Page 39 of The Curse of Blood and Silenc

Petar Dragan wanted to be king. The thought sent ice through my veins, because the only one way that crown would ever touch his head would be through Angelo’s death. Raw panic clawed up my throat at the mere thought of losing him. He wasn’t perfect—he could be cruel, possessive, and dangerous—but he had become my anchor in this supernatural storm. In his arms, I felt invincible. Protected. Like all the darkness in New Orleans couldn’t touch me as long as he held me.

But it wasn’t just Angelo. Balthazar’s poisonous influence had also reached Steve DuPont—my protector, my brother in allbut blood. Now he moved like a marionette on demon strings, his eyes black and empty where warmth once used to live. Trapped in some hellish trance, dancing to Balthazar’s music.

The pieces clicked together with horrible clarity. That’s why Angelo’s compulsion had failed. He couldn’t break what was already broken. Balthazar had gotten there first, turning Steve into something worse than dead—a puppet who helped murder the very people he once would have died protecting.

Steve, who’d once growled at anyone who looked at Joy wrong. Steve, who’d been our shield, our protector. The thought turned my stomach to ice. If Balthazar ordered him to hurt Joy...to make her the demon’s next toy...

I had to get out of here.

Angelo, please find me. Please. Find Joy. Save her.

Shannon slumped against the wall beside me, more corpse than girl. Tears cut clean trails through the blood on her cheeks, the only pure thing left in this nightmare. I watched every shallow breath she took like a hawk, terrified that it might be her last.

Please hurry, Angelo. Before there’s nothing left of us to save.

My hand trembled as I reached toward her. I could heal her—but Balthazar would only hurt her again. And again. Still, my fingers stretched out, power gathering at my fingertips. What kind of healer was I, if I allowed her to suffer?

I placed my hand on her skin, searching for that familiar spark of power, but it was like trying to draw water from a dried-up well. My healing powers had abandoned me when I most needed them.

A sudden crash came like thunder, shaking dust from the ceiling—something massive had just hit the building with devastating force. Footsteps pounded down the hall, a stampedeof panic punctuated by screams that froze my blood, each cry cutting off more suddenly than the last.

My heart slammed against my ribs as I leaped to my feet. Whatever was coming, we absolutely could not be here when it arrived.

Shannon dissolved into gulping sobs, her entire body trembling. She looked so small, so fragile—Balthazar’s latest broken toy.

I rushed to her, grabbing her arm. “Something’s happening. We need to get out of here.”Now. Before whatever’s causing those screams finds us.

She sagged against my shoulder, dead weight. “I can’t. I’m too weak.” Her voice faded away.

“No, you’re not.” I hauled her upright, ignoring her whimpers of pain. Gentle wasn’t going to keep us alive. “Come on—walk.”

“Where?” Her arm swept over the windowless room in a gesture of defeat. “There’s no place to go.”

Another crash, closer now. The screams had taken on a wet, gurgling quality that turned my stomach. Metal clashed against metal, punctuated by sounds of bodies hitting walls—heavy thuds that spoke of broken bones and worse.

My eyes darted around our prison. No windows. The door might as well be a death sentence. There—the ventilation grate. Old buildings like this always had oversized ductwork. It might be wide enough.

I lowered Shannon to the floor, her confusion clear. She clung to my leg like a cat, her fingers trembling where they gripped my jeans. “What are you doing? Don’t leave me. Please.” Her skin was paper-white where Balthazar had fed, blue veins stark against her neck.

I squared up to the vent, channeling all the self-defense lessons Steve had ever taught me into my every kick. The hardwood creaked beneath me.

“Trying—”

BANG

“to find?—”

CRASH

“a way?—”

CRACK

“Out of here!”

Each impact sent pain shooting up my leg, but the metal was beginning to give.

The grate finally tore free with a shriek of protest, sending me stumbling backwards. My heart slammed against my ribs—part terror, part wild triumph. Stale air rushed out, bringing with it the musty promise of escape. I braced myself against the wall, legs trembling from the repeated kicks, my right shin screaming where I’d connected with the metal. Worth it. Every bruise would be worth it.

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