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Chapter Thirty-Two

Enzo

Duncan’s disappearance unnerved me. My fingers drummed restlessly against the fabric of my jacket as I scanned the crowded bar, the scent of blood and alcohol heavy in the air.

The mixture would have been intoxicating any other night, but now it only reminded me of time slipping away.

I wanted to use compulsion on Duncan to discover the name of the fort where Maximo had taken Joy.

Her absence was a physical ache beneath my ribs, a hollow space that grew with each passing hour.

Steve headed over to me, weaving through the crowd with predatory grace.

His eyes still held a hint of crimson at the edges—feeding, but controlled.

I looked for the girl he’d gone into the room with and luckily, she walked out behind him, looking a little dazed.

Her pulse fluttered visibly at her throat, but her steps were steady.

Dazed I could deal with. Dead was another matter.

“Good. You didn’t kill her,” I said, as I took a seat in a torn booth. The velvet seat compressed beneath me, sticky and worn like most places that traffic in depraved pleasures.

Steve’s jaw tightened, a muscle flickering beneath his pale skin. “I got the message, Enzo.” He touched the silver chain at his wrist—something that Joy had given him. “Thinking about going into Angelo’s secret room kept my hunger at bay.”

“What did you find out?” I drummed my fingers on the bar.

“The girl didn’t know much except about some fort near Whisper Lake.” Steve shrugged, the leather of his jacket creaking with the movement. “I’ve never heard of it. Have you?”

Something electric shot through me, a memory clicking into place.

I broke out in a triumphant smile, the first genuine one since Joy was taken from me.

“Yes, I have.” The name unlocked a cascade of images—moonlight on dark water, the distant echo of cannon fire, the smell of gunpowder that had lingered for decades.

“The lake was near a battle fought in the War of 1812. Rumor has it that you can hear the whispers of those who died during the battle.”

Steve cocked his eyebrow, his expression shifting from skepticism to hope. “Do you know where it is?”

I could almost feel Joy in my arms—the warmth of her skin, the scent of her hair, the way she leaned into me that night on the Sangue Reale.

My heart, dormant for centuries, seemed to lurch in my chest. “We need to get back to Crescent Manor to tell Angelo.” I was already moving toward the door, not checking if Steve followed.

Every second felt too precious to waste.

Behind me, I heard Steve throw cash on the bar, the bills fluttering in my wake. I longed for the smell of jasmine and night-blooming cereus that perfumed New Orleans after dark. Somewhere, beyond the city lights, past the swamps and shadows, Joy was waiting. And this time, I knew how to find her.

I pushed through the club’s exit, urgency driving every step.

The night air hit my face—a stark contrast to the cloying perfume and stale whiskey inside.

My shoes crunched on broken glass in the parking lot, and I nearly collided with a familiar figure.

Dimitri materialized from the darkness, his tall form peeling away from the shadows where he’d been watching the establishment.

His pupils, nearly black in the dim streetlight, were alert and tense.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed, my pulse quickening with irritation. Something about Dimitri’s rigid posture sent warning signals through my body. “I thought you were following Flanagan.”

“Miss me already?” Dimitri smirked, eyebrow arching with mock innocence.

He stepped closer, the scent of expensive bourbon and cedar emanating from his coat.

“And yes, I was following our friend Flanagan.” He gestured toward the neon-bathed building with dramatic flair.

“Surprise ending—plot twist—he led me right back to you. Isn’t that thoughtful of him?

” His eyes glittered dangerously in the dim light.

“He went inside about ten minutes ago. Looked like a man with a mission, if you know what I mean.”

I swore under my breath, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. My gaze darted back to the entrance where a bulky bouncer checked IDs under flickering lights. “He must be inside meeting with Duncan.” The pieces clicked together in my mind, a conspiracy taking shape.

Steve glanced over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing as they swept the street behind us. The parking lot shadows stretched between us like living things, reminding me of Joy’s abilities—of Joy herself, trapped and waiting. “What should we do?”

