Page 50 of Oath of Blood and Joy

A growl outside stopped my efforts—a sound so deep and inhuman it vibrated through the metal against my back. My breath caught in my lungs, my heart stuttering with a new kind of terror. Something scraped against the box, metal grinding against metal, the sound piercing my eardrums. My body tensed, coiling tight as a spring as I prepared to face whatever new horror awaited.

The lid swung open with a screech that made my teeth ache. Cold air rushed in, shocking my sweat-slicked skin as my shadows—finally free—sprang out in a violent burst, swirling in protective fury around a dark figure looming above me.

“Joy?”

That voice. It couldn’t be. My mind was playing cruel tricks, fabricating salvation from despair. “Enzo?” My hope was so fragile in my chest I feared even speaking his name might shatter it.

The shadows faded away like mist in sunlight, responding to the recognition in my heart before my mind could process it. And it was him—real and solid and there. Just like last time, blood dribbled down his chin in crimson rivulets, stark against his pale skin. His cream shirt had turned a glistening red, soaked through with evidence of the violence that had preceded this moment. His eyes burned with an intensity that stole what little breath remained in my lungs.

I winced as he grabbed my hand, but his cool fingers encircled my wrist with gentle urgency. The contrast between his tender grip and the savage fury in his expression sent a shiver down my spine. He pulled me out of the box in one fluid motion, supporting my weight as my legs threatened to buckle beneath me.

“Who did this to you?” Controlled rage vibrated beneath each syllable. He held me as if I might break, even as his body radiated lethal purpose.

A wild drumbeat echoed in my chest, confusion blurring my brain. Relief and fear and exhaustion tangled together until I couldn’t separate one emotion from another. The courtyard spun around me, faces and shadows merging in a dizzying kaleidoscope. I clutched his bloodied shirt to steady myself, anchoring to the one certainty in this nightmare.

“Marsha.” Her name tasted like sour vinegar on my tongue. I felt the tremor that went through Enzo’s body at the sound of it—a predator hearing the name of its prey.

Enzo’s head snapped up, his body tensing like a bull elk sensing danger. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the courtyard, nostrils flaring slightly as he took in scents I couldn’t detect. The moonlight cast harsh shadows across his blood-spattered face, highlighting the ancient vigilance in his expression.

“I’ve got to get you out of here.” One arm curved protectively around my waist, already angling my body toward what I assumed was an escape route. “Now.”

Screams and hisses echoed around us, bouncing off stone walls and twisting into something inhuman that raised the hair on my arms. The sounds weren’t just of pain—there was something primal and otherworldly in them, something that made my shadows twist restlessly around my ankles.

I clasped my fingers into his shirt, feeling the wet fabric stick to my skin, the salt-heavy scent of blood filling my nose. My legsstill trembled beneath me, but determination hardened in my chest. “No,” I insisted, sounding stronger than I expected. “You have to save the other girls this time.” The faces of Zoe, Ellie, and Mina flashed through my mind, their terror even more vivid after the horror I’d just endured inside that box.

Frustration and urgency battled across Enzo’s features. He cupped my face with one hand, his touch gentle despite the tension thrumming through his body. “You don’t understand.” His eyes locked with mine, willing me to comprehend. “Your captors aren’t human. They’re Dark Demons.”

It was as if he had suddenly started speaking in tongues, a language I’d never heard of, a meaning I couldn’t grasp. Not demons from hell or religious nightmares—something else entirely.

“Dark... Demons?” I whispered.

A crash from across the courtyard drew my attention. I followed Enzo’s gaze, my breath catching painfully in my throat. The men in the courtyard were fighting Steve and Angelo with savage intensity, moving with impossible speed that blurred their outlines. But it wasn’t their movements that made my heart stutter—it was what erupted from their backs as they fought.

Dark wings—leathery and vast—unfurled from their shoulder blades, spanning wider than seemed possible. The wings weren’t like illustrations of fallen angels or the feathered appendages I’d imagined—they were membranous and muscled, more like a bat’s but larger, stronger, edged with what looked like razor-sharp bone.

As I watched, one of the creatures turned, the moonlight catching its face. For a moment, it looked human—then its features rippled, revealing elongated canines and eyes that reflected light like an animal’s.

Steve dodged a blade by mere inches, moving with the preternatural speed only vampires possess. Razor-sharp fangsemerged from his gums, prominent and lethal against his snarling lips as he countered with a blur of motion. His fist connected with Henry’s jaw with a crack that echoed off the stone walls—a blow that would have shattered a human’s skull. Henry merely staggered back two steps before laughing, a sound like stones grinding together.

“You’re strong, leech,” Henry taunted, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “But we’ve been killing your kind since before your maker was born.”

“Maybe so, but I’m dangerous—a newly turned vampire.”

“What makes you so dangerous?” Henry scoffed.

“Because I’m always hungry.”

My brother’s answer left me reeling—did he just threaten to drain Henry dry? This was the brother who’d always looked out for me, now talking about feeding on someone like it was the most natural thing in the world. Relief warred with horror as I watched him, strong and predatory in ways that made my stomach turn.

I had prayed for Steve to be saved, but I hadn’t expected vampirism. Watching him now, I could only hope that newly turned vampires were stronger than Dark Demons, a species I knew nothing about.

Steve circled warily, hands curled into claws. “Talk less, bleed more,” he growled, feinting left before diving right, using his supernatural strength to tackle Henry mid-wing beat. They crashed into the courtyard wall, stone crumbling under the impact.

With horrified fascination, I watched my brother—who I’d seen win countless bar fights with casual ease—struggling against this otherworldly opponent. Henry’s wings beat once, powerful enough to create a gust that threw Steve back several feet. The Dark Demon was already advancing, sword weaving patterns of death in the air between them.

I ran toward Steve, not wanting to lose him again. But Enzo caught me, pulling me against his powerful chest.

“No, let me go. I can’t lose him.” Fear pumped through me, stealing my breath and nearly stopping my heart.

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