Page 59 of Oath of Blood and Joy

“Are you safe?” he demanded, his eyes scanning over me with cold calculation before returning to my face. His grip tightenedslightly, possessive in a way that should have frightened me but somehow didn’t. “Did anyone touch you?” Every syllable pulsed with restrained fury, a barely leashed promise that harm would be answered with blood.

I shook my head, but the movement was shaky, betraying the storm still churning inside me. Enzo’s arms remained locked around me, a barrier of strength against the world, yet my pulse refused to settle. “No. I’m fine.” The words were a fragile lie, barely holding together. “Why?” The question rasped out of me, raw and breathless, as a cold edge of panic sliced through my chest.

The memory of being locked in that metal box—alone in suffocating darkness—clawed at the back of my mind. I tipped my head back, desperate, my gaze locking into his. Those stormy amber eyes my anchor in the chaos. I needed him to tell me I was safe. That they wouldn’t take me again.

Before he could answer, the atmosphere in the room shifted, growing heavier as if the very air recognized an apex predator had entered. Angelo Santi walked into the room like a dark force, his presence commanding attention without effort. Dark ichor stained his expensive suit and marked his hands—not human blood, but something else, something that smelled faintly of sulfur and decay.

His long, curly black hair fell past his shoulders in perfect waves, framing a face that seemed carved from marble by a Renaissance master. But it was his fierce green eyes that truly captured attention—ancient, knowing eyes that seemed to glow with an inner light, assessing everything with the cold calculation of a man who had seen centuries of betrayal and survival.

My breath hitched at the sight of him—not just for his overwhelming presence, but for what clung to him now. His suit hung in tatters, slashed by claws or worse, streaked with smearsof something too dark, too wrong to be called blood. Beneath the grime, faint bruises bloomed, and his knuckles were split open, raw and reddened. These men had faced demons tonight—monsters not born of this world—and they had bled, suffered, for the sake of a promise made to me. A promise they refused to break.

A strange sense of gratitude mingled with my fear as I realized the extent of what they had done. They had risked themselves against creatures powerful enough to frighten even them, and they had done it because Enzo had given his word to me—a human he barely knew.

He moved with the silent, stalking elegance of a jungle cat, every step deliberate yet fluid. Power radiated from him in almost tangible waves, the kind that made my instincts scream to either flee or submit. I found myself unconsciously pressing back against Enzo, seeking protection from this more dominant predator, even as I couldn’t tear my gaze away.

Angelo headed straight for Serenity, his expression transforming subtly at the sight of her—the only softening in his otherwise impenetrable facade. He was fierce looking—handsome and dangerous in equal measure, the kind of man who would be mesmerizing even without supernatural abilities. Dressed in what was clearly a custom-tailored suit despite its damaged and bloodied state, every inch of him spoke of wealth, control, and absolute authority. This was a man who had ordered deaths without blinking, who had built and maintained an empire through blood and fear.

This was the angel of death my father had warned me about.

I held my breath as his attention swept the room, those ancient green eyes briefly meeting mine before moving on.

“Something hid in the clouds, but it’s gone,” he said, his voice deep and resonant, carrying a slight Italian accent that had likelysurvived centuries of American living. Each word was measured, precise, revealing only what he intended to share.

Enzo whispered in my ear as he stroked the back of my head. “I’ll always keep you safe. No one will hurt you—not even him.”

“Sorry I’m late to the party,” Dimitri drawled, casually wiping at a spot of blood near his mouth with his thumb, which he then licked clean with theatrical relish. “Had to stop and admire the stars. You know, take time to appreciate the little things in undeath.” His gaze landed on me, and one eyebrow arched upward. “Well, hello there, shadow girl. Impressive trick earlier. Didn’t know humans could do that anymore.”

Gianna broke away from the group, her composed demeanor shattering as she ran into his arms with vampiric speed.

He caught her effortlessly, spinning her once before setting her down, leaving faint smears of blood on her silk blouse that she didn’t seem to notice or care about. His expression softened for just a moment—a brief glimpse of sincerity before the mask of sarcasm slipped back into place.

He laughed, the sound rich and somehow both warm and mocking at once. “Missed me?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face with exaggerated tenderness, careful to use a finger that wasn’t stained with blood. “It’s only been what—three hours? Though I suppose that’s practically an eternity when you’re as gorgeous as I am. And when you’ve been having as much fun as I have.” The last words carried a darker edge, his eyes briefly flashing with the memory of violence.

Despite the flippancy of his words, I noticed how his arm remained protectively around Gianna’s waist, his body subtly positioned between her and the rest of the room. For all his cavalier attitude and blood-stained appearance, there was something genuine in how he held her—a protective instinct that contradicted his devil-may-care facade.

I clutched Enzo’s blood-soaked shirt, my fingers digging into the ruined fabric. The sticky wetness against my skin should have repulsed me, but all I could think about were those terrified girls. “What about the other girls?”

“They’re coming.” Enzo cupped my face, his thumb gently stroking my cheek as if I were something precious. “Your brother and Pascal are in the limo and it’s warded. No one will harm them as they make their way here.” The certainty in his voice was like a balm to my frayed nerves.

My heart lurched painfully at the mention of Steve. My brother. A vampire. The certainty in Enzo’s voice about their safety should have been comforting, but all I could think about was facing Steve again—not as the brother who used to sneak me extra Halloween candy, but something else entirely.

He was vicious now. Terrifying. A member of the most notorious mafia family in NOLA. And I’d watched him prove it. I’ll never forget the way he ripped out Henry’s throat—ruthless, efficient—and fed on him like a starving animal.

No hesitation.

The image haunted me more than I wanted to admit.

How would he look at me now? Would his eyes hold the same hunger I’d seen in other vampires? In his hunger would he even recognize me as his sister—or was that boy, the one who taught me how to throw a punch and stood between me and every bully, already gone?

And worse…

Would I see him as my brother?

Or as a monster?

“Steve,” I whispered, his name catching in my throat. “Is he... is he okay? I mean—” I struggled to find the right words. How do you ask if your brother is adjusting to being undead? If he’s managing his cravings for human blood? If he’s still the person you’ve loved your whole life?

Enzo’s expression softened with understanding. “He fought well tonight. He’s... adapting.” The careful choice of words told me everything I needed to know. Steve was struggling, but he was trying.

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