Page 77 of Crown of Blood and Vengeance

“Of course we are,” Dimitri added with exaggerated enthusiasm, rolling his eyes. “Nothing I love more than fighting an army of possessed demons for real estate. Though I must say, the manor’s curb appeal has really gone downhill since the whole ‘gateway to hell’ renovation.”

“Those are your men, Angelo,” Serenity said, her eyes holding that stubborn compassion that both infuriated and captivated me. “You don’t want to kill them all, do you? I could heal them.”

“Stay close to me. I don’t want you to get hurt.” My voice came out sharper than intended, panic clawing at my insides at the mere thought of her facing those creatures. Images of her broken body flashed before my eyes—memories that haunted my every waking moment since I’d lost her once before.

She folded her arms across her chest, tilting her chin upward in that defiant stance I knew too well. “I sent Balthazar flying outof the church. I’m not helpless, Angelo.” The power within her shimmered just beneath her skin, that Nephilim light that drew me like a moth to flame.

I clasped her shoulders, my fingers trembling slightly against her warmth. The thought of her in danger made my heart constrict painfully in my chest. “I can’t fight if I’m worried about you,” I confessed. My thumbs traced small circles on her shoulders, a desperate gesture of connection. “I won’t lose you again.” The words emerged like a prayer and a threat combined. The memory of her absence—that endless days without her—threatened to drown me where I stood. “You and Gianna need to stay hidden. Enzo, Dimitri, and I will reclaim Crescent Manor.” I stared into her eyes, seeking understanding, pleading silently for her compliance in this one thing. “Am I clear?”

The fear I normally kept buried beneath layers of control and power now stood naked between us. Not fear of the demons, not fear of battle—but the bone-deep terror of a world without her in it again.

Rocco slowly approached us, his usually proud posture now curved with the burden of regret. “I must return to the palace and apologize to my mother.” He bowed his head, shadows deepening across his face. “Even if she forgives and my father does, I can’t forgive myself.” The raw pain in his voice revealed wounds far deeper than physical.

Serenity reached out, her inherent compassion shining through even after all we’d endured. “What are you going to do?”

Rocco gave her a small smile, brittle as thin ice. “I don’t know yet.” He shifted into a bat and flew out of the bayou, a dark speck against the night sky, heading toward his father’s palace.

Dimitri watched him disappear, a cold, sardonic laugh escaping his lips. “Talk about an awkward family dinner. ‘Pass the blood, Mother—sorry about that public beating, by the way.’” His eyes narrowed with cruel amusement. “Years of vampirepolitics has taught me one thing—nothing says ‘you’re not welcome anymore’ quite like the entire court witnessing you assault the queen.” He shrugged with exaggerated casualness. “Hope he enjoys sleeping with one eye open for the next millennium or so. Royal grudges have a way of... lingering.”

My sister smacked his shoulder, but I noticed she didn’t contradict him. We all knew the brutal reality of vampire nobility—some sins weren’t forgiven, only strategically forgotten until the perfect moment for revenge presented itself.

“Let’s reclaim Crescent Manor.” I shifted into bat.

Serenity’s wings unfurled and she flew by my side. The rest of them were behind us. We flew in the clouds, hiding from curious eyes. I led them toward the garage, away from the house, planning on going through the back door.

As soon as we landed, Pascal, my chauffeur, burst from the house with vampiric speed. I thought he was dead after the demon had been exorcised, but his eyes shone with an unusual brightness, a smile stretching across his normally stoic face that seemed both relief and disbelief combined.

“Angelo, you’ve returned!” His voice was the same smooth cadence of our kind yet edged with an emotion he rarely displayed. “We have been anxiously waiting for you. Petar’s dead, right? You’re still the king?” The question held centuries of loyalty beneath it—the devotion of a vampire who had chosen his allegiance and held it through countless regimes.

“I’ve always been the king.” My voice dropped to a dangerous octave as my eyes narrowed, scrutinizing every minute detail of his appearance. I extended my predator’s senses, probing for any trace of sulfur or corruption that would reveal a demonic presence lurking beneath his familiar exterior. Nothing. Just Pascal—the same vampire who had served my household faithfully for two centuries. Confusion twisted through me—a sensation I despised nearly as much as betrayal.

