She stood on a narrow lane, constructed entirely of stone. Pale moonflowers and gardenias hung from vines growing on the buildings that surrounded her, as though nature were trying to reclaim its domain.
But something drew her gaze upward: a steep-peaked castle stood on a high rocky hill, bathed in silvery moonlight. The towering gothic palace loomed over the land. What the hell…?
She couldn’t breathe. She hadn’t taken a portal to Caine’s house, or even his dungeon. She’d transported herself to another world. Everyone had heard the legends, but she’d never believed them to be true.
Maremount, Mount Acidale, Lilinor… What if these mythical places were real? And what if she’d just leapt into one of the demon realms? If that were the case, she needed to get the hell out of here. Fast. She could fight one or two demons—in theory. But she wasn’t ready to fight a whole demon realm.
Her imagination roamed free, and her mind spun with all the horrifying things she could remember about demons. Some killed fast, and others savored their victims’ agony, plucking apart the sinews and muscle like artists of gore.
At this point, only two things were certain: she was a complete idiot for plunging through the portal, and she should have stayed with the grim reaper.
She hugged herself, overcome by a sudden urge to plunge back into the cemetery. But when she glanced back into the fountain, all the water had disappeared.
Her world tilted; it felt like all the blood drained from her head. What the hell had she just done? Sure, she was probably safe from the Brotherhood here, but she wasn’t safe from anything else. In fact, she’d just thrown herself right into the monster’s lair. She really needed to find Caine now, assuming he still wanted to keep her alive.
She swallowed hard and took a tentative step, her teeth chattering. If she were lucky, she’d thrown herself into the mage’s realm. Which one is that? Maremount, maybe. At least, that’s what Josiah had once told her.
As she stepped over the damp cobblestones, cold fear washed over her skin. There was no sign of Caine in the city’s dark shadows, and she felt none of his dark magic caressing her skin. She reached for the flamethrower at her belt.
She needed to master her fear and plan strategically, practically. It was what Josiah would tell her to do—at least, after he’d finished going apoplectic at her current situation. Gods, she wished he were here.
Think, Rosalind. Since Caine was a shadow mage, he was aligned with the night god. So were the vamps. Hadn’t Josiah said something about a vampire kingdom? Lilinor, perhaps? If that’s where she’d come, she would soon meet her parents’ fate.
Mentally, she tallied the weapons in her belt. If she had to face vamps, her gun would be useless. Silver bullets were fantastic against some monsters, but silver was the night god’s element. Contrary to popular belief, vampires and incubi actually liked silver. It made them stronger.
No, if this was Lilinor, she’d need her flamethrower, the one remaining hawthorn stake, and maybe the iron dust. That alone could cause intense pain to any magical creature.
She just needed to stop the damn shaking in her hands if she wanted to use a weapon.
She tiptoed over the old cobblestones. As she followed the narrow alley into a town square, she suppressed the urge to scream for Caine at the top of her lungs. He was her best chance at survival, but she couldn’t draw attention.
She sniffed the air. Her ears pricked as something rustled nearby, and she pulled the stake from her belt, followed by the flamethrower.
Thud.
She spun, just as two pale vamps leapt to the street. A giant, ginger-haired man stood next to a raven-haired woman.
No hesitating this time, Rosalind.
“Well, look here,” the man said. “A human, offering herself up to us.”
“I can see her veins through that shirt, pumping blood,” the woman said.
Rosalind pressed the button, unleashing the flames, and the vampires scuttled back, clothes blazing.
Someone grabbed her hair from behind, and Rosalind slammed her elbow into the monster’s ribs before reaching for the stake. She spun, ramming the wood into another female vamp’s heart. As the creature turned to ash, Rosalind snatched her stake from the dust heap.
“She murdered Domenica!” someone shrieked.
Rosalind whirled at the sound of footfalls, and jammed the wood into another vamp’s chest.
They were on her like a plague of locusts, and before she could even get to her feet again, one of them grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms in a vice-like grip. He ripped the stake from her hands, then spun her around and slammed her up against the wall. Her back cracked against the stone. As he pinned her arms above her head, the vamp’s sharp nails pierced her wrists. Revulsion spread through her. This is how Mom and Dad died.