Chapter 13

Chapter

Thirteen

S erenity

Balthazar had backed me into a corner, and I had been forced to accept his offer: train or watch everyone I love die.

Not much of a choice.

We were in a room in the plantation that was like a large, titanium cell. I couldn’t get out. The air was heavy with demonic energy, making my skin crawl and my blood burn.

We’d been at this since this morning, and all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed, but with Angelo’s life at stake, I wouldn’t give up. Every time exhaustion threatened to overwhelm me, I pictured his face, remembered the warmth of his touch. I’d endure anything—even Balthazar twisting my gift to suit his demonic purposes—to keep him safe.

“Let us try again.” Balthazar prowled around me with liquid grace, each step measured and deliberate. “Your healing Enzo was pure instinct—wild, untamed. Like a child playing with matches.”

I frowned. “How did you know I healed Enzo?”

“Petar, of course. He’s quite the nice little mole. No, more like a rat…always sniffing around for information.”

I pressed my lips together tightly and curled my fingers into fists. I imagined all the way a rat could meet its end. Petar would regret sharing Angelo’s secrets. He would learn exactly how Angelo dealt with traitors.

He drew the curved blade across his forearm, watching the blood well up with the patience of a master teaching their craft. “I’ll teach you to hone that power to an inferno.”

He grabbed my wrist, forcing my palm over his wound. It felt…warped. With Enzo, healing him had been like diving into summer sunlight—warm, natural. This was like plunging into arctic waters. Where before my power had exploded through me like wildfire, now it lay coiled in my chest like a frozen serpent, refusing to flow.

“Don’t wait for it to come to you,” he commanded, his breath ice against my ear. “Reach for it. Grab it. Make it yours.”

I closed my eyes, searching for that familiar healing light, but his darkness pressed against my senses. My teeth chattered, not from power this time, but from the cold spreading through my veins. Everything in me screamed that this wasn’t right. With Enzo, the power had been pure and instinctive, a gift from my father. This felt like theft.

“Fight it all you want,” Balthazar chuckled darkly. “Your blood knows what it wants.” His grip tightened, sending icicles through my veins. “Stop resisting, Serenity. Show me what you’re capable of.”

His darkness surged against my defenses like a crashing wave, and something inside me cracked. Power flooded through the breach—not the warm rush that had healed Enzo, but something ancient, cold and hungry. My skin felt too tight, like it could barely contain this new energy crackling beneath its surface.

“Yes,” he hissed. “That’s it. Feel how the darkness calls to your light, how they hunger for each other.”

I tried to pull away, but his grip was iron. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision as his power and mine twisted together, creating something that was neither light nor dark but something entirely different and highly addictive. My hands began to glow with an eerie purple light, where before they’d shone pure gold.

Balthazar’s wound beneath my palm began to heal, but not like Enzo’s had. I wasn’t just mending flesh now, I was commanding it—forcing it to obey. Each severed vessel, each torn fiber knit itself back together under my will. The rush of power was intoxicating.

“Now you’re learning,” Balthazar whispered gleefully. “This is true power, little Nephilim. Not the weak healing you’ve been playing with. Feel how much stronger it is when you take control of your gift instead of simply channeling it?”

He was right—it was stronger. And despite my horror and revulsion, part of me craved more. It terrified me.

When he finally released me, I stumbled back, my legs weak. The room spun, and I could still feel echoes of the dark power still coursing through my veins like poison.

“That’s enough for today.” His smile was triumphant as he examined his perfectly healed arm. “Tomorrow, we’ll try to heal something a bit more...challenging.”

I slid down the wall, catching my breath, trying to ignore my power humming beneath my skin. What had he done to me? What had I let him turn my gift into?

Later that night, I still pondered those questions in my bed. I hugged my pillow, thinking of Angelo, wishing he was here to chase away the darkness. A tear slid down my cheek, and I closed my eyes, hoping I hadn’t sold my soul to the devil…or, worse, to a demon who looked at me like I was already his…

I was back at Crescent Manor in Angelo’s library, but it was different. A golden light shone on the books, making the leather bindings gleam like fallen stars. The familiar scents of old books and Angelo’s sandalwood cologne were overlaid with something else now—frankincense, and lightning.

