Page 63 of Cry of Blood and Joy
For a precious, disorienting moment, I thought I was somewhere else—somewhere safe and warm, wrapped in Enzo’s protective embrace with his steady heartbeat beneath my ear. But reality crashed down like ice water as I tried to move and felt the familiar bite of iron against my wrists.
Pale morning sunlight filtered down through the broken stained-glass window above, casting fractured rainbows across the debris-strewn floor. The colorful light should have been beautiful, but in this cursed place, it only served to illuminate the dust motes dancing in the stale air and highlight the water stains that streaked the ancient walls like tears.
My arms were suspended over my head again, the iron manacles having been reattached to the chains sometime during my fitful sleep. The metal had grown cold during the night, andblood crusted around the edges where the cursed restraints had continued to burn and tear at my flesh. Burning streaks of pain tore through my arms.
Beside me, Zoe was slumped in an unconscious heap, her red hair hanging in tangled strands across her pale face. Her arms were chained above her head just like mine, and dark bruises had formed around her wrists where the metal bit into her delicate skin. She looked so young, so fragile, and a fresh wave of guilt crashed over me for dragging her into this nightmare.
At least the dreaded leather gag wasn’t cutting into my mouth. My tongue was thick and fuzzy, coated with the lingering taste of sleep and a foul residue—rank and gamey—that made my stomach lurch with remembered revulsion. My vision cleared and focused on the space across from me.
There was a man tied to one of the stone pillars, his muscular arms chained above his head in the same degrading position that had become so familiar. His head was bent to one side at an unnatural angle, and long dark hair fell forward to shroud his face like a mourning veil. Even unconscious and beaten, there was something elegant about his posture, something that spoke of supernatural grace.
Was that Valentin? My pulse quickened with hope and dread. If it was Dimitri’s brother, then maybe—just maybe—Enzo knew where we were.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Ari’s voice cut through my thoughts like scissors through silk, smooth and mocking as he approached with that predatory swagger I’d grown to hate. He was wearing Dimitri’s face again, the stolen features twisted into an expression of false warmth that made my skin crawl. “How are you feeling?”
The casual greeting came in Dimitri’s voice, but it was wrong—missing the sardonic charm that usually laced his words, making my teeth clench. I swallowed hard, tasting bile and thelingering flavor of rancid nutria meat that still coated my tongue like a film of grease.
“Fine,” I mumbled. What did he want me to say? That I felt like I’d been trampled by a herd of elephants? That my stomach was still locked in mortal combat with the vile sandwich Marsha had forced me to eat? That the taste of rat meat lingered in my mouth like a constant reminder of my helplessness?
He gestured toward the unconscious figure with casual indifference, his stolen hand moving with Dimitri’s characteristic grace but none of his warmth. “Unfortunately, my son, Valentin, is still asleep from his little adventure last night.”
The words smashed into me like a Mack truck, and my mouth fell open. “He’s your son?” The question came out as a strangled whisper. My mind reeled, trying to process what I’d just heard while my pulse quickened faster and faster. “Valentin is your son?”
The idea was so impossible, so fundamentally wrong. Had Ari hit his head during one of his transformations? That couldn’t be true. This creature—this shapeshifting monster who wore faces like masks and orchestrated torture for entertainment—couldn’t possibly have fathered a child. Was the man hanging there as evil as Ari? The very concept shattered what little hope I had left.
“Yes, indeed.” Ari’s lips curved into that familiar sinister smile that looked so wrong on Dimitri’s handsome features. There was something almost paternal in his tone, a twisted sort of pride that made my skin crawl. “I’m afraid I’ve been a rather neglectful father over the years, but I’ve decided to allow him back into my life. To stand at my side where he belongs.”
He began pacing in front of me with measured steps, his boots echoing against the cracked stone floor. The sound seemed unnaturally loud in the suffocating silence of the cathedral, each footfall marking time like a countdown to something terrible.
“To ensure his cooperation, of course, I’ll be trapping his mate very soon.” He examined his fingernails then broke out in a toothy smile that made me want to vanish into thin air. “Rose should be arriving with the others any moment now. Family reunions can be so... explosive.”
He paused mid-stride to check an expensive gold watch on his wrist—another detail stolen from someone else’s life, no doubt. The sunlight filtering through the broken windows caught the metal, sending brief flashes of light dancing across the moldering walls. “But our other guests are about to arrive here any minute.”
His gaze shifted to me with animalistic intensity as his expectations pressed down on me like a vulture’s talons.
“It’s time for you to do your job, my dear.”
The casual way he said it—as if I were simply an employee expected to perform a mundane task rather than a prisoner being forced to participate in some nightmarish scheme—made bile rise in my throat. Whatever he wanted me to do, whatever role I was supposed to play in his twisted game, I knew it would end with people I cared about suffering or dying.
And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it. Not if I wanted Zoe to live.
Ari strode toward the massive front doors with purposeful steps, his stolen face set in an expression of cold determination. “Release her and bring her outside,” he commanded without looking back.
Marsha waited nearby, her arms folded across her chest and one foot drumming against the cracked stone floor. The sharp staccato sound echoed through the cathedral like an angry woodpecker.
One of the burly guards approached me with jangling keys, the metal catching the morning light as he worked to unlock my manacles. The iron restraints clattered to the ground, andI gasped as blood rushed back into my arms, but the dreaded bracelets were still locked around my wrists. My flesh was a mess of torn skin and dark bruises, each movement sending sharp jolts through the damaged tissue.
Zoe stirred, her green eyes fluttering open in confusion as consciousness slowly returned. “What’s happening?”
I met her frightened gaze and my heart squeezed with helplessness. “I don’t... I don’t know,” I admitted. The uncertainty in my own words tasted bitter on my tongue.
The guard’s massive hand clamped down on my upper arm like a bear trap, his fingers digging into my flesh as he dragged me across the uneven floor toward Marsha. She immediately seized my other arm, her manicured nails biting into my skin like tiny daggers. I winced at the pulsing pain but clenched my jaw, refusing to give her the satisfaction of hearing me cry out.
“Unlock the girl,” Marsha ordered the second guard with cold efficiency. “Hold a blade to her throat.” She shook my arm roughly, making my already abused muscles throb. “If this one doesn’t cooperate, end her friend’s suffering.”
My throat tightened at her casual cruelty. She discussed taking a life as if it were nothing more than swatting a fly.
Without waiting to see if her orders were followed, Marsha began dragging me toward the front entrance. I stumbled over my own feet, my legs weak from hours of suspension, as I craned my neck to watch the second guard roughly shake Zoe awake and haul her upright.
