Page 49 of Cry of Blood and Joy
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, meaning it with every fiber of my being. The words felt inadequate, but they were all I had.
Serenity’s expression softened, and she reached across the space between us to briefly touch my hand. Her skin was warm, alive—a stark contrast to the cold, lifeless touch I’d expected from someone who’d been trapped between worlds.
“When I realized it wasn’t real, I heard a voice calling to me—Angelo’s—through the dream state.” Her eyes brightened slightly, as if the memory brought her comfort. “That’s when I started healing myself, fighting my way back to consciousness. Angelo’s voice... it was like an anchor, pulling me back to reality.”
I wondered if there was a connection between Joy’s disappearance and Serenity awakening. Coincidences were make-believe. The question was: who was pulling the strings?
“Your love got you through hell and back—literally.” I stared down at my bloodstained hands, watching them tremble slightly as the magnitude of my failure settled over me like a shroud.
Serenity’s Nephilim blood had saved her—she could call to Angelo across any distance. But Joy didn’t have that gift. She was trapped somewhere with no way to reach me, no way to let me know she was alive.
It was up to me to find her, and I’d been chasing my own tail like a rabid dog, getting not one step closer to where she actually was. The bitter taste of self-recrimination filled my mouth, more acrid than the blood I kept swallowing.
Serenity’s blue eyes searched my face with gentle intensity, as if she could read every broken piece of my soul written there in blood and desperation. She leaned forward slightly in her chair, the leather creaking softly under her weight. “You really do love her, don’t you?”
My throat constricted—partly from Angelo’s earlier chokehold, partly from the raw emotion threatening to spill out. I opened my mouth to tell her yes, that Joy was everything to me, that losing her would destroy whatever humanity I had left.
But before I could form the words?—
Angelo burst into the living room like a breaking storm, his powerful frame filling the doorway as he cradled Dimitri’s unconscious form against his chest. Dimitri’s usually immaculate appearance was destroyed. His head lolled at an unnatural angle, and his breathing was so shallow it was barely perceptible.
Fuck.Dimitri didn’t deserve what I did to him. I could still see his body crumpled against that garage door, and the image made me sick. I had to get control of myself—this blind rage was making me sloppy, dangerous to innocent people. I was making costly mistakes I couldn’t afford. I needed to think like an enforcer, not a desperate man in love.
He placed Dimitri down with the tenderness of someone handling precious crystal, arranging his limbs with clinical precision. The rich burgundy leather immediately began to darken where blood seeped through Dimitri’s clothing like spilled wine.
A choked sob from the doorway made me look up. Gianna followed Angelo to the couch and collapsed next to Dimitri like a broken angel, her usually perfect composure completely shattered. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her hand shook stroking his bloodied hair.
“Serenity, please heal him. I can’t lose him,” she sobbed.
The sight of him—pale as death, blood pooling beneath his head—sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing through my chest. This was my doing. My rage. My complete failure to think rationally.
“Yes, heal him,” I mumbled. The words felt pathetic, inadequate—like trying to apologize for an earthquake with a whisper.
Gianna’s head snapped toward me, her dark eyes blazing with fury so intense it made the air itself seem to crackle. “Shut up, just shut up!” she screamed. Spit flew from her lips as she advanced on me like an avenging fury, her small hands clenched into fists at her sides.
I pressed myself back into the leather cushions, genuinely surprised she didn’t launch herself at me and try to claw my eyes out with her perfectly manicured nails. The murderous rage radiating from her petite frame was palpable, and honestly, I would have let her. I deserved every bit of her rage and more.
What I’d done settled over the room like a suffocating shroud, making even breathing feel like a monumental effort. Serenity looked up from Dimitri’s broken form, her blue eyes cold as winter. “You’re becoming just like the monsters we fight, Enzo. Maybe Joy is better off without you.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Joy
The searing pain from the fused iron bracelets finally overwhelmed me, and my legs buckled beneath my weight. I collapsed with a strangled gasp, my body going limp as I dangled helplessly from the chains. The metal links rattled against each other with a hollow, echoing sound that seemed to mock my helplessness. My arms stretched painfully over my head, shoulders screaming in protest as they bore my full weight.
Darkness had fully seeped into the abandoned church like spilled ink, swallowing the broken pews and crumbling altar in shadow. The only illumination came from a handful of flickering candles scattered around the sanctuary, their weak flames dancing in the humid bayou air that crept through broken windows. The wavering light cast eerie shadows that seemed to writhe and move across the water-stained walls.
Marsha’s cold gaze swept over my defeated form with clinical satisfaction. “She’s subdued, Ari.” The candlelight transformed her features into something ghostly and malevolent—sharpcheekbones casting deep shadows, her eyes appearing as dark hollows in her skull.
Ari nodded with grim approval, his own face a study in calculated cruelty in the dim light. “Agreed. First bind her mouth. I don’t want her making any noise when I make this call.”
“With pleasure,” Marsha purred. She bent down and retrieved a thick leather strap from their supplies, the material dark and worn with age.
The gag was brutal in its efficiency. She yanked it tight around my head, the leather cutting into the corners of my mouth as she secured it with vicious precision. The strap pushed my tongue back against my throat, making me gag and struggle for breath through my nose. The taste of old leather filled my mouth—bitter and revolting.
Marsha stood and brushed her hands against her pants with satisfaction. “She’s secured.”
“Good.” Ari pulled out a sleek black phone, its screen glowing bright in the candlelit darkness. “Yes, this is Stefan Gabor, headmaster and warden of the Hollows. I need to speak with the king at once.”
