Page 27 of Crown of Blood and Vengeance

I didn’t recognize the male voice, but something in it wasn’t quite right—the hatred seemed forced, almost artificial.

“Release her, Rocco,” Balthazar said, his tone almost bored. “I don’t want my prize damaged.”

I twisted to look at the man behind me and my entire body went rigid. His eyes were completely black, like pools of tar, except for pinpoints of fire dancing in their centers—hellfire in a vampire’s gaze. Rocco? Prince Rocco? I had never met King Nico’s son before this moment, but I had heard Enzo and Angelo talk about him. That’s when I saw it—fresh blood splattered across his expensive white shirt like abstract art, still wet enough to gleam in the dim light. My stomach lurched as I wondered whose blood it was, even as his grip loosened slightly against my scalp.

Was that Angelo’s? Pleasepleaseplease don’t let it be Angelo’s blood. The thought of him dying alone, burning while I was trapped here unable to save him, made my heart splinter into pieces. I couldn’t bear the thought of him suffering through that horror without me fighting to stop it.

“You’re Prince Rocco? That’s not… not Angelo’s blood is it?” The words fell from my lips before I could stop them. Everything I’d heard about King Nico’s son painted him as honorable and just—a good man in a world of shadows. But the figure before me with hellfire eyes and bloodstained clothes shattered that image like broken glass.

“No, it’s my mother’s.” His words were clipped and cold, so unlike the warmth I’d heard described in his character.

Balthazar squeezed his shoulder with mock affection, like a proud father showing off a prized puppet. “He’s now switched sides.”

“That’s only because he’s possessed.” Julienne’s voice came out barely above a whisper. I glanced at her, catching the way her fingers twisted into the sofa cushions, her usual composure cracking at the edges. My chest tightened seeing Rocco like this—another power vampire turned into nothing but a demon’s hollow shell. Just like Angelo’s maker—Dracula.

“A technicality,” Petar waved his hand dismissively, wine glass catching the light like liquid rubies. A chilling display of pleasure spread across his features. “His mother has learned a valuable lesson about what happens when anyone defies us.” The threat in his words hung in the air like poison.

“How did your mother’s blood get on your shirt?” My voice trembled as I gestured to the crimson stains, remembering how Dracula’s eyes had held the same hellfire when he’d turned on Angelo.

“She made a fatal mistake when she tried to intervene to keep Angelo from being horsewhipped.” His voice was mechanical, empty, as if reciting someone else’s words. He shrugged, the casual gesture a mockery of the horror he described. “Of course, it was pointless. Petar nearly sliced his skin from his bones.”

The words turned my blood to ice, then ignited it with rage. Angelo. Horsewhipped. Flayed. Each revelation stokedsomething primal inside me, a fury that blazed through my veins like liquid fire. My Nephilim power surged up unbidden, raw and electric, shattering Petar’s wine glass with a sound like breaking bones. Dark red liquid splashed across his expensive suit, bleeding into the fabric like fresh wounds.

Balthazar’s fingers dug into my shoulder. “Since you’re so eager to demonstrate your power, let’s put it to better use. Petar, show her the whip.”

Petar’s smile widened as he reached for an ornate box on the side table. The whip he pulled out gleamed with an unnatural sheen, its leather surface traced with veins of sickly green.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Petar held it up to the light. “Ancient vampire poison. Very rare, very painful. Right now it’s working its way through Angelo’s blood, turning every nerve ending into fire. He’ll wish I had carved him into pieces before it’s done.”

My stomach lurched. I tried to look away, but Balthazar forced my head back.

“Your lesson today is twofold,” Balthazar’s voice turned silky. “First, you’re going to cloak a special team of Petar’s vampires. They have a task to complete while... invisible. And then—” his grip tightened “—you’re going to watch through your power as the poison reaches Angelo’s heart. Consider it practice in maintaining a connection over distance.”

The words slammed into me like shards of ice. They wanted me to help murder Angelo? To be the weapon that destroys him? My whole body went rigid, tendons pulled taut like violin strings as the hellhound’s power surged through my veins. Let them think I was frozen in fear—they’d learn too late it was fury.

Rocco stood motionless, those hellfire eyes fixed on me, as more vampires filed into the room. My chance to help Angelo was slipping away with every second that poison coursed through his veins.

I had one chance, one moment while their guard was down. Punishment was certain, but Angelo’s life was worth any price. Drawing a deep breath, I threw out my arms and thrust every ounce of power I possessed into piercing hell’s veil, praying it would be enough to reach him. My Nephilim energy blazed through me like lightning, burning away everything but this one desperate purpose.

They’re coming, Angelo. They’re invisible. The whip was poisoned. Run.

The message ripped through my core like fire, draining me, but I pushed harder, forcing it through the barriers between us. I had to reach him. I had to?—

Balthazar’s bellow shook the room. For the first time since he’d claimed me, he struck me—his hand cracking across my face with demonic strength. The impact exploded through my skull and darkness rushed in. The last thing I saw was Petar’s satisfied smirk as stars burst behind my eyes, and then everything faded to black.

Chapter

Fifteen

Angelo

I tossed and turned,pure agony gushing through me like white-hot needles threading through my veins. Fire blazed across my back, each nerve ending screaming in protest with every slight movement.

They’re coming, Angelo. They’re invisible. The whip was poisoned. Run.

Serenity’s voice, laced with raw terror, pierced my consciousness before being violently snuffed out like a candle in the wind. Her pain slammed into me with the force of a tidal wave—wherever she was, someone hurt her. Someone who would soon learn how their own intestines looked splattered across the ground.

My eyes fluttered open, heavy as lead weights, my cheek pressed against cool silk. Instead of the dank cell I expected, I found myself in a lush white room that seemed to dance with starlight overhead—thousands of tiny diamonds swimming across a boundless pearlescent canvas. The space radiated a gentle warmth that should have been comforting, but it onlyserved to mock the searing agony pulsing across my exposed back.

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