Page 52 of Cry of Blood and Joy
“Angelo, Keir Rankin and company are here to see you.” She glanced nervously over her shoulder toward the front of the house, as if something dangerous might be following her. “Mr. Rankin was quite... insistent.”
Keir fucking Rankin. Every muscle in my body tensed and my fangs extended. The manipulative bastard must have tracked me here, and right now I was in no mood for his games. This was going to go south. Fast.
Angelo’s jaw tightened, and he locked his dark gaze with the Unseelie king who suddenly filled the doorway behind Elena. Winter magic seemed to precede Keir’s entrance.
“What do you want, Keir?” The lines around Angelo’s eyes tightened—a sign he was losing patience.
Keir’s pale lips curved into that familiar, enigmatic smile that said he knew something. “I have news. What else?” He tilted his head with elegant grace, platinum hair catching the lamplight. “Bring them in.”
Nyx glided into the room with fluid, otherworldly movement, dragging Rocco behind him like a reluctant child. He deposited him into the nearest leather recliner with casual indifference, where he sat staring at nothing with vacant eyes. Drool rolled down from the corner of his mouth in a thin, silver stream, and his head lolled to one side as if his neck muscles had forgotten their purpose. Whatever spell had been cast on him seemed to be getting progressively worse—his skin had taken on a waxy, unnatural pallor.
Lorcan walked into the elegant room, his massive frame supporting someone—Joy’s brother, Steve.
What the hell happened to him? Lorcan had one of Steve’s arms slung over his broad shoulders, practically carrying him as Steve’s legs gave out with every other step. He wobbled like a drunk trying to walk a straight line, but I could sense immediately that it wasn’t alcohol making him move like that. His face was pure white—not just pale, but the color of fresh snow or bone china—and dark veins were visible beneath his translucent skin like a roadmap of poison.
The acrid smell of sickness and something else—something wrong—wafted from his direction, making my enhanced senses recoil. He collapsed onto his knees before Lorcan could guide him to a chair, his chest heaving as he struggled for each breath. The sound was wet, labored, like lungs fighting against fluid.
Fear slipped down my spine and I went rigid. Was Joy suffering the same fate? The thought made my vision blur with rage. If anyone hurt her, I’d make them beg for death.
“Damn it,” Lorcan muttered through gritted teeth as he tried to haul Steve back to his feet. Steve’s head rolled back, his eyes showing mostly white as consciousness seemed to slip away from him like sand through fingers. His skin had a grayish undertone that spoke of systemic failure, and a rapid, thready pulse beat frantically at his throat.
Angelo snapped his attention on Keir. “What did you do to them?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Keir replied with that infuriating calm that made you want to shake him. “Both of them have intel that we desperately need, but as you can see—one’s near death and the other’s been drugged into oblivion. If we want to extract any useful information from either of them, Serenity needs to heal them immediately.”
“No.” Angelo’s response was immediate and fierce. “She’s spent. She can’t heal anyone else without risking her own life.”
Keir’s now winter-pale eyes remained fixed on Angelo with unwavering intensity. “Then we won’t find out what’s happening. You won’t find out what happened to Joy and who attacked them. I fear more people will continue to disappear.” His glacial gaze shifted to me like a scientist studying me under a microscope. “I believe Steve knows where Joy is.”
That familiar rage began building in my gut—the same fury that had nearly gotten Dimitri killed—but this time I forced it down with iron control. Calmness and anger battled for dominance in my mind like two wild animals fighting for territory. I couldn’t afford another round with Angelo. Not when Steve might hold the key to finding Joy.
But if I had to, I would fight him again and again to save Joy.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Enzo
I rose to my feet with deliberate control, every movement calculated and precise. My muscles bunched with restrained tension as I kept my focus laser-locked on Angelo, refusing to let my gaze drift to Steve’s deteriorating form on the floor. The sight of him dying by degrees would only fuel the rage I was barely keeping leashed, and I couldn’t afford to lose control again.
I needed Angelo to allow Serenity to heal Rocco and Steve. This could be the difference between life and death for Joy—literally the thin line between finding her alive or discovering her corpse in some godforsaken place. That wasn’t something I could risk, not with Joy trapped somewhere with god knew who while I wasted time here.
Right now, I had no leads on where Joy was. Nothing. The trail had gone completely cold, and I was desperate—absolutely fucking desperate—to know where to begin tearing New Orleans apart building by building until I found her.
Angelo met my steady gaze, his jaw set in that stubborn line I knew all too well. His fingers wrapped around Serenity’sdelicate arm with protective possessiveness, pulling her away from me and toward his chest. “You can’t heal them.” He had the authority of someone who expected to be obeyed without question. “You’re going to exhaust yourself completely.”
Serenity twisted her arm in his grip, not violently but with firm insistence. Her blue eyes flashed with determination that reminded me exactly why she’d survived everything life had thrown at her. “I’m a Nephilim, Angelo. This is literally what I was born to do.”
But Angelo’s grip didn’t loosen. If anything, his protective instincts seemed to intensify as he focused entirely on her face, searching for signs of fatigue or strain. “You’ve been getting sick every morning for weeks now. This constant healing has to be putting an enormous toll on your body.”
Serenity rolled her eyes with the exasperated expression of someone who’d had this argument before. “I feel perfectly fine. You’re the one who’s having problems with this, not me.” Her tone had a hint of fond irritation, like she was dealing with an overprotective parent rather than a centuries-old vampire.
In the background, Steve’s labored breathing grew shallower as the scent of death grew stronger—that sweet, cloying odor that clung to those who were slipping away. Time was running out, and we were standing here debating while the one person who might know where Joy was could die at any moment.
My hands clenched into fists at my sides. If Steve died, I would have no more leads on Joy’s whereabouts.
Keir raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, his magical bluish-green eyes glittering with that calculating intelligence that made him such a formidable political player. “Angelo, if you want to protect Serenity from the dark forces I fear are brewing in New Orleans, we need information.” He gestured toward Steve and Rocco. “The only way we can get that information is for Serenity to heal them.”
His logic was flawless—cold, pragmatic, and absolutely undeniable. It penetrated Angelo’s reluctance like a blade sliding between ribs. Angelo’s jaw worked silently for a moment, the internal war between his protective instincts and his strategic mind playing out across his angular features.
