendrils of silver magic unfurled from his body, enclosing on the demon. She took care to look only at the creature’s feet.

Good. They could start by binding him with magic, until they could figure out a better strategy.

Below, vampire swords clashed against the rock demons. The demons were slamming the vampires with their powerful fists, trying to crush them. Rosalind blocked out the carnage of the battle below, focusing only on the feel of shadow magic welling in her chest.

As she soared around the Asag, binding him with magic, she resolved to give in to Nyxobas, just enough to keep him happy.

She inhaled deeply, letting her mind drift into the void as silver magic whirled from her body. The night god’s power rippled through her body, and icy magic curled around the demon’s wings.

The creature snarled, and Rosalind widened her arc, flying out of reach. The night wind whipped at her hair, and she looked at the ground, catching sight of Aurora, driving her sword into a rock demon’s liver.

She swooped again in another wide arc, crossing paths with Malphas, and her heart tightened as her gaze strayed once again to the battle below. Tammi had joined the fight, inexpertly wielding a sword in the middle of the fight. Tottering, she swung the sword at a rock demon, and it bounced off his arm with a clink. Apparently, Tammi hadn’t been joking when she’d said she was learning to fight. She just hadn’t gotten very far with her training.

Whatever the case, Rosalind needed to end this now. There was no way Tammi would last more than ten minutes in a sword fight.

Rosalind swooped a little tighter around the Asag, directing her magic in silver spirals around its body, binding him tighter.

The beast threw back its head, shrieking. As if lured by a magnet, something pulled her gaze to the Asag’s eyes once again.

There, flickering in the depths of its many eyes, dozens of images of Caine—nailed to the wall, blood pouring from his wrists, clutching his hairpin. The giant’s magic invaded her mind, like a disease rotting her from the inside out.

With a roar, the Asag burst free from the tendrils of shadow magic, grasping for Rosalind. The monster tightened a long, taloned hand around her, the tips of his claws piercing the skin near her spine. Its breath reeked of rotting corpses.

And in the Asag’s eyes, she saw Caine, gripping that iron hairpin and ramming it into someone’s heart, over and over… The breath left her lungs.

Don’t look, Rosalind. She closed her eyes. If this bastard was made of rock, maybe she could melt him. But fire would probably do more damage to the vampires than to the rock demons.

So maybe I fight you with your own god.

She envisioned a stark, snowy mountain shimmering with copper magic. And she opened herself to the power of Borgerith, letting the goddess’s power pulse through her veins. Borgerith had the power of magnetism, total control over rocks.

Rosalind felt herself directing the goddess’ magic into the Asag, as though she were becoming part of it, melding with it, letting herself dip into the dark abyss of its mind, where humans slaughtered and tortured each other in an orgy of violence.

As her magic melded with the Asag, an image blazed in her mind: Azazeyl, falling from the heavens, his perfect, godlike body splintering into seven pieces. Shrieks rent the air, the unrelenting agony of being fractured into pieces. Perhaps this was how Drew had gone mad.

And yet even as Rosalind’s mind split apart, the gods-magic invaded the Asag’s body, surging through its veins. Rosalind arched her back, trying to drown out the screaming of the gods as her magic penetrated every inch of the monster.

“Expand,” she breathed.

And with a terrifying boom, the demon exploded into a billion particles of dust.

Rosalind hurtled through the air, slamming against the earth, the air leaving her lungs, bones cracking. Pain ripped through her body, and dust rained down on her. Coughing, she rolled onto her stomach. With the fall, her teeth had pierced her tongue. Blood poured from her mouth, staining her shirt. In the depths of her mind, the gods’ screaming subsided.

Yet still, her mind felt nearly as fragmented as her body. The seven fallen gods screamed in the hollows of her skull, lamenting their fall from grace, the last time they’d felt whole.

Slowly, she pushed up onto her knees, rubbing the dust from her eyes. Her bones felt like they’d broken in ten places. They probably had.

She surveyed the scene around her, finding it still. As soon as she’d destroyed the Asag, the rock demons had fallen to the ground, lifeless.

She blinked, trying to clear her mind of the pain that ripped through her body.

In the next moment, Caine was by her side, his aura washing over her skin, snaking around her limbs. Gently, he touched her back, his touch soothing. As his aura kissed her skin, whispering through her bones, the pain ebbed from her body.

She leaned back, sitting on her heels, catching her breath.

Caine brushed the hair from her face. “That was dramatic, but effective.”

She stared up at him. “And how many more times does this have to happen before Ambrose decides to do something dramatic? I need you and Ambrose to listen to me. We can’t just stay here in Lilinor, cowering in terror as one demon after another invades the city. You realize we can’t keep this up, right? Just being defensive, never attacking?”

“I know,” said Caine. “I want to murder the Hunters as much as you do.”

She rose on shaky legs, still hearing the echoes of the gods’ screams, the raw terror of Azazeyl when he plummeted to earth. “Good. Because we’re going to get Erish on our side, convert the vampires into something else, and invade Cambridge. We’re going to murder the Hunters.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Who is leading this army, you or me?”

She stood, brushing the dust off herself. “I am now. But I’ll take your advice into consideration.”

Chapter 21

Covered in dust and blood, Rosalind stormed through the halls, heading straight for Erish’s bedroom. As she walked through the hall, her boots echoing off the stone arches, the visions replayed in her mind: Azazeyl, falling to earth, splintering into seven pieces, his agony excruciating.

She pushed the image deep into her mental vault, and strolled up to Erish’s oak door, carved with a silver snake on the front. Rosalind pounded on the wood.

She waited for a moment, hearing nothing inside.

She banged on the door again. What she really wanted to do was to kick the damn thing down, but she wouldn’t do a very good job of persuading Erish to help her if she began the conversation that way.

“What?” Eventually, Erish’s languid voice pierced the wood.

“It’s Rosalind. I need to speak to you.” She swallowed hard. “I need your help, Queen Erish.” Still need to get used to those formalities.

“Come in.”

Rosalind opened the door to find Erish sitting in a golden armchair. Candlelight danced over her warm skin, and her black hair tumbled over a pearly gown.

Iron chain, studded with diamonds, encircled her wrists and ankles, binding her to her chair.

“To what do I owe this visit?” asked Erish.

“I missed our conversations.”

“So you showed up, covered in blood and dirt, smelling like a corpse.”

Rosalind cocked her head. “Perhaps I should have showered.”

“I thought I heard a battle. Pity I couldn’t see any of it.” She lifted her wrists, and light sparked off the gems in her shackles.

“Maybe you don’t need to stay in here,” said Rosalind. “If you could prove your loyalty to us again, maybe I could free you.”

Erish arched an eyebrow. “You could free me? Did Ambrose die and crown you?”

“No, but I’m taking matters into my own hands. I want to end this war as soon as we can.”

“And how do you want me to prove my loyalty?”

“I stole you back from Drew because you were his secret weapon. You were creating armies of demons for him, converting humans into demons.”

“And?”

“I just fought one of your demons. An Asag. You’ve been creating creatures that haven’t walked the earth for millennia.” Rosalind took a deep breath. “So I’m fairly confident you could convert vampires into something that walks in the daylight. Am I right?”

“I suppose.” Erish tilted her head, her dark eyes gleaming. “And then what? I was once queen here. I was feared and respected before Ambrose cast me aside, his eye straying from one human whore to another.”

“You were a queen. And now you’re the most powerful weapon we have. That commands respect, too. You can be more than a wife, Erish. You can be our salvation. We will take down Bileth’s portrait in the entrance hall, and replace it with yours.”

A small smile curled Erish’s lips. “That would gratify me.”

“Are you on board?”

Erish sniffed. “Fine. But I’ll need a larger room, with more servants, and I will need them to worship me like a goddess twice per day. And of course, I’ll need ambrosia.”

“The gods-blood. I have a small vial in my room.”

Erish narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you need it for yourself?”

“As Drew so helpfully informed me, I don’t need to keep drinking it. As a descendant of Azazeyl, I only need to drink it once. Using gods-magic has transformed me already. And now, Blodrial lives inside me.”

“So you’ve become a demon, like the monsters you once hunted,” said Erish. “How does that feel, Hunter?”

Rosalind’s lips curled in a smile. “Powerful.” And terrifying.

Erish returned her smile. “Now you understand. But I’m not doing anything unless Ambrose knows about it. You may have gods-magic, and I may be a traitor, but Ambrose is still my king.”

* * *

By Erish’s side, Rosalind walked the meandering path that led to the abandoned temple of Nyxobas. A full moon hung in the dark sky like a jewel, and she breathed in Lilinor’s intoxicating scent of jasmine. In her right hand, she clutched the tiny vial of ambrosia. Although she didn’t need gods-blood for her magic anymore, she still had to fight the overwhelming urge to drain the vial herself, to feel the gods-blood surge through her veins. Something in the back of her mind urged her to drink it, to heal the splintering in her mind, to quiet the faint screaming of the gods.

A strange energy electrified her body as the gods clamored for a release from their torments.

She pushed the thought from her mind, glancing at Erish. “Are you ready to see your husband again?”

Erish looked at her sideways. “You haven’t told Ambrose I’m coming, I suppose.”

“No. I thought it might be better to catch him off guard. Especially with you dressed like that.”

Erish wore a sheer gold gown that hugged her curves, and her dark hair gleamed in the moonlight. Apart from the iron shackles binding her wrists, she looked every inch the goddess.

“And the vampires I’m supposed to experiment on,” said Erish. “Will they be here?”

“Assuming Aurora has found them.”

At the bottom of the hill stood the forgotten temple of Nyxobas, its crumbling walls bathed in pearly light.

“I can teach you,” said Erish. “If we’re supposed to convert the entire army, I wouldn’t mind a little help.”

“I’d be delighted.”

At the bottom of the hill, she crossed through the threshold into the old stone ruin.

There, Aurora leaned against a wall, sipping from a silver flask. Tammi paced the grass, a sword hanging from her hip.

And in the shadows stood two skeletal male vampires, bound in thick chains, stringy hair draped over bony shoulders.

“Hello, my friends,” said Rosalind. “Where’s Ambrose?”

“On his way with the incubi brothers,” said Tammi. “They don’t know why they’re coming, but I just said you were ordering it.”

“I’m sure that went over well,” said Rosalind.

Tammi shrugged. “At least it united Ambrose and Caine in their irritation with you.”

Rosalind nodded at the prisoners. “I see you brought us two victims. What were they imprisoned for?”

“Raping girls in the harem,” said Aurora. “Caine has a thing about that.”

“Glad to know someone has a moral code here,” said Tammi.

“Rapists?” Rosalind eyed the vampires. “Good. Now I don’t have to feel bad about doing this without your permission.”

The vamps stood glumly, hardly looking up from the ground. One of them, a man with thinning blond hair, said, “Aurora promised us fresh blood.”

Aurora frowned at Rosalind. “Those bastards haven’t had blood in months. Why aren’t they trying to drain you right now?”

Erish smirked at Rosalind. “Little girl, you’re not human anymore.”

“It would appear not,” said Rosalind.

Tammi bared her pointed teeth in a smile. “She’s an abomination. Just like the rest of us.”

Rosalind looked at her friend. “If Erish and I can do this successfully, would you want to be human again?”

Tammi stroked her long, silvery hair. “To tell you the truth, Rosalind, I’ve never felt more like myself.”

Aurora sipped her drink. “We better hope Rosalind is immortal. On a scale of punching to evisceration, how violent do you think Ambrose will get when he learns she’s been plotting with his wife to mess with his army?”

Erish shrugged. “If I know my husband, he’s awfully fond of decapitation.”

“Everyone relax,” said Rosalind. “No one is decapitating anyone tonight.” She glared at the two prisoners. “Unless I get the spell a bit wrong with the rapists.”

Erish quirked a smile. “And what makes you think you can control an ancient vampire lord?”

“He wants to destroy the Brotherhood. So do I. And maybe you and I can give him what he wants. Victory. What’s there to get angry about?”

Tammi twirled her hair around her finger. “Maybe he’ll let you off with a light spanking. If it helps, I’d be willing to make the sacrifice of taking the punishment for you.”

Rosalind clutched her heart. “That’s my girl. Always so generous.”

The sound of footfalls over gravel turned Rosalind’s head. Flanked by Malphas and Caine, the vampire king strode over the path. His shadowy aura curled from his body, darkening the air around him, his emerald eyes locked on his wife.

Slowly, his cold gaze slid to Rosalind. “Why have you released this traitor from her prison cell?”

Rosalind straightened. “This traitor is going to help us make daywalkers. She was the Brotherhood’s greatest weapon. That’s why I risked my life to get her out of there. And now she can be our greatest weapon.”

Erish examined her nails. “I am awfully good at creating demons.”

Caine’s aura curled the air around him. “We’ve noticed that, since you have so successfully created the armies that attack us every few days. Thank you for the Asag, by the way. If Rosalind hadn’t stopped him, we’d have lost half our army.”

“But you had Rosalind, so I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” countered Erish. “I don’t think she’s as fragile as when I first met her. I’d advise you not to underestimate her.”

“I’d never do anything so stupid.” Caine leveled his icy gaze on Rosalind. “Especially not when she seems to be conspiring to take over Lilinor’s army.”

“Divide and conquer.” Shadows pooled around Ambrose. “Pit Caine and me against each other. Is that your strategy?”

“The Hunter scents weakness, and goes in for the kill.” Caine closed in on her, studying her intently. He stopped just inches from her, staring down into her eyes. Gently he lifted her chin, peering into her eyes. “I can see the magic of the seven gods flickering in your eyes.”

She could feel them, too, still screaming in the hollows of her mind.

Chapter 22

She stepped away from Caine, ignoring him, and looking at Ambrose. “I’m not taking over your city, Ambrose. But we need to act now. We don’t have time for the two of you to decide who will take on the third soul. I have another solution, and we need Erish’s help.”

“I was the Brotherhood’s most dangerous weapon,” said Erish. “And I can be yours, too. I’ll help you destroy them. And when I’m done, you can let me out of my chains.”

Ambrose glared at the two chained vampires. “And why have you dragged two rapists into the Temple of Nyxobas?”

“We’re going to try a little experiment,” said Rosalind. “We’ll turn them into…” she frowned. She didn’t want to convert them into anything more dangerous than they already were, so they could go around terrorizing more women. “We’ll turn them into wood sprites. Just to see if demons can be converted into other demons.”

Caine nodded. “Perfect. I’ve always wanted to lead an army of three-inch-tall wood sprites.”

“It’s just an experiment. We’ll turn the rest of your army into valkyrie, or dragon shifters, or incubi, or—”

“No succubi,” said Erish. “But anything else is fine by me, as long as they’re capable of killing. The succubi are meant to be worshipped as goddesses, and I’ll not have any little vampire strumpets filling that role.”

Caine stared at Rosalind. He seemed to have gone silent, but she could see the disapproval in his eyes, and she knew what he was thinking. She was turning into her parents, and she’d go mad with the power of seven gods. Humans were never meant to wield gods-power, and so on. She’d just have to ignore his disapproval for now.

Malphas shrugged. “It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

She took a deep breath. “It’s just two prisoners, and no one even cares if they live or die.”

“I do!” one of them called out.

“Once we see if it works,” said Rosalind, “then we can decide what to do with the rest of the army. All I’m doing is giving you more information.”

“And you expect my soldiers to agree to this?” said Ambrose.

Rosalind shrugged. “I have complete faith that Caine will be able to convince them.”

Ambrose gestured at the prisoners. “Show me.”

Rosalind turned to Erish. “Shall we?”

Erish nodded, and they crossed through the long grasses to the two prisoners.

The one with blond, stringy hair stared at her. “Did you say wood-sprite?”

“It was the first thing that came to mind.”

“Will you turn us back into vampires again?” asked the other.

“No,” said Erish. “But we’ll let you free in the woods. Seems a fair trade. You won’t need to starve, and we don’t have to worry that you’ll attack anyone else.”

“What if—” the blond began, but Rosalind silenced him with a flick of her wrist. A burst of shadow magic sealed his mouth with a thick layer of skin. He’d get his mouth back when he was a wood sprite.

The other vampire began shaking, his chains rattling.

Erish thrust her hand before Rosalind. “I’ll need the ambrosia.”

Reluctantly, Rosalind handed it over, even though the gods’ voices in her mind desperately wanted her to drink it, to feel whole again. All seven, together in one…

Nevertheless, she forced herself to drop the vial into Erish’s hand, and Erish’s dark eyes sparked with excitement. She pulled the cork from the top of the glass vial, then emptied the blood down her throat, moaning as she drank. Her dark aura flared, rushing over Rosalind’s skin in waves of silky pleasure.

“Ahhh…” Erish licked her lips. “Delicious.” Magic pooled around her, in wild tendrils of copper, blue, and green. Her dark hair began to snake around her head, writhing in the air, and her eyes darkened to deep, black pools. “The One who is All fills me with his power, he of the seven gods.” Her finger trailed down her chest. “I will teach you the spell, Rosalind. But you must listen. Hear the call of Azazeyl, deep in your bones. Let him fill you. Azazeyl, the One who is All, gave the gift of language to the beasts. And from language, the beasts created meaning. Through words, the beasts became gods.” Her words were coming out in a frantic rush. “Gods or devils, fated to heaven or hell— which, I cannot tell you, only that it is Azazeyl who gives you the gift of creation.”

The hair rose on the back of Rosalind’s neck. Somehow, these words rang true in the dark chambers of her mind.

Erish stepped closer to the mouthless vampire, whose pale eyes snapped open wide with terror. He seemed to be trying to scream under that layer of skin. The succubus gripped his skull, her magical aura curling around his body like colored vines. The vampire’s eyes widened further, his body shaking.

Erish turned to Rosalind again, her eyes two fathomless pits. “Listen, child, to the words of Azazeyl. The One who is All. Listen and remember them.”

Erish threw back her hand, and launched into a spell, the words as old as time itself. And somehow, Rosalind understood them: Erish was weaving a spell of renaming. Light turns into dark, dark into light. Earth turns to sky, and up to down, pain to pleasure. Erish revoked the title of vampire, and bequeathed a new one: the angels’ name for wood sprite.

And at the final word, the vampire’s body seemed to vibrate with light, and the sound of cracking bones pierced the air. His skin hardened, becoming wood-like, his fingers like spindly twigs, legs like gnarled, slim branches. Widened with horror, his eyes turned yellow, and a spray of leaves sprouted from his skull. A mouth appeared—one like a hollow in a tree. Finally, his entire body constricted, snapping down to the size of a mouse. Yelping, the tiny creature scampered through the long grasses.

Erish’s lip curled in a wicked smile. “It seems that demons can be converted. Just like humans.”

The other vampire’s mouth hung open, and he stared at Rosalind. “No. I don’t want to be a wood sprite. I’m a vampire. I—”

The voices of the gods rang in the back of Rosalind’s mind. She swished her hand, slamming the vampire with a spell that covered his mouth with skin. His screams died in his throat.

Caine stepped closer, watching her closely.

Rosalind turned to him, taking a deep breath. “What was the name of the girl he raped?”

“Vanessa,” he said.

“Thanks.” She stared into the vampire’s terrified eyes. “This is for Vanessa.”

She stepped closer, placing her hands on the vampire’s head, trying to ignore the greasy feel of his hair.

From behind her, Erish said, “Think of the One Who is All. Think of his true name. His blood runs through your veins.”

Rosalind closed her eyes, mentally repeating the name Azazeyl. As she felt his power percolate in her ribs, her body tensed. It felt too powerful, like he could overwhelm her. She wanted to clamp down on it, the way she had with Cleo’s magic, to keep it under wraps. But Caine had said that she needed to give in to the gods, to allow them to take over just a little if she wanted to use their power.

She arched her back, relaxing her muscles; as she did, an image burned in her mind of an angel, falling to earth. Bronze skin, dark hair and eyes, a face so beautiful it hurt to look at him. He tried to fly, but his wings were like lead, dragging him to earth. Down was up, and up was down. Light was dark. With his wings dragging him to the earth, the world no longer made sense. He screamed to the heavens, for his brother who’d betrayed him, for the loss of everything that made him whole.

Had he really deserved this? He’d given humanity a gift—that was all. And for his sin, he’d suffer eternal torment.

But he hadn’t felt the worst of it yet—not until his mind began to fragment. As his magic rippled through her body, Rosalind felt his pain, the indescribable agony of ripping apart, until he no longer knew who he was anymore. Slowly, as Azazeyl fell closer to earth, he shattered into seven tormented pieces, each one trapped—in the mountain and sea, the skies and trees, the inferno and the void. And after him, fell the lesser angels, transforming into demons of shadow and light.

And Blodrial—the final insult—coursing through the blood of the beasts themselves. If Azazeyl loved the beasts so much, let him suffer there.

