Page 44 of Cry of Blood and Joy
I plowed into him like a runaway Mack truck, every ounce of supernatural strength and centuries of rage focused into a single, devastating impact. Shockwaves rippled through me from the brutal impact—the revolting sound of bone against bone echoing sharply through the enclosed space. His body flew through the air in a graceful arc, arms and legs flailing helplessly as he crashed into the double garage door. The wood exploded on impact—slivers of cypress and iron flying in every direction like deadly confetti. Dust and debris rained down as his body lodged halfway through the splintered opening, his legs dangling limply while his torso disappeared into the darkness beyond.
Blood—dark and rich—splattered across the broken wood in scattered droplets. He was a born vampire, his supernatural healing already trying to repair the damage, but an impact like that would leave even our kind unconscious for precious minutes. Maybe longer. Maybe permanently, if I’d hit him at just the right angle.
At this point, I didn’t care.
He had betrayed me. Taken Joy. Handed her over for whatever twisted game Angelo was playing.
The metallic scent of vampire blood in the air mixed with the musty smell of old wood from the damaged garage. Broken debris scattered across the limousine parked inside. My hands were shaking—not from the impact, but from the sheer effort it took to restrain myself from finishing what I’d started. Something savage in me wanted to drag him from that wreckage and make him suffer as Joy had.
I wanted to torture him. To hear him scream the way I knew Joy had screamed. To break every bone in his body until he begged for the mercy he’d never shown her.
But my first priority was finding Joy and getting her out of this den of vipers before Angelo decided playtime was over.
The bastard could wait. Joy couldn’t.
My fingers wrapped around the brass doorknob with crushing force, the metal groaning in protest before giving way with a sharp snap. The lock mechanism crumbled like paper in my grip, tiny fragments of steel and brass raining onto the polished hardwood floor. I didn’t bother with finesse—I ripped the entire door from its frame, the hinges screaming in metallic agony as screws tore free from the wood.
The heavy oak door sailed through the air behind me, crashing into the opposite wall with a thunderous boom that shook dust from the ceiling. Plaster cracked and fell in white chunks, filling the narrow hallway with a choking cloud that made my eyes water.
Angelo’s secret room was only feet away now. I could smell it, that distinctive cocktail of fear, pain, and old blood that clung to places where horrors were committed. The scent hit me with overwhelming force, so thick and cloying I could taste copper on my tongue. My enhanced hearing picked up something that made my dead heart skip—the faintest whisper of breathing from beyond that door. Joy had to be there. Please let her be alive. Angelo wouldn’t waste any time once he had her in his domain. The time it took me to reach her was time she spent in agony.
I drew back and slammed my shoulder into the locked door with the force of a battering ram. The impact sent shockwaves through my entire body, my bones jarring against each other as the thick wood quivered and buckled. Dust exploded from the frame as the deadbolt strained against its housing, metal groaning under pressure it was never designed to withstand.
The door held, but barely. One more hit would do it.
One more hit, and I’d either save the woman I loved—or find her broken body and spend eternity making Angelo pay.
BAM. BAM. BAM.
Each strike against the door reverberated through the narrow hallway like thunder, the oak wood splintering under my relentless assault. Splinters flew past my face, one slicing across my cheek.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I spun around, every muscle in my body braced for violence. Angelo wasn’t in the secret room—he stood at the far end of the hallway like an avenging demon, his dark silhouette framed by the dim light filtering through a stained-glass window. Hate brewed in his coal-black eyes, the same eyes that had once looked at me with something resembling brotherly affection. Now they held nothing but contempt and barely restrained fury.
The air between us crackled with tension so thick I could taste it on my tongue, metallic and sharp like the moment before lightning strikes.
“I’m here to take Joy.” My fangs extended involuntarily as rage flooded my system. My hands clenched into fists at my sides.
Angelo’s lips curled into a cruel smile, that same smile he’d used on countless victims. “Take Joy?” He let out a harsh laugh that echoed off the peeling wallpaper. “You think the bitch is here?”
The casual venom in his eyes made something snap inside me. Red edged my vision, and my control slipped away like sand through my fingers.
Chapter Thirty
Joy
Ari headed toward me like death himself, his footsteps echoing ominously in the hollow chamber. Rage reflected in his pale eyes like flames dancing in winter ice—cold, calculating, and utterly merciless. The smell of his anger was sharp and acidic.
I pulled frantically on my chains, the iron links rattling against each other in a desperate symphony. My shoulders burned as I strained against the unyielding metal, trying to get away from him, but I only succeeded in making the manacles bite deeper into my already raw wrists. The tension tightened around me like a steel trap, leaving me helpless as a fish flopping on dry land.
His fingers tangled in my hair—rough, calloused—and yanked with vicious force. Pain ripped through my scalp, raw and merciless. I couldn’t stop the yelp that tore from my throat. I hated myself for showing weakness, for giving him the satisfaction of my pain. The sound seemed to echo endlessly in the stone chamber, mocking me.
Marsha materialized beside him like a wraith, her cold smile never wavering as she examined my partially freed hand with clinical interest. Her fingers found my wrist where my thumb had slipped free, her touch like ice against my fevered skin.
“You are powerful, little one,” she purred, “but you won’t do this again.”
Before I could react, her iron grip found my thumb. Time seemed to slow as she began to bend it backward, the joint straining against its natural limits. I felt the exact moment it reached the breaking point?—
