vampires mage 02 - witch hunter by c n crawford Page B

approached.
    “Sir—” one of them began.
    But Caine merely whispered a spell, flicking his wrist. The vampires fell to the ground. Caine never broke his pace.
    “Are they dead?” Rosalind asked, stepping over a guard.
    “No.” He led her to another corridor of cells. “But they probably should be. This could never have happened without their knowledge. I’ll let Ambrose decide their fates.”
    As they entered another long corridor of iron cells, the prisoners’ arms began their frantic, desperate grasping again, and Rosalind tried to block them out. Still, their screams—full of hunger—cut to the bone.
    As they approached the end of the corridor, Rosalind fixed her gaze on the ground, but even without lifting her head she knew they were getting closer to their target. A faint smell of charcoal wafted past her, a darkening of the dust particles that floated around them, a faint feeling of thin wires brushing over her skin. Ker auras.
    “There’s nothing here,” Caine said. “Can you sense anything?”
    “Yes. Give me a minute.” Rosalind tried to block out a banging noise from her left. She stared at the air around her hands, swirling with faint wisps of black that brushed over her skin. She raised her fingers into the air, studying them closely, and the wisps grew thinner. Bang. Bang. Bang.
    “It’s coming from below,” she whispered. She crouched down, watching the darkening of the air around her fingers, smelling the air thickening with charcoal. She shifted onto her hands and knees.
    “I’m quite admiring the view,” Caine said.
    “It’s coming from the ground.” She brushed the earth back and forth. When she’d cleared away half an inch of earth, she caught a glimpse of wood.
    Caine knelt beside her, helping her to clear it off. “And this is why I need you around.”
    Rosalind brushed and scraped away the dirt with her hands, keeping her eyes on the ground, still trying to ignore the slamming noise to her left—a sound like metal slamming against metal, accompanied by agonized screams. Bang, bang, bang. This place was awful. Bang. Bang.
    Together, they cleared the wooden surface, and Caine dug his fingers down, pulling up a square of wood. He let it slam onto the ground next to them, a cloud of dirt puffing into the air. Coughing in the dust, he peered down into a narrow, earthen hole.
    Bang. Bang.
    “It’s about a twelve-foot drop,” Caine said. “I’m going to jump in first and make sure it’s safe. Then you can follow.”
    Bang. Bang. Bang.
    Caine sat at the edge of the hole, then jumped. She peered down at him as he landed, still trying to block out that cacophony behind her. Bang. Bang. She was about to lose her mind. Unable to control her curiosity anymore, she glanced at the source of the noise. A male vamp—middle-aged, with frizzy gray hair—slammed his forehead against the bars, his face streaming with blood. His cracked skull was visible through his forehead.
    “Fucking hell,” she muttered. I want to get the hell out of here. Now. “Caine?”
    Uttering a spell, Caine sparked another glowing sphere, which cast pale light on an earthen space. He looked up at her. “I don’t see any immediate threats. Jump.”
    She sat at the edge of the hole, dangling her legs over, and then let herself drop. Caine caught her around the waist. Her body slid against his as he lowered her; her pulse raced as her bare skin brushed against his thin shirt. His strong fingers lingered on her waist a little longer than they needed to, and an electric rush tingled over her skin. She met his gaze, and for a second she nearly forgot what they were doing.
    “The keres,” he muttered, as if reading her mind.
    She nodded, stepping away. “Right.” She surveyed this new space: a narrow, earthen tunnel, lit only by Caine’s sphere of light. The air down here was stale—full and heavy with mold—and she had the uncomfortable feeling that the ceiling might collapse at any moment, burying them