Page 43 of Cry of Blood and Joy
“Steve!” I gasped, staring in shock as my brother literally transformed before my eyes. I’d known vampires could shapeshift but seeing it happen to Steve—hearing his bones crack and reform—was horrifying and mesmerizing at once.
The creature flew chaotically through the church—listing to one side, then the other—as if drugged or poisoned. It careened off a broken pew, nearly crashed into a moldering pillar, then recovered just enough to aim for the shattered window.
The bat squeezed through the jagged opening just as Ari and Marsha stepped inside, their boots crunching on decades of accumulated debris and broken glass.
I leaned my head back and took a shaky breath. A single tear escaped down my cheek. He got away! He got away.
“You betrayed me,” Ari snarled, his cold gaze immediately focusing on the window where Steve had disappeared. The Spanish moss outside swayed gently in the evening breeze, already concealing any trace of my brother’s escape.
My stomach plummeted with fear as I saw the fury twisting Ari’s angular features. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as rage radiated over him in waves. Whatever he planned to do to me now—whatever fresh torment he had in mind—it would be brutal.
But as I hung there in my iron restraints, watching the last rays of sunlight fade through the broken window, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in hours: hope.
My brother was free. And I knew, with absolute certainty, he’d find Enzo.
And when he did? Enzo would come for me with such a vengeance the very bayou would tremble.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Enzo
I drew on vampire speed, tapping into reserves I’d never accessed before, my body becoming a blur of motion that defied human comprehension. The world around me shifted into slow motion—every heartbeat, every blink, every falling raindrop suspended in surgical precision as I moved faster than I ever had in my life. My muscles burned with supernatural fire, pushing beyond every limit I’d ever known.
Angelo would kill Joy—I could see it with horrifying clarity, the image searing itself into my mind. He’d torture her slowly, methodically, making her pay for every moment Serenity lay trapped in that cursed coma. The thought of his hands on her, of her screams echoing through whatever hellhole he’d chosen, sent liquid rage coursing through my veins like molten metal.
Angelo was stronger than I was—my maker, my blood, my superior in every way that mattered in a fight. But I’d fight him to the death to save Joy. I’d tear him apart with my bare hands if necessary, even if it meant my own destruction.
She was worth dying for.
The humid New Orleans air whipped past my face as I moved like a phantom through the French Quarter. I vaulted over a group of stumbling drunks on Bourbon Street, their slurred laughter and the clink of beer bottles barely registering as I landed silently on the other side. The sharp scent of spilled alcohol and vomit filled my nostrils for a split second before I was gone again.
A streetcar clanged its bell somewhere ahead—I ducked beneath it, rolling under the massive wheels with inches to spare, the metal screaming against the tracks above my head. The startled faces of late-night revelers blurred past as I wove between them, my supernatural reflexes keeping me from colliding with the oblivious humans who couldn’t even see me coming.
Neon signs cast everything in garish reds and blues, but I was moving too fast for the colors to do more than streak across my vision like abstract paint. The sound of jazz music spilled from open doorways, mixing with laughter and shouted conversations in a symphony of night life that I barely heard over the thundering of my own determination.
Every breath I took was another breath Joy spent in peril. Another second closer to losing her forever.
I pushed harder, faster, until the very air seemed to part before me like water.
The roof of Crescent Manor peeked through the twilight like a Gothic specter, its ornate ironwork silhouetted against the darkening sky. I half expected to see bats circling the elaborate balconies—and knowing this place, some of them would be real vampires in their transformed state, not just my imagination conjuring horrors in the shadows.
The humid evening air carried the scent of old brick and wrought iron alongside the ever-present aroma of the FrenchQuarter—coffee, spices, and the lingering dampness that never quite left New Orleans.
My hands clenched into fists as I studied the imposing structure, every window dark except for a few flickering lights that could mean anything.
Coming through the front door would get me nowhere—too exposed, too obvious, and Angelo would sense my approach long before I reached him. The side entrance would be my best option, hidden partially by the sprawling oak tree whose branches scraped against the building’s weathered brick. More importantly, that door was closer to Angelo’s private chambers.
That’s where he would take her.
My gut wrenched at the thought of Joy trapped somewhere inside those walls. I had to grip the iron fence to steady myself. The metal was cold beneath my palms, grounding me as dark memories threatened to surface. I knew what Angelo was capable of, had witnessed his methods firsthand over the decades. The psychological games, the calculated cruelty designed to break someone’s spirit long before their body gave out.
I shook my head violently, forcing those images away. Joy was strong—stronger than she knew. She would survive this. She had to.
Because I was coming for her, and nothing—not Angelo, not our shared blood, not the entire vampire hierarchy—would stop me from bringing her home.
I slowed down as I approached the manor, scanning for guards. There were two in front of the house that I could easily take out, but that would only draw Angelo’s attention. Down the driveway, I spotted Dimitri standing guard in front of the side entrance. He was alone. He would want to prove to Angelo that he could do this himself.
A deadly, stupid, arrogant mistake.
