Page 28 of Cry of Blood and Joy (French Quarter Vampire Enforcer #2)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Joy

Marsha’s fingers bit into my arm like iron talons, her perfectly manicured nails digging through the fabric of my sleeve and into the tender flesh beneath.

She dragged me across the warped wooden floor of the desecrated church with a strength that belied her elegant appearance; my feet stumbling over broken pieces of stained glass that crunched beneath my shoes like the bones of long-dead saints.

The interior of St. Louis Cathedral was a mockery of its former sanctity—pews overturned and rotting, holy symbols defaced with dark stains, and the air thick with the cloying scent of decay.

Something sulfurous burned my nostrils with each desperate breath, making me choke.

Shafts of dusty sunlight filtered through the boarded windows, creating a hellish pattern of light and shadow that painted everything in shades of damnation.

“Steve!” His name tore from my throat in a raw sob of anguish and fury. My hands shook with the desperate need to reach him, to tear those chains from the wall with my bare hands if necessary.

But the bracelets on my wrists burned. I was useless.

“Let her go, you bitch,” he snarled.

Marsha laughed. “No.”

Steve pulled frantically on his chains, the metal links rattling against the stone wall in a rhythm of hopeless desperation.

His muscles strained against the bonds, tendons standing out like cords in his neck as he fought with every ounce of strength left in his battered body.

But the chains were supernaturally strong, probably blessed with dark magic that would hold even a creature far more powerful than a vampire.

Possibly even strong enough to hold Enzo.

God, what had I gotten him into? He’d warned me this would happen, and I’d dragged him into danger anyway. Now he’d come for me—I knew he would—and I’d be responsible for destroying the man I loved.

Marsha’s grip on my arm tightened, her perfectly applied lipstick stretching into a cruel smile that transformed her beautiful face into something monstrous.

Ari strolled over with predatory grace, his footsteps echoing through the desecrated church like a funeral march.

His hands were clasped behind his back in a casual pose that somehow made him appear even more dangerous, like a professor preparing to deliver a lecture on the finer points of suffering.

Those piercing blue eyes gleamed with anticipation, and his beautiful, terrible face was bright with excitement—like he’d just won the jackpot.

The expression made my anger simmer beneath my skin, the shadows begging to be released to hurt him.

“Now, little Unseelie,” he purred, his voice silk wrapped around steel, “you will work with me, use your shadows to please me, or your brother will pay the price for your defiance.”

“Don’t do it, Joy.” Steve yanked violently on his chains, the metal links shrieking against stone in a symphony of futile rage. His one good eye blazed with protective fury even through the pain and exhaustion. “He’s fucking crazy. Don’t give him what he wants.”

Ari moved with inhuman speed, his hand cutting through the air like a striking viper.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the church with a wet, meaty crack that made me flinch as if I’d been struck myself.

Steve’s head snapped sideways from the force of the blow, slamming against the stone wall with a sickening thud that seemed to reverberate through my bones.

Blood burst from his already split lip in a crimson spray, droplets spattering against the moldy church wall like abstract art painted in agony. Steve’s head lolled forward, a low groan escaping his throat as consciousness flickered behind his battered features.

“No! Leave him alone!” The cry tore from my throat—raw, primal, filled with a sister’s protective fury. I reached for the shadows again, using every ounce of power I had. Beads of sweat broke out across my forehead and my body trembled.

But once again, nothing happened.

The sensation was like reaching for a limb that had been severed.

I could feel the phantom memory of what should be there, but my grasp closed on empty air.

There was no tingle of magic, no whisper of supernatural strength rising to meet my desperate need.

The silver bracelets around my wrists pulsed with malevolent energy, and I realized I was cut off from everything that made me more than human.

I was powerless. Defenseless. Just... mortal.

Ari flashed me a look of pure sadistic pleasure.

“Do you know what one of my most delightful powers is, little Unseelie?” Each word rolled off his tongue like honey laced with poison.

He held up his right hand with the reverence of an artist displaying his masterpiece, rotating it slowly in the filtered sunlight so I could see every detail of what was about to unfold.

His fingernails began to lengthen and sharpen with a sound like metal scraping against bone.

They grew longer and longer, transforming from ordinary human nails into gleaming talons that curved like scythes designed for harvesting souls.

The surface of each nail seemed to shimmer with an oily, iridescent quality—like oil slicks reflecting light, but darker, more sinister.

I trembled so hard that my teeth rattled. What was he? Was he just a demon or something much, much worse?

“My nails possess the blood of dead demons.” He flexed his fingers experimentally, his deadly talons cutting through the humid air with nothing more than a faint whisper. “Concentrated essence from the darkest pits of hell, powerful enough to kill a Dark or Golden Demon with just a scratch.”

