Page 2

Chapter

Two

S erenity

I stood frozen, my mind struggling to process what I was seeing. This wasn’t the hell of nightmares and religious texts. Instead of flames and endless screams, I found myself in what looked like a luxury penthouse. Pristine marble floors stretched beneath my feet, crystal chandeliers dripped light from above, and mahogany furniture paired with sleek black leather created an atmosphere of dark opulence. Had Balthazar somehow taken a wrong turn through the dimensions?

The demon moved with predatory grace toward a bar that would put the finest establishments in New Orleans to shame. Every bottle gleamed with promises of forbidden pleasures, their labels hinting at spirits both earthly and otherworldly. As always, he was shirtless, his tight black leather pants a stark contrast to the refined surroundings. “Would you like a drink?” His voice held the same casual tone one might use at a dinner party.

The absurdity of the situation loosened my tongue before I could think better of it. “I thought we were going to hell.”

He poured what looked like whiskey into a crystal glass, the amber spirit catching the light. “We are.” His smirk carried centuries of secrets as he swirled his finger, making the drink dance in its glass. “Oh, you mean the flames and tortured souls?”

I nodded solemnly, my heart aching for Angelo’s steady presence beside me. Everything I knew about hell, every warning I’d ever heard, seemed to crumble in the face of this elegant deception. “Yes.”

“Let’s just say there are different sides to hell.” He raised his glass to me. “Like Earth. You have Beverly Hills, then you have the ghettos.” He waved his hand. “Think of this as Beverly Hills.”

My throat felt dry as I took in our opulent surroundings. Beyond the luxury of this penthouse-like space, I could sense the true nature of where we were. Just outside these walls, the air itself seemed to pulse with malevolence, so different from the mortal world I'd been ripped away from. This place defied comprehension—a realm where nightmares took physical form and pain was the only constant, with this lavish enclave serving as the only reprieve from the horror.

My father had always been a ghost in my life—a name without a face, an absence I’d learned to live with. Yet now, standing in literal hell, his actions had taken on a terrible new significance.

“You said back in the church that my father broke the deal between you and Dracula.”

“And?” He took another sip, watching me over the rim of his glass. The casualness of his gesture felt like a mockery.

“Why did Vlad make the deal in the first place?” My hands clenched at my side.

“He wanted revenge.” He paused, savoring the words like the whiskey in his glass. “The woman he loved took her own life.”

“Why did she do that?” The room suddenly felt colder, changing my skin into gooseflesh.

“She believed he was dead. Life without him…” He shrugged. “It held no meaning for her.”

“Why did she think that?” My voice had dropped to barely a whisper, dread creeping into my spine.

“Because someone told her he was deceased.” A smile crept across lips as he refilled his glass and his eyes glinted in the dim light like polished obsidian.

A chill settled deep in my bones. No, it couldn’t be… Balthazar had something to do with the death of Dracula’s first love? I had to know. “Did you tell her?”

“No, that wasn’t me.” He rolled the whiskey in his glass, watching it swirl. “Vlad had many enemies and they knew how to hurt him the most.”

“Did you go to Vlad to make this deal?” The question burned in my throat.

I watched Balthazar’s face for any flicker of reaction, any tell that might betray him. Even here in hell, surrounded by horrors, this mattered. The way his eyes shifted at Vlad’s name, the slight tension in his shoulders—these could be the difference between my survival and my end. And somewhere beneath my fear, a deeper ache: the shadow of a father I’d never known, his choices somehow leading me to this impossible moment. Every answer Balthazar gave redrew the map of my own history.

“No, I actually brought him here and made the proposition.” His satisfaction filled the air like smoke.

“Does Vlad know how to enter hell?” My pulse quickened with desperate hope.

Say yes say yes say yes

“He does, but he’s under my control.” His smile widened, teeth gleaming in the firelight. “I have him right where I want him. The deal is back on.”

Maybe there was a way to undo the deal again. Maybe if the deal was broken, I could get out of here. Vlad might be able to show Angelo how to enter hell, if only I could figure out how my father did it… If he managed it once, maybe I could do it too. “How did my father break the deal?”

His eyes narrowed as he watched me, as if peeling back my thoughts layer by layer. I forced myself to hold his gaze.

“It won’t be broken this time.” His eyes darkened. “Last time, it was love. He listened to Dracula’s mate sprouting off all about love. He’s weak and has a soft heart. Then he healed Dracula. Something that I couldn’t abide.”

The pieces were starting to align, a puzzle with my own blood at its center. My father had somehow interfered with Balthazar’s plans—had chosen love over whatever bargain he’d struck. And now, here I was, paying the price for decisions made before I was born. The realization sent a chill through me despite hell’s oppressive heat.

I needed to understand my father—who he was, how he’d broken the deal. If I learned enough, maybe I could get word to Angelo. The question felt dangerous on my tongue, but I had to know, even if it meant finding out my father was a fallen angel—a demon. “Who is my father?”

Merriment flickered in his eyes, cruel and knowing. “You can’t guess?”

“No, I can’t. How would I know who he is, Balthazar?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, and I froze, horror washing over me. I’d just snapped at a demon lord in his own domain.

He cocked his eyebrow, his amusement turning dangerous. The message was clear: you dare to speak to me that way?

I swallowed hard as a tremor of fear rolled through me. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.” The words came out barely above a whisper. Every second in this gilded prison reminded me how trapped I truly was. Even with my Nephilim strength and speed, escape seemed impossible. But there had to be a way —I needed to find Angelo and save Joy. There had to be a way out of hell.

Balthazar promised if I went with him, Angelo would be safe. But what if he lied? My stomach clenched and acid burned up my throat at the thought of what Vlad could be doing to him. I’d seen Vlad’s cruelty firsthand, seen the darkness in his eyes when he spoke of revenge. Images flashed through my mind—Angelo bleeding, broken, screaming. My hands trembled as I pressed them against the table. No. I couldn’t let my mind go there. Angelo was strong, a warrior. He’d survived centuries of battles. But against Vlad? A whimper escaped before I could stop it. I had to find him before it was too late.

He walked over to me and put his palm on my cheek. It took everything I had not to flinch. “I will give you a hint, Serenity. Your powers mimic his.”

I stepped back, pressing a hand against my racing heart. “Me? Do you mean he’s a healer?”

He took another sip of his drink, shadows deepening in his eyes. “Unfortunately, the best.” He cocked his head. “Do you know your angels?”

My mind raced back to the countless hours in Angelo’s library, poring over ancient texts. Angels possessed different abilities, each more extraordinary in their power, but one name kept surfacing in my thoughts. It couldn’t be. The possibility was too enormous, too life-altering to even consider. But I was done with Balthazar’s riddles, done with piecing together scraps of truth like a half-finished puzzle.

“Stop playing games.” I met his gaze as he finished his drink. “Is my father an archangel?”

The silence stretched between us. Balthazar set his empty glass down with deliberate care, the soft clink echoing in the quiet room. “Yes.”

Heat bloomed in my chest and rushed up my neck. My legs weakened, and the room began to tilt and blur at the edges. My mother had mated with an archangel. The thought circled back, its impossibility deepening with every return. My chest constricted, and I desperately wished for Angelo’s presence, for the steady comfort of his arms around me.

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 gleamed with 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 surged through 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.”