Page 14 of Cry of Blood and Joy
The memory hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. Joy’s smile when she’d caught me watching her yesterday, shy but delighted. Her smile made centuries of darkness seem worth it just to look at her beautiful face. She was pure sunshine to my perpetual storm clouds, finding joy in the smallest things while I saw only shadows and threats.
Her humanity wasn’t a flaw to be corrected; it was the very essence of who she was. She saw light where I saw only darkness, hope where I saw only danger.
How could I ask her to suppress who she really was? How could I tell my sunshine she needed to dim her light, bury the very brightness that had pulled me from centuries of cynical isolation?
My throat felt raw, as if I’d been screaming. To save Joy’s life, I might have to help destroy the very thing that made existence bearable again.
Chapter Nine
Joy
Enzo had been gone way too long. The silence in the empty house seemed to amplify every creak of the old floorboards, every whisper of wind through the gaps in the windows. What if Angelo found him? The thought chipped away at my hope that he would return. Images of him being cornered, outnumbered, bleeding, they made my heart sick.
I paced back and forth in the living room, my footsteps echoing in the hollow space like a frantic heartbeat. My brother lay curled against the far wall, his dark red hair hiding his troubled face. After hours of restless shifting and quiet groans of pain, he had finally fallen asleep.
But he was sluggish with the daylight filtering through the dust-streaked windows, growing weaker with every ray that seemed to reach out and burn him. Not even my shadows were strong enough to keep out the power of the sun.
His labored breathing drifted across the room, each rattling inhale precious because it assured me he was still alive. The sound was the only thing keeping me from complete panic. Heneeded blood to heal his wounds properly; the gashes on his arms and the bruising along his ribs that I’d caused in my moment of terror. But he’d refused to take mine, shaking his head weakly even as crimson seeped through his torn shirt.
Stubborn idiot. I crossed my arms over my chest and sighed heavily, the sound echoing in the empty living room. The shadows in the corners seemed to respond to my frustration, rippling and undulating like dark water disturbed by wind. Black tendrils crept along the baseboards, reaching toward me with an eagerness that made my skin prickle.
No, no, no. I tried to take a deep breath, forcing my shoulders to relax as I fought to remain calm. The shadows hesitated, wavering between advancing and retreating as they sensed my internal battle. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, and I could feel that familiar tingling sensation building beneath my skin—the warning sign that my powers were stirring.
Breathe, I commanded myself.Just breathe.
The shadows stopped moving, but tension hovered over the room like a living thing, thick and oppressive in the stagnant air. Their presence lurked in every corner, pooling beneath the broken windowsill, gathering in the spaces where the afternoon light couldn’t quite reach. It was as if the shadows knew I was still upset, could taste my frustration and fear like blood in the water, and they were ready to protect me whether I wanted them to or not.
The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up with the thought of their watchful presence. They weren’t gone—just waiting, coiled like rattlesnakes ready to strike at the first sign of real danger. The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees, and I could swear I felt invisible fingers brushing against my arms, offering comfort I was too afraid to accept.
They didn’t understand the difference between helping and hurting. A chill seeped into my bones as the shadows’ unnaturalcold fingers crawled over my skin. To them, my brother’s refusal to take my blood might seem like a threat to my wellbeing. I needed to protect Steve. The wall I’d accidentally destroyed was proof of what happened when they decided someone was a danger to me.
I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, trying to project calm I didn’t feel.
Guilt ate at me from the inside. The splintered cracks on the wall were still visible, a dark reminder of how dangerous I’d become. How many more people would I hurt before I learned to control this chaos inside me? The question haunted every step I took, every glance at my brother’s bruised form. I thought I was getting a handle on my powers, slowly learning to feel the shadows before they erupted. But when I became angry—really, truly furious—everything changed. Control became a joke, and I became a weapon that couldn’t distinguish between friend and foe.
A shadow moved in front of the window. I pressed myself against the wall, terror flooding through me. My hands shook uncontrollably, and cold sweat broke out across my skin, making my shirt cling to my back. The metallic taste of fear filled my mouth. Angelo was here. He’d found us.
Adrenaline burst inside me like a dam breaking. My heart hammered against my ribs as I stumbled across the room to Steve, nearly tripping over my own feet. ‘Steve!’ I gasped, my voice barely a whisper.
I held out my palms with trembling fingers, drawing on the shadows, praying this time they would obey me. The familiar electric tingles swept over me as darkness pooled in my hands, cool and responsive. But my chest tightened with dread. What if I lost control again? What if I made Steve’s injuries worse?
I forced myself to take deep breaths.
Stay Calm Stay Calm Stay Calm
“Protect us,” I whispered, my voice cracking with desperation.
The shadows surged toward us, wrapping around Steve and me so tightly I could barely breathe. They pressed against my skin with desperate intensity, as if trying to pull us both into some dark hiding place where nothing could reach us.
The front door creaked open with a groan that echoed through the empty house, the sound making my heart leap into my throat. A dark shape slipped inside, nothing more than a silhouette against the harsh afternoon light streaming through the doorway. My muscles coiled tight, ready to run or fight, as the shadows in the room surged toward me like loyal guard dogs sensing danger.
“Stay away from us,” I said, as I positioned myself between the intruder and my sleeping brother. I refused to show any fear although I shook violently. I held out my palms, poised for a fight.
“Joy, it’s me.”
Oh god. Enzo. It was Enzo. A shaky laugh escaped me, part hysteria, part relief. Deep gratitude crashed over me like a physical wave, making my knees weak. I rushed into his waiting arms, desperate to feel his solid warmth against me, to prove he was really here and safe.
I opened my mouth to say something—to demand answers, to scold him for staying away so long—but his lips were on mine before I could speak. He kissed me with desperate intensity, as if he’d thought he might never see me again, and I melted against him. Heat flooded through my body, making me dizzy with desire despite my lingering fear. For a moment, the empty house, my injured brother, and all our troubles faded away.