His smile widened into something that belonged in nightmares, all sharp edges and cruel anticipation. Those piercing blue eyes fixed on Steve’s battered form with the hungry focus of a predator selecting which piece of prey to devour first.

“It won’t kill a made vampire,” he said with mock disappointment, tilting his head as if genuinely saddened by this limitation. “Even a newly made one like your precious older brother here.”

He took a step closer to Steve. My brother narrowed his eyes and jutted out his chin with the same defiant stance I remembered from his street fighting days.

I knew that look. The look he had when he was going to protect me, no matter the odds, no matter the consequences.

Blood and saliva slid down his chin as he gathered what moisture he could, and then he spit directly onto Ari’s perfect, aristocratic face with all the contempt and fury a brother could muster.

“Fuck you,” he rasped, each word dripping with hatred. “She’ll never do what you want. Joy’s stronger than you’ll ever be, you sick bastard.”

For a heartbeat, the church fell into deadly silence.

Ari’s beautiful features went perfectly still, the spit sliding down his cheek like a tear of bravado.

Then, with movements so controlled they were more terrifying than any explosion of rage, he reached up and wiped the saliva away with the back of his hand, studying the moisture with the detached interest of a scientist examining a specimen.

“I guess you need a demonstration then, vampire.” His look was absolutely lethal. His tight, toothy smile was like a child about to pull the wings off a butterfly. I glanced between him and Steve, and fear pooled in my gut.

Ari swept his talons through the air in a vicious arc.

They carved through Steve’s torn shirt and into the flesh beneath with a sound like fabric tearing, only wetter, more obscene.

Four deep, parallel gashes opened across my brother’s chest, crimson blood welling up immediately before something far worse began to happen.

I pulled frantically on my silver bindings, the metal burning deeper into my wrists as I struggled against the magical restraints.

Desperate sobs tore from my throat as I tried to call upon the shadows that were my sanctuary, my weapon, my birthright.

I reached for that familiar darkness with every fiber of my being again, willing the shadows to rise up and protect my brother, to strike down this monster who dared to hurt the only family I had left.

But it was as if I was a child playing make-believe, grasping at invisible friends that existed only in my imagination. The shadows remained stubbornly absent, deaf to my pleas, leaving me as powerless as any mortal woman watching her brother be tortured.

Bitterness pulsed through me, turning my blood sour.

I couldn’t save him, couldn’t even ease his pain.

Steve was barely weeks into his vampire existence—still vulnerable, still breakable.

What if he got Enzo? An ancient vampire like him could survive endless torture, trapped in an immortal nightmare.

Then black ooze, thick as tar and gleaming with malevolent life, seemed to sink into the wounds like acid eating through metal.

The substance moved with purpose, burrowing deeper into Steve’s flesh with tiny tendrils that spread like infection through his vampire system.

The acrid scent of burning flesh filled the air—not the clean smell of fire, but something far more nauseating, like acid pouring onto living tissue, like sulfur and rotting meat and the metallic tang of supernatural poison all coiling together.

Steve went rigid against his chains, every muscle locking as the demon blood invaded his system.

His back arched impossibly, spine bending like a bow drawn to its breaking point, and then the scream that tore from his throat was unlike anything I’d ever heard from a human or vampire.

It was raw, primal, the sound of agony so complete it transcended physical pain and became something that touched the very essence of his soul.

The cry echoed through the desecrated church, bouncing off the moldy walls and broken pews until it seemed like the building itself was screaming.

Steve’s hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles went white; veins stood out like cords along his neck as his body fought against torment that was beyond bearing.

“Ah, the sweet symphony of agony...” Ari breathed, his eyes rolling back slightly. It was as if he was experiencing sexual pleasure, a perverse satisfaction that made my stomach turn with revulsion. I wanted to rip his eyes out, break every single one of his fingers.

He raised one finger and it moved through the air like a maestro conducting a symphony of suffering. “Can you hear how the demon blood sings as it works, little Unseelie? How it finds every nerve ending and sets them ablaze with exquisite pain?”

Sobs tore through me as I watched my brother writhe in supernatural torment. I had to do something to make this stop.

“Please,” I choked out on the word. “Stop. I’ll do whatever you want. Just stop hurting him. Please, I’m begging you.”

Steve panted through gritted teeth. “No, Joy. I can take it. Don’t give in.”

I stared at Ari, my lower lip trembling, hating myself for showing weakness.

Ari bowed slightly. “As you wish, little one.” He sliced Steve’s arm. “But if you lie to me…”

“No,” I screamed. “I won’t. I won’t. Please stop.” I hung my head, my tears splashing onto the floor, not able to look at Ari or Steve.