Page 30 of Cry of Blood and Joy (French Quarter Vampire Enforcer #2)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Joy

Steve dangled from the chains like a broken marionette, his knees having collapsed beneath him hours ago.

The metallic clink of the links was the only sound in the suffocating silence, each slight movement sending tiny echoes through the dank chamber.

I could smell the foul, acrid stench of black demon blood—thick and oily like burned tar—that had coated his own crimson life force, creating a nauseating cocktail that made my stomach churn.

The copper tang of human blood was familiar, almost comforting, but the demon ichor carried something else: decay, sulfur, and an otherworldly wrongness that made my skin crawl.

Dark veins spiderwebbed beneath his pale skin where the demon blood had seeped into his wounds.

He needed healing magic—and fast, or he’d die. The thought sent a spike of panic through my chest, sharp and unforgiving.

Serenity was out of the question; I’d burned that bridge to ash and cinders.

But maybe Unseelie magic could heal him.

My mind raced through possibilities, each one more desperate than the last. Surely, Keir Rankin would have some kind of potion to combat demon blood poisoning.

He wasn’t someone who let anything happen by chance—every move calculated, every contingency planned.

So far, he’d been willing to help Enzo when he needed him.

I just prayed he was still in the same frame of mind, that our tentative alliance hadn’t crumbled while I’d been chained here like a common prisoner.

Through the jagged remains of what had once been a stained glass window—now just twisted lead and shards of colored glass clinging desperately to the rotting wooden frame—the Louisiana sky bled from amber to deep crimson.

Ancient oak trees draped in Spanish moss swayed like ghostly sentinels outside, their gnarled branches scraping against the crumbling brick walls of the abandoned church with each humid breeze that rolled off the bayou.

The air was thick with the earthy scent of decay and stagnant water, mixed with the musty smell of centuries-old wood and stone slowly surrendering to time and moisture.

Somewhere in the distance, a night heron called out across the dark water, its cry echoing through the cypress groves that had long since reclaimed this forgotten sanctuary.

The sun was finally setting, sinking like a dying ember into the murky waters beyond the tree line.

Golden light filtered through the Spanish moss in ethereal beams, painting the ruins in shades of amber and shadow.

As darkness crept across the bayou, Steve would be safe from the sun’s burning touch.

He could escape through the maze of waterways and twisted roots, slip through the gathering dusk like the shadow he’d always been, and make his way back to civilization—back to Enzo.

Enzo would know what to do. How to save him.

Until then the bayou would hide him, protect him, the way it had always protected those who knew its secrets.

If he could just find the strength to move before our captors returned to this godforsaken place.

But first, I had to break through these damned binding cuffs.

The cold iron bit into my wrists, already raw and bleeding from my earlier struggles.

If I could just get one hand free, I could summon my shadows—feel them writhing beneath my skin, eager to be released—and they could unlock Steve’s manacles with their ghostly fingers.

I wiggled one wrist, the movement sending fresh waves of agony up my arm.

The metal scraped against bone as I twisted and turned, trying to compress my hand small enough to slip free.

The manacles dug deeper into my flesh with each desperate movement, and a burning sensation—like liquid fire—ran up my arm where the iron touched my supernatural skin.

I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, the metallic flavor sharp on my tongue, refusing to cry out and alert my captors.

Ari and Marsha had stepped outside ten minutes ago, their footsteps echoing down the stone corridor before fading to nothing. They were obviously confident my brother and I couldn’t escape, that these ancient bindings would hold us until whatever grisly fate they had planned came to pass.

Arrogant fools.

Sweat broke out across my brow, trickling down my temples in cold rivulets despite the chill in the air.

The salt stung my eyes as I pulled and pulled, my muscles screaming in protest. My thumb joint popped—a sickening sound that made me grit my teeth—but then, finally, blessedly, my thumb slipped free.

The relief was immediate and overwhelming. Blood slicked my palm where the iron had torn skin, but I was one step closer to freedom. One step closer to saving my brother.

Hold on, Steve. Just hold on a little longer.

I gritted my teeth until my jaw cramped, trying desperately to work my index finger through the narrow gap my thumb had created.

But it was as if the cursed manacle had sensed my escape attempt—some dark magic woven into the iron itself.

The metal band constricted, tightening and tightening around my wrist with deliberate malice, the edges biting deeper into my already torn flesh.

My pulse hammered against the unforgiving iron as it nearly cut off my blood supply entirely.

Excruciating pain gripped me like a sadistic, twisting tourniquet.

White-hot agony shot up my arm in waves, each pulse making my vision blur at the edges.

I could feel my fingers going numb, the tingling sensation of oxygen deprivation creeping up from my fingertips.

My hand was turning an alarming shade of purplish blue.

The distant echo of footsteps somewhere in the building made my heart skip.

Ari and Marsha could come back any moment—I could hear their muffled voices drifting through the stone walls, getting closer.

The acrid smell of their cigarette smoke still lingered in the stale air, a reminder our window of opportunity was rapidly closing.

I had to do something. Now.

Drawing on every ounce of power I possessed—every scrap of shadow magic that hadn’t been drained by these iron restraints—I focused inward, feeling for that familiar cold darkness that lived in my core.

The magic was sluggish, resistant, like trying to push thick honey through a straw.

I gritted my teeth and pushed it down toward my thumb, willing it to obey despite the iron’s interference.

Please, please, please work.

A thin shadow, no thicker than a spider’s silk, pushed out from beneath my thumbnail.

