Page 31 of Crown of Blood and Vengeance

“Serenity? Serenity, can you hear me?”

The masculine voice dripped like sweet honey, sickly sweet, cloying in its forced gentleness. Someone—him—pressed a cool rag against my face. I winced as pain shot through my cheek, the flesh throbbing and stretched tight like an overinflated balloon. The metallic taste of blood lingered on my tongue, mixing with the salt of tears I hadn’t realized I’d shed—tears for Angelo. Always for Angelo. My heart ached with a deeper agony than any physical blow could deliver.

I slowly opened my eyes, squinting against the afternoon light that filtered through my curtains. Balthazar’s face swam into focus above me, his golden-brown eyes wide with what looked like concern. They weren’t the dark, soulful eyes I longed to see. My room was filled with red roses, drowning in them really—a hollow imitation of romance that made me want to scream. The overwhelming scent of them hit me like a wall, thick and cloying, almost funereal.

It looked like someone had ransacked a flower shop on Valentine’s Day, with bouquets crammed onto every surface. Angelo would have known better. His idea of a gift was eliminating someone who’d wronged me—like my stepfather, Freaky Freddie—not botanical displays.

“I’m sorry I hit you.” His voice cracked with emotion. “I shouldn’t have done that. Will you forgive me?” His hand reached for mine, and I fought the urge to flinch away. Each word was another bar in the cage I’d built around myself, another step deeper into this hell of my own making. Angelo’s face flashed in my mind—the way he used to look at me, like I was precious, breakable. Now I truly was broken, but not in a way anyone could see.

The scene played out like a movie I’d watched a thousand times before, but with different actors. How many times had I heard this same scenario between my mom and Freaky Freddie? The flowers, the tears, the promises. She would always forgive him, her hope eternal that this time would be different. But he never changed. The beatings only got worse—no matter how many flowers he gave her. No matter how many tears he shed.

My cheek throbbed in time with my heartbeat, each pulse a reminder: Some men give flowers to show love. Others give them to mark the rhythm of their violence. And some men—the ones who truly love you—don’t need flowers at all. I closed my eyes again, letting myself drift to memories of Angelo’s gentle touch even as Balthazar’s fingers brushed my hair back from my face.

“Serenity?” he pressed more urgently, his fingers tightening on the cloth. A drop of cold water traced down my neck like a whispered threat.

I grimaced. The stakes of this moment slowly stabbed my heart like a dagger. If I didn’t answer him, he could do something even more horrible. I was in hell far from Angelo and completely at Balthazar’s mercy. The thought sent ice throughmy veins—the kind of bone-deep cold that comes from knowing you’re trapped with a predator.

“Will you forgive me, Serenity?” His voice wavered, a practiced tremor that I’d heard too many times before. His hand moved from the cloth to cup my uninjured cheek, his thumb stroking my skin in what should have been a gentle caress but felt like sandpaper against my soul.

I thought about it, my mind racing through the possibilities like a rat in a maze with no exit. If I didn’t say yes, who knew what he would do. The roses suddenly seemed less like flowers and more like witnesses to whatever might come next. My throat closed up, memories of past “lessons” flashing through my mind like lightning strikes. Even though everything inside screamed for me to say no—to stand up, to run, to call Angelo, to do anything but submit—a faint, dead yes pushed against my tight lips. The word tasted sour like surrender, like spoiled wine turning to vinegar on my tongue.

I was in hell, yes, but my tears were my own secret rebellion—each one falling for the man I couldn’t have, not for the man who stood before me now, waiting for my forgiveness like a vampire waiting for an invitation to enter.

“Yes, I forgive you.” My words held no emotion. It was as cold as an artificial intelligence voice, each syllable perfectly formed but devoid of any human warmth. The phrase was just sound waves traveling through air, meaningless vibrations that would buy me time. Inside, I retreated further into myself, into that space where Angelo’s memory lived, leaving behind only this hollow shell that could say the words Balthazar needed to hear.

“Good. We have another lesson.” Balthazar’s voice held that familiar edge of anticipation that made my stomach curl. “You were able to cloak Steve and uncloak him, but I have something else in mind for you to do.” He stretched out hishand, manicured fingers reaching for me like skeletal branches. “Please get ready and I will tell you what you’ll be doing next.”

I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw ached, but took his hand, allowing him to pull me off the bed. The roses watched, their crimson heads bowed like mourners at a funeral.

“We’re waiting for you in the living room.” We. The word hung in the air like smoke after he closed the door.

A tear slid down my cheek, hot against my swollen skin. “Angelo, are you alive?” The words escaped in a broken whisper, a prayer that would probably earn me another punishment, but I didn’t care. The silence that answered was deafening.

I grabbed some clothes out of the closet—a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans—ignoring the row of expensive dresses he’d bought me that hung like empty promises. Their silk and satin mockingly whispered of a luxury I never asked for. I refused to wear any of them, each plain cotton shirt a tiny revolt.

In the bathroom, I stared at my reflection. Half my face was swollen, mottled purple and yellow like a rotting fruit. The cut on my lip had crusted over, a crimson line that pulled when I frowned. This was what Mom looked like when she was with Freddie—that same hollow-eyed stare, that same carefully neutral expression. How could my father, an archangel, allow that to happen? Some protector of humanity he turned out to be.

Angelo had protected me better than he had—and wasn’t that the greatest irony? A vampire king, a creature of the night, had shown more genuine care than an archangel ever did. If Angelo was alive, I knew he would find a way to break through the gates of hell to find me. He commanded entire armies of the undead, wielded power that made lesser beings tremble, but it was his fierce love that made me believe in him. Just like he believed in me. Until then, I had to play Balthazar’s stupid games, had to survive, had to keep enough of my spirit unbroken for Angelo tofind when he came. My ruler of darkness wouldn’t stop until he’d torn apart every circle of hell to reach me.

Please please please be alive.

In the shower, I turned the water as hot as it would go, watching my skin turn angry red. I scrubbed and scrubbed, my nails leaving crescents in my flesh, trying to get the smell of hell and Balthazar off me. But it was no use. This place smelled like a smoldering fire, like burning leaves and scorched earth, and it offered no comfort. The warmth that should have been soothing only reminded me of the inferno outside these walls, of the flames that kept me trapped here, far from everyone I loved.

We’re waiting for you. Who else was out there? What new torment had Balthazar devised to break me further? I pressed my forehead against the cool tile, letting the water drum against my back, and tried to find that steel core inside me that hadn’t bent yet.

I finally turned off the water, towel dried myself, and put on lotion. No makeup, even though Balthazar provided me with things a Kardashian would envy. Each unused compact and lipstick was another small victory, another tiny way to say no.

I strode out of the bathroom to the living room and froze. What the hell was happening?

Rocco was gagged and chained to a chair, struggling to break free. The chains weren’t normal restraints—they glowed with sigils that pulsed like dying stars. There was actual terror in his eyes, something I’d never seen from a vampire before. Julienne wasn’t here, which made me uneasy. Goosebumps broke on my arms and the damp hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. The air felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.

“If you’ve hurt Julienne…”

“I haven’t.” He shrugged, the casual gesture somehow more threatening than any show of force. “She’s locked in her room—seems she doesn’t appreciate the lesson I have planned for you.”

Despite being in hell, my blood froze. I swallowed the dread lodged in my throat like shattered glass. “Meaning what?”

He approached Rocco, who flinched from him. Without the demon’s possession, the vampire prince was fully himself again. Now he was just another piece in Balthazar’s cruel game, trapped and terrified.

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