All Chapters of THE POSSESSIVE BLOODLINE : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

JaceThe Grey House is quiet when we pull up.Too quiet.The air smells like rain on old stone, and the wide mahogany doors swing open before I even touch them. Two of my men — survivors from the cabin — are already here, leaning against the banister like they’ve been waiting for orders. Their rifles hang loose against their shoulders, but their eyes are sharp.I don’t speak to them. Not yet.Because I have her in my arms.Ingrid is weightless now, all slack limbs and slow breaths, head tipped against my chest like she belongs there. Her hair brushes my jaw every time I move, and I feel her warmth seep through my shirt.Every step through the marble foyer feels louder than it should, echoing like I’m carrying contraband. Which, in a way, I am.The men’s gazes track us, curious but silent. They know better than to ask.I should set her down. I should let her rest. But my arms don’t want to. My grip tightens around her thighs, and something inside me — some dangerous, raw part — whisper

IngridThe room is still spinning. My wrists ache from the cuffs, my body feels molten, and my pulse refuses to settle. I should be ashamed of how easily I let go… but the shame doesn’t burn nearly as much as the ache does.I’m sprawled across his bed, my breath coming in shallow, greedy pulls. My legs feel weak, my voice feels trapped somewhere in my throat. And yet… I can’t stop thinking about it. The way he moved, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing worth destroying and protecting in the same breath.I shouldn’t want more. My body’s already bruised with the proof of him. But I hear myself whisper, low, almost trembling:“…again.”Jace freezes in the act of tossing his shirt aside. His head tilts, the corner of his mouth curving like he’s just heard the punchline of a joke only he understands.“What was that, bunny?” His tone is pure provocation, lazy and rich with amusement.I force myself to meet his gaze, heat climbing up my neck. “You heard me.”He chuckles — a dee

JaceThe smell of frying bacon creeps into my dreams before I open my eyes.For a second, I forget where I am. The sheets are warm, tangled around my legs, and the faint weight of her arm is still draped across my chest. Ingrid breathes slow and deep, her face half-buried against me.I move carefully, brushing a strand of hair away from her lips. She doesn’t stir.When I slip out of bed, I catch my reflection in the mirror — lips bruised, jaw marked. A smirk tugs at my mouth. Yeah… last night happened.By the time I make it downstairs, the dining area smells like coffee and fresh eggs. Rick’s behind the counter, spatula in one hand, a laptop open beside the toaster. Jaxon’s leaning against the table, scrolling through something on his phone.“We’re thinking ahead,” Rick says without looking up. “It’s not if they’ll hit us, it’s where.”Jaxon glances at me. “Grey House is the most obvious target. It’s symbolic. And fortified… but predictable.”“Which is why they’ll come for it,” I say,

Jace For a heartbeat, the room forgets how to breathe. Her dress slides down her shoulders — the soft rustle of fabric somehow louder than the clock ticking across the room. And then she’s standing there. Bare. Holy. Fuck. My hand tightens around my glass, not because I want to drink — because I need something to keep from grabbing her. Porcelain skin, every curve deliberate, sculpted. She’s not posing like some clueless tease. No. She knows she’s lethal right now — that we’re all caught like moths in the flame of her. A constellation of hickeys blooms along the side of her neck, a souvenir from last night. Her emerald eyes flicker — not shy, not bold, but something in between that says please look at me and don’t you dare stop. Rick POV I’ve seen beauty before. But this… this is cruelty wrapped in silk and sin. She’s slender but not fragile, her waist dipping in that impossible hourglass before flaring again at her hips. Soft. Smooth. Perfect. And she’s pleading without

JaxonShe says foursome and my blood goes molten.I don’t even try to hide it — my hand slips under the table, stroking myself slow, deliberate, eyes locked on her.Her gaze drops, catches the movement, and her lips part. Yeah, she sees it. She likes it.RickI’ve had enough of the talking. Enough of her teasing looks.I stand, grab her wrist, and guide her down onto the couch.She lands with a gasp, and before she can get her bearings, I’m leaning over her, pushing her shirt up, mouth on that soft, flat stomach. She tastes like rum and heat and trouble.My teeth graze her skin — not gentle, not asking — and she arches like I’ve found a nerve I shouldn’t know about.“Hungry,” I growl against her, and it’s the truth.JaceRick’s got her writhing, but I’m not here to watch him eat first.I curl my hand under her chin, forcing her eyes to me. “Look at me, Bunny.”She does. And that’s all it takes.I pull her off the couch and closer to the corner of the room, her back against the wall. H