Vampire Mage by Rosemary A Johns

Author:Rosemary A Johns [Johns, Rosemary A]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-01-07T16:00:00+00:00

15

If I could’ve bleached away the view of Wynter Sister the First slowly pulling down Rebel’s red bondage pants and batting at the silver skull chained to it like it was a kitty toy, whilst Rebel stood trapped on his pedestal, then I would’ve done.

But I wouldn’t have plucked out my eyes. A bitch wasn’t crazy.

Wynter Sister the Second’s talons were still poised over my eyeballs like a threat. My eyes felt dry and itchy; the air stung them, until tears collected in their edges.

I’d never known your eyes could be held to ransom.

I could still summon up, however, the death glare. “Oh look, it’s the Enchantress.”

Wynter Sister the Second’s grey eyes narrowed. There wasn’t a mark on her from Ash’s shot to her guts. With her wavy black hair and porcelain skin, she looked like a china doll that was desperate to star in Chucky. Her sister was a study in opposites: fair hair and sky-blue eyes. Their outfits were identical: crimson lace dresses. Except, the sister who had her claws out was also power dressing in a black wolf fur coat, just as I’d joked to Rahab.

Yeah, maybe I should be the one who was gagged.

They both could’ve been Jade’s age, except if you caught them just right, their masks wavered: they were as powerful as Mischief and as old as Ash.

We were screwed.

Hadn’t Rahab said no one had completed the Mage’s Challenge? How many Mages had he sent here to suffer — die — at the hands of the Wynter sisters?

I glanced at the clothes all around the tower, which were like the soft lining of a coffin. Wynter Sister the First blinked her reptilian eyes, rubbing Rebel’s trousers down her cheek, before folding and adding them to the closest pile on top of his leather jacket.

I drew in my breath. We were buried in the clothes of the transformed familiars and the dead.

And we were next.

Mischief still lay unmoving and silent. I couldn’t let myself think…that…about him.

Please, hell, let him not be poisoned.

Mischief had to be OK because anything else tore my insides, as the silver stormed in a savage sea, brutal and raging even at the thought.

When had Mischief become so essential to me? His connection wasn’t the same as my one with Rebel, Ash, or even Drake. It ran deeper: a part of me like my new magic.

I didn’t understand it, and as the truth he’d spoken had made clear: neither did he. Yet we needed each other. He didn’t treat me as a queen, but when I didn’t yet know what he was to have such power, I didn’t hate him for that. Instead, I loved him.

Hell, I loved him.

Panting, I clenched my fists. “Before you have your fun with my eyeballs, tell me what was in that water?”

Wynter Sister the Second raised her eyebrow. “The monster loves the mage.” I flushed. “Fear not, child, he only sleeps. The water was a test, and what deliciously agonising truths your slaves spilled. Except for the mage, who hid his secrets because all nasty mages do, you know.

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