From one angel came seven warring demons, with no memory of their past, no understanding that they’d ever been united. They only knew that every moment was an exquisite agony, and that they yearned to join the heavens once more, to be whole again.

Rosalind’s eyes opened again, and she stared at the vampire before her. The magic of Azazeyl swirled around him, filling the temple of Nyxobas, and the vampire’s eyes opened wide. As if sensing something terrible might happen, Erish and Caine had stepped away from her.

I can do this. I have the power of Azazeyl.

Rosalind tightened her grip on the vamp’s head, bringing to mind the spell Erish had woven. And when she opened her mouth, the words tumbled from her lips as though she’d always known them, as if they were a part of her. And perhaps they were.

When she chanted the final word—the Angelic name for wood sprite—she felt magic coursing from her own body into his, invading his cells and his veins, melding them to her own will. The vampire’s skin hardened, turning to bark, and an array of leaves grew from his head. Within moments, his entire spindly, arboreal body constricted down to a few inches, and the wood sprite ran off through the grass.

Rosalind turned to the others, who stared at her warily.

“What?” she asked.

“You look a little scary,” said Tammi. “Your hair has gone a bit medusa.”

Aurora grimaced. “Yeah and your eyes are doing that chasm of terror thing. Like Erish, only creepier.”

“I’m sure it will wear off,” said Tammi.

Malphas smiled slyly. “I find it oddly attractive.”

Caine glared at him, shadows flitting in his eyes. “Right. Rosalind has made her point. She can create wood sprites.”

“This is potentially a brilliant plan,” said Malphas. “If we had an entire army of valkyrie—”

“Not valkyrie,” said Ambrose. “I won’t have any army entirely made of women. I don’t need to be outnumbered to that degree. Not to mention that valkyrie are demons of light. We belong to the shadows. I realize that doesn’t mean anything to you, Rosalind. But it means something to us.”

Erish cocked her head. “I don’t feel especially loyal to Nyxobas. He fathered an incubus, but he’s not particularly fond of incubi and succubi like us. I think he’d rather we all died.”

Rosalind’s mind burned with the vision of Azazeyl plummeting to earth, fracturing into seven parts. “Light and shadow demons are just an illusion. We all come from the heavens, and all the earthly gods come from one angel.” She shouted the words, desperate to make them all understand. “We’re all one, infinitely powerful. Don’t you see?”

“Right,” said Aurora. “I was wondering how long it would take till she completely cracked.”

“What?” asked Rosalind.

Tammi grimaced. “Your hair is still doing that thing, and you sound kind of like an insane mystic.”

Rosalind threw up her hands. “Fine. But the point is, let’s not worry about allegiances to shadow and light, or to gods who really don’t care if we live or die. Our allegiance is to Lilinor, right? I don’t even come from here, and neither does Tammi, but we’ve got no other home right now. So this is our home, and we will fight for it. And it doesn’t matter if we are vampires, or keres, or insane mystics. We’re all abominations. Let’s embrace it, shall we? And let’s kill the motherfucking Hunters so they stop invading our home. And maybe when we’re done, if you’re all still worried about being vampires, we can change you back.”

Malphas smiled. “I like the new Rosalind.”

Ambrose folded his arms. “And what demon type do you suggest we convert my soldiers into, Rosalind?”

“Why not let them choose?” she asked. “They can be whatever they want to be, as long as they can kill.”

“I like being a vampire,” said Aurora. “I’m a creature of the night, and I like drinking blood. But you know what I like better than being a vampire? Not bursting into flame every time the sun rises. I could perhaps see myself as a valkyrie. I’ve always wanted to fly.”

“Good,” said Rosalind. “Because we know that this works. We could give Malphas another soul, and wait for however long it takes him to regain his sanity long enough to perform the spell with us. We could wait to see if the spell even works, since this theory is based on nothing but three-thousand-year-old legend. Or we could do something now, before we all die at the hands of one of Erish’s monsters.”

Ambrose stared at her. “You make a compelling case.”

Aurora lifted her flask. “I like the option that doesn’t involve death by fire.”

Rosalind smiled, and the voices of the gods quieted in the back of her mind. “Good. Tomorrow, we assemble the vampires.”

“And I’m supposed to convince them,” said Caine. “I understand your logic, but you’ll be using intense gods-magic for several days straight. Is that really a good idea?”

Rosalind’s mind roared with the voice of Azazeyl. I fell to earth, shattered into seven tormented pieces, each one trapped—in the mountain and sea, the skies and trees, the inferno and the void.

Rosalind nodded. “I know you will. You know it’s the right thing to do. And when they’re convinced, they just need to choose a new identity. Erish and I will transform them, one by one. If we attack at sunrise, Drew will never see us coming, and he won’t expect to be fighting creatures who can fly. The Brotherhood’s defenses will be down, and we will have a tactical advantage.”

Ambrose nodded slowly. “I promised my army they could walk in the daylight.”

“And they will,” said Rosalind.

Ambrose turned to Caine. “Convince them.” He turned, his footsteps crunching over the gravel.

Chapter 23

Rosalind sat in a throne on a dais before a blood-red hall, the stone walls bedecked with a terrifying array of weapons. Several thousand vampires had crammed into the Great Hall, all of them staring at her and Erish. She wore a long, black gown, dripping with silver jewelry she’d borrowed from Aurora. If the vampires were going to assent to her transformations, she probably needed to at least look like she belonged here.

Despite her outfit, the horde of vampires standing before her didn’t look particularly thrilled to be here. Rosalind tightened her grip on the throne’s armrests, waiting for Caine to arrive.

She scanned the crowd, looking for a friendly face, and she relaxed a little when she spotted Tammi and Aurora standing near Becca, who wore a cartoon vampire T-shirt that read Vampires Suck. Perhaps Rosalind had overdressed.

At last, the enormous wooden doors at the back of the hall swung open, and Caine stood in the doorway, dressed in his black military gear, a sword slung over his back. Even now, his otherworldly beauty took her breath away.

The hall fell completely silent, and the entire legion of vampires parted for him, making way. He strode across the red floor, his silver eyes locked right on Rosalind, his aura whipping from his body in vicious silver curls. She could feel the tension in the room. The vampires respected him, but they feared him, too. And with his eyes boring into her, she couldn’t help but feel that he was studying her, judging to see if she was transforming into her insane parents.

The man knew how to make an entrance, she’d give him that.

He ascended the stone steps, then turned to face his army. “Like me, you’re creatures of Nyxobas. We dwell in shadows. We thrive in darkness. The void terrifies us, but it’s also part of us. But you don’t need to hide in the darkness to be a shadow demon. I’m a creature of night who sometimes walks in the daylight. I know you want this, too. You want to fight in the daylight, kill in the daylight. Maybe fuck in the daylight.”

“Hell yes!” someone shouted from the back.

“Drew’s greatest weapon against us has been the sun, which he controls. It means we haven’t even been able to attack his empire at night, because he can easily raise the sun against us, and burn the entire army to ash in an open battle field.” For the first time, he turned to Rosalind. “Rosalind, our mage, wants to help you walk in the daylight.”

Murmurs erupted over the room, and Caine held up a hand to silence them. “But not as vampires.”

The crowd fell silent again, and the air in the room seemed to cool. She could feel the vampire’s auras thickening the air.

Caine turned to her. “Rosalind. Would you care to explain?”

She took a deep breath, rising from the throne. Okay. Maybe she should start with the truth. “Look. Ambrose wasn’t lying to you. There’s a three-thousand-year-old legend about daywalking vampires in Macedonia. There’s a chance that three mage souls could get you there. We’ve got two mages right now. But the truth is, when Drew murdered my sister, he killed the best chance we had of making that happen.”

Caine faced the vampires again. “Of course, we can imbue the soul into Malphas. We could wait for however long it takes for Malphas to recover his mental state, and hope that it doesn’t break him. And while we’re waiting, Drew could break through the shield, send his legions into Lilinor. He could send more ifrit to rain fire upon us. In the last attack, we buried six people. Before that, it was two, and before that, twenty-seven. Here’s the thing about being a creature of Nyxobas. It doesn’t simply mean we’re shadow demons. It means we value strength. It means we act on the offensive to destroy our enemies.”

Another murmur rippled through the hall.

“Rosalind and Erish can transform you into different types of demons. You can choose to be a shadow demon if you want. An oneiroi, or a ker. An Incubus, if that suits you. Something that can walk in the light. Or you become something else, a creature of another god. A valkyrie. A hellhound. A fae—unaligned, but powerful. Maybe your appearance and your magic changes, but the important things that make you a citizen of Lilinor remain the same: strength, dominance. A home in the shadows.”

As he spoke, shadows seemed to writhe and dance around him.

“As daywalkers, we can attack the Brotherhood in their own city, in the daylight. When they’re not expecting us. When Drew’s greatest weapon against us—the sun—will have no effect.”

Aurora pushed through the crowd, climbing onto the dais. “The Brotherhood captured me, and eight other vampires. They dragged us into the sunlight.” She turned, exposing her backless dress, the one that showed off the burn marks on her back, then turned back to the crowd. “And that’s why I’ll happily live as a valkyrie, or a shadow demon, or whatever. At least for as long as it takes to kill the fuckers.”

Rosalind nodded. “Let me put it this way. You can stay as vampires and probably die terrible, fiery deaths. Or you can transform into another kind of demon. And we destroy the Brotherhood together.”

The mood in the room seemed to have shifted, and she saw heads nodding, a bit of interest sparking in the vampire’s eyes.

From the front, a muscular vampire stroked his beard. “If it’s temporary, I’d like to become a woman.” He looked around him nervously. “Just to see how it feels.”

Aurora raised her arms to the ceiling. “I’m turning into a valkyrie. Who’s with me?”

Slowly, one after another, hands began to raise around the hall. Relieved, Rosalind smiled.

* * *

Rosalind sat in one throne, Erish in the other—her own throne, in fact. Rosalind scanned the crowd. “Who wants to be the first to volunteer?”

Someone was pushing through the crowd, forcing them to part. At last, Becca climbed the steps, nervously toying with the hem of her Vampires Suck T-shirt.

Rosalind smiled encouragingly at her.

Shyly, Becca returned her smile. “Do you think you could turn me into a hellhound? I’d like to be able to light people on fire, and watch their skin burn.”

Rosalind’s smile faded. Apparently, Becca had a bit of a dark side. A bit brutal, but this is a war. “Okay. Hellhound it is.”

Becca knelt, and Rosalind placed her hands on her purple hair. Azazeyl’s magic pulsed down the length of her arms, burning through her fingertips.

As Rosalind chanted the Angelic spell, she drifted into the world of Azazeyl, feeling the terrifying rush of his fall to earth, the wind whipping over his skin as his leaden wings pulled him to earth. When dark was light, and up was down, and nothing meant anything anymore.

The power of seven gods dizzied her. As the magic flowed, it felt as if the ground had been torn out from under her feet.

Just as she felt Azazeyl’s soul fracturing, she opened her eyes again, staring at the red-eyed hellhound before her. Becca held up her hand, smiling, and flames sparked from her fingertips.

At the sight of fire, panicked screams echoed through the hall.

Rosalind held up her hands. “Easy, Becca. Let’s save the fire until the battle, okay?”

Suddenly, Becca’s eyes widened, and a look of pain contorted her face. She clutched her heart.

Shit. Rosalind held out a hand. “Are you okay?”

Her skin pale, Becca shook her head. “There’s something wrong with my chest.”

Concerned murmurs rippled through the crowd.

“What does it feel like?” asked Rosalind.

Becca swallowed, her face pained. “Like a pounding in my chest. Like a thumping… things moving…”

Rosalind loosed a breath. “That’s your heart. You’re feeling your heart beat again, pumping blood around.”

Relief washed over Becca’s features, tinged with confusion. “Oh. Yeah.” Muttering to herself, she turned and walked down the steps.

Next, Duke Ricard ascended, adjusting the flounces at his wrists.

“What have you decided on?” asked Rosalind.

“A fae lord.”

Rosalind frowned. “I’m not sure that I can make you a lord, per se—”

“—A fae lord,” he repeated, kneeling.

“Fae lord it is,” she said.

She touched his head, and the vision of Azazeyl burned in her mind—the dizzying fall, the screams the angels ignored… Azazeyl’s mind began to fracture into seven pieces, and Rosalind’s eyes snapped open again.

Before her stood a formidable fae warrior with long, silver hair and pale blue eyes. For a moment, confusion clouded his features, and he gripped his stomach. “What’s this feeling?”

Rosalind leaned forward. “What feeling?”

“I feel… empty. Like I need something. In my stomach.”

“Ah. That’s hunger. Actual hunger, not blood hunger. You’ll need to find the fae chef. And I hope his fae magic allows him to make food for five thousand people at once, because we’re gonna have a lot of hungry soldiers.”

Duke Ricard’s lip curled with disgust. “You want me to eat… a meal of food?”

“You’ll love it. Trust me. Ask him for corn dogs.”

“Corn dogs,” he repeated slowly.

“It’s an American delicacy. Fit for a fae lord.” Her stomach rumbled. When was the last time she’d eaten? Just part of a baguette hours ago. “And while you’re at it, could you ask him to send some corn dogs this way? Like, three of them.”

The Duke sniffed as he rose. “I suppose I could try them.” He strode down the steps.

One by one, the vampires climbed the steps to the dais. They knelt before her, and she touched their heads, letting the magic curl around them, transforming them into woodwose, keres, shadow demons, valkyrie… Azazeyl’s magic rattled in her skull, splintering her mind every time she transformed a creature. Time seemed to slow down, her body burning with fatigue. With each spell, she felt a little emptier, more fragmented, but she kept going.

Just as a leggy redhead got ready to ascend the stairs, she held out her hand, pausing the line of vampires.

Exhausted, Rosalind leaned back in the throne, her mind whirling with the screams of the gods. Fatigue sapped her strength. According to Drew, at some point this magic would no longer tire her, but for now, she felt ready to burn out. Each time she performed the spell, Azazeyl’s torment felt a little more vivid.

She glanced at Erish, who’d just finished transforming a male vampire into a long-fingered woodwose, covered in hemlock leaves.

Erish’s eyes had darkened to black voids, her dark hair writhing around her head. Rosalind cringed. Gods below. Is that what I look like? She touched her hair, feeling it snake around her head like a living thing. Yep, that is what I look like.

From the crowd, Caine pushed through, then climbed the stairs. His glacial aura cooled the air around him, and sent shivers over her body. “You don’t quite look like yourself anymore. This might be a good time to stop.”

The gods whispered in her mind, make me whole again, and their agony put her on edge, angering her. Someone needed to pay for what had happened to Azazeyl.

She glared at Caine. “Why do I get the feeling you’re a little threatened by this?”

The air seemed to cool. “I was born a demigod. I’m not threatened by anything.”

“I can feel your disapproval. You’ve been standing there in the shadows staring at me like I’m some kind of monster.”

“I’m watching you change before my eyes into something I’ve seen before. I can see the anger in your eyes.” His aura sliced the air around him. “You don’t know how the gods work. Their vengeance knows no bounds, and they exert their wrath on one generation after another.”

Okay. He’s lost me. “What are you talking about?”

“The gods don’t forgive the sins of the father. And they punish us by dooming us to repeat their sins. You can’t fight fate. And now, when I look into your eyes, I see your parents.”

His words hit her like a blow to her chest, and she tightened her grip on the throne’s armrests. “You think that everyone is destined to fulfill a tragic destiny, just because you did something terrible? You’re certain that you’re cursed. And you want to want to drag the rest of us down into hell with you, don’t you? Then maybe your despair won’t be quite so lonely.”

A heavy silence fell, and the lights in the hall seemed to wane and flicker.

When Caine walked away, an icy chill washed over her body, until another aura began snaking over her skin.

She looked up into Ambrose’s emerald eyes.

Intrigued, she leaned forward, blinking the tears from her eyes. “So what would you like to be?”

“An incubus.”

Chapter 24

Dizzy, Rosalind threw herself on her bed, her boots hanging over the edge. She’d spent the past several days converting vampires into Lilinor’s new army. And that meant days of reliving Azazeyl’s torment, falling to earth over and over with leaden wings, her mind fracturing in seven pieces that could never reunite.

Now, nausea climbed up her throat, and she clutched her stomach. She still didn’t have much time here to rest—just an hour or so before she had to get back to the hall, converting more demons.

A sigh slid from her. Where was Caine? With Bileth gone, he no longer needed to sleep in her room, but she missed his company. Since she’d started converting the vampires, he’d been avoiding her completely, as if he couldn’t stand to look at her with the gods-magic pooling around her body. Did she really remind him so much of her parents? The thought horrified her.

It hardly seemed fair. She wasn’t a power-crazed maniac after her own glory. She was trying to save this city. By Erish’s side today, they’d worked their way through scores of demons, converting them into valkyrie, fae, shadow demons…

And when she closed her eyes, she felt herself falling, the wind tearing at her skin and hair. She bolted upright. Okay. So maybe the power is screwing with my head.

She rose from her bed, eager to take her mind off Azazeyl’s agonizing descent. Taking a deep breath, she crossed to the door.

She wanted one person right now: Caine. Her muscles aching, she walked the halls, entranced by the wavering candlelight that danced over the flagstones. The strike of her heels echoed off the ceiling.

Caine had said the gods cursed people with the sins of their fathers, dooming them to repeat their parents’ worst transgressions. So how had the gods punished Caine? It was something to do with his father, Abrax. She didn’t know much about Abrax, only that he was Nyxobas’s son, and that he was a monster.

If Caine had a theory about her, she wanted to hear it. Did he know something he wasn’t telling her? As she walked to his room, images flickered in her mind—those leaden wings, dragging Azazeyl to earth as his mind shattered.

At last, she stopped by the portrait of Lord Byron—Caine’s bedroom. She knocked twice on the oak, listening for the sound of footfalls on the other side of the door.

He opened the door, and her gaze lingered over the muscled panes of his chest. Candlelight bathed his brutal, spiky tattoos in warm light. Caine—her blackthorn.

He leaned against the doorframe. “Rosalind.”

He wasn’t about to welcome her in, but she pushed past him anyway, stepping into his room.

“Tell me what happened to you,” she said.

He turned to her, shutting his door, and arched an eyebrow. “This is your new imperious side, isn’t it? Queen Rosalind.”

She sat on his bed. “I guess you’ll just have to get used to it.”

“Don’t you remember?” he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Don’t you remember what happened to me?”

What? “No. I remember walking down into the cellar, and finding you there. There was someone else there. I remember now, the hairpin in your hand. I remember that you terrified me.”

“In the vision you saw of my life, you saw a woman with long, blonde hair, and a baby. The woman was my mother. And the baby was my younger brother, Stolas.”

Stolas. The word she’d heard, the name on his lips when he’d been impaled. The terrible thing Caine had done. “And what happened to Stolas?” she asked. But with a sinking feeling, she thought she already knew.

Caine cocked his head, and the air chilled. “Do you really want to know what happened? Because it seems you’ve worked very hard to forget your past. The things your parents did. Miranda remembered, but you didn’t want to.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t want to remember. I wasn’t ready for it before. I am now.”

“Centuries ago, when the king and queen enslaved me, they used my brother to control me. Stolas. He was only a few years younger than me, but they’d managed to capture him, and imprisoned him with iron. They threatened to kill him if I defied them.”

“And my parents knew your weakness. Family.”

He nodded, almost imperceptibly. “When your parents sought to control me, they had two brothers to use against me.”

His silver aura chilled the air, and he stepped closer to her, hands in his pockets. His eyes had turned dark as the void, and he seemed to be lost in the hell of his own mind.

Icy dread bloomed in Rosalind’s chest.

Caine moved closer, looking down at her, his eyes icy cold. “After they imbued me with the spirit, in that dark cellar—your parents’ cellar—I lost my mind. I could hear my second soul’s voice, screaming in my skull. I didn’t know what he wanted, only that his agony, his rage, blinded me. And he hated shadow demons.”

“He watched his lover burn to death.” Rosalind’s skin felt cold, and she hugged herself. “He blamed Ambrose for betraying her.”

“You want to know what I did?” Caine reached for her face, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “I’ll show you.”

His silvery aura curled around her body, thrumming over her skin, his power raw, frightening. And in the next moment, a vision rose in her mind—

Caine stood in her parents’ cellar, his arms nailed into the stone wall, blood dripping down his wrists. Across from him, another man who looked just like him, only slightly slimmer, not quite as powerful. Stolas. Just like Caine, Stolas’s limbs had been nailed to the wall with iron nails, and dark blood seeped down his body.

Caine looked at his brother, agony etched on his features. He clutched the iron hairpin in his fingers, stroking it gently. “I’m going to get us out of here.”

