Page 51 of Fangs & Freaks
Finally, I reach a large, imposing oak door with cast iron hinges. It stands as a silent guardian for whoever is behind it, but I no longer have patience for obstacles. With a quick snap of my fingers, the door explodes into splinters; the force reverberating through the room beyond.
Chaos erupts with the explosion as three men stand protectively around Vienna, their eyes wide with shock as they turn to face me. In the far corner, a group of women and men are chained together, their faces pale and their bodies trembling. It’s as if they sense who I am. Lucky for them, they’ll be free tonight. No more sex dungeon for them.
One of them scoffs, his voice dripping with derision as he turns toward me. “False alarm, boys. It’s just a woman. The Brotherhood sent a bitch to do their bidding.”
I step further into the room, making sure not to trip over the remnants of the door, my presence commanding attention as I take in the scene before me. A wicked smile plays on my lips as my gaze locks onto the men. “Naughty, naughty Obsidian,” I purr, my tone mockingly sweet. “Look at you, taking what doesn’t belong to you.”
“What we do doesn’t concern you, bitch,” one of them growls at me.
The men shift, their postures bracing for a fight, but I don’t flinch. My eyes twinkle, daring them to make the first move. Behind me, the splinters of the oak door still smoke, a testament to my power and resolve. It’s about to get good.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Warrick
I makemy way through the church’s halls, my senses on high alert. The bloodlust is thick in the air—it’s almost intoxicating, mingling with the scent of decay and death.
The blood of my enemies stains my hands, but it feels right, almost cleansing. Each step I take echoes through the halls, a soft reminder that I’m still here, still hunting them down.
Two of their lackeys leap at me from an alcove, knives out, eyes wild with the frenzy of fight or flight. It’s too easy. I tear into them, the sound of their bones snapping as my fangs sink deep. The blood spills—warm, satisfying—but it’s not enough. Not yet.
Further down the corridor, I encounter another group, their faces twisted in contempt as they brandish weapons from guns to machete-like weapons. They have little time to react before I move, a blur of dark strength and precise rage. The sharp snap of necks fills the air, their lifeless bodies dropping like broken toys to the floor.
I don’t pause, don’t even flinch. I follow the screams down the corridor, each agonizing cry like a song to my soul, guiding me deeper into the heart of the chaos. But it’s the unmistakablescent of her—the one that slices through the foul air like a blade—that draws me in more than any death could. Bellonna. Even as the blood still coats my skin, I can feel the pull of her presence, that sweet, cruel energy.
I push through the thick, putrid air, the echoes of my footsteps mingling with the guttural sounds of conflict. The further I go, the more I can feel my bloodlust riding me, growing with every step. I’m not just a vampire, not just a creature of darkness. I’ve lived long enough to taste every shade of hell and back. I’ve had my own scars, but those are nothing compared to the ones I’ve dealt.
And right now, I’m feeling reckless. I’ve taken a few hits tonight, bruises and cuts I’ll heal from, but what’s a little pain when there’s blood to be spilled?
The cock arrow signs lead me straight to it—the dungeon. What fucking idiots the Obsidian are, leaving these breadcrumbs like they’re begging for their lives to be cut short.
I step into the damp, stone-walled room, and my eyes land on Bellonna. She stands there, a calm smile spreading across her face as she faces off with three men, each twice her size. They stand with Vienna tied up behind them, and I see the desperation in her eyes from where I stand.
“Everything the Obsidian Circle does concerns me,” Bellonna’s voice rings out. It’s a promise, quiet but lethal, like a blade drawn across skin.
One man sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. “Who let you in here, anyway? Did you come with the Brotherhood?”
Bellonna tilts her head, her eyes narrowing in mock confusion. “They came with me,” she says, her lips curling up in that unsettling smile. “Don’t you know who I am?”
The Obsidian member grunts as if the question itself is a joke. “Should I?”
She chuckles, low and dark, the sound a lullaby of death. “I’d think your momma or daddy would have warned you about me. Told you what the Obsidian’s ancestors did and what their punishment is.”
One of them laughs, like it’s a game, like their power could block out the truth of her words. “No one punishes the Circle.”
Bellonna’s smile widens, and in the blink of an eye, she morphs. Her form warps with terrifying fluidity, like something breaking free of its skin.
Her eyes darken, the pupils vanish, leaving behind lifeless, black voids—like empty wells, deep and endless, that suck in all light, all warmth, all hope. They don’t just look at you; they pierce through you, as if they can see into your soul and rip it apart, piece by piece. There’s no depth to them. No humanity.
Her hair, once a deep shade of raven black, is now an unnatural, brilliant white, as if every color was drained from her essence. It falls around her shoulders in thick, silvered waves. And then her face.Hell, her face. It’s still beautiful, of course—because no matter how much her power twists her into something monstrous, she remains stunning. But the beauty is broken now. Her porcelain skin, once smooth and perfect like a doll’s, now bears cracks—thin, jagged lines that web across her face like fractured glass. It’s as if a child, too rough in their play, had shattered their doll’s delicate features.
I can’t look away.
I’ve seen Bellonna in her Bloody Mary form before, but I’ve neverreallyseen her like this—not this fully shifted. It’s new. It’s terrifying. But in some sick way, it’s mesmerizing. Even in this monstrous form, she still commands attention—an ancient, dangerous power that I know better than to test. She doesn’t need to speak for me to feel it—the air around her vibrates with an intensity that makes my very bones hum.
And for a moment, I forget the battle. Forget the men standing before her, trembling in fear. Forget the blood that stains all our hands.
She is an enigma, a nightmare wearing the face of a goddess.
