Page 5 of Crown of Blood and Vengeance

I stumbled toward the sofa, my fingers grasping blindly for something solid to hold onto. The magnitude of this truth threatened to overwhelm me completely. An archangel’s daughter. The words felt foreign, impossible—yet they explained so much.

Balthazar seized my arm, his grip firm but not cruel, and lowered me onto the sofa. His eyes held a glimmer I hadn’t seen before—something almost predatory. “Care for another guess, Nephilim?” The last word fell from his lips like a secret finally unveiled.

My heart thundered against my ribs, each beat a war drum in my ears. The name danced at the edge of my consciousness, terrible and beautiful all at once. Could it really be? The healer, the most compassionate of God’s warriors... “Raphael,” I mumbled, the name barely a whisper. “Raphael.”

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Balthazar’s face. “Ah, so you do know your archangels.” His laugh was cold, devoid of any real mirth. “Yes, Raphael was the only one besides Michael that could break my deal with Dracula. Something I have never forgiven him for.” His features hardened, centuries of festering hatred bleeding through his carefully maintained facade. “And I have planned my revenge against him with exquisite care.”

Terror clawed its way up my throat. “You can’t kill an archangel,” I whispered, clinging to this one certainty like a lifeline.

“No, you’re quite right.” Balthazar’s voice dropped to a silken purr. “However, you can make them fall.” His eyes gleamedwith dark satisfaction. “Remember, Lucifer was an archangel. And what better way to make Raphael fall than through his own daughter?” He leaned closer, his breath ghosting across my face. “I plan to use you to make your father fall. And once he’s here, stripped of his divine grace...” A cruel smile played at his lips. “I will have the pleasure of torturing him for eternity.”

His plan pressed against my chest like a stone, crushing the breath out of me. I was just another move in his twisted game—I was the bait in a trap centuries in the making, designed to destroy not just any angel, but an archangel who was my own father. The cold realization was like a knife sinking into my heart. How long had Balthazar been planning this? How did he find out about me? Had every kindness, every moment of protection, been nothing but careful manipulation?

He patted my thigh, the gesture almost paternal. “I’ve some business attend to. I’ll leave you here to contemplate what I said. You can go anywhere you want here, but you can’t escape.” He clasped my hand, his touch deceptively gentle. “Actually, you can. But remember those ghettos I told you about.” He tilted his head toward a window that had plantation shutters. “They’re right outside my door.”

I could feel the blood drain from my face.

Shitshitshit

He stood and stretched his arms over his head, his bare torso rippling with lean muscle. The movement drew attention to the sculpted planes of his chest, a predator’s casual display of power. “I advise you not to leave, little Nephilim.” He dropped his arms. “I won’t be there to protect you, and the hellhounds?—”

I repeated the word. “Hellhounds?”

“Yes. Your horror movies pale in comparison to the real thing.” He headed toward the door. “Stay here, beautiful. I wouldn’t want to see one hair on your head harmed.”

He opened the door. A wave of scorching heat rushed into the room, carrying with it the unmistakable sound of tormented souls. The wail of the damned cut through me like a razor, and for a moment, I caught a glimpse of what waited beyond—shadows writhed and twisted in ways they never should.

Crapcrapcrapcrap

He disappeared through the door, leaving me alone in the most terrifying place on Earth. The lingering echo of those damned souls made my skin crawl. I had thought Crescent Manor and the wolf’s old plantation had both been horrifying, but this place—this place redefined terror. The very air felt wrong, heavy with fumes of ancient evil.

My fingers dug into the sofa cushions, seeking any anchor to reality. I was trapped, caged in a luxurious cell with horrors lurking beyond its walls. The thought of what existed outside—the ghettos, the hellhounds, the endless screaming—sent ice through my veins. I gulped down air, but it felt tainted, leaving a metallic taste on my lips.

More than anything, I wanted to go home. Maybe this was just a nightmare, my mind’s cruel joke. Any minute now, I’d wake up in Angelo’s strong arms, safe within Crescent Manor’s walls. His spicy scent would brush over me, and this would all fade like morning mist.

I took another quivering breath, but the sulfuric tang in the air confirmed the bitter truth. This was real. I was here, in the last place any sane person would want to be, with a vengeful immortal who planned to use me as bait for an archangel—my father.

My father. Raphael. The name pulsed in my mind like a beacon. If I truly was his daughter, maybe I had more power than Balthazar realized. Maybe I could break free. I drew deep within myself, calling on my Nephilim heritage. Power surgedthrough my veins like wild storm fire, making my skin tingle and my vision blur.

The room began to rock. Decanters flew off the shelves, shattering against the floor in a spray of glass and expensive liquor. Heavy furniture skidded across the hardwood like toys, leaving deep gouges in their wake. Light bulbs exploded overhead in a cascade of sparks and glass, plunging sections of the room into shadow.

My power rolled out in waves, but even as things crashed around me, a terrible thought crept in: What if this display of strength was exactly what Balthazar wanted?

But then a memory surfaced through my panic—what had happened during the last time I was trapped, how I’d managed to reach Angelo through my thoughts. Maybe, just maybe, it would work here.

I tossed my head back and spread my arms wide, channeling every ounce of desperation and love I had left. With the last fragments of my energy, I cried out through the ether, “Angelo, come to me!”

The door exploded inward. Something massive and dark hurtled through the air, and before I could react, razor-sharp teeth sank into my leg. My scream echoed off the walls as white-hot pain tore through me, unlike anything I’d ever felt before.

My vision darkened at the edges, the room tilting sideways as my legs gave out. The cold floor rushed up to meet me.

Through the encroaching darkness, I heard Balthazar’s voice, dripping with cruel amusement. “I told you I wouldn’t be able to be here to protect you.”

Chapter

Three

Angelo

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