Chapter 17

Chapter

Seventeen

S erenity

My exhausted hands trembled as I pressed them against Shannon’s wounds. The familiar warm glow of healing magic sputtered weak as a dying candle. Where it had once flowed like a river, now it was barely a trickle.

“Again,” Balthazar commanded from somewhere above us. His boots scraped against the stone floor as he circled.

Shannon’s eyes fluttered open, glassy with pain. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You don’t have to?—”

Balthazar yanked her away from me and sank his fangs into her shoulder, making fresh blood bloom across it. She bit back a cry, and I myself couldn’t stop my own ragged gasp.

He released her and she fell onto the floor with a loud thud. “Again.” His voice was ice.

I gathered what fragments of my power remained, scraping the very bottom of my reserves. The magic came slower now, like honey in winter, and sweat beaded on my forehead as I forced it through my palms. Shannon’s wound gradually started to close, but spots danced at the edges of my vision.

Balthazar knelt next to me. “You can’t heal her?”

My lower lip quivered as I trembled beneath his gaze, waiting for him to beat me, to hurt me, to do to me what he had done to Shannon. How I hated showing him fear. “I’m trying.”

He reached out to touch me and I flinched, jumping back. He flashed me a sad look. “Little Nephilim, I would never hurt you.” It was difficult to believe him when he had blood running down his chin.

My arms shook with exhaustion and the room tilted and swayed. I couldn’t remember how many times we’d done this now—how many times I’d pulled her back from the brink only for Balthazar to feed again. His demon nature meant he didn’t need blood to survive. He was simply mimicking Angelo. But where Angelo could show moments of genuine tenderness, I was beginning to realize that Balthazar’s kindness always came with a price. His gentle touches were just another form of torment.

At the same time, I couldn’t stop trying to heal Shannon. Wouldn’t stop. Each healing took longer, drained me more, but I forced my magic to respond.

Don’t fail her Don’t fail her Don’t fail her.

The mantra pulsed in time with my fading heartbeat as I pressed my hands against Shannon’s skin once more.

Please heal her.

A tiny spark flickered deep inside me where my power had almost run dry. I seized it, desperate, pulling at it like a thread in darkness. The spark responded, burning brighter, spreading through my veins like liquid fire. I wasn’t sure how I was doing this—it felt different from my usual healing. Wilder.

Balthazar caught my eye. His eyes gleamed intently with something that might have been hunger or fascination. It only made me more determined to heal the poor girl, to prove he hadn’t broken me yet.

I gulped in oxygen, focusing everything I had on Shannon. My blood turned molten, racing through my body as my heart thundered against my ribs. Each beat sent a fresh wave of power surging through me, the sensation both terrible and exhilarating, like running a marathon while fever stricken. The magic poured from my hands, no longer a gentle stream but a torrent that threatened to sweep us both away.

Shannon groaned and her eyes fluttered open. Tears streamed down her face. Her hair and her shirt were caked in her own blood. She looked more dead than alive.

Bile rose in my throat as I looked at her. Each wound I’d healed felt like a betrayal, simply preparing her body for fresh pain. My gift of healing had been twisted into an instrument of torture. I wished I could erase her memory so she wouldn’t remember what had just happened, or know what was about to happen again.

My magic was diminishing. I felt like a melted down candle with the wick almost out. Each breath felt heavier, the loss of my power a physical ache that spread through my limbs like ice.

“Splendid. You managed to heal her. Even drained and tired, you’re powerful,” he purred.

He reached for Shannon and she burst into tears, her body trembling.

Her sobs raked across my guilt like glass. Every time I healed her, I was just resetting the canvas for Balthazar’s cruelty. The line between mercy and monstrosity had never felt so thin.

I gripped his wrist. “Please, no more. Please,” I begged, hating myself for it. But I couldn’t bear to watch the girl to be tortured any longer.

He cocked his eyebrow then looked down at Shannon as if she was something under a microscope. Then he picked up a lock of my hair and rubbed it between his fingers. “You’ve done well, so I’ll grant you this one request, but that means we have another test to begin.”

A dizzying wave of relief washed over me even as I cringed at his touch. The respite felt poisoned by his final words. Another test. Of course. Balthazar never gave anything without asking something worse in return.

“Please don’t let him hurt me.” Shannon’s fingers dug into my arm, her eyes wild with terror.

Something fiercely protective surged through me. I shielded her body with mine, as if my human frame could somehow protect her from a demon’s wrath. I searched Balthazar’s face, trying to find the tiniest bit of compassion in his face, knowing there might not be any left to find.

