Page 28 of Oath of Blood and Joy

My fingers ran over the different fabrics, each touch a small sensory assault when I was already overwhelmed. Silky, rough, beaded, smooth—none of them mine, all of them meant to display rather than clothe. I pulled out a black one that would at least cover me, the heavy fabric substantial between my fingers. The weight of it felt like armor compared to the wispy nothing I currently wore.

The scent of unfamiliar perfume rose from the clothes—something expensive and cloying that made my nostrils flare in distaste. Even the air in this place wasn’t my own. I clutched the black gown against my chest like a shield, jaw clenched so tight it ached. I’d find a way out of this place, whatever it took. But first, I needed to not feel so damn exposed.

Once dressed, I peeked out the window, hoping I could figure out where we were. The humid air immediately clung to my face as I pressed closer to the glass, my breath briefly fogging the pane. But what I saw crushed me. A weathered stone wall, mottled with patches of dark green moss and streaked with decades of water stains, surrounded a courtyard below. Guards patrolled the grounds, their movements methodical and predatory beneath the sprawling oak trees dripping with Spanish moss.

The architecture was unlike anything I’d seen in New Orleans before—a strange fusion of Spanish colonial and French military design with ornate wrought-iron balconies that seemed at odds with the fortress-like stone. From my vantage point, I could see distinctive hexagonal towers at each corner of the compoundand thick defensive walls that must have been fifteen feet high. It looked like Fort Maurepas, a place I’d only heard whispered about in local legends.

According to the stories my grandmother used to tell, Fort Maurepas had been built in the 1700s by a paranoid Spanish governor who feared both the local Choctaw tribes and his French rivals. The fort had supposedly been abandoned after a mysterious plague killed everyone inside, and the land was considered cursed. Most locals claimed it had been reclaimed by the swamp decades ago. Clearly those stories had been wrong—or deliberately misleading.

The courtyard below had been meticulously maintained, with stone pathways cutting between carefully pruned gardens. In the center stood a fountain that looked centuries old—an elaborate creation with water cascading over dark granite, carved with symbols I didn’t recognize but which made my skin crawl.

I strained to see more, pressing my palms against the cool glass. In the distance, beyond the walls, I could just make out a sliver of swampland where cypress trees rose from misty water. We were definitely on the edge of the city, far from the tourist-filled French Quarter, in a place few would think to look. A place where screams would be swallowed by the bayou.

A chill shot through me despite the warm air. This wasn’t just a temporary holding place—this was a fortress designed to keep people in. And if the local legends about Fort Maurepas had any truth to them, it was also a place where people disappeared without a trace. I wrapped my arms around my waist as I stepped back from the window, mind racing. Maximo certainly had the resources to restore and secure an entire forgotten fort. He wasn’t taking any chances of me or being found this time.

My grim situation cast a shadow that seemed to darken my bones. Were the others here too? The younger girls fromthe auction? Zoe—her absence pierced my heart like an arrow. Where was she? My breath hitched as memories of her kindness flashed through my mind. Panic pumped through me, making my hands tremble. What happened to her after I passed out? Had Henry finished what he had started? The thought made bile rise in my throat.

My legs suddenly felt too weak to hold me as the full reality of our imprisonment crashed over me. No one knew where we were. No one was coming to save us. I had shadows that I couldn’t properly control, and we were in a forgotten place deliberately chosen so our disappearances would remain permanent. Even Enzo wouldn’t be able to find us here.

I sat on the bed, the mattress sinking beneath me as my knees finally gave way. The moment I closed my eyes, that terrible dream of Enzo dying rolled over me again, adding fresh horror to my despair, and I shuddered. I put my shaking hands over my face, fingers pressing into my temples where a dull ache had begun to form. The image of him pinned to that tree, blood spilling from his mouth, still burned behind my eyelids whenever I blinked.

He was lethal and terrifying, but he was a dark hero, one that had left a mark on my heart. Was it the kiss? Had he used compulsion? Or something even more terrifying—was I actually attracted to him? He was darkness to my light.

