Page 13

Chapter

Thirteen

E nzo

Dimitri and I crouched in the underbrush around Fandor Citadel, sweat trickling down our backs as we waited for the signal. The hottest damn day in the bayou’s history, and here we were, pressed belly down in mud while flies and mosquitoes feasted on whatever skin they could find. Inside those stone walls, Keir and Trystan were playing their parts, cozying up to that arrogant bastard Petar. He’d believe anything if you stroked his ego enough.

Keir’s and Trystan’s men lay scattered through the underbrush around us. Trystan’s soldiers had shifted into their massive wolf forms, while Keir’s Unseelie warriors crouched with bows drawn or sword hilts gripped, their otherworldly eyes gleaming with barely contained bloodlust. Above, hidden in the thick canopy, Keir’s harpies perched like deadly sentinels, their leathery wings folded tight against their backs. Their talons could tear through armor like it was paper, which was exactly what we needed. One wrong move, one misplaced sound, and Angelo would be dead before we could reach him. The plan was simple but dangerous: when chaos erupted, a harpy would dive through the carnage, snatch Angelo, and get him the hell out before Petar’s men could put a blade through him. Two more would swoop in for Keir and Trystan, assuming they survived long enough playing their roles.

But saving the three kings wasn’t enough. Dracula had to come with us, willing or not. Keir carried our ace in the hole: a dart gun loaded with serum from the Elder Dimension, potent enough to drop even the First Vampire in existence. One shot, and the almighty Dracula would fall like a stone. Keir swore he could catch and carry him before he hit the ground, claimed his fae strength could handle even a vampire’s dead weight. The harpies would do the rest, swooping them both to safety.

“If your fae muscles aren’t as impressive as you claim, we’re all screwed,” Dimitri had said when we planned this, and I still couldn’t shake the worry. But we were out of options. Dracula was the only one who knew how to open the gates of hell, the only one who could lead us back there. And we needed those gates open, no matter how much I hated the idea of trusting him. The fate of too many hung on this insane rescue mission—not just the kings, not just Angelo, but everyone who’d end up in Balthazar’s grip if we failed.

I glanced up at the nearest harpy, her skin the color of storm clouds. She caught my eye and gave a slight nod. They understood the stakes. This was our only shot at getting Angelo back alive, and if it failed... well, I tried not to think about that. We’d lost enough people to Petar’s games already.

The double doors groaned open and my heart slammed against my ribs. Out strutted Balthazar and Petar, looking every bit the powerful beings they thought they were. Balthazar moved like the rock god he pretended to be in the human world, all leather and dangerous grace, the demon beneath his skin barely contained. Beside him, Petar wore his stolen authority like his designer suit—a cheap imitation of Angelo’s true power. My teeth clenched seeing him there, playing at being head of the family when he was nothing but a treacherous snake who’d tried to steal what Angelo had built.

Then came Trystan and Keir, their faces carved from stone, and behind them... Rocco. The prince. Blood stained the front of his expensive silk shirt, dark splatters marring the white fabric like crimson flowers. For a moment, my heart stopped—had someone attacked him? But then I saw his steady movements, the casual way he held himself, no hint of pain or injury. The truth hit me like a punch to the gut: that wasn’t his blood. Someone else’s life stained his clothes, yet he walked like a man without a care. My stomach twisted. He wasn’t supposed to be here and something about his presence felt terribly wrong.

But what came next sent ice through my blood: the king and his brother in chains, stumbling, beaten. And gods, the queen... they were dragging her like a broken doll, her face so swollen and bruised I barely recognized her. Her once-pristine dress was shredded and stained with blood.

Dimitri’s entire demeanor changed, the familiar smirk vanishing into something lethal. His fangs showed as he let out a low growl. “They really want to die today, don’t they?”

“No, no, no,” I whispered, bile rising in my throat. This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Where was Angelo? And what the hell had happened to the royal family? Everything I’d planned, every careful detail, was crumbling before my eyes.