“What about Malphas?” Stolas asked.

“I’ll get him out of here, too. We can’t stay here, Stolas. Something terrible is going to happen. I can feel it.”

Stolas frowned, his pale eyes piercing the darkness. “What about the spell they wove? The soul they put into you? What did it do?”

Caine shook his head. “I don’t think it worked. I can’t even feel it. I feel the pain from the iron nails, but that’s it. It’s just this feeling, that the world is about to end. Our world is about to end.”

Stolas raised his brow. “Are you sure about this?”

“I’ll get us out of here,” said Caine.

Caine gritted his teeth, ripping his arms free from the wall. An animalistic growl rose from his throat as his tendons tore, blood pouring from the wounds.

And then, a horrible silence enshrouded the cellar. Caine’s brow furrowed, and his eyes darkened. Black, feathered wings appeared behind his back.

“Caine,” said Stolas.

But Caine didn’t seem to hear his brother. He clutched the iron hairpin in his fingers, seemingly oblivious to his ravaged limbs. Silver magic sliced the air around his body.

He growled, gripping his head, falling to his knees. “She burned,” he muttered in a voice not quite his own. “I watched her skin burn. Then they came for me.” A choked sob rose from his throat—a sound she’d never heard from Caine. “The shadow demon turned her in. She trusted him.”

Stolas’s brow furrowed. “Caine? What are you talking about? Who are you talking about?”

Caine gripped his hair tighter. “The shadow demon never really loved her. Monster. They’re all monsters.”

“Caine!” said Stolas.

Caine’s muscles tensed, and he looked up at his brother. Slowly, he rose, gripping his mother’s hairpin between his fingers.

Stolas looked into his eyes. “Stay with me, Caine. Stay with me.”

Caine shook his head. “That’s not my name,” he snarled.

Stolas’s fingers curled into fists as his body tensed. “Caine. Stay with me. It’s you and me, brother.”

A low snarl tore from Caine’s throat. He cocked his head and began speaking in a hiss, chanting ancient Angelic words, a spell that Rosalind understood—one that spoke of turning angels into beasts, trapping them in dying bodies. Azazeyl’s lament.

Stolas’s eyes opened wide, gaping as his brother pulled his immortality from him in a gleaming stream of silver light, until the stunning light left Stolas’s eyes.

Panicking, Stolas started to pull himself from the wall, but it was too late.

Gripping the iron hairpin, Caine reared back his arm and slammed it into his brother’s heart, pushing it in until the tip was completely submerged in Stolas’s chest.

Stolas’s pale eyes snapped open, and a choking noise rose from his throat.

“Shadow demon,” Caine snarled, turning away from his brother. “Demons betrayed us…” His sentence trailed off, and he stared down at his bloodied hands. “Demons betrayed us. That was our mother’s. That was our mother’s hairpin. I kept it all those years. Don’t you remember, Stolas?” His voice broke. “I looked after you when she was working. You’d cry unless I took you outside.”

Thick streams of blood dripped between his fingertips, from his ruptured veins, from his brother’s heart, but he seemed oblivious. Oblivious, too, to his brother’s silent torment, just a few feet behind him, to the dimming of Stolas’s eyes, the fluttering of his eyelids.

Caine fell to his knees, blood pooling around him.

And in the next moment, tendrils of colored magic curled into the room—sinister undulations of copper, gold, and blue. And following the magic, two humans, their eyes black, hair writhing around their heads like snakes. Eye sockets empty as voids.

Rosalind’s parents.

Pain coiled around Rosalind’s heart. When she opened her eyes, Caine was sitting next to her on the bed, staring down at his hands.

Raw pain ravaged his features, an expression she’d never seen on him before—one he’d kept well-hidden. “So now you understand. I lost my mind, and the beast in me came out. I’m the sort of demon who murders his own kin.”

Rosalind touched his arm. “No, you’re not. You’ve always looked out for them. You didn’t kill Stolas. Richard did. Your second soul. I saw it happen.”

“Do you really think it’s so easy for me to absolve myself? I was born from a monster, the incubus Abrax. Even Nyxobas hates his own son. The beast lies dormant in me.” His eyes flashed with fierceness. “You must have seen it when I fight. I like killing.”

Rosalind tightened her fingers on his arm. “You’re thinking about it all wrong. You’re not a killer. You’re a warrior.”

His gaze slid to her. “It’s just a different name.”

“It’s a different concept. You fight for a cause, for loyalty to your home. And you’re not like your father. You don’t think Malphas is a monster, do you? He has the same father you do.”

“But not the same mother. I watched my mother kill a man, using the same iron hairpin I used. And after she finished, I watched her hang at Tyburn. A common whore and a murderess.” His silver gaze met hers, beautiful and brutal. “So if there is good in me, where would it come from?”

A pang of grief tightened her chest, as she thought of the little boy standing in a hostile London crowd, crying for his mother as the hangman killed her. He would have been all alone in the world.

She leaned in to him. “I told you. Being born from good stock is an archaic concept. Forget about it.” She stroked the stark tattoo on his forearm. “You tattooed her hairpin on your arm. And you kept her hairpin with you all those years. You loved her.”

He lowered his gaze, and she could see the ghost of his dark wings behind him. “I did.”

In that moment, he reminded her of Azazeyl, her broken angel, and she could almost feel his dizzying fall, the wind rushing over his skin. The blind terror.

“So she wasn’t a monster,” she said. “She loved you. She loved Stolas, I’m sure. Anyone can snap if they’re being abused. I can’t imagine it was an easy life being a London prostitute in the 1500s. Right? Maybe she needed to fight back. Is this really why you think Malphas is better than you?”

His silver eyes met hers, and she was struck again by the agony there, and that no one else ever saw this side of Caine—not even Malphas. How long had he kept his armor up?

He looked at his hands again, as if searching for traces of blood. “Malphas had to free me from Lilitu Square. Your parents found Stolas’s body. They found me covered in his blood. They thought their experiment had failed. A demon like me couldn’t hold two souls, my blood was too polluted, poisoned by Nyxobas. They turned me in, had me dragged to the town square, where they nailed me to a cross. I didn’t object. I was supposed to die there, but Malphas saved me anyway. He was only five.”

“Richard took over your body. I saw his pain, through Cleo’s eyes, when she was executed. I saw his rage. And that’s what filled your mind when the second soul took over. When I first took off the ring, Cleo completely dominated me. She didn’t kill anyone else, but she wanted to kill me for being a Hunter. She made me feel like I was on fire. Remember? I was completely out of control.”

“I remember.”

“Our second souls have had their revenge. They took out their rage on a Hunter and a shadow demon. The closest beings to the people who betrayed them.” He wasn’t meeting her gaze, and she wanted him to look at her again. “What happened after they killed your mother in London?” she asked. “You had no mother and father. How old were you?”

“Seven. Stolas was three.”

“And how did a three-year-old survive with no parents?”

“I looked after him,” he said softly. “I did whatever I needed to.”

“Caine, you looked after him because you loved him. You protected him in Maremount when the queen enslaved you. Your love for your brothers was strong enough that it could be used to control you.” Love is a liability, he’d once said to her. “You were their protectors. Richard killed Stolas. Not you.”

His gaze drank her in. “You don’t believe we’re doomed to pay for the sins of our fathers.”

“If we are, then I’m fucked. You can’t really believe that I’m like my parents, can you? That I’d nail people to walls, and use children as bait?” Her fingers were digging into his arm now. “You can’t possibly fucking believe that about me.”

He studied her closely, looking strangely lost. “When I first met you I was sure you were like them. You’ve slowly been changing my mind. I had to wonder, when you came back for me in Maremount, when I was nailed to the stake. You came back to save me, and you didn’t need to.”

“That’s because we’re not destined to become our parents. That’s a fiction. You write your own story, Caine.”

He wrapped his hand around hers, looking at her as if he were drowning in his own history, as if her touch was his lifeline.

She leaned in, kissing him on the mouth. “I have to go, Caine.”

His hand slid down to her waist. “Why?”

“I need to finish creating the army we’re going to use to slaughter the Brotherhood. Are you still worried about me turning into my parents if I use too much of Azazeyl’s power?”

“No. You’re nothing like your parents. I know that. I just didn’t want to lose you to the hell in your own mind. You already have two souls. The voices of seven gods are a lot to contend with on top of that. But perhaps if anyone is strong enough, it’s you. Go. I’ll meet you in your room when you’ve finished.”

Chapter 25

After the third day of transforming vampires, Rosalind strode back to her room, her silky white gown gliding against her thighs. She and Erish had finished transforming each vampire into a new species. And for three days, she’d felt Azazeyl’s tormented fall to earth, each time her own soul splintering just a little bit more. An emptiness nagged her chest.

Despite the unease in her mind, the longer she used Azazeyl’s magic, the more powerful she felt. Now, a preternatural surety filled her limbs. The moment she looked at another creature, she knew exactly what she’d need to do to kill them.

This time, when she went into battle against the Hunters, she’d destroy them with Azazeyl’s power blazing through her bones.

When she opened the door to her room, she found Caine, sitting on her bed, eyes downcast—her fallen angel. Through the windows, the breeze played with candle flames, and shadows danced over the stones.

Caine looked up at her, his gaze uncharacteristically unguarded. Just now, it struck her that the vision he’d shown her had given her the key to his mortality. He’d showed her the spell, the one that turned angels into dying bodies. Now, she knew exactly how to kill him, even if she wanted nothing more than to protect him.

She glanced at herself in the reflection, relieved to see her eyes had returned to their normal brown hue, and that her hair was no longer snaking around her head.

“What’s the news from your spies?” she asked.

“The news is that tomorrow is our day to attack. We sent out a small troop of hellhounds and valkyrie to Hadley in Western Massachusetts. They’ve been wreaking havoc, terrifying the humans. So the Hunters have sent half their human army in to control the demonic outburst. My spies tell me that right now, the emperor’s palace is as vulnerable as it ever gets.”

“Tomorrow.” Apprehension prickled over her skin. She crossed to him, standing so close she could feel the heat from his body. Slowly, she ran her fingertips over his heart, feeling his powerful pulse. “Does anyone else know how to kill you?”

“Malphas, of course. Bileth does, I’m sure.” A breeze filtered in from the window, toying with his hair. “He has been an immortal for far longer than I have.”

“I’m going to kill him.”

Caine quirked a smile. “Will you be my savior?”

“If I need to.”

His expression darkened. “Maybe you should stay in Lilinor tomorrow.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Why?”

“You’re the primary target of both Bileth and Drew. As soon as we get to Cambridge, they’ll be coming for you. You’re our most powerful weapon, and Drew’s intended bride. He has powers like yours, but he’s been using them longer. He’s stronger than you. It’s too much of a risk, and I don’t want to let him capture you again. I should have never let you go the first time.”

Rosalind shook her head. “No way. Drew and Bileth will be trying to kill you too. And anyway, didn’t you just say half the Hunters were gone? This is our chance.”

“Half the Hunters, yes. But not the demons. My spies have told me what awaits us tomorrow: an army of phantom edimmu who can inhabit bodies, and feast on souls. There are the pazuzu: the demons of famine, and storm demons who haven’t flown the skies in millennia. Gruesome hounds. They’ve created armies like the world has never known.”

Rosalind sucked in a deep breath. “So, our chances aren’t good. But I’m not letting you go without me. We’re going to fight them together.”

A desolate look crossed his eyes. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. I can’t risk losing you.”

Rosalind wrapped her arms around his neck. “Then if we have to die, we’ll die together. I’m not letting you go without me.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “Rosalind.”

He ran his hand down her silk gown, and she stood on her tiptoes to press her mouth against his. As soon as his lips touched hers, heat ignited her body. Her pulse raced, breath shallowing.

Caine grabbed her silk dress and pulled up the hem of her gown. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he whispered. As he exposed her skin to the cool night air, goosebumps rose over her skin.

Rosalind’s heart pounded hard. She slipped her hands under his shirt, her fingers brushing against his perfect abs, and she pulled his shirt off. Her gaze slowly roamed over the dark, brutal tattoos covering his muscled body.

Slowly, she slid her arms around his neck, letting her silky bra graze against his bare skin. He leaned down, kissing her, his tongue brushing against hers, sending fire through her veins. He cupped his hands under her thighs and, in one fluid movement, lifted her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Gripping her tight, he carried her to the wall, pressing her back to the stone. The cold wall chilled her back, while every brush of his fingers singed her with heat. His eyes blazed with starry light, and he unhooked her bra, pulling it off. The feel of the cool air over her bare breasts sent a thrill through her.

Lightly, teasingly, he began brushing kisses over her neck, his tongue gently flicking against her skin. She arched into him, thrusting her fingers into his hair. Slowly, his lips moved lower, his warm mouth covering her breasts in kisses. Gently, he grazed a hint of teeth over her skin, and she groaned slightly, grinding her hips into him, throwing back her head.

Rosalind’s world narrowed to the thrill of his mouth on her skin. Right now, nothing else existed apart from Caine and the heat roaring through her body, the rest of the world forgotten.

Caine pulled away from her breasts, and raked his gaze over her bare skin, his expression purely carnal. “In the future, I want you permanently naked in my room.”

“You too.” She unwrapped her legs from him, and slid down his body. Hungrily, she grabbed for his belt, unbuckling it, then pulled off his pants.

Caine moved in closer, one hand on her naked waist, the other pressed against the wall, boxing her in. Gently, he trailed his hand up and down her waist, tracing the curve of her hipbone, lazily stroking just above her silky panties, making her back arch. She slipped her arms around his neck, trying to pull him in closer, but he held back. He wanted to draw this out. He leaned in again, kissing her, his tongue flicking against hers.

He moved lower, trailing kisses down her neck again, his breath hot on her skin.

“I want to hear you say you love me,” he said, his fingers teasing the hollow of her hips.

“I love you. But I also want you, and you’re moving too slowly.”

He gripped her hips tighter and brushed kisses down her breasts, her abdomen, and at every brush of his lips, a hot thrill blazed through her core.

He moved onto his knees, fingers teasing the rim of her panties. Gods, she needed him now. He hooked an arm under her leg, lifting it, his mouth moving up the inside of her thigh. She threaded her fingers through his hair, desperate for more of him. She could see herself in the mirror, chest flushed, her breaths deep. Caine brushed his fingertips between her legs, and she groaned as he slowly teased her. Waves of pleasure washed through her.

“Caine,” she breathed. She wanted him now. She pulled her leg out of his grip, then thrust her fingers into her panties, pulling them all the way down to her ankles. When she rose again, Caine’s eyes were slowly taking in every inch of her bare skin, moving over her bare breasts, her stomach, between her legs, his breath hot on her skin.

Caine’s measured restraint seemed to slip, and his fingers tightened on her hips, no longer gentle. Shadows darkened his eyes, and his silver aura viciously cut the air around him. He rose, staring into her eyes.

Rosalind reached for him, pulling off his underwear. “I need you.”

Caine reached down, grabbing her thighs, and she hooked her legs around him, her back against the wall. She was moaning his name as he thrust into her, and her fingers raked viciously down his back. Neither of them was being gentle now, driven by pure hunger and need. She moved in rhythm with him, kissing him until pleasure claimed her mind. And with that moment of release, her fractured soul began to heal just a little.

Chapter 26

Rosalind woke in Caine’s arms, reveling in the feel of his smooth, bare skin against hers. She didn’t want to leave this bed. She wanted to stay in here, exploring his perfect body for the next week.

Sadly, it wasn’t going to happen. The longer they waited to attack the Brotherhood, the greater the chance they’d lose the upper hand.

Moonlight streamed into the bedroom, and she glanced at the clock—four a.m. Her body tensed. Nearly time.

In just a half hour, they were going to gather in the Gelal Fields. Together with Malphas and Caine, Rosalind would create a portal large enough for the entire army of Lilinor to plunge through.

The Brotherhood would never see them coming.

Reluctantly, she pulled herself from Caine’s embrace, sniffing the air, her mouth watering at the smell of bacon and coffee wafting into the room. She rose from her bed and pulled on a bathrobe. Then she crossed to the door and pulled it open to find a tray of food on the floor.

Good. She and Caine would need to fill their bellies for what lay ahead today. As she carried the tray back to the table, Caine sat up, his body suddenly alert. He didn’t really seem to have a waking-up period—just deep sleep or total alertness, like he was ready to kill.

He glanced at the clock. “Almost time.” He rose from the bed.

Rosalind let her eyes roam over his naked body. “If we win this battle, will your former vampires be able to restrain themselves from rampaging through the city and slaughtering everyone in their paths?”

“I’ll give them strict instructions not to rape and pillage the city of Cambridge.” He sat in a chair across from her, pulling the dome off the tray.

“Tell me the plan again,” she said. They’d been over this already with Ambrose, Malphas, and Aurora, but she needed to hear the details again.

He poured himself a cup of coffee. “The plan is that we divide the army into cohorts to maximize their offense capability. Aurora and the valkyrie can attack from above and fight the pazuzu and edimmu demons. The hellhounds will be on the front lines, to ignite the Hunters and demons with hellfire. Winged cohorts can also attack the land-bound demons from above.”

“Becca will enjoy that,” she said. “Anything else?”

“I’ll hold the shadow demons back. Some of the keres, and the oneiroi, so we can draw the Brotherhood’s forces into a trap and surround them.”

Rosalind heaved a sigh of relief. “Good. So Tammi will be out of the main action.”

“Some of the keres will be in a flying cohort, Tammi among them. The other shadow demons will need to use their powers of stealth. They can move through the shadows the easiest, can go unnoticed. When we’ve lured Drew’s forces into that courtyard, the shadow demons will flank them. They’ll surround them and cut them down from the outside in.”

Rosalind’s stomach was already clenching with dread, and she couldn’t quite imagine Tammi swinging her sword in the middle of a melee. “Okay. While that’s going on, I’ve got to break off from them and hunt for Drew.”

Caine poured her a cup of coffee, shaking his head. “You can’t go in there alone.”

She took a sip of the strong brew. “You and Malphas will need to stay with the rest of the army. It’s not like we have a ton of demigods on our side, and the soldiers will need your leadership. You’re their general. Besides, I can handle Drew on my own.”

“He’s been using these powers longer than you have.”

“True. But he’s insane.”

“I suppose you have a slight advantage in that regard.” He frowned at her. “If you need me, call to me.”

“And what if I’m nowhere near you?”

“Remember when you borrowed my magic?” he said. “I felt it. I knew you needed it. Use my magic again, and I’ll come find you.”

She crossed her legs. “And what if you need me?”

“I’ll do the same. I’ll ask to borrow from your power. We’re linked, you and I.” A smile ghosted across his lips. “I quite like the idea of having Azazeyl’s power at my fingertips.”

She knew she should eat, but with her nerves buzzing, she didn’t have much of an appetite. In fact, she kind of felt like she wanted to throw up. Regardless, she bit into the crisp bacon. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Kill anyone you meet, as long as they’re not on our side.”

“Okay. Good strategy. Sophisticated.”

Her body buzzed with nervous energy, and after a few bites of bacon, she rose, unable to wait any longer. She crossed to the wardrobe and pulled on her best fighting clothes—steel-reinforced leather pants and corset, her weapons belt, and a crap-load of blades.

She’d mostly be using her magic, but it never hurt to load up with weapons.

As she dressed, Caine pulled on his own clothes, though he didn’t bother with reinforced leather or any sort of armor. She supposed that when you’ve spent five centuries as an immortal, it was hard to feel vulnerable.

Nervousness tightened her stomach as they walked through the shadow corridor, the general and the assassin.

* * *

Rosalind and Caine stood on the shores of the Astarte Sea, listening to the waves break and crash over the rocks. Already, the army of demons had begun to gather, their silver armor and weapons gleaming in the moonlight.

Caine had organized them into cohorts, roughly sorted by demon-types. The shadow demons, the hellhounds, the fae, the creatures who could fly. Tammi stood in the middle of the shadow demon cohort, her pale hair draped over her armor. Ready for battle, her silver wings were on display behind her shoulder blades. Rosalind sucked in a breath. She’d never seen Tammi’s wings before, but like Caine, they emerged when she was ready to fight.

At the front of each cohort, soldiers carried enormous shields. Ambrose stood on the other side of Caine, facing his army, resplendent in his silver armor. As an incubus, his skin no longer had that unearthly pale hue, now a little more golden, nearly matching his hair. Charcoal-gray wings arched majestically behind his back.

Rosalind had her own weapons—a sword, some daggers. But most importantly, she was bringing with her the iron nail that she planned to ram into Drew’s heart, right after she stole his immortality from him. She stroked her fingertips over the long nail in her pocket, trying not to think of what would happen if she failed today, but the fears invaded her mind anyway. If Drew and the Brotherhood were ready for this attack, Rosalind would end up imprisoned again.