Finally! Thank god! It wavered in the dim light like smoke, shaky and unstable, threatening to dissipate at any moment.

Sweat dripped into my eyes as I concentrated with everything I had, my entire world narrowing to that fragile tendril of darkness.

I focused on Steve’s manacle across the room, visualizing the lock mechanism, the way the tumblers would need to turn. The shadow was clumsy, twirling around the iron band like a sleepy serpent before finally, finally, slipping inside the keyhole with a whisper-soft click.

Open it. Damn it, open it!

The manacle resisted for a heart-stopping moment, the ancient lock grinding against my shadow’s probing touch. Damn it! I wasn’t strong enough. But I couldn’t give up. Not now. Steve’s life depended upon me opening this lock.

Then, with a rusty clank that sounded like thunder in the silence, it slowly creaked open. Steve’s arm broke free, and his unconscious body twisted sideways, no longer held upright by both restraints.

“Steve! Steve!” His head lolled forward, red hair matted with sweat and blood. “Can you hear me?”

The sight of his pale, motionless face almost stopped my heart. Was I too late?

Desperation clawed at my chest. I scanned the grimy floor until I spotted a jagged piece of concrete that had broken off from the crumbling wall.

Without hesitation, I kicked it hard across the room.

The rock struck Steve squarely in the shoulder with a dull thud, and he groaned—a low, pained sound that was the most beautiful thing I’d heard in hours.

He was alive.

“Steve, can you hear me?” I banged my chains against the wall, trying to get his attention, trying to get him to move.

He opened one eye first, then the other, blinking slowly like someone emerging from a deep, drugged sleep. His pupils were dilated, unfocused. “Torturing me too?” The words slurred together, thick with confusion and lingering unconsciousness.

“You have to get free.” I put every ounce of urgency I could muster into those five words.

He blinked again, harder this time, as if trying to clear fog from his vision. His gaze moved painfully slowly from his still-chained wrist to me, suspended across the room. Recognition flickered in his dark eyes like a candle flame fighting the wind. “You?”

I nodded frantically, my heart hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it echoing off the stone walls.

The brave little shadow—my lifeline, my last hope—was still working on his other manacle, probing the ancient lock with determined persistence.

The tendril of darkness trembled with the effort, and I could feel my own strength ebbing with each second it remained manifested.

Just one more turn. Come on.

Click.

The sound was like a sonic boom in the suffocating silence. Steve’s second arm dropped free, and he crumpled to the floor in a heap, his legs too weak to support him after hours of hanging. The metallic clang of the empty manacles swinging against the wall seemed impossibly loud.

“Go.” The word tore from my throat, desperate and commanding.

Steve struggled to push himself up on his elbows, his arms shaking with the effort. Dark stains spread across his shirt where the demon blood had soaked through, and his face was deathly pale. “Not unless you’re coming with me.”

The stubborn loyalty in his voice—even now, even when he could barely stand—made my chest tighten with a mixture of love and frustration.

“Steve, listen to me.” I leaned forward as far as my own restraints would allow.

“You’ve got to get to Enzo. He’ll know what to do about the demon blood.

He’ll know how to save you.” My shadow was already dissipating, the thin tendril fading like smoke as my power finally gave out. “Go, now. Before it’s too late.”

Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside—closer this time. Much closer.

Steve dragged himself to his feet, using the damp stone wall for support.

His legs trembled like a newborn fawn’s, fighting just to remain upright.

Dark veins still spiderwebbed beneath his pale skin, the demon blood slowly killing him with each pulse, but determination burned in his eyes—the same stubborn fire that had gotten us both into trouble countless times before.

He cast me his protective gaze, the same one he always used when we were kids. “I’ll bring help. I promise.”

The heavy wooden door creaked open on rusted hinges, the sound echoing through the hollow sanctuary like a tolling bell. Steve’s head snapped toward the entrance.

He gave me one last desperate glance, his blue eyes filled with a mixture of guilt, love, and fierce determination that made my chest ache.

Then his form began to blur and shift, bones cracking and reforming with wet, organic sounds that always made my skin crawl.

In seconds, where my brother had stood, a small brown bat hung in the air, its wings beating erratically.

“Steve!” I gasped, staring in shock as my brother literally transformed before my eyes. I’d known vampires could shapeshift but seeing it happen to Steve—hearing his bones crack and reform—was horrifying and mesmerizing at once.

The creature flew chaotically through the church—listing to one side, then the other—as if drugged or poisoned. It careened off a broken pew, nearly crashed into a moldering pillar, then recovered just enough to aim for the shattered window.

The bat squeezed through the jagged opening just as Ari and Marsha stepped inside, their boots crunching on decades of accumulated debris and broken glass.

I leaned my head back and took a shaky breath. A single tear escaped down my cheek. He got away! He got away.

“You betrayed me,” Ari snarled, his cold gaze immediately focusing on the window where Steve had disappeared. The Spanish moss outside swayed gently in the evening breeze, already concealing any trace of my brother’s escape.

My stomach plummeted with fear as I saw the fury twisting Ari’s angular features. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as rage radiated over him in waves. Whatever he planned to do to me now—whatever fresh torment he had in mind—it would be brutal.

But as I hung there in my iron restraints, watching the last rays of sunlight fade through the broken window, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in hours: hope.

My brother was free. And I knew, with absolute certainty, he’d find Enzo.

And when he did? Enzo would come for me with such a vengeance the very bayou would tremble.