Page 46 of Cry of Blood and Joy
Please, I prayed to whatever gods might be listening,please let him have made it to Enzo.
I could still see him in my mind—weak and poisoned, struggling to transform, that desperate flight through the broken window. The image of him as a bat, listing drunkenly through the humid bayou air, made my chest tighten with worry. What if the demon blood had been too much? What if he’d collapsed somewhere in the Spanish moss, alone and dying?
No. I forced the thought away, shaking my head despite the fresh wave of pain it caused. Steve was strong. He was a survivor. He would make it.
And when he did, when he found Enzo and told him what had happened...
My heart raced at the thought, hope blooming fierce and desperate in my chest. Enzo would tear through the bayou like an avenging angel. He would move heaven and earth, would burn down everything in his path to find me. I could almost see him—dark eyes blazing with fury, shadows writhing aroundhim like living smoke as he hunted for any trace of where they’d taken me.
The certainty of it warmed me from the inside out, even as my wrists throbbed and bled. Enzo wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t rest. He wouldn’t give up.
He would find me.
He had to.
Because if he didn’t, if somehow Steve hadn’t made it or Enzo couldn’t track me down in time, then whatever portal these monsters wanted me to open would unleash something terrible on the world. And I would die knowing I’d been the key to humanity’s destruction.
I closed my eyes and whispered his name like a prayer: “Enzo.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Enzo
He was fucking lying. The truth was written in every line of his face, every subtle shift in his posture. He had her—my Joy, my everything—and he would tell me where she was if I had to tear it out of him piece by bloody piece.
All the anger and rage I’d been holding back erupted like a dam bursting. It surged through my muscles like adrenaline, centuries of restraint evaporating in an instant. My fangs lengthened with an audible snick, razor-sharp canines sliding down as my body prepared for violence. The taste of copper flooded my mouth, and all I could think about was blood—Angelo’s blood—decorating the pristine walls of this cursed place.
I charged at him with supernatural speed, my feet barely touching the hardwood floors. Angelo—my one-time brother, my maker, the bastard who’d given me eternal life only to use it against me—rushed to meet my assault head on.
We crashed into each other like colliding freight trains, the impact sending shockwaves through the entire building. Painshot through my shoulder, and I tasted blood as two centuries of vampire strength met in explosive combat.
His claws raked across my chest, tearing through fabric and flesh like it was paper. My skin split open in four parallel lines, hot blood immediately soaking my shirt. But my hands grabbed his throat, nails digging deep enough to draw dark crimson that smelled of old copper and decay.
We rolled across the floor in a tangle of limbs and violence, crashing into the coffee table that splintered under our combined weight. Angelo’s fist connected with my jaw in a bone-jarring blow that would have shattered a human skull. Stars exploded behind my eyes, but I used the momentum to drive my elbow into his ribs, feeling something crack beneath the impact.
Blood filled my mouth, copper and salt coating my tongue. Pain blazed across my chest where his claws had found their mark, and my shirt clung wetly to my skin as we grappled with savage intensity.
Agonizing pain gripped me as he drew on his full vampire strength—the power of Dracula flowing through him like an unstoppable tide. He seized my shoulders and slammed me against the wall. My head snapped back, skull connecting with brick in an explosion of agony that made my vision blur.
But even through the pain, even as his superior strength threatened to overwhelm me, I refused to yield. Joy’s face flashed before my eyes—her smile, her laugh, the way she looked at me like I was worth saving. The memory gave me strength I didn’t know I possessed.
“Tell me where she is, Angelo!” I screamed, the sound echoing through the ruined room like a battle cry. Blood ran down my face from a gash above my eyebrow, but I didn’t care. “TELL ME!”
Strong hands—hands I didn’t recognize—gripped my arms with surprising force and hauled me backward. My feet scrapedagainst broken glass and splintered wood as I was pulled away from Angelo, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. I wanted to keep fighting, to tear him apart until he told me what I needed to know.
“Stop it.” The voice cut through the violence with familiar authority—deep, gravelly, and edged with the kind of menace that made even hardened criminals think twice. I recognized it instantly despite the blood roaring in my ears.
Lorenzo.
His grip tightened as I struggled. Behind him, I caught a glimpse of Pascal, his usually composed face tense with concern. Elena stood near the doorway, her eyes wide as she took in the destruction.
“He’ll kill you,” Pascal said quietly, his faded Italian accent unmistakable.
Lorenzo and Pascal. My own men holding me back from making a fatal mistake. Lorenzo’s massive frame strained against my left arm—even with his considerable strength, keeping me restrained was taking effort. Pascal had locked onto pressure points on my right arm, his grip precise and unrelenting, but I could feel both of them working to contain my power.
I could have broken free if I’d really tried, but some rational part of my mind knew they were right. I was driven by emotion, not logic. Angelo could use this against me.
Lorenzo and Pascal were my fellow enforcers. Vampires almost as brutal as me, which was saying something in a world where brutality was currency and mercy was weakness. The fact that they were restraining me—their superior, their leader—spoke volumes about how close I was to crossing a line even they wouldn’t let me cross.
