Page 30

Chapter

Thirty

A ngelo

I wanted to scream at Vlad to hurry, but I kept my mouth shut as I paced back and forth in St. Christopher’s Church. The humid New Orleans air hung heavy even in the darkness, making the copper scent of old blood even stronger. The stained glass windows were broken out from our last battle, jagged shards of crimson and azure still clinging to their frames like broken teeth, letting in the sounds of distant jazz and the occasional rumble of streetcars. Valentin’s blood still stained the altar and the cypress wood floor, a dark reminder of what we’d sacrificed to get this far.

The air grew thick with tension as Vlad meticulously arranged the ingredients in a perfect circle around the altar. Wolf’s bane, its purple flowers still fresh despite their deadly nature. Dragon’s blood that seemed to pulse with its own inner light, captured in a crystal vial that had cost Keir more than he would admit. And finally, the hellish dust—a substance that looked like ground obsidian but moved like living smoke when disturbed, a gift from Rose that had required both her vampire strength and witch’s magic to obtain.

Hang on Serenity, I’m coming.

My silent prayer echoed in my mind as I watched Vlad—Dracula himself—knelt before the altar. His usually commanding presence seemed somehow both more terrifying and more vulnerable as he began the ritual. The ancient vampire’s hands moved with practiced precision, though I could see the slight tremor in them that betrayed his own desperate need to rescue his mate. The sight made my own desperation claw harder at my chest. Every second we delayed was another second Serenity spent in hell. Another second closer to losing her forever.

Keir stood in the shadows, his Unseelie nature making the darkness around him seem deeper, more absolute. His silver eyes tracked every movement Vlad made, ready to intervene if something went wrong. He had brought his two harpies—their black, feathery wings spread out behind them, shimmering in the setting sun like oil-slicked ravens’ wings. Death reflected in their black eyes, ancient and hungry. Like Keir, they followed Vlad’s movements, their lower lips pulled back, revealing sharp fangs that would make any vampire envious.

My own fangs ached at the sight of them—these weren’t the beautiful sirens from Greek mythology. These were Unseelie harpies, bred for war and death, their very presence making the air thick with the promise of violence. Their talons clicked against the church floor as they shifted positions, each movement precise and predatory. Even as a vampire, my instincts screamed to keep my distance. I’d seen what those talons and fangs could do in our last battle, how they’d torn through demon flesh like it was paper.

Dimitri examined his sword, turning the blade under the flickering candlelight with exaggerated flourish. His lips twisted into a smirk as he glanced at Keir, eyebrow cocked in mock concern. “You’re sure these pixie sticks are going to take down the demons in hell?”

Keir’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking beneath his pale skin as he exhaled slowly through his nose. His practiced patience was wearing thin. Dimitri had a knack for getting under people’s skin. Keir’s harpies responded to their master’s irritation, their massive wings rustling like dead leaves as they pulled back their lips, releasing low, guttural growls that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“You saw them take down demons in the graveyard, didn’t you?” Keir leaned forward, his posture perfectly controlled even as his fingers tightened imperceptibly around his staff.

Dimitri’s smirk never wavered, but his eyes hardened as he ran a thumb along his blade’s edge. “Those were possessed vampires and the bastards had hellish blades. One of them gutted me. There are going to be hordes of demons, waiting to rip out our insides.”

His cavalier attitude grated against me like cheap jazz on Bourbon Street. I’d seen too many overconfident vampires meet their end to find any amusement in this situation. My blood now coursed through his veins—a bond I didn’t grant lightly. “But you have my blood now.”

His smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second, something darker flickering in his eyes. “Last time they got to you, you nearly traded your heartbeat for a toe tag. Let’s not test our luck twice.”

Enzo sheathed his sword and stepped into Dimitri’s space, voice dropping low. “You don’t have to go, Dimitri.”

Dimitri snorted. “And what, miss out on all the fun? Besides, your protégé can’t come with us or he’ll burn up like a matchstick.”

“According to Angelo, he’d be a liability in this fight.” Enzo tensed and cast me a weary look. I had refused to allow a newly made vampire to go. He’d be mad with hunger and wouldn’t be able to withstand the heat.

Keir had him locked up again on my orders, but at least Steve was alive.

For now.

A small sigh caught my attention.

Rose had positioned herself at the opposite corner, her dual nature as both vampire and witch making her the perfect anchor for what we were about to attempt. The air around her crackled with barely contained power.

Valentin was still unconscious. Not even Dracula’s blood had healed him. He was passing into the shadows, slipping away despite everything Rose and Keir had tried. Only Serenity’s Nephilim power could break Balthazar’s spell. Nothing else would suffice—no vampire blood, no witch’s spell, no Unseelie magic. Valentin needed an angel’s touch, and Serenity was his only hope.

