Page 55 of Cry of Blood and Joy
But why was he impersonating Dimitri to call someone?
“Meet me at St. John’s Tavern.” Ari continued in that stolen voice, pacing slowly in front of the altar as he spoke. “I’m in the mood to forget about my little Italian vixen.”
St. John’s Tavern—the name sent a chill down my spine. I remembered my father mentioning that place once, his voicedeadly serious as he warned me it was dangerous. “It’s a front for the Santi family. Not a place for someone like you,” he’d said.
But maybe—just maybe—if someone was meeting “Dimitri” there, word might get back to Enzo somehow. If anyone was tracking Dimitri or watching for him...
It was a desperate hope, but it was all I had.
“Good. See you in twenty minutes,” Ari finished, then ended the call.
He slipped the phone back into his jacket with deliberate precision, the fabric rustling softly in the oppressive silence of the church. “They’re looking a little peaked,” he observed with clinical detachment, studying Zoe and me like specimens in a laboratory. “Feed them. I want Joy well-fed so she can properly call on her shadows when the time comes.”
I glared at him with every ounce of hatred I could muster, my jaw clenching behind the leather gag. Whatever diabolical plan he had cooked up, he could forget me helping him. The only way I’d be using my shadows would be to help us escape.
I glanced over at Zoe, whose green eyes reflected the same disbelief, and nausea twisted in my gut. He expected us to eat? Seriously? The smell of old stone, mildew, and lingering demon blood made the very thought of food nauseating. The last thing I wanted was to put anything in my mouth in this godforsaken place.
Marsha made a disgusted clicking sound with her tongue, pulling out a tube of red lipstick from her pocket. She began applying it with practiced strokes, the crimson color stark against her pale skin in the flickering candlelight. “Me? I’m not a cook,” she said with casual disdain, as if the very suggestion was beneath her dignity.
The change in Ari was instantaneous and terrifying. His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. Before Marsha could even register the threat, his hand shot out in a vicious arc. The slap connectedwith her cheek in a sharp crack that echoed through the hollow sanctuary like thunder. The force of the blow sent the lipstick tube flying across the room, where it clattered against the stone wall and rolled into the shadows.
Marsha gasped, her hand flying to her reddening cheek as shock and pain flashed across her features. A thin trickle of blood appeared at the corner of her mouth where her teeth had cut her lip.
“Don’t ever say no to me,” Ari snarled, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. He lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of her dark hair, yanking hard enough to tear her neat bun completely loose. Strands fell around her face in disheveled waves as she winced.
“Now get them something to eat.” His grip tightened. Then, even more horrifyingly, his fingernails began to lengthen and sharpen into razor-edged talons that caught the candlelight like polished steel. “If I find out you didn’t...” He let the threat hang in the air, his transformed nails hovering mere inches from her throat.
Marsha’s eyes grew wide with genuine terror, her earlier arrogance evaporating like smoke. Her breath came in short, panicked gasps as she stared at those deadly claws. “I’ll be very, very put out,” he finished with mock gentleness that was somehow more terrifying than outright rage.
The metallic scent of fear-sweat mingled with the church’s mustiness, creating an almost suffocating atmosphere of dread.
Marsha left without a word, her heels clicking sharply against the cracked stone floor as she headed toward the back of the church. Her shoulders were rigid with barely controlled fury. Her hand was still pressed against her reddening cheek. I wasn’t sure what kind of food she would bring back, but dread pooled in my stomach like ice water. I had a feeling it would be something terrible—spoiled, contaminated, or worse. She wouldn’t let Ari’shumiliation go unpunished, and since she couldn’t hurt him, Zoe and I would suffer the full force of her rage.
Ari’s cold gaze shifted to focus on us, his transformed features still wearing Dimitri’s stolen face like a grotesque mask. “I will return soon with another guest,” he said with casual menace, those razor-sharp nails slowly retracting back to normal human fingernails. “If Marsha hurts you, she’ll regret it. I need you both in perfect condition.”
He strode toward the heavy wooden doors with the unhurried confidence of someone completely in control, as if he were simply going out for an evening stroll rather than orchestrating some twisted supernatural conspiracy. The ancient hinges groaned in protest as he pushed the doors open, and humid bayou air rushed in, carrying the scent of stagnant water and decaying vegetation.
The moment the doors closed behind him with a resounding thud, I released a shaky sigh of relief. I leaned back against the cold stone wall, feeling the rough texture scrape against my shoulders through my torn clothing. The leather gag tasted bitter and metallic against my tongue—a combination of old leather, my blood, and a chemically wrong odor that made bile rise up my throat.
My arms ached terribly from being suspended above my head for so long, the iron manacles cutting deeper into my already raw wrists with every small movement. Pins and needles shot through my shoulders and down to my fingertips as circulation struggled against the restraints.
I didn’t know how Ari could consider us in “perfect condition” when we were bound and tortured like this. I would hate to see what he’d do to us if he wanted us in poor condition.
I thought about Steve—his frantic movements as a bat as he tried to escape through the window. Had he found Enzo in time? Or had he collapsed in the bayou somewhere still abat? But maybe he found Enzo and told him where we were. The questions circled in my mind like vultures, each one more desperate than the last.
But then cold, hard fear crept into my heart like winter settling in my bones. What if that was exactly Ari’s plan? He could have wanted Steve to escape and find Enzo. Hehadsaid he had plans for Enzo. What if this whole elaborate setup was designed to lure Enzo here, to this cursed place where Ari held every advantage?
Shitshitshitshit
We weren’t just prisoners—we were bait in a trap designed to catch one of the most dangerous vampires in New Orleans.
Heavy footsteps echoed from outside, and the doors creaked open again. Two burly guards entered and took positions flanking the double doors, their eyes scanning the sanctuary with professional wariness. They were armed and alert, clearly expecting trouble.
My heart sank even further. Ari wasn’t just confident about his plan—he was actively preparing for Enzo’s arrival.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Enzo
