Page 18

Chapter

Eighteen

A ngelo

I never thought Enzo would make such a serious mistake—turning someone into a made vampire was exhausting work that came with serious consequences. Having been made by Dracula himself, I knew better than most the raw power and hunger that came with the transformation. Made vampires like myself were immortal, far more powerful than born vampires once we gained control. It had taken me centuries to master my abilities, to learn to walk in the sun like born vampires could.

I hadn’t made a vampire in years. The responsibility was too great, the risk too high if they lost control. They would leave a parade of corpses, drawing police attention.

My family and I were already on their radar.

Steve pulled on the Elderforge steel, but like my maker, Dracula, he couldn’t break free. His blue eyes were wild and his long red hair hung in his face. Blood stained his chin and naked chest. The scene was all too familiar—I remembered my own early days of uncontrolled strength and raging thirst.

Steve pulled back his lower lip, revealing his red-stained fangs. He licked his crimson lips with slow deliberation, like a cat savoring cream. “Give me more. I want more.” The hunger in his voice was a sound I knew too well—the same desperate need that had driven me in those first dark decades.

I looked at Enzo, letting centuries of authority fill my voice. “You don’t want to kill him. Fine. You created him. He’s your problem.” I twisted my fist in his bloody shirt, yanking him against me. “But if that idiot leaves a line of cadavers for the authorities to find, I’ll stake him myself.” The threat wasn’t emotional—just a simple statement of fact. I’d ended enough fledglings over the centuries to know when one would bring more trouble than they were worth.

I abruptly released him.

Enzo dragged his hand through his hair. “What? Seriously?”

“I have more important things to do than worry about a crazed, newly made vampire.” Like finding Serenity. I walked out of the room, leaving Enzo cursing underneath his breath. Let him learn the hard way, as we all had—creating life meant being responsible for the deaths it might cause.

Trystan leaned against the wall. “My men have gone hunting for your little piranha.”

The wolves would bring back a human that wouldn’t be missed. They were good at not causing a disturbance.

But if that amateur turned the French Quarter into his personal buffet, he’d be begging for a quick death.

“You won’t be able to get near the crypt, Santi!” The desperate cry echoed down the stone hallway, followed by the harsh rattle of chains. Steve’s voice was raw, ravenous. Chosen Blood—the Dom Pérignon of vampire nutrition, prized for its ability to quell even the most savage hunger and clear a vampire’s mind—hadn’t been enough to settle him. Something had pushed him beyond its soothing effects. “It’s guarded.”

In the dim corridor, Trystan’s golden eyes met mine, a silent understanding passing between vampire king and wolf alpha. Without a word, we moved as one toward the heavy wooden door.

The sight that greeted us twisted something in my gut. Steve’s copper-red hair hung in matted strands over his too-pale face, his body slumped against the chains that held him to the wall. Dark crimson stains around his mouth testified to his messy, desperate feeding.

Steve’s tongue darted across his lips at our entrance, chasing the lingering taste of the potent blood. His fangs extended involuntarily, his body betraying how hungry he was, putting every human on Bourbon Street at risk. “I know Balthazar’s plan.” The words came out as a ragged whisper.

“And?” I crossed the room in a blur, seizing a fistful of his rust-colored hair, yanking his head back. The chains clinked ominously as he strained against them, his entire body trembling with the primal need that only fresh human blood—tons of it—could satisfy. “Tell me more, and maybe we can discuss upgrading your portions.”

Steve’s eyes were glazed with a feral hunger, pupils blown so wide they nearly swallowed the iris. The scent of his desperation filled the air like smoke. “I want a human… not blood bags.” His voice cracked on the word human, revealing the monster clawing just beneath his skin.

Rage coiled in my gut as I shot Enzo a look that could have frozen hell itself. This clusterfuck was a disaster I had zero patience for. Joy’s brother or not, this liability wasn’t part of the plan. The chosen blood staining the floor—wasted on someone too far gone to appreciate its rarity—only fueled my anger.

Enzo met my gaze without flinching, his shoulders set with the stubborn pride of my best enforcer. He didn’t beg forgiveness—he knew better. The fierce devotion to Joy burned in his eyes, the same devotion that had driven him to turn her dying brother into a made vampire. Love had made him stupid, and now we were all paying the price.

“Don’t try my patience, DuPont.” I twisted my fingers tighter into his matted hair, feeling the sticky residue of dried blood. The sharp tang of copper filled my nostrils. “Tell me what I want to know.”

“Please let me go.” The words came out as a desperate whimper.

The heavy door creaked open, and I released Steve as two of Trystan’s men muscled in a struggling human. The scent of bourbon and sweat hung around him in a suffocating cloud. Behind his smudged glasses, fear had replaced the glassy-eyed look of a drunk. He thrashed against their merciless grasp, his heartbeat a frantic drum that made Steve’s chains rattle with desperation. The human looked barely thirty—young enough to be stupid, old enough to be missed. A complication that would fall to Trystan to clean up later—not my problem unless bodies started surfacing.

Trystan’s predatory gaze set over his men, reading every micro-expression. “Did anyone see you?”

