Page 19

Chapter

Nineteen

E nzo

Angelo and I locked gazes across the bloodstained floor. Joy’s tear-streaked face flashed through my mind—her desperate plea to save her dying brother still echoed in my ears. Maximo had dragged her off to who knows where. Balthazar hadn’t taken that bastard like he had Petar and Rocco. The question was why.

Steve yanked on his chains again, drawing my attention. The maker’s bond thrummed between Steve and me, a connection I’d forged because I couldn’t bear to see her suffer. Now I had to hurt her brother to prove his loyalty. The irony tasted bitter in my mouth.

Angelo tilted his head, that subtle movement projecting lethal authority. “Find out if he’s lying.” His words fell like stones in water, rippling through the tension-thick air. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, catching his ancient form without effect—a power Steve wouldn’t know for centuries, if he lived that long.

Every instinct screamed at me to refuse. I’d already defied Angelo once by refusing to let Steve be killed, but Joy’s broken whisper—“Please, Enzo, don’t let him die”—had made that defiance worth any punishment. But to make such defiance a habit would be suicide. Besides, I knew better than most, pain was a sculptor’s tool, revealing truth hidden beneath layers of deception.

Steve’s chains rattled against the wall as he pulled against his restraints, shrinking away from the rays of morning light that crept ever closer to his position. Fresh blood still stained his lips as he pleaded, “I’m telling the truth. Don’t kill me.” His eyes—so like Joy’s—were wide with terror. The thought of causing him pain made my dead heart ache. What would she think of me after this?

“Oh, I won’t kill you,” I said, walking to the heavy velvet curtains that covered the floor-to-ceiling windows. My fingers curled around the thick fabric. “But we will know if you’re telling the truth.”

As I yanked the curtain aside, morning sunlight flooded the room in a golden wave. Steve jerked against his chains, a strangled sound escaping his throat. As a newborn, his fragile skin would bubble and char in seconds under that light, while Angelo and I could stand in it unscathed. Three days wasn’t nearly enough time to build any resistance to the sun’s touch.

“Through our maker’s bond, I’ll feel every second of your agony,” I said, watching him press himself against the wall as the line of sunlight crept closer to his feet. “That means I’ll know exactly when the pain makes lying impossible.” I tightened my hand on his chains, ready to pull him forward into the light that would sear his new vampire flesh.

His features—features that reminded me so much of Joy—contorted with fear. The choice between loyalty to Angelo and mercy for Joy’s brother burned in my chest. How could I protect them both?

The truth clawed at my insides: to save one, I had to torture the other. There was no clean way out of this nightmare.

Forgive me, Joy. If I don’t do this, Angelo will kill him. The thought settled in my stomach like rotting meat.

I thought of Maximo. Was he hurting her? If he did, I’d rip his lungs out. I just couldn’t figure out how he played into Balthazar’s plan…unless he sold his soul to the demon.

“Enzo.” Angelo snapped his fingers. “Let him feel the sun.”

I grabbed Steve’s chain and forced him into the sunlight. The moment it touched Steve’s flesh, his skin erupted in flames. His body convulsed as a shriek clawed its way from deep within him—a sound beyond language or species, pure suffering given voice. It vibrated through room, shattering any pretense of civilization. Through our maker’s bond, his agony slammed into me like a three-hundred-pound linebacker smashing into an unsuspecting quarterback.

“I’m not lying!” The words burst from him between screams, desperate and ragged. Blisters erupted across his skin, splitting open to reveal charred flesh beneath. The stench of burning vampire flesh filled the room—sweet and terrible, like caramelized sugar mixed with scorched meat.

But he hadn’t reached the breaking point yet. I could feel it through our bond—there were still walls in his mind, still secrets held back. His copper hair ignited like a torch, the flames dancing across his scalp as his face blackened and cracked. Each moment of his torture resonated through our connection, every lick of flame on his skin echoing through my own nerves until I could barely tell where his pain ended and mine began.

“Tell me the truth,” Angelo snarled, his voice cutting through Steve’s screams like thunder over rainfall. “Are demons guarding the Nightshade Crypt?”

“Yes!” The word erupted from Steve’s blackened lips, a howl of agony and truth torn from his burning flesh. His skin continued to char and crack in the merciless sunlight.

