The vamp’s hair was long and black, flowing over his shoulders, and his eyes blazed blood red. “She’s looking for someone strong. She wants me to keep her as my pet. She came here because she wanted it.”
Rosalind burned with anger. The vamp’s vise-like grip dug into her arms, and he pressed his body against hers. Vampires were lusty creatures, but the look in this one’s eye screamed something more like “sex offender.”
As he sniffed her neck, her legs flailed. Her kicks to his shins did nothing. His cold tongue shot out of his mouth, and he licked her neck, moaning.
Freaking vile. Rage exploded in her mind and she rammed her knee right up into his groin. She heard a pained grunt, and his hands loosened just long enough for her to free herself. She whipped the iron dust from her belt, spraying it on the small crowd of vampires.
Their screams pierced the quiet, and her stomach turned as the scent of burning flesh filled the air. Four vamps, blazing like torches—all except the raven-haired vamp, who turned on her again as his buddies turned to ash.
Her mouth went dry. The screams would only lure more vamps. How the hell was she supposed to master her fear in this situation? It’s not like any human could hack her way out of a demon realm.
“What the hell is going on?” A deep voice interrupted from the shadows.
The vampire’s head whipped around, and he gaped as Caine stepped into the moonlight.
Caine’s voice was cold and steady. “Were you trying to kill this girl?”
“She belongs to me, sir.” The vamp licked his lips. “She murdered five of Ambrose’s soldiers. I’m going to play with her a while, and drink her slowly. I’d like to keep her as a pet.”
Caine’s raven circled his head. Ice tinged his voice. “Step away from her, Horace. Ambrose wants her alive.”
Horace’s lip curled. “But, sir. She came into our world. That means she wants to be my pet. She wouldn’t have sought us out if she didn’t want us.”
“I already told you not to touch her.” Caine flicked his fingertips at the vamp.
Horace’s body lurched, his neck arching backward at an awkward angle. The silent square filled with the sounds of snapping and crunching bones, then Horace’s agonized screams. When Caine lowered his hand again, the screams faded to a whimper.
Horace crumpled to the ground.
Rosalind gaped. Seven hells. Remind me never to get on his bad side—if I’m not already.
Caine crossed to her, his eyes flashing. In fact, he looked like he might rip her head off. “What exactly do you think you’re doing here? Please don’t tell me you’ve got everything under control again.”
She straightened. “I’m looking for answers. My life just fell apart within the span of an hour, and I want to know why. You apparently know a thing or two about it.” Her voice rose in volume. He scared the wits out of her, but she had nothing left to lose. And what good was living when your life was over? “I want to know who you are, and who I am, and why everyone thinks I’m a witch. And you’re going to tell me.” For once, she kept the tremble out of her voice.
Caine’s predatory gaze slid over her transparent shirt, and she remembered what Josiah had told her: to someone like Caine, other humans existed only to satisfy their depraved desires.
“You can’t stay here,” he said. “We’re going to see Ambrose. We’ll talk on the way.”
We’ll talk. So he was going to tell her something. “And who is Ambrose?”
“The Lord of this realm. And considering you just slaughtered five vampires in his kingdom, he’s just about the only person who can save your life at this point.”
Chapter 7
Side by side, they crept through the city’s winding streets. Caine’s raven perched on his shoulder.
Rosalind suspected one thing: the angry set of Caine’s jaw suggested he regretted saving her life, or that he might hypnotize her to choke herself to death at any moment.
“Are we in the vampire realm?” she asked.
“Lilinor. I suppose you cleverly deduced that by the presence of all the vampires,” he said, his voice glacial. “How did you find me?”
The vampire’s mythical realm wasn’t so mythical, apparently. “I followed your magic.”
“How?” he demanded.
“It smells like rainstorms, and it leaves behind a silvery shimmer.”
He slid a disbelieving gaze at her. “You can see magic?”
“Yes. It’s what makes me a good Hunter.” She might have been overdoing the bragging, but something about his cocky attitude really irked her, and she wanted him to know she had her own talents.
“You didn’t look skilled when I first met you.”
Jerk. “My skills are not the problem. I just felt bad for the redcap for a fraction of a second. It’s called empathy. Something that most people have, unless magic has sapped your humanity.”
“That hesitation suggests a certain lack of skill. A lack of mastery over your own emotions.”
Awesome. So even in the demon realm, I’m getting lectured. “Do we have to have this conversation?”