The taller one shook his head, his voice steady despite the human’s continued struggles. “No. He was alone and drunk, walking down Bourbon Street.”

Trystan’s eyes found mine, a silent question in their golden depths. The weight of the decision pressed down like a physical thing—the need for information warring with the risk of letting Steve feed from a living source.

I tilted my head, the kind that my enforcers recognized as final judgment. “Feed him.”

The man’s shoes squealed against the stone floor as he desperately tried to find purchase, his heels scraping uselessly against the ground. But human strength meant nothing against two wolf shifters—their muscles didn’t even flex as they held him steady. The acrid stench of his terror cut through the bourbon on his breath.

Steve’s eyes transformed into burning pools of crimson, all traces of humanity evaporating as primal hunger took over. His chains rattled with anticipation, the sound like bones clicking together in the tense silence.

I raised my hand, the gesture freezing Trystan’s men in place before they could deliver their prey. “If you lie to me, DuPont,” my voice dropped to a deadly whisper, “you’re dead.” The threat wasn’t empty—we both knew it.

“No, please don’t do this,” the man sobbed, his drunken pleas slurring together as tears streaked down his stubbled cheeks. The glasses slipped down his nose, fogged with his panicked breaths.

“I won’t,” Steve’s words came out distorted as his fangs fully descended, gleaming like ivory daggers in the dim light. “I have no loyalty to Balthazar.”

The declaration hung in the air, too convenient, too smooth. Years of ruling had taught me to taste lies like bitter wine, and this one had all the hallmarks of desperate appeasement.

At my subtle nod, Trystan’s men thrust the human forward. Steve lunged with inhuman speed, chains snapping taut as his fangs tore into the exposed throat. The wet, terrible sound of desperate feeding filled the room, punctuated by the man’s choked gasps. The brutal rhythm of Steve’s swallowing continued long after the struggles ceased, after the human’s head lolled at a sickening angle, lifeless eyes staring at nothing behind crooked glasses.

Trystan’s men dragged the corpse across the floor, leaving a dark smear that seemed to mock the ancient stones. The metallic scent of death hung thick in the air, mixing with the copper-sweet aftermath of Steve’s feeding.

I seized Steve’s throat, my fingers digging into flesh still warm from his fresh meal. Blood stained his chin, dripping onto my knuckles as I squeezed. “Now that you’ve had your fill,” I growled, feeling his throat work beneath my grip, “tell me what I want to know.”

“The crypt is guarded.” Fresh blood made his voice stronger, more certain—dangerous.

“That’s to be expected.” Keir’s presence filled the doorway before his words did, ancient power seeping from his very being, thick enough in the air to make even my immortal skin prickle. His sigh whispered of midnight courts and thorned crowns, heavy with the authority of a thousand dark bargains. “Vampires. Must you make a mess in my home?” He fixed Trystan’s men with a gaze that had witnessed empires fall. “You will not dispose of him on my grounds. My harpies will dispose of him.”

The wolf shifters’ eyes darted to Trystan, muscles tensing beneath their clothes. Even these hardened warriors couldn’t hide their unease at the mention of Keir’s “pets”—monstrous creatures whose screams could shatter both glass and sanity. At Trystan’s subtle nod, they steeled themselves for the task ahead.

Keir’s lips arched into a knowing smile. “Bring the carcass to the roof.” The word carcass fell from his lips like a death sentence.

“You don’t understand.” Steve’s voice cracked with urgency, fresh blood making him bold. His eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that even I couldn’t dismiss. “The demons are invisible. They’ll cut you down before you can even approach the crypt. Balthazar knows you’re after the cure.”

I tensed, my chest tightening. Balthazar would be desperate to get Dracula back and use him as his dark puppet. But we needed him to open the gates of hell. We couldn’t afford to lose him.

The pieces clicked together in my mind—Steve’s ravings about the crypt, Balthazar’s increasingly bold moves, the timing of it all. This wasn’t random. If Balthazar knew where we were keeping our most valuable asset...

I stared at him. “We can’t leave Dracula unguarded. Balthazar might be able to find a way to penetrate your fortress, Keir.”

He nodded. “Very well. My men and pets will guard my home. No demon will be able to penetrate my fortress.”

Anger stirred in my gut, a familiar serpent uncoiling. Damn it. Serenity was trapped behind the gates of hell, and Dracula was my only key to those gates. Without him recovered and at full strength, she remained beyond my reach, suffering in that infernal realm. Every second wasted here was another moment she endured that torment. The cure in that crypt wasn’t just about saving Dracula anymore—it was about saving her.

“You have to take me with you.” The words burst from Steve like they’d been trapped behind his teeth.

I studied him with cold calculation. Blood still stained his lips, but there was something else there now—desperation, fear, or perhaps something more devious. Why?”

“Because I can see them and you can’t.”

I let my gaze dissect him piece by piece. He’d been deep within enemy territory, yes. Enzo had given him immortality, had changed him into a vampire—but had he truly changed his allegiance? With Serenity’s fate hanging in the balance, could I afford to trust him? Could I afford not to? Each heartbeat that passed was another moment she remained trapped, another moment Dracula weakened, another step closer to losing them both forever.