Page 14 of Oath of Blood and Joy

I met her gaze, allowing some of my mask to slip so she could see the steel beneath. My jaw tightened as memories of the chaos we’d left behind flickered through my mind. “We couldn’t save them. Our only objective was to get you out.” I took a step toward her, unable to resist the pull she exerted on me, watching as she struggled not to retreat further. Something inside me both exulted in and hated her fear—the predator and the protector at war within me.

Her purple bruise caught the dim light of the houseboat, the discoloration stark against her fair skin. Something primal stirred within me, a darkness rising from deep in my core. My vision sharpened, the edges of the room taking on a reddish tint as rage coursed through my veins like liquid fire. “Who hit you?” The words came out as a low growl, barely recognizable as my own voice. No one hurts what is mine. The thought hammered through my mind with each beat of my heart, a truth I couldn’t deny even if I wanted to.

She looked down as if embarrassed, her lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks. The scent of her shame mingled with lingering fear, creating a complex aroma that made my nostrils flare. “Marsha,” she whispered, one hand unconsciously rising to touch the bruise before falling away. “I didn’t want to wear this... dress.”

It was definitely too revealing. Her breasts struggled not to spill out of the low cut dress and a slit went up to the top of her thigh, exposing skin that seemed to glow in the soft lamplight. I forced my gaze away, jaw clenching so hard I could hear my own teeth-grinding. Every instinct screamed to cover her, to shield what others had tried to display like merchandise. My fingers twitched with the impulse to drape my jacket overher shoulders, but I held back, not wanting to frighten her with sudden movements.

Marsha was a sadist, a sadist that needed to be punished—enforcer style. The thought of her hands on Joy, causing pain, marking what was mine, sent a tremor of fury through me that I struggled to contain. I took a deep breath, trying to rein in the beast that clawed at my insides, demanding retribution.

“But why just rescue me? Why not the other girls? I’m no better than they are.” She trembled slightly, guilt shadowing her features as she wrapped her arms around herself.

“Because you’re Serenity’s best friend and Angelo ordered me to find you.” That was true but there was so much more, more that I wasn’t sure she was ready to hear. My chest tightened with the effort of holding back the words that threatened to spill out. I inhaled, smelling jasmine and rain on her skin. The bayou had left its subtle mark on her scent, filling my senses and calling to something primal within me that I fought to keep chained. Each beat of her heart seemed to echo in my own body, a maddening rhythm I couldn’t escape.

Not yet.

She sat down on the red leather couch in the living room, the leather creaking softly beneath her weight. Her fingers traced absent patterns on the armrest, her gaze drifting to the dark water visible through the houseboat’s window. “Is Serenity nearby? Is she safe?”

“She’s at Crescent Manor, married to the vampire mafia king.” I moved toward the large picture window, needing distance between us. The floorboards groaned beneath my feet, the sound mixing with the gentle lapping of water against the hull.

“She married him? Willingly?”

I winced at the disbelief coloring her tone as if Serenity had made a dreadful mistake. The judgment in it scraped against mynerves like sandpaper. My fangs pressed uncomfortably against my gums, a physical reaction to the challenge in her words that I couldn’t entirely suppress.

“Yes. They’re fated mates, destined to be together.” I turned to face her, my hands gripping the edge of the counter hard enough that the wood protested. “Do you have a problem with that?” The question came out sharper than I intended, heat rising up my neck.

“I don’t know.” She tilted her head, studying me with those impossibly deep eyes. “Does she love him?”

“That’s important to you?” I forced my grip to relax, aware of the indentations my fingers had left in the countertop.

“Yes. I never wanted myself or Serenity to be locked in a loveless marriage like Serenity’s mom had been. My parents’ marriage had been a storybook.” She lowered her head. “Until Mom died.” Her voice softened, a hint of vulnerability breaking through her defenses. The genuine emotion in her words sent an unexpected ache through my chest, a longing for something I’d never allowed myself to want.

