Page 39 of Cry of Blood and Joy (French Quarter Vampire Enforcer #2)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Enzo

The thought of one of us being Ari froze my blood in my veins.

My enforcer training kicked in automatically—assess threats, identify weak points, prepare for violence.

I stepped back against the wall, positioning myself where I could see everyone in the room.

Every conversation we’d had, every plan we’d made, every piece of information we’d shared could have been compromised.

We weren’t just hunting Ari—he might be hunting us from the inside.

None of us spoke as we looked at each other, trying to decide who was who. Fuck, was it one of us?

The paranoia was eating me alive, but I couldn’t just stand there frozen in suspicion.

My patience was hanging by the thinnest of threads as I paced the elegant hardwood floor of Angelo’s sitting room, my boots creating a steady rhythm that echoed through the silent house.

Each step felt like a countdown to Joy’s death, and I rolled my tongue over my fangs—a reminder of the violence I was built for, the action I was being denied.

The scent of expensive leather and wood polish that normally gave this room its refined atmosphere now felt suffocating, closing in around me like a tomb.

My hands flexed instinctively, muscle memory from decades of breaking bones and extracting information screaming at me to move, to hunt, to tear through every obstacle between me and my target.

It took every ounce of the discipline that had made me Angelo’s most feared enforcer to rely on the thin strand of logic barely holding my sanity together.

My emotions were a hurricane of rage, terror, and something I’d never felt before—desperate, consuming love that threatened to override every calculated instinct I’d honed over centuries of violence.

I rolled my shoulders and cracked my neck with sharp pops, the sound echoing like breaking bones. The tension knotted in my muscles was familiar—the same readiness that preceded a hit, the same predatory energy that had made grown men piss themselves when they saw me coming.

If Ari was here, I had to get out of here.

My gaze kept drifting toward the front door, automatically calculating tactical approaches.

Fastest route to the bayou. How many bodies I’d have to drop to get to Joy.

The urge to unleash the monster Angelo had shaped me into was almost overwhelming.

Fuck plans. Fuck strategy. I was made for violence, not waiting.

The chandelier’s warm light felt like an interrogation lamp, illuminating my barely leashed fury. I could hear the others talking, but their voices were background noise to the roar of bloodlust in my ears—the same sound that preceded every kill I’d ever made.

Keir’s voice cut through my mental chaos with that infuriating Unseelie composure. “Rocco knows something,” he insisted, those colorful changing eyes tracking my restless movement like he was watching a caged predator. “Something that might tell us what Ari truly has planned.”

Or was Keir Ari, trying to send me down the opposite path? Every instinct I’d developed as Angelo’s right hand told me to tear through that church and drench the walls with anyone who got between me and Joy.

There was a soft knock on the door. I rushed past Elena, who was heading toward the entrance at what felt like a snail’s pace, and yanked it open with barely controlled impatience.

“I got here as soon as I could.” Rose Dragan swept past me with efficient grace. She had on a gray sweat outfit and her blonde hair was pulled back into a practical ponytail, still slightly damp from exertion.

I studied her face, searching for any micro-expression that seemed wrong, any gesture that wasn’t quite right. Was this really Rose, or was Ari wearing her face?

A blonde woman followed behind, wearing shorts, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. Her skin was flushed pink as if she’d been running, and she glanced around the elegant room with curious eyes.

Rose tilted her head toward her companion.

“This is my friend, Alice. We were working out when Angelo called.” She stopped mid-sentence when her gaze fell on Dimitri, where Gianna was leaning her head tenderly against his shoulder.

“Dimitri, what are you doing here? Valentin left twenty minutes ago to meet you at St. John’s Tavern. ”

Angelo’s head jerked up suddenly. “Why would Valentin be going there?”

Dimitri’s eyebrows drew together in that familiar expression of sardonic confusion.

“Why would I be meeting Valentin at Angelo’s establishment?

My body’s still recuperating from being personally introduced to the Enzo Express.

” He gestured lazily toward his still-healing ribs.

“And let me tell you, that’s a train you never want to catch. ”

His confusion seemed genuine, but then again, Ari had fooled us before. I watched his every movement, cataloging familiar mannerisms, looking for tells.

Rose glanced between Angelo and me with sharp curiosity. “So did you call and cancel the meeting?”