Chapter Nineteen

Enzo

Dimitri drove Angelo and me to Simon’s Ravenwood Estate. The sleek black limousine purred beneath us, its leather seats cool against my skin, but I barely registered the luxury surrounding me. I rapped my knuckles anxiously on the door handle, the rhythmic tapping betraying my growing dread. All I could think about was Joy and whether she was safe.

My heart clenched painfully at the thought of her alone and afraid. A cold rage seeped through my veins, turning my vision sharp and predatory. If anyone hurt her, then they would wish for death—I’d make certain their suffering would be legendary, even by vampire standards. The taste of vengeance already lingered, metallic on my tongue, as we sped through the night toward uncertain confrontation.

The white mansion revealed itself between oak trees heavy with Spanish moss, though its appearance unsettled me. Broken windows gaped like missing teeth in its facade. The once-grand estate now projected an aura of neglect and foreboding, more haunted house than palatial residence.

Dimitri slowed the car as we approached, then abruptly pulled off onto a narrow dirt path, cutting the headlights. Blue and red lights pulsed in the distance, illuminating the mansion’s facade in alternating hues. Police vehicles crowded the property.

Dimitri glanced over his shoulder. “Stay low. They can’t see us here.”

Movement in the tree line caught my eye. A figure emerged from the shadows—Trystan, waving his arms frantically as he crept toward Dimitri’s side of the car. Stalker accompanied him in wolf form, his black fur rippling under the moonlight. Two other wolves faced the road that led to Simon’s, their postures vigilant but not aggressive. Obviously as lookouts. The familiar scent of Trystan’s pack reached me through the car’s cracked window—a mixture of pine and wild earth that I’d come to recognize as allies, even if our alliance was still new and occasionally uneasy.

Trystan’s face was etched with grim urgency as he crept closer, his movements controlled despite his evident alarm. A scowl darkened his features, confirming what the police presence had already suggested—something had gone terribly wrong. My fingers tensed against the leather seat as I leaned forward, concern rather than suspicion filling me now. If the wolf king was reaching out to us like this, whatever disaster had befallen Simon’s estate would require both our families’ strengths to handle.

Beside me in the backseat, Angelo shifted his weight, the subtle movement drawing my attention. Though he made no sound, I could feel the subtle pressure of his centuries-old presence intensify. From my angle, I caught the slight narrowing of his eyes as he studied the wolf king through the tinted window—a tell I’d learned meant our king was calculating risks and advantages in this unexpected development.

My own hand instinctively moved toward my hidden blade, centuries of survival instinct kicking in despite our supposed alliance with the wolves. My throat tightened as I considered what kind of trouble could bring the wolf king himself out as a roadside sentinel. If Joy was hurt or dead…it would leave me dead, nothing to live for.

Angelo flicked his hand like a king, expecting his every command to be followed. “Roll down the window, Dimitri.”

I observed the slight tension that gathered in Dimitri’s shoulders as he slowed the vehicle. He rolled down the window, addressing our unexpected roadblock.

“Well, if it isn’t the local dog catcher. To what do we owe this... unexpected pleasure?” He drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, not bothering to kill the engine. “I hope you realize you’re interrupting what promises to be a satisfying bloody afternoon delight.”

From my position in the backseat, I shifted slightly, my fangs extending then retracting with a painful click as adrenaline surged through my dead veins. The air in the car seemed to grow colder, charged with the ancient tension between our kinds. The soft leather moaned beneath me as I leaned forward, the scent of wolf—wild, earthy, and faintly metallic—flooding through the window. My heightened senses caught the barely perceptible sound of Angelo’s jaw clenching beside me as we waited to see how the wolf king would respond to Dimitri’s challenge.

Trystan put his hands on the driver’s door, his grasp tightening until veins stood out across his wrists, heart pounding loudly enough that even a young vampire could hear it. His usual composure was gone, replaced by something I hadn’t seen before—raw fear.

Angelo gave him a hard stare. “What the hell happened here?”

Trystan tilted his head toward the mansion. “The place is crawling with cops. Simon and his men are all dead.”

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