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Chapter Forty-Four

Enzo

I stared into her beautiful dark eyes still filled with passion. This woman, this Unseelie, had stolen my heart. I wanted to whisper those words but they were stuck in my throat as if someone was choking me. Three centuries of existence, and I couldn’t form three simple words.

My fingers traced the curve of her jaw, memorizing the softness of her skin against mine. The scent of her blood still lingered on my tongue, sweeter than any I’d tasted in my long existence. Her essence now flowed through my veins, forging a bond that went deeper than flesh.

I was an enforcer and no woman had ever reduced me to this.

She didn’t realize the power she had over me.

What I would do to protect her. The thought of Maximo or any Dark Demon touching her again made my vision sharpen with rage, my fangs threatening to descend once more.

I would tear apart anyone who dared look at her wrong.

Her pulse still raced beneath my fingertips, the rhythm of it somehow both calming and intoxicating. For centuries, I’d taken what I wanted without hesitation or remorse. But this—this vulnerability, this need to protect something fragile and precious, was uncharted territory.

I slowly pulled out of her, feeling the loss of connection immediately.

The air against my skin was cold compared to her warmth.

With reverent care, I picked her up off the white rug now stained with her blood—a crimson testament to what had passed between us, marking her as mine in the most ancient way.

The sight of it stirred something primal in me, a possessiveness I’d never experienced since I was turned.

She cupped her hand against my cheek as I carried her to my bed, her touch so gentle it almost hurt. How long had it been since anyone had touched me with tenderness rather than fear? Her fingers left trails of warmth on my skin, her trust more intoxicating than her blood had been.

“That was indescribable,” she whispered. The flush still colored her cheeks, her lips swollen from my kisses. She looked both thoroughly claimed and strangely innocent—a contradiction that made my dead heart clench with unfamiliar emotion.

“That’s just the beginning,” I promised, already imagining centuries with her by my side. I should’ve been running the other way—attachments like this only ever ended bloody—but somehow, it felt like I’d been headed straight for her my entire damn life.

I cradled her next to me and she fell asleep, her sweet breath brushing over me in a rhythm that felt more precious than any treasure I’d ever claimed.

The weight of her head on my chest, the tangle of her legs with mine, created a perfect sense of peace I’d forgotten could exist. I could lie entwined with her forever, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest, memorizing every curve and hollow of her face.

But she wasn’t safe yet—not until I hunted down all of her would-be captors and made them pay for hurting her, starting with the witch, Marsha.

The thought of revenge sharpened my focus, my fingers unconsciously tightening around Joy’s sleeping form.

I would keep her safe, whatever the cost. Even if it meant challenging Angelo himself. Even if it meant my final death.

For Joy, I would burn the world to ashes.

Something moved beside me and I woke with a start, centuries of survival instincts making me instantly alert.

My body tensed, ready to attack, fangs instinctively dropping before my mind registered the source: Joy, warm and alive beside me.

Sunlight had replaced the darkness, streaming through the gap in the heavy curtains to cast a golden glow across her face.

She looked different in this light—younger, more vulnerable, the shadows under her eyes less pronounced than when I’d first found her.

She looked at me, her dark eyes still heavy with sleep. “How long have we been asleep?”

I shrugged, momentarily transfixed by the play of light across her skin. How strange that after centuries of existence, this simple moment—waking beside her—felt more significant than battles I’d fought or territories I’d claimed. “I don’t know.”

She stretched her arms above her head, the movement graceful and unconsciously seductive.

The blanket came down revealing the half moon of a breast, the skin there paler than the rest of her.

The sight sent a jolt of possessiveness through me—the marks on her throat, the lingering scent of our joining, all of it declaring her as mine.

“I think we should get up.” She clasped my hand and kissed my knuckles.

My cock hardened immediately at her words, desire coursing through me with an intensity that would have been alarming if it weren’t so intoxicating.

I wanted to say no and take her one more time—to lose myself in her warmth, to hear my name on her lips as she came apart in my arms again.

