A chilly wind rustled the leaves, and the moonlight shone on a tombstone’s etching. The Lord of Terror. Even for someone used to hunting demons, she was getting the creeps.
The breeze brought with it the scent of thunderstorms and wet grass, and the hair rising on the back of her arms told her that a powerful aura lurked nearby.
She followed a winding path that led to the water, catching the smell of burnt air—Caine’s magic. She just needed to home in on it.
She crept closer to the pond, drawn by his powerful aura. Anyone could sense magic, if they knew how to tune in to the right vibrations, but Rosalind could actually see it too. As far as she knew, no other Hunter had that ability. It was the reason she was born for the Brotherhood.
Goose bumps prickled on her skin as she drew closer to a row of mausoleums overlooking the water. Caine’s sensual magic lingered around one of the crypts, nestled among the oak and beeches, pulling her closer.
As she rubbed her arms in the chilly spring air, she approached the arched crypt. Its door hung slightly open, and the crypt walls glowed, faintly silver. This was the one. Caine lurked inside; gods knew why. Probably the entrance to a personal dungeon.
The magic rippled off the stony walls in waves, skimming over her skin. It called to her, sucking her in like the gravitational pull of a black hole.
As she pushed open the metal door, it let out a loud creaking noise that echoed off a high, peaked ceiling. Empty. What the hell? He’d definitely come in here. She could still smell his magic and see the lingering glow.
Faint moonlight reached the interior of the crypt, highlighting marble walls and glinting off a deep pool of dark water in the center of the crypt. What is a giant puddle doing in a mausoleum?
A powerful aura rolled off it, smelling of ozone—Caine’s magic. White-hot excitement surged in her veins. As with everything to do with mages, this mausoleum wasn’t exactly as it seemed.
It was a portal.
Of course a mage wouldn’t bother with a motorcycle when a portal could get him where he wanted instantly.
Her heart clenched. If she wanted to follow him through, she’d need to act now. Portals didn’t last forever.
There was a chance this one would take her right to Caine, and she could confront him to get the answers she wanted. There was also the possibility that he’d fly into a lethal rage. Plunging through the portal meant crossing an obvious boundary. And if she angered him, she’d suffer a slow and painful death at his hands.
Then again, he’d obviously spared her life for a reason. It was just like Josiah said. She needed to master her fear to get what she wanted. And what she wanted right now, more than anything, was answers.
The shadow mage held the key not only to her present life disasters, but to her past. He was the only remaining thread to her golden childhood memories, before the demons had ruined everything.
She gritted her teeth. The idea of jumping into a cold pool of water at the bottom of a crypt ranked only marginally higher than spending a night with Crypt Guy. She twisted the lucky ring around her finger, wondering what Tammi would tell her to do. She was pretty sure what Tammi would tell her not to do, starting with “don’t follow a psychotic mage through a pool of water in the bottom of a crypt.” Tammi was practical like that.
But if Rosalind took the practical route, she’d never find out the truth about herself. She’d never find out if Caine knew something more about her past, or why everyone thought she was a witch.
After sucking in a breath, she took a step forward, and leapt into the icy water.
Chapter 6
She plunged deep into the frigid water, the cold piercing her skin. Immediately, she regretted her choice. The pool was far deeper than she’d expected.
Frantically, she kicked her legs to return to the surface, but the shock of the chill disoriented her. For a moment, she couldn’t tell which way was up or down, and she flailed in the murky water, her pulse racing.
At last, her head pierced the surface; she tried to suck in air, but the frigid water had frozen her muscles.
Breathe, Rosalind.
As she blinked, waiting for the world to come in focus, she gasped. She was floating in a stone fountain, and her body shook from the cold. Above her, water flowed from the mouth of a stone woman in a torn dress. Rosalind clambered to the fountain’s edge, hoisting herself out of the water onto a cobblestone street. The air smelled of jasmine and sandalwood.
Where the hell was she?
The force of the magical aura sickened her, seeping into her skull like a poisonous miasma. She doubled over, retching. Good thing she’d skipped dinner.
Freezing, she rubbed her arms, trying to catch her breath. Her white shirt now clung to her skin, her blue bra showing through the sodden fabric. Great.