Chapter Ten

Joy

I pulled my knees up to my chest and laid my cheek against them, unable to look at Enzo as the memory of my parents’ marriage and my mom’s death washed over me. I’d shared too much—made myself too vulnerable. Looking away, I surveyed my surroundings instead, needing the distraction.

The buttery leather felt cool against my bare skin, an uncomfortable reminder of how exposed I was. The living room was surprisingly spacious for a houseboat, stretching before me in unexpected luxury.

It had another matching couch across from me, its cushions perfectly arranged, and a large television set mounted on the wall that reflected the gentle swaying of water outside the windows. A gleaming mahogany bar stood in the corner, crystal decanters catching the warm light from recessed fixtures overhead, their smoky contents glowing like captured sunlight. The gentle rocking of the boat beneath me might have been soothing under different circumstances, but now it only emphasized how far from solid ground I truly was.

I stared longingly at a couple of blankets hanging over an ornate quilt rack near the window, their soft fabric promising comfort and dignity. If only I had the nerve to cross the room and cover myself. In this revealing dress, I might as well have been wearing nothing at all. My skin crawled with the fresh memory of men’s eyes appraising me like merchandise, their gazes leaving invisible stains I wasn’t sure would ever wash away. Enzo flicked his gaze over me and heat rushed to my cheeks, a mixture of shame and indignation burning beneath my skin.

We were here alone…or at least I thought we were alone. The houseboat creaked gently with the movement of water, the sound emphasizing our isolation. He could do anything he wanted and I’d be powerless to stop him. My heart raced painfully against my ribs, each beat a reminder of my helplessness. I went from one prison to another, trading stone walls for water barriers. But something about the way he kept his distance, the careful way he moved around me—like I was something fragile but valuable—gave me a flicker of hope. People weren’t all bad—I had to believe that, even now. That belief was the one thing they couldn’t take from me, no matter what happened next.

“Would you like to get out of that dress?”

My optimism was shattered and replaced with anger. I wrapped my arms tighter around me and lifted my chin in defiance. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

He grumbled under his breath, a flicker of frustration crossing his features before he controlled his expression. “That’s not what I meant.” He tilted his head toward a hallway, his dark eyes avoiding mine as if embarrassed by the misunderstanding. “Angelo has other dresses in his bedroom that might be less revealing.” He gestured with his hand, the movement stiff andawkward, so different from the lethal grace he’d displayed during the rescue. “You seem uncomfortable in that.”

I studied his face, searching for any sign of deception. My heart wanted to believe him—to trust that at least one person in this nightmare wasn’t trying to hurt me—but my mind remained cautious. Trust had been hard to come by in captivity, except for Zoe. The memory of her face as I was carried away sent a pang of guilt through me so sharp it was almost physical. I swallowed hard against the tightness in my throat, torn between gratitude for my rescue and heartache for those left behind.

I didn’t want to parade around in this dress like a piece of merchandise, feeling its restrictive fabric shift uncomfortably against my skin with every breath. “Yes. I would,” I whispered, relief washing through me at the prospect of covering myself properly.

He led me down a dark hallway, his broad shoulders casting long shadows on the polished wood paneling. The gentle sway of the houseboat made me reach out and steady myself against the wall, my fingertips brushing against expensive wallpaper textured like silk. The scent of sandalwood and something distinctly masculine—clean and expensive—grew stronger as we approached what must be Angelo’s private quarters.

Enzo pushed open a heavy oak door that swung silently on well-oiled hinges, revealing a bedroom that took my breath away. A huge king-sized canopy bed dominated the space, draped in midnight blue fabrics that rippled slightly with the boat’s movement. Moonlight spilled through tall windows, casting silver patterns across a leather couch positioned perfectly to face both a massive flat-screen television and the water views beyond. In the corner, a sunken hot tub large enough for several people gleamed with inlaid tiles, its still water reflecting the room like a mirror.

---