Page 39 of Oath of Blood and Joy

He brushed his lips over hers, the gesture both tender and possessive. Then, just as quickly, the vulnerability vanished, replaced by his trademark smirk that promised both danger and delight.

“I will be, darling,” he whispered and put his finger to her lips, the gesture intimate and reassuring. Then louder, for the benefit of everyone else, “Besides, getting under Flanagan’s skin might be the most fun I’ve had all week. Maybe I’ll convince him his coffee tastes like blood just to watch him spit it out.”

He winked at her, spinning away with theatrical flair, but not before giving her hand a reassuring squeeze that contradicted his flippant words—a private message that spoke volumes in its silence.

Angelo tilted his head. “Pascal and Lorenzo, I want you to go to Maximo’s casino and see what you can find out there. Someone will talk. If you find one of his men…”

“I know,” Pascal said. “Bring him here.”

I clasped Steve’s arm, my fingers digging into the sleeve of his shirt with barely restrained urgency. The familiar scent of his cologne—leather and something darker, more primal—filled my nostrils as I pulled him closer. “Come with me.”

Curiosity and wariness flickered across his chiseled features, his dark eyebrows drawing together as he studied my face. “Where are we going?” A muscle twitched in his jaw, betraying the tension he tried to mask.

“Sweet Babes,” I replied, my tongue nearly curling in disgust around the tacky name. The words tasted bitter as I spoke them. “We need answers.”

Sweet Babes was Maximo’s most popular strip club, a neon-bathed temple of flesh and forbidden desires where humans unknowingly mingled with predators. The thought of its gaudy facade made something cold and hard settle in my stomach. If he had shut that down, then something was definitely happening—something that warranted pulling back his most profitable venture. There was a tenant building next door, its brick walls permeated with the scents of cheap perfume and desperation, and many of the girls resided there. Their heartbeats would be a symphony of fear and secrets waiting to be unraveled.

If we couldn’t get answers in the club, we could interrogate the girls. My fangs ached slightly at the thought, pressing against my gums with anticipation. Either way, I would have answers. The determination coursed through my veins like liquid steel, hardening my resolve with each unnecessary breath.

Steve’s footsteps echoed behind me as we climbed the sweeping staircase, his confusion radiating from him in almost palpable waves. “Then why are we going upstairs?” The ancient wood groaned beneath our feet, centuries of secrets trapped within its polished surface.

“We’re not going to take the car, Steve,” I explained, impatience sharpening my tone as I glanced back at him overmy shoulder. The dim lighting of the hallway cast dramatic shadows across his face, highlighting the dangerous angles of his cheekbones. “We’ll be followed.”

I pushed open the door to my room, the hinges silent thanks to meticulous oiling. The balmy dusk air rushed in through the open balcony doors, carrying with it the transition sounds of day turning to evening—birds calling their last songs, leaves rustling in the cooling breeze, distant traffic growing more sporadic as rush hour waned. The silk curtains billowed gently outward, catching the honey-gold glow of the setting sun that painted everything in rich gold and deep shadow.

“We’re going to fly there,” I stepped onto the balcony. The stone was still warm beneath my feet, retaining the day’s heat. Below us, the manicured gardens were bathed in long shadows, the flowers closing for the night while nocturnal creatures began to stir.

I shifted into a bat, my body contorting and shrinking with a sensation that, even after centuries, remained disconcertingly intimate—bones reshaping, skin shrinking, senses realigning to perceive the world through different eyes. The transformation sent a ripple of energy through me, electric and primal.

Steve did the same beside me, his larger form dissolving into darkness before reconstituting into his bat shape. A surge of unexpected pride swelled in my chest watching him execute the transformation with such natural grace, as if he’d been doing it for centuries. The air around us hummed with ancient magic, charged with the power of our transformation.

