Page 22

Chapter

Twenty-Two

E nzo

I slowly laid Angelo down on the cement floor, his body unnaturally rigid beneath my hands. His skin felt like marble, cold even for a vampire. My hands trembled as I brought my wrist to my mouth.

I ripped open my wrist, fangs tearing deeper than necessary in my desperation. “Angelo, drink.”

But his lips remained frozen, pale as death. I watched helplessly as drops of my blood slipped down into his mouth, each one a promise of healing that went unfulfilled. He remained cold as stone, his body a silent accusation of my failure to protect him.

“It’s not working.” I pressed my wrist harder against his lips, blood now spilling uselessly down his chin. “Why isn’t it working?” The panic in my voice echoed off the crypt walls.

Rose knelt beside us, her face grim as she studied Angelo’s still form. “The blades must be permeated with black magic,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his cheek. She pulled back quickly, as if burned. “Vampire blood won’t be enough to heal him. I fear that’s the same with Dimitri too.”

She got up and frantically started reading the book bindings, her fingers trailing across each spine with desperate urgency. “There has to be something in here to combat possession. My ancestors were powerful witches. They must have come across it before.”

I slowly stood, reluctantly leaving Angelo spread out on the floor. Each step away from him felt like a betrayal. The air in the crypt hung thick with centuries of decay, a musty blend of crumbling stone and ancient magic that caught in the back of my throat. Rows of leather-bound books lined the walls, their spines cracked and faded with age, while clay vases of various sizes perched on iron brackets between them, their surfaces etched with symbols I didn’t dare read too closely. Some of the symbols seemed to pulse faintly, as if responding to Rose’s growing desperation.

Strange markings covered the walls in spiraling patterns—some carved deep into the stone, others painted in substances that still seemed to gleam with a faint, otherworldly luminescence. Rose struck a match, touching it to a black candle. The flame cast dancing shadows across the walls, making the markings seem to shift and move like living things.

“Rose, damn it, can you find anything?” My voice echoed off the vaulted ceiling, more desperate than I’d meant it to sound. Angelo’s skin had taken on an ashen color I’d never seen on a vampire before.

She pulled a massive tome from one of the higher shelves, the movement sending a cascade of dust into the air. The book’s cover was bound in what looked like blackened leather, its edges reinforced with tarnished metal. Rose blew across its surface, and the dust scattered, revealing symbols that seemed to writhe in the candlelight.

“I think I have.” She approached the altar that dominated the center of the crypt, her shoulders squared even as her eyes darted nervously around the space.

The stone monolith rose from the floor like a dark island, its surface stained with the remnants of centuries of rituals. Deep channels had been carved into its surface, forming an intricate pattern that led to a central basin. As Rose placed the book on its surface, the metal corners scraped against the stone with a sound that made my teeth ache.

The candle flame flickered, and around us, the shadows seemed to deepen, as if the crypt itself was holding its breath.

The sounds of the battle echoed through the stone walls — shouts and the clash of steel, punctuated by inhuman screams that made my fangs ache. My muscles tensed with each crash from above, every instinct screaming to rush out and join in the fray, but I refused to leave Angelo. Not like this. Not when every second might mean the difference between saving him and losing him forever.

She glanced up at me. “This book is about possession and I found something. However, it’s two parts. We first need the blood of a possessed vampire. He or she can’t be dead. Then I have to add wolf’s bane, dragon’s blood, crushed obsidian from a sacred burial ground, and the essence of hallowed ground, which has to be collected during the witching hour. But that’s just for the base potion.”

She paused here, her finger tracing over the next lines in the book. “The second part is worse. We need blood directly from the demon itself, drawn while it’s manifested. And... black salt from the tomb of a consecrated priest, mixed with tears of the innocent.”

“How are we going to do that? We can’t see the fucking demons outside.” I slammed my fist against the wall, sending a jolt of pain up my arm. The frustration of being trapped down here while others fought above was maddening.

“According to this, there’s an amulet we can use, one that forces evil to come forth.” Rose’s finger traced the words on the ancient page, her voice growing stronger with each word.

“Is it here?”

“It has to be. It looks like a star, a star from heaven. That’s what the book calls it.” She held out her hand and moved along the crypt, her palm hovering inches from the shelves as if drawn by some invisible force. A jar rattled on a shelf, the sound sharp in the heavy silence. Rose and I glanced at each other, her eyes wide with recognition.

She slowly opened the lid, her hands trembling slightly. White light burst forth, pure and brilliant, lighting up the darkness. The warmth it radiated wasn’t just physical—it felt like hope itself had been bottled, waiting for this moment. I inhaled sharply as the light touched Angelo’s still form, making his skin shimmer for just a moment.

Rose pulled a smooth white rock that looked like it had a star engraved on it. The light pulsed gently against her palm, like a captive heartbeat. “Let’s see if this works.”

I stretched out my hand, already imagining using it against those bastards above. “Give it to me.”

She cocked her eyebrow, holding the amulet closer to her chest. “Are you a witch, Enzo?”

She was brave, but she was out of her league. I towered over her, crowding her against a bookshelf. Books rattled behind her as she pressed back. The centuries of violence in my blood made even this small movement a threat. “Let me explain something to you. I’ve been enforcing rules since before your grandmother was born. Magic or no magic, that thing’s a weapon. And weapons?” I smiled, no warmth reaching my eyes. “Weapons are my department.”