He snatched her up again, fingers digging into her arms like steel claws. Her head lolled back, too weak to resist. When his fangs tore into her throat, blood spilled down in thick rivulets, pattering on the floor like rain.

“Don’t, please. I can’t… I can’t heal her anymore.”

He dropped her to the ground next to me and smiled. “As you wish, beautiful.” He gave me a big grin. “We’ll find another subject.”

My stomach swished uneasily and I rubbed my slick forehead. He truly was a monster. How many people would he torture to get what he wants?

He snapped his fingers and the door opened immediately, as if someone had been waiting at his beck and call.

Petar entered the room, swagger in every step like he owned the place. As always, his hair was slicked back with not a strand out of place, and his three-piece blue suit looked freshly pressed despite the lateness of the hour. The red tie screamed for attention—as obvious as a rooster in a chicken coop. Everything about him felt carefully chosen to project an image of power.

But true power didn’t come from silk suits or practiced struts.

It was Angelo’s quiet smile before he showed his teeth.

It was Balthazar’s casual cruelty, his absolute certainty that no one would dare stop him.

Petar was just playing at being one of them. He’d studied their movements and learned their mannerisms, but it was like watching a child playing dress up. No one would ever truly fear or admire him. He could wear the finest suits and practice that swagger for centuries, but he’d never be more than what he was: nothing.

A shadow of a shadow, desperate to be seen.

Petar wasn’t alone. Steven DuPont trailed behind him like a ghost. His amber hair hung loose over his shoulders, lacking its usual careful styling, and the absence of his signature bandana and sunglasses left him looking vulnerable. But what chilled me most was his face—blank and empty, his usual sharp intelligence replaced by a vacant stare. He moved like a wind-up toy, each step mechanical and lifeless.

My throat closed up at the sight of him. I wanted to run over and fling my arms around him, shake him until that terrible emptiness left his eyes. This wasn’t my Steve—Joy’s older brother who’d treated me like a second sister despite his gang ties. The guy who’d taught me how to survive the streets, shown me how to throw a punch, how to use a knife in a fight, who’d cleaned my bruises after Freddie had beaten me. Seeing him reduced to this hollow shell felt like watching someone befoul a sacred place.

I forced myself to stand. The room swayed, but I locked my knees. “Balthazar, no. Please. Not Steve.” My voice cracked on his name.

Balthazar’s sweet, deadly smile spread across his face. “You think I’m going to torture your little friend?” He tilted his head, studying me with predatory interest. “More importantly, does Angelo know how you feel about him?”

I stepped in front of Steve, ignoring how the movement made the room spin. “Yes, damn it. Don’t hurt him.” My voice was raw, desperate. I couldn’t watch Steve suffer like Shannon had. Not after everything we’d been through.

Balthazar’s hand found my cheek, his palm still wet and sticky with Shannon’s blood. The touch was gentle, almost loving, and all the more terrible for it.

“Tsk, tsk. Angelo would be most disappointed.” Petar smirked as if he’d just discovered a secret weapon.

Something snapped inside me. The room stopped spinning as rage topped exhaustion. I whirled around, putting every ounce of hatred into the slap that I cracked across his face. “Shut up, just shut up, you bastard.”

His hand clamped around my wrist like an iron shackle, twisting my arm behind my back with savage force. Raw fury was in his voice. “Don’t ever touch me, bitch.” His breath was hot in my ear, his voice trembling with rage and—was that fear? “I’m your future king.”

King? The idea was so absurd it almost made me laugh despite my pain. This pathetic creature who could only feel powerful by hurting someone already weakened? Who had to announce his own importance to everyone?

I turned around, not able to take my eyes off Steve. He stood motionless, his vacant eyes fixed on nothing. Whatever they’d done to him was worse than any physical torture. They’d removed everything that made him Steve, and I had a sickening feeling I knew exactly why Balthazar had brought him here.

Shannon pressed against my legs like a cornered animal, her terror a stark contrast to Steve’s emptiness. Her fingers clutched at my jeans, silently begging for protection I wasn’t sure I could give.

I wasn’t just meant to heal bodies anymore. I was to heal minds.

“Steve?” My voice stumbled over his name. I searched his face for any sign of the protector who’d taught me to throw a proper punch in a grimy alley behind Freaky Freddie’s favorite club and who’d shown me how to break holds just like the one Petar had me in now.

“You’re my second little sister,” he’d always say, ruffling my hair affectionately after I managed to land a hit during practice. “Ain’t nobody gonna mess with you when I’m done teaching you.” He’d worn his past like armor—ex-gang member turned guardian, street-smart and loyal to the bone. No one could lay a hand on me when he was around. He’d made sure of that.

Today, Steve didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared straight ahead like a mannequin in a shop window.

That’s when I put my finger on what was wrong with his eyes. The familiar blue—the color of summer skies, he’d once joked—was gone. In its place was nothing but darkness, black as tar pits, infinite as a starless night. Whatever looked out through those eyes wasn’t Steve anymore.

“You’ve got ten seconds to let her go, Dragan—starting now. Ten.” Balthazar’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

Petar’s grip on my wrist tightened.

“Nine.” Balthazar stepped closer, his shoes leaving bloody footprints on the floor. “Eight.”

Petar’s breath caught.

“Seven.” A meditative smile spread across Balthazar’s face. “Six. I wonder if your blood tastes as bitter as your ambitions, little king.”

“Five.” He was close enough now that I could smell Shannon’s blood on him. “Four.”

Petar’s hands began to tremble.

“Three.” Balthazar’s fangs gleamed. “Two?—”

Petar shoved me away so hard Shannon lost her grip on my legs and I stumbled into Steve. His body felt rigid and cold. It was like running into a statue.

The Steve I knew would have caught me, steadied me, cracked a joke about my clumsiness. This Steve just stood there, those horrible black eyes staring into nothingness while I regained my footing.

My throat tightened. What had they done to him? And could I bring him back?

Balthazar pulled me next to him, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Are you all right?” His voice held the same tender concern he’d had before torturing Shannon.

“I’m fine.” The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. My arm throbbed where Petar had twisted it, and I could already feel the bruises blooming on my skin.

“Let me see,” Balthazar murmured quietly, as if soothing a frightened animal. He pushed up my sleeve with careful reverence, nothing like the brutality he’d shown Shannon.

Ugly red marks wrapped around my arm like serpents; Petar’s fingers were mapped out in angry crimson. Balthazar ran his palm over the wounds, leaving trails of Shannon’s drying blood on my skin. Tingling warmth flooded over my skin and spread through my veins. The welts faded, the pain dissolved—and Shannon’s blood was left smeared across my arm like a macabre bracelet.

He flashed me a smile that would have melted most women’s hearts, all perfect teeth and practiced charm. But I’d seen those same lips stained with Shannon’s blood. Seen what lurked behind that polished mask.

“As you can see, I can have a gentle touch when I want to.” His words dripped with double meaning. “I can heal or harm as it suits me.”

I forced my lips into a smile, though it felt like stretching a wound. “So you won’t hurt Steve?”

“No.” His eyes glittered with amusement. “I have another mission for him.”

The blood drained from my face. “Mission?”

“Yes.” He snapped his fingers like he was calling a dog. “Here, Steve. Find another girl that works for Angelo and bring her to me.” His gaze cut to Petar, sharp as broken glass. “You. Go with him.”

I looked between the three of them—Balthazar’s smug satisfaction, Steve’s empty eyes, Petar’s barely contained fear. The pieces started falling into place, but I didn’t want to see the picture they made. “Wait.” I grabbed Steve’s arm, feeling nothing but cold flesh beneath my fingers. “What are you doing?”

Balthazar’s smile widened, savoring the moment like fine wine. “My darling Nephilim, surely you must realize that Steve is the one who has been supplying me with my toys.”

“Toys?” I gestured at Shannon still crumpled on the floor, her blood drying brown on her skin. “You mean like her?”

“Yes. Steve has been playing fetch.”

A gasp tore from my throat as I clapped my hands over my mouth. The room tilted as realization hit. “Did he...” The words felt like broken glass in my throat. “Did he take Joy?”

“That he did.”

My knees gave out and I collapsed, sobs wracking my body. The Steve I knew would have died protecting his sister. Would have fought armies bare-handed to keep her safe. That Steve was gone, replaced by this hollow-eyed puppet. “Is she... Is she dead?”

“Not at all.” His soft voice crashed through my head like a thunderclap. “Don’t you see? She’s the big carrot.” He paced around me in a slow circle, a shark scenting blood in the water. “So long as you do what I want, she lives. I’ve forbidden the one who summoned me from killing her.”

“Summoned you? You mean like a person?” Hope flickered—a name meant someone I could fight.

“More like one of the four mafia kings of New Orleans.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. “Which one?”

He waggled his finger like he was scolding a naughty child. “Ah, ah, ah. That would be telling.”

Behind him, Steve and Petar slipped out the door to go procure another victim. And somewhere in the city, Joy was alive but imprisoned, her fate tied to my obedience. The horror of it all twisted my soul, each revelation another burden I somehow had to bear.

I looked at Shannon’s broken form, then at the blood Balthazar had left on my skin. How many more would die before this game of his was done? And which mafia king was pulling the strings like a twisted puppeteer?