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 acheap 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, thetemperature 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."
