Page 65 of The Curse of Blood and Silenc

Drawing on my vampire speed, I returned to where Trystan and Keir waited for me.

Trystan cocked an eyebrow. “Problems?”

“Nothing urgent.” The lie tasted bitter. Three enemies moving against me at once, and now Dimitri losing control... I needed to end this quickly, before the situation with Serenity’s guard became another weak point Balthazar could exploit.

The door opened with a groan of rusty hinges. Louis DuPont stepped out holding onto a blond woman’s arm, his movements still unnatural and puppet-like. I detected the evil rotting inside him, and even from here, I could see the things moving beneath his skin. What once had been an honest cop now housed something ancient and dark. The man was gone—hopefully to a better place.

The woman’s hands were bound behind her back with what looked like spelled rope. Another one of Balthazar’s victims? When the fading moon caught the side of her face, my undead heart actually skipped. I recognized her. Rose Dragan—Dimitri’s sister-in-law. Part vampire, part witch, and heir to one of the most dangerous magical legacies in New Orleans. She was from the Nightshade family, and I knew exactly where she was being taken: to the crypt that held centuries of dark artifacts her ancestors had collected.

Valentin had to be inside. The thought of what they might be doing to Rose’s mate made my fangs itch. A witch-vampire hybrid was powerful, but with the right leverage, even the strongest supernatural could break.

Gage emerged from the church’s shadow with two men I didn’t recognize. Their movements were definitely not human, but they didn’t carry the signature tell of any supernatural race I knew. More of Balthazar’s black-eyed puppets, perhaps.

Beside me, Trystan released a low growl, the sound carrying centuries of wolf-king authority, but didn’t move, even though the moon had not set and it was still his time of power. Good. We couldn’t afford to act too soon, not with what was at stake.

Two harpies glided down from the dark sky and landed on a nearby oak tree, their razor-sharp talons digging into the branches. Spanish moss swayed around them like funeral shrouds. I glanced at Keir. His Unseelie spies had positioned themselves perfectly—another advantage Balthazar didn’t know we had. The Garden District king’s intelligence network was unmatched, even by my own.

Enzo had the strength and experience to handle Dimitri if he snapped. More importantly, he knew how family could make even the most controlled vampires dangerous. He’d follow my orders without hesitation—even if that meant putting Dimitri down temporarily.

Their assignment was simple: extract information from anyone approaching the crypt. Balthazar hadn’t chosen this location by chance. Something in that crypt was valuable enough to draw a demon prince to risk war with three supernatural crime families. Whatever secrets the Nightshade family had buried there, I needed to find them out before Balthazar did.

Keir glanced at Trystan. “Bring your wolves in closer. They need to sniff out more of the rebel wolves.” The Unseelie’s king’s golden coin disappeared into his pocket—when he got serious, the games stopped.

“They need me to lead them,” Trystan mumbled as he tore off his suit. His eyes were locked on Gage who stood on the steps,his hatred for the traitor wolf evident. “We won’t attack until we get the signal.”

Keir put his hand on my shoulder. “Time for you to find out what’s happening inside that church.”

My transformation into a bat was almost instantaneous, a fluid change of form perfected over the centuries. I soared through the night air, wings cutting silently through the cool breeze. Yet even before the silhouette of the church appeared, a disturbing wave of evil brushed against my senses, cold and foreboding.

A malign presence emanated from the church, invisible yet powerful, intensifying as I drew closer. The once-sacred grounds now radiated dark energy so potent as to be almost visible in the moonlight, a shimmering haze of malevolence that writhed like serpents in the air. The gargoyles, ancient guardians meant to ward off creatures like me, sat silent and powerless, their stone faces twisted in eternal grimaces.

I hovered outside the window with its saints and demons captured in broken stained glass. The fractured imagery mirrored the disturbed aura I felt—saints disrupted, demons intact, foreshadowing the corruption within. Through the shattered panes, moonlight split into prismatic shards, casting blood-red and midnight-blue shadows across the nave below. The air itself pulsed with unholy energy, each wave making my heightened senses recoil.

Tension curled within me, every instinct honed from uncounted past battles readying for what lay ahead. My unnaturally sharp senses dissected the layers of darkness emanating from within: the acrid smell of burnt offerings, the metallic tang of spilled blood, whispered echoes of forbidden incantations that still lingered. As I perched on the edge of the window’s jagged frame, preparing to enter, I drew in the night air, thick with the stench of evil. It fortified me, fueling theancient power that coursed through my veins that had seen me through centuries of confronting such abominations.

The cross above the altar hung upside down, its sacred power perverted into a beacon for the darkness. Below it, shadows danced and twisted in unnatural ways, suggesting movement where there should be none. Something was waiting in that darkness, something that had corrupted this holy place for its own nefarious purposes.

I embraced the shadows, letting them envelop me as my ally in the impending battle. I had walked on the edge of the line between light and darkness for centuries—neither fully of the night nor welcomed by the day. Tonight, that unique position would serve me well as I cleansed this desecrated ground.

Inside, the red glow pulsed stronger. It came from bowls placed in a five-point star pattern around the altar, each filled with something that moved and writhed. The glow painted everything in shades of crimson, making the church look like a butcher’s chapel. The air itself felt thick, tasting of copper and decay.

Balthazar and Petar stood near the altar, their shadows twisting on the walls, but it was the third, hooded figure that drew my attention. His presence carried an ancient weight that made even my blood run cold. His hands were marked with symbols that appeared to crawl across his skin like living things, disappearing under his sleeves only to emerge again at his neck—old, old magic that predated my own turning. Something about his movements felt familiar, though I couldn’t place why. Each gesture was controlled, perfect, like a teacher demonstrating proper form.

It was just as a well I had left Dimitri at the crypt with Enzo. Valentin was stretched out on the altar, his arms and legs spread wide and bound with chains that glowed with spelled metal. IfDimitri saw his brother like this, displayed like a sacrificial lamb on a slab, he’d lose his mind.

Blood already stained Valentin’s shirt, and symbols had been carved into his chest, still wet and gleaming. He wasn’t just a hostage anymore. From the positioning of the altar in relation to those three crypts outside, I could tell this wasn’t just about accessing the Nightshade vault. This was bigger. They were going to use whatever was in that crypt here and now, using Valentin’s blood and Rose’s power as the keys.

Then I felt it. A presence that shouldn’t be here, one that made my entire body go rigid. No. Impossible. She was supposed to be safe in a guest bedroom, surrounded by my wards, with Luigi…

But pain slammed in my skull.

Serenity.

Her thoughts hammered in my head like gunfire, each word laced with panic and determination.

Angelo, I’m coming. Please don’t be angry. Gianna’s bringing me to the Nightshade crypt. I can’t let you die.

She was moving through the shadows straight into whatever trap Balthazar had set. All my carefully laid plans, all my precautions—shattered. Fear clawed through my chest, followed by a rage so intense it nearly made me shift back to human form mid-flight. Damn Luigi. He’d had one job.One!

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