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Chapter Fourteen

Enzo

Agony pulsed through me as if I’d been stabbed with a hellish blade, each wave of pain more excruciating than the last. My muscles seized and twitched uselessly.

What the hell was in Maximo’s fingers? Some ancient venom I’d never encountered in all my centuries?

It was as if I were paralyzed—unable to move, unable to save Joy.

Again.

The word echoed in my mind like a damning bell.

History repeating itself in the cruelest way possible.

Once more, I was forced to watch helplessly as someone I’d sworn to protect was taken from me.

The paralysis couldn’t mask the slowly sinking failure settling on my chest, heavier than any physical wound.

Heavy footsteps faded away from me, each one taking Joy further from my reach.

I couldn’t even call out, my throat constricted by whatever poison now coursed through my veins.

I strained against the invisible bonds holding me, blood vessels threatening to burst with the effort.

Nothing. Anger surged through me, primal and white-hot, and the only thing that moved was the lengthening of my fangs, stretching painfully in my mouth, desperate for Maximo’s throat.

Maximo was dead, dead, dead.

The promise repeated itself in my mind like a sacred vow.

If it took another century, another millennia—I would hunt him to the ends of the earth.

I would tear out his still-beating heart and watch the light fade from those unnatural red eyes.

Every moment of Joy’s suffering would be repaid tenfold.

My vision pulsed red with murderous intent even as my body refused to obey my commands.

Shadows slowly faded away from me as if I’d been in a protective box, tendrils of darkness reluctantly retreating like living things.

Had Joy done that? What was this power? In all my years walking this earth, I’d seen many gifts manifest in humans—precognition, pyrokinesis, even limited telekinesis—but shadow manipulation was rare, ancient.

Magic that echoed from a forgotten era when spirits and mortals shared the same paths.

The implications sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with my immobile state.

If she could control shadows without training, what else might she be capable of?

And more importantly, what might others do to possess such power?

Maximo was merely the first. There would be others—vampires, demons, entities from realms I dared not name.

All would come for her once word spread.

As feeling gradually returned to my fingertips, bringing with it fresh waves of searing pain, I made another silent vow. I would find her. I would save her. And then I would discover what she truly was—this woman who could command shadows with a thought. No more assumptions, no more mysteries.

If only I could move. If only I could follow. The scent of her fear still hung in the air, taunting me with its freshness. Time was running out.

With a bellow of rage that began in my mind but emerged as little more than a strangled groan, I forced my index finger to twitch. It was a start. A beginning.

Maximo had no idea what he had just unleashed.

I drew on my vampire strength—the same strength that had put down dozens of rats who thought they could muscle in on our territory—but all I could move was my thumb and my eyes.

It was as if my blood, muscles, and bones had all congealed into a wax of burning pain, my body a prison of agony.

Whatever toxin Maximo had used was potent enough to incapacitate even one of my kind—immortal and unnaturally strong.

I’d need to remember this, if I survived.

More footsteps approached, cautious yet deliberate Was the bastard coming back?

Returning to gloat over his victory, perhaps?

Maybe I could use compulsion—lock eyes with him and force him to reveal where he’d taken Joy.

Even in my weakened state, I might manage that much.

I focused what little energy I had left on preparing for eye contact.

“Enzo? Where’s Joy?”

The moonlight cast a silvery glow on a surprising face—Steve DuPont. He was supposed to have gone back with Lorcan to Keir’s Court of Thorns. Why was he here?

I hadn’t noticed before how much his features resembled Joy’s, though his were harder, more weathered by time and violence.

It struck me now, seeing him in this light, how neither of them bore any resemblance to Louis DuPont, the man whose name they carried.

He’d be furious to know that I lost his sister for the second time, even if I was his maker.

Some enforcer I was. Shame burned hotter than the venom in my veins.

The Santi family had one rule above all others—protect your own. I’d broken it. Twice.

I moved my mouth, but no sound came out except a low, miserable hiss. Pathetic.

The frustration nearly drove me mad—so much to tell him, to warn him about, and my body betrayed me at every turn.

He knelt beside me, his heartbeat quickening as he assessed my condition. He lifted up my soaked shirt, the fabric peeling away from wounds with a sickening wet sound. “Fuck. What happened to you? These cuts go down to the bone.”

I’d seen worse on guys who tried to skip town without paying their debts. Given them worse too. But I couldn’t say that now, couldn’t say anything.

The scent of my own blood, rich and tinged with the acrid smell of Maximo’s poison, filled the night air. Steve’s face contorted as he examined the deep lacerations across my torso, each one a testament to how easily I’d been overpowered.

“Is Joy inside? Is she hurt too?”

I wanted to answer him, but it was as if someone had their hand over my mouth.

Steve ran into the Sangue Reale , then he was back. “No sign of her. Just that damn dress.”

Worry flared in his eyes, replacing the initial anger. Family loyalty ran deep in the DuPonts—it always had. “I’ve got to get you to Serenity.”

If anyone could neutralize this toxin, it would be her. But every minute spent healing me was another minute that Joy slipped further from my reach, deeper into Maximo’s clutches. I tried to communicate this with my eyes, willing Steve to understand my desperate urgency.

But he didn’t seem to notice. He slid his arms beneath me, preparing to lift. The movement kindled a wildfire of agony that consumed me, but physical pain was nothing compared to the knowledge that Joy faced dangers she couldn’t possibly understand. Not yet.

As Steve hoisted me up with a grunt of effort, I managed to form one coherent thought through the haze of pain and fury: Hold on, Joy. I’m coming for you. Just hold on.

Steve rushed through the bayou, his footsteps splashing through shallow puddles and crushing fallen branches beneath his weight.

Each impact vibrated through my mangled body, sending fresh waves of excruciating pain coursing through my veins.

His ragged breathing mixed with my own strangled gasps as he navigated the treacherous terrain.

The night air, thick with the scent of moss and murky water, did nothing to cool the burning fire spreading from my wounds.

“Almost there,” Steve muttered, more to himself than to me. His grip tightened around my shoulders and legs, determination evident in every labored step.

The moonlight filtered through cypress branches overhead, creating dappled shadows that swam across my vision like specters.

I tried to focus, to channel the centuries of pain I’d endured into something manageable, but Maximo’s poison was unlike anything I’d experienced before.

It seemed to seek out every nerve, setting them aflame with surgical precision.

My head lolled against Steve’s chest, the steady drum of his heart a cruel reminder of my own weakness. A vampire, brought low by a creature I couldn’t even identify. The shame of it rivaled the physical torment.

Another jolt as Steve stumbled slightly, regaining his balance with a curse. The sudden movement sent lightning bolts of agony shooting from my core to my extremities. Dark spots crowded the edges of my vision, expanding rapidly like spilled ink on parchment.

My last conscious thought was of Joy’s face—not fearful as I’d last seen it, but smiling, those eyes that had looked at me with trust now haunting me with accusation. The darkness closed in completely, merciful in its temporary relief, as I finally passed out.