This time, she was certain she wouldn’t break free. Drew would find a way to use her for breeding, then he’d cut off her head, burn her body. Make sure she couldn’t rise from the ground.

Caine and Malphas would be slowly tortured for the rest of their long lives—just like the Throcknell family had once wanted. Lilinor would be destroyed. That little boy, Owen, and all the prisoners she’d freed would probably die. Total destruction of the city, of the civilization here. Dread tightened its grip on her heart. They couldn’t lose today.

Despite her fears, Rosalind felt a strange thrill as she stared out over the cohorts, the soldiers all looking at Caine and Ambrose. Her heart thundered like a war drum.

Among the valkyrie, a clean, gray aura whirled from Aurora’s body—the magic of the storm gods. And embedded within the shadow demons, Tammi wore chainmail, and gripped a spear.

On the shore of the Astarte, silence reigned, and tension thickened the air. A marine wind rushed off the waves, raising goosebumps on her skin. Soon enough, Rosalind would warm the skies.

As the last of the demons took their positions in the cohorts, Rosalind stared at the magic wafting off them, the stunning tendrils of gleaming gold, silver, bronze, grey and black—and blue, too. The color of her sister’s magic. Their auras pulsed over her skin, smooth and briny, clean mountain winds, icy electricity. Azazeyl’s magic coiled together under the night sky. Here, it almost seemed as if the seven gods were reuniting once more.

She glanced at Ambrose, waiting for his command. He gripped a battle-ax, and his eyes shone with the same stunning, starlit color of Caine’s gaze. His knuckles went white as he gripped his axe. “I have missed the thrill of battle.” For just a moment, apprehension flickered across his beautiful features, but then he tightened his jaw. “Raise the sun. I want to feel it on my face again.”

Rosalind glanced back at the glistening ocean, the waves undulating under the night sky.

Caine leaned in, his breath warming the side of her face. “Dazzle them.”

She turned, walking to the ocean’s edge, her toes dipping into the frothy spume. Dagon lurked in these waters, but the god of the depths no longer scared her. He lived within her now, with the other gods, all vying for wholeness.

She closed her eyes, envisioning Emerazel, the goddess of fire. Heat ignited, erupting through her veins, until her body burned like the fires of Etna.

She opened her eyes again, her breath catching at the sight of the sky. Crimson sun rays bled into the sky, and behind her, her soldiers gasped, a few shrieking. A crown of deep honey light rose above the waves, gilding the Astarte Sea.

The army of the Night God stood beneath a sky of hot amber and pumpkin, streaked with buttery light. The sun warmed Rosalind’s body, and she turned back to the soldiers. Some squinted into the sunlight, while others gaped at their hands, marveling at the sunlight on their skin.

Rosalind glanced at Aurora, resplendent, a golden goddess in her armor. The sunlight washed over the banners of Nyxobas, the midnight cloth flecked with silver stars and crescent moons.

This might be a motley crew of demons standing in the morning sun, but they were still loyal to the god of night.

An eerie silence had fallen over the crowd, and Rosalind glanced at Tammi, who stood rigid, a proper soldier. In the wind, her silver hair whipped over her face. And at the front of the shadow demons’ cohort stood Malphas, the sunlight gleaming off his silver armor, and he waited for her to speak.

Ambrose’s gaze slid to Caine. “General. Your speech.”

Caine climbed a jagged rock, surveying the army. “The Brotherhood will have everyone believe that humans must fear the world of magic. They teach that we’re all monsters who should be burned, that the safety of the human species relies on our destruction.”

Caine held out his hand to Rosalind, beckoning her onto the rock. “Perhaps you’d like to explain.”

As she climbed the rock, the waves crashed against the shore, spraying her with spume. “Your general is right. The Brotherhood is very convincing. I believed them once, though now I no longer fear you at all. I’ve learned to live among you, even love some of you.” She glanced at Caine, heat blooming in her chest. “Now, I put my faith in you, the demons—the abominations, like me. I want to live among you all, and some day die among you all. It’s my sincerest hope that that day is a long way off.” Tears stung her eyes, and she nodded at Caine again.

He turned back to the legion, and his voice boomed as he spoke. “This is our home. And anyone who dares to invade it should fear us—not because we are monsters. But because we want what anyone wants—to keep our home safe.” This time, his gaze slid to Rosalind. “To protect those we love.” He raised his hands to the sky, and the sun rays ignited him from behind. He looked to her like he’d fallen straight from the heavens. “Let the tyrants fear, not us. It’s their cruelty that is monstrous, not us. When the tyrants of the Brotherhood threaten us, we will defend our home. And it begins today, in the light of day.”

The crowd roared, raising their weapons. And over their shouts, Rosalind yelled, “We could not have hoped for a more worthy general than Caine, or a more worthy king than Ambrose. I am proud to fight by their side, and by yours. And before the sun sets again today over Cambridge, we will defeat the enemies of Lilinor. We will defeat the enemies of those we love.”

From the shores of the Astarte Sea, the ground rumbled with the roars of the demons, the sound sliding through Rosalind’s bones with a dark shiver of pleasure.

Caine descended from the rock. “It’s time to make a portal.”

Rosalind followed him, crossing over the jagged rocks to the ocean’s edge, until the water soaked her toes. Seawater misted the air, and Malphas joined them at the ocean’s edge. When they’d all lined up together, shoulders nearly touching, Rosalind summoned her shadow magic.

A hollow opened in Rosalind’s chest, and from it, silver magic spiraled into the ocean, a vortex of starlight that churned over the sea’s gleaming surface, spreading over the undulating water. The portal had been opened.

Caine turned back to the legion, lifting his sword until it sparked in the light. He shouted an order in Angelic, and the ground rumbled as the legion moved.

Flanked by Caine and Malphas, Rosalind walked into the breaking waves, the water chilling her skin.

When she’d plunged in up to her knees, she turned to Malphas. “Do you remember what you told me when you were training me to use Dagon’s power?”

“We’re walking into the place where life began.”

“And so our new life begins.”

Chapter 27

Rosalind crawled from the Charles River, her clothing drenched, clinging to her skin. As river water sloshed over the grass, Rosalind crossed onto the path, surveying the city.

From here, she could see the city’s landscape had changed drastically, the squat brick buildings of Harvard’s campus replaced with towering white marble, blinding in the rising sun. And behind her, the rest of Lilinor’s army began crawling onto the river’s bank, coughing and spluttering, some of them hurling up river water.

Rosalind stepped onto Memorial Drive. At five a.m., there were no cars on the road, but they’d be arriving soon enough. She needed to clear a pathway for the army. Behind her, Caine was shouting orders, organizing the legion into the proper cohorts again, hellhounds at the front.

Rosalind held out her hands to either side. She let Druloch’s magic spiral through her body, calling to the sycamore trees, her aura becoming one with the bark, the roots. As the vernal magic whirled from her body, she forced it around the rows of sycamores. With a flick of her wrists, she tugged at the boughs, until they groaned and lengthened, slammed against the pavement, snaking over the road. She’d formed blockades on either side of a quarter-mile path.

That should stop the cars for a while.

Behind her, the soldiers had formed orderly lines, and from the front, the hellhounds sparked with golden fire.

Caine shouted an order, and the legion began marching from the river, bodies dripping with water. She moved ahead to make room, then fell in line with Caine and Ambrose in the vanguard. As they marched down JFK street, she blended into the frontline of hellhounds.

On either side of the road, classical buildings loomed, marked with chalices of Blodrial. The city of Cambridge slept, and no one had sounded an alarm yet.

She pulled a sword from her scabbard, glancing at Caine. He lifted his sword, then shouted an Angelic word—the word for Charge. Around her, the hellhounds began running.

Gripping the hilt, she broke into a run. The soldiers’ footfalls pounded the pavement, and they thundered through the narrow streets of Cambridge, heading for the heart of the Brotherhood.

As they ran, an alarm began tolling over the city, and screams began piercing the air. By the time the Brotherhood’s towering marble gates came into view a quarter mile down the road, the sky was darkening with a cloud of swarming locusts. At the sight of them, a chill rippled over Rosalind’s skin.

“The pazuzu,” said Caine. “Demons of famine.”

As the demon legion stormed toward the Brotherhood’s gates, the locusts swarmed overhead, whirling in wild eddies. Caine’s entire body was rigid with tension as he waited for the right moment to strike. His black, feathered wings appeared behind his back, and his eyes darkened with shadows. Long, black talons grew from his fingertips, a growl rising from his throat.

Caine’s voice boomed, rumbling through Rosalind’s bones, as he shouted for the winged cohorts to take to the skies. His black wings beat the air, and he lifted into the skies at the front of the attack.

Rosalind summoned her storm magic, and it surged through her body. Within moments, she lifted into the air after Caine, the wind rushing over her skin. Blazing with the power of the storm god, she felt the phantom wings spread from her back, and she gripped her sword. And all around them, the cohorts of valkyrie and keres swarmed the air, heading for the locusts, who were weaponless. But Caine had already told her what terrors awaited them with the pazuzu…

As Lilinor’s army surged closer, a hundred feet in the air, the locusts shifted into larger, winged demons, with leonine faces and fingertips ending in large talons. Ribs protruded from their emaciated chests, and they glowed with a sickly, gray light. At the front of the legion of demons, one of them wore a thorny, copper crown. The pazuzu king.

Blazing with pale auras, the valkyrie and keres raced toward them, wind whipping at them.

The pazuzu king’s eyes landed on her, and her stomach clenched.

The two forces met in the skies, and Rosalind swung her sword into a locust’s neck, slicing off its head. Dark blood arced through the sky, staining her clothes. Around her, the pazuzu tore into Lilinor’s army with their talons.

Electrified by the ancient power of storms, Rosalind’s sword found its mark in one locust after another, slicing through limbs, hacking off heads. And yet the locusts kept swarming, heading for the land-bound soldiers below.

Rosalind glanced down at the army of Lilinor. Horror bloomed in her chest. She rushed through the air, darting and weaving to avoid the locusts while she took in the scene. There, on the streets of Cambridge, the locusts who descended seemed to be sucking the life out of Lilinor’s army. With each stroke of their long talons, the Lilinor demons seemed to wither before her eyes, their muscles shriveling, bones jutting from stretched skin. And all around her, keres and valkyrie were raining from the sky, bodies drained. Embedded within the hellhounds, at the front of the battle lines—Ambrose was hacking into the locusts.

Caine shouted an order for the winged cohorts to retreat to the rearguard, to the back of Lilinor’s legion. The hellhounds were going to fight the locusts with fire now, and their own troops needed to clear the way. Good thing Rosalind couldn’t burn.

Rosalind and the rest of the flying cohort swooped lower. As she neared the vanguard, a locust slammed into Rosalind, knocking her to the ground. She crashed into the road, her sword clanging against the pavement.

Above, the unending swarm of locust-demons darkened the sky, writhing and pulsing like a living thing. These things would destroy the entire legion if they didn’t burn them fast, but Caine would wait until the flying cohort had fully retreated to the rearguard. Otherwise, they’d be igniting their own soldiers.

As she reached for her sword, another pazuzu slammed into her, teeth bared, knocking her to the ground. Her head slammed against the pavement, the wind rushing from her lungs. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, and grasped for her sword. The locust bent over her, his body blazing with sickly gray light, the color of a corpse’s skin. Grinning, he reached for her with a long, black talon.

No! She gripped the hilt of her iron sword and swung for the demon, cutting into his side. He threw back his head and shrieked, the sound agonizing and otherworldly.

The pazuzu fell to the ground, but already chaos reigned around her. She gaped at the tormented faces of Lilinor’s legion. Those who’d been touched by the locust demons seemed to be withering away—just as Caine had said they would. Some gnawed frantically at patches of grass, trying to fill their stomachs, their cheeks smeared with green. Others, ravenous, pounced on each other, tearing into flesh. She glanced at Caine, who hovered above the fray, cutting into the locusts as they approached, but they were getting dangerously close, even to him.

Rosalind rose to her feet and heard a screech behind her; she turned, slicing her sword through a locust’s throat. Dark ichor oozed from its neck.

As another locust swooped down, Rosalind drove her sword up, stabbing it through the gut. The creature fell to the ground with a thud, and Rosalind pulled her sword from it. Dark blood stained her blade.

“Rosalind!” Malphas shouted.

She whirled to find a locust’s talon just inches from her body. But before she could even strike the creature, Malphas’s sword pierced him from behind, protruding from the creature’s chest. The locust fell to the ground, and Malphas nodded at her before returning to the fray.

“Get to the vanguard, Malphas!” She shouted. “We’ll be lighting up the air with fire any minute now!”

She glanced at the sky, and her pulse raced at the sight of the creatures dropping to earth, bodies glowing with that sickly gray light, the color of a corpse. There were just so many of them…

“Caine!” Rosalind shouted, her sword slamming into a locust demon. “Get to the back!”

A shadow darkened overhead as Caine lifted into the air. His command boomed across the city, so loud it seemed to ring in her skull, to come from her own mind. He was giving the order for the hellhounds to unleash their fire.

All around her, fire blazed, hot as the infernos. A fireball rose into the air, igniting the pazuzu.

Just as she was summoning her own hellfire, a bony hand gripped her arm, and her stomach dropped. She turned to find—not a locust—but one from her own army. A ravening hellhound who’d been touched by one of the locusts, her face gaunt, eyes hollow.

The hellhound opened her mouth wide, revealing a sharp set of teeth. “So hungry…” In the next moment, she was leaping on Rosalind, teeth in her neck.

Pain ripped through Rosalind’s throat, but only for a second. Becca came up behind the emaciated hellhound, her body blazing with flames.

Becca pulled the creature off her, and in one fluid movement, snapped its neck. “She’s not one of ours anymore.”

Rosalind looked at the sky, where the locust bodies blazed like torches. Some of them were plummeting to the earth, bodies blazing.

Caine roared the command for fire again, and the angelic word rang deep in their skulls. The hellhounds unleashed another brutal blast of fire, aiming for the heavens. Fire blasted the skies, and shrieks rent the air. Some of the pazuzu began to retreat, flying away from the flames, ragged bodies blazing.

Caine’s voice boomed in her mind, speaking in Angelic. Fire and storms, he commanded. This was his command to her alone—the one here who could withstand fire, and call the storms of Mishett-Ash.

She lifted into the air, ducking the plunging bodies of burning locusts. As she flew, she summoned the power of the storms, letting the gods’ ancient power ignite her veins.

The gods’ magic lifted her into the air, the wind whipping at her hair, and she cast a glance back at Caine. He was flying high above his army, sword drawn. His dark clothes glistening with ichor and blood, an angel of death. She nodded at him, and he flew lower over his army, sword ready for battle with the land-bound locusts.

Rosalind rose into the air. Rushing at the speed of a hurricane wind, she swooped beneath the locusts, her body charged with electricity, with fire.

Caine’s Angelic command boomed in her mind, rumbling over the horizon. Flames.

Rosalind and the hellhounds below her unleashed a wild burst of flame, searing the air. Fire billowed all around her, igniting the skies.

Shrieking, the locusts retreated higher into the air, bodies flaming. As they crashed into each other, chaotic, panicked, the fires spread from one creature to another.

Again, from far below, Caine’s voice rumbled through her mind. Flames.

Together with the hellhounds, Rosalind summoned hellfire. I am the goddess of the volcanoes, of molten rage. I am the flames of Pompeii…

Flames exploded from the hellhounds, from her body, curling high into the skies.

Storms, boomed Caine’s voice.

Before all these flaming torches plummeted onto Lilinor’s army, it was time to move them elsewhere. Ancient currents danced through her body. Lightning seared her veins, and hair rose on the back of her arms.

First, I bring the winds…

She closed her eyes as she flew, riding on the wind, becoming one with the storm. All around her the winds picked up speed, carrying her faster, harder. Her body was exhilarated.

Dark clouds moved in, roiling and churning, darkening the horizon.

She swooped higher between the flaming locusts, expertly avoiding their toxic talons. And as she flew through the air, she focused on building the storm, until it rattled the rooftops and windowpanes below her, and ripped off tree branches.

She was at one with the storm, and the storm with her.

Far below her, she caught a glimpse of Caine slicing off the head of a locust, his speed breathtaking in a blur of silver and black. Winds, his voice boomed.

In the driving gales, the locusts struggled to control their flight. Screeching, the burning creatures scrambled to stay on course, knocking into each other.

Hard gales whipped through the skies, slowly driving the creatures south in frantic whorls.

Flames, Caine commanded.

Another explosion of fire from below, but this time, Rosalind was working on the winds.

She swooped again, soaring beneath the locusts, and electricity charged her body.

Flying on phantom wings, she arched her neck, and slashed her wrists at the iron-gray storm clouds. A spear of lightning ignited the sky, striking a cluster of locusts. The creatures screeched, some falling to earth, smoke curling from their bodies.

Rosalind struck again, calling down twin shards of lightning from the heavens. Forked lightning touched down in the cloud of locusts, and the creatures writhed, smoke rising from their bodies. Frantically now, they were fleeing the storm and the flames. Rosalind soared below them, the storm’s power thrumming through her veins, and she built the wind’s power. One by one, burning, charred bodies plummeted to the earth, smashing cars, roofs.

She swooped back again, heading for Lilinor’s army. As she flew she surveyed the damage below her. Among Lilinor’s ranks, famished soldiers were gnawing the bark off trees, shoving dirt into their mouths, and worst of all, trying to eat through each other’s flesh. Most of the locusts had been slaughtered, but too many of Lilinor’s army had been transformed.

Rosalind scanned the crowd until her gaze landed on Caine, who was driving his sword through a locust’s chest. She heaved a sigh of relief to find him unharmed.

She landed next to him, and his silver gaze met hers. “We need to heal them. All the soldiers touched by the pazuzu—we need to heal them with shadow magic.” An emaciated ker stumbled forward, grasping for Caine, who slammed a hard punch into his face. The creature fell to the ground, unconscious.

“Malphas!” Caine’s voice boomed, the command of a god.

Instantly, Malphas was at his brother’s side, their bodies blazing with silvery magic, brilliant as the stars. Caine threw back his head, as if in a strange sort of ecstasy, and his stunning magic snaked from his body. Without realizing it, the ravening soldiers cleared space around the incubi, as if they instinctively knew they were in the presence of gods.

Rosalind’s shadow magic built in her ribs, then curled into the air, mingling with Caine and Malphas’s magic in perfect tendrils. Shadow magic caressed the sickened soldiers, gently coiling around their poisoned bodies. She could almost feel the pain ebbing from them, all that agony, evaporating into the darkened sky.

After a few minutes, she looked around again, catching her breath. They hadn’t managed to save everyone. Some of Lilinor’s soldiers had been too far gone, and they lay on the road, their mouths smeared with dirt and grass. Others had been eaten alive, and Rosalind’s stomach turned at the sight of them. Blood stained the ground, and charred demon bodies smoked among the starved, the ravaged.

“Rosalind,” said Caine.

She clenched her jaw, trying to tear her eyes away from the carnage.

“Rosalind!” he said, meeting her gaze. “The real battle hasn’t begun yet. Stay with me.”

Chapter 28

Embedded in the vanguard, Rosalind marched for the Brotherhood’s towering marble gates, the ones she’d stared at from the window of her decadent prison. Colored magic swirled around the wall, a relic of Drew’s magic, and a few rays of sun pierced the clouds, glimmering off the magical wall.

When she’d been imprisoned, she’d spent so long trying to make sense of those gates, to imagine someone coming to rescue her over the wall. Under the ice floes of her mind, she’d pictured herself on the other side of them, or running freely through the long, narrow courtyard that spread out before the palace.

As she stood now, on the other side of the gates, her stomach clenched. If they failed here, it wouldn’t be death for Rosalind—it would be much worse. The thought of Drew’s hands on her made her sick.

Worse, it wasn’t just she who had a lot to lose here. If they lost the battle, it could mean the end of the army of Lilinor. The Brotherhood’s power would grow after a victory against the dark forces—the evil demons they needed to torture to death. Don’t you see, Americans? This is why we must torture and burn.

Just like the old days they wanted to bring back.

Rosalind wasn’t about to let any of that happen if she had any control over it.

As they marched closer to the wall, Caine’s voice rang in her mind. Flames.

Rosalind—and the hellhounds—were going to blast through the walls with their fire power. To her right, Caine lifted his sword, shouting a command for the hellhound cohort to march forward, while the rest of the army would remain behind.

Rosalind and the hellhound vanguard marched up to the wall, halting when Caine shouted the order—about twenty feet from the marble wall. At this range, exploding marble would slam into them, but the hellhounds had shields, and with Borgerith’s protection, Rosalind would emerge unscathed.

