Page 34 of Cry of Blood and Joy (French Quarter Vampire Enforcer #2)
Chapter Thirty-Two
Enzo
I dragged my bloody fingers through my hair, the motion sharp and violent, pulling at the dark strands until some came away in my grip.
The scratches on my scalp burned like fire. The metallic scent of my blood filled my nostrils—a stark reminder of how I fucking screwed this up. The physical pain was nothing compared to the self-loathing that crashed over me like a steamroller.
“Goddamn it,” I snarled through clenched teeth.
I was cursing myself for losing control, for letting rage cloud my judgment when Joy needed me to think clearly.
This was fucking stupid. I was putting Joy more at risk.
My hands shook with barely contained fury—at myself, at this situation, at the precious time I’d wasted.
The taste of copper filled my mouth where I’d bitten my tongue, and my chest felt like it was being crushed. “I have to find her.” Cold fury settled in my bones like ice. “I have to find her now.”
Serenity’s blue eyes flickered over me with clinical assessment, taking in my blood-soaked shirt, the tremor in my hands, the wild desperation I knew was written all over my face. Her expression shifted to one of gentle but firm concern—the same look she’d given me countless times.
“Not like this you’re not.” She jabbed her finger into my chest. “You look like you’re going to pass out. You’re bleeding, exhausted, and running on pure adrenaline.” She gestured toward my swaying form. “Pascal, Lorenzo, take him into the living room where I can heal him.”
The room spun slightly around me, and I realized she was right—my vision was starting to blur at the edges, and my legs felt like they might give out at any moment.
I collapsed onto the sofa with more force than grace, the overstuffed leather cushions exhaling with a soft whoosh as they absorbed my weight.
The rich burgundy material was butter-soft against my torn and bloodied shirt, a stark contrast to the violence that had just unfolded.
My body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder—every muscle ached, every joint screamed in protest. Fresh blood leaked down the fabric where Angelo’s fingernails had found their mark.
The sound of heeled footsteps on polished hardwood announced another presence before I saw her.
Gianna walked into the elegant living room with her usual flair.
She was petite like Serenity but darker—raven-black hair that cascaded in waves down her back and eyes the color of espresso.
Her simple black dress was immaculate, not a thread out of place, which only served to highlight how utterly destroyed I looked in comparison.
The sight of her triggered a memory that made me wince.
Dimitri. Christ, in all the chaos and revelations I’d completely forgotten about him.
The image flashed through my mind—his body flying through the air, the thunderous slam as he smashed into the garage door, the way he’d hung there like a broken marionette.
I looked at Serenity, who was already moving toward me with the purposeful stride of someone preparing to work healing magic. “You’d better heal Dimitri before me.”
“Dimitri?” Gianna’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows drew together in confusion, her dark eyes darting between Serenity and me with growing alarm. “Why?”
I sighed deeply, guilt and exhaustion crushing me. The breath rattled in my chest where Angelo had squeezed my throat, blood still staining my tongue. “I put him through the garage door.”
The words hung in the air for a heartbeat before Gianna’s face transformed.
Her olive complexion went ashen, then flushed red with fury.
“You bastard!” she spat, venom dripping from every syllable.
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and for a moment I thought she might actually attack me herself.
Instead, she spun on her heel and ran toward the door, her heels clicking frantically against the hardwood like machine gun fire. “Oh my god. Angelo!” Her voice echoed through the house, high and panicked, growing fainter as she disappeared into the hallway.
I leaned my head back against the overstuffed leather cushions, feeling them cradle my skull like a supportive hand.
The chandelier above cast warm, golden light that should have been comforting but only served to illuminate the destruction we’d caused to this once beautiful room.
Shattered glass glinted from the Persian rug, and dark stains—my blood, Angelo’s blood—marred the expensive fabric.
The guilt settled in my stomach like sour milk. Hopefully I hadn’t killed Dimitri. The man had been trying to help, in his own twisted way, and I’d nearly destroyed him because I’d misjudged the entire situation. Just like I’d misjudged everything else tonight.
While Joy was out there, suffering, I’d been attacking the wrong people.
I studied Serenity’s face intently, searching for any sign of deception or lingering trauma.
Her blue eyes were clear and alert, but there was something haunting lurking in their depths—shadows of whatever hell she’d endured while trapped in that supernatural coma. “When did you wake from the coma?”
Serenity settled into the wingback chair across from me with careful precision, her movements still slightly tentative, as if she wasn’t entirely sure her body would obey her commands. She smoothed her hands over her jean shorts, a nervous gesture that spoke volumes about her state of mind.
She shrugged. “Yesterday.” She held up a palm. “Before you ask, it took me a while to draw on my healing power. It’s hard to heal yourself when you’re unconscious.” Her shaking fingers traced absent patterns on the chair’s upholstered arm.
Something twisted in my chest. There was nothing I could say to that.
“I was in a dream state, and it took me a while to realize it wasn’t real.” Her gaze grew distant, unfocused, as if she were looking at something only she could see. The haunted expression that crossed her features made my stomach clench with protective anger.
I leaned forward slightly, the leather cushions creaking beneath my weight. “How did you know it wasn’t real?”
A bitter smile ghosted across her lips—there and gone so quickly I almost missed it. “One day, my mother was alive and happy.” She had to clear her throat before continuing. “I knew she was dead, and she was rarely happy, especially being married to Freddie. So I knew it was an illusion.”
The mention of her stepfather’s name sent a familiar surge of rage through my system. Freddie—the bastard who’d made Serenity’s childhood a living nightmare of abuse and terror. My hands clenched and unclenched involuntarily.
She had suffered so much as a child—more than anyone should ever have to endure.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, meaning it with every fiber of my being. The words felt inadequate, but they were all I had.
Serenity’s expression softened, and she reached across the space between us to briefly touch my hand. Her skin was warm, alive—a stark contrast to the cold, lifeless touch I’d expected from someone who’d been trapped between worlds.
“When I realized it wasn’t real, I heard a voice calling to me—Angelo’s—through the dream state.
” Her eyes brightened slightly, as if the memory brought her comfort.
“That’s when I started healing myself, fighting my way back to consciousness.
Angelo’s voice... it was like an anchor, pulling me back to reality. ”
I wondered if there was a connection between Joy’s disappearance and Serenity awakening. Coincidences were make-believe. The question was: who was pulling the strings?
“Your love got you through hell and back—literally.” I stared down at my bloodstained hands, watching them tremble slightly as the magnitude of my failure settled over me like a shroud.
Serenity’s Nephilim blood had saved her—she could call to Angelo across any distance. But Joy didn’t have that gift. She was trapped somewhere with no way to reach me, no way to let me know she was alive.
It was up to me to find her, and I’d been chasing my own tail like a rabid dog, getting not one step closer to where she actually was. The bitter taste of self-recrimination filled my mouth, more acrid than the blood I kept swallowing.
Serenity’s blue eyes searched my face with gentle intensity, as if she could read every broken piece of my soul written there in blood and desperation. She leaned forward slightly in her chair, the leather creaking softly under her weight. “You really do love her, don’t you?”
My throat constricted—partly from Angelo’s earlier chokehold, partly from the raw emotion threatening to spill out. I opened my mouth to tell her yes, that Joy was everything to me, that losing her would destroy whatever humanity I had left.
But before I could form the words?—
Angelo burst into the living room like a breaking storm, his powerful frame filling the doorway as he cradled Dimitri’s unconscious form against his chest. Dimitri’s usually immaculate appearance was destroyed.
His head lolled at an unnatural angle, and his breathing was so shallow it was barely perceptible.
Fuck. Dimitri didn’t deserve what I did to him.
I could still see his body crumpled against that garage door, and the image made me sick.
I had to get control of myself—this blind rage was making me sloppy, dangerous to innocent people.
I was making costly mistakes I couldn’t afford.
I needed to think like an enforcer, not a desperate man in love.
He placed Dimitri down with the tenderness of someone handling precious crystal, arranging his limbs with clinical precision. The rich burgundy leather immediately began to darken where blood seeped through Dimitri’s clothing like spilled wine.
A choked sob from the doorway made me look up. Gianna followed Angelo to the couch and collapsed next to Dimitri like a broken angel, her usually perfect composure completely shattered. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her hand shook stroking his bloodied hair.
“Serenity, please heal him. I can’t lose him,” she sobbed.
The sight of him—pale as death, blood pooling beneath his head—sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing through my chest. This was my doing. My rage. My complete failure to think rationally.
“Yes, heal him,” I mumbled. The words felt pathetic, inadequate—like trying to apologize for an earthquake with a whisper.
Gianna’s head snapped toward me, her dark eyes blazing with fury so intense it made the air itself seem to crackle. “Shut up, just shut up!” she screamed. Spit flew from her lips as she advanced on me like an avenging fury, her small hands clenched into fists at her sides.
I pressed myself back into the leather cushions, genuinely surprised she didn’t launch herself at me and try to claw my eyes out with her perfectly manicured nails.
The murderous rage radiating from her petite frame was palpable, and honestly, I would have let her.
I deserved every bit of her rage and more.
What I’d done settled over the room like a suffocating shroud, making even breathing feel like a monumental effort. Serenity looked up from Dimitri’s broken form, her blue eyes cold as winter. “You’re becoming just like the monsters we fight, Enzo. Maybe Joy is better off without you.”