My enforcer instincts surged through me like electricity, demanding action, demanding justice.

The old, familiar heat of the hunt warmed my veins.

Every fiber of my being wanted to storm back inside, grab Flanagan by his expensive collar, and extract answers.

I could feel my face hardening, centuries of command settling into my features.

But then Joy’s face flashed in my mind—her defiant eyes, her vulnerable smile—and the choice became clear. My heart clenched painfully in my chest, an organ I’d thought long dormant now aching with need.

“We need to get to Joy.” My voice came out rougher than intended, raw with emotion I rarely displayed.

Dimitri tilted his head, his lips curving into that infuriating knowing smile he’d perfected over centuries.

“Well, well... look who’s wearing his heart on his sleeve tonight.

” He twirled an invisible glass in his fingers, a habit from his drinking days.

“You know where she is.” His tone shifted from mocking to serious in an instant, dark eyes studying my face. “About time.”

“She’s at Fort Maurepas.” The name fell from my lips like a promise. I squared my shoulders, certainty strengthening my spine. “We need to get back to Crescent Manor now.”

The night seemed to hold its breath around us. In the distance, jazz music spilled from a bar down the street, the mournful saxophone a fitting soundtrack to my resolve. Nothing else mattered now—not Flanagan, not Duncan, not centuries of duty.

Only her.

The three of us shifted into bats and flew out of the shadows toward Crescent Manor. Adrenaline soared through me as I flew toward home, my blood thumping through me. I descended on the back steps and ran into the house.

“Angelo.” I burst into the manor. My hands trembled slightly as I strode across the intricate mosaic floor, each footstep sounding like a heartbeat in the cavernous space. The scent of old books and beeswax hung in the air, the familiar smell of home that would normally calm me—but not tonight.

Angelo came out of the living room, crystal tumbler in hand, amber liquid catching the warm glow from the antique sconces.

He took one look at me—at the wild energy I knew was radiating from my body—and froze mid-step.

The ice in his glass clinked softly as his fingers tightened around it. “You found her?”

Serenity came alongside him, her silk dress whispering against the hardwood as she moved.

Hope and joy blossomed across her face, transforming her features and bringing a flush to her pale cheeks.

Her blue eyes—eyes that had witnessed terrible things in her life–suddenly shone with hope.

She reached for Angelo’s arm, her slender fingers gripping the fabric of his sleeve.

“I know where she is.” The words tumbled from my lips, relief and urgency battling within me. I raked a hand through my disheveled hair, aware of the tension coiled in every muscle of my body. “She’s been held at Fort Maurepas.”

Angelo’s expression darkened, shadows gathering in the lines of his ancient face. The temperature in the room seemed to drop as he frowned, centuries of suspicion evident in his narrowed eyes. “Why there?” He set his glass down on a nearby table with deliberate care. “What’s Maximo up to?”

“I don’t know.” I swallowed hard, tasting anxiety on my tongue. My fists clenched and unclenched at my sides, impatience burning through my veins like fire.

Dimitri came up behind me, his stride radiating confidence.

He leaned against the doorframe with calculated nonchalance, twirling a crystal paperweight he’d picked up from somewhere.

“I followed Flanagan to Sweet Babes,” he drawled, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Looked surprisingly at home there, by the way.” He set the paperweight down with exaggerated care.

“There could be a connection.” His eyes flicked up, gleaming with dark amusement.

“Or maybe he just has terrible taste in entertainment. Either way—fun night for me.”

Angelo’s posture shifted, the strategist in him awakening. He began pacing, each step measured and purposeful across the Persian rug. “We need to?—”

“No, Angelo,” Serenity cut him off. The room stilled at her interruption, all eyes turning to her slender form.

Her delicate features had hardened into a determination I rarely saw, the maternal instinct flaring in her eyes.

“We need to get Joy back first. We can worry about Maximo later.” Her hand reached for mine, her cool fingers offering silent support.

I should have pulled away as Angelo noted her clasping my hand, but she needed my support. He had killed men for less. But I owed her this much.

