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Chapter Thirty-Six

Joy

Serenity and I floated suspended in the billowing, cotton-like embrace of clouds above New Orleans, the city’s twinkling lights peeking through gaps in the misty veil below us.

My breath came in to quick gasps as adrenaline flooded my system, but I reined in my fear of falling.

I strained to identify familiar landmarks that might anchor me to reality—the illuminated spires of St. Louis Cathedral reaching skyward like a beacon, the inky ribbon of the mighty Mississippi winding its serpentine path through darkness, and the electric glow of Bourbon Street pulsing with distant revelry.

Serenity’s arm encircled my waist like an iron band, her supernatural strength the only thing between me and a thousand-foot plummet.

My trembling fingers clutched desperately at her forearm, nails digging into her skin though she showed no discomfort.

Cold moisture from the clouds kissed my cheeks and dampened my clothes, making them cling to my shivering body.

My legs dangled helplessly in the void, the familiar comfort of solid ground now just a distant memory.

Each gust of wind sent violent tremors through my body, and my hair whipped across my face in wild tendrils, temporarily blinding me and adding to my overwhelming sense of disorientation and vulnerability.

“I won’t drop you,” Serenity said. “I promise.”

Her words were meant to reassure, warm and calm. I tried to believe her, but my fingers dug into her forearm, betraying my doubt. The city lights below seemed impossibly distant, like fallen stars scattered across black velvet.

“How can you be so calm and how long have you had wings?” I gasped as wind rushed over me.

Serenity’s wings adjusted, the massive feathers catching an updraft that lifted us higher. The movement sent my stomach lurching.

“Just recently, but they have become second nature to me.”

I made the mistake of looking down again. The French Quarter’s grid of streets resembled veins of light, pulsing with music and life too distant to hear. A wisp of cloud passed between us and the city, momentarily obscuring my view, and my fear subsided for just a breath.

Serenity swooped down toward Bourbon Street and my stomach did flip flops, a nauseating weightlessness that made me feel both terrified and exhilarated.

The wind howled past my ears as we descended, the ground rushing up at a speed that made my vision blur.

My mind was spinning, cluttered with fragmented theories and whispered legends.

I had heard rumors—stories of celestial beings born of angels and humans, creatures of immense power who walked between worlds—but I wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.

The impossible had become my reality, and certainty seemed a luxury I could no longer afford.

As we flew over the familiar streets below, one build caught my eye and made my blood run cold.

I spotted Crimson Stakes, the Santi mafia’s casino, its garish red neon sign bleeding into the night like an open wound.

A tremor of fear wove through me as I looked at it, cold and paralyzing, spreading from my core to my fingertips.

The memories flooded back with merciless clarity.

That’s where I had been kidnapped, not by a stranger or enemy, but my own brother.

His familiar eyes had been vacant, his movements puppet-like as something else pulled his strings.

The memory still haunts me at night—my own brother, transformed into something I couldn’t recognize.

A cold knot of dread formed in my stomach as I remembered how he’d been possessed and brought me to Maximo where my nightmare began—the basement with its suffocating darkness, the rituals, the blood.

My hands trembled at the thought, phantom pain ghosting across old wounds.

The raw anguish of losing him twice—first to possession, then to vampirism—tore at my heart daily.

He seemed out of control with his hunger—vicious—not controlled like the others.

Every time I saw him, a mixture of love, terror, and devastating pity washed over me.

That was the cruelest part—seeing glimpses of my brother trapped behind those hungry, feral eyes.

Sometimes I caught myself wondering if death might have been kinder than this half-existence he now endured.

Serenity flew past the casino and headed further down Bourbon Street.

The cacophony of jazz music, drunken laughter, and clinking glasses faded behind us as my anxiety pumped through me like ice water in my veins.

My breath caught in my throat as she headed toward an antebellum home—Crescent Manor—the Santi family home.

My heart boomed louder and louder and louder like a bass drum.

Each thunderous beat seemed to echo the warning in my mind: danger, danger, danger.

I knew Serenity and Enzo both lived there, but the stories that Maximo had spun about the vampire mafia king froze my blood.

The grand house loomed before us, its ornate wrought-iron balconies and imposing columns silhouetted against the night sky.

It was shrouded with mystique, murder, and malevolence, a darkness that seemed to seep from its very walls.

The hair on my arms stood on end as a chill breeze whispered through the ancient oaks surrounding the property, their branches creaking like old bones.

I had always hurried past it on foot, eyes downcast, shoulders hunched, afraid I would run into Angelo Santi, the angel of death.

The mere thought of him made my mouth go dry with terror.

My father had spun stories about the Santi family and how dangerous they were.

He always spoke in a fearful whisper when speaking their name as if he feared there were spies in our house.

I had stayed clear of them until Serenity went missing—the only person who could have dragged me into their world of shadows and secrets was the very one who now held me suspended above it.

Serenity glided down behind the house—Crescent Manor.

Her descent was silent, graceful, like a leaf falling in still air.

As her feet touched the overgrown garden, her magnificent wings—iridescent in the moonlight with hues that shifted between silver, gold, and the faintest hint of blue—began to fold.

I watched, mesmerized and terrified, as they seemed to dissolve into her skin, disappearing into her back with a soft shimmer that left no trace they had ever existed.

