Page 20 of Cry of Blood and Joy
Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, streaming sideways across my face as Enzo’s supernatural speed carried us through the night. I pressed my face against his back, breathing in his familiar scent of cedar and safety, trying to memorize it before I did what I knew I had to do. His words helped anchor me, pulling me back from the edge just enough to force my shadows to retreat.
I had to leave them. It was the only way to keep them safe.
Suddenly, after nearly an hour of supernatural speed through the city’s back alleys, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and glazed donuts hit me like a wave, so normal and mundane that it made my head spin after everything we’d just escaped. The sweet, yeasty scent was almost overwhelming after the metallic taste of fear that had been coating my throat. Where were we?
Enzo placed me down gently inside what looked like an all-night coffee shop, his hands lingering on my waist for just a moment to make sure I was steady on my feet. My legs felt like jelly after being carried at vampire speed, and I had to grip the back of a nearby chair to keep from swaying. The warm yellow light from the overhead fixtures made me blink rapidly, my eyes struggling to adjust after the darkness of our flight.
The shop was nearly empty except for a lone barista who looked half asleep behind the counter, and the soft jazz playing from hidden speakers felt surreal after the chaos we’d just left behind. Steam rose from industrial coffee machines, and I could hear the quiet hum of refrigeration units and the distant sound of traffic—normal, everyday sounds that felt like they belonged to a different world.
Enzo glanced over at Steve, his dark eyes sharp with concern as he scanned the street beyond the large windows. “Lorenzo’s scent was back there. He’s definitely tracking us.”
My blood turned to ice. Lorenzo was one of Angelo’s men—one of his most loyal enforcers, the kind who didn’t ask questions and never showed mercy.
Steve’s jaw clenched, and his hands curl into fists at his sides. “So Dimitri made good on his threat?” There was bitter disappointment in his voice, like he’d been hoping against hope that the Dimitri might have kept silent.
Enzo peered through the blinds, his body primed and ready for action even as he tried to appear casual. “You weren’t there when Angelo nearly tore Dimitri apart when he thought Dimitri was responsible for Serenity’s disappearance.” He stole a sideways glance at me. “And that time, she was only missing.”
His words were like a death sentence, and my newly calmed shadows began to stir again in response to the fresh wave of terror washing over me.
“I’ve told you to take your paycheck and go,” an angry voice boomed from behind the counter, cutting through the soft jazz like a blade. “You’ve screwed up for the last time!”
My heart gave an involuntary flutter of sympathy. Some poor soul was being fired, and from the venom in that voice, it wasn’t going to be pretty. The normalcy of workplace drama felt bizarre after everything we’d just escaped—like watching a movie after surviving a war.
A male employee emerged from the back, making his way past the tired barista with deliberate, measured steps. His long dark hair was pulled up into a messy man bun, and streaks of flour clung to the sharp angles beneath his dark eyes like war paint. There was something predatory in his movements, too fluid and controlled for someone who should have been upset about losing a job. He tore off his grease-stained apron with violent efficiency and tossed it carelessly into a nearby chair, the fabric landing with a soft thud that somehow sounded final.
Enzo went completely still beside me, his entire body tensing like a black panther ready to pounce on its prey. I could feel the sudden shift in his energy, the way his breathing changed, became more controlled. “Rocco?” His voice came out strangled, disbelieving. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Cold terror crept through my bloodstream, numbing everything in its path. Rocco. The prince of vampires—King Nico’s son. My hands began to shake as the memories crashed over me like a tidal wave, vivid and nauseating. The last time I’d seen him, it had been at his father’s sprawling estate, and what he’d done to his mother that night still gave me nightmares that left me gasping and drenched in cold sweat.
I could still hear her screams echoing in my head, could still see the way his eyes had gone completely black as something else wore his face like a mask. The possession had made him a puppet, but the violence—god, the violence had beenvicious, brutal, unforgiving. Even knowing it hadn’t really been him doing those unspeakable things couldn’t erase the image of blood splattered across marble floors, couldn’t silence the sound of breaking bones and desperate pleas that had gone unanswered.
The scent of coffee and sugar now made my stomach churn, and I had to grip the chair harder to keep from collapsing as my knees threatened to give out completely.
“What does it look like?” Rocco grumbled. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, which were heavy with defeat and exhaustion. He gestured around the coffee shop with both hands, flour still dusting his forearms like a fine layer of snow. “Getting fired. Again.” The bitterness in his tone could have curdled milk. “What are you three doing here?”
Enzo studied him with the intensity of a predator evaluating potential prey, his dark eyes cataloging every detail—the slumped shoulders, the defensive posture, the way Rocco’s hands trembled almost imperceptibly. “Are you working with Angelo?” Each word was carefully measured, testing the waters.
Rocco’s laugh was a harsh, broken sound that scraped against my nerves like metal dragging across concrete. He raised his arms in a gesture of bitter surrender, flour cascading from his sleeves like confetti at the world’s most depressing party. “Does it look like I’m working for Angelo?” His voice cracked slightly, and something raw and painful flashed in his dark eyes before he shuttered it away.
Steve stepped closer, his movements cautious but curious. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across his face, making his expression difficult to read. “You mean you work here? Actually work here?”
“Worked here,” Rocco corrected him with sharp emphasis, running a flour-dusted hand through his disheveled hair and leaving white streaks in the dark strands. His man bun wascoming undone, pieces falling around his face in a way that made him look younger, more vulnerable. “Past tense. As in, not anymore. As in, I just got my ass fired for the third time this month.”
He slumped against the counter, failure pressing down on his shoulders like iron chains. “Every time I try to get a job, I fuck it up somehow. Turns out being a vampire prince and graduating from Red Rose Academy didn’t exactly give me the skills needed to work in the human world.” His smile was sardonic, self-deprecating in a way that was almost painful to watch. “Turns out a lifetime of supernatural privilege didn’t exactly prepare me for minimum wage jobs.”
The scent of his exhaustion mixed with the coffee and flour—something bitter and defeated that made my chest tighten with unexpected sympathy.
Enzo tilted his head, studying Rocco with the kind of intense curiosity that made my skin crawl. His dark eyes swept over the flour-dusted apron, the exhausted slump of Rocco’s shoulders, taking in every detail like he was solving a puzzle. “You’re not living at Fandor Citadel?”
The question hung in the air like smoke. Rocco’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, a brief flicker of pain that crossed his features before he buried it beneath a mask of indifference. He sighed, the sound heavy with resignation and something that might have been shame. “No. I’m not. Haven’t been for some time.”
Enzo’s gaze flicked between Steve and me, and a chill of unease crawled up my spine. His eyes had that calculating look—the one that meant he was formulating a plan I probably wasn’t going to like. “Where are you living?”
Rocco’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and suddenly the exhausted man was gone, replaced by something far more predatory. “Why all the questions?”
Enzo approached him then, moving with deliberate slowness like he was approaching a wild animal. Dread saturated the air, turning even the comforting aroma of coffee bitter on my tongue. “Because we need a place to hide.”
My heart stopped. I could hear my pulse thundering in my ears like a drum. Steve and I locked eyes across the space between us. I saw my shock and disbelief reflected in his expression. His mouth fell slightly open, and my jaw dropped in stunned silence. Was Enzo serious? Was he actually asking the vampire prince—the same one whose father ruled an entirely different supernatural faction—to help us hide from Angelo’s wrath?
