Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Vex
Rocco flew out of Academy grounds, literally like a bat out of hell. So easy to track.
I left Steve's body in front of the gates of Red Rose Academy, turning into black smoke to follow him. He'd wake up in an hour or so with no memory of the last few days.
Poor bastard.
But back to my quarry.
I followed Rocco. He wouldn't even notice.
Not at night.
Not in this dark form.
He headed toward the bayou.
I kept a little distance. The shard's power reached me, even in this form. Its presence clawed at me even from here—cold seeping into my essence, weakening me with every mile.
He finally stopped at Angelo Santi's houseboat and slipped inside.
I smiled. It was isolated.
I shifted into my physical form and waited. The shard's cold still bit into me, draining my power, threatening to tear me apart. But I didn't need to stay long.
Just long enough to take what I came for.
I slipped through the walls of the houseboat, grabbed the shard with my obsidian container, and vanished before they ever knew I was there.
The cold eased the moment the obsidian sealed shut. I could breathe again. Think again.
Now I just had one more thing to do.
Destroy it.
Once the shard was gone, nothing would stand between me and that baby. No protection. No shield. Just a helpless infant with a soul so pure, so powerful, that Lucifer himself had demanded it.
Noelle Santi.
I'd been so close before. Had almost had her. And then Balthazar had interfered, and I'd been forced to wait. To plan. To watch from the shadows while Angelo locked her away behind archangel wards.
But soon, those wards wouldn't matter.
Soon, nothing would.
And there was only one place in the world where the shard could be destroyed.
Dracula's castle.
Steve was right where I'd left him—slumped against the outer wall just beyond the gate, hidden in the shadows of an old oak.
His head lolled to one side, mouth hanging open.
Still unconscious. His mind was a weak, pliable thing, soft as wet clay.
Possessing him had been laughably easy. No resistance.
No fight. No confusion before I'd snuffed him out like a candle.
I slipped back into his body. The fit was uncomfortable—too tight in the shoulders, too sluggish in the limbs. Like wearing a cheap suit two sizes too small. His skin felt wrong against mine. Human bodies always did. Clumsy, fragile, dull. But they had their uses.
I flexed Steve's fingers, rolled his neck until it cracked, and fished his phone from his jacket pocket.
I scrolled to the contact I needed and pressed call.
Angelo Santi answered on the first ring. No greeting. No pleasantries. Just that cold, clipped voice—the voice of a man who considered every second of his time worth more than most people's lives.
"DuPont."
I smiled with Steve's mouth. Angelo thought he was talking to Steve DuPont—Joy's brother, his enforcer Enzo's brother-in-law.
Close enough to the inner circle to have credibility, but not so close that Angelo would question why he was feeding him information.
Steve was family-adjacent. Trusted by proximity. The perfect puppet.
The vampire king had no idea what was really wearing Steve's skin.
The thought sent a delicious thrill rippling through me.
"I have news you're not going to like about Rocco Palazzo."
A pause. Barely half a second, but I caught it. Angelo Santi didn't pause for anything unless it mattered. Good. Rocco's name had weight.
"What?"
I kept Steve's voice steady. Nervous, but not too nervous. The kind of informant who wanted to please but was scared of the man he was pleasing. It was a delicate performance, and I savored every note of it.
"Rocco got the shard. But he's planning to sell it on the black market."
Silence. The kind that crackled with barely contained fury. I could practically feel Angelo's grip tightening on the phone, the temperature in whatever room he occupied dropping by several degrees.
"How do you know this?"
"Came from some reliable sources." I leaned back against the wall, crossing Steve's legs, enjoying myself immensely. "Rocco's tired of living in dives and being a short-order cook. Wants to take the money and run."
The lie was beautiful in its simplicity. Just enough truth to make it sting—Rocco had been living in squalor, had been flipping burgers like a common human. Angelo would have no trouble believing a desperate man would do desperate things.
"Who did he sell it to?"
"I don't know." I paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough to seem reluctant. "But I'll find out."
Another pause. I could almost hear the gears turning behind Angelo's silence—calculating, strategizing, deciding how many bones to break and in what order.
"See that you do." The line went dead.
I let Steve's face split into a grin that would have terrified him if he'd been awake to feel it.
The pieces were falling into place. Angelo would go after Rocco now—hunting him, pressuring him, backing him into a corner. And Rocco, desperate and cornered, would do exactly what desperate creatures always did.
Something stupid.
And when he did, they'd turn on each other. Vampire prince versus vampire mafia king. Two predators ripping each other apart while I slipped away with everything I needed. By the time they realized they'd been played, the shard would be at Dracula's castle and the Solstice would be upon them.
Too bad I'd be long gone and not able to watch the fight. That was the only real shame in all of this. I would have loved a front-row seat to the carnage—Angelo's cold fury colliding with Rocco's desperate rage. It would have been spectacular.
But I had bigger things to destroy than two vampires' egos.
I peeled myself out of Steve's body and left him slumped against the wall, drooling. He'd wake up in an hour with a splitting headache and no memory of the call. Just another blank spot in his mind he'd chalk up to stress or too many drinks.
Vampires were supposed to be superior creatures. Steve made a poor case for it.