Page 60 of Oath of Blood and Joy

“That’s what you think,” Angelo muttered, his tone carrying centuries of authority and finality.

A sense of fear settled in my heart, cold and insistent. There was a definite tension between Angelo and Enzo about my brother, something that set my nerves on fire. The way Angelo’s eyes had hardened, the subtle shift in Enzo’s stance—more protective, slightly challenging—told me there was history here, rules I didn’t understand.

Enzo’s arm tightened around my waist, drawing me closer to his side. He bent his head, his lips almost brushing my ear as he whispered, “Don’t worry about Steve. I won’t let anything happen to him. He’s under my protection now.”

When I looked up at him, the intensity in his dark eyes stole my breath. Gone was the cold, calculating enforcer—in his place was something else entirely. His gaze held the same fierce devotion I’d seen in Angelo’s eyes when he looked at Serenity, a possessiveness that should have frightened me but instead made my heart race for entirely different reasons.

“Angelo,” Serenity chided, cutting through the remaining tension like sunlight melting frost. She placed her hand on his chest, a simple gesture that seemed to anchor him. “Leave him be.”

He gazed down at her, and the transformation was immediate and profound. The lethal predator softened, his fierce green eyes warming as they took in her face. After a heartbeat, he bent his head and kissed her—a gesture so tender it seemed almost sacred, at odds with the violence his hands had clearly dealt tonight.

The moment was silent for now, the conflict temporarily shelved but not forgotten. I leaned into Enzo’s strength, drawing comfort from his presence. Whatever storm was brewing around my brother, at least he wouldn’t face it alone.

All the stress that had been building inside me, keeping my adrenaline on red alert for what felt like days, slowly eased away. My shoulders sagged with relief, and I felt lightheaded as the tension drained from my body. “Thank God.” The words came out as a whisper, a prayer of gratitude. I suddenly became aware of my own state—sweat-dampened clothes clinging uncomfortably to my skin, hair tangled from the flight with Serenity, the lingering scent of fear. “Is there someplace I can freshen up?”

“Yes.” Enzo clasped my hand, his cool fingers interlacing with mine in a gesture that felt surprisingly intimate. His eyes lingered on my face, studying me with an intensity that made my heart skip. The softness in his usually hard gaze stirred something warm in my chest—something I wasn’t ready to name.

“I need to change as well.”

“We need to regroup soon,” Angelo said, but he wasn’t looking at us. His gaze was focused on Serenity, a mixture of fierce protection and tender concern transforming his dangerous features. The vampire king looked at my best friend as if she were the sun after centuries of darkness—a reverence that seemed at odds with everything I’d heard about the angel of death.

The way these deadly men looked at the women they loved made me wonder what it would be like to be cherished by someone who could tear the world apart to keep you safe. The thought sent a shiver down my spine that wasn’t entirely from fear.

As if sensing my thoughts, Enzo stepped closer, his hand settling at the small of my back, fingers splayed in quiet possession. His touch was light, but his stance made it clear—anyone coming for me would have to go through him.

This should have terrified me. Instead, I found myself leaning into his touch, craving more of this dangerous connection that had sparked between us.

Chapter Forty-One

Joy

Enzo led me up the staircase, where the walls were dressed in dark tapestries and gilded frames. But it wasn’t the artwork that caught my attention—it was the house itself, breathing around us, each creak and shift a reminder that the Santi legacy was very much alive. My fingers trailed along the polished mahogany banister, cool and smooth beneath my touch. Each step creaked slightly, as if the house itself acknowledged our presence.

We reached the second floor where a hallway stretched before us, lit by antique sconces that cast a warm, golden glow against the deep burgundy wallpaper. Several ornate doors lined the corridor, each one closed, hiding secrets I could only imagine. The weight of history pressed down around us, making the air feel thick and heavy with untold stories.

Enzo’s hand rested at the small of my back, a gentle but possessive touch that somehow both steadied and excited me. His movements were fluid despite the dried blood stiffening his clothes, his natural predatory grace undiminished by the night’s violence. When we stopped before a door near the end of thehall, his fingers lingered against my skin for a moment before he reached for the handle.

He opened the door, revealing a room that took my breath away. It was tastefully decorated in rich, masculine tones—deep purples, charcoals, and burnished golds. A large king-sized bed dominated the space, covered in a dark purple quilt that was almost black, the fabric catching the light with a subtle sheen. An antique dresser stood against one wall, its surface adorned with just a few personal items—a silver pocket watch, a leatherbound book, an ornate dagger that looked centuries old.

What struck me most was the air itself—rich, warm, threaded with a smoky depth and a sharp bite of something wilder beneath. His scent. Not just clinging to him, but woven into the very bones of this place. This wasn’t just a room—it was his den, his claim, and now I stood in the middle of it. My pulse gave a sharp, aching thud, as if my heart had stumbled over its own beat, unsure whether to race or hold still.

“Your room?” I whispered. The intimacy of the moment wasn’t lost on me—standing in a vampire’s bedroom, surrounded by his essence.

He turned to face me, his dark eyes reflecting the soft lamplight. One hand came up to cup my face, his thumb gently caressing my cheekbone. His touch was cool against my flushed skin. “Yes.”

I swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of every sensation—the lingering adrenaline from the night’s events, the proximity of his body to mine, the way his eyes had darkened as they held my gaze. “My room,” I added, the words more question than statement.

In answer, he took me in his arms, one hand sliding around my waist while the other tangled in my hair. The embrace was both gentle and unyielding, as if he feared I might shatter orflee. For a heartbeat, we stood suspended in time, his face inches from mine, our breaths mingling in the space between us.

Then he kissed me, and the world fell away. I should have noticed the blood on his lips—the undeniable reminder of what he was, what he had done—but all I felt was him. The heat of his mouth. The way he claimed without apology. There was nothing but Enzo.

His essence overpowered everything else—dark, intoxicating, dangerous yet impossibly tender. His lips moved against mine with a hunger that spoke of centuries of loneliness, of finding something precious and unexpected.

My hands clutched at his shoulders, partly to steady myself as my knees threatened to give way, partly to pull him closer. The rational part of my mind screamed warnings—this man was a predator, a killer, everything I’d been taught to fear—but my heart and body responded to him on a level that transcended reason. In his arms, despite everything, I felt found rather than lost.

He slipped his hand around my neck, the cool press of his fingers a stark contrast to my flushed skin. The touch was intimate, possessive, and it sent a shiver cascading down my spine.

“I’ve waited a long time for this,” he murmured, his breath skimming my lips. His gaze darkened, and in its depths, something ancient stirred—something hungry.

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