Page 51 of Crown of Blood and Vengeance

Enzo winced and avoided my gaze.

Trystan faced his pack. Muscles rippled and bones cracked as he shifted into the great white wolf again, his form massive and majestic in the cemetery’s fading shadows. The first rays of dawn caught his fur, turning it rose-gold as he leaped onto the graveyard where his men waited, all in their wolf forms. Their shapes dotted the lightening darkness, eyes gleaming with supernatural light.

He lifted his head to the pale morning sky and released a mournful howl. The pack members immediately lowered their eyes in submission, the hierarchy reestablished despite their alpha’s evident exhaustion.

Then he led them out of St. Christopher’s, their movements fluid and synchronized, racing against the approaching sunrise.

Not looking back, I turned and drew on vampire speed, weaving through the graveyard and onto the streets of New Orleans. My feet barely touched the ground as I moved, a blur to human eyes. The sleepy streets were just waking up, filled with the aroma of chicory coffee and fresh beignets from Café du Monde. I dodged people clutching their steaming cups of coffee, their heartbeats a steady background rhythm as they trudged toward work, unknowing of the supernatural drama unfolding around them. The morning light painted the French Quarter in shades of gold and rose, but I had no time to appreciate the city’s beauty—not with Serenity’s power still burning through my veins like a reminder of what was at stake.

I reached Keir’s mansion and exhaled a sigh of relief. There was no sign of a siege or a battle. Guards opened the gates for me, each holding blades that could cut down a demon.

One of them nodded toward the front door. “Keir’s waiting for you inside. Someone got here before you.”

Rage coiled through me like an awakening serpent. “DuPont?”

“Yeah. He barely made it before the sun rose.”

Enzo arrived next, his eyes narrowing as he sensed my mood. “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t even look at him, my eyes fixed on where DuPont must be hiding. The betrayal burned like acid in my chest. Steve had abandoned his post at the crypt without permission—during a crisis, when I needed every soldier I had. Whatever he’d been doing, whatever secrets he’d kept, it was a violation of the most basic trust. “DuPont’s here. And now he’s dead.”

No one betrays me and lives. The thought wasn’t a threat—it was a promise written in centuries of blood.

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

Angelo

I thrustopen the door with enough force to rattle the ancient hinges, not waiting for Keir to let me in. As if anticipating me, he waited in the foyer with Steve DuPont. The moment Steve saw me, terror flashed across his face. He backed up against the ornate wallpaper, hands raised in surrender, his whole body trembling.

“Angelo, no.” His voice cracked with fear.

But I was done listening. My hand shot out like a striking cobra, fingers wrapping around his throat. I squeezed tighter and tighter, feeling his pulse flutter beneath my grip like a trapped rat. The scent of his fear filled the air, sharp and acrid.

Keir remained eerily calm, putting his hands behind his back in that aristocratic way of his. “That’s a mistake. He has information.” His quiet authority cut through my rage.

I growled, the sound rumbling deep in my chest, but I dropped him. Steve crumpled to the floor like a discarded puppet. “Talk.”

Enzo came up behind me, his presence tense but silent. The maker-progeny bond between him and Steve hummed with distress, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

Rose and Dimitri hovered behind Enzo. I could smell Rose’s scent and my blood on Dimitri’s shirt. For once, Dimitri kept his sarcasm to himself.

Steve rubbed his throat and swallowed convulsively. His watery eyes reflected the dim light as he struggled to speak. His voice came out raspy. “There was…someone in the graveyard…someone with red eyes.”

He wasn’t the only one who saw them. I stiffened. “Go on.”

He leaned back against the wall as if seeking support. “I followed him… I thought recognized him.”

Enzo looked at him, shifting his weight forward as if preparing to pounce. “Who?”

“Maximo Barone.”

Enzo hissed next to me, the sound like steel on stone. I could feel the emotion rolling off him like a raging waterfall—raw hatred and possessive fury. The mere mention of Maximo’s name was enough to trigger his rage—the mafia boss who had Joy.

“Barone doesn’t have red eyes.” My voice came out cold, calculated.

“I know,” Steve said, his eyes wide with remembered horror. “But I saw him. It was him. I had worked for the man before… but he seemed different. I can’t explain it.” He ran his hand through his amber hair. “Something…was off. He ended up here, then I lost him.” He dropped his arm and leaned back against the wall. “I don’t know how that was possible.”

---