Page 56 of Oath of Blood and Joy

“Pascal is here,” he announced. Not a single trace of emotion betrayed his thoughts, but I knew him well enough to recognize the subtle tension in his shoulders. “Is this all of them?”

I nodded, resting my hand on the shoulder of a trembling blonde who couldn’t be more than sixteen. “Yes.” The single word carried the weight of a promise fulfilled—to Joy, to these girls, to myself.

“Good.” Angelo’s gaze swept over the gathered victims before returning to me. “I found Maximo’s office. He smashed his computer and anything of importance is gone.” His fingers flexed at his sides—the only indication of his frustration. “When we get back to Crescent Manor, I want to question these girls. Dark Demons in New Orleans isn’t a good sign.” He stepped closer to me. “Something’s up that could hurt the family.”

The word ‘family’ hung between us with all its implications. Not just our vampire coven, but the Santi organization that had ruled this city for generations. For Angelo to express a concern meant the threat was significant. My thoughts immediately returned to Joy, waiting for me at the manor. The need to get back to her, to make sure she remained untouched by whatever darkness had infiltrated our city, squeezed my ribs like a fist.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Joy

Pascal left us and headed toward a garage where a large, stretched limousine was parked, its black exterior gleaming under the security lights. The girls were finally rescued and safe. I released a sigh of relief, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders. After days of terror and uncertainty, knowing they would sleep in safety tonight caused something tight in my chest to uncoil.

Serenity clasped my hand, her fingers warm against mine. The gentle pressure was comforting, anchoring me to the present moment after everything I’d endured. Her touch carried a strange energy, subtle but undeniable—like standing near a powerful electrical current without the danger. “Let me heal you.”

Her eyes, always remarkable, began to glow with an inner light—not the predatory gleam of a vampire but something purer, more ancient. A white aura flowered around her, starting as a faint shimmer and growing into a soft radiance that bathed the side of the house in gentle illumination. The light didn’t hurtmy eyes; instead, it seemed to flow through them directly into my soul.

When the luminescence touched my skin, a sensation like warm honey spread through my body, starting at the points of contact and reaching toward every injury. The bruises and pain from Marsha’s beatings—the aches that had become so familiar I’d almost stopped noticing them—began to fade. The cramped agony from hours spent in that dreaded box melted away, along with the fear that had accompanied it. Even the deeper hurts, the ones that weren’t visible on my skin, seemed to ease under her touch.

I gasped as the last of the pain disappeared, leaving me feeling lighter than I had in months. My body hummed with well-being, as if I’d been remade from the inside out. Tears sprang to my eyes—not from pain but from the overwhelming relief of its absence.

“This is incredible,” I whispered, staring at my unmarked skin where bruises had been moments before. The miracle of it left me breathless, another reminder of how little I understood about this new world I’d stumbled into.

Serenity’s aura dimmed gradually, returning to her natural glow. A soft smile played across her lips as she watched my wonder. “I know. I’m still in awe of it too. It amazes me I’m a descendant of angels.”

She squeezed my hand one more time before releasing it, as if she knew how overwhelming all of this must be for me. “Come on. I want you to meet Elena and Gianna.” There was warmth in her invitation—a promise of connection, of belonging—that made my newly healed heart ache with unexpected longing.

Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself for what lay ahead. The transformation was complete—I felt renewed, ready to face whatever awaited inside.

She led me through the back door into Crescent Manor, the home I’d always feared from a distance. The air inside smelled of cedar and something ancient, more primal—a scent I couldn’t quite identify. To the right stood a metal door like a bank vault, its surface polished to a high shine, with an electronic keypad glowing faintly in the dimly lit hallway. I wondered what was behind it, what secrets the Santi family kept locked away from the world. My curiosity mingled with apprehension, sending a small shiver down my spine.

