Page 37

Chapter Thirty-Five

Enzo

I changed into a bat, the transformation sending waves of hot, electric pain through my body as bones cracked and reformed.

My senses sharpened, the night air suddenly alive with currents and scents imperceptible to my human form.

I soared upward, leathery wings slicing through the cold air, every beat propelling me toward the Dark Demon chasing Serenity and Joy.

Rage pulsed through me, primal and focused. The sight of Joy in that metal box—bruised, terrified—burned in my mind like acid. I wouldn’t let another demon touch her.

I slammed into the pursuer with all my supernatural strength, my smaller form deceiving in its impact.

The collision sent a jarring shock through my transformed body, like hitting stone rather than flesh.

He spiraled toward the ground, black wings flailing against the night sky, a roar of fury echoing across the battlefield.

I recognized him in that instant. The distinctive silver markings along his wing edges were unmistakable.

Ari. My blood ran cold despite the heat of battle.

I pursued him downward, the wind whistling past as I dove, my enhanced vision tracking his falling form.

One of the most deadly Dark Demons ever born, his name whispered with fear even among my kind.

Then, impossibly, he disappeared into the darkness between one heartbeat and the next.

Even with my vampire eyes, attuned to the slightest movements in the night, I couldn’t fucking find him. How could I lose him?

The battlefield below swarmed with shadows and combat, too many Dark Demons fighting and falling to distinguish one from another.

Ari was supposed to be dead—I’d heard Angelo himself confirm the reports months ago.

Obviously, the reports were wrong, and he had his sights set on Serenity.

.. and Joy. The sharp scent of blood—both demon and vampire—rose up in a dizzying cloud.

My instincts screamed to follow Serenity and Joy, to ensure they reached Crescent Manor safely.

The memory of Joy’s face when I’d found her, the relief in her eyes when she recognized me, pulled at something deep within my chest. But I had made a promise to her, a promise I wouldn’t break.

The other girls needed me now. I could still hear Joy’s desperate plea—“No, the other girls. You can’t leave them here.

Please, Enzo.”—echoing in my mind, cutting through the battle noise.

Frustration burned through me as I lost sight of Ari in the darkness.

With him gone and the girls still trapped, I had no choice but to abandon the pursuit.

I landed on the stone parapet with a soft thud, shifting back into human form.

My bones and muscles protested the second transformation so soon, sending shudders of pain across my skin.

I straightened, adjusting my torn shirt as I surveyed the scene below.

Enemy territory, but rapidly becoming less so.

Many of the Dark Demons were fleeing into the sky, their midnight wings carrying them into the darkness like oil spilling into water.

Angelo had that effect on people. Bodies were scattered around him in a perfect circle, as if death itself radiated from where he stood. His movements were precise, lethal, devoid of wasted energy. The centuries of his existence had refined killing into an art form.

I hunted for Marsha among the chaos, my eyes scanning each corner and doorway of the courtyard.

No sign of her distinctive copper hair or the emerald pendant she never removed.

She was a crafty witch, and I was certain she had an escape plan prepared long before we arrived.

The thought of her eluding justice made my jaw clench, teeth-grinding together as I fought to focus on the task at hand.

Dimitri finished killing off a Dark Demon with theatrical flourish, driving a silver blade through its heart before giving the dying creature a mocking salute.

Blood spattered his face like war paint, but somehow he managed to look as if he’d just stepped out of a high-end nightclub.

With the immediate threat eliminated, he transformed into a bat and soared upward to where I waited, returning to human form beside me with casual grace that belied the brutality of the battle below.

“Well, that was invigorating,” he drawled, eyebrow arching as he flicked blood from his sleeve with exaggerated disgust. “Nothing like a little demonic genocide to work up an appetite.” His eyes scanned the battlefield with bored amusement before shifting to me.

“Where are we going? Please tell me there’s bourbon involved in the near future. ”

“Follow me. There are other girls being held here.” Joy’s pleading eyes still haunted me even as I moved toward the stairwell. Each step felt weighted with her trust, her desperate hope that I wouldn’t abandon the others.

Dimitri’s eyes gleamed with sardonic amusement in the dim light. He twirled his blood-slick blade between his fingers like a baton. “And you want to be Sir Galahad?” A smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “Rescuing damsels is so twelfth century, Enzo.”

“Something like that.” My jaw tightened, impatience thrumming through me. Every moment wasted was another moment these girls remained captives. Another moment for Marsha or someone worse to find them.

He followed me through a guard door that led down into the fort, the ancient hinges groaning in protest as I shouldered through.

