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Bloodlines and Betrayls

作者: Leah H
last update 公開日: 2026-06-06 02:17:35

Our lips collided in a kiss so scorching it sent a molten wildfire surging beneath my skin, each press and pull of his mouth against mine a brand that seared straight to my core. His hands, calloused and unyielding, mapped the contours of my back with possessive urgency, dragging me against the unrelenting wall of his chest as the jet’s engines roared to life beneath us, a deep, vibrating growl that hummed through the cabin like the pulse of a living beast.

His mouth abandoned mine only to blaz
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  • Blood and Bones   Bloodlines and Betrayls

    Our lips collided in a kiss so scorching it sent a molten wildfire surging beneath my skin, each press and pull of his mouth against mine a brand that seared straight to my core. His hands, calloused and unyielding, mapped the contours of my back with possessive urgency, dragging me against the unrelenting wall of his chest as the jet’s engines roared to life beneath us, a deep, vibrating growl that hummed through the cabin like the pulse of a living beast.His mouth abandoned mine only to blaze a scorching path down the column of my neck, lips and tongue leaving behind a trail of liquid fire that had my breath hitching, my spine arching into him as if my body were a bowstring drawn taut. Every graze of his fingers beneath the edge of my tactical vest sent sparks skittering across my skin, igniting nerves I’d long thought dormant, reserved for moments far removed from the chaos of our reality.His hands ventured lower, fingertips skimming the exposed skin of my waist, tracing the dip

  • Blood and Bones   After Interrogation (Wedding Night)

    Declan stands motionless by the floor-to-ceiling window, the neon glow of the city bleeding across the hardwood like liquid gold, painting his silhouette in flickering light. His shirt hangs loose, the fabric clinging to the damp heat of his skin, sleeves pushed up to reveal the corded muscle of his forearms. The faintest sheen of sweat glistens along his collarbone, catching the light as his chest rises and falls with controlled restraint. His jaw is set, a muscle ticking beneath the stubble, his shoulders taut with something raw and unspoken. I can see the pulse hammering at the base of his throat, the way his fingers flex at his sides, as if fighting the urge to reach for me. "You know," he murmurs, his voice rough as gravel, thick with want, "this isn’t how I imagined tonight would go." The words send a jolt through me, and I step forward, the silk of my dress whispering against my thighs, the hem riding higher with each movement. The heat radiating off him is intoxicating, wrapp

  • Blood and Bones   The Interrogation

    Seraphina & Declan✦ 18+ — explicit language, graphic violence, torture ✦The basement smells like concrete and old water and the particular kind of fear that has been marinating for several hours. I know that smell. I've been in rooms like this before — not many, and not as the one asking questions, but enough to understand the architecture of them. The single hanging bulb. The drain in the floor that doesn't try to hide what it's for. The chair bolted to the concrete, which is a practical detail that tells you something about whoever built this room and how seriously they took their work. Declan built this room. Of course he did. The man in the chair is named Caruso. Nico Caruso, forty-three, mid-level in the operation that's been bleeding both our families for eight months. He is not the architect — I know that, Declan knows that — but he is the closest link we've been able to put hands on and he knows things, and I need those things, and he is going to give them to me.He just

  • Blood and Bones   Fault lines

    S e r a p h i n aThe reception venue is a converted warehouse in Tribecathat my mother transformed into something that looks likeit costs twice what it does, which has always been Elena Conti's specific genius. Candles everywhere. Dark florals — deep red roses and black callalilies, my mother compromised on the traditional and the gothic and somehow landed on something that looks intentional and stunning.Circular tables draped in black linen. An open bar that Fergus Callahan located within approximately forty-five seconds of arrival,which I respect. I'm standing at the edge of the dance floor watching the room do whatrooms full of powerful people in fragile alliances always do — perform warmth while measuring distances — when I notice Siobhan.She's talking to Matteo. My oldest brother, twenty-nine, who has my father's coloring and mymother's composure and an unfortunate habit of being charming to everyone except the people he's supposed to be charming to. He's standing slight

  • Blood and Bones   Blood Red

    D e c l a nI’ve been told the dress is red. Siobhan told me, because Siobhan tells me everything eventually,usually delivered with the specific energy of someone who has information they know you want and has waited for maximum impact before deploying it. "Red," she said. "You're welcome. You owe me." She didn't tell me anything else. I didn't ask for anything else. Some things are better walked into without preparation. I'm standing at the end of the aisle in a church that the Conti family has attended for four generations, in a suit that cost more than most people's cars, and I am for the $rst time in recent memory actually nervous. Not about the alliance. Not about the marriage as a strategic structure. Not about any of the things I've spent three months planning around.About her. The doors open. The entire room exhales. I feel it — that collective shi! of attention,I’ve hundred people all turning at once. And then I see her and every thought I've had in the last ten seconds d

  • Blood and Bones   The Dress

    S e r a p h i n a✦Four women in a bridal atelier on the Upper East Side and only two of us are actually getting married, which means the power dynamic in this room is not what the staff assumes. My mother has an agenda: something classic, something long,something that will photograph well and signal the correct things to the correct people. She communicates this agenda nonverbally throughthe selection of gowns she steers me toward — all of them beautiful, all of them white or ivory or the palest possible blush, all of themcommunicating exactly nothing about who I actually am. Maeve Callahan sits in the armchair with a glass of champagne shehasn't touched and watches everything. She doesn't offer opinions until she has something worth saying. I respect that about herconsiderably. She and I have something in common that neither of us has acknowledged aloud: we are both very good at watching.Siobhan is a disaster. A delightful, extremely useful disaster. She has pulled three gown

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