Page 2 of Oath of Blood and Joy

Frank didn’t have my usual tray of a chocolate croissant, chicory coffee, and a scrambled egg. I never got a choice on what I got to eat, but I had to admit it was good. My stomach tightened with apprehension at this break in routine.

Frank bowed slightly, his expression softening just a fraction—the closest thing to kindness I’d seen from him. “Mister Barone wants you to join him for breakfast.”

It sounded like a request, but I knew better. I hadn’t been able to make my own choice since I was kidnapped. A cold knot formed in my gut even as I kept my smile plastered firmly in place to hide the pain simmering below the surface.

“Of course. I’d be happy to join him.”

Frank gestured toward the door with his arm, his movement stiff and formal. I braced my shoulders back, hoping Maximowasn’t going to drop another bomb on me like he had about the vampire mafia king’s execution. My stomach twisted into knots at the memory. What they had done to Angelo had been brutal, and then the prince beating his own mother... The images flashed unbidden behind my eyes, as vivid and horrifying as when I’d witnessed them. Sometimes I woke up in a cold sweat dreaming about that horrible day, my nightgown clinging to my skin, a silent scream trapped in my throat.

I had wanted to help both Angelo and Mara, the queen of the vampires, but I’d been helpless, shackled like a prisoner. The phantom weight of those chains still haunted my wrists, a constant reminder of my powerlessness. The memory squeezed my chest tight, making it hard to breathe, yet somehow I managed to keep my smile from faltering as I followed Frank down the hallway.

Maximo sat at the head of the dining room table. His dark hair was cut shorter than when I’d first arrived, the silver at his temples catching the morning light streaming through the tall windows. Instead of his usual tailored suit, he wore a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing a gold watch at his wrist. There was an empty place setting next to him, delicate porcelain cups and saucers waiting beside silver coffee service. The scent of freshly baked pastries and rich coffee hung in the air, though Maximo’s own plate remained untouched as he studied a newspaper spread before him.

Frank pulled out the chair and I slid into it.

“Good morning,” I said. “You wished to see me.”

“You’re gonna start practicing with Marsha—learning about that magic of yours. Your first lesson starts today.” A shiver ran down my spine, raising goosebumps along my arms that I tried to hide by hugging myself tighter.

Marsha Cadieux was Simon Cartier’s enforcer: his personal attack dog. She was cruel in ways that made hardened men lookaway. I had seen her handiwork on the other girls, my breath catching at the memory of bruises blooming on pale skin, the hollow-eyed stares of those who’d crossed her.

As a witch, Marsha had options beyond physical punishment. She could hurt the girls with a spell or, when she was in the mood for something more personal, just plain beat them bloody. Simon used her when he needed to send messages—permanent ones. The thought made my heart stutter with dread, my shoulders hunching involuntarily as I imagined her hands, always adorned with those heavy silver rings, coming anywhere near me.

“I keep telling you that I don’t have any magic. I’m not like Serenity. I can’t heal anyone.”

Maximo took a bite of eggs, chewing slowly, deliberately, as if savoring not just his breakfast but the fear radiating from me. My throat tightened watching how casually he discussed my fate between mouthfuls of food. The silver fork gleamed in his hand, another reminder of the wealth he’d built on others’ suffering.

“If you don’t, then you’re of no value to me and I will put you on the market.” The words landed like stones in my stomach. He didn’t bother to look up as he delivered this death sentence, just continued eating as though he’d merely commented on the weather. The mundane normalcy of it—the genuine indifference—terrified me more than any shouting ever could.

Chapter Two

Joy

I rested my cheek on my fist as I moved my eggs around with my fork, shoulders hunched with tension. The scraping sound of metal against ceramic filled the uncomfortable silence. Maximo’s announcement echoed in my mind, each word like a weight pressing down on my chest. My stomach twisted at the thought of training with Marsha. How do you prepare for a test you know will end with bruises and the confirmation of what you’ve always feared?

“Maximo,” a tall, lean, blond guard, Henry, walked into the dining room, his boots echoing sharply against the tile floor. I’d been here almost two months and still didn’t know his last name. When I had asked, he shrugged and said it was too personal for me to know and I wouldn’t be around here much longer, so why bother? His face remained an expressionless mask, professionally detached.

“Marsha is here.” He delivered the news with the enthusiasm of someone announcing an impending root canal.

I tensed, shoulders climbing toward my ears as my insides clenched like a fist, not wanting to engage with the woman. She was kryptonite to my positive demeanor—always trying to douse it with a bucket full of negativity. The mere mention of her name left a bitter taste in my mouth.

“Good,” Maximo said as he put his cup of coffee down with a satisfied clink. His lips curved into what might have been a smile on anyone else, but on him looked more like a predator baring teeth. “Joy, you will go with Marsha and she will help you unlock your hidden powers.”

Help wasn’t Marsha’s middle name. More like she would use some horrible punishment or spell to bring them out—if I even had any powers. Which I don’t. My hands trembled slightly as I pushed away from the table, the chair legs scraping loudly against the floor in protest.

Maximo stayed reading the newspaper at the dining room table as Henry escorted me to the front door. Marsha waited in the entryway for me with another guard, her shadow stretching across the marble floor like a dark omen. She was dressed in a long black dress that hugged her thin figure and her hair was cropped short, emphasizing her tight face.

Her dark brown eyes locked on me like a warden sizing up a prisoner, making my blood run cold in my veins, as if winter had settled beneath my skin. She broke out in a sinister smile that made my skin crawl, goosebumps rising along my arms despite the room’s warmth.

“Joy, how nice to see you again,” she purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

I crossed my arms defensively. “I don’t have any powers, so this is going to be a waste of time.”

She tapped her chin with a long finger, the sharp red nail pressing into her skin. “Perhaps.” Her eyes narrowedthoughtfully, calculating. She raised her hand. I stepped backward, my heel catching on the throw rug.

Henry grabbed my arm with his thick fingers, his grip promising a watercolor of purple and blue by morning, forcing me to remain in one spot. My pulse hammered in my throat.

I twisted my head away from her, panic rising in my chest like a trapped mouse. “Don’t touch me.”

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