Page 33 of Cry of Blood and Joy
The vehicle was a thing of deadly beauty, all polished chrome and tinted windows that reflected the estate’s security lights like dark mirrors. I could smell the fine leather interior and fresh wax even from my hiding spot, a stark contrast to the earthy scent of mulch and jasmine from the gardens around me.
The wrought-iron gates opened with barely a whisper of sound, their movements so fluid they seemed choreographed. My strategic mind cursed at being outmaneuvered as the limousine glided to a stop directly in front of the fountain where I crouched, positioning itself with such precise accuracy that there was no doubt they knew exactly where I was hiding.
I’d been made. Completely and utterly made.
The rear door opened with the soft click of exquisite German engineering, and my prey—my fucking target—stepped out onto the manicured driveway like he owned the world. Lorcan Blackthorn looked every inch the apex predator he was, his short white hair perfectly styled and his expensive suit unmarked by even a speck of dust. The bastard had the audacity to smile as he spotted me in the shadows, a pleasant mask that couldn’t hide the menace beneath.
“Keir Rankin would like you to join us—enforcer.” The word enforcer dripped from his lips like an insult wrapped in silk, carrying just enough contempt to make my fangs threaten to descend. His voice was cultured, refined, and utterly devoid of the fear any sane creature should have felt when facing a vampire who’d spent centuries perfecting the art of violence.
My hands clenched into fists so tight my knuckles cracked audibly in the humid night air. This wasn’t just a tactical disaster—it was a complete fucking ambush, and I’d walked into it like an amateur. The taste of copper filled my mouth as I bit back the urge to launch myself at Lorcan’s throat and paint the pristine driveway with his blood.
Instead, I forced myself to stand slowly, every movement deliberate and controlled despite the rage burning through my veins like wildfire. The fountain’s gentle splashing behind me seemed absurdly peaceful for what was about to be my execution—caught like a rat in a trap by the very people I’d been hunting.
I shoved my fury down into that cold, analytical place where the enforcer lived—the part of me that could function even when everything else was falling apart.
There wasn’t any point in denying the ride. If I wanted information, this was the only way I was going to get it.
I slipped past Lorcan with deliberate control, my shoulder brushing against his premium suit as I ducked into thelimousine. The interior was a study in understated luxury—cream leather seats that probably cost more than most people’s cars, soft ambient lighting that cast everything in warm gold, and the subtle scent of leather conditioner. There was also a faint aroma of something that might have been sandalwood.
Keir smiled at me from across the spacious cabin, his expression carrying that infuriating blend of amusement and false courtesy that made my skin crawl. “Sorry to keep you outside for so long, Enzo.”
I just looked at him, my face a mask of cold indifference as I fought to keep the rage simmering beneath my surface from boiling over. Every instinct screamed at me to lunge across the space between us and wrap my hands around his throat, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me lose control. Instead, I waited in silence, my hands resting casually on my knees despite the way my fingers ached to curl into fists.
Lorcan slid into the seat beside me with predatory grace, the movement causing the leather to creak softly under his weight. “It appears we have a problem.” His eyes had an undercurrent of something else—concern, maybe, or calculation.
My jaw tightened involuntarily. “You mean me?” The words came out flat and dangerous, each syllable carefully controlled.
“As much as I’d love to say yes,” Lorcan gave me a stiff smile, “no, not you.” He pulled out a sleek laptop that looked like it belonged in a corporate boardroom rather than the back of a limousine. “I want to show you something. Tell me what you think.”
I glanced at Keir questioningly, searching his pale features for any hint of what game we were playing now. He only shrugged with elegant indifference as he lifted a crystal wine glass to his lips, taking a delicate sip of what looked like vintage white wine. The casual gesture made my teeth clench—here Iwas, desperate for answers while Joy lay vulnerable and weak, and he was conducting business like we were at a dinner party.
Lorcan’s fingers moved across the keyboard with practiced efficiency, and the screen came to life with crisp HD video footage. He played two videos simultaneously, the screen split down the middle to show both feeds at once. The quality was professional grade, clearly from high-end security cameras.
One video showed Lorcan standing behind Keir while the other showed the same man talking to a group of guards in what looked like the estate’s main foyer. Both videos were crystal clear, both showed the same person, and both were obviously real.
I sighed heavily, the sound echoing slightly in the confined space as I tried to keep my growing annoyance from exploding into something more dangerous. The last thing I needed was parlor tricks when every second that passed put Joy in greater danger. “What am I looking at?”
“Look at the time stamp,” Lorcan said quietly.
I leaned forward, squinting at the small digital readout in the corner of each video feed. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. My frown deepened as the numbers came into focus, and every hair on my body stood on edge as I put the pieces together.
The timestamps were identical. Down to the second.
Lorcan was in two different places at exactly the same time, and the security footage proved it beyond any shadow of doubt.
I looked between them, my gaze ping-ponging from Keir’s pale, calculating features to Lorcan’s grim expression. My mind raced worse than Joy’s shadows ever had. “How can this be?”
“Someone pretended to be me, obviously.” Lorcan gestured at the laptop screen with a sharp, angry movement. “A better imitation than I’ve ever seen. Perfect down to every last detail—my voice, my mannerisms, even the way I hold my shoulders.”His jaw clenched as he studied his own face on the monitor. “That same person went into the Shadow Vault where we kept the Anchoring Obsidian Stone.”
“And took it.” I gripped the leather seat so hard, the plush material creaking under the pressure.
“Only Lorcan and I have the combination.” Keir swirled his wine in slow, hypnotic circles. The crystal glass caught the ambient light, sending prismatic reflections dancing across the limousine’s interior. But his pale eyes were anything but calm—they held the kind of cold fury that had probably been the last thing countless enemies had ever seen.
“Neither Keir nor I gave anyone that combination,” Lorcan continued. The professional mask he usually wore was slipping, revealing something raw and dangerous underneath. “Whoever did this didn’t just look like me—they knew everything about me. My memories, my knowledge, my personal security codes.” He ran a hand through his cropped white hair, the gesture uncharacteristically vulnerable. “They had access to information that exists nowhere but in my own mind.”
The confined space of the limousine suddenly felt suffocating, as if the walls were closing in around us. The scent of leather and sandalwood that had seemed luxurious moments before now made my throat feel tight and constricted.
“How is that possible?” I mumbled as a terrible suspicion was beginning to form in the back of my mind. My enhanced senses were picking up something else now—the sharp, metallic scent of fear mixing with Keir’s usual aura of supernatural power. Whatever had done this, it had shaken the Unseelie king badly enough that even his legendary control was starting to crack.
