Page 7 of Oath of Blood and Joy

“Shut up, bitch.” Marsha flexed her fingers as if my face had somehow offended them. A thin smile spread across as she watched me struggle to stay upright, to swallow back the whimper that threatened to escape.

I forced myself to straighten, wincing as blood trickled fresh from my torn lip, my chest tight with fury. Behind the pain, something else stirred—a spark of anger, small but fierce, refusing to be extinguished. From prey to predator, the transformation had begun.

Marsha sauntered in front of me, her heels clicking rhythmically against the marble floor like a mocking countdown. Each step oozed confidence while Frank dragged me behind, his grip tightening with what felt like sadistic pleasure that sent dullwaves of pain up to my shoulder. The rough fabric of his uniform sleeve brushed against my skin with each forceful tug, a constant reminder of my helplessness.

She pushed open the heavy oak door to Maximo’s study without knocking, the hinges groaning in protest. The air inside hit me immediately—warm and thick with the scent of old books and expensive cologne. Maximo looked up from his laptop, the blue light casting eerie shadows across his angular face. His expression shifted from annoyance at the interruption to something more calculating as his eyes locked onto mine.

“We have a problem.” She tilted her head at me. A strand of her perfectly styled hair fell across her face, but she didn’t bother to fix it, too focused on delivering her news. She slammed Anton’s book on to his desk. “She escaped from her room using the shadows.”

My chest tightened, pressing against my heart like an invisible vise. The taste of blood still lingered on my tongue from my split lip, metallic and sharp. I could feel their eyes on me—Marsha’s cold with fury, Maximo’s burning with something I couldn’t quite name. Interest? Satisfaction? My pulse hammered in my ears as I waited for him to speak, each second stretching into eternity.

Maximo leaned back in his chair, the expensive leather creaking beneath his weight. His fingers steepled under his chin as his eyes studied me with calculating precision, like a jeweler assessing a rare diamond. “The auction’s tonight. We can’t leave her alone. She might escape again.” A half-smile played at the corner of his mouth. “She’s too valuable to lose.”

Marsha crossed her arms with a soft rustle of expensive fabric, her manicured nails drumming against her sleeve in irritation. The ruby ring on her finger caught the light, flashing blood red. “Then what do you propose we do?”

He shrugged, a casual gesture that belied the gravity of what they were discussing. “What else? Bring her.” His gaze never left my face, watching for my reaction.

I remained perfectly still, though my muscles tensed with the urge to run. Each second that passed was another second closer to the auction, another second I needed for planning but didn’t have. My injured lip stiffened where the blood had hardened, a painful reminder of what happened to those who defied these people.

“And have her do what?” Marsha asked, her eyebrow arching skeptically.

Maximo chuckled, his laugh making me break out with goosebumps. “She’ll act as an escort for the girls and bring them out on Simon’s stage.”

The name hung in the air between us as possibilities—most of them terrible—flashed through my mind. I had only been to Simon’s once. He auctioned illegal merchandise—including human flesh—at his Ravenwood Estate, a sprawling property hidden deep in the New Orleans bayou where the cypress trees dripped with Spanish moss and provided perfect cover for his criminal enterprise. The humid air and muddy waters concealed countless secrets, making it ideal for his operations.

My chest tightened at the memory of Maximo’s casual boast weeks ago, champagne glass in hand, about how Angelo Santi had paid top dollar for my best friend, Serenity. He was ruthless and I couldn’t imagine what he had done to her. My blood pumped with rage and grief, turning my vision crimson at the edges. Now that same helpless fury burned in my throat like bile.

If I was going to be at the auction anyway, escorting the girls, maybe there was still a chance. The shadows had responded to me, just maybe I could use them to help the others. I kept my expression neutral, eyes slightly downcast to hide the dangerousdetermination building behind them, even as a tiny spark of hope flickered to life inside me.

This was my chance to save the girls.

Chapter Five

Enzo

I sat out on the steps of Crescent Manor, surveying the bustle of Bourbon Street below. The night air carried the scents of humanity—sweat, alcohol, perfume, desire—all of it meaningless to me now. Inside, Angelo and Serenity had finally found their peace, their love united before witnesses both mortal and immortal. The wedding music still drifted through the open windows, a melody that should have been celebratory but only twisted the knife of absence deeper into my chest.

I was happy for them. Genuinely. After centuries at Angelo’s side, I’d never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at his Nephilim bride. But all I could think about was Joy—her name a cruel irony now. She was out there somewhere, and her memory burned in my mind like a fever that grew more consuming with each passing day.

My mate. The words tasted like spoiled blood in my mouth, a concept I’d mocked other vampires for over the centuries. The pathetic way they’d become enslaved to a single being, how they’d throw away power, position, immortal dignity—allfor the sake of one person. I understood now. Gods help me, I understood completely.

And the bitter twist of fate? Joy had no idea. She didn’t know what she was to me—that invisible, unbreakable thread that connected us, a bond she couldn’t yet feel. I’d recognized it instantly, that first moment our eyes met, but she’d only seen another of Angelo’s dangerous enforcers.

I swirled the bourbon in my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the moonlight. These agonizing weeks without her, and the world had already lost its color, its flavor. My meals became joyless ritual, my own heartbeat a stranger’s rhythm in my chest. Sleep eluded me. The bond between mates wasn’t just some romantic notion—it was an endless hunger, a constant emptiness that nothing could fill.

Maximo Barone had her. The thought set my fangs on edge, venom pooling in my mouth. I pictured his hands on her, her fear, her pain, and something primal and violent rose within me—a rage so pure it scared even me. Three centuries of carefully cultivated control threatened to shatter in an instant. And if—when—I found her, she wouldn’t understand the ferocity of my protection, wouldn’t know why I would tear apart anyone who had harmed her. How could I explain that she was mine in ways she couldn’t comprehend yet? That I’d recognized her as my fated mate the moment I first saw her, though I hadn’t even spoken to her until that frantic moment at Angelo’s execution?

I was done playing by the rules of mafia engagement with the kings. Done with territories and councils, with diplomatic channels and negotiated terms. The old Enzo—Angelo’s reasonable enforcer, the strategist, the one who counseled patience—was gone. In his place stood something else, something even the vampire world had reason to fear: a mated vampire separated from his other half.

I drained the bourbon in one swallow and rose to my feet. Let Maximo hide. Let him run. The game had changed, and he had no idea what was coming for him.

For her, I would burn the world.

Angelo was busy with Serenity and making up for lost time. She had been kidnapped by the demon Balthazar and taken to hell. He had given orders to not knock on their door unless it was an emergency. Or if you had a death wish.

He had used Keir Rankin, the Unseelie mafia king, to help him track down Serenity, but there was always a cost. Keir never did anything for free, and like Angelo, I was willing to pay that price. In our world, debts weren’t settled with paperwork, they were written in blood.

I headed up to the iron gate to his home, the Court of Thorns, which was in the Garden District. Two of his guards stood outside the gate, looking about as welcoming as a pair of attack dogs.

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