Then Maximo Barone slithered out and raw hatred surged through my veins. My vision went red at the edges as I watched that lying piece of shit move through the space as if it were his personal kingdom. And there—oh god—there was Joy beside him, her long dark hair falling forward to hide her face like a veil, her head bowed like a broken bird. Every fiber of my being screamed to launch myself over this brush and tear his throat out. My muscles coiled, ready to spring.

“If you want to save her, we have to get Angelo. He’s the key. He’s the only one strong enough to bring everybody down.”

Before I could argue, Gianna appeared, flanked by guards like some prisoner. Her red dress was splattered with dark stains that could only be blood. She stumbled forward, chains rattling with each step, her skin mottled with bruises. Despite the defeat haunting her eyes, she held her chin high, though I could see her hands trembling in their restraints. I heard Dimitri take a sharp intake of breath and his fangs flash in a reflexive snarl. The same desperate fury I felt for Joy was written all over his face.

I clutched his arm. “Same to you bro. I know this fucking sucks but we’ve got to stick to the plan. If we go in there guns blazing, they’ll take us down and kill Gianna and Joy.”

Finally Dracula emerged, and my breath caught in my throat. He was leading Angelo like a prized war trophy, but Angelo… god, Angelo could barely walk. Blood-soaked lashes crisscrossed his bare torso, his skin a canvas of cruelty. His dark hair was matted with crimson, and each stumbling step looked like agony. This wasn’t the powerful mafia king I knew—they’d tried to break him, to humiliate him before his own people.

Behind them came the rest of the upper echelon, a procession of pale faces and haunted eyes. Their shock was written in every rigid movement, every averted gaze. I could taste their fear in the air. Balthazar was practically preening at their horror—another show of power for the demon’s collection.

When the executioner appeared, his axe gleaming in the sunlight, my fingers dug so hard into the earth I felt my nails crack.

“And here I was thinking we’d at least get dinner and a show first,” Dimitri drawled, shooting me a look that was all predator beneath the smirk. “But no, they’re jumping straight to the beheading. How... predictable.”

Balthazar spread out his arms like some twisted Messiah, his voice carrying across the courtyard. “Now, my loyal subjects, we are about to start a new era. The first step was taking down Angelo. He defied us for too long. You will witness what happens if you disobey me. Those of you who are loyal to me will be well rewarded.”

“Did he forget to mention that will only cost you your soul?” Dimitri’s voice dripped with venom and dark amusement. “Typical demon sales pitch—all rewards, no fine print.”

The pieces clicked into place as I watched the scene unfold. This was Balthazar’s endgame—it always had been. Petar and Dracula were just minor figures in his plot, powerful enough to be useful but not enough to threaten him. They’d played right into his hands, thinking they were the puppet masters when they were really just the puppets.

My eyes found Maximo in the crowd, and cold certainty settled in my gut. While everyone else watched with barely concealed horror—even Dracula had gone ashen—Maximo stood there calm as still water. No fear, no shock, not even a hint of disgust at what was about to happen. He wasn’t just watching the show—he’d helped write the script.

Someone had sold us out, made a deal with a demon, and now I knew exactly who’d signed that contract in blood.

Balthazar stalked over to Angelo like a cat playing with its prey, his smile all teeth and malice. “Time for you to die, king. Don’t worry, your dear Serenity is in good hands.”

The mention of Serenity’s name lit a fire in Angelo’s eyes. He transformed from beaten prisoner to enraged predator in a heartbeat, surging forward with a snarl that was pure vampire fury. But Dracula was ready, yanking him down to his knees with brutal force. Blood from Angelo’s wounds spattered the ground.

“If we’re going to do this,” Dimitri muttered, his voice tight with lethal anticipation, “we’d better do it now. The king just used up his nine lives. Set the pyre on fire.” His fangs were showing, all pretense of casual sarcasm gone. The time for waiting was over.

“We need to wait for the signal.”

The words had barely left my mouth when sunlight caught Keir’s ring, sending a brilliant flash across the courtyard. For one heartbeat, everything was still.

Then hell broke loose.

Wolves erupted from the underbrush with bone-chilling howls, their massive forms launching through the air. Arrows whistled from the trees in deadly arcs, finding their marks in the guards holding Dante and the king. Bodies hit the ground as screams shattered the air. The crowd transformed into a panicked mob, people trampling each other in their desperate rush for the double doors.

