Page 56 of Cry of Blood and Joy
The thought of one of us being Ari froze my blood in my veins. My enforcer training kicked in automatically—assess threats, identify weak points, prepare for violence. I stepped back against the wall, positioning myself where I could see everyone in the room. Every conversation we’d had, every plan we’d made, every piece of information we’d shared could have been compromised. We weren’t just hunting Ari—he might be hunting us from the inside.
None of us spoke as we looked at each other, trying to decide who was who. Fuck, was it one of us?
The paranoia was eating me alive, but I couldn’t just stand there frozen in suspicion. My patience was hanging by the thinnest of threads as I paced the elegant hardwood floor of Angelo’s sitting room, my boots creating a steady rhythm that echoed through the silent house. Each step felt like a countdown to Joy’s death, and I rolled my tongue over my fangs—a reminder of the violence I was built for, the action I was being denied.
The scent of expensive leather and wood polish that normally gave this room its refined atmosphere now felt suffocating, closing in around me like a tomb. My hands flexed instinctively, muscle memory from decades of breaking bones and extracting information screaming at me to move, to hunt, to tear through every obstacle between me and my target.
It took every ounce of the discipline that had made me Angelo’s most feared enforcer to rely on the thin strand of logic barely holding my sanity together. My emotions were a hurricane of rage, terror, and something I’d never felt before—desperate, consuming love that threatened to override every calculated instinct I’d honed over centuries of violence.
I rolled my shoulders and cracked my neck with sharp pops, the sound echoing like breaking bones. The tension knotted in my muscles was familiar—the same readiness that preceded a hit, the same predatory energy that had made grown men piss themselves when they saw me coming.
If Ari was here, I had to get out of here. My gaze kept drifting toward the front door, automatically calculating tactical approaches. Fastest route to the bayou. How many bodies I’d have to drop to get to Joy. The urge to unleash the monster Angelo had shaped me into was almost overwhelming. Fuck plans. Fuck strategy. I was made for violence, not waiting.
The chandelier’s warm light felt like an interrogation lamp, illuminating my barely leashed fury. I could hear the others talking, but their voices were background noise to the roar of bloodlust in my ears—the same sound that preceded every kill I’d ever made.
Keir’s voice cut through my mental chaos with that infuriating Unseelie composure. “Rocco knows something,” he insisted, those colorful changing eyes tracking my restless movement like he was watching a caged predator. “Something that might tell us what Ari truly has planned.”
Or was Keir Ari, trying to send me down the opposite path? Every instinct I’d developed as Angelo’s right hand told me to tear through that church and drench the walls with anyone who got between me and Joy.
There was a soft knock on the door. I rushed past Elena, who was heading toward the entrance at what felt like a snail’s pace, and yanked it open with barely controlled impatience.
“I got here as soon as I could.” Rose Dragan swept past me with efficient grace. She had on a gray sweat outfit and her blonde hair was pulled back into a practical ponytail, still slightly damp from exertion.
I studied her face, searching for any micro-expression that seemed wrong, any gesture that wasn’t quite right. Was this really Rose, or was Ari wearing her face?
A blonde woman followed behind, wearing shorts, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. Her skin was flushed pink as if she’d been running, and she glanced around the elegant room with curious eyes.
Rose tilted her head toward her companion. “This is my friend, Alice. We were working out when Angelo called.” She stopped mid-sentence when her gaze fell on Dimitri, where Gianna was leaning her head tenderly against his shoulder. “Dimitri, what are you doing here? Valentin left twenty minutes ago to meet you at St. John’s Tavern.”
Angelo’s head jerked up suddenly. “Why would Valentin be going there?”
Dimitri’s eyebrows drew together in that familiar expression of sardonic confusion. “Why would I be meeting Valentin at Angelo’s establishment? My body’s still recuperating from being personally introduced to the Enzo Express.” He gestured lazily toward his still-healing ribs. “And let me tell you, that’s a train you never want to catch.”
His confusion seemed genuine, but then again, Ari had fooled us before. I watched his every movement, cataloging familiar mannerisms, looking for tells.
Rose glanced between Angelo and me with sharp curiosity. “So did you call and cancel the meeting?”
“Rose, darling,” Dimitri drawled with that characteristic blend of charm and exasperation, “I didn’t call him. Haven’t spoken to my dear brother all day, actually.”
“But I was right there when Valentin took the call,” Rose insisted. “I heard you invite him to the tavern.”
Angelo was already reaching for his phone, his face dark with concern. “If someone’s impersonating Dimitri and luring Valentin to my place...”
“What does that mean?” Panic flared in Rose’s green eyes like wildfire, her face draining of color as the implications hit her. Her hands trembled slightly as she pressed them against her chest. “Who would be impersonating Dimitri?”
“Ari, the Dark Demon,” I said quietly.
The elegant sitting room, with its warm lighting and expensive furnishings, suddenly felt like a war room where battle plans were drawn in blood. Rose’s sharp intake of breath was audible in the suffocating silence.
It was a trap, and Valentin was walking straight into it like a lamb to slaughter.
“Then I need to get to the tavern right now,” Rose declared with fierce determination, spinning on her heel and heading back toward the door with quick, urgent steps. Her ponytail whipped around her shoulders as she moved, the scent of fear-sweat drifting off her workout clothes.
I shot forward and clasped her arm with firm but gentle pressure, my fingers wrapping around her wrist. “No. Not until you heal Rocco.”
She twisted her arm with surprising strength, muscles bunching under my grip as she tried to break free. “Rocco? What’s wrong with him? Why are we wasting time when Valentin could be?—“
“He’s in a magical trance,” Keir interrupted, his winter-pale eyes fixed on her with unwavering intensity. “He has information we desperately need about where they’re holding Joy and what Ari’s ultimate plan entails.”