Pascal’s expression softened as he noticed my suspicious stance. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and a knowing look crossed his features. “The Archangel Raphael came,” he said, his voice dropping to something like reverence, “and cast out everyone’s demons. I was barely alive when Rose cast out the demon in me.” He patted his chest. “But I’m alive.”

I froze, my gaze flicking to Serenity at the mention of her father. The connection sent a jolt of understanding through me—of course Raphael would intervene, not for vampires, but for his daughter. The implications of an archangel directly involving himself in vampire territory would send shockwaves through our world.

Dimitri let out a low whistle, that unmistakable arrogant twist to his mouth as he stood beside us in the courtyard. “Well, well. Daddy dearest swooping in to tidy up the in-laws’ mansion.” He rocked back on his heels, dusting demon ash from his jacket sleeve with theatrical precision. “Nothing says ‘welcome to the family’ quite like divine intervention.”

Pascal cleared his throat. “The Archangel Raphael did mention he expects the wedding to be held tomorrow.”

Dimitri clapped his hands together with theatrical enthusiasm, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Less than twenty-four hours to go! Nothing like throwing together a royal vampire wedding after fighting off hell itself.” He glanced between Serenity and me with unholy amusement lighting his face. “Better start picking out china patterns now, brother. Something tells me your angelic father-in-law doesn’t take kindly to postponements. Should I handle the guest list? I’m thinking angels on the bride’s side, bloodsuckers on the groom’s—keeps things balanced.”

Serenity shot him a look that would have silenced a lesser vampire, but Dimitri merely offered a theatrical bow in response, clearly enjoying me squirming for a change.

Chapter

Forty-Four

Serenity

Angelo transformedthe courtyard into a fairytale wedding. White roses decorated every corner of the centuries-old courtyard, their perfume mingling with the heady scent of jasmine climbing the wrought-iron balconies. A red carpet stretched across the ancient cobblestones, dusted with white petals that seemed to capture the moonlight in their delicate folds. I could feel my skin—with its subtle luminescence that marked me as neither fully human nor fully divine—glowing beneath my gown, sending faint patterns of light through the moonlight-colored fabric.

The wedding would be small, with only my new family, and Gianna would be my matron of honor. My heart clenched as I thought of Joy. We had always promised each other that we would be each other’s maid of honor, a pact made years ago that I never imagined breaking. But Joy was missing—three weeks now—her absence a raw wound that wouldn’t heal.

Angelo had men searching for her again with renewed urgency after our confrontation with Balthazar. The battle hadbarely ended, and already he was redirecting resources to find her. It was as if she disappeared into thin air. Maximo Barone had her when Angelo was about to be executed, but now he couldn’t be found either. I just prayed she hadn’t been sold into human slavery. Enzo, still bearing fresh wounds from our fight, vowed he would pick up the trail again, determination blazing in his eyes despite his exhaustion. But without fresh leads, none of us knew if she was gone forever.

Elena, Angelo’s housekeeper, burst into my room like a whirlwind of familiar comfort. Her snow-white hair was pulled into a tight, immaculate bun, and she wore her customary uniform—a pressed black shirt and knee-length skirt that made her look both formidable and maternal. The sight of her made my throat tighten with emotion. I had missed her so much during these chaotic weeks—her steady presence, her gentle scolding, the way she always smelled faintly of lavender and fresh bread. She’d been secreted away at Trystan’s home to keep her safe from the dangers that seemed to constantly circle our lives. Seeing her now, unharmed and bustling with purpose, loosened a knot of worry I hadn’t even realized I’d been carrying.

“Ma cherie, we must get you ready for the wedding. It’s in three hours,” she announced, her French-Creole accent thickening with excitement as she clasped my hands in her warm, work-worn ones. Her eyes, sharp as ever despite her years, softened when they met mine. “Both Trystan and Keir said they would attend.” She said this last part with such solemn importance that I couldn’t help but smile. In Elena’s world, being late or unprepared for an event was nearly as catastrophic as the supernatural threats we’d been facing.

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