The transformation left her standing there in her worn leather jacket and jeans, and she was just my friend again—the same Serenity who had shared midnight pizzas and laughed at bad movies with me.

My legs felt weak beneath me as I steadied myself against a mossy garden statue. The cool stone anchored me to reality as my mind struggled to process what I’d just experienced.

I stared, my eyes wide and unblinking, still not comprehending that she had wings—actual wings. My throat seemed like it was glued shut, and when I finally broke through the paralysis, it emerged as little more than a whisper. “How... how did this happen?”

Serenity’s expression softened, a mixture of compassion and uncertainty in her eyes. She reached out, clasping my trembling hand in hers. Her touch was warm, human—at odds with the otherworldly being I’d just witnessed. “I found out who my father was.”

I tried to follow her logic, but my mind was a completely scrambled. The night air felt heavy around us, laden with secrets waiting to be revealed. “Who?”

“The Archangel Raphael.” She spoke the words quietly but with certainty, as if saying them aloud still amazed her too.

A cricket chirped nearby, the ordinary sound jarring against the extraordinary revelation.

My ears rang with what she’d just said, my mind trying to fit these impossible pieces together.

I blinked, not sure I was hearing her right, my mouth opening and closing without sound before I finally managed to respond.

“What?” The single word was laden with disbelief, confusion, and the terrifying realization that everything I thought I knew about the world was crumbling beneath my feet.

“Angelo bought me for my angelic powers.” Serenity’s eyes reflected the moonlight as they searched my face for understanding.

The night air felt heavy with revelation, pressing against my skin.

My stomach churned with conflicting emotions—horror at the word “bought,” wonder at the confirmation of what I’d just witnessed.

I clasped her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin against my cold fingers.

The scent of jasmine from the garden mingled with the distant notes of bourbon and fried food wafting from the Quarter.

“Has he…” I swallowed hard, tasting fear like metal on my tongue. “Has he been good to you?”

Serenity’s expression transformed, softening in a way I’d never seen before.

A flush crept up her neck, and her lips curved into a secret smile.

“He stole my heart, Joy.” She pressed her free hand against her chest, her fingers splayed over her heart.

“I love him. I know what he is, but he’s risked his life for me, literally fought hell to get me back.

” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “He’s my mate, my husband. ”

The sudden creak of hinges shattered the moment.

I jumped, my heart leaping painfully in my chest as my body tensed for flight.

The garden’s shadows seemed to deepen as a burly man stepped onto the patio.

The yellow porch light cast harsh angles across his face as he moved toward us, his heavy footsteps crunching on the gravel path. My pulse thundered in my ears.

“Serenity,” his deep voice rumbled through the night air. “The boss wants you to stay here.” His gaze shifted to me, assessing and intense. I fought the urge to shrink back. “Is this Joy, the one we’ve been looking for?”

Serenity laughed, the sound incongruously light in the tense atmosphere. She squeezed my hand reassuringly. “Yes, Pascal. This is her.” She turned to me, her expression warm. “Joy, this is Pascal. One of Angelo’s men.”

Pascal stepped closer, and I caught the scent of gunpowder and cologne. His massive frame blocked out the porch light, casting me in shadow. My entire body froze, caught in the headlights of his gaze—dark and penetrating—as he focused on me with unnerving intensity.

For a moment, we simply stared at each other—this intimidating stranger assessing me while I tried not to shrink back. Then his expression shifted to something more businesslike.

“How many girls were being held at the fort?” he asked as he rubbed his chin.

“At least fourteen.” The memory of those girls’ frightened faces flashed through my mind, their hollow eyes and bruised skin making my gut clench. “Why?”

Pascal’s massive shoulders shifted as he sighed.

“Because the boss wants me to take the limo to retrieve them and bring them here.” He rubbed his jaw, the slight rasp of stubble audible in the quiet garden.

A look of genuine concern crossed his face.

“I just don’t know if I can fit them all inside. ”

Serenity smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners with affection. “Angelo will figure it out. He always does.” Her confidence in him was palpable, warm and certain.

My heart skipped a beat, then warmed unexpectedly for the vampire mafia king. The night breeze carried the scent of magnolias as I processed this new information. The man I’d been taught to fear was sending help for those girls.

Maybe Angelo wasn’t as evil as I had thought.

But more important to me—my breath caught as realization dawned—Enzo had kept his promise.

Heat rushed to my cheeks as I thought of him, the intensity of his gaze, the gentle brush of his fingers against mine when he’d sworn to help.

He had to have been the one to convince the king to save those girls.

“Will Enzo be here?” My body tensed like a wire about to snap as I waited for an answer, suddenly hyperaware of the sticky night air against my skin and the tremble in my hands.

Pascal exchanged a knowing look with Serenity. “Don’t worry. Enzo will be here soon.”

A rush of anticipation flooded through me—electric and dizzying. I’d see him again. Tonight.

Despite everything—his nature, his past, the danger that clung to him like a second skin—I couldn’t deny the thrill that coursed through me at the thought of those dark eyes finding mine once more.

I would thank him, I decided. That was all.

Just thank him for saving those girls. I ignored the voice inside that whispered it was much more than gratitude making my pulse race and my skin flush with warmth.