Blood Heir

Two months ago

Mongrel Safehouse – The Underbelly

Cade leaned back in the rickety metal chair, boots kicked up on the scarred table, spinning a butterfly knife between his fingers. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the concrete walls covered in maps, wanted posters, and blood-stained tally marks.

“Target X,” the handler growled, sliding a tablet across the table. “Exclusive masked event tonight. Blindfolds are mandatory until the final chime. Randomized partners. First blood wins. In and out.”

“Blindfolds?” Cade asked.

“When has that ever been a problem? You could kill a target in your sleep, you smug piece of shit.” Roman didn’t bother looking in the younger man’s direction.

“That’s not the point. This club is…”

“Is?”

“Filled with dirty guilds. Unsavoury specialties.”

“And when has that stopped you?”

“Hmph.” Cade leaned back.

“Besides, you’ll enjoy good booze and easy-going music before completing the mission. Don’t tell me you’re getting soft.”

Cade’s lips curled into that signature cocky smirk. Red hair messy as always, black tactical jacket slung over the back of his chair, revealing the ink crawling up his forearms. “When is it not easy?” He snatched the tablet, eyes scanning the intel. “Piece of cake. I’ll be back before last call.”

The handler snorted. “Don’t get cocky, Graves.”

“Too late.” Cade stood, cracking his neck. “Cocky’s my brand.”

Beast Tower – Penthouse War Room

Zara Rose stood like a blade wrapped in satin, her crimson dress hugging every lethal curve. Long, dark brown waves cascaded down her back, catching the golden light of the crystal chandelier. Her dark golden skin glowed under the chandeliers—warm, rich, flawless. Lady Vex watched her with cold approval.

“Target Xion,” Vex purred, blood-red nails tapping the holographic display. “You will seduce and eliminate. The blindfold is theatre. You’ll know your mark when you feel him. Royalty of Beast does not fail.”

Zara stared at the woman before her. She had been doing this since she was a child, and it was the first time she even remotely hesitated in response.

"Hades Pearl, do I make myself clear?”

“Of course, my lady.” Zara’s amber eyes—sharp, trained, beautiful—never wavered. “I never do.”

She adjusted the delicate gold cuff on her wrist, the one that hid a poisoned needle in it. “Consider it done.”

The Veil of the Red Geisha

The venue was buried beneath an abandoned opera house in the old quarter—a decadent underworld playground called The Veil of the Red Geisha. Crystal chandeliers dripped from vaulted ceilings. Red and gold light pulsed across marble floors slick with spilled champagne. Masked figures in couture drifted like predators in heat. Music throbbed low and sensual, a bass line that vibrated in the chest and settled between the thighs, as if the people who visited were coming for anything other than pleasure.

Cade arrived in a tailored black three-piece suit that somehow made his rough edges look expensive. The jacket hugged broad shoulders, the vest clung to his defined chest, silver chains and a blood-red cravat at his throat. Intricate black tattoos peeked from his collar and crawled down the backs of his hands—Mongrel marks mixed with older, darker ink. A gilded, ornate mask covered the top half of his face, leaving his sharp jaw and full mouth exposed. Red hair styled just enough to look deliberately tousled.

He hated these places. Too pretty. Too fake. Too full of people playing dress-up, hiding skeletons in closets he would one day gain access to.

But a job was a job and he was requested for it.

Zara moved through the crowd like smoke and sin. Her off-shoulder red satin romper suit clung to her body like liquid fire—shorts cut high on her long legs, a flowing overskirt slit to the hip, gold embroidery and buckles flashing with every step. Her skin seemed to glow in the low light, luminous and deadly. A matching gold blindfold mask with crimson accents covered her eyes, yet she walked with absolute confidence. Full lips painted deep red, heavy gold hoops swaying against her neck. Her dark hair spilled wildly over bare shoulders. Every man she passed turned his head.

She hated these places too. But she had been trained to be very, very good at them.

The chime sounded.

“Partners randomized. Blindfolds on. Enjoy the game.”

The lights dimmed to near darkness. Black silk blindfolds were handed out—thicker than the decorative masks. Laughter and nervous excitement rippled through the crowd as vision was stolen.