Summon the flames. Caine shouted the command in Angelic.

Rosalind lifted her hands to the heavens, thinking of her imprisonment in that tower room—of Drew’s crazed eyes, Randolph’s commands that she undress. She thought of her ex-boyfriend, Josiah, coercing her to torture Malphas. As rage and fury simmered, Rosalind thought of what she’d once been, and who she’d once served.

As these images blazed through her mind, Emerazel’s fire surged, hot and wrathful. Combined with the power of the mountain goddess, her entire body hot and powerful as molten rock.

Fire! Caine commanded in Angelic, his voice rising in her skull.

With a snarl, Rosalind slashed her hands at the gates, and missiles of fire shot from her hands, slamming into the walls. A blast of fire burst around her, flames blazing from the entire line of hellhounds. On impact, the marble exploded in a hail of fire and white dust.

The explosions shook the earth, and the boom nearly deafened her. All down the marble wall, explosions erupted from the line of hellhounds, blasting the marble to pieces in a fiery storm. Hot blasts rushed over her skin, like solar winds.

When the explosion settled, Rosalind wiped the dust from her eyes, and brushed herself off. She gazed at the sky, where storm clouds still darkened the horizon, and she called to the clouds. The skies unleashed a torrent of rain, soaking her clothes.

The rain hammered against the explosion’s flames. It dampened the fires over the rubble, and black smoke curled into the sky. She heard Caine boom a command to the shadow demons, ordering them to break off from the rest of the legion when they entered the courtyard. He barked another order, and the legion began marching. Caine and Ambrose remained further back, with the valkyrie and fae—the flammable land-bound fighters who formed the middle ranks.

The army pounded over the rubble, pouring into the Brotherhood’s courtyard, an enclosed city of marble buildings. Silence enshrouded the city. Where was the Emperor’s army, his demon courts?

Even as the storm clouds thinned, lightning cracked the dark sky, glinting off the white, columned buildings. They marched past a temple of Blodrial, its doors open, and Rosalind glanced inside to see an enormous font of the god’s blood. Inside the temple, human bones lined the walls—or more likely, a mixture of human and demon remains, relics of the poor souls the Brotherhood had tortured to death. The sight chilled her to the core.

She tore her gaze away, marching on among the hellhound front lines. Caine’s plan for what would happen next was brilliant, but it didn’t stop the fear snaking up her spine. And none of them knew which of Drew’s demon hordes would be coming for them next.

Marching on, her heart thundering to the beat of the heavy footfalls, she gripped her sword. Why hadn’t Drew yet shown his face? They swarmed into the courtyard before the palace. A set of stairs led to an imposing building, with towering stone columns and long, narrow windows. On the top of the upper story, where Rosalind had been imprisoned, a statue of Blodrial dominated the roof. The marble god held out his wrists, which appeared to spurt real blood.

For just a moment, Rosalind felt a pang of sympathy for him, for his pain. She knew the agony of the gods when they’d splintered into seven, fractured souls that could never feel whole.

Blodrial, the god of repentance and guilt, believed he could reach the heavens through a complete denial of that original sin—the gift of magic to the human realm. If he expunged magic from the earth, he could feel complete again. And that was the gods’ real hell—not the torment of being trapped in the blood of beasts, or hell fires, or the void, but the agony of incompleteness.

A chill rippled over Rosalind’s body. Here, in the gleaming city of Blodrial, the air hung thick and still as a grave. And as she looked closer at the palace, she realized why. A thick shield of shimmering magic, in green, blue, copper, silver, and gold, shone over the white marble. Drew had protected the palace with his magic. No wonder he hadn’t bothered to step outside to fight them with his magic. He felt perfectly safe in there.

Caine and Ambrose were marching behind the hellhounds—so they wouldn’t get burned when Caine gave the order to release their flames.

She pushed her way through the ranks, her eyes on Caine’s gleaming silver aura, curling from his body. She’d know it anywhere. When she shoved through the lines of hellhounds, Caine’s darkened eyes landed on her. Apparently, his demonic form took over while in battle.

“Caine! Ambrose! Drew’s got a shield up.” She pointed at the writhing matrix of colored magic. Drew had been able to break down the shields they’d created. She just needed to figure out how he’d done it.

Caine’s dark eyes were cold, otherworldly. “Do you know how to break through it?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea. But Drew did it to our shields, so there must be a way.”

His brow furrowed, dirt smeared on his cheek. She lifted her hand to wipe the muddy smudge off his face before stopping herself.

A battle-hardened general wouldn’t allow his lover to clean off his face before battle. As she looked up into his silvery eyes, she was struck by the sudden realization that she would give her life for him. Without thinking twice she would step in front of a sword to save him.

“I’m going to see if I can break through the shields.”

Caine opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. For once, she sensed some hesitation from him, as if he wanted to keep her close.

Ambrose’s emerald eyes locked on her. “Go. Work on the shield.”

Without waiting for a response from Caine, she pushed through the ranks of warriors again, heading for the palace. As she walked, she heard Caine shouting orders to the hellhounds, getting ready for the next demon onslaught.

Rosalind broke through the lines of warriors and crossed to the palace steps, glancing at the third story, where her room had been. Her stomach clenching, she climbed the steps, slowly moving closer to the undulating waves of magic. Tentatively, she reached out, touching the shield. The power of it sent shockwaves through her body, and nausea climbed up her throat. When she’d first met Drew, he’d had only a few tendrils of copper magic curling off his body. Practically an ordinary human. And now, he created like a god, with a power no human was meant to possess.

When she touched his magic, it felt toxic, as if it were poisoning her blood. She shuddered, trying to push the disgust to the back of her mind. If she could force herself to interact with the shield, to bond with it, she’d have the best chance of destroying it.

She touched it again, reeling at the shock of his magic slamming into her body. Dread and revulsion climbed up her throat, but she kept her hand on the shield. As she stood there, visions from his mind whirled in her skull.

She saw herself through his eyes, chained to the wall in his room. She felt his possessiveness of her, as if he were staring at his favorite doll. He ran his finger down her throat, then grabbed her breast, squeezing it. Rosalind fought the sickness clouding her mind, and the image swirled.

Drew strode onto one of the palace’s balconies, where a roaring crowd greeted him.

When he looked down, Rosalind kneeled before him, gazing up at him with worshipful eyes.

She opened her eyes, tugging her hand away from the magic. She turned, retching.

After touching the shield, her body felt corrupted, sickened. She just barely managed to keep down the coffee she’d drank earlier. Rosalind wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, glancing back at the lines of soldiers.

The sun had brightened over the courtyard, and Rosalind squinted in the bright rays. Only moments ago, her storm had been dousing the entire city in torrents of rain. Now, the sun burned like a hot coal, sucking the moisture from the air.

As the sun burned hotter, Rosalind squinted into the sky. The weather was changing eerily fast, and if she looked close enough, she could see the shimmer of Drew’s magic snaking through the sky. Drew was bringing out the sun, and it blazed hot off the soldiers’ silver armor. What creatures required sunlight?

Before she could finish her thought, a stream of demons began pouring from the palace rooftop, a river of winged creatures swooping overhead, bodies the color of desert sand, their eyes a dull gray. The scent of death whispered through the air, and Rosalind’s heart thrummed in her chest. The edimmu.

Chapter 29

Caine shouted an order that boomed over the courtyard, and the hellhounds fanned out, allowing the middle ranks to shift through. From what Caine had told her, fire wouldn’t hurt the edimmu. But beyond the traditional swords and axes, no one knew what killed the edimmu. Shuddering, she crossed the marble steps, clutching her sword. She only knew that the edimmu were capable of inhabiting other people’s bodies.

Hell. She already had two souls. What was another?

Rosalind gripped her sword, staring at the vortex of demons above them. The sun seemed to blaze hotter, and her palms began to sweat on the hilt of her sword. Why would Drew need to raise the sun like this?

Her gaze sliced to the eerie horde darkening the skies, and her knees began to tremble with the familiar rush of battle fury. There were so many of them… Caine’s spies had told him of the edimmu, but they had no idea how many of them Erish had made. And Erish had been unwilling to part with all her secrets lest she run out of bargaining chips.

She summoned the power of the valkyrie, hastening over the pavement to the rest of Lilinor’s army. Caine and Ambrose stood at the front, swords drawn. Caine’s dark wings spread out, and Ambrose’s charcoal wings rose behind him. The two leaders took flight, and Caine boomed out an order that rang across the city, echoed in the soldiers’ minds. Winged cohorts, rise.

Just as the edimmu began to dive for the earth, she took flight into the skies with the winged cohorts. In the blazing sun, a sense of surety surged through her limbs.

The edimmu shrieked as they dove, and the sound curdled Rosalind’s stomach. As Lilinor’s winged cohorts rose higher, the horde of edimmu plunged to the earth, mouths open to expose pointed teeth, naked bodies pale as sand. Their milky, white eyes were locked right on Lilinor’s army.

Their shrieks rent the air, and Rosalind gripped her hilt hard, her palms sweating. As an edimmu swooped for her, Rosalind swung her sword, slicing through its neck. The creature’s head tumbled to the ground. Instead of blood, a cloud of dust puffed into the air, its body crumbling, desiccated.

The edimmu were pouring into the legion, attacking without mercy.

In the air, the winged cohort’s swords met the edimmu’s dusty flesh, slicing through limbs and necks. But there were just so many of them, surging onward…

Aurora was at the front of the winged horde, carried on her gray valkyrie wings. Her sword flashed through the air as she swung, her skill breathtaking. Caine and Malphas fought side by side, their movements stunningly graceful in the air. Carried on gray wings, Ambrose’s golden skin shone in the sunlight. While Caine and Malphas fought with grace, Ambrose was brutal, vicious. With each swing of his sword, he unleashed a chilling war cry. If it hadn’t been for the endless sea of edimmu approaching, this would be an easy fight.

Rosalind’s body surged with adrenaline, and she soared higher, hacking through another edimmu’s neck. Battle rage spurred her on, and she moved like the wind, slicing through the enemy lines.

There, in the center of the aerial melee, Tammi was holding her own, her pale silver hair flying wildly in the wind. She sliced her sword through an edimmu’s neck in one clean arc.

Then, an edimmu soared into Tammi’s body from behind, disappearing within Tammi’s flesh. Tammi’s body went rigid. Oh, hell no.

Rosalind flew closer to her friend, fighting her way through the oncoming demons. High winds carried dust through the air as she hacked through their bodies, her body shaking with battle fury. Edimmu dust sprayed into her eyes, and tears streamed down her cheeks as she fought her way to Tammi. When she flew close to her friend, Tammi turned to her, and a tendril of fear coiled through Rosalind’s chest. Tammi’s jaw hung open at an odd angle, and her skin looked oddly dry. She curled her lip, snarling, her silver wings beating the air.

Gripping her sword, Rosalind scanned the winged cohort. Around her, soldiers of Lilinor were beginning to turn on each other, their skin suddenly dry and chalky. It had all happened faster than she’d expected. Time to retreat before the edimmu infected everyone. She’d just have to take Tammi with her until they could sort out this demonic possession situation…

As if reading her mind, Caine’s voice echoed through the skies, reverberating in her skull. Retreat.

Just as Rosalind was grabbing for Tammi’s arm, she felt something slam into her from behind and seep into her body. A hot, dry power crawled around the inside of her body, claiming territory in her ribs, her skull, desiccating her gut.

Desert winds seemed to race through her mind, whispering of death, of ancient ruins half buried in desert sands. Death. She needed to kill, needed to dominate and claim her territory for the gods of wind and fire. Ancient enemies of the darkness. Fury rippled through her body, hot as the desert sun.

Hot winds rushed around her skull. Slaughter the sons of Nyxobas. Next to her, the demigods were the most powerful creatures here. Rosalind turned, searching for the incubus. She recognized him by the beautiful silver blazing from his body, curling into the air like smoke.

And she knew how to kill him, now. She knew the Angelic words that would make him mortal. For a mortal man, just one cut of the sword…

Her chest clenched. Something was wrong. Her mind felt dry as bone.

In the skies, as Caine led the retreat, a crowd of edimmu surrounded him. His magic burst from his body, trying to fend them off, but they kept coming for him, until one of them leapt into his body from the back. His arms shot out to the sides, back arching as if he were in pain. His sword glinted in the sun as it tumbled to the ground. Defenseless. Now is the time to attack.

She flew closer to him, the wind whipping at her hair. As she approached, sword in hand, he turned to look at her, a dark smile on his lips, black wings beating the air.

Slaughter the sons of Nyxobas. Darkness is the enemy.

Caine soared closer, racing for her in a blur of silver. Their bodies met in the air, slamming against each other. Before she could attack, he was at her throat, hand tightening around her neck. She unleashed a burst of electricity from her body, knocking Caine away. Dark smoke coiled around his perfect body like a caress.

He curled his lip in a snarl, circling her. “Rosalind.”

When she’d first met him, she’d been completely defenseless against him. Not anymore.

But why did her mind feel so dry, as if all the life had been sucked from it? Her mouth was like sawdust, and a strange torment ripped her mind apart, the agony of a fractured soul.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that she knew how to take Caine’s immortality from him, and she needed to slaughter him, to rid the world of his darkness. All will be arid sands and light… She lifted her fingers, launching into the spell. Caine’s eyes, black as the void, opened wide as he recognized the words. Slaughter the sons of Nyxobas. Darkness is the enemy.

Dread curled around her, and a hollow bloomed in her chest as she chanted the spell that would kill him.

Something isn’t right.

Druloch’s magic craved life, water, and fresh soil. Cleo’s presence coiled around her ribs like thirsty vines, unfurling from her body, green and calming. Slowly, her second soul bloomed—seeking life, seeking water. Slowly Cleo forced the edimmu from Rosalind’s body, and she gasped with relief, her thoughts clearing once more. Had she nearly been about to kill Caine? The horror of it ripped her mind apart. Caine—her blackthorn. Her love.

Still, he stared at her with a chilling rage, his fists clenching. His black wings slowly beat the air, and around them the winged cohort turned on each other, minds claimed by desert winds.

As Caine stared at her, his silvery aura sliced through the air, sharp as thorns.

First, Rosalind had to find a way to get Lilinor’s general back. If she took her eyes off Caine for even a moment, he’d attack. Then, she’d work on the edimmu.

Slowly, talons appeared from his fingertips, and Rosalind’s stomach dropped as she watched him shed his humanity. He wanted to rip her to pieces.

At any moment, if she made a wrong move, he’d be thrusting a powerful hand into her chest to rip her heart out.

“Caine.” She held out her hand to him, beckoning him closer. An invitation, not a threat.

Light flickered in his dark eyes, but he let out a low growl, glaring at her like a wild animal about to attack.

Slowly, gently, she reached for him, touching his arm just above where the hairpin tattoo marked his skin. The soft contact seemed to confuse him, and she moved in closer—close enough that she could feel the heat from his body.

She reached up, stroking the sides of his face. She tilted his head down to look at her, her body brushing against his. She stared into those fathomless, black eyes, searching for his second soul.

“Richard. I need your second soul to help. Get the edimmu out of Caine’s body. Cleo and I need your help.”

Caine snarled, gripping her hard by the waist, his fingers digging into her flesh.

She brushed her thumb over his cheek. “Caine,” she whispered. “Richard. Anyone.”

He grimaced, but in the next moment exhaled with relief, his fingers finding their way to her waist. For just a moment, he bowed his head.

Then, without opening his mouth, his command boomed through his army, Retreat.

Rosalind glanced at the skies—some of the winged cohort were obeying the command, but too many had already been claimed by the edimmu. Drew had perfected the art of using an army against itself. Rosalind’s heart leapt into her throat. In the dry, blazing sun, she searched for her friends—Aurora, Ambrose, and Malphas remained unscathed, leading the retreat. But Tammi still zigzagged wildly through the skies, her body dry as sand, eyes wild.

As the others obeyed Caine’s command, flying for the earth, Rosalind raced for Tammi again. As she approached, she commanded her magic to unfurl from her fingertips in a line of vines that coiled around Tammi’s body. Snapping her wrist back, Rosalind pulled Tammi closer. As her friend thrashed and bucked in the restraints, Rosalind wrapped her arms around Tammi, holding her close to fly with her to the earth.

Caine’s command bellowed again. Retreat.

After him, Ambrose shouted the same command, his deep voice booming through the air.

He was ordering the army back over the rubble—the long portion of shattered wall, and the edimmu were flying in close pursuit. He wanted to fight them on the ground.

As Rosalind raced through the air with Tammi in her arms, Drew’s aura curled around her, heating the sky, blazing like a hot star. Blinding sunlight glinted off the soldiers’ silver armor as they retreated.

At last, Rosalind reached the ground, landing hard with Tammi in her arms—outside the empire’s gate. They rolled over the hard earth on the pavement, the army of Lilinor retreating toward them. Rosalind unfurled the vines from Tammi—left bound, she’d be too vulnerable. She left her on the empty city streets, then took flight into the air again, soaring over Lilinor’s retreating army to rejoin Caine. She touched down between Caine and Malphas, just at the edge of the destroyed wall. As she landed, her body brushed against Caine’s, and for just a moment, his darkened eyes flicked to her, his body rigid. He’d recovered his sword, and now clutched it tight.

As Lilinor’s forces retreated, Rosalind stared at the oncoming horde of edimmu, who swarmed over the courtyard, spreading out over the grass and pavement.

A perfect trap. The edimmu had nowhere to run. Rosalind closed her eyes, summoning the wild fury of the storm god. These dry, desiccated creatures hated the dark. Hated rain and water. And Rosalind was going to hammer them. How powerful would they be when their arid bodies felt the force of Dagon?

From her right, Caine’s command boomed into the minds of the soldiers. Encircle, flank all sides.

Moving from the shadows, the cohort of shadow demons crept from their hiding places, encircling the edimmu, swords drawn. Soon, the rest of Lilinor’s army would close in again, moving back over the rubble to trap their prey. Caine had outmaneuvered the demon horde.

But Rosalind had already seen what the edimmu could do, had felt their arid presence in her body. The sun was powering them.

“I’m going to call up a storm,” she said.

Caine nodded, his powerful aura snaking over her skin. Battle seemed to imbue him with greater strength, and his magic felt intoxicating, a vortex of power.

As they began their march back over the rubble, Rosalind unleashed a wave of Mishett-Ash’s magic, summoning the storm clouds. As the army marched forward, dark, roiling clouds raced in, drawing shadows over the skies.

Drew’s magic seemed to pulse in the air. He could sense what she was doing, and knew she was trying to create a storm. Caine shouted the order to attack, and all at once, Lilinor’s army closed in on the edimmu, swords drawn.

As Rosalind charged, her sword ready, she channeled the magic of the sea—her sister’s magic. They reached the line of edimmu, and Rosalind whirled like a storm wind, cutting into the edimmu before they got the chance to possess her.

As she fought, Dagon’s power flooded her body. All at once, she smelled Miranda, that rich, briny scent, and a pang of longing pierced her. She felt as though Miranda’s magic were rushing over her skin, cool and wet. And in that moment, she felt her sister’s presence surrounding her.

In the darkening skies above, Dagon’s magic merged with the storm god, the sky now dark as a cauldron.

She whirled, striking through another edimmu. As she fought in a fury of ducking and whirling, the ground rumbled, and she could feel Miranda’s god approaching. She imagined him, Dagon, the god of the depths, and called him to her body. Dagon, you can find wholeness again with me.

From the nearby Charles River, she could feel Dagon rushing toward them, until a wall of water breached the Empire’s fallen gates.

A wave slammed over the courtyard, forcing Rosalind to the ground, knocking the breath out of her. In the muddy water, she scrambled to get up, finding the water up to her knees. She gasped.

With the wave’s arrival, the storm clouds unleashed their full fury, battering the courtyard with a hard rain.

She scrambled around in the mud for her sword, and snatched it from beneath three feet of water. As soon as she gripped the hilt, she looked around her. All around the battlefield, the edimmu bodies were soaking up the water, and those who’d been possessed by the edimmu seemed to have recovered, their eyes no longer empty. Good. Tammi should be recovered.

Lilinor’s forces closed in, hacking through the damp, limp flesh of the edimmu, weakened by the water. Already, some of the edimmu bodies floated face down in the shallow, muddy water. Rosalind glanced at Caine and Ambrose, who moved in a blur of silver and black. Fury still electrified Rosalind’s body, and she moved just as fast, her sword swinging through the air, legs shaking with the roar of battle.

Now it was just a matter of finishing off what they’d started. As the rain hammered down over the battlefield, Lilinor’s army worked their way inward, slaughtering their prey. Rosalind lost herself in the fury of fighting, her limbs trembling.

