Page 18 of Oath of Blood and Joy

The image of Enzo on his knees, the knife in his back, then the terrible swiftness with which he’d grabbed Steve?—

“You were draining him,” I continued, my voice stronger as more details returned. “I begged you to stop, and you—” I paused, realizing the significance of what had happened next. “You gave him your blood. You turned him instead of letting him die.”

I searched Enzo’s face, trying to understand the man before me. He held his head high, every bit of a warrior, not apologizing. The sharp angles of his jawline tensed as our eyes met, and a muscle twitched near the corner of his mouth—a small tell betraying his otherwise perfect composure. His dark eyes, usually guarded and calculating, now held a vulnerability I hadn’t seen before—a pleading look that softened his features and made him seem almost human. His hands hung at his sides, not clenched in fists as I might have expected, but open, as if offering something. Forgiveness perhaps? “You had every right to kill him after what he did, but you saved him because I asked you to.”

“I would do anything to please you.”

That simple answer was like a gift, a gift I never expected.

“Why would my wishes matter that much to you? You only saw me that one time.”

He didn’t answer right away, his dark eyes studying me with an intensity that made my skin tingle. “How did you know my name?” The question seemed to come from nowhere, but I sensed it was connected to what he wasn’t telling me.

“Maximo. He described you.” I remembered the fear in Maximo’s voice when he spoke of the vampire enforcer, the way his hands had trembled. “The first time I saw you, I knew it was you.”

He chuckled, the sound unexpectedly warm. Something playful danced in his eyes, at odds with the dangerous reputationthat had preceded him. “Ah, I see. I hope I didn’t disappoint you.”

Heat raced down my throat. How could he disappoint me? He was a dark avenger, exactly as fearsome and powerful as the whispers had claimed. Yet there was something more to him—something Maximo’s terrible descriptions had missed entirely. I held his gaze, determined not to be distracted. “You haven’t answered my question.”

A thought struck me with sudden clarity, making my heart skip. “Wait, have you been following me?” The pieces began to align—strange sensations of being watched on campus, unexplained shadows that I’d dismissed as paranoia after Serenity disappeared. The way he looked at me with a familiarity that couldn’t come from a single encounter.

His expression shifted almost imperceptibly, a flicker of something that might have been guilt crossing his handsome features before his face settled back into careful neutrality. My question had hit its mark.

“How long?” I demanded, indignation temporarily overriding fear. The violation of privacy, the thought that this stranger had been observing my life while I remained oblivious, sent a wave of anger through me that momentarily pushed aside the horror of my brother’s transformation. “How long have you been watching me without my knowledge?”

“Angelo ordered me to follow you. Make sure that you didn’t find out we had Serenity.” Something vulnerable flickered across his usually guarded features. “The minute I saw you, I knew I’d do anything to keep you safe. Then that damn explosion happened at Crimson Stakes and I lost you.” He bowed his head, his broad shoulders slumping with remembered failure. “It was my fault. I should have made sure you were safe before I went into that damn casino.”

I stared at him, the initial surge of anger already beginning to soften around the edges. Despite everything, I couldn’t hold onto rage when faced with such evident remorse. My natural instinct to see the best in people fought against my sense of betrayal.

I shook my head, trying to process it all. “And you knew about Serenity all along.” It wasn’t quite a question, but the hurt was evident in my voice. All those nights I’d stayed positive for everyone else while privately worrying about my best friend. I’d kept smiling, kept hoping, even when others gave up. “I never stopped believing she was okay, you know. Something inside me just knew she was alive.”

I looked up at him as a slight renewal of hope fluttered in my chest. “And what happened at Crimson Stakes? Was that when—” I stopped, another memory surfacing—smoke, screams, darkness. “The night everything went black,” I whispered before straightening my shoulders.

I took a deep breath, returning to the more immediate revelation. “So now my brother’s a vampire.” I stumbled over the words, finding them impossible and yet undeniable.

“Yes.” Enzo sat next to me, his weight sinking on the cushions next to me. “If I hadn’t turned him, he would have died, Joy. A demon had ridden his meat suit hard.” The clinical brutality of the phrase contrasted with the gentleness in his eyes.

Steve was now like Enzo, a creature of the night. My fingers dug into the soft fabric of the couch as I relived seeing my brother feeding on someone, blood dripping down his chin. Vampires were terrifying to me, their inhuman strength and hunger for blood the stuff of nightmares, but they weren’t as bad as the monsters that had imprisoned me. My chest tightened with the memory of human hands and eyes evaluating me like merchandise. Sometimes humans were a hundred times worse than the creatures of the supernatural world.

Enzo pushed a lock of hair behind my ear. “I knew Steve was human until recently. His blood. I have fed on enough creatures to know the difference between a human and a supernatural being.” His amber eyes took on a faraway look, as if sifting through centuries of memories.

I shuddered at what that meant—especially knowing Steve was going to follow in his footsteps—but I had to know more. The chill that ran down my spine made me pull my knees closer to my chest and I hugged them for dear life. I laid my head on top of my knees as I looked at him. “So you can tell what a person is by the taste of their blood?”

He gave me a heart-melting smile, his features transforming from dangerous predator to something disarmingly charming. “I’m over three hundred years old, Joy.” The casual mention of his age made my breath catch. “Blood is my life, and I am quite an expert on the taste.” He said it like someone might discuss wine varieties.

“So if you fed on me, you would know what I was?”

His smile faded and something else flashed in his eyes, turning his dark eyes red—hunger or a possessiveness, I wasn’t sure which. The change was instantaneous, the charming facade giving way to something ancient and primal. Darkness pooled beneath the furniture, seeming to grow denser and more watchful with each word we exchanged.

“Yes.” The answer was rough as sandpaper against a rock. He swallowed hard, the movement drawing my attention to the strong line of his throat.

“Would you lie to me?” I held his gaze despite the flutter of fear in my stomach, needing certainty more than comfort.

“I’m many things, Joy,” he said, his voice dropping to a rumble that I could almost feel through the cushions, “but a liar isn’t one of them.” The conviction in his words rang with a truthI couldn’t deny, even as everything else in my world seemed built on falsehoods.

“Would it hurt?”

He brushed my hair behind my ear, his fingertips ghosting along the sensitive skin there. The gentle touch sent a cascade of shivers down my neck, a stark contrast to the dangerous power I knew those hands possessed. “I have ways to make it…pleasurable.” The last word lingered on his tongue, rich with promise.

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