Bloodline Dc Novels & Stories

She presented herself next to him. “Perform a blood bond on me and the child of the slave.” He said and the entire courtroom exclaimed at his words. Advisor Maevin bent his head in shame, trying to conceal the disgrace with a straightened stare. He quickly waved over a guard who stood against the wall, leaning in to speak into his ear. “Prepare a grave for the slave girl and her child.” He instructed and the guard left at once. No ritual preparation or blood divination! However, it didn't matter, cause if indeed she carried the seed of the dragonblood, Elira was as good as dead.

“You need to concentrate. Reign it in. Don’t resist it.” “I’m not resisting,” she gasped. “I can’t—stop it!” The forest shook around them. Rael pushed Kyle aside, stepping directly into Lydia’s line of power. “She needs the truth, not soothing words.” Kyle snapped back, “Rael, don’t…” “She carries the bloodline,” Rael stated firmly. “The blood of the Eclipsed Line.” The impact of those words was like a knife wound. Lydia’s control faltered. Kyle inhaled sharply.

“My only job today is to make sure you don’t give birth. The Falcone heir can’t be a bastard.” "He's not a bastard!" I used my last ounce of strength to protect my stomach. "I told you, he's Darren's child..." I felt a warm gush of liquid between my legs. It was blood. A lot of blood. "Stop... please, stop..." She paid no attention, continuing to kick and punch me. "The Falcone bloodline will not be tainted!" Despair washed over me. I knew my baby wasn't going to make it. I lost consciousness completely.

“Then we train. We grow. And when he strikes, we will be ready. But never alone. Never without each other.” Kira purred softly, guiding me as the darkness settled, not defeated, but restrained. I took a shaky breath, letting the power pulse through me without consuming me. For the first time, I tasted the thrill of control—and the danger of the shadows that were always, inevitably, a part of me. And deep down, beneath the pride and relief, a whisper ran through my veins, cold and sharp: This is only the beginning. But for what though? What's the bloodline he talked about? I must find it out before it's too late...

Certain. “You scared them,” he added. “But no one was injured.” Relief hit so hard it almost hurt. “What happened to me?” she whispered. Luke didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he crossed the room slowly and set something on the bedside table. Her training dagger. “I think,” he said carefully, “your bloodline is waking up.” The word sat heavy between them. Bloodline. Divine. Inheritance. Curses that looked like blessings. She pushed herself upright, muscles trembling.

“I’ll build my own. Something clean. Something that doesn’t require me to look away from the blood that haunts every dream I’ve ever had.” Victor laughed—dry, bitter, and at its edges: fear. “So it’s all because of her. That woman convinced you that you can escape the line of your own blood.” “This isn’t about Elena.” Dante held his gaze steady. “This is about me finally seeing who you truly are.” “And who is that?” “An executioner who disguises his crimes under the name of family business.” The slap came like a whipcrack. Victor’s open palm split Dante’s lip. The sound rang through the room like something breaking that would never be fixed.

I read the text three times. Each time it says the same thing. It matches Lucia. Dara's daughter in Santa Fe. A teacher. Bloodline one, the root, the founding contribution, seven generations of continuous cultivation twelve miles from Mira Seca. And something else. Something that doesn't match any of the seven original bloodlines. Something that matches my eight-month-old daughter. I text Pren back. How is that possible? Lucia's additional profile comes from the Sinclair bloodline combined with the evolved founding line. How does a teacher in Santa Fe carry something that matches that?

" Just those two syllables silenced Marco's sobbing instantly. "You have bled for the Family. I remember." A flash of wild hope lit Marco's eyes. "However." Don Vincenzo stood and walked slowly toward him, looking down from above. "You killed my blood. You owe me a blood debt. It must be repaid." He delivered the final judgment. "At sunrise tomorrow, your right hand will be cut off. You are stripped of all rank and property. You will be expelled from the inner circle. Your life will be spared. This is the greatest mercy I can offer."

“Now.” In the living room Damian had pulled out a whiteboard. Like this was some kind of war room. “Obasi wants the company,” Damian said. “He swapped babies twenty-eight years ago. Me and… someone else.” Marcus went completely still. “DNA test tomorrow,” Damian continued. “All of us. And the baby when it’s born.” Zara’s stomach flipped. “You think—” “I think Obasi wouldn’t be this desperate unless the bloodline was wrong,” Damian said.