Page 10 of Crown of Blood and Vengeance

Unbearable pain grippedme as if a thousand fire ants were biting me, their venom spreading like lightning strikes cascading through me. Each breath brought fresh needles of ice-cold fire, spreading through my limbs until even my fingernails seemed to throb with the rhythm of my racing heart. The pain was relentless, building from a sharp sting to an all-consuming inferno that left me gasping for breath, my skin feeling as though it had been doused in molten metal.

Someone put a wet cloth on my forehead. “Serenity? Can you wake up?”

The voice was feminine and distinctly French, an unexpected sound in the depths of hell.

I moaned as my eyes fluttered open. A blonde woman sat beside me, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders like spun silk. Her dark brown gown hugged her curves, and when she leaned closer, I noticed her eyes matched the rich color of her dress—though centuries of sorrow seemed to swim in their depths.

The walls bore familiar tapestries and centuries-old paintings in their gleaming gold frames—every brushstroke identical, though something about their shadows seemed wrong, darker somehow.

I lay on the massive four-poster bed, its crimson bedding normally plush and inviting, now damp with sweat beneath me. Each crystal in the chandelier fractured my vision into a thousand points of light, transforming my beloved chambers at Crescent Manor into something alien and cruel. I had spent so many quiet nights beneath these soaring ceilings, safe in my studies, never imagining they would one day watch me like this, helpless and broken.

If I had been back home, Angelo would have been at my side, his warm hand holding mine, his deep voice murmuring words of comfort. I missed his masculine scent, that blend of sandalwood and rain that always made me feel safe. Where was he? The thought of him in Dracula’s clutches made my heart ache more than any hellhound’s bite. What torments was the First Vampire inflicting on him?

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the far wall, but instead of the warm New Orleans cityscape with its patchwork of golden lights and neon signs, instead of the mighty Mississippi reflecting moonlight, there was only the burning landscape of hell. No jazz music drifted up, no smell of Cajun spices tinged the air. The silence felt deliberate, mocking.

My gaze drifted to the wall of bookshelves. My vision swam, making the books blur and dance before my eyes. Every tome stood exactly where it should, their worn spines bearing the same mysterious languages and alphabets I’d longed to decipher. How could hell know every detail, right down to the small water stain on the corner of my favorite grimoire? Who would go to such lengths to recreate my sanctuary in this infernal place?

Balthazar.

I licked my lips, trying to speak, but only managed a gasp.

“Don’t speak,” the woman said. “You were bitten by a hellhound. You’ll have to conserve your energy, even talking will make it difficult to heal yourself.”

My healing power wouldn’t work in hell? The thought sent a spike of panic through me, but the venom made it hard to focus.

“My name is Julienne Piaget.”

Through the haze of pain, something nagged at my mind. A vampire, here in hell. Why wasn’t she burning in Balthazar’s ghetto with the other damned souls? But before I could piece it together, another wave of agony washed over me, scattering my thoughts like ashes in the wind.

She wiped my slick face with the warm rag, but I only seemed to burn hotter, as if my skin was melting away.

The door opened. Balthazar swaggered into the room. Cold dread washed over me, settling like ice in my veins as his eyes locked with mine. Every instinct screamed to run, but I was in too much agony and too weak to move.

He flashed me a debonair smile. “I see my little Nephilim is awake.”

“She’s in agony, Balthazar,” Julienne said as she clutched the rag in her fist. Her voice trembled with desperation. “Please, heal her.”

Balthazar stepped around the bed. “She shouldn’t have tried to contact Angelo. That was a terrible mistake and she must learn that he’s no longer an option for her.”

No longer an option? I shook my head. “No.” It came out more as a moan than a word, the pain twisting in my throat.

He chuckled, the sound like breaking glass. “You’ll soon change your mind. The pain will only get worse.”

A cold dread crept through my marrow. Worse than this agony already tearing through my body? My hands trembled as I curled them into fists. What kind of torture had he planned?

The demon gestured toward Julienne. “I see you’ve met my other guest. Do you remember who she is?”

My thoughts were jumbled with anguish, trying to piece together why this was woman was so important.

“Can’t guess, beautiful?” He lifted my quivering chin. “ Julienne is Dracula’s mate.”

My thoughts scattered as I stared at Julienne from my bed of agony. Dracula’s mate? The woman whose death had twisted Vlad into a monster, whose suicide had sparked centuries of revenge. Recognition sliced through me sharper than the pain already wracking my body. If she was here... what twisted game was Balthazar playing?

Julienne turned away from him, and I thought I saw a tear slide down her cheek.

Balthazar released me. “As long as she remains here, I am in control of the First Vampire.”

Julienne took a deep breath and wiped away the tear, her hand trembling slightly. “What are you going to do next?”

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