As he held the organ aloft, he let the warm gore trail down his forearm, feeling the life seep out of the arteries. There was no point in fighting it. He was a monster, an angel of death—just like Erish.
He tossed the heart to the ground and glanced at Rosalind, his real prey. She lay sprawled on the pavement, clutching her wounded throat. She stared up at him, eyes shining.
He hardly recognized her. She was stunning—flushed cheeks, full lips. Rain completely soaked her black Hunter’s clothes, and they clung to her curves. Right now, she looked a lot like prey.
Rosalind narrowed her eyes, and along with the fear he caught a glimpse of something more interesting. Defiance. She wouldn’t give in to him easily, and that only fueled his fascination.
Of course, she hadn’t felt his magic yet.
He whispered a spell under his breath, and his aura blazed, curling around her body as she gazed up at him. As the spell froze her limbs, fixing her in place, his gaze trailed down her chest. She breathed fast, her ribcage moving in and out like a panicked rabbit’s. The sound of her pattering heart stirred his demonic instincts. Something in the hollows of his mind told him to hunt, but it wasn’t death he wanted. He wanted to lure her into his world, to envelop her in darkness.
His eyes darted to the wound at her neck. Rain mixed with her blood, running in a river of pink down her throat. As she gaped at him, he almost wanted to reassure her, but that was absurd. Like him, she was here to hunt. If he let down his guard, she’d be his angel of death.
He forced himself to focus. Ambrose had told him to warn her. He whispered another spell—this one to heal the bleeding wound at her neck. She gasped, and surprise washed over her features. She’d been expecting to die at his hands.
She rose, her legs trembling, trying to control her fear. She pulled a metal canister from her belt and pointed it at his face. Still defiant, even when confronted with my immense power.
He eyed her weapon. “Purgator dust.”
He could almost see the internal struggle written on her features—her desperate attempts to hide her fear. But even if she wore a mask of calm, there was raw terror pulsing off her—the metallic scent of cortisol and adrenaline that sent his demonic heart galloping.
She gazed into his eyes, her stare unwavering. “It’s my job to catch monsters.”
Lilu, his raven, circled overhead before perching on his shoulder.
She knows I’m a monster. Truth be told, he was probably far worse than she imagined— yet her high-handed declaration irritated him. Nothing had changed since she was a snobby little girl in the Atherton household. To her, the world was simple and ordered. Some people were simply better than others. So what if he was a monster? The Brotherhood weren’t any better. “You think I’m a monster. Why am I not surprised?”
She hadn’t mentioned his name, and he was fairly certain at this point she had no idea who he was. The fact he was a mage was enough to provoke her disdain.
“Well, yeah.” Her hand shook as she held the can up to his face. Something was stopping her from pushing the button. “Do you kill Hunters like me?”
“Hunters, yes.” A twisted part of him delighted in the fact that she was about to learn she was one of the monsters. “But not like you.” He could take her aside and explain it to her gently, but that would take the fun out of it. After all, even though he wasn’t going to rip her throat out like the redcap would have, he was still a demon. Like a cat playing with a mouse, he wanted to draw out the kill. Torture her a little bit.
“What are you talking about?” Her eyes roamed over him, and he could see a spark of desire warring with her other emotions. A part of her wanted him—how could she not? And she hated herself for it. “You hardly seem human anymore.”
You hardly seem grateful. “And yet I just saved your life.”
“I didn’t need your help.” She thrust out her chin, trying to project confidence. “I had it under control.”
She must be joking. “That’s not how it looked. He was gnawing at your jugular.”
“I was lulling him into a false sense of security.”
Her hands shook, and he almost wanted to pull her close, to soothe her.
“I was preparing to attack,” she said.
The streetlight glinted off her metallic ring, and his gaze flicked to fingers. Ah. Now it makes sense—a ring from the Brotherhood. It would suppress her aura entirely. “An iron ring. That’s how you stay sane.”
Her pulse raced below her skin. When she looked into his eyes, her heart beat faster, and her pupils dilated. Even if she was terrified, she liked what she saw.
“What are you talking about?” she breathed.
He stepped closer, his eyes trailing over her smooth skin, down to her heaving chest and wet clothes. Too bad Erish had murdered Alice, because he was having a hard time controlling himself. She’s Rosalind Atherton, he reminded himself. You knew her when she was four. And she’s a Hunter.