Page 49 of Oath of Blood and Joy

Angelo’s face tightened, the ancient lines around his eyes deepening like crevices in weathered stone. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he clenched his teeth, but I knew him—had known him for centuries. The way his gaze softened imperceptibly when it met Serenity’s told me everything. He wouldn’t deny her this. She’d been as anxious to find Joy as I had been, her normally calm aura crackling with nervous energy these past days, the sweet scent of her perfume mingled with the sharp tang of fear whenever Joy’s name was mentioned.

“Fine.” The word escaped him like air from a punctured tire. He straightened his cuffs—a habit from his mortal days—the silk rustling softly against his pale wrists. “We’ll go now.” His eyes hardened to obsidian as they fixed on me. “I want a prisoner left alive to find out the Barone family’s plan.” The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as he spoke the name.

Serenity stuck out her chin, the delicate line of her jaw set with determination. The chandelier light caught the golden strands in her hair, creating a halo effect that belied the warrior’s fire in her eyes. “I’m going too.” She held up a palm as Angelo’s mouth opened to protest, the diamond ring on her finger catching the light and throwing prisms across the wall. “Before you say no, Angelo, I’m a Nephilim.” The crystal decanters on the sideboard vibrated subtly, evidence of her power. “I went up against Balthazar and survived. She may need my help.”

Angelo’s eyes darkened, midnight sweeping across their depths. His shoulders tensed beneath his expensive suit, the fabric pulling taut across his back as he inhaled deeply, filling the room with the scent of barely contained power. “You will stay close to me.” Each syllable was precisely enunciated. He stepped toward her, taking her slender hand in his, his thumb brushing across her knuckles with surprising tenderness. “If I tell you to run, you run. Am I clear?”

Serenity’s fingers curled around his, her skin pale against his olive tone. “I understand.”

Gianna came into the room along with Elena, their faces tight with concern. A subtle grace marked their movements, that distinctive vampiric stillness that made even their smallest gestures seem choreographed. The metallic undertone of recently consumed blood mingled with Gianna’s expensive perfume, while Elena’s dark eyes gleamed with unnatural sharpness as they scanned the room. They opened their mouths to speak, questions forming on their lips.

I didn’t have time to placate them, to explain or debate. Joy needed me. The thought of her, trapped and alone, burned in my chest like molten lead. Each moment we delayed was another moment she suffered. I was going now before it was too late. My fingers were already shifting, bones cracking and reshaping beneath my skin, the familiar pain a welcome distraction from the fear threatening to consume me.

“Enzo,” Angelo called, his voice sharp with warning, the sound of my name echoing off the high ceiling.

But once again, I didn’t listen to him. The change swept over me in a rush of agony and exhilaration, my human form dissolving into something ancient and primal. Steve followed suit beside me, his transformation accompanied by a low, inhuman growl that vibrated through the floorboards.

We shot through the open window, glass and wood splintering in our wake, and flew into the night. The cool air rushed past us, carrying the scents of the Mississippi River, the swamps beyond, and somewhere, the faint sweet tang of blood—Joy’s blood, calling to me across the miles. My wings beat against the darkness as we headed for Fort Maurepas, every instinct, every cell in my transformed body focused on a single purpose.

Death was coming.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Joy

I dipped in and out of consciousness, exhaustion dragging me under like a stone tossed into murky waters. My eyelids fluttered against the absolute darkness, unsure if they were open or closed, reality blurring at the edges. Each shallow breath echoed sharply in my confined prison, the sound bouncing back to mock me.

My knuckles throbbed—raw and sticky with blood from hours of pounding against unyielding metal. I curled my fingers inward, wincing as the torn skin pulled tight, each heartbeat sending fresh waves of pain through my hands. My sandpaper-rough throat ached from the remnants of screams that had accomplished nothing but to steal what little moisture remained in my body.

All I heard was nothingness—a silence so complete it seemed to have taken on a life of its own, pressing against my eardrums until they hurt. The absence of sound became its own kind of torture, leaving me alone with the rasp of my breathing and the thunder of my pulse. Forgotten in my cramped chamberof horrors, I had become a secret even to those who had imprisoned me.

I shifted my leg a fraction of an inch, seeking any relief from the cramping, and gasped as dull pain from my fall pulsed over me like electricity through water. Every bruise and wrenched muscle announced itself in a chorus of agony. I had broken out in a cold sweat, my skin clammy and slick against the metal floor, the acrid scent of fear mingling with the copper tang of blood in the stale air.

Time had lost all meaning. Had it been hours? Days? Sometimes it seemed like it was cooler. Maybe that had been nighttime. But I wasn’t sure. Nothing seemed real except for the darkness.

It was eternal, unchanging. I pressed my forehead against the cool metal lid, seeking any sensation that wasn’t pain. A sob caught in my chest, but I swallowed it back—crying would only waste precious moisture, would only confirm my helplessness.

“Please,” I whispered to the shadows that should have been mine to command. I reached for them with my mind, grasping desperately at that connection. For a moment—just a heartbeat—I felt something stir in response, a whisper of power flickering like a dying ember. My heart leaped, but then it was gone, snuffed out by my own exhaustion.

I was truly alone. Even the shadows had abandoned me.

A piercing scream sliced through the silence, so close it might have come from just outside my metal prison. The sound—high and desperate, raw with terror—froze my heart mid-beat. My body went rigid, every muscle locking in horror as ice flooded my veins. Panic pulsed through me in violent waves, my breath coming in ragged gasps that echoed in the metal confines.

Zoe. Ellie. Mina. Their faces flashed behind my eyes, young and terrified. What if it was one of the girls? What if Marsha had moved on to her next victim right here, just feet away fromwhere I lay helpless, trapped like a forgotten doll in a metal coffin?

I tried to draw on my shadows, clawing desperately at that well of power within me. Nothing. Not even a tingle shimmered through me, just a hollow emptiness. A whimper escaped my cracked lips, the sound pathetically small against the memory of that scream.

I kicked and pounded on the top with renewed frenzy, my heels drumming against the metal, my fists hammering until fresh blood slicked my skin. Pain shot up my arms, but I welcomed it—anything to fight the suffocating helplessness. Desperation rushed through me, hot and electric, drowning out all reason and self-preservation. I had to save them. Had to get out. Had to stop whatever was happening beyond these metal walls.

“Please,” I pleaded. Tears burned trails down my temples, pooling in my ears. “Please, not them. Take me instead.” My words contained every ounce of strength I had left.

And then—a flicker. A response. Something swirled around me. My shadows? Were they answering my call at last? Hope surged in my chest, nearly choking me with its intensity—until I realized the truth. My shadows had come, but they were as trapped as I was, unable to slip through the seams of the box, unable to extend beyond my prison. They curled around my fingers like frightened animals, seeking comfort rather than offering escape.

Another scream pierced the air, even closer this time, as if someone was being tormented just outside my box. The sound reverberated through the metal walls, vibrating against my skin. I could practically feel the agony in that voice, could almost recognize whose it might be. My body twisted violently with dread and helplessness. I couldn’t tell if the voice was female or not.

Time was running out.

“No. Don’t hurt them.” Raw emotion scraped and splintered my throat as the words echoed off the metal walls inside the box. Desperation surged through me like electricity, giving strength to my battered limbs as I renewed my effort of kicking and pounding on the dreaded lid. Each impact sent shockwaves of pain up my arms and legs, but I couldn’t stop—wouldn’t stop. My fingernails bent and broke against the unyielding surface, fear for the others overwhelming my own agony.

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