Page 36 of Cry of Blood and Joy (French Quarter Vampire Enforcer #2)

Chapter Thirty-Four

Enzo

Something inside me shattered—not my heart, but something deeper.

My sense of who I was, who I'd tried to be for over two centuries.

I looked down at my bloodstained hands, at Dimitri's unconscious form, at the destruction I'd caused in my desperate need to save Joy.

Christ. I'd told myself every act of violence was justified because it was for her, but when had loving Joy become an excuse for becoming just another monster wearing Enzo Di Salvo’s face?

When had protecting her turned me into the very thing she'd need protecting from?

I stared at Serenity, not knowing how to answer these questions.

She knelt gracefully in front of the burgundy leather sofa where Dimitri lay motionless, her slender form casting long shadows in the warm lamplight.

Dried blood had coated his angular face in dark, rust-colored streaks, matting his usually pristine dark hair into clumps that stuck to his forehead and temples.

The metallic scent hung heavy in the air, mixing with the expensive leather and polished wood that normally gave this room its refined atmosphere.

Gianna cradled one of his large hands in her lap, her fingers intertwining with his lifeless digits as if she could anchor his soul to his body through touch alone.

She brushed back his blood-matted hair with infinite gentleness, her tears falling in steady droplets onto his pale forehead.

Each tear caught the light before disappearing into his skin, as if the earth were drinking up her grief.

The sight of her anguish—her quiet sobs, the way her shoulders shook with suppressed emotion—sent fresh waves of guilt crashing through my chest like physical blows.

Pain pulsed through my own battered body where Angelo had torn into me, where my ribs protested with each breath, but I welcomed the anguish. I deserved the pain.

How could I have been so sloppy? So unprofessional?

In my line of work, emotions got people killed—innocent people, like the man lying broken in front of me.

I’d built my reputation on cold calculation, on being the enforcer who never let personal feelings cloud his judgment.

But the moment Joy’s safety was threatened, all that discipline had been swept away by rage.

If I wanted to find Joy—if I had any hope of bringing her home alive—I had to get my head back in the game. She was counting on me to be the professional she’d fallen in love with, not this reckless amateur who attacked first and asked questions later.

White light began to form around Serenity’s palms, starting as a faint glow before intensifying into something that seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat.

The supernatural radiance cast everything in stark relief, making the blood on Dimitri’s face look almost black in contrast. She placed her illuminated hands on his still chest, and immediately the air around us seemed to hum with power—a low, thrumming vibration that I could feel in my bones.

Dimitri’s body suddenly arched off the sofa in a graceful bow, his spine curving as if electricity had shot through him. A low groan escaped his lips—the first sound he’d made since I’d nearly killed him. The sound was rough, pained, but undeniably alive.

Finally. I scrubbed my face. One good thing went right. He’d survive.

Gianna bit back a sob of relief, pressing her free hand to her mouth as fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. Her dark eyes were fixed on his face with desperate hope, searching for any sign of consciousness returning to those closed lids.

Dimitri’s chest began to rise and fall in a steady rhythm, the shallow, barely perceptible breathing gradually deepening into something more substantial. Color was slowly returning to his ashen complexion, and I found myself holding my own breath, waiting for his eyes to open.

Please let him be all right. Please let me not have fucked up beyond repair.

Dimitri’s body became bathed in an ethereal white light that seemed to emanate from his very pores, casting dancing shadows across the elegant sitting room.

The supernatural radiance seeped slowly into his flesh like water being absorbed by parched earth, and his wounds began to close—torn skin knitting together, bruises fading from purple to yellow to nothing.

“Dimitri,” Gianna whispered. “Can you hear me?”

His eyes fluttered like butterfly wings before snapping open to reveal those familiar dark eyes, now sharp with awareness instead of the vacant stare of unconsciousness. He released a theatrical hiss, the sound dripping with his characteristic sarcasm, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Loud and clear, babe.” He had the same unmistakable cocky drawl that charmed and infuriated people all his life.

“I haven’t checked out yet, though I have to say, the service here is terrible.

What was the freight train that slammed into me?

And please tell me it was at least a sexy freight train. ”

Gianna exhaled a deep sigh of relief before she turned to me with a glare of pure venom. “Enzo, the fool. He thought you had handed Joy over to Angelo.”

Dimitri’s eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise, and he winced slightly as he tried to sit up straighter on the blood-stained leather. “Me? Why me? I have been tracking the wily vixen but she covers her tracks well—thanks to Enzo.”

A lie , but if he said he had seen her, he would incur Angelo’s wrath from keeping it from him.

“Someone described you and Joy getting into your Corvette at The Bourbon Nights hotel,” I managed to say through gritted teeth, each word feeling like it cost me.

Angelo snapped his attention toward me, his expression shifting to one of recognition. “You mean that broken down flea bag on Rampart Street?” His green eyes and turned up sneer carried the disdain of someone who’d never set foot in anything less than five-star accommodations.

I nodded carefully, trying not to move any more than necessary. If I sat perfectly still, the pain from my broken ribs wasn’t quite as excruciating—just a constant, throbbing reminder of my spectacular failure in judgement.

Serenity gracefully moved from Dimitri’s side to sit next to me, her movements fluid and purposefully. She smiled at me with gentle compassion that I absolutely didn’t deserve. “Your turn, enforcer.”

I looked into her blue eyes, seeing nothing but kindness where there should have been judgment. The guilt was almost harder to bear than the physical pain. “Are you sure you can do this?”

Her smile widened, and there was something almost otherworldly about her expression—ancient wisdom mixed with divine purpose.