As Lilinor’s army hacked through the last of the edimmu, Rosalind sheathed her sword, her hands shaking. She stood, knee-deep in the mud, searching for Tammi. She caught a glimpse of Tammi, crossing over the rubble again, her silver hair plastered to her head. Thank the gods. She’s fine.

A powerful, silver aura turned her head. Caine was striding toward her through the muddy water, sheathing his sword. When he reached her, he touched her arm. Instantly, his touch soothed her, and his silver magic caressed her skin. The shaking in her limbs began to abate, and she took a deep breath.

She shoved her hand in her pocket, gripping the iron nail, the one destined for Drew’s heart. Now she just needed to find a way to break through his shield.

Chapter 30

Rosalind climbed the steps once more, narrowing her eyes at the shield. She rammed her hand into her pocket, gripping the rusty iron nail like it was her lifeline. Filthy water soaked her clothes, and her footsteps sloshed up the stairs.

She traced her fingers over the shield, and Drew’s aura thrummed over her body. As she touched the shield, one word rang in her skull: dominance. The real heart of Drew.

Her mouth went dry, and she let herself fall into the hellscape of his mind…

Flickering through Drew’s magic were images of Rosalind’s parents, their bodies hanging limply from the stakes where Caine had killed them. A phantom, golden crown glowed on her father’s head. From the shadows, Drew approached, pulling it from her father’s head.

Rosalind forced the image from her own mind. Could Drew see into her mind, the way she could see into his when she touched his magic? Maybe the way to defeat him was to slam his rotten skull with images of her own.

What really bothered him? She knew one thing that seemed to drive him crazy…

She thought of herself, climbing on top of Caine, wrapping her legs around him. She leaned down, and whispered into his ear I love you, Caine.

At once, the image began to ripple and tremble. A vision slammed her back—Rosalind, naked and on her knees, kneeling before Drew. She pulled away from the shield, bile rising in her throat.

Through his magic, an overwhelming feeling of malice washed over her, turning her stomach. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she lifted her hand, getting ready to touch the shield again. She’d been getting somewhere…

Just then, a rumbling noise pulled her from her task. She turned, surveying the grassy courtyard and the vast army spread out before her. Something in the distance was making the muddy earth tremble, shaking the leaves. Whatever it was, it was coming from the opposite side of the courtyard, and the low rumble was sending a shiver of fear up Rosalind’s spine. A low growl raised the hair on her neck, and turned her stomach. The gruesome hounds.

From the battlefield, Caine boomed an order that rang in the minds of his soldiers. Hellhounds to the front! Form the wall! Caine and Ambrose shifted behind the front lines.

Quickly, the legion shifted, and the hellhounds marched to the front, holding their large, silver shields in front of them. From one of the wide avenues that adjoined the courtyard, a horde of beasts charged at the legion. Rosalind gripped her sword, her heart hammering, and rushed for the front lines. She landed next to Becca, who nodded at her, eyes burning with hellfire.

They looked like dogs, except for their strangely human eyes. Apart from their powerful jaws and sharp teeth that glinted in the sunlight, they had strangely humanlike faces, and the pale, blue eyes of men. As they drew closer, Rosalind could see that these beasts were not the size of dogs. They were closer to the size of horses.

They pounded the earth on all fours, kicking up mud, drool dripping from their fangs. Caine barked an order, and the front lines shifted, forming a tight wall with their enormous, silver shields.

Snarling, the hounds charged for the ranks of soldiers.

When they were in close range, Caine’s order boomed through her mind. Fire!

Rosalind and the hellhounds unleashed a wild, explosive burst, and anguished howls rent the air. Fire! Caine shouted again. The creatures’ yelps and screams filled the air, and yet they kept coming, moving forward into the flames as if they had no sense of self-preservation.

Any second, the hounds were going to break through the wall of shields and start tearing into the soldiers.

Caine’s command boomed again. Winged cohorts, rise!

An icy wind rushed over Rosalind’s skin, and the storm god’s aura sparked through her veins. But just as she prepared to lift into the air, the beasts broke through the shield wall. A hound lunged for her, knocking her to the ground. Within an instant, the hound’s teeth were in her shoulder, and pain ripped through her body. As its claws tore into her, she scrambled for her sword, but it was too large to get a good swing in—she needed a dagger to kill at this distance. The hound shook his head, tearing at her tendons, and she shrieked.

The magic of the valkyrie rippled through her body, a hot electrical charge, and she sent a flash of lightning through the hound. He yelped, and the scent of burnt flesh filled the air. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, she scrambled to get out from under the hound before its enormous body collapsed on her.

She rushed to her feet, and snatched her sword from the mud beneath her. Blood poured from her shoulder, but she could ignore the pain for now.

She glanced at Becca, who was driving her sword through a hound’s chest.

Propelled by the storm god, Rosalind lifted into the air along with the winged cohorts. Soaring above the battle lines with Aurora and Tammi, Rosalind flinched at the scale of the attack. From here, they could hack into the hounds’ bodies from above, slicing through their heads.

Already, the incubi were circling over the hounds, swords arcing through the air as they brought death from above. If Rosalind could steer clear of her allies, she could blast the hounds with fire.

“Move back!” She shouted at Caine.

His gaze met hers for an instant, and he ordered the winged cohorts further back, out of her way.

Rosalind gritted her teeth, blocking out the pain that ripped through her shoulder blade, and she summoned Emerazel’s fire. Molten power surged, and she circled over the hounds. As she swooped over the demons, flamed sparked from her fingertips. When she flicked her wrists, fire shot from her hands, exploding into the horde.

The beasts shrieked, and she hammered them again and again until they scattered from the impact site, and she circled again. She slammed them with another ball of fire, and they scrambled to retreat—running straight for the winged cohorts, who hacked into them from above. But as the battle lines became more enmeshed, she’d need to strike with more precision.

As the battle raged below her, an electrical charge burned through her nerve endings, and the ancient winds of the valkyrie caressed her body.

Rosalind sent electrical charges at the hounds, lighting up their bodies. The smell of charred flesh filled the air.

Rosalind arced again, catching sight of Aurora. Carried by her valkyrie wings, she drove her sword into a hound’s neck, severing its spine.

Rosalind circled the battle again, charged with battle fury. The storm winds whipped at her hair. Mishett-Ash, god of storms, help me strike at my enemies. A cold gale rushed over her body, and her blood charged with electrical power. She took in the crowd below her, taking note of all the hound locations. When she’d committed them to her memory, she unleashed a surge of lighting, striking for the gruesome hounds.

She opened her eyes, gratified to find she’d hit ten of them at once, their bodies now collapsed into the mud.

She circled again, striking a second time, taking out a dozen more hounds.

At the back of the horde of hounds, Caine was driving his sword through a hound’s spine. Lightning glinted off his blades, and his black wings beat the air. All at once, an enormous hound leapt into the air for him, clamping its jaw around Caine’s leg. The creature dragged him to the ground.

A crowd of hounds surrounded him, and Rosalind’s heart skipped a beat. A wave of protectiveness washed over Rosalind as she rushed for him. The hounds had marked him as the leader, and they wanted to tear him to pieces.

Chapter 31

Hounds surrounded Caine, one of them tearing at his wing. Rage lit up Rosalind’s body. With Caine so close to them, she couldn’t strike them with lightning.

She swooped lower, gripping her sword, and landed just behind the melee. Within moments, she was swinging her sword through one of the hounds’ necks. An arc of blood sprayed into the air, and Caine hacked into another, snarling like a beast. His powerful aura washed over her in waves.

One of the hounds leapt on him, claws on Caine’s face, and he stumbled back. Four red slashes marked his cheek.

Hot anger surged, and Rosalind lifted her sword for a strike. But before her sword could find its mark in another hound, an agonizing pain splintered her leg. A beast pulled her to the ground, then leapt on top of her, claws digging into her skin. Panic began to claw at her chest. As her pulse raced, she kicked her leg into the hound’s gut, then his chest. She knocked the creature off her, then leapt to her feet, plunging her sword through its neck.

The beasts all seemed to be heading right for Caine now. Of course, they understood him as the alpha. Adrenaline lit up her body, and she channeled the power of the valkyrie and the night god, moving like Caine in a silvery blur of power. Her sword whipped through the air, cutting through flesh, and she fended off the oncoming hounds.

But even with the power of the gods blazing through her body, her wounds were slowing her down. As she thrust at an oncoming hound, agonizing pain ripped through her leg.

She fell to the ground, sinking into the muddy water, and a beast leapt on top of her, jaws open to bite her neck. Frantically, she fought to clear her head above the water, kicking at the hound above her, but she couldn’t get the right angle. Slam. At last, her foot hammered the hound’s chest, and for a moment, she forced her head above the mud, gasping. Mud spattered in her mouth, and in the next second, the hound was forcing her head under the muddy water again, teeth at her throat. Fuck fuck fuck.

Just then, the dog’s bite went limp, its heavy body collapsing on top of her. Summoning the raw power of Borgerith, she forced its body off of her, and scrambled out of the muddy water. Caine stood before her, covered in mud and blood, his sword dripping with crimson, black wings spread out behind him.

Rosalind surveyed the battlefield, now littered with the bodies of hounds and edimmu. Lilinor’s forces were blazing and cutting through the last of the gruesome hounds. Rosalind’s body shrieked with pain, and she winced.

Caine was by her side in the next moment, staring at the wound in her neck. “Where else are you hurt?”

“My legs.” She looked him over. “You’re almost completely unscathed.”

“I’ve had more time than you to get used to being a god. I’m better at it.”

Her body felt like it was fracturing, and for just a moment, she thought of Azazeyl’s fall. “Just heal me please, and let’s move on.”

He pulled her close to his powerful chest, his hands startlingly gentle on her lower back, behind her neck. He curled his enormous wings around her like a protective shell, and let his soothing shadow magic caress her body, kissing her skin, and she melted into him. Slowly, his magic pulled all the pain from her body, and her back arched in response to him. She ran her hands up his chest, folding them around his neck. For just a moment, she leaned her head against his chest, listening to his heart beat.

She knew she had to break away in a moment, but she needed just this moment with Caine, to savor his life and his body.

So quickly she nearly missed it, Caine leaned down and brushed his lips over her forehead. “You’re ready to fight again.”

Reluctantly, she forced herself to pull away from him, and he tucked his wings behind his back.

She turned to the battlefield, the action now stilling. Demon bodies littered the courtyard, half sunk in muddy water, blood mingling with the mud.

Among the bodies, Malphas sheathed his sword, dripping with blood, and Aurora was cradling a ravaged arm. Bite wounds covered her body, but as a valkyrie, she should heal quickly.

Ambrose’s battle-ax dripped with blood, his body glowing with dark light. Somehow, he had managed to get through the battle without becoming soaked in mud, and she had the feeling that he loved this—slaughtering in the daylight.

Rosalind began carefully stepping through the carnage, and her throat tightened at the sight of a crumpled hellhound, six inches deep in muddy water. Her armor had been torn off, and her throat ripped out. Blood stained her Vampires Don’t Sparkle T-shirt. Rosalind’s throat tightened. Becca.

By Caine’s side, she moved among the dead, her stomach churning. When she caught sight of Tammi, she exhaled. Tammi was wrapping fabric around bite marks in her arm.

She glanced at Caine. “We’re in a vulnerable position here. Drew will keep sending in legions of his archaic demons until we break through to that palace.

“How long till you break through the shield?”

She swallowed hard. “I’m close, I think. I just need to mentally break Drew.”

“That doesn’t seem like it would be hard.”

She frowned at him. “Harder than you’d imagine.”

“You need to stop joining us in battle. Just work on the shield. When the next demon horde comes for us, your job is to break through the shield. Understood? We’ll be fine. Tammi will be fine. And I’ll protect you while you’re delving into the shield.”

She nodded. He was right—the shield was their priority now. “Let’s go.”

“Fast,” he added.

She summoned her shadow magic. Together, they shadow-ran across the battlefield in a blur of dark magic, the wind rushing over her skin. The scent of death filled the air.

On the palace steps, Rosalind slowly approached the shield, her mouth going dry at the thought of entering Drew’s mind again. Slowly, she ran her fingertips over the shield, and Drew’s sickening energy coursed through her. He slammed her with a series of images, of herself kneeling before him, telling him that she worshipped him.

What was Drew afraid of more than anything else?

“Rosalind.”

She snapped away from the shield. Caine was pointing across the courtyard again. On the other side of the carnage, another legion was coming for them. Faint colored filaments coiled from their bodies. Even from here, she could recognize them as human, modified with Drew’s magic.

All except for one, clad in silver armor. Shadow magic poured from his enormous body, and a flash of lightning glinted off his horns. Bileth.

The army of humans came armed to the teeth, laden with machine guns. A helicopter rotor beat the air, and dread tightened its grip on her heart. She was running out of time.

“Keep working,” he said. “I’m going to make sure nothing happens to you while you’re concentrating.”

She grabbed his arm. “Caine. If I get through this shield, you need to stay and lead your soldiers against this army. But I’m going into the palace if I can get in. If I can murder Drew, maybe this will all be over. I can go in on my own.”

Shadows flickered in his eyes. “He’s too powerful.” He gestured at the city. “Look at all this. He’s been using his power longer than you.”

“I’m powerful, Caine, and your army needs you. You need to lead the battle against Bileth and the Hunters, and if I break through the shield, I’m going in.”

Caine stared at the helicopters. He wasn’t as familiar with fighting humans as he was with demon warfare. “Tell me what the Brotherhood carries in those machines.”

“Missiles and iron dust. You don’t want them to get any closer. And the Brotherhood might have flamethrowers. You’ll need to use your shadow magic to neutralize it.”

Rosalind turned to the shield, tuning out the sounds of Caine’s commands ringing in her mind, his deep booming voice that commanded the winged cohorts to rise.

Rosalind touched the shield’s rippling surface, and Drew’s corrupted magic seeped into her body, bringing with it images of Rosalind chained to the wall, telling Drew that she loved him. These were no longer fantasies. This was what had actually happened when she’d been trapped in the palace. He was trying to break her, but his images only stoked her rage. Right now, she wanted to tear his fucking head off and throw it to one of his hounds. Soon enough.

She gritted her teeth, trying to concentrate. What was Drew afraid of—what was anyone afraid of? A pointless existence in a dying body. A soul trapped in a corpse, rotting into the forgotten riverside—painful isolation for eternity.

Okay. How could she show this to Drew?

Perhaps Caine—not Rosalind—was Drew’s greatest weakness. Caine was more to him than a simple rivalry. After all, Caine murdered Drew’s heroes, the king and queen who should have beaten death and achieved immortality. Caine was Death, a god from the underworld, come to drag Drew into the void.

She envisioned Drew, walking over the muddy riverbank in the rain, just before three wooden stakes. Tendrils of his colored magic snaked into the air around him. And as he trudged through the mud, silver magic writhed around the oaks like a living thing. The forest’s shadows grew heavier, pooling like ink. Death is coming for you, Drew. Let’s invite Caine into this vision.

He appeared, his black wings protruding from his shoulder blades, eyes dark as caves. In his black talons, he gripped a long, iron nail. He stalked closer to Drew, who stumbled back through the mud. A hard rain battered their faces.

Drew raised his hand to strike Caine with a spell, but Caine rushed for him in a blur of silver and shadows, slamming Drew hard against the stake with a growl, black talons piercing white skin.

Caine began chanting the spell to steal immortality—the one she’d gleaned through his memory. She mixed it up a little, changing some of the words. There was no way she was giving Drew knowledge of the real spell. Still, she left in just enough of that spell that he’d recognize the intent.

Drew’s colored magic flowed from his body, leaving him slumped, his skin wan and gray, dark circles beneath his widened, green eyes. Completely mortal.

The shield shuddered.

In the vision, Drew lifted his hands defensively, and Caine slammed a nail into his chest, piercing him against the stake like a butterfly specimen.

Drew’s body slumped, his eyes widened in shock. And Caine—his angel of death—simply slipped away into the shadows.

Drew’s shield began to crack, but Rosalind wasn’t finished yet. She showed Drew a vision of his body pinned to the stake, his skin turning gray and corrupted. Slowly, nature claimed his body, as the forest’s vines snaked around him. Alone, forgotten, his body rotted into nonexistence.

As she finished her brutal vision, the shield ruptured. With a loud report, like a ship’s cannon, the shield splintered and cracked around her. Before Drew could raise it again, she rushed through, her feet pounding up the palace steps.

As she raced up the steps to the towering maroon doors, she hurled an explosive spell at them, breaking them open.

When she ran into the vast, marble hall, a line of empty-eyed scorpion men blocked her path. Good. She’d been hoping to kill some more of them.

Chapter 32

Rosalind stepped into the cold, marble palace, staring at the line of scorpion men who blocked her path.

In here, Drew’s chilling magic snaked over her body, curling inside her ribs as he tried to rebuild the shield. Since he’d built this place with magic, his aura tainted nearly everything around her, making it hard for her to focus.

His magic filled her with a gnawing emptiness, and visions flickered in her mind—Drew and her, sitting on iron thrones. Her eyes were vacant, her jaw slack, and her belly swollen with his child. Drew’s fantasy.

She didn’t want to linger in this hellhole any longer than she had to. She needed to search for Drew, and slaughter the bastard. And when he was dead, the magic sucked dry from the walls, this place would be nothing more than an empty, marble skeleton. She’d blow the fucking thing to smithereens.

First, she just had to put these scorpion men into the ground. Sucking in a deep breath, she summoned her battle rage, until her legs trembled with anticipation. She gripped her sword hard, remembering the scorpion men watching her in her prison room. They’d enjoyed her humiliation. Most of her time in captivity had been a blur, but she remembered vividly the scorpion man ruthlessly slaughtering that gray-eyed servant girl, and the girl’s pale body writhing and convulsing on the ground before her, mouth foaming.

Right now, she could only hope the scorpions were wildly underestimating her power.

One of the men stepped closer to her, his clawed legs clacking on the marble floor, footsteps echoing off the ceiling. Their tails and stingers shone in the light. Rosalind’s pulse raced, and sweat beaded on her forehead.

She arched an eyebrow, daring him to move closer. If she was going to defeat all five of them, she’d need to move fast—inhumanly fast. On top of the battle fury, she’d need shadow magic on her side.

Nyxobas’s magic pooled in her chest, and she submitted to it, bending to the god of night, to the vast and empty chasm. She didn’t have to fear the void anymore. This was Caine’s magic, too, and he was her home.

When the scorpion took another step over the marble, she was ready for him. She shadow-ran to him, leaping into the air at the last moment and slicing her sword through his neck. Blood arced into the air. One.

For just a moment, her feet touched down on the ground, and she leapt in the air again, moving like a phantom wind. Before the scorpions had a chance to react, she whirled, cutting her sword into the next scorpion’s neck. Two.

A scorpion’s tail was reaching for her through the air as she touched down again. She dodged, running for the wall. At the speed of a hurricane wind, she let her feet climb the wall, then bounced off it, flipping through the air until she landed before the scorpion. She bounced off the marble floor, leaping again to hack her sword into the next scorpion’s neck. Three.

Immediately, she pivoted, leaping, swinging. A scorpion head rolled across the floor. Four.

She looked up at the final scorpion, who stared down at her. Slowly, he began backing away, fear sparking in his eyes. It was one she’d remembered—the one with gray patches in his hair. This one she’d saved for last. She wanted to see the fear in his eyes, just like she’d seen the fear in the blond servant’s eyes.

“Remember the girl you killed?” asked Rosalind. “I remember. I don’t know her name, but I remember her. I want you think of her now, as I’m coming for you. I’m your angel of death, Scorpion, and I want you to remember her.”

He opened his mouth wordlessly, then closed it again. Rosalind’s footfalls echoed off the ceiling, and the scorpion backed away. Shadow magic rushed through Rosalind’s body like an arctic wind, and she rushed forward, sword drawn.

The scorpion man lunged for her, suddenly on the attack, his tail ready to sting again. He wouldn’t get that far. As she ran for him, she leapt into the air. Whirling, she sliced her blade clean through his neck.

His head tumbled off, rolling over the floor in a spray of red.

Five.

Now she just needed to find Drew. And while she was at it, she was going to slaughter that bastard Randolph.

Chapter 33

Scorpion men poured into the hall behind her, and Rosalind’s pulse raced. How long would it take her to kill all of them? The longer she spent in here, the worse her chances got. She just needed to put distance between herself and the scorpions.

She shadow-ran over the marble, and as she moved the shadows seemed to climb the walls around her. As she moved deeper into the enormous palace, the walls seemed to change—no longer smooth marble, but now made of vast expanses of ivory bone, as if she were moving through the skeleton of an expansive creature. Around the halls stood statues—some of Blodrial, his veins spurting blood. Some depicted Randolph and Drew. Carved into the bone around the halls, the letters R&D, intertwined. Rosalind and Drew. She wanted to puke.