Cade felt a soft hand slip into his. Small. Elegant. But the grip was sure.

Zara felt rough, calloused fingers close around hers—strong, scarred, unmistakably male. Not the soft hands of the usual Beast marks she seduced. A shiver she didn’t expect ran down her spine.

They were led to the centre of the floor.

The music swelled.

Neither knew they’d been paired by design.

They danced.

Bodies pressed close in the dark of the floor. His hand settled low on her back, fingers splaying over satin. Hers slid up his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the vest, the steady thunder of his heartbeat.

“You move like you’ve done this before,” he murmured, voice low and rough, lips brushing her ear.

“Do you say that to all the girls,” she whispered back, letting her trained seduction bleed into every syllable. She rolled her hips against him, slow, deliberate. His grip tightened.

Champagne was pressed into their hands between songs. They drank. The bubbles went straight to their heads in the heat and the blind darkness.

“No, just the ones I’m interested in.”

She could feel him hardening against her stomach. He could smell her perfume—expensive, dark roses and something sweeter underneath.

“You’re dangerous,” he growled.

“It seems we have something in common then,” she said, smiling.

When the next slow song began, she pulled him deeper into the shadows, toward the private alcoves lining the walls.

A Private Room along the Alcoves

The door clicked shut behind them.

Still blindfolded. Still strangers. Although blindedfolded, they were skilled enough to know where they were going.

Zara’s breath came faster. She’d done this a hundred times—seduction, control, the kill. But something about him made her pulse race in a way that had nothing to do with training, nothing that had anything to do with the kill.

Cade didn’t move at first. He never mixed business with pleasure. Ever. Fucking on the job was sloppy, risky, stupid.

But he could feel the heat radiating off her body. Could hear the slight hitch in her breathing. Could smell that intoxicating perfume wrapping around him like a drug.

Just this once.

She stepped closer. Her hands found his chest, fingertips tracing the hard lines of muscle beneath his shirt.

“You don’t have to stay,” she whispered, though her hands said otherwise.

“I should go.” But his voice was already rough with want.

“Then go.”

He didn’t.

She kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t practiced. It was hungry—desperate and raw and real. He groaned into her mouth, hands sliding up her bare arms, pulling her against him.

She pushed him back onto the velvet chaise and straddling his lap in one fluid motion. Her hands framed his face as she kissed him deeper, tasting whiskey and sin and something she couldn’t name but needed.

Cade’s hands roamed up her thighs, pushing the satin higher, gripping bare skin. “Fuck,” he breathed against her mouth. “Who the hell are you?”

“Tonight?” She nipped his bottom lip. “Yours.”

She reached between them, freeing him from his trousers. He was thick, hot, already leaking. She stroked him once, twice, savouring the way his breath hitched.

Then she sank down.

A broken groan tore from his throat as she took him to the hilt in one smooth glide. Tight. Wet. Perfect.

"Shit,” he hissed, head falling back.

Zara rode him slowly at first—rolling her hips, grinding down, using every trick she’d ever learned. But this wasn’t a mission anymore. This was want, pure selfish want. This was the kind of chemistry that burned through skin and bone and left nothing but ashes.

Her nails dug into his shoulders. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise.

“Faster,” he growled.

She obeyed.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room. Her moans mixed with his ragged breathing. The chaise creaked beneath them.

But he wasn’t content to let her control everything.

Cade flipped them.

She gasped as her back hit the velvet, wrists pinned above her head by one of his large hands. He drove into her hard—deep, punishing strokes that made her cry out.

"My turn, princess,” he snarled, voice wrecked with lust.

He fucked her like he fought—relentless, arrogant, perfect. Every thrust dragged against that spot inside her that made her see stars behind the blindfold. The slap of skin, her desperate moans, his low growls filled the small room.

She came first, shuddering, clenching around him so tightly he cursed. He followed seconds later, burying himself to the hilt and spilling deep inside her with a guttural groan.

They stayed locked together, panting, sweat-slick, hearts hammering.

Then the final chime rