Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
Joy
Enzo looked magnificent—every ounce the vampire enforcer with his broad shoulders and his skin catching the moonlight streaming through the window.
His black silk shirt hung open, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest, and his tailored pants lay discarded on the floor, revealing the impressive length of his cock, flushed and ready.
My pulse raced as I anticipated what was to come.
I did as he commanded, climbing onto the crimson sheets on all fours, the mattress dipping beneath my weight.
He came up behind me, one cool hand slipping possessively around my hip, the other tracing featherlight patterns up and down the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.
When he finally slid a finger inside me, the sensation was almost unbearably sweet, each deliberate stroke sending shivers racing up my spine.
I arched my back and ground my hips in slow circles, desperate for him to reach deeper places within me.
The intensity built like a gathering storm.
He rubbed with increasing pressure, his calloused fingertips creating sparks of pleasure that sent shockwaves through my trembling body.
Heat flooded my inner core, my pulse throbbing in time with his movements.
“Oh, god,” I whispered, the words escaping between shallow breaths.
He withdrew his glistening finger and gripped my hips with both hands, his fingers pressing into my flesh. When he finally plunged inside me, the fullness was overwhelming—a delicious invasion that seemed to reach the very center of my being.
“Harder,” I cried out.
He slammed against me again and again, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the dim room. Each time I spread my trembling knees wider across the rumpled sheets, inviting him deeper until I felt him press against places that made stars explode behind my eyelids.
Perched on the edge of the mattress, my fingers clutched desperately at the silken covers, not to escape but to anchor myself as he gripped my hips with hands that would leave violet shadows by morning.
I was a prisoner of sweet torture, every nerve ending vibrating with need.
The sensations built like wildfire through dry brush, consuming rational thought until my body convulsed around him and my orgasm tore through me, fast and furious as a summer storm.
I screamed in ecstasy, pleasure exploding through every nerve. My thighs trembled uncontrollably as waves of pleasure crashed through me.
He collapsed against my back, his sweat-slicked chest heaving against me as he came deep inside, his fingers interlaced with mine. “I told you I’d bring you pleasure,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear.
I glanced over my shoulder, meeting his dark eyes still glazed with satisfaction. “That’s one way to try and make a baby.”
He slowly pulled out of me, his breath catching slightly, and climbed onto the bed with a soft creak of springs. He cradled me against him, one arm beneath my shoulders, his skin warm against mine, his heartbeat gradually slowing beneath my palm. “I love you so much,” he whispered.
“I know,” I said as I looked up at him, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertips. “And you’re mine.”
“Damn right, I am,” he growled softly, kissing my forehead. “No one’s taking you from me again. I’ll burn down dimensions if I have to.”
I sighed, believing every word. A yawn escaped me as exhaustion finally won. My eyes drifted closed, and I fell asleep wrapped in his arms—protected, loved, home.
Enzo held the limousine door, and I settled beside Serenity. Yesterday’s joy had been replaced by a hollow ache. We were going to bury my brother—my half brother—a man whose name I’d only just learned, whose face I’d never seen in person.
Enzo sat next to me, and our fingers intertwined immediately. I held on like he was my lifeline. Between the battles and everything else, I was running on empty. But I owed my brother this. I owed Morden this.
The others—Steve, Dimitri, Gianna, and Elena—followed in a second car.
I rested against Enzo’s shoulder as we drove, trying to prepare myself. When Pascal turned into The Court of Thorns, Keir’s estate, I straightened. The property was breathtaking—flowering gardens and magnolia trees creating something ethereal and beautiful.
Too beautiful for a funeral. Too perfect for saying goodbye to someone I’d never gotten the chance to know.
The gates stood open. Several other limousines were already parked along the circular drive.
“Looks like the wolves are here too; so is Rocco although he’s standing alone,” Enzo murmured, nodding toward a group of men.
I followed his gaze. Rocco was on the outskirts as if he didn’t want to associate with anyone. He seemed to be his own worst enemy, and I wondered if he was still living at that hotel. “Is the king of the wolves here?”
“The one in the blue suit—that’s Trystan Hunter. He’s their king.”
A man with shaggy brown hair was talking with others who carried themselves with that same predatory grace. Wolves, I realized. I didn’t recognize any of them.
Pascal parked beside a blue limousine. Enzo immediately stepped out and offered me his hand, helping me from the car.
The cool air hit my face, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in my chest. I was here to say goodbye to a brother I’d never met—someone who’d died protecting Enzo, protecting us.
Ari and the queen had taken him before I ever had the chance to know my own brother.
Trystan broke away from his group and approached Angelo. “You left us quite a mess last night, but it’s cleaned up.”
I swallowed hard, trying not to think about the big bonfire of dead bodies in the bayou. The cathedral and swamp had been littered with bodies—Dark Demons, soldiers, the fallen. The wolves had dealt with all of it.
Morden approached, and I could see the weight of grief bowing his shoulders. “Daughter.”
The word settled over me, strange and familiar at once. We'd both lost so much—him a son, me the father who'd raised me. Maybe grief could be the bridge between us, a place to start knowing each other.
I pulled away from Enzo and hugged Morden tight. “Father.” Not Dad—that would always be Louis DuPont, the man who raised me. But Morden was my father too, and I wanted to know him. Wanted to heal the years of separation between us.
His arms tightened around me. “I wish you’d had the chance to meet Nyx.”
“So do I,” I whispered.
He released me reluctantly and shook Enzo’s hand. “Enzo.”
“Morden. Your son was brave. He died protecting me.”
I heard the heaviness in Enzo’s voice, saw his jaw tighten. Guilt. It was written all over him—in the rigid set of his shoulders, the careful control of his words. He blamed himself.
I slipped my hand to the small of his back, a quiet reassurance. It wasn’t his fault. It was Ari’s and Marsha’s for turning Gunner.
Morden’s face crumpled for just a moment before he wrestled his emotions back under control. But I’d seen it—the devastating love of a father burying his child. Tears blurred my vision.
He motioned with his arm. “This way.”
Enzo and I held hands as we followed him.
The grass was damp beneath my feet, and I could hear the rustle of wind through the trees overhead.
Funerals were always hard for me—my mother's when I was a little girl, the finality of goodbye, knowing I'd never see her again.
I expected we'd be heading into a building, some funeral home chapel, but as we walked deeper into the grounds, I realized I was wrong.
No chairs had been set up—this was a standing vigil. In the center of the expansive yard, a man with long blond hair lay on a white altar, hands folded peacefully across his chest.
Keir Rankin stood at the head of the altar in ceremonial purple robes, a crown of white flowers woven through his hair.
Morden guided me forward. My throat constricted as I looked down at Nyx for the first time.
My brother. He was young, handsome, with Morden’s strong features.
But his skin was deathly pale, drained of all color and warmth.
His purple robe was intricately embroidered with animals—wolves, birds, even harpies.
My hand shook as I reached out to touch his cold fingers. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you for saving him.” He’d died protecting Enzo, and I would carry that debt for the rest of my life.
Steve moved beside me, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder. I turned into him, needing his strength as grief overwhelmed me. He'd never met Nyx, never known this brother of mine existed until recently, but he was here—steady and solid when I needed him most.
Two harpies landed near the altar, their black wings folding with surprising grace. I stared, unable to look away from the disturbing fusion of woman and eagle—human faces with flowing black hair atop massive feathered bodies, talons scraping against stone. Beautiful and horrifying all at once.
“The ceremony is about to begin,” Keir announced, spreading his arms wide.
Morden, Enzo, Steve, and I stepped back from the altar and joined the circle of mourners surrounding Keir and Nyx.
Keir dropped his arms, his voice resonating with dark authority. “We honor one of our own. Nyx was a warrior who walked between worlds—speaking to beasts as easily as men, commanding their loyalty with a gift few are granted.”
That incredible ability, and I’d never see it. Never know him. The ache in my chest grew sharper.
His hand swept toward the harpies. “When these two were cast out, abandoned by their kind, Nyx took them in. He made outcasts into family, gave them a place in our ranks.”
The harpies lowered their heads in reverence, and I caught the sound of one quietly weeping. Such fierce, deadly creatures—yet they mourned my brother like family.
Keir bent and retrieved an urn, its surface etched with ancient symbols.
He reached inside and drew out a handful of gold dust, letting it fall over Nyx’s still form.
The dust shimmered as it settled on the purple robe.
“May the stars of the universe guide your spirit home. May our ancestors welcome you to the eternal halls.”
Tears streamed down my face unchecked. The gold made him look like he was made of starlight—beautiful and unreachable. Gone before I ever had a chance to know him. Before I could tell him thank you. Before I could tell him I was sorry he’d paid the price for my choices.
Enzo squeezed my hand gently. I held on tight.
Keir stepped back. The harpies approached the altar with solemn grace and spread their wings wide, eclipsing Nyx from view.
“Join our fathers,” Keir said softly.
When the harpies drew back their wings, Nyx's body had disappeared. My heart stuttered and I gasped. Gone. Just...gone. The finality of it hit me—there was nothing left, no trace of him at all except for gold and purple dust spiraling upward in a shimmering whirlwind, sparkling in the sunlight.
Then the column of light shifted. Instead of continuing skyward, it drifted toward us—floating across the circle to where Morden and I stood. The warm dust brushed against my face, impossibly gentle, like fingertips tracing my cheek. A touch. A recognition.
Brother.
Beside me, Morden coughed and cleared his throat as the whirlwind caressed his face. His shoulders shook with silent sobs, one hand reaching toward the swirling magic as if he could hold onto his son for just one more moment.
But the dust pulled away, rising up and up into the endless sky until nothing remained but memory and grief.
I pressed my hand to my cheek where his magic had touched me. My only connection to the brother I’d lost before I ever found him.
I couldn’t hold it together anymore. I turned to Enzo, tears pouring down my face, and threw my arms around his neck. He caught me immediately, holding me as I finally let myself break. Nyx had died for him—for us—and now he was gone forever.