“Rose, darling,” Dimitri drawled with that characteristic blend of charm and exasperation, “I didn’t call him. Haven’t spoken to my dear brother all day, actually.”

“But I was right there when Valentin took the call,” Rose insisted. “I heard you invite him to the tavern.”

Angelo was already reaching for his phone, his face dark with concern. “If someone’s impersonating Dimitri and luring Valentin to my place...”

“What does that mean?” Panic flared in Rose’s green eyes like wildfire, her face draining of color as the implications hit her. Her hands trembled slightly as she pressed them against her chest. “Who would be impersonating Dimitri?”

“Ari, the Dark Demon,” I said quietly.

The elegant sitting room, with its warm lighting and expensive furnishings, suddenly felt like a war room where battle plans were drawn in blood. Rose’s sharp intake of breath was audible in the suffocating silence.

It was a trap, and Valentin was walking straight into it like a lamb to slaughter.

“Then I need to get to the tavern right now,” Rose declared with fierce determination, spinning on her heel and heading back toward the door with quick, urgent steps. Her ponytail whipped around her shoulders as she moved, the scent of fear-sweat drifting off her workout clothes.

I shot forward and clasped her arm with firm but gentle pressure, my fingers wrapping around her wrist. “No. Not until you heal Rocco.”

She twisted her arm with surprising strength, muscles bunching under my grip as she tried to break free. “Rocco? What’s wrong with him? Why are we wasting time when Valentin could be?—“

“He’s in a magical trance,” Keir interrupted, his winter-pale eyes fixed on her with unwavering intensity. “He has information we desperately need about where they’re holding Joy and what Ari’s ultimate plan entails.”

Keir gestured toward the leather sofa where Rocco sat perfectly motionless.

At least he wasn’t drooling. But that didn’t matter.

The man looked like a living statue—not blinking, barely breathing, staring straight ahead with glassy eyes that seemed to be seeing something none of us could perceive.

His hands rested on his knees in an unnaturally perfect position, and there was something deeply unsettling about his absolute stillness.

Rose’s gaze darted frantically between Rocco’s vacant expression and the door, her internal war between helping her friend and saving information clearly tearing her apart. She wrinkled her nose. “The dark magic’s stench is getting stronger.” She coughed, putting her arm over her mouth.

“I can smell it too,” Alice said quietly. She moved closer to study Rocco with focused intensity, her footsteps silent on the Persian rug. She leaned forward slightly, her nostrils flaring delicately as she inhaled the lingering traces of dark magic that clung to him like invisible smoke.

Her green eyes narrowed with concentration, pupils dilating as if she were trying to see something beyond the physical realm.

Her hands trembled slightly at her sides, fingers twitching as if she wanted to reach out but was afraid of what she might touch.

“Whoever did this, they were incredibly powerful. The magical signature is... wrong. Twisted.”

Not what I wanted to hear. Was Joy suffering the same fate?

Was she trapped in some nightmarish trance while Ari used her for whatever sick plan he’d concocted?

My hands clenched into tight fists, and I had to force myself to take a steadying breath.

I fought to stay in control, to keep the rage from consuming what little rational thought I had left. “Can you heal him?”

“I don’t know. I’ll try.” Rose stepped forward with grim determination, rubbing her palms together until they began to glow with a soft, warm light.

The air around her hands shimmered like heat waves rising from summer pavement.

“ Velithra ,” she whispered. The word seemed to resonate through the room with power.

The moment she touched Rocco’s shoulders, the reaction was explosive. Rose’s body went rigid for a split second before she was launched backward. She flew through the air with a piercing cry of pain, arms windmilling helplessly as she crashed into Angelo’s solid chest.

Angelo caught her, his vampire reflexes allowing him to absorb the impact without being knocked over. His strong arms wrapped around her as she sagged against him, her face pale and drawn with shock and exhaustion. Anger flashed in his eyes. “What happened?”

Alice rushed over to her. “Rose, are you okay?”

Rose pulled away from Angelo, but she was shaking. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Rose shook her head weakly, strands of blonde hair sticking to her sweat-dampened forehead. Her hands were trembling violently now, burns marking her palms where she’d touched Rocco.

