“We can’t leave her anywhere until I erase some of her memories,” Caine shot back. “She could still run to the Brotherhood with everything she knows, in the hopes of making a deal.”
Rosalind scowled. She really hated that whole memory-erasing idea. “I’m not taking off the ring again until I can get this spirit out.”
Caine looked her over, his gaze lingering on her skin. “It’s fine. With the tattoos, she can pass as a mage. As long as she can manage to refrain from lecturing everyone about morality for the next twenty minutes.”
“We’ll just go in and ask about the sybil, right?” Rosalind asked.
“No,” Caine said. “You don’t want to launch right into the sybil thing. It’s never good to let vampires know you’re desperate. It gives them power over you. We’ll blend in, get some food, act like normal shadow mages, and then casually ask Jorge about the sybil.”
“Little problem,” Aurora said. “She doesn’t smell like a mage.”
Caine arched an eyebrow. “Mages don’t have a smell.”
“Yours is like fresh earth,” Aurora said. “A bit of peat and some sage. I think that part belongs to you. But the magic has its own scent. Anyone who’s conducted Angelic spells in the past several days smells like a lightning storm and singed air.”
Rosalind furrowed her brow. “Are you telling me I need to smell like ozone?”
Aurora shrugged. “If you don’t want the vampires to kill you, you need to smell like Caine. Or you need to take off the ring and do one little magical spell. Or we can leave you outside and chain you to the pier.”
Rosalind’s eyes widened. “I’m not just being stubborn. I’m afraid of losing my freaking mind. This witch’s soul is like an inferno. It’s completely warped, and I don’t even want to know what it would do if I let her out. It wouldn’t be pretty. I think in that case I’d be the one ripping out throats.”
“Fine. So rub up against Caine.” Aurora flicked a hand at the mage before staring at Rosalind again. “Don’t look at me like that! You don’t know how many pedestrian girls would pay good money for that.”
“She’s not lying,” Caine said, with a small shrug.
Aurora sighed. “Bollocks. I fed the ego.”
Rosalind took a tentative step and a deep breath. The thought of getting close to Caine sent her pulse racing, though she wasn’t sure if that was because he was a demon from the shadow hell, or because he looked like a Greek god. “Rub up against Caine? You have got to be kidding me.”
Caine flashed a half-smile. “Given your well-established appreciation of my beauty—”
“The scent is strongest on the neck,” Aurora cut in. “And don’t pretend to be disgusted, Rosalind. I can hear both your pulses racing.”
Rosalind glanced away, cheeks burning, though she wasn’t even sure why she cared what they thought. She was a Hunter, for crying out loud, and this was all part of a mission for the Brotherhood—albeit, a severely screwed up mission. Caine was just part of the job, a means to an end.
In the silence, the only sound was water lapping against the pier. “Right. It’s just a body. Just two bodies, coming together…” Had she really just said that out loud? Rosalind, you absolute moron. Please stop talking.
Aurora rolled her eyes. “Are you going to do this weird babbling all night? If I get any hungrier, your pedestrian smell will no longer be a problem.”
Chilled by the ocean breeze, Rosalind rubbed her tattoo-covered arms. “Right.”
“Because I would have eaten you,” added Aurora for emphasis. “Not an expression.”
“Yeah. I got that." Rosalind stepped closer to Caine, her heart thumping. Just part of her mission. Her shockingly, wildly fucked-up mission, completely unsanctioned by the Brotherhood, who wanted to arrest her. Or possibly kill her. This was the mission of a demon-infected Hunter gone rogue.
What would Josiah make of all this?
Aurora threw her arms up in the air. “Ugh. I’ll give you two some privacy. I’m going in for a drink before I murder you both.” She stalked away over the pier.
Rosalind stepped closer to Caine. Moonlight bathed his skin in milky light. With his tousled hair and sharp cheekbones, he really was stunning—obnoxiously so, in fact. As a mage, he was supposed to look like a withered hag… but if he was a demon, maybe that explained his otherworldly beauty.
He held out his hand, and she took it, edging closer to his body. Wordlessly, he lifted her wrist to his warm neck, pressing it against his smooth skin. In the night air, she could feel the heat coming off his muscled body, the blood pulsing fast in his veins. As she stood close to him, a strange thrill whispered over her skin, and she had to restrain herself from closing the last few inches between them.
He’s not human, she reminded herself. He’s a predator.
She cleared her throat. “I saw your eyes change earlier. When you were angry.”
“Yes.”
“It happens to demons. You’re not human.” It seemed an oddly personal conversation—yet she was standing here, pressing her wrist against his throat. Might as well get to know him.
“I’m half demon.”