Novel & Cerita Danny From Bloodline

And then, I stepped inside. The man seated opposite my father did not turn, yet his presence filled the room. Broad shoulders, streaks of silver woven into dark hair, ink curling over his neck, promising more beneath the fabric of his shirt. Strength, control, danger—it emanated from him like smoke from a slow-burning fire.

“I came because… I thought my father…” Eldryn frowned. A small twitch of disappointment. “She’s resisting,” the boy said from across the room. His voice was quiet, but it made Julianne’s skin crawl. “Even without trying. That’s not normal.” Julianne’s eyes darted to him. “Who are you?” He stepped forward, the candlelight catching on his eyes. “Cassian.” His name felt cold in her mouth. “He’s a vampire,” Eldryn said casually, as if naming the boy’s specie was as normal as listing his GPA. “And he’s very good at what he does. Cassian, if you would.”

she said sternly to the surprise of her parents, who glared at each other. "No Diala, you can't; this is far more dangerous," her mother let out, her sight remedied on her daughter. "No, mother," Diala rebuked, nodding her head, "I have fought far more dangerous wars, and I defeated all my opponents without any stress. Tomorrow, my servants and I will go over to the kingdom of Linerdo, and I will give Robert my word to fight this war with him," she declared, staring at her father.

We won’t be finding Wes Corben alive. "Headed toward Northgate. Out of sight of the Reserve. I went looking for him on foot, figured he'd be sulking along the fence but there’s no sign of him." "Danny," his father says, "Sit down." Danny looks at the empty chair between his father and his uncle. Then he walks around the table and sits down next to Kowalski. Guess he’s made his choice. This generation is soft. They don’t have the stomach to do the hard thing.

Then came the red. Alarms began to wail through the facility, their rhythmic red pulses painting the white walls in blood. The heavy steel door of the lab blew inward in a deafening shower of sparks. Through the rolling black smoke, a figure lunged into the room—younger, wild, a bloody gash tearing across his shoulder. Dante. He didn't hesitate. He raised his weapon, his eyes locked onto my mother with a feral, protective rage. *“Step away from the child,”* he growled, his voice a low, terrifying rumble even then.

“This job, with your father?” Urgh. Another one I regretted telling. I really should get better at keeping secrets. Once it slipped out, they never fucking forgot about it. “No,” I said. “Nothing to do with that prick.” “Pity,” he said. “Your father knows good business.” I looked at his friendly eyes, heavy brown with grey. Danny was South African, accepted by the locals slowly over the years, until he was now a piece of the Much Arlock furniture. “Where are you leaving us for?”

It is crude, uninhibited, yet it exists. "Why me?" I whisper, barely audible. "Why do I have this—this power?" Lucian is indecisive in response. The lineage of your blood is unique, Freya. With something old, some mighty thing it brings. But that will get you, too, a target. The words of his send chills up my spine. "A target for who?" "Everyone," he says simply. The rascals, Kane, even your pack, if they had known what was right.

Danny’s head snapped back and blood escaped through his nose. "You hit my wife," he growled. "How dare you!" Danny spat blood onto the floor. "She was my wife first, Reid." He threw another punch targeting his ribs and he heard something crack. Danny screamed and doubled over as much as the ropes allowed. "And now she’s mine," Reid said and grabbed his hair, forcing him to look at his face. "You will never go near her again. You will never speak to her again. The only reason I’m not killing you right now is that I share the same blood with your mother."

I had heard Chadwick talking to Noah outside the room, giving orders to bury the stepbrothers' bodies in an unmarked mass grave. They were responsible for putting Danny in this condition, and they had paid for it with their lives. I swallowed the lump in my throat, turned the handle, and pushed the door open. The moment I stepped inside, I was greeted by Danny’s bright face. His signature half smile and bright blue eyes caught me first. He looked gorgeous, he had absolutely no right looking this good in a hospital gown, but he somehow pulled it off. “Erica!” Danny called out loudly, his face lighting up.

Only twice have we gotten personal: one being my shit-ass-drunk confession about my sister-in-law, the other was when Danny broke up with Dick-face. I’ve only ever seen Danny with one guy and that was last summer. He was a dick-face—professional-shirted dick-face with long sleeves and a tie even in the heat. Dressing down for him was taking off his suit jacket and leaving it in his car. The car was another problem, a sissy-assed Prius. I didn’t like him. Liked him even less when I found out he was a defense attorney. Not that Danny told me this. I saw his ad on television in the middle of a baseball game, with his big white teeth offering to help you with your DUI or personal injury case. Ye