“I don’t know. I’ve never felt anything like that before.” She looked at Rocco warily. “The magic... it fought back. Like it was alive and protecting itself.” She gazed up at Angelo with haunted eyes. “I don’t... I don’t think I can break the curse. Whatever’s holding him is beyond my abilities.”

My stomach dropped as the implications hit me. The smell of burned magic lingered in the air—acrid and wrong, like ozone mixed with sulfur. If Rose couldn’t break a simple binding spell, what hope did we have against whatever Ari had planned?

Angelo’s dark gaze shifted from her to Alice with a cold calculation of the mafia king assessing potential threat.

His shoulders tensed beneath his expensive shirt, and he flashed his fangs.

“What exactly can you do?” The question came out flat and deadly and had the authority of someone who eliminated problems before they became complications.

I recognized the frustration in his posture, especially if the spell on Rocco could be a danger to Serenity. He would do anything to protect her. It would make him dangerous, very, very dangerous.

But he wasn’t the only one. The same desperate need to shield the woman you loved flowed through me. The only difference was that his woman was safe in this room while mine was in the hands of a monster.

The blood immediately drained from Alice’s face and she stepped back. Her hand flew to press against her chest in a gesture of nervous appeasement. “I’m so sorry,” she said quickly. “You expect me to heal him when Rose couldn’t?”

Her reluctance could be normal fear—or was she really Ari? This would be exactly what Ari would want. To delay us, to keep us from getting the information we needed?

Angelo’s expression didn’t soften. He studied her with the dispassionate interest of someone evaluating an asset. “You’re a Ravencrest,” he said coolly, rubbing his chin as he processed the information. “Ian Ravencrest’s family?”

“He was my uncle.” Alice’s voice grew cautious under his scrutiny, clearly understanding she was being assessed. “My father, Erik, was his brother.”

Ravencrest’s bloodline. My mind raced. Erik’s magic had been powerful enough to level cities. If Alice carried even a fraction of that legacy, everything just changed.

“Powerful bloodline.” Angelo’s gaze shifted to me, and I could see he was thinking the same thing I was. “They fought in the Cormac war.” It was more of a statement than a question.

Alice’s jaw tightened slightly as if she was trying to keep her composure. She shook her head then gave a small smile. “They died fighting in the war when I was at Goody Magic Academy.” She glanced down at her feet. “The Moon Coven took me in afterward.”

I exchanged a knowing look with Angelo. The Moon Coven. We had dealt with them before. My pulse quickened. Their leader was Tinker Bell—hardly a fairy, but a witch powerful enough to make even Angelo cautious.

I studied her with keen intensity, my gaze taking in every detail of her posture and expression as I searched for any sign of deception or weakness. “Tinker Bell trained you?” The question came out more like an interrogation than casual conversation.

Tinker Bell didn’t waste time on weaklings. If she’d trained Alice, the girl had serious potential.

Alice straightened her spine defensively. Her green eyes flashed with a mixture of pride and defiance. “Yes. She’s more than my mentor. She’s family.” The fierce protectiveness in her eyes was how I felt about Joy—that bone-deep loyalty that would drive you to kill or die.

Tinker Bell’s protégé might just be what I needed to take down Ari.

I gestured toward Rocco, whose vacant stare seemed to mock our desperation. “If she trained you, I assume you would be able to break his spell.”

“Just because Tinker Bell trained me doesn’t mean I’m as powerful as Rose,” she insisted. Her hands twisted together nervously, fingers pale from the pressure.

Rose reached out with her still-shaking hand, her palm bearing the angry red burns from her failed attempt. She clasped Alice’s arm, her green eyes blazing with desperate determination. “Yes, you are. You have to try.”

I took a step forward, and Alice instinctively pressed back against the wall. Her fear-scent triggered something primal in me. I flashed my fangs. “You’d better damn well try.”

“I suggest you try. I’m not sure Enzo can control himself,” Angelo said. His fangs extended fully, the soft light catching the razor-sharp points.

That was it. I was done with negotiations, done with hesitation, done with being patient while Joy suffered. I brushed past Alice with barely controlled violence, my shoulder deliberately clipping hers hard enough to make her stumble.

“My mate’s life is at stake,” I snarled, spinning to face her. My hands clenched into fists that could easily crush bone, my own fangs descended as the beast inside me strained against its leash. “You’d better damn well do it if you want to live.”