All Chapters of The Blackwell Claim: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Timothy ground his teeth as he paced the length of the hall. The skin on his shoulder felt tight, the heat of the bite mark Gideon had left pulsing in a way that wasn't entirely painful. It was a brand. A jagged, human claim.I should be picking the lock on their gun safe, he thought, his knuckles white as he gripped the hem of Kan’s oversized black shirt. Instead, he found himself recalling the way Gideon’s weight had pinned him down—solid, undeniable. He’d spent his life as a ghost for the Nash Rebellion, slipping through shadows, never letting anyone get close enough to leave a mark. Now, he was walking around with a Blackwell’s signature etched into his muscle.The logic was missing. He was a professional, yet he was vibrating with a territorial hum he couldn't shake. It was the Sopttyi District's influence, or maybe just the sheer exhaustion of the night. These men weren't just mafia royalty; they were wrecking balls.He stopped at a mirror in the hallway, adjusting the black fed

"Try me," Kan said. He didn't look up as he cracked the eggs into the pan, the sharp scent of butter and salt filling the kitchen. He waited for the edges to crisp before folding in the ham and cheese. "You might find I’m better at listening than I am at talking. It’s a job requirement in this District."Timothy adjusted the brim of the black fedora, his shadow stretching long across the marble floor. "It doesn't matter. I’m a ghost, Kan. I don't stay in one place long enough to have a conversation."Timothy turned to head for the door, but Kan’s hand shot out, fingers circling Timothy’s wrist. Not a crushing grip—just a heavy, warm anchor. "Don't. This isn't just about what happened in that bed.""That’s exactly what it’s about." Timothy gave his wrist a sharp, practiced twist. Kan felt the silent command and let go. Timothy leaned back against the counter, his eyes hard. "Neither of you asked if I wanted to be part of your little empire. All I’ve heard since I got here are the same

"You wanting this, ghost?" Kan’s hand dipped between their bodies. He pressed his thumb against Timothy’s center, circling that hypersensitive heat with slow, agonizing friction."Yes," Timothy rasped, his head falling back against Kan’s shoulder. His lungs burned. He needed more. He needed it faster, a frantic urge to bridge the gap toward the edge.Suddenly, the kitchen table shrieked against the tile, shoved aside to make room for Gideon. Timothy’s eyes snapped open. He caught the blur of the big man moving behind him. Kan cupped Timothy’s jaw, forcing his focus forward, while he felt Gideon’s tongue trace a wet, hot line down the valley of his spine."I’d be a shit partner if I let you finish this early," Kan murmured, his thumb stilling. He looked over Timothy’s shoulder. "Wouldn't you agree, Gid?""Too easy," Gideon’s voice rumbled against Timothy's lower back. "We haven't even started."Timothy’s pulse hammered against his ribs. They were going to wind him up and walk away? The

Gideon Blackwell was a creature of kinetic violence. In his human skin, he couldn't stop the tremors in his hands, so he paced the six-foot length of the steel cage like the predator he was. Every few seconds, he slammed a shoulder into the reinforced door. The boom echoed through the concrete basement, a dull, hopeless sound. His right shoulder was a mess of torn muscle and sluggishly oozing blood, but he didn't feel it. Shifters healed fast, but the steel—the one material that could nullify his strength—kept the wound raw and stinging.In the corner, Kan Nelblack lay like a discarded doll. The enforcer was pale, his breathing a shallow, rattling whistle. They’d taken him down with a surgical strike to the throat using a splinter of wormwood. It was a rare, toxic wood from the old Sopttyi District, almost mythical in its lethality to those with Kan's particular bloodline. Legend said the toxins weren't from the tree itself, but the parasites living within the grain.Wormwood manacles

Timothy entered the massive, sterile hall, the iron chain around his wrists rattling with every step. A single mahogany table, long enough to seat a small army, dominated the center, but only two chairs were occupied. At the head sat a man with silvered hair and eyes like a hawk. Samon Lity. The "Griffin" of the Sopttyi District.The man looked solid, aged by decades of blood and deals, but Timothy didn't need a weapon to see the cracks. One look at Lity’s aura—the way he carried his weight—and Timothy knew he could dismantle the man’s psyche without breaking a sweat.Lity’s gaze crawled over Timothy’s skin, lingering on the open ties of the prisoner’s tunic. He patted the seat beside him, his rings clicking against the wood. "Sit, Timothy. Let’s have a talk."As if there was a choice. The guard yanked the chain, and Timothy’s knees barked against the cold marble as he was forced down at Lity’s feet."Are you the one they call Gryphon?" Timothy asked, his voice steady."I am," Lity sa