The further she moved into the building, the more the walls began to change. A network of dark veins throbbed beneath the walls’ surface, like thin, pale skin. The shadows grew, shifting between the statues.

Energy reverberated through this building, pulsing like a heartbeat. She felt as if she were running through a living creature, as if the walls themselves pulsed with life.

She slipped her hand into her pocket, running her fingers over the old iron nail. This thing needs to find its home in Drew’s heart.

From the shadows, figures emerged from crouching positions, their wispy bodies thickening and solidifying. The three creatures wore cloaks, though beneath their hoods she could see that the creatures had large, dark eyes. The lower halves of their faces were simply a mass of wrinkled, gray flesh. At least until their lips parted, revealing a chasm of black interrupted by a few spiked teeth. Smoky auras undulated from their bodies, and iron-gray wings curved from their shoulder blades.

A chill snaked its way up Rosalind’s spine, and she readied her sword. An emotion tinged their magic, but to her surprise, it wasn’t anger or menace. It was despair. It rolled off their bodies, staining the air with stark melancholy. It wrapped itself around her muscles, freezing her in place, and as the force of it hit her, her sword drooped in her hands.

She had the sense that these creatures had once been something different—something majestic, from a past so distant they no longer remembered it at all, yet still they lamented its loss.

One of them stepped forward, tapping his sharp teeth together. “Rosalind.” Tap. Tap. “Our queen. Reign over us in the Desert of Anguish.” Tap. He pointed an elongated finger at her chest, his nails gray and sharp. Tap. Tap. “Queen Rosalind,” he hissed. Tap. “Rule us.” Tap. Tap.

Sorrow coiled around her heart, tightening its grip, and a dry wind seemed to rush over her skin, calling her to the Desert of Anguish. Tap. Tap. Tap.

An iron crown appeared on her head, weighing heavy on her skull, and her grip loosened on her sword. What was she doing here? Why fight? Miranda had bled out on the cold stones, an iron nail in her heart, and Rosalind hadn’t been able to help her at all. Raised from the grave, her soul splintered.

Rosalind’s body began to sway to the rhythm of the palace’s heartbeat, as the demons lulled her into their spell. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Miranda’s body, cold and alone, buried deep beneath the earth.

Queen of Anguish… She had no family. She’d let her sister die. Her parents had been monsters who’d ruined Caine’s life, forced him to slaughter his brother.

“Join us,” said the creature. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Her soul was corrupted, tainted by the sins of her parents. She was a solitary monster…

She gritted her teeth, trying to focus. Closing her eyes, she forced the images from her mind—her desert throne, her iron crown. Cleo’s magic whirled within her, forcing out the despair.

She hadn’t come here to become a queen. She’d come here to kill. She tightened her grip on the sword again, forcing their smoky magic from her body. “I’m sorry. You’ve got the wrong girl.”

She swung, cutting through one head, then two. She pivoted, cleanly slicing off the third head. The three creatures slumped to the floor.

She stared at their withered bodies, their dark blood staining the floor. “It’s for the best. Someone needed to put you out of your misery.”

Rosalind stalked the halls, listening for footfalls. The place was surprisingly empty. Apparently, Drew and Randolph had sent all their soldiers to the battlefield outside, depending on Drew’s shield to keep them safe in here.

Rosalind frowned, not entirely sure where she was going. Drew’s magic was all around her, so it was hard to trace it to a particular source. She seemed to be in an endless hall of veiny bones.

Where would Drew be hiding out? It’s not like she’d been given a tour of the palace when he was keeping her chained to the wall in her room, and these halls seemed to go on forever.

Drew was obsessed with dominance, with supremacy, with ruling as an emperor. She supposed he’d be in the most grandiose room in the palace, one that gave him a view of his entire domain. When she thought of her view from her prison room, she’d been on the third floor at least. She imagined Drew would have kept his own chambers near hers.

She needed a stairwell. At last, a door interrupted the smooth, bony walls. She pushed through it, finding a twisting stairwell that spiraled upward like winding ribs. I’m on the right track now.

She ran up the stairs, heart pounding. When she got to the third floor—the top floor—an enormous iron door barred her way. With the power of the mountain goddess strengthening her body, she kicked through it, knocking it open onto another hall.

Inset into the wall directly across from her was a set of oak doors, carved with chalices and crowns. Iron barred the doors. Someone was clearly in there, hiding. What sort of sad coward locked himself in a room while his city was under siege?

Based on the ornate doors and the iron, it looked like a room fit for a king, and if her calculations were right, this was the center of the palace, the high point from which an emperor could look out over his entire kingdom. Bingo.

She crossed to the oak doors, running her fingers over the wood, feeling for a surge of Drew’s magic. If he were inside, she would feel his magic like an intense vortex.

Yet, she felt nothing here. At least, nothing more than the same low thrum of corrupted magic that covered the whole palace.

A room for a king. Perhaps Drew wasn’t the real king anyway. He believed he was the emperor, and needed that illusion to sustain him, but he wasn’t the true ruler. He was too mad for that, too enraptured by his own fantasies.

Randolph, on the other hand…

Randolph is the one who’d threatened to find her on her wedding night, to rape her first before Drew had the chance.

Iron barricaded the door. A safe room—just the place a coward like Randolph would hide.

When she’d been imprisoned, her mind encased with ice, a dark rage had bloomed in her chest, curling around her ribs like dark vines. Now, it thrived.

“Randolph,” she whispered. “You sick fuck. Are you in here?”

She took a step back from the doors, whispering a spell in Angelic—the one for bending iron. Slowly, the iron creaked and groaned, contorting until it fell to the ground with a heavy clang that echoed off the walls.

She let the rage flow through her body like shadow magic, then she kicked through the oak doors.

They splintered into a million tiny shards of wood, opening the way into an enormous octagonal hall. Randolph sat at the back of the room, guarded by three scorpion men.

An oblong table stood between her and Randolph, who leaned back in a leather armchair.

For just a moment, she saw a flicker of fear in his eyes, but the satisfied smirk on his face told her that he had no idea how quickly she could kill the scorpion men. Before the oval table, the scorpion men stared down at her, their dark eyes locked on her like prey.

“Hi, Randolph,” she trilled. “If I’m not mistaken, you wanted to rape me and then burn me alive. I do believe we have a score to settle.”

His face paled. “You can still repent. If you don’t, you will find yourself in one of the earthly hells after you die instead of fractured into seven.”

She took a step closer. “You must be fucking joking, Randolph. I don’t need to repent, and I don’t need to worship Blodrial. The gods are in me. Do you understand that? I know their secrets, better than they know their own. I saw their birth. I know what they fear, and I know what makes them suffer. So I will not be repenting to Blodrial. But I will make a little sacrifice to him.” She took a slow step closer to him, smiling slyly. “Do you know what I’d like to sacrifice, Randolph? I’ll be serving them up a fresh coward today.”

His throat bobbed, and he no longer looked convinced the scorpion men would win in a fight against her.

Randolph shot a nervous look at the scorpions, then nodded at them—his signal to kill.

Rosalind readied her sword. “You, Randolph. In case it wasn’t clear, I’m going to sacrifice you.”

Shaking, he stood. “I had understood the implications. But perhaps you forgot what my scorpions did to that servant girl.”

Battle fury ran through Rosalind’s body, making her legs tremble—and with it, shadow magic whispered through her blood, filling her muscles with a preternatural surety.

The scorpion men clacked over the floor to her, their tails extending closer to her. A dark smiled curled her lips, and she rushed into action, shadow running for the table. From the oak surface, she swung her sword, cutting through the first scorpion’s head. One.

His muscled body slammed to the ground, blood spurting from his neck.

A scorpion swung his tail for her, and she ducked out of the way, moving like the night wind. From a crouching position, she thrust her sword into the scorpion’s chest. He lurched back, and she sprang up again. Whirling, she cut through another scorpion neck, listening with a grim satisfaction as his head thudded on the ground. Two.

The injured scorpion swung his tail again, and she dove, touching down on the floor for just a moment before springing up again. She carved her sword into his neck, hacking through it.

His head rolled on the floor, his enormous body slumping. Three.

She turned, her gaze landing on Randolph. The coward was trying to run for the doors. She flicked her wrist, slamming him with a blast of shadow magic that froze him in his tracks.

Slowly, she walked closer to him. “Randolph. Remember when I was frozen, and you came into my room? Remember when you forced me to my knees?”

Slowly, she circled him. “How does it feel, Randolph, to be completely at my mercy?”

His mouth opened, only a choking noise rising from his mouth.

She stood in front of him, grabbing his jaw, hard. “I believe you wanted to burn me, Randolph. How many demons have you burned at the stake? I was supposed to be one of them. My sister Miranda would have been one of them, if Drew hadn’t killed her first. Maybe you need to feel what it’s like to burn. Do you think?”

Randolph’s body began shaking, and his pale eyes opened wide. His face had gone completely white.

“You’re not like some of the others. You’re a true believer, but the Brotherhood was never supposed to use magic,” she continued. “You thought you could use it just long enough to get what you wanted, that the ends would justify the means. But you tainted your soul for nothing, and I want you to die knowing that you failed. I want you to die believing that you’ll suffer eternal torments in one of the hells.”

As the power of the gods flooded her body, they spoke to her in whispers. They spoke to her of their torment, of fragmenting into pieces, of needing to be whole again. They whispered of rock and fire, storms, and the darkest depths of the oceans. The gods didn’t want repentance from her or Randolph or anyone. They were simply broken.

As their power flooded her body, she tried to force out their voices. They were overwhelming her, and her own thoughts clamored to be heard.

Rosalind slid her hand around his neck, squeezing. “There is no way for you to repent, Randolph, because the gods don’t care.”

Power flooded her body, the auras of the seven gods. As they whispered in her skull of all the ways she could kill the man who’d hurt her. Fire, perhaps, or peeling off his skin. Lightning to roast him. Rip his blood from his veins…

Molten rage ignited her body, and the voices of the gods blared in her skull.

She lifted her fingers, letting flames dance from her fingertips, then touched them to Randolph’s black shirt. As smoke curled into the air, his eyes widened in fear. The scent of charring flesh wafted into the air as his skin burned.

She tightened her jaw. No—they were the gods’ desires, not her own. She wanted Randolph dead, but she wasn’t a sadist like he was. With icy shadow magic playing about her fingertips, she flicked her fingers, freezing the fire.

Randolph’s body shuddered, and Rosalind eased her mental barrier to the magic, letting her body relax.

She took a deep breath. She didn’t need fire or magic to kill this man. She lifted her sword. Swift as a lunar wind, she ran it through his heart. His eyes opened wide, and a stream of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

She pulled her sword from his chest, cocking her head.

Humans. So fragile.

Randolph crumpled to the ground. Now, she just needed to find Drew.

Chapter 34

Rosalind stepped out into the bone-walled hall, her fingers gripping the iron nail in her pocket. In here, tall windows interrupted the vast ivory expanses, and rain hammered the glass. The valkyrie were channeling a storm to battle the helicopters.

Outside, the battle raged, and she pressed her fingertips to the window. Lightning cracked the dark sky, illuminating Caine, flying through the air, directing the winged cohorts. He moved in a terrifying maelstrom of silver and black, his shadow magic curling around a helicopter. Rosalind scanned the crowd for Tammi, her heart skipping a beat when she caught sight of a Hunter aiming his gun at her. But Tammi was fast—she blasted him with two shots to the head from her own gun before he could pull his trigger.

Rosalind loosed a sigh of relief.

She turned, stalking through the hall again. On the top floor, silence reigned, and the stillness sent a shiver crawling up her spine. A powerful, corrupted magic snaked over her skin. Drew’s magic.

Her heart pounded hard, rattling her ribs. He was here—not far now. She just had to follow his aura. Her footsteps echoed off the high ceiling, and she gripped her sword. Randolph’s blood dripped onto the ivory floor, leaving streaks of crimson. As she moved through the hall, Drew’s magic grew stronger, pulsing over her skin.

She could see it now, weaving through the air in tendrils of silver and gold, copper and gray.

“I’m coming for you, Drew,” she whispered.

He had to know she was coming. He could sense her magic, just as she could sense his. That meant he’d be waiting for her, totally prepared while she had no idea what she’d be bursting into. As much as she wanted to blow his doors open and rip his spine out of his neck, she needed to act carefully.

Cold sweat beaded over her skin as her gaze homed in on an oak door at the end of the hall. This door was different—no chalices or Latin inscriptions. This one bore the mark of Azazeyl—that sharply pointed sigil enclosed within a circle. Apparently, Drew didn’t see the need to hide himself. No iron barring his entrance, and a giant bullseye right on his door. Thick magic coiled into the air from the door.

Of course, he didn’t need to hide. He was one of the most powerful beings on the planet, and he sure as shit wasn’t scared of Rosalind. But maybe he should be.

Drew had taken her sister from her, and she needed to kill him. She was wrath, born of blood, ice, stone, and flames. Born of the forest’s shadows, where civilization fell away and nothing remained but the will to live.

As she moved closer to his room, images flickered in her skull like a grainy old film: Drew slamming Miranda against the stake, ramming a nail through her heart. Miranda’s limp body, lying on the floor, rain drenching her clothes. She’d seemed so cold. Sorrow ate at Rosalind’s chest like a cancer. Abominatonia—Miranda’s dream. The little house in the woods, a family at last. Rosalind wanted to kill Drew extra slow for taking that from her sister.

She moved closer to the door, nearly overpowered by Drew’s magic. She stood outside his door, flexing her fingers.

She took a few steps to the side, then kicked the door, splintering it into tiny flecks of wood. Immediately, she dodged to the side, just in case. Waves of magic burst from the room.

Rosalind peered around the corner, and her heart skipped a beat.

Drew lay in the center of a circular room draped with gold and scarlet. Shirtless, he reclined on a cherry-red chaise longue. His aura formed a halo around his head. He wore nothing but a pair of white linen pants, and he sipped from a chalice.

He didn’t give a fuck about the battle raging just outside his palace, nor that Rosalind had come here to kill him. Tightening her fingers on her sword’s hilt, she stepped into the doorway.

Amusement danced in Drew’s emerald eyes, and his lips curled in a smile. From sharp iron sconces, candlelight wavered over his bare skin.

“Ah. Rosalind,” he breathed. “I knew at some point, you’d come right to me. Do you know why?”

She heaved a sigh. “Yeah. Because we belong together. Oh, no—wait. Because I’m going to kill you.”

Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. “No. You’re going to submit to me, once and for all.” He sat up, his body pulsing with magic. “It’s your destiny.”

“You’re so full of shit, Drew.”

Drew’s eyes bulged for a moment, then he swiped his hand through the air. The movement sent a shock of pain through her skull, and she fell to the floor. Her sword clanged on the marble.

The metallic taste of blood pooled in her mouth, and she struggled to stand. Maybe she needed to freeze the fucker, just like she’d done to Randolph.

She rose, letting her mind fill with Nyxobas’s void. She gave in to the god’s will, and it rippled through her body.

From the ground, she blasted him with a burst of shadow magic, but Drew instantly unleashed a burst of fire from his body, burning away the tendrils of silver magic. An incendiary power rippled over her body, and if her skin could have burned, the magic would have incinerated her. Around her, the silks caught ablaze, and the marble floor reddened. Slowly, Rosalind pushed herself up.

He slashed the air again with his fist, and pain splintered her mind as she fell back against the floor. He’s going to bash my head in, without getting up from the sofa. Panic clawed at her heart. She needed to gain control of him.

Gritting her teeth, she stared at Drew from the floor. This is where he wanted her, wasn’t it? She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. The magic of the dark god filled her body again—Caine’s magic. Before Drew had a chance to react, she shadow-ran to him, touching down just behind him.

She gripped his head, ready to snap his neck. Before she could twist, he gripped her arms, pulling her over his head.

He slammed her onto the floor, and her body cracked the marble. She clenched her jaw, trying to block out the pain. At least she could heal quickly.

Pushing up to her elbows, she cocked her head. She couldn’t seem to hurt him, but maybe she needed to try something different. Something he wouldn’t expect.

He stood above her, towering over her, his green eyes flashing. She closed her eyes, imagining a cool mountain wind—the power of Our Lady of Rock, and of Blodrial, his veins spilling open. She’d just bleed him out.

She stared at his veins, calling his blood to her. Drew’s eyes bulged, his body shaking. In the next moment, blood began to spurt from his wrists. She could feel the power seeping from his body, and fear flashed in his eyes.

With a bestial roar, a flare of magic burst from him. He slashed at the air with his fist, and a wave of magic slammed into her with the force of an oncoming train. Her body went hurtling back, slamming against the wall. The crack of her bones echoed through the room. Her body shrieked with pain. In a blur of colored magic, Drew shifted across the room, his hand gripping her throat before she had the chance to get the next words out, squeezing. Her lungs burned.

This was impossible. No matter what she did, Drew seemed to have the upper hand. Clearly, Drew had perfected his gods-magic more than she had. And yet, she had something in her arsenal that he didn’t. She knew how to fight without magic.

In the Brotherhood, she’d been trained to manipulate, to confuse—to use anything around her as a weapon. Iron sconces hung on the walls. Maybe if she got enough iron into him, it could weaken him.

Mentally, she merged with the goddess of stone, her body surging with the power of magnetism. She felt herself connecting to the iron around the room, as if tied by an invisible cord, and she pulled the iron sconces—sinking them right into Drew’s back.

He screamed, dropping his grip on her; Rosalind crumpled to the floor, her body broken. For the first time, she seemed to have actually hurt him, and blood poured from his back. She blasted him with shadow magic, and his back arched as she froze him. She blocked out the pain wracking her body, and raised her hand, summoning the magic of Borgerith.

Drew slammed into her, crushing her into the wall. In the next moment, his powerful hand was around her throat again. This was his favorite move. He liked the intimacy of choking her, liked the control it gave him. The dominance. He wasn’t going to kill her from afar. He wanted his hands all over her when she died, wanted his breath on her face.

He crushed her throat, threatening to snap her spine. The pain was unbearable, dizzying. Starved of oxygen, her mind dimmed as Drew pressed harder. Her throat spasmed. Glimmers of Drew’s wrathful eyes flashed into her vision, then darkness. With Drew’s hands around her neck, she drifted into the void, sinking deeper and deeper.

In the darkest hollows of her mind, she embraced the emptiness. This was Nyxobas’s world, and Caine’s, and as she plumbed its depths, she felt Caine’s silver magic whisper over her skin.

What had he said to her that day in the sycamore grove? If you bend, you’re less likely to break. Let down your defenses.

There’s strength in vulnerability. If she could just come out the other side of this darkness…

Drew’s tight grasp on her neck lessened, and he let in a little bit of air. She gasped for just a moment, before he pressed on her throat once more.

He leaned in, whispering, “I told you, Rosalind. You can’t die. We’re gods now, and I can kill you over and over again, for the rest of eternity, but you’ll come back every time. If only you’d given Miranda some of Blodrial’s blood, and let her become a god like us. She’d still be alive now. It’s your fault she’s dead.”

Pain ripped Rosalind’s mind apart. She could hardly focus on Drew’s words. Any minute, he’d snap her spine.

He whispered, his breath hot on her cheek. “I’m your king, Rosalind. I’ve always been your king. Perhaps if I cut out your tongue, you’ll find it a little difficult to defy me.”

Panic blazed in her mind as her vision dimmed again. Slowly, she drifted into the void. Images flickered in her mind, like an old film strip showing flashes of her life: setting a tiny, flaming sailboat into Athanor Pond with her sister. Holding hands as she, Malphas, and Miranda walked into the forest, searching for adventure. Her adoptive father, red-faced, a vein popping in his forehead as he screamed at her. Lying back in the grass at Thorndike University between classes with Tammi, their bellies full of sandwiches and hard cider.

And then Caine—his hands on her skin, his breath warming her ear as he whispered, Let down your defenses. The pain etched on his features when he told her about Stolas. At last, he told her, and she couldn’t have loved him more.

Caine’s aura caressed her skin. And with his magic, his arms slipped around her. Sometimes, strength required vulnerability.

Drew loosened his fingers, and Rosalind sucked in a ragged breath. She needed Drew to think she was completely defeated, vulnerable.

Drew smashed her head against the wall again, and Rosalind let her body go limp. But with her free hand, she reached into her pocket, curling her fingers around the iron nail.

Drew growled in her ear. “You were supposed to be mine. And I haven’t broken you yet.”

Even as her muscles went limp, gods-magic blazed through her body. The strength of Borgerith, the fires of Emerazel, the darkness of Nyxobas. Her magic pooled inside her, blazing through her veins. As the magic burned through her, more powerful than she’d ever felt, it worked through her body, healing it. The gods knit her bones together, soothing her pain.