I led him up into the sky that was slowly turning to dusk, a canvas of deep blues streaked with brilliant oranges and purples at the horizon where the sun was making its final descent. The cooling air rushed past me, carrying a thousand scents—car exhaust, cooking food, human sweat, and the indefinable perfume of the approaching night. The city sprawled beneathus, buildings casting long shadows while windows began to illuminate one by one, like stars appearing in reverse.

Drawing on vampire speed, I flew toward Sweet Babes, my heart racing with purpose rather than exertion. The wind whispered past my sensitive ears as I cut through it, a silent hunter navigating the threshold between day and night. Determination fueled each beat of my wings—determination to get answers and, most importantly, to find Joy.

If anyone hurt her, then they’ll wish it was Angelo interrogating them. The thought sent a surge of cold rage through my tiny bat form, a darkness more ancient than the coming night. He wasn’t the only one who knew how to use pain to get answers. I was a master at it.

Centuries of practice had taught me exactly how much pressure to apply to a joint before it shattered, precisely where to slice to maximize agony without risking death, the specific pitch of screams that signaled a breaking point approaching. The memories of my victims’ pleas whispered through my mind like a familiar lullaby, oddly comforting in their promise of vengeance. My determination crystallized into something harder and more dangerous than diamond as we soared through the darkening sky, my focus narrowing to a single, burning purpose.

For Joy, I would unleash a cruelty that had been centuries in the making.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Enzo

Steve and I landed behind Sweet Babes near the rusted trash bins, our tiny bat forms materializing from the shadows into human shapes with a whisper of ancient magic. The transformation rippled through me like liquid electricity, bones elongating and skin stretching with a familiar yet always unsettling sensation. Unlike shifters, we didn’t rip through our clothes when changing forms—some of our vampire magic, a small mercy from whatever dark force granted us our immortality. I straightened my leather jacket, the material conforming to my frame as I rolled my shoulders, adjusting to the heavier weight of my human body.

Jazz music poured from inside the building, a melancholy saxophone wailing above the steady thrum of a bass line. The notes seemed to vibrate through the brick walls, each beat pulsing like a heartbeat against my heightened senses. The scent of the alley assaulted my nostrils—rotting food, stale beer, the sharp ammonia sting of urine pooled in darkened corners, and underneath it all, the faint copper tang of blood thatalways lingered around Maximo’s properties. My jaw clenched involuntarily, fangs pressing against my gums with a dull ache of anticipation.

Sweet Babes was a tall building, three stories of faded red brick and blacked-out windows, each pane reflecting the dying light of dusk like vacant eyes. The neon sign above the entrance flickered erratically, bathing the sidewalk in sickly pink pulses. I knew what lay inside—private rooms for customers who wanted a lap dance or something more, each space designed to create the illusion of intimacy while concealing the true nature of the transactions taking place.

I caught Steve’s gaze darkening, a hungry gleam in his eyes that I recognized all too well. I gripped his shoulder, my fingers digging into the joint. “No draining anyone,” I warned. “We can’t afford to leave evidence or draw attention—not with Flanagan already breathing down our necks.” I held his gaze until he gave a reluctant nod, the hunger in his eyes receding slightly but not disappearing completely.

Steve’s face hardened as he gazed up at the building, disgust etched into the tight lines around his mouth. “This place reeks of desperation,” he muttered. His fingers flexed at his sides, a controlled violence in the gesture that matched the cold fury building in my own chest.

These girls stayed until they were used up, drained of youth and hope in equal measure, then Maximo discarded them like trash—human debris swept away without a second thought. I’d seen the hollow-eyed survivors, their necks bearing the telltale puncture marks that spoke of feeding that went beyond simple bloodlust. My temples throbbed with a combination of anger and something dangerously close to guilt.

Most likely one of the girls would talk, desperate to get away from this hell. Fear was a powerful motivator, but hope—the faintest glimmer of escape—was even stronger. I straightenedmy shoulders, the predator in me rising to the surface as I moved toward the back entrance, each step silent despite the gravel underfoot.

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