“Serenity, he could—” Angelo began again, turning to his wife with surprise etched across his features, unused to her challenging him so directly.

“Now, Angelo.” Serenity stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

Her normally gentle demeanor replaced by fierce resolve.

The diamond pendant at her throat caught the light as she lifted her chin.

“We have no idea what he’s doing to her this time, but we do know he’s after her for her power.

This can’t wait.” Her voice trembled slightly, revealing the worry she’d been carefully containing.

The grandfather clock in the corner ticked away precious seconds. Outside, through the leaded glass windows, New Orleans continued its nighttime revelry, oblivious to our private war. And somewhere beyond the city lights, near dark waters that whispered with forgotten voices, Joy was waiting.

Angelo’s face tightened, the ancient lines around his eyes deepening like crevices in weathered stone.

A muscle jumped in his jaw as he clenched his teeth, but I knew him—had known him for centuries.

The way his gaze softened imperceptibly when it met Serenity’s told me everything.

He wouldn’t deny her this. She’d been as anxious to find Joy as I had been, her normally calm aura crackling with nervous energy these past days, the sweet scent of her perfume mingled with the sharp tang of fear whenever Joy’s name was mentioned.

“Fine.” The word escaped him like air from a punctured tire.

He straightened his cuffs—a habit from his mortal days—the silk rustling softly against his pale wrists.

“We’ll go now.” His eyes hardened to obsidian as they fixed on me.

“I want a prisoner left alive to find out the Barone family’s plan.

” The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as he spoke the name.

Serenity stuck out her chin, the delicate line of her jaw set with determination.

The chandelier light caught the golden strands in her hair, creating a halo effect that belied the warrior’s fire in her eyes.

“I’m going too.” She held up a palm as Angelo’s mouth opened to protest, the diamond ring on her finger catching the light and throwing prisms across the wall.

“Before you say no, Angelo, I’m a Nephilim.

” The crystal decanters on the sideboard vibrated subtly, evidence of her power.

“I went up against Balthazar and survived. She may need my help.”

Angelo’s eyes darkened, midnight sweeping across their depths.

His shoulders tensed beneath his expensive suit, the fabric pulling taut across his back as he inhaled deeply, filling the room with the scent of barely contained power.

“You will stay close to me.” Each syllable was precisely enunciated.

He stepped toward her, taking her slender hand in his, his thumb brushing across her knuckles with surprising tenderness.

“If I tell you to run, you run. Am I clear?”

Serenity’s fingers curled around his, her skin pale against his olive tone. “I understand.”

Gianna came into the room along with Elena, their faces tight with concern.

A subtle grace marked their movements, that distinctive vampiric stillness that made even their smallest gestures seem choreographed.

The metallic undertone of recently consumed blood mingled with Gianna’s expensive perfume, while Elena’s dark eyes gleamed with unnatural sharpness as they scanned the room.

They opened their mouths to speak, questions forming on their lips.

I didn’t have time to placate them, to explain or debate.

Joy needed me. The thought of her, trapped and alone, burned in my chest like molten lead.

Each moment we delayed was another moment she suffered.

I was going now before it was too late. My fingers were already shifting, bones cracking and reshaping beneath my skin, the familiar pain a welcome distraction from the fear threatening to consume me.

“Enzo,” Angelo called, his voice sharp with warning, the sound of my name echoing off the high ceiling.

But once again, I didn’t listen to him. The change swept over me in a rush of agony and exhilaration, my human form dissolving into something ancient and primal. Steve followed suit beside me, his transformation accompanied by a low, inhuman growl that vibrated through the floorboards.

We shot through the open window, glass and wood splintering in our wake, and flew into the night.

The cool air rushed past us, carrying the scents of the Mississippi River, the swamps beyond, and somewhere, the faint sweet tang of blood—Joy’s blood, calling to me across the miles.

My wings beat against the darkness as we headed for Fort Maurepas, every instinct, every cell in my transformed body focused on a single purpose.

Death was coming.