If Drew hadn’t been so blinded by his thrill at having her at his mercy, he would have noticed the magic roiling around her body.

He gripped her face, and she let her head loll as if she were unconscious. “Rosalind. If I just keep hurting you enough, you’ll submit.”

She half-opened her eyes, giving Drew a dazed look. Let him think you’re weak. She reached up, limply hitting him, missing. She made it look as pathetic as she could. She needed him to let down his guard.

Drew had two things he relied on when he fought her. One was strangling. The other was running away as soon as she got the upper hand. She wasn’t letting him get away this time.

She let her eyes glaze over, and he grabbed one of her thighs. “Oh Rosalind. Rosalind. I like you when you’re like this.”

Anger erupted. Just then, she tightened her fingers around the nail and slammed it into his chest, cracking through his bones.

Drew’s green eyes snapped wide open in shock, and he fell back.

“Uggae Lalartu Dalkhu Mitu Wussuru Telal.” As fast as she could, Rosalind rattled off the spell for mortality. As she spoke, Drew’s immortality curled from his body, staining the air around him in wisps of silver, blue, green, and copper. Horrified, his skin paling, Drew stared at the magic leaving his body. The tendrils of magic floated into the air, disappearing like smoke on the wind.

Drew fell back on the floor, his head cracking against the marble. Clutching his chest, he gaped at her. Blood poured from the wound, and the magic escaped him.

Rosalind rose, standing above him. His jaw trembled, and his body looked oddly withered.

“I think it’s time you learned your place, Drew.” She kicked him hard in the chest, cracking his bones.

Humans. So weak.

“Your place, Drew, is in the ground.”

The last of his magic curled from his body. And when it disappeared into the air, Drew rasped his final, rattling breath.

Chapter 35

Rosalind picked up her sword, moving for the doorway. With Drew’s final heartbeat, the sheen seemed to wear off the palace walls, giving the ivory a dull, gray cast. That reverberating power she’d felt all over the palace dissipated, and the walls no longer seemed to breathe. Now, she walked through a carcass. Before she left the place, maybe the Brotherhood’s empire was due for a cremation.

As she moved through the building, Rosalind felt at one with the seven gods, and their magic mingled within her, merging into a white light. She lifted her hand, staring as ivory plumes curled from her fingertips.

Outside, the battle still raged, and the Hunters fired into the crowd of demons. Caine, seemingly dodging bullets at a stunning speed, cut through the lines of Hunters, hacking through their bodies. She traced her fingertips on the window, leaving trails of frosty white.

Here he was, her king, breathtaking in his savage beauty, his body blazing like starlight. She sucked in a deep breath, steeling her resolve. The battle wasn’t over yet, and Lilinor needed her. She turned, then rushed through the halls in a gust of shadows, and slipped down the winding stairs, onto the ground floor. This palace, this corrupted carcass, never should have existed, and it was time to end it all.

A line of Hunters had entered the palace, searching for her. They trained their guns on her, and she didn’t need to be told that iron bullets filled their guns. Still, they weren’t shooting, yet. They knew who she was—their emperor’s intended queen. They just had no idea what she could do.

She closed her eyes, arching her back as she walked, and liquid fire pooled in her veins. She burned like the inner core of the sun, and when she flung out her arms to either side, flames licked along her arms, surging down her wrists, and exploded from her fingertips.

White hot flames seared the air, and the impact rumbled through the walls. Around her, fire bloomed like a wildflower, claiming the hunters, the walls, the palace in an inferno.

Screams pierced the air, and the walls crumbled around her. Fragmenting marble rained around her, but she continued striding through the halls, until she stepped out of the hellfire, into the courtyard. Dark smoke billowed into the air. Explosions ruptured the building, and she stepped onto the marble steps. Caine whirled, his magic dancing around his body. Through the smoke, his silver eyes pierced her.

For just a moment, the fighting had stopped as everyone gaped at the exploding building, the Hunters’ empire destroyed. The filaments of colored magic that had coiled from the soldiers had all but disappeared, gone with their leader. A hail of bullets ripped through the air, and Caine whirled again, blasting icy shadow magic at a line of Hunters.

Slowly, she stepped down the stairs, her body blazing with white light, and surveyed the carnage. She searched the crowd for Tammi, and her heart clenched as she found her friend crawling through the mud, legs bleeding. Any minute, one of the Hunters would finish her. Rosalind glanced at Malphas, one of his wings damaged, half of it blown off. His movements were labored. The winged cohorts had entirely taken out the helicopters, but Lilinor’s forces were in rough shape.

In the center of the melee, Ambrose was stalking Bileth, their dark auras curling around both of them. Ambrose swung with his battle-ax, and Bileth dodged. Lilinor’s king—the new incubus—had the upper hand here. Still, as much as she wanted to watch him hack into Bileth, he wouldn’t be able to kill him without knowing the right spell. And moreover, she needed to end this battle now, before anyone she loved got hurt.

A rush of white magic murmured over her skin. The humans had nothing left but their weapons, and she could take those. She raised her hands before her, her fingertips sparking with white light, and she felt for the magnetic pull of metal, an invisible cord that tied her to the guns, the shields, the swords. Lifting her fingers, she pulled the weapons into the air, while the Hunters frantically tried to cling on to them. Without their weapons, they had no chance. A few of them clung to their machine guns twenty, thirty feet in the air, until they dropped to the ground with a hard thud.

The demons got to work with their hands and teeth, snapping necks, biting into veins. Apparently, vampire habits died hard in the fog of war. Panicking, a stream of Hunters began running for the shattered wall. But Rosalind’s gaze was locked on Bileth, his powerful body curling with that shadowy magic of his. He and Ambrose circled each other, gripping their weapons. Even with Ambrose’s formidable lethal power, he needed the right spell.

Magic electrified her body, and she descended the stairs. As Rosalind moved, white magic coiled around her. Unconsciously, the crowd seemed to part for her, and she headed straight for Bileth. His dark gaze landed on Rosalind, but he looked away again, uninterested. He still didn’t see her as a threat. It was best that way.

Gripping an iron sword, Bileth lunged for Ambrose, who deftly dodged. Rosalind glided closer to them, picking up her pace, and when she was close enough, she rushed forward, punching him hard in the throat, with the full force of the mountain goddess. Bileth staggered back, eyes widening in surprise, and she followed up with two brutal punches to his skull. Dazed, Bileth staggered. While he tried to reorient himself, Rosalind chanted the spell to steal his immortality.

She watched the light flow from his body, disappearing on the wind, and Bileth’s dark eyes stared at the escaping aura. Slowly, his muscles slackened, his skin turning to ash gray. A layer of matted fur covered his body, and his horns cracked. His eyes yellowed, muscles slackening.

Bileth stared down at his hands, his body trembling.

Rosalind nodded at Ambrose. “The coup de grâce is yours.”

Horror washed over Bileth’s features, and his body trembled. It took only a moment for Ambrose to slice through his neck with his ax. Bileth’s headless body fell to the ground, and Ambrose closed his eyes, whispering a prayer to Nyxobas.

Rosalind whirled, joining the battle, or what was left of it. The Hunters had once been her tribe, but not anymore. Not since she realized what they truly were—history’s monsters.

She moved like the wind, a frantic whirlwind of sword against flesh, cutting down the Hunters, her sword dripping with blood. Just as Caine had said—if you cut off the head of this snake, it’ll just grow another head. The Hunters would always exist. But their defeat today would deliver a message—the gods were not smiling on The Brotherhood, and Blodrial would not bestow riches and luck on his followers. In fact, the gods did not care at all. The gods were insane.

Chapter 36

Rosalind stood in the blood-soaked field as the smoke began to clear, the rain mingling with the rivulets of blood and dirt. An eerie silence shrouded the battlefield, raising the hair on the back of her neck. Deep inside her chest, the gods-magic had mingled into one pure powerful core of light, and the screaming of the gods abated to a low, melodic hum.

Across the courtyard, bodies littered the field. The bloated carcasses of the waterlogged edimmu and the bleeding bodies of the hounds stained the fields. She swallowed hard, her gaze roaming over the dead. Lilinor’s soldiers were gathering the corpses of their fallen comrades, hoisting the bodies over their backs. Ambrose was barking out orders, his silver armor glinting in the light. Each fallen soldier would have to be carried home again, and laid to rest in the earth with a feast of the dead.

Caine crossed to her, his body glowing silver. He reached out, touching her arm.

Blood and dirt smeared his cheeks, and at that moment, she had an overwhelming desire to wash his skin clean and kiss him all over. She trusted him with her life, as he trusted her with his, and she wanted to lie curled in the crook of his arm, smelling his skin, kissing his neck for the rest of their lives. She wanted to lie in bed as night blended into day and back, to stroke his waist and kiss his mouth until their skin glowed, to feel his warm lips on hers.

She was struck by the feeling that their bodies belonged together, endlessly intertwined. But more, that they belonged together, two orphaned monsters who glowed like starlight in each other’s presence. When she’d first met him, he’d been such a mystery to her, and now she knew the darkest depths of his soul. She knew what he feared, and what hurt him. She’d seen his nightmares, and knew what could kill him. She knew that he was loyal and protective, that he dreamt of cherry trees under the stars. She even knew that he snored lightly in his sleep—that part of him was deeply human.

If he’d died today, she’d be lost again—left with nothing but the indifferent forest where she’d make her home among the rocks and moss. If Caine disappeared, she’d hollow out. She’d need the quiet darkness of the yews to let her sleep.

“What?” he said, pushing a strand of hair from her face.

Tears stung her eyes. “Nothing. Just—I’m happy you’re okay.”

He cupped her face, and pressed his forehead against hers. “We survived it. And now, I want to build a world with you, of stars and cherry trees in full bloom.”

He slid his hand around the back of her neck, and kissed her gently on the lips.

She pulled away, looking into his eyes, her hands on his face. “I want to get home and wash the filth off you.”

“Did you honestly think for a second I wouldn’t be okay?” He looked almost hurt.

“I worried.”

A faint smile ghosted over Caine’s lips. “I like your parting gift. Blowing up the building. Dramatic.”

“It needed to die.”

His eyes darkened, and a wicked smile curled his lips. “I’ve never found you more attractive.” He grabbed her hand. “I want to take you home to Lilinor.”

“There’s just something I need to do first,” she said.

* * *

Taking to the air, Rosalind swooped over the burning building, the heat from the flames warming her body. Acrid smoke curled into the air as she flew, soaring over the palace remains to the amphitheater. In the center of the pit, iron stakes protruded from the ground. The earth around the ground had been blackened, a relic of the people they’d burned in the center of the bit. By Drew’s side, she’d stared at these stakes, with a dull horror throbbing beneath the ice floes of her mind.

She didn’t know how many people had died here, but because she had Cleo’s memories fluttering in the back of her mind, she could imagine the terror they’d felt, the indescribable pain. Randolph had wanted to burn her here, when they’d finished with her. After they’d forced her to bear Drew’s children for the empire.

This place needed to die, too, and the Brotherhood’s followers needed to see once and for all that Blodrial’s cult was not the answer, that he protected no one.

As she soared, she rallied the magic of Azazeyl, letting it vibrate over her skin in white light. For a few glorious moments, she felt the seven gods uniting within her, whole again. The seven merged in the air—the rocks and sea, storms and forests, darkness, fire, and blood—mingling together once more.

She swooped lower over the pit, magic bursting from her body, streaming from her fingertips into the center of the amphitheater. The pit, the iron stakes, the stone—they exploded in a blaze light. Fragments of rock and dirt rained around her, clouding into the air.

Rosalind soared through the debris, leaving the ruined pit behind her until she swooped through the clear air above. She was heading back for Caine, just as rays of amber sunlight pierced the clouds.

She’d take him home now—back to Lilinor, where her sister lay beneath the earth. Where the sun could rise, and Rosalind could sleep safety in Caine’s arms, listening to his heart beat.

She found him waiting for her on the battlefield, his silver eyes piercing the clouds of smoke, standing by Malphas’s side, each holding the body of a fallen soldier. She landed hard on the muddy earth, her magic flickering in her gut. She leaned down, scooping up the body of a slain soldier—a fae with a long, golden beard and silver armor. She heaved him over her shoulder. Between Malphas and Caine, she walked toward the river, back toward their home.

When she reached the edge of the Charles, the three of them summoned their shadow magic, opening the portal to their home. Their shadow magic coiled together in silver streams, and Rosalind felt Lilinor pulling her in, like a gravitational force. Gripping the body of the fallen soldier, she leapt into the portal, plunging deep beneath the icy water.

She drifted beneath the surface, her mind rolling over images of the girl she’d once been: the lost girl, at the river’s edge, watching her parents die. The Hunter, lured in by the promise of ridding the world of evil. What would that girl have thought of the woman today, who’d slaughtered Hunters by the droves?

Clutching the fae’s body in her arms, she sank deeper into the river. Was she really human at all anymore? She wasn’t sure if it mattered at all.

Chapter 37

In Lilinor, the sun streamed through the yew’s boughs, dappling the cemetery grasses with dancing flecks of gold. Rosalind breathed in the lush scent of spring—somehow, it was always spring in Lilinor, the grasses always blanketed in bluebells and cowslips.

Further over the gentle hill, Lilinor’s demons were laying out a feast across the Gelal Fields. Only a few of Lilinor’s soldiers wanted to return to their vampiric form after the battle. The rest, it seemed, had enjoyed the sunlight and the corn dogs too much to revert to their vampire forms—at least for now.

So while a handful of vampires stayed in the depths of the fortress during the daylight hours, the rest of Lilinor strolled through the tall grasses in the sun, eating and drinking under the silvery shield of shadow magic.

Rosalind leaned back among the bluebells, breathing in the fresh spring air. She plucked a wildflower from the ground, twirling it in her fingers. Cleo had been lingering among the wildflowers the night her world had ended, when she’d been waiting for Ambrose. With a flicker of surprise, Rosalind realized that Cleo had gone quieter recently, melding into her own mind as a part of her. Somehow, even with two souls and the magic of seven gods, Rosalind felt whole again.

A breeze rustled the yew leaves, toying with the bells, and through their chimes, Rosalind thought she could hear her sister whispering through them, telling her all the things she wanted. We’ll 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...

Footfalls crunched over the path, and Rosalind turned to see Tammi and Aurora walking toward her through the tall grass, weaving between gravestones. Aurora wore sunglasses, shielding her eyes from the glaring light. She wore a shimmering blue dress, her gray valkyrie wings trailing behind her. She really made a stunning valkyrie.

Tammi’s silver hair cascaded over a red dress, resplendent in the morning light, and she carried Owen on her hip. The little human child, his cheeks now full and round.

Rosalind smiled. “Hello ladies! And Owen!”

Aurora plopped next to her, a flask in her hand. “We thought you might be here.”

Tammi sat next to them, and Owen stood, staring at the tree.

“I was just paying Miranda a visit,” said Rosalind.

“Why?” said Owen.

Rosalind took a deep breath. “I don’t know. It just makes me feel better.”

He stared at her. “Why?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, Owen.”

Tammi reached up, brushing her fingers over the shimmering ribbon that read Miranda. “This was sort of her dream, wasn’t it? A safe place, shielded by magic, where she could make a home with us.”

Tears stung Rosalind’s eyes. This had been Miranda’s dream. Abominatonia, a sunlit city of demons and freaks. “If Drew hadn’t killed her, she’d have everything she wanted now. Everything she deserved.”

“You’re still alive,” said Tammi. “And we both have very long lives ahead of us. We will just have to make the most of them.”

“And how do you intend to do that?” asked Aurora.

Tammi cocked her head. “I’m going to start with seducing the fae chef who made those hush puppies I ate this morning.”

Aurora unscrewed the top of her flask, before sighing and closing it again. “I don’t think I can keep drinking whiskey all day. It doesn’t feel quite right in the sunlight, especially with the kid here. And I don’t think my valkyrie body fancies it as much.”

“So what will you do with the daylight hours?” asked Rosalind.

“I was thinking of forming a goth band, with black and white clown makeup.” Aurora scratched her cheek, mulling it over. “Do you think a valkyrie can be a goth?”

“Anyone can be a goth,” said Rosalind, her voice deadly serious. “You just need lots of fishnets, I think.”

Aurora nodded, frowning. “I’m learning to play synth.”

Tammi sighed. “I can’t plan beyond the fae chef, to be honest. Since this all began in May, everything seemed to happen so fast. I feel like, one minute we were at Thorndike’s campus, getting ready for a party. The next thing I know, we’re living in a vampire city with a demon army. And I kind of like it.” Tammi pointed at Rosalind. “Plus, you’re apparently a goddess, with a lover who happens to be the hottest man who has ever walked the earth.”

Rosalind shook her head. “Don’t call me a goddess. I’m going to get a big head.”

“Well then you’d be a perfect match for Caine. Speaking of which, I think he was looking for you.”

Rosalind rose, brushing the dust off her black pants. As she walked through the grass, some of Caine’s memories flitted through her mind—Stolas in his arms, Malphas pleading with him for help. The starlight gleaming through the cherry trees.

She swallowed hard, thinking of the day when her parents had died. The place where Tammi began the story at Thorndike wasn’t the real start. It had begun in Maremount, that terrifying and beautiful place where she’d started her life. It had begun in blood and madness, in the darkness and the rain when Caine had killed her parents, and it ended here in the quiet light of day. Across the Gelal Fields, demons milled around in vibrant colors, gilded in the sunlight. They were feasting on an array of foods: barbecued chicken, mashed potatoes, chocolate cakes. No wonder they hadn’t wanted to become vamps again.

As Rosalind walked deeper into the Gelal Fields, she caught a glimpse of Erish and Ambrose, striding side by side by the blackthorn grove. Erish looked at her husband with an expression of absolute worship, touching his cheek. Looks like they’re no longer trying to kill each other.

She found Caine standing by Malphas, by the lone sycamore tree where they’d once stood, summoning their shadow magic to build the shield together, where their memories had seeped into her mind.

As she moved closer, she studied the two brothers—the dark and the light. Malphas had once said of Rosalind and Miranda that he’d loved them both, and that’s how she felt about these two brothers. She loved them and needed them both, in different ways, but Caine truly had her heart.

Malphas turned as he saw her approaching, and his silver eyes met hers for a moment. He bowed to her, then walked away, taking her approach as his cue to leave.

Caine watched Rosalind walk over to him, his eyes lingering over her body, the way they always did.

She smiled. “I heard you were looking for me?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, sunlight bathing his skin in amber. “It’s nothing urgent. It’s just that I believe we agreed to a plan, whereby if we survived the battle, we would spend the rest of our days naked in my room.”

Rosalind nodded. “I don’t remember that plan.”

“I’m sure we made it.” His face grew serious. “I told you, I want to make a home with you.”

“Cherry trees in the stars.”

He nodded. “Will you miss being human?”

She shook her head. “I feel human when I’m with you.”

“Funny that. I thought the same thing about you.”

Rosalind stared into his eyes—the irises pale silver, rimmed by a deep pewter, the black lashes framing it all, and in them, she could see his darkest memories still flickered there, still haunted him. She cupped his face, breathing in his delicious scent of peat and lightning storms.

His breath warmed the shell of her ear. “So what’s next for us?”

“Maybe we need to free ourselves from our old memories, and make new ones. We need to make our own world.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, moving in close enough to feel his heart beating against her chest.

“Yes,” he whispered. “We make our own world. We write our own stories.”

Rosalind stood on her tiptoes, letting her body brush against his. Whatever happened to them next, she would follow him to the ends of the earth, and into the seven hells. And she knew he would do the same for her—the two orphaned monsters whose bodies glowed like starlight when they embraced.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading the Vampire’s Mage series.

For more of the dark, seductive world of C.N. Crawford, please check out the best-selling Dark Fae FBI series.

Also by C.N. Crawford

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Acknowledgments

We’d like to thank our wonderful editors Tammi Labreque and Robin Marcus, and our cover designer Mirella Santana. We also thank our ARC team, Crawford’s Coven, and Author’s Corner for their inspiration and moral support. As always, I’d like to thank Mike Omer/Alex Rivers for his feedback and moral support.

About the Author

C. N. Crawford is not one person but two. We write our novels collaboratively, passing our laptops back and forth to edit each other's words.

Christine (C) grew up in Lexington, Massachusetts and has a lifelong interest in local folklore - with a particular fondness for creepy old cemeteries. Nick (N) spent his childhood reading fantasy and science fiction during Vermont's long winters.

In addition to writing fiction, we love to hear from our readers. Come join us in C.N. Crawford’s Coven if you want to hang out with other urban fantasy readers! https://www.facebook.com/groups/cncrawford/

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cn@cncrawford.com

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