Page 70 of The Curse of Blood and Silenc

Louis’ twisted body lay broken and gory on the ground. Legion’s tainted blood pooled black and thick around him, moving like oil even after death. The stench of the corruption—bitter, like sour vinegar—made my stomach churn. I didn’t hesitate when I saw those claws at Serenity’s throat. You don’t, not with Legion. You don’t even try to exorcise them. You just end it. Quick. Clean. Final.

I kissed the top of Serenity’s head. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” The words came out gentler than I expected. Even after centuries, some vestiges of humanity lingered.

Serenity looked up at me, tears cutting tracks through the blood and dirt on her face. “He wasn’t Louis anymore. He was a monster.”

“Anyone who harms you is dead.” It was a simple statement of fact, the same way I might say the sun would rise. “No one will ever hurt you. That I promise you.” In my world, promises weren’t just words—they were blood oaths, carved in bone and sealed in violence.

“Balthazar lied. Why would you believe him over me?” Legion had been my enemy for centuries. I knew their corruption, their irreversible hold. Balthazar played games with truth—I dealt in absolutes.

She twisted her fists in my shirt. “He was my father.” She trembled as another hellhound’s howl split the night. “You don’t know what it was like having Freddie as stepfather after my mom died. Louis was the one that tried to protect me. The whole DuPont family did. I hate Balthazar for turning him into that thing.” Each word carried old wounds, memories of bruises that had nothing to do with supernatural battles. Behind us, I heard Dimitri snarl, followed by the wet sound of flesh tearing.

Like Louis, Freddie had paid for hurting her. One by choice, one by circumstance—both men who’d marked her life. Another hellhound lunged past us, Enzo meeting it mid-air with deadly perfection.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Words I rarely spoke, but the real Louis had earned them. He’d protected what was mine before she was mine to protect. That debt wouldn’t be forgotten, even if circumstances had forced my hand tonight.

She looked up at me with her tear-streaked face. “You had to do it, Angelo. I didn’t want Louis to have that thing…things…living inside him. And… He’s at peace now, isn’t he?”

I kissed her trembling lips. “Yes, he is.” The lie tasted bitter on my tongue, but I couldn’t bear to tell her the truth—that once possessed, souls hung in an eternal limbo between Heaven and Hell. Let her believe Louis had found rest. She’d seen enough horror for one night. The taste of her tears against my lips made something ancient and protective stir in my chest. I’d tear apart anyone who tried to put that look in her eyes again.

The scene had changed. Hellhounds multiplied around us, Legion’s blood staining the ground at our feet. I needed to get her out of here.

Just then, a creak of ancient hinges cut through the sounds of battle. Rose emerged from the Nightshade crypt, carrying a locked wooden dybbuk box. There were carvings on it designed to keep whatever evil was in there firmly within. My stomach recoiled and I moved Serenity slightly behind me, not wanting her to get near it. Even from here, I could feel the malevolence emanating from that box, centuries of contained evil pulsing against its bonds.

I grabbed her wrist. “Where are you going with that?”

Rose jerked her chin up, determination flashing across her tear-stained face. “Balthazar?—”

“You’re not giving that to him,” I growled, watching another pawn getting caught in Balthazar’s web of threats.

Serenity clung to me, still reeling from Louis’ death. “But if she doesn’t, he’ll kill Valentin.”

My jaw clenched. The pattern was clear—first threats, then hostages, then corruption that forced loved ones to become killers. Just as he’d manipulated Serenity with Joy, just as he’d twisted Louis into a weapon. All leading to choices no one should have to make. “He’ll kill him anyway,” I said, my voice tight withbarely controlled fury. “Three centuries of dealing with demons has taught me that.”

“No,” Dimitri roared. He sped toward us, eyes crazy with grief. Blood still dripped from his fangs, and hellhound gore matted his expensive suit.

Something was coming out of the darkness. The air grew heavy, thick with a corruption that made my fangs ache. Evil couldn’t penetrate the Nightshade crypt—generations of blood magic and wards had seen to that. I shoved Serenity inside, feeling the ancient protections buzzing on my skin as we crossed the threshold.

She gasped. “What are you doing?”

“Stay here.” The words were an order, not a request. I turned around to face whatever was coming, positioning myself in the doorway. The shadows between the tombs were moving strangely, flowing against the wind like liquid darkness. Whatever Balthazar had unleashed was worse than Legion, worse than the hellhounds. The very air felt like it was rotting away.

Gage drifted out of the darkness. I could smell something on him as if he had rolled in it like a dog. The iridescent black blood of the Unseelie coated his clothes and skin, shifting like oil on water even after leaving its host. The scent of winter frost and dark magic clung to him.

“Open the box, bitch,” he snarled.

He had black blood on him—too much of it. Fighting Keir’s Unseelie warriors was no easy task, even for a wolf like Gage. Where the hell were Keir and his beloved harpies? The Unseelie were elite fighters, trained in the Dark Court’s brutal ways. For Gage to be standing here, covered in their blood...no. Something was off.

I stepped in front of Serenity, then snatched the box from Rose. “Fuck you, Gage. It’s not happening.”

Gage’s laugh came out unusually deep, as if something unholy was already inside him. His eyes glowed with an unnatural amber light. “Oh, Angelo. This was never about the box. It’s about what’s inside it.” He rolled his shoulders, bones cracking and joints popping as if something was trying to reshape him from the inside. “Balthazar promised us power. Real power. Power enough to tear down your precious kingdoms.”

Behind him, Petar emerged from the shadows, his usual cold smile now twisted into something hungrier. The box in my hands pulsed, as if whatever was inside recognized its purpose. Two traitors, thinking they could take down three kings in my territory. The sheer fucking audacity.

Petar ran his eyes over me as if I was just another body waiting to be buried in the bayou. A deadly mistake. One the world had learned generations ago: you don’t disrespect Angelo Santi and live to brag about it.

Arctic, lethal rage swept through me. Valentin, Dimitri’s brother, tortured on my territory, used like some ritual sacrifice. Most likely, he was already dead. The debt ledger in my mind filled with red. Gage’s wolves…these wannabe hellhounds…Balthazar—they’d learn why even demons respected boundaries in New Orleans. No one conducted blood rituals in my city without paying the price.

The fool talked about power like a teenage street thug bragging about his first gun. He had no idea what real power was—the kind earned through rivers of blood, through deals sealed with iron-clad promises and enforced with finality. The kind that made even immortals remember why they feared the dark.

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