My own flesh crawled with phantom fire. Every maker feels their child’s pain, but this—this was beyond bearing. The blood I’d used to turn him just days ago rebelled inside me, screaming at the wrongness of torturing my own creation. My balance faltered as Steve’s agony poured through our bond. Each blister that erupted on his skin felt like it was bubbling under my own flesh. Each crack in his burning skin echoed through my nerves like lightning.

Joy would never understand this mercy—this necessary cruelty. Through the haze of our shared torment, I saw her face, imagined her horror if she could see what I was doing to her brother—to my own child. But better to burn now than die at Angelo’s hands. Better for him to suffer this moment of torture than to hold onto secrets that would condemn him to a far worse fate.

The taste of cremation and butchery flooded my senses—the flavor of my own child burning. The maker’s bond throbbed between us like a living thing, transmitting every second of his suffering directly into my soul. I’d given him immortal life with my blood, and now I was using that same connection to inflict unimaginable pain. Some maker I turned out to be.

Pain exploded behind my eyes and I tossed my head back, my spine arching with the intensity of Steve’s agony. “Angelo…he’s…he’s telling the truth.”

Angelo flicked his hand, the gesture sharp and final. “Shut the curtain.”

My fingers fumbled with the heavy fabric, desperation making me clumsy as I yanked it closed. The maker’s bond throbbed between us, pulsing with Steve’s torment. I lurched forward, grabbing his neck with trembling hands and thrust my wrist against his charred lips. His fangs pierced my flesh with desperate strength, each frantic pull of blood echoing through my body. The shared pain began to ebb with every greedy swallow.

Black spots danced at the edges of my vision. My knees buckled, the room tilting dangerously as Steve continued to drink.

Strong hands wrenched me backward. “That’s enough.” Angelo’s voice cut through the haze of blood loss and shared agony.

“More...” Steve’s voice was raw, barely a whisper. His burned flesh still smoked faintly. “The pain...”

“This will be the last time you’ll receive this.” Angelo’s words rang with finality.

Keir’s fae-strong grip on my arm was the only thing keeping me upright as we watched Angelo offer his ancient blood to Steve. The transformation was immediate and mesmerizing—charred flesh knitting back together, pink and new. Hair sprouted from his scalp in waves, returning to its rich amber color as if the flames had never touched it.

“You’re done, vampire.” Angelo yanked his wrist away, leaving Steve staring at it with naked hunger. “How many demons?”

“At least twenty.” Steve’s tongue darted out, licking traces of Angelo’s powerful blood from his lips. His eyes remained fixed on Angelo’s wrist like a starving man eyeing a feast.

The implications twisted my gut. “Even if Steve’s with us and points them out,” I said, my throat raw from screaming, “we wouldn’t be able to fight them all.”

“No,” Trystan interrupted, the challenge in his eyes carrying the wild confidence of an alpha wolf. “But we could.”

Angelo’s gaze snapped to him, sharp with sudden interest. “How?”

“How else?” A predatory smile spread across Trystan’s face. “Smell. Nothing is more sensitive than a wolf shifter’s sense of smell. We should be able to hold them off long enough for you to get into the crypt.”

“We need more weapons,” I said, my hands clenching into fists. “Even if the wolves can snuff him out, we’re going to need to kill them.”

“I can help you there.” Keir unleashed a sword from his hip. He traced the edge of his blade with one finger, eyes cold. “I have swords that will kill the demons.”

“Our possessed men,” Angelo said, his fangs just visible beneath his upper lip. “Balthazar and Petar will pay for this waste.”

“I know,” I said softly, the words scraping my throat like ground glass. “But Balthazar and Petar aren’t giving us a choice.”

“We hit the crypt tonight at midnight,” Angelo said, every word carved in stone.

“They’ll be expecting that.” Keir stated the obvious, still caressing his blade.

“We wouldn’t want to disappoint Balthazar.” I smiled, feeling the expression twist into something feral. “We have to score to settle.”

“Once we get the potion,” Angelo said, shadows dancing across his aristocratic features, “we’ll heal Dracula, then he’ll open the gates of hell. But first we need the spell to open the crypt. Rose knows it. Where is she?”

