Page 37 of Crown of Blood and Vengeance

I glared at Balthazar, hate burning in my chest. “If I take his powers, then he’ll be dead anyway.”

“I’m not asking you to kill him—only to take his powers.” His voice dripped with false benevolence.

“But what if I draw on too much and I kill him?” I pressed my palm against my throat, feeling the last word catch there.

Balthazar’s smile spread like poison across his face as he pressed the blade deeper into Rocco’s neck, drawing more blood. “That’s why it’s a practice run.”

“Balthazar, please don’t make me do this.” The words came out as a whisper, a prayer to whatever mercy might still exist in hell.

“Do it now or he dies. Stretch out your palm and aim it at the prince. Your magic should do the rest.”

Rocco shook his head frantically, but the blade at his throat left me no choice. I knew Balthazar wouldn’t hesitate to kill him—the demon’s eyes held that familiar hunger for death. Tears slipped down my cheeks, each one burning hot in hell’s oppressive air. I stretched out my trembling hand and drew on my power, feeling it surge through my veins like liquid fire. I didn’t know what I was doing, fumbling blind in the dark.

Something sparked between Rocco and me, a tendril of energy that tasted like copper and overly sweet honey, butthen pain slammed into me like a sledgehammer. I cried out, doubling over, clutching my gut as my power recoiled.

“I see we are going to do it the hard way.” Balthazar’s fingers twitched at his sides as he brushed past me, like a predator restraining itself before the pounce. “Wait here, Nephilim.”

He opened the door, and a wave of hell’s true heat surged inside, turning the chamber into an inferno. Sweat instantly broke out across my skin, rolling down my temples and back. He stepped outside, the door closing behind him with an ominous finality that made my stomach turn.

I immediately rushed over to Rocco, my fingers fumbling with his gag until I yanked it free. “You have to get out of here.”

“And go where?” Bitterness laced his words like poison. “I can’t open the gates of hell, but maybe I deserve to be here after what I did to my mother.” His voice cracked, guilt gushing through like blood. “I screamed for the demon possessing me to stop—God, I wanted to stop so badly—but I couldn’t control my own body. All I could do was watch…” He hung his head, the proud vampire prince reduced to raw anguish.

“That wasn’t your fault.” I pulled desperately at the chains binding his wrists, the metal burning cold against my skin. “That was Balthazar’s.” The chains wouldn’t budge, each link inscribed with hellish runes that seemed to mock my efforts.

The door opened with an unholy groan. Balthazar stepped inside, hellfire dancing in his outstretched palm, casting twisted shadows across his face. “Did I hear someone call my name?” He broke out into a slow smile that held no warmth, only ancient malice.

I gasped, the scorching heat making my skin prickle. “Is that...?”

“Hellfire.” His smile was razor-sharp as he withdrew a crystal wine glass from the china cabinet. The flame writhed like a living thing before sliding into the glass, which remained eerily intactdespite the infernal heat. My stomach turned as Balthazar lifted his wrist to his mouth, fangs gleaming in the crimson light. He tore into his flesh with savage precision, dark blood dripping into the glass. The hellfire seemed to pulse eagerly as it merged with his blood, creating a swirling vortex of darkness and flame.

“Now, Nephilim,” he purred, extending the glass toward me, “you’re going to drink this.”

My stomach recoiled at the thought. “No, I’m not.” I yanked frantically at Rocco’s chains, the metal biting into my palms.

“Those chains will only loosen when I touch them.” Balthazar traced a finger along the air, mimicking the patterns of the chains with undisguised pleasure. “They’re imprinted with my magic. No one else can release them—not even you, Nephilim.”

He moved with demon-speed, nothing more than a blur of shadow before the blade appeared in his hand. “I’ll kill the prince now if you don’t do as I say.”

“Damn you!”

“I’ve always been damned,” he growled, eyes flashing with hellfire. “Now drink.”

Julienne’s warning echoed in my mind—my soul would turn dark. But could I let the prince die? The choice strangled me like a noose.

I wasn’t about death. I was about life. I was a healer just like my father. With trembling hands, I took the foul glass and raised it to my lips. I expected liquid fire, expected agony, but instead, the mixture slid down my throat with a spicy-sweet burn. There was something else lurking beneath the surface—something too tangy, too sour, that made my Nephilim powers twist inside me.

“Now, Nephilim, hold out your hand and repeat after me?—

Sanguinem regis aufero,

Potentiam vampiri extraho,

Per tenebras inferni,

Virtutem eius consumo,

I held my head up high, defiance thumping in my chest. “I won’t say it until you tell me what it means.”

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