Free vampires mage 02 - witch hunter by c n crawford

matching bra before pulling on the pants and shirt. The clothing hugged her body perfectly. She grabbed the boots from the armoire, pulling them up over her pants. Now I’m beginning to feel like myself.
    Conveniently, the pants came equipped with sheaths for the knives, and she grabbed several blades, sliding them in. She kept one in her hand as she crossed to the mirror in the bathroom.
    With a gasp, she surveyed herself in the mirror. Blood poured from ragged puncture holes in her neck, and now she had meth-head hair to match her tired eyes and face—half of it was cut off jaggedly at her chin, while the other half hung, partially frayed, over her shoulders.
    She gripped the knife, inspecting the blade. Sharp enough. With one hand, she pulled the long pieces into a ponytail, slicing off her tresses. I’m not the same girl I used to be. There’s no reason I should look like I am.
    Chunks of her glossy brown hair fell to the floor, and she stared at herself in the mirror. She looked like something from an apocalyptic nightmare.
    A grim smile curled her lips. But I also look like a warrior, and that’s what I need to be if I want to get Tammi back.
    Something rustled in the next room, and she ran in, her knife ready in her hand.
    One of the keres—the one she’d punched—sat up. The demoness hunched over, puking a stomach-full of crimson blood onto the stone floor. It occurred to Rosalind that at least some of that was her own blood, which made her stomach turn.
    She grimaced. She’d only been in the room about fifteen minutes, and already the place was covered in blood, vomit, and human hair. No one should ever invite me over as a houseguest.
    The ker wiped her mouth off on the back of her hand before looking around frantically. “Where are my blades?”
    “I took them.” Time for a little questioning. Rosalind knelt down, grabbing the demon by her throat and held the blade’s sharp edge to her jugular. The creature’s silver eyes looked glazed. Even if she’d had her weapons, she’d have been in no condition for a fight.
    “Tell me your name,” Rosalind commanded.
    The ker’s already pale face had gone completely white. “Bianca.”
    “Bianca. I need you to tell me what you know about at the massacre in Harvard Square tonight.”
    Bianca blinked. “I don’t know anything about it.”
    Rosalind fingers tightened on the hilt. “I don’t want to hurt you, Bianca. But I will if I have to. And since you did try to kill me, I won’t feel awful about it.”
    Bianca tried to inch away, but Rosalind gripped her hair tighter.
    “I don’t know about a massacre,” the ker stammered. “She keeps us in the dark. The literal dark.”
    “How many of you are there?”
    “Hundreds.”
    “What does she want with you?”
    “I don’t know?”
    Rosalind bit her lip, searching the demon’s eyes. She would do anything to protect people from another massacre—anything, perhaps, except torture. She’d tortured one demon before—Malphus—and he hadn’t even turned out to be the bad guy. That was enough guilt for a lifetime, not to mention the fact that a desperate person was likely to say anything to stop the pain.
    Still, even if she wasn’t going to torture Bianca, she needed the demon to fear her. She pushed the blade harder against the ker’s neck, the point just slightly piercing the skin. “Who sent you kill me?” She corrected herself. “I mean, to abduct me?”
    “Erish.”
    “Why?”
    “She plans to take you to your new master. Erish has lost her mind, I think.”
    “Who is the new master?”
    “I have no idea.” The corner of the ker’s mouth twitched as she answered, and Rosalind had the distinct impression she was lying.
    She’d come back to that one later. “How did Erish recruit you?”
    “You don’t understand what she’ll do to me if I tell you things. She’s changed,” Bianca hissed.
    Seven hells. Rosalind bared her teeth. “Maybe you should be afraid of what I’m going to