I launched myself forward, every vampire instinct locked on Joy’s location. Twenty yards. Fifteen. Her scent pulled me through the chaos like a beacon. Above, harpies burst from the canopy with ear-splitting shrieks, their leathery wings churning the air into a cyclone. Dust and leaves whirled up in blinding clouds, adding to the chaos, but I didn’t need my eyes—I could feel her.

I caught glimpses of Keir’s Unseelie warriors emerging from the shadows, their blades already slick with blood. The freed king and his elder son were hustling the battered queen to safety, surrounded by a protective ring of wolf shifters as they disappeared into the tree line. Ten yards to Joy. Almost there.

Steve materialized from nowhere, his face twisted with demonic possession. The blade in his hand whispered death as it sliced toward my throat. I jerked back, feeling it kiss my skin —too close. “Move,” I snarled, but his eyes were black pools of hatred.

The air whooshed above us as harpies dove from the sky, snatching up Angelo, then Trystan. In my moment of distraction, Steve’s blade found its mark, slicing across my ribs. I hissed but pushed through the pain—five feet to Joy now. So close.

Steve flickered in and out of sight, his invisibility making him a lethal ghost. Another strike, another dodge. Every second fighting him was another second Joy slipped further away. Through the chaos, I saw Keir take down Dracula with the dart gun, hefting the First Vampire over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

Balthazar’s rage transformed his face into something inhuman, cracks of hellfire gleaming beneath his skin. “This isn’t over,” he snarled, his voice distorting into something that made the air itself shiver. He seized Petar and Rocco by their throats, his fingers elongating into claws.

Through the chaos, I saw Dimitri cutting through the crowd with lethal grace, desperately trying to reach Gianna.

But one of Balthazar’s demons materialized behind her, yanking her back by her chains. The ground beneath them began to smoke, and in a burst of sulfurous flames, they all vanished—leaving nothing but scorched earth and the echo of Petar’s strangled scream mingled with Gianna’s terrified gasp. Dimitri’s guttural cry cut through the disarray as his fingers closed on empty air where she had been seconds before.

I was almost to Joy, my fingers reaching for her, when Maximo’s guards started dragging her away. “No!” The word ripped from my throat. A whisper of movement behind me, the finest glint of steel—then fire exploded in my back, driving me to my knees.

I spun around, fangs bared, but saw nothing—until the air seemed to ripple and Steve appeared. My hand shot out, gripping his throat, fangs plunging deep.

“Stop!” Joy’s scream came too late. Blood rushed into my mouth, hot and sweet, and rage took over. I couldn’t stop—didn’t want to stop—as Steve’s struggles grew weaker.

“Enzo, please!” Joy’s voice cracked with desperation. “You’re killing him!”

Her words finally broke through the bloodlust. I didn’t realize she knew who I was. I pulled back, seeing Steve’s pale face, feeling his thready pulse. Damn it. I bit into my wrist and pressed it to his lips. “Drink, you bastard,” I growled. “Don’t you dare die on her.”

Steve sucked greedily at my wrist, blood running down his chin. The bastard would live—though Joy would never know I’d saved him. One more debt buried in the shadows where I kept all my secrets.

I tore my wrist away from him then forced myself upright, frantically scanning the chaos for Joy. She’d been just twenty feet away when the explosion hit, but now she was gone.

“Joy!” I shouted, my voice barely audible over the ringing in my ears. I pivoted, ignoring the searing pain from the deep wound in my back, searching desperately through the dead bodies and wolves howling.

A flash of movement caught my eye near the clearing. Maximo was dragging her toward a black SUV, a triumphant smirk on his face. I lunged forward, but the knife wound in my back sent me stumbling. By the time I steadied myself, the SUV’s doors were slamming shut. The last thing I saw was Joy’s terrified face through the tinted window as they peeled away, taking her with them.

“Joy!” I roared, but it was useless. She was gone. And I was here, kneeling in the dirt with Steve’s blood on my lips, the precious seconds spent saving his life having cost me my chance to save her.