Chapter Twelve
Enzo
Pregnant. My hands clenched into fists, knuckles cracking audibly. Heat surged through my veins—not the red-hot burn of human anger, but something darker, colder. My fangs lengthened involuntarily, pressing against my lower lip until I tasted copper.
Beside me, Dimitri sucked in a sharp breath. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. His jaw worked silently, and I could see him putting it together just as I was. This changed everything.
My gaze locked onto Stefan like a predator marking prey.
“How could you let this happen?”
Stefan arched his eyebrow slowly, maddeningly calm. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, completely unbothered by my fury. “Let?” A slight smile played at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think so, Enzo.”
He paused, letting the silence stretch like a hangman’s noose. “They must have snuck a romantic interlude without my knowledge...which isn’t easy to do in a place like this.” Hisshoulders lifted in an elegant shrug. “But what’s done is done. I can’t undo her pregnancy.”
Angelo clasped his fingers around my tensed forearm like a steel trap, the pressure both steading and warning. Even seated, his grip held the authority of a king reining in his enforcer. “All is not lost, Enzo.”
He wasn’t seriously contemplating torturing a pregnant woman. My chest tightened at the thought of putting a woman in a delicate condition in his private room. I had done many unpleasant things to men and women—broken bones, extracted confessions through pain, bled them dry—but I drew the line at a pregnant woman. Even a vampire enforcer has a moral code.
Angelo loosened his grip, his fingers sliding off my arm. The leather chair creaked as he shifted forward slightly. “Tell me, is Killian excited about this pregnancy?”
Stefan and Anton glanced at each other like a silent alarm. Revulsion flashed in their eyes—the same sick twist that had coiled in my gut like a serpent. The air in the office seemed to thicken, heavy with unspoken horror.
Anton broke the suffocating silence. “You’re not seriously considering torturing Kara, are you?”
Angelo lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug that set every nerve on fire. “Not physical torture, no. But there are other forms of torture that are just as effective in getting people to do what I want. For example—the love of a child.”
“What do you mean?” It’s not like we could wait nine months for Kara to have this baby. Everyone would be dead by then. “We need Killian’s blood today, not six or seven months from now.”
“Simple. We take Kara away from here, and Killian will never see his unborn child, never know what sex it is.”
I went perfectly still. The thought was chilling but effective. I hadn’t even considered it, but I wasn’t exactly thinking likea tactical enforcer. I was thinking with my fangs instead of my brain.
Dimitri’s lips curved into a slow smile. "And here I thought we were just going to break some kneecaps. This is so much more... creative."
Anton rubbed his chin. “You wouldn’t hurt her?”
“No.” Angelo leaned back in his chair. “Not while she was pregnant.”
The qualifier made my jaw tighten. Angelo was drawing a line, but it was further than I'd expected. Threatening a pregnant woman was one thing—actually harming her after she gave birth was another. Was I really willing to cross that line? For Joy...God help me, maybe I was.
Stefan pressed the button on the intercom. “Guards, bring Killian Cormac to my office.”
Adrenaline sharpened my focus to a lethal point. Facing Killian Cormac—this was where I'd succeed or fail completely. Not because the bastard scared me, but he had always made me want to beat the shit out of him. He was arrogant and selfish, always thinking all supernaturals—even vampires—and humans were beneath him. Kara having his baby might not mean a thing to him. If he was anything like his father, he wouldn’t give a shit about his kid. From what I heard, his father wouldn’t have won any Father of the Year awards.
A few minutes later, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway before two guards escorted Killian Cormac into the office.
He strolled in like he owned the place, his long blond hair flowing freely over his shoulders, catching the light from the overhead fixtures. Even in prison garb, he carried himself with that insufferable princely bearing—chin up, shoulders back, like he was gracing us with his presence. That lopsided grin spread across his face as his eyes swept the room, taking in each of us with obvious amusement.
There it was—that smug expression that made me want to rip his throat out. His hands weren't bound—why would they be? This place was warded tighter than a fucking vault. No supernatural was getting out of here without Stefan's permission.
He looked at Angelo, then me, then Dimitri, like we were entertainment put on for his benefit. The bastard was actually enjoying this.
“Vampire royalty,” Killian said. “I’m honored.”
Was he really poking the tiger? Damn, his arrogance knew no limits. My experience was the I’m-better-than-you attitude meant they wouldn’t do anything unless it bettered them. Our carefully laid out plans were about to crumble like a building made out of sand.
Dimitri clapped. “That level of stupid takes real commitment.”