Rose narrowed her eyes. “I’m not some helpless human you can push around.”

“No.” I plucked the amulet from her hand with casual efficiency, the movement so smooth she barely had to time to blink. “Consider this a lesson in hierarchy, Tesoro .”

“Enzo, no!”

Searing pain shot through my arm. Worse than my first sunrise as a vampire, when light felt like it was peeling away my skin. The star’s light turned harsh, blinding—not just revealing demons, but stripping away every layer of control I’d built. Every execution, every message I’d delivered, every body I’d buried in an unmarked grave. Things I’d entombed deeper than any crypt.

I sank to one knee, refusing to fall completely. The amulet clattered to the floor, but I kept my spine straight. Even with black spots dancing in my vision, there were rules about showing weakness. Always rules.

“Take it, Rose,” I ordered through clenched teeth as a spasm of pain wrenched through my body. “Some weapons aren’t meant for soldiers.”

Rose picked up the amulet with trembling fingers and headed toward the door. I forced myself to stand, my legs still weak from the amulet’s attack, and followed her. I placed my hand on the wall to steady myself, stone cold against my palm. She held up the amulet, and everything changed.

White light exploded outward, flooding the graveyard like heaven itself had opened up. Stars danced in the beam, not gentle twinkles but razor-sharp points of burning light that cut through the darkness. The shadows between the crypts writhed and recoiled.

Steve’s scream pierced the night as he dove behind a crypt, his flesh smoking where the light touched him. “Get that thing away from me!”

Then the demons revealed themselves. The light stripped away their glamour like flesh from bone. Some were twisted nightmares—bodies bent at impossible angles, skin like rotting leather, eyes burning with hellfire. Others wore the faces of our own men, their features distorted by the evil within. Pascal, our driver, stood closest to the door, his eyes black as pitch, face contorted in a snarl that no human mouth could make.

I lunged forward and snagged his arm. The moment I yanked him inside, fire erupted across his skin like he’d been doused in gasoline. He flailed in my arms, his screams more animal than human. Centuries of enforcement taught you how to hold someone who didn’t to be held.

“Get a vial,” I growled at Rose. “We need his blood first.”

Without waiting for her response, I struck. My fangs tore into Pascal’s throat with practiced precision. His possessed blood tasted like acid, burning my tongue, but I didn’t stop. From the corner of my eye, I saw Rose dart forward, vial already in hand. I let the corrupted blood flow directly into it, careful not to spill a drop.

Pascal thrashed harder, the demon inside him realizing what we were doing.

“Do something with that amulet.” I refused to let go even though it was like holding onto a hot stove.

Rose slammed the amulet against his forehead. He screamed even louder, a sound that shook dust from the crypt walls. Black smoke poured from his mouth, writhing in the air before solidifying into its true form: a grotesque thing with scales like shattered obsidian and eyes that burned like coals. I released Pascal, who crumpled to the ground, and lunged for the demon.

My fingers closed around its arm. The cold bit into my skin like a Russian winter. The demon’s other hand whipped around, claws raking across my chest, but I locked my grip tighter. You don’t survive centuries in my line of work by letting go.

“Got any ideas how to bleed this thing?” I growled, muscles straining to hold it still.

“Keep it there!” Rose snatched an ancient dagger, its blade covered in strange markings. “This blade... the sigils will draw its blood. Just don’t let it turn to smoke!”

I tightened my grip on the struggling entity, sweat beading on my forehead. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

The demon thrashed even harder, sensing what was coming. I shifted my grip, using a hold I’d perfected on targets who thought they could escape. Rose pressed the amulet against the demon’s chest with one hand while the other slashed the blade across its throat.

Instead of blood, black liquid that seemed to absorb light itself oozed from the wound. It moved against gravity, crawling up the blade like it was being drawn to the glowing sigils. The demon howled, its voice resonating at a frequency that made my fangs ache.

“Quick,” Rose commanded, holding out a black glass vial. “Before it turns to smoke again.”

I snagged the vial and pressed it against the demon’s throat. The black liquid crawled down the sides like living tar, but before we could get the vial more than a quarter full, the demon’s form began to dissolve. Its flesh turned to smoke between my fingers, writhing upward through the crypt ceiling. Its screech echoed off the stone walls as it fled back into the night above.

I stared at the pathetic amount of blood in the vial. “Tell me this is enough.”

Rose looked at the vial then outside. The wolf shifters had changed back into their human forms, including Trystan. There were bodies scattered across the graveyard like fallen chess pieces, including Dimitri’s.

My chest constricted as if crushed by an invisible hand. Dimitri—the sarcastic bastard who’d fought at my side, who’d saved my life more times than I could count. Who’d become family when I had none. I lurched forward, the world tunneling around me until there was nothing but his still form amid the carnage. Not him. Not after everything.

My legs threatened to give way beneath me, but I forced myself to stand, to breathe. He would have mocked my weakness, called me sentimental. The thought brought no comfort, only a hollow ache that threatened to consume me from within.

She met my gaze. “I hope so, because all the demons have vanished.”

If it was only enough for one—Angelo or Dimitri—either way, Gianna would never forgive me.

But in our world, every family had a hierarchy. Angelo was my captain, my blood brother.

Some choices weren’t really choices at all.