A dozen wolves from Trystan’s pack were stationed throughout the church interior, their low growls reverberating against the ancient walls. They prowled between the broken pews, muscles tense and ready. Trystan’s white wolf commanded the front near the altar, his massive form unmarked by the red and black stains from our last battle. The pack’s hackles were raised, teeth bared as they sensed the dark energy building in the sacred space. Their job was to kill anything that tried to pass through the gates.

The only reason why Rose was here was to ensure that Serenity immediately returned to Keir’s to heal Valentin. Her bloodshot eyes and wet cheeks betrayed her pain, the tears leaving silvery tracks down her face as she maintained her position in the corner.

The temperature in the church plummeted suddenly, an impossible cold that cut through the Louisiana heat like a blade. Frost crept across the remaining windows and up the walls, crystallizing the beads of condensation that had gathered in the heavy air. Each breath now came out in visible puffs, and the candles Vlad had lit began to flicker wildly, their flames turning an unnatural blue. Outside, the cicadas fell silent, as if nature itself could sense what we were about to attempt. The hellish dust started to move on its own, spiraling upward in a twisted dance as Vlad began to chant in a language that hurt my ears and made my fangs ache in my gums.

Vlad dipped his fingers into a mixture—a viscous blend that smelled of iron and sulfur. With precise, deliberate strokes, he drew an outline of a door on the church wall, his movements as careful as an artist creating his masterpiece. The lines blazed to life, turning a deep crimson that pulsed like living veins. The fire erupted from the marks, dancing along the outline but not consuming it, casting hellish shadows across our faces. The heat from it felt wrong—not the clean burn of earthly flame, but something ancient and corrupted.

He faced us as he pulled out his sword, Keir’s ancient blade gleaming in the supernatural firelight. “Are you ready? All I have to do is push on the door and it will open.”

Dimitri stared at the door warily, his hand tightening on his own weapon. “Open where?”

Vlad’s gaze locked with mine. “I have located where three pure souls are at.”

Something cold slithered down my spine. “Three?”

“Gianna?” Dimitri’s voice cracked with his rage, his fangs flashing as anger blazed in his eyes.

My chest tightened until I could barely breathe. Petar had handed over my sister to the demon—he would die slowly and painfully, feel every moment of it.

“I don’t know. I can’t tell their identities, but I assume two of them are Serenity and Julienne.” He flicked his gaze over the door, crimson flames licking around his frame like hungry spirits reaching for prey, transforming the ancient vampire into something even more terrifying. “Once this door’s open, we must find Serenity and Julienne and return back here. Even with the harpies, we don’t have the power to fight all of hell. This is a rescue mission, not an invasion.”

I stepped next to him, the heat intense. Even as a made vampire, I could feel my skin burning, beads of sweat forming across my forehead and sliding down my temples. Fear crept into my gut, but I tossed it aside. Serenity was behind this door and I would do anything to save her. She was mine.

Enzo and Dimitri came up on my other side. We lunged into position, ready for a fight.

Vlad placed his palm on the wall and it dissolved like ash in wind. A blast of sulfurous air hit us first; the stench of brimstone and burning flesh that made even vampire lungs want to gag. Then came the heat, a scorching wave that made New Orleans summer feel like a cool spring day.

Flames erupted from the portal, not the familiar warm glow of mortal fire, but twisted ribbons of blue and crimson that screamed as they burned. Volcanoes pierced the blood-red sky, their peaks vomiting rivers of lava that glowed like liquid metal. The air itself seemed to bleed darkness.

The wails of tortured souls echoed across the hellscape, their cries drilling into our skulls like physical pain. Black shadows, faster than vampire sight could track, raced across the crimson sky like living smoke. Through the chaos, hellhounds charged toward us, their eyes burning like hot coals, caustic saliva sizzling against the ground as if from fangs longer than daggers. Their howls made the church foundations tremble, a sound that triggered something primitive and terrifying even in immortal hearts.

Through the hellish chaos, a mansion materialized like a fever dream—a twisted parody of earthly architecture that had no right existing in this accursed realm. White light pierced through the sulfurous air around it, too pure for this place of eternal torment. Then I heard it—a scream that cut through the wails of the damned like a blade through flesh.

Angelo, come to me.

Serenity. Her voice in my mind was both salvation and torture. She was there, so close after being torn from me for so long.

Without waiting for the others, I drew on vampire speed, my sword raised high against the crimson sky. My voice ripped from my throat, a sound of rage and desperation and love that echoed across the hellscape.

“Serenity!”