Love Against the Bloodline

ce, a fusion of sleek marble and intimidating glass

ashing the penthouse suite in the kind of warm glow that whisper

money. He sat forward in a leather armchair that probably cost more than most people's monthly income, anxious

he ghost everyone wanted to f

loodhound-entered with his usual silent authority

eath that had been coiled in h

omacy to get this meeting. But the man coming in now-he wasn't

ers between CEOs and pow

soft echo. Saiyan blue trousers flowed clean and sharp, matching the

ngs, no labels screaming for attention. Jus

rs under various skies. Dark blond hair cropped short,

ed Marsell mid-breath. They looked less like something organic

is

n you couldn't lie to because he already knew what you

med to slow time. Even the furnitu

hanged. "Beautiful..." Marsell muttered, barely audible,

subtle mood lighting, and wall-sized digital art-now fel

llo

ll

d casually, voice sm

miration and mild hypnotization-until Vin ta

m like a man waki

d, flustered. "You take handsomenes

ed a brow.

rsell replied, trying to be clever,

friends. This isn't a dinner date. You asked for this meeting. I'm giving you time I don't usually give an

used to handling wolves. But this wasn't a

de of his mouth twitching like he just remembered

slammed open with the subtlety of a thunderclap. "

lo

or, letting the heavy door swing closed behin

p than necessity. His silver hair was slicked back like a retired mobster

" Marsell barked, spinning to fa

. "We're both tangled in the same damn mess

d," Marsell hissed. "You weren

h interrupted, steepling his fingers as he read

e a scientist watching rats turn on eac

ths," Irish added, emotionl

ard his jaw clicked. But befo

watch. To the untrained eye, he looked like he was adjusting the strap.

for safekeeping. It w

sat in a shadowed room filled with monitors, bat

stened to the conversation unfold. Marsell.

aval's profile. His former employer. A man who once t

by a single line of audio tex

t acq

luminating a tattoo on his wrist: a blac

ith a crooked grin: "Let's see how long the king stays

ing out an old, dusty folder labeled "

l never knew anyone had. A m

ribbles in red ink: "Let'