“In one of the spare bedrooms upstairs. She hasn’t left Valentin’s side since the battle at St. Christopher’s Church.” Keir’s voice cut through the room with the precision of an executioner’s blade—refined, methodical, and brooking no appeal. His eyes, cold as midwinter frost, narrowed as Steve’s chain rattled with another violent pull. “I’m sorry to say he’s worse. By the way, Dimitri’s not handling his brother dying well.”

“Being in control of his feelings and actions has never been Dimitri’s strength,” I said, trying not focus on Steve’s desperate attempts to break free, the scent of his hunger nearly choking me.

“Add it to our growing list of problems.” The sharp voice from the doorway made us all turn. Dimitri stood there, his tall frame nearly filling the entrance. Dark circles bruised the skin under his bloodshot eyes, and his usually immaculate hair stuck up in wild tufts where he must have been compulsively running his fingers through it. “Keir, Valentin’s unconscious.”

Keir remained perfectly still, power radiating from him as the curtain stirred behind him, responding to his fae energy. The Elder Dimension bonds pulsed with an answering glow. “I’ve told you, Dimitri,” he said, his tone carrying the dangerous patience of a predator at its limit. “I’ve given him everything I have to combat this dark magic.”

Dimitri slammed his fist against the wall, the crack echoing like a gunshot through the holding cell. Spider-web fissures spread across the ancient stone, dust raining down. “But he’s going to die if we don’t do something.”

Keir’s eyes flashed with dangerous silver light, temperature dropping as his Unseelie power stirred. “I suggest you not damage my home anymore, vampire, or I’ll be forced to have you removed.”

Angelo moved with preternatural speed, grabbing Dimitri by the throat and lifting him off the floor. Behind me, Steve’s chains rattled with renewed vigor at the display of dominance, and through our maker’s bond I felt my fledgling’s hunger spike. Not just for blood, but for the powerful energies emanating from the elder vampires in the room. I needed to keep a tighter rein on him. Steve had been reckless enough as a human; turning him had only amplified that dangerous impulsiveness.

“You need to gather your wits, Dimitri.” Angelo pulled back his upper lip, revealing his fangs. “Or I’ll rip your throat and chain you up next to Steve.”

Dimitri’s lips twisted into a savage smile that didn’t reach his pain-filled eyes. “He’s dying, Angelo. Would you be standing here playing general if it was your precious enforcer? Or would you have already burned this city to ash?” His voice dripped with lethal sweetness even as rage trembled beneath each word.

Angelo’s face hardened as he slammed him against the wall again. “We are doing something, fool. Tonight, we’re going to the Nightshade Crypt. Keir believes there’s something in the crypt that will heal Dracula so he can open the gates of hell. Only Serenity can heal your brother.”

Dimitri glared through red-rimmed eyes, his hands clawing at Angelo’s grip. Even half choked, insolence dripped from every syllable he managed. “The crypt can only be opened in the moonlight and only a Nightshade can open it.”

“Then Rose will come with us.” Angelo’s fingers tightened, and I felt Steve respond to the scent of Dimitri’s blood where Angelo’s grip had broken skin.

“She’ll never leave my brother.” The words came out rough, desperate, so unlike Dimitri’s usual sardonic drawl that I found myself tensing.

Angelo’s smile was cruel as winter frost. “You actually think she can defy me?”

I watched as something broke in Dimitri’s expression. His head lowered, shoulders slumping in a defeat I’d never seen from him before. “No.”

“Let me interrupt this family reunion for a moment,” Trystan said as he paced back and forth like a caged wolf. “We’re going to be fighting Balthazar on his own turf?” Trystan scrubbed his face. “With whose army?”

“We’re not going there to fight,” Angelo said, his green eyes gleaming in the darkness. “Our mission is to get Serenity and Julienne as quickly as we can. We’ll have to create a distraction. Perhaps notify Michael what we’re doing. He always gets Balthazar’s attention.”

Tension coiled in my shoulders. “How are we going to do that?”

Angelo released Dimitri and met my unsure gaze. “Don’t you think the minute Dracula opens the gates of hell Michael will notice?”

I dragged my fingers through my hair. “Yeah, and World War III begins.” My stomach tightened as a darker thought hit me: where did Maximo fit into all this? He wouldn’t sit idle while hell’s gates opened. And Joy... she’d be right in his crosshairs when everything exploded.