The memory of her blood—sweeter than anything I’d ever tasted—sent a fresh pulse of hunger through me, my fangs aching for more.

But she was right. The others would be gathering downstairs, trying to figure out what our next move was.

Angelo would be impatient, and the girls we’d rescued would need care.

More importantly, I had to make sure she was safe.

The thought of Joy in danger again made something cold and deadly coil in my chest. No one would touch what was mine—not Maximo, not Ari, not anyone who valued their continued existence.

I brushed a strand of hair from her face, allowing myself this one small tenderness before we faced whatever waited beyond this room. “As you wish,” I said, “But we will continue this... later.” I flicked the covers back to keep from touching her and losing myself. “You’re right.”

She pulled the covers up. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I’ll get you something.” I yanked a robe out of my closet and headed toward the door, the silk material cool against my skin. The thought of her wearing what I gave her struck a chord of possessiveness, deep and old, thrumming through my veins.

As if reading my thoughts, there was a pair of women’s undergarments and a red polka dotted sundress folded neatly at the door.

I recognized the dress immediately. It was Serenity’s—her scent, faint but distinct, still clung to the fabric.

Elena must have placed them here sometime during the night, her silent efficiency as reliable as always.

I picked up the clothes, a strange knot twisting in my chest. She was mine.

My princess. And she’d dress like one. The thought surprised me with its intensity—I’d never concerned myself with wardrobes for anyone.

Yet here I was, already planning to drape her in silks and jewels worthy of her beauty.

The borrowed clothing felt inadequate as I carried the dress and undergarments back to her, already making mental noes to have Elena arrange a private showing from the most exclusive boutiques in New Orleans. The enforcer’s new woman would want for nothing.

I laid them on the bed, the bright red fabric stark against the dark bedding. “Elena or Serenity must have left this for you. I’ll buy you new clothes today.”

She held the blanket close to her chest, fingers clutching the edge tightly as if she’d become shy in the morning light.

A flush spread across her cheeks, down her neck to where the marks of my claiming still showed.

Her sudden modesty was endearing and perplexing after the intimacy we’d shared through the night.

“Thank you,” she murmured, eyes downcast.

I crossed to her side of the bed in one fluid motion, cupping her cheek in my palm.

Her skin was warm against my touch, her pulse quickening beneath my fingers.

The contrast between her vulnerability and my strength awoke a fierce protectiveness in me.

“Don’t be embarrassed of getting dressed in front of me, Joy.

” The sound of her name on my lips felt like a claim, a promise.

“You’re mine and I would enjoy watching you. ”

The possessiveness in my words should have frightened her—would have frightened most humans—but her eyes darkened with something that wasn’t fear. The realization that she accepted my claim, perhaps even welcomed it, made something shift in my chest.

Joy slowly got out of bed, her dark hair hanging down in ringlets around her. The sight of her naked form in the morning light was even more breathtaking than in the shadows of night—every curve, every mark I’d left on her skin, visible proof of our connection.

My gaze fixated on her as she pulled on the silky, lacy red underwear, the material clinging to her curves in a way that was almost as enticing as her nakedness had been.

There was something profoundly intimate about watching her dress—a privilege granted to no one else in her life.

Each movement was unconsciously graceful, unaware of how the simple act of covering herself affected me.

She slipped into the sundress that was tight around her breasts, which threatened to spill out of the heart-shaped bodice.

The red fabric with white polka dots contrasted beautifully with her dark hair and eyes, the color bringing a flush to her cheeks that reminded me of how she looked in the throes of passion.

She looked more beautiful than Serenity had in it, the dress somehow transformed by her wearing it.

And she was mine. The thought resonated through me with startling intensity.

I had possessed many things—territories, riches, power—but never had ownership felt like this.

Not possession in the sense of control, but in the sense of responsibility, protection, care.

She had entrusted herself to me, and I would spill oceans of blood to be worthy of that trust.