The metal stairs beneath our feet rang hollow with each step, the sound echoing in the narrow passage.

Damp, stale air rose to meet us, carrying the musty scent of mold and fear—a distinctive human terror-sweat that clung to places of prolonged suffering.

The way was empty, bodies of guards strewn only near the entrance.

I guessed a full assault from vampires of our caliber had taken them off guard, especially ones as powerful as us.

Blood spatter painted the stone walls in macabre patterns—some crimson, some nearly black.

I could detect the difference between vampire and Dark Demon blood without effort, centuries of hunting honing my senses to the subtle variations.

Dark Demon blood was thicker, saltier, with an undertone like burned metal.

It didn’t have that same tanginess of human blood, that sweet-copper note that triggered hunger.

My fingers traced along the rough stone wall as we descended deeper, mind racing with questions that had no immediate answers.

Why was Maximo here, and where was he? Or was he already dead?

The thought struck me suddenly—Ari had the ability to shift into anyone he wanted.

Maybe he’d been wearing Maximo’s meat suit all along?

The possibility sent ice down my spine. If true, we’d been played—all of us—from the beginning.

The problem being—how long had he been wearing that suit? Did Flanagan know? Was he part of this too?

A new scent cut through my thoughts—young, human, female, and terrified. My chest tightened with determination. For Joy, I’d get every last one of these girls out alive.

My nostrils flared as I caught the trail, turning sharply down a corridor lined with heavy wooden doors reinforced with iron. The scents of despair and hopelessness permeated the air like a thin layer of smoke, clinging to my skin.

“They’re in here.” I stopped before one door, hearing the rapid flutter of heartbeats inside—quick and desperate, like fingers tapping frantically against glass. My hand clenched into a fist, rage building in my chest at what had been done to them.

I kicked open the door with enough force to splinter the wood around the lock, the crash reverberating through the stone corridor.

Light from the hallway spilled into a cramped cell barely larger than a closet.

Two girls that looked like they were still in middle school huddled in the corner on a thin, filthy mattress.

Their faces were hollow-cheeked and pale, dark circles bruising the skin beneath wide, terrified eyes.

The stench of unwashed bodies and stale food hung in the small space.

“No.” One of them stuck out her hands, palms forward in a pitiful defense. Her fingers trembled violently, dirt caked beneath broken nails. “Please don’t hurt us.”

The sight of them—so small, so broken—crushed me like being trampled by a stampeding elephant. I’d seen centuries of human suffering, had caused more than my share, but something about their fragile defiance in the face of absolute helplessness made my dead heart twist painfully in my chest.

I crouched down slowly, making myself smaller as I approached them.

The dark-haired girl—no more than thirteen—pressed herself further into the corner, her shoulder blades digging into the rough stone wall.

Her companion whimpered, a sound so soft it might have been missed by human ears.

I could smell the adrenaline surging through their small bodies, hear the frantic rhythm of their hearts.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said, deliberately smoothing the roughness from my voice. “We’re here to help.”

Distrust flashed in the dark-haired girl’s eyes. She’d heard such promises before, no doubt. In her world, adults lied. Especially men who broke down doors.

Time was against us. Every second we lingered increased the risk. I needed information, not trust—trust could come later, if at all. I met the dark-haired girl’s gaze, allowing my pupils to dilate as I channeled the ancient power that came as naturally as breathing.

“Tell me how many girls and where they are,” I commanded. The compulsion flowed from me like invisible tendrils, wrapping around her consciousness.

The change was immediate and unsettling.

The girl’s rigid posture slackened, her shoulders dropping as tension drained from her body.

Her eyes—previously sharp with fear and defiance—turned glassy, the pupils expanding until only a thin ring of brown remained.

Her expression went slack, and for a moment, she looked like a broken doll.

“There are fourteen of us,” she answered in a flat, emotionless voice that contrasted sharply with her previous terror. A thin trail of saliva escaped the corner of her mouth as the compulsion took deeper hold. “Each room is a cell.”

Guilt twisted in my gut as I watched her vacant stare. Using compulsion on children always left a bitter taste in my mouth, but the alternative—leaving any of them behind—was unthinkable. Joy’s plea echoed in my mind: You can’t leave them here. And I wouldn’t. Not a single one.

The other girl stared at her friend in wide-eyed horror, sensing something deeply wrong but unable to comprehend the supernatural nature of what she was witnessing. Her small fingers clutched at a tattered cloth bracelet on her wrist—a talisman of normalcy in a world gone mad.