The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, resonating in my very soul. “Balthazar is leading you down a dark path, Serenity. Stay in the light. The light is what will save not only you, but Angelo as well.”

A chill ran through me as the golden light pulsed, revealing shadowy wings on the wall; they weren’t the pure wings I’d glimpsed in my dreams before. These were tattered and broken.

“Every time you use his darkness, you tear at your grace,” the voice warned. “This is how angels fall, Serenity. Not in one great tumble, but with small slips into the shadows. Each time you let him twist your gift, you lose a piece of yourself.”

The light shifted, and I saw my reflection in one of the library’s windows. For a moment, my eyes glowed with that same purple light from Balthazar’s training—neither divine nor demonic, but something in between. Something corrupted.

“How?” I whispered. “How do I resist his darkness?”

“Remember who you are. Your power comes from love and the desire to heal—not control. When he pushes you toward darkness, hold onto that truth. Light cannot be corrupted unless you allow it to be.”

I woke with a start, sweat glistening over my body, the covers nearly drenched. My mind was foggy, as if still in the dream, desperately trying to hold onto the echo of that voice. I recognized it now. It was Angelo’s. The sound of it reminded me of his warm, spicy scent—rich, deep, and oh so familiar. Just hearing it made my chest ache with longing. How long had it been since I’d heard him say my name? Since I’d felt safe?

The dream was fading like smoke through my fingers, leaving behind an emptiness that hurt even more than Balthazar’s twisted training. I felt something in my palm and I pulled my hand out from under my pillow. I gasped. I was holding a golden feather, glowing with the same pure light from my dream. As I watched, it slowly disappeared like stardust scattering in the wind, leaving behind only lingering warmth where it had touched my skin.

My fingers curled around the phantom warmth, trying to hold it there. Was this really a message from Angelo, or was my mind creating what I needed most? Either way, the words rang true. Love, not control. Healing, not power. It was everything Angelo had taught me about being worthy of my gift…everything Balthazar was trying to corrupt.

I had to fight him. Yes, Balthazar was stronger than me, but maybe it wasn’t through strength that I would win. Maybe I could use his own arrogance against him, make him think he was winning me over, and at the same time develop my powers enough to escape and save Angelo. The thought settled in my chest like armor. I might have to walk in the darkness, but I would not let it consume me. And if there was one thing I’d learned from dealing with Freaky Freddie, it was that sometimes the best weapon was letting your enemy think they’d already won.

There was a soft tap at my door. “Get up, sweet Nephilim. You have much to learn today.”

Balthazar’s husky voice set me on edge, every nerve screaming danger. My hands trembled, and I pressed them flat against my thighs, forcing the shaking to stop. I needed to master more than my powers; I needed to master myself. Taking a deep breath, I practiced the tone in my head first, aiming for something between eager student and a growing embracing of the darkness.

“Don’t worry. I’ll only be a few minutes.” The words came out perfectly—a hint of breathlessness, like I was anticipating our training today rather than dreading it. I caught my reflection in the window, schooling my features into a mask of compliance. Let him think he was breaking me, molding me. Let him think his darkness was seeping into my light.

My stomach churned at the thought of playing along, but I steeled myself. Every moment I spent learning his techniques was a moment closer to being strong enough to escape. Every time he thought he was corrupting me was another chance to understand his weaknesses. I might have to let him think he was winning my soul, but Angelo’s voice from my dream echoed in my mind. Light cannot be corrupted unless you allow it to be.

I touched the spot where the golden feather had disappeared, drawing courage from its lingering warmth. I could do this. I could play Balthazar’s game while keeping my true self hidden, locked away somewhere his darkness couldn’t reach.

For Angelo. For everyone I loved.

Sometimes the greatest act of grace, I realized, was knowing when to let others think you’d fallen from it.