I followed Serenity down a wooden hallway, my shoes silent against the gleaming hardwood floors. Paintings hung on the walls—not the generic landscapes I’d expected, but haunting portraits of men and women with proud, aristocratic features spanning what looked like centuries of changing fashion. Their eyes seemed to follow our progress, judging the interloper in their domain. One portrait in particular caught my attention—Angelo himself, though the clothing and style suggested it was painted centuries ago. The man in the portrait had the same ageless green eyes that had looked into mine just hours ago—eyes that held the weight of history I’d only read about in books. Seeing his face unchanged across what must have been hundreds of years made his claims of ancient age suddenly, viscerally real.

We entered a living room that was elegant, with red leather couches and a matching loveseat arranged around a Persian rug in deep burgundy and gold. A large wooden bar stretched against one wall, crystal decanters filled with golden liquids catching the light. A glass-fronted fireplace dominated another wall, flames dancing over artificial logs that nonetheless cast real warmth into the space. Antique oak furniture—side tables, bookshelves, and a massive desk—completed the scene. It was something out of a millionaire magazine, both intimidating and beautiful.

My breath caught as I took it all in—this world so far removed from my childhood home and my dorm room with its secondhand furniture and faded rugs. A strange mixture of emotions swirled through me: awe at the obvious wealth, apprehension at being so deep in what my father had always called enemy territory, and, most surprisingly, a hint of belonging I couldn’t explain. Something about this room, despite its opulence, felt oddly right. As if some part of me recognized it as a place I was meant to be.

The thought was as comforting as it was terrifying.

Two women ran into the room, their sudden appearance causing the air to shift with an almost imperceptible chill that raised goosebumps on my arms. The older woman had gray hair pulled into a loose bun, wisps framing a face that somehow seemed both ancient and ageless. The younger one moved with the same predatory grace I’d noticed in Angelo—her thick, long hair cascading down her back like a midnight waterfall. She had the same eyes as Angelo—deep, almost fathomless, holding secrets and sorrows I couldn’t begin to imagine.

“Mon chère.” The older woman’s voice carried a melodic French accent as she rushed over to Serenity, her movements too fluid to be human. She clasped Serenity’s arms with long, elegant fingers, her eyes—a startling bright blue in the firelight—scanning her as if looking for any wounds. The scent of lavender and something earthy clung to her silk blouse. “I was so worried. You’re well,oui?”

I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening as I realized I was in a room with two more vampires. My father’s warnings echoed in my mind, yet something about the tenderness in the older woman’s touch made her seem less threatening than the stories I’d grown up with.

“I’m fine.” Serenity turned to me, the warmth in her eyes inviting me closer despite my instinctive caution. She placedher hand on the older woman’s shoulder, the contrast between Serenity’s sun-kissed skin and the vampire’s porcelain pallor striking in the amber glow of the room. “Joy, this is Elena.” She nodded toward the dark-haired woman who stood with perfect stillness by the fireplace, the flames casting dramatic shadows across her aristocratic features. “This is Gianna, Angelo’s sister.”

Gianna’s eyes flicked to mine for just a moment—an assessment quick yet so thorough I felt as though she’d read every secret I’d ever kept. Her lips, painted a deep burgundy that matched the room’s decor, parted slightly as she inhaled, no doubt catching my human scent.

“Dimitri?” Gianna’s fingers twisted a heavy gold ring on her right hand, the family crest catching the light as she moved.

“He’s fine,” Serenity assured her. The air in the room seemed to thicken as she continued, “But Gianna, something happened there that I don’t understand.”

Elena and Gianna exchanged a glance loaded with meaning—centuries of shared experiences allowing them to communicate without words. My breath fogged slightly in front of me, though I couldn’t tell if the chill was real or imagined. The paintings on the walls, the antique furniture, even the dancing flames suddenly felt like witnesses to a conversation that was about to change everything.

Gianna frowned, her perfect brows drawing together like storm clouds gathering. “What happened?”

“The men there,” Serenity said, her fingers nervously twisting the edge of her shirt. “They had black wings, but they weren’t vampires. Enzo said they were Dark Demons. What are they?”

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