Page 23

Chapter

Twenty-Three

S erenity

I stared at where Rocco had been sitting, the empty chair a hollow reminder of how quickly things could change. He’d been so pale, unnaturally still, hadn’t even opened his eyes. The memory of his lifeless face made my chest ache. He was a born vampire. What happens when a born vampire’s powers are drained? The question haunted me, making my throat tight. Balthazar had taken him back to New Orleans, sweeping in like the demon lord he was, darkness and power pulsing around him in a corrupting aura that made the air itself feel contaminated.

I’m not sure why he had taken Rocco back to New Orleans or exactly where he was taking him. I doubt he was taking him back to the palace. Returning Rocco to his home would be the kind thing to do, but kindness wasn’t part of Balthazar’s vocabulary.

Maybe he planned to make a grand statement, to lord over his authority like he always did. To remind us all who held the real power, as if we could ever forget. My body felt heavy with exhaustion, every muscle screaming for rest, but the taint of his demonic energy still lingered in the air, keeping me on edge.

Julienne was still missing, her absence like an open wound. I could have really used her company and her advice right now. Maybe that’s the reason why Balthazar had separated us. She was disrupting his plans and he wouldn’t tolerate that, the control freak that he was. The only reason why she was alive was because of Dracula. He needed her. The minute he didn’t need her…my stomach churned at the thought. He would turn her out of his house into hell—or the ghetto has he liked to call it—his voice dripping with feigned civility.

My stomach growled for the third time, a painful reminder of how long it had been since I’d eaten. The buffet Balthazar had left mocked me from across the room: chicken and beef fajitas, guacamole, rice, refried beans and tortillas. The smell should have been mouthwatering, but it just made me nauseous. I refused to touch it. What if it was an illusion? Another trick, like that foul drink he’d forced down my throat? The memory of that taste made me gag.

Angelo, hurry.

The hellhounds clawed at the front door again, their scratching like nails on my soul. I could hear the wood splintering, each crack a countdown to when they’d break through. My heart hammered against my ribs. I wasn’t going to sit here like a Quarter Pounder waiting to be picked up.

Not this time.

I needed my ally. I couldn’t leave Julienne behind—not after losing Joy. Whatever slim chance I had of escaping Balthazar’s clutches would improve with Julienne at my side. I got off the couch, my muscles protesting every movement. The hallway that led to my bedroom seemed longer in the dim light, shadows clustering in the corners. There were other doors that I’d never opened. Maybe Julienne was in one of those. I just hoped none of them opened onto something else, like a hellhound taking a nap. The thought made my heart skip.

I knocked softly on the first door on the other side of mine, trying to keep the sound from echoing. “Julienne, Julienne, are you in there?” My whisper seemed too loud in the silent hallway.

No answer.

Not a sound, not even the creak of floorboards or rustle of fabric.

I clutched the doorknob, the metal cool against my palm, then turned it. The door opened to reveal a beautiful room that felt like a mockery of comfort. A king sized bed with silk sheets, a fireplace with ornate carvings, and antique furniture that belonged in a museum. Who would need a fire in hell? The empty chair by the cold hearth seemed to taunt me. But there was no sign of Julienne, just another pretty cage in Balthazar’s collection.

I closed the door and moved to the next one, my heart beating faster with each step. This one opened to reveal a room that reeked of power and privilege. A long oval table of polished mahogany dominated the space, surrounded by high-backed leather chairs that looked like thrones. A fireplace stretched along one wall, its mantle carved with scenes I didn’t want to look at too closely. Opposite stood a bookcase filled with ancient-looking volumes, their spines marked with symbols that made my eyes hurt.

A bar gleamed in the corner next to the bookcase, stocked with liquor bottles whose contents shimmered with unnatural colors. Crystal decanters caught what little light there was, throwing prismatic shadows on the walls. It was the fanciest meeting room I’d ever seen, but something about it made my skin crawl. Was this where Balthazar conducted his business with other demons? How many souls had been bargained away across that table?

Time pressing against me, I hoped Balthazar didn’t return. He could rip my throat out like he did to Shannon or, worse, torture Julienne. I hurried to the next door. I didn’t bother knocking. Balthazar could return any minute, and if I missed this chance to find Julienne, I might not get another. The thought of losing her forever made my hands shake as I turned the handle.

To my surprise, it opened easily. Balthazar had said her room had been locked—was this another of his lies, or had someone else unlocked it? I didn’t have time to question my luck.

This time I hit pay dirt, and the relief nearly brought me to my knees.

Julienne lay asleep on a pink duvet, looking impossibly peaceful in this place of demons. A delicate canopy draped over her like a protective cloud. Her long blonde hair spilled across a white lacy pillowcase like liquid gold, and for a moment, she looked so much like an innocent sleeping beauty that I almost forgot where we were. But the faint bruise on her cheek told a different story.

I rushed over to her and shook her shoulder. “Julienne, Julienne, wake up.”

But she didn’t stir, didn’t even exhale. Her skin felt cold under my hands.

Panic gripped me, squeezing my ribcage until each breath became a struggle. Oh my god, had Balthazar killed her? He said he needed her to control Dracula. It didn’t make sense; even demons kept their word, didn’t they? The room suddenly felt too small, too quiet.

“Julienne, please wake up.” I grabbed both her shoulders and shook her harder, my fingers digging into her flesh. But her eyelashes didn’t even flutter against her pale cheeks. She was like a beautiful, broken doll in this demon’s dollhouse.

“She’s not dead.”

I released Julienne and she fell onto the bed like a marionette with cut strings.

Balthazar leaned against the doorjamb as if he didn’t have care in the world. His dark hair was pulled up into a man bun, and, as always, he was shirtless. His carved muscles glistened in the light, a reminder that beautiful things could be deadly. He definitely was a dark temptation, but an evil one—one taste and you were bound to him forever. I wanted my dark hero, not this demon lord who played with souls like toys.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to mask my fear with anger. “What did you do to her?”

He shrugged, the casual gesture somehow more threatening than any show of force. “She was interfering, so I put a spell on her. She’s in a deep sleep and won’t wake until I determine she’s been punished enough.”

Julienne looked so peaceful, almost angelic. But this was hell. Appearances were deceiving. “What do you mean?”

His eyes gleamed with cruel pleasure that made my blood run cold. “She’s having nightmares of Dracula dying over and over again.”

Nothing would be worse for me than watching Angelo die again and again. The very thought made me sick. I gasped. “You’re a monster.”

“No. A demon.” He stretched out his hand, skin perfect and unmarred—a beautiful lie. “Now come with me. I have another guest I want you to meet.”

“Not until you wake Julienne.”

“Don’t make this difficult, love.” His endearment felt like poison. “Right now, Julienne is only watching Vlad die. I could have her feel his pain.”

“No. Don’t.” My shoulders slumped in defeat. I reluctantly placed my hand in his, trying not to shudder at his touch, and allowed him to lead me out of the room.

At least I knew where Julienne was, even if she was under a dark spell. Sometimes in hell, that’s the closest thing you get to hope.

I glanced at him. “Did you take Rocco back to the palace?”

“No, but he’s alive if that’s what you’re wondering. I have a friend watching him.”

A chill ran down my spine at the casual way he mentioned a “friend” watching Rocco. With Balthazar, that could mean anything from a demonic guard to some form of magical surveillance—none of it good for Rocco. Another person I’d failed to protect.

I stared straight ahead refusing to look at him. “Petar?”

“He’s not my only friend, Nephilim. I have many friends in high places. Some right under your nose.”

In the living room, a short, curly-haired blonde woman sat in the same chair that Rocco had occupied. She had on black leathers on that seemed to absorb the light around her yet couldn’t dim the white aura that clung to her like morning mist. Her hands were bound behind her back, mouth gagged just like Rocco’s had been. Silver eyes, ancient and otherworldly, seemed to look right through me, as if reading every sin and secret written on my soul.

But she didn’t look fearful—anger permeated from her like heat from a flame.

I jerked my hand out of Balthazar’s grip, instinctively stepping back. “Who is she?”

He gestured toward the woman. “Her name is Poison.”

“Poison? Seriously? That’s her name?”

“She’s a Dark Angel. All the Dark Angels have lethal names. Michael’s idea.” He played with one of her blonde curls, the gesture somehow obscene. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” His voice caressed the words like he was savoring them. Another toy for him to torture.

“Or at least she used to be until she pissed off the Archangel Michael.”

My breath caught in my throat. The Archangel Michael, Heaven’s most fearsome warrior, God’s sword of justice. Even in hell, that name held power. What could she have done to earn his wrath? And if Michael had cast her out, what hope did any of us have?

He put a hand on her shoulder and she twisted away from his touch, disgust evident even through her bonds. “Now she works for your father.”

Poison mumbled something behind her gag, her silver eyes flashing with fury.

My face paled, blood running cold as the implications hit me “You mean Raphael?”

He stroked Poison’s hair with deliberate slowness, each touch a reminder of his control. “Yes. I want you to drain her power like you did Rocco’s.”

“Drain an angel?” The words tasted like sacrilege in my mouth. Even saying it felt like a sin. Years of Sunday school lessons flooded back—angels as God’s messengers, beings of light and protection. Some acts crossed lines that could never be uncrossed. “I won’t do that.”

“Oh, there’s something that might make you change your mind.” He withdrew a hellish blade from behind him, its edge gleaming with an unholy light. “Did I mention that your precious vampire king attacked the Nightshade Crypt tonight? One of my servants stabbed him with a hellish blade. Not even Angelo Santi could survive a wound like that.”

“No.” The word came out as a broken whisper. My legs gave out and I sank to my knees, the world spinning around me. “Please. No.” Angelo’s face flashed through my mind, as did memories of his fierce loyalty, his strength, everything that made him who he was. All of it slipping away.

“I can heal his wound if...” He let the words hang in the air like a noose.

“Please, I’ll do anything...” Desperation clawed at my throat.

He pointed to Poison, whose silver eyes now held something that looked like pity. “Then drain her or Angelo dies—a long and slow painful death.”

A hollow laugh escaped my lips. I’m sure if I killed an angel I would lose my soul forever, but if I didn’t, I would lose Angelo. The choice stretched before me like an abyss.

There was no choice. There never had been. Balthazar had made sure of that.

My heart broke, the pieces turning to ash. Hell would soon become home. I would save Angelo, but he would be lost to me forever. No vampire, not even one like Angelo, could love someone who had fallen this far into darkness.