“I’m a Nephilim. My father’s the archangel of healing.

This is what I do.” Her hands hovered over my torn and bloodied arm, already beginning to glow with that same ethereal white light.

“Besides, someone has to patch you up so you can go save your girl properly this time.”

The warmth from her approaching hands was already making my skin tingle with anticipation of relief, like the first touch of sunlight after a long, cold night.

As Serenity’s palms made contact with my torn flesh, the sensation was unlike anything I’d ever experienced—not just heat, but something deeper, more profound.

It was like liquid starlight flowing through my veins, chasing away every ache and injury with gentle persistence.

The white light emanated from her touch, spreading across my chest and arms like ripples in still water.

My body responded to the divine energy—torn muscle fibers knitting back together with tiny, almost imperceptible tugs, blood vessels repairing themselves, bruised tissue returning to its natural color.

The constant, grinding agony in my ribs began to ease away degree by degree, like someone slowly turning down the volume on a radio.

Each fractured bone shifted and fused. The sharp edges that had been stabbing into my lungs with every breath smoothed out until they were whole again.

The relief was so profound I had to close my eyes and focus on not letting myself break down completely.

Soon, there was no pain at all—just the strange, floating sensation of a body that had been broken and was now completely restored. I took a deep, experimental breath and felt nothing but the smooth expansion of healthy lungs against intact ribs.

“Better?” Serenity asked softly, her hands still glowing faintly as she pulled them back.

I sat up slowly, marveling at the complete absence of discomfort. “Like it never happened. Thank you.” The words felt inadequate for what she’d just done, but they were all I had.

Elena, Angelo’s longtime housekeeper, appeared in the doorway like a guardian angel.

Her familiar face was exactly what I needed—I’d genuinely missed her warm presence in this house of supernatural chaos.

Her silver hair was pulled back into a loose bun, soft tendrils escaping to frame her kind face in a way that spoke of hurried efficiency rather than vanity.

She wiped her palms nervously on her crisp black dress, the gesture betraying anxiety that her composed expression tried to hide.

“Angelo, Keir Rankin and company are here to see you.” She glanced nervously over her shoulder toward the front of the house, as if something dangerous might be following her. “Mr. Rankin was quite... insistent.”

Keir fucking Rankin. Every muscle in my body tensed and my fangs extended. The manipulative bastard must have tracked me here, and right now I was in no mood for his games. This was going to go south. Fast.

Angelo’s jaw tightened, and he locked his dark gaze with the Unseelie king who suddenly filled the doorway behind Elena. Winter magic seemed to precede Keir’s entrance.

“What do you want, Keir?” The lines around Angelo’s eyes tightened—a sign he was losing patience.

Keir’s pale lips curved into that familiar, enigmatic smile that said he knew something. “I have news. What else?” He tilted his head with elegant grace, platinum hair catching the lamplight. “Bring them in.”

Nyx glided into the room with fluid, otherworldly movement, dragging Rocco behind him like a reluctant child.

He deposited him into the nearest leather recliner with casual indifference, where he sat staring at nothing with vacant eyes.

Drool rolled down from the corner of his mouth in a thin, silver stream, and his head lolled to one side as if his neck muscles had forgotten their purpose.

Whatever spell had been cast on him seemed to be getting progressively worse—his skin had taken on a waxy, unnatural pallor.

Lorcan walked into the elegant room, his massive frame supporting someone—Joy’s brother, Steve.

What the hell happened to him? Lorcan had one of Steve’s arms slung over his broad shoulders, practically carrying him as Steve’s legs gave out with every other step.

He wobbled like a drunk trying to walk a straight line, but I could sense immediately that it wasn’t alcohol making him move like that.

His face was pure white—not just pale, but the color of fresh snow or bone china—and dark veins were visible beneath his translucent skin like a roadmap of poison.

The acrid smell of sickness and something else—something wrong—wafted from his direction, making my enhanced senses recoil.

He collapsed onto his knees before Lorcan could guide him to a chair, his chest heaving as he struggled for each breath.

The sound was wet, labored, like lungs fighting against fluid.

Fear slipped down my spine and I went rigid. Was Joy suffering the same fate? The thought made my vision blur with rage. If anyone hurt her, I’d make them beg for death.

“Damn it,” Lorcan muttered through gritted teeth as he tried to haul Steve back to his feet.

Steve’s head rolled back, his eyes showing mostly white as consciousness seemed to slip away from him like sand through fingers.

His skin had a grayish undertone that spoke of systemic failure, and a rapid, thready pulse beat frantically at his throat.

Angelo snapped his attention on Keir. “What did you do to them?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Keir replied with that infuriating calm that made you want to shake him.

“Both of them have intel that we desperately need, but as you can see—one’s near death and the other’s been drugged into oblivion.

If we want to extract any useful information from either of them, Serenity needs to heal them immediately. ”

“No.” Angelo’s response was immediate and fierce. “She’s spent. She can’t heal anyone else without risking her own life.”

Keir’s now winter-pale eyes remained fixed on Angelo with unwavering intensity.

“Then we won’t find out what’s happening.

You won’t find out what happened to Joy and who attacked them.

I fear more people will continue to disappear.

” His glacial gaze shifted to me like a scientist studying me under a microscope. “I believe Steve knows where Joy is.”

That familiar rage began building in my gut—the same fury that had nearly gotten Dimitri killed—but this time I forced it down with iron control.

Calmness and anger battled for dominance in my mind like two wild animals fighting for territory.

I couldn’t afford another round with Angelo.

Not when Steve might hold the key to finding Joy.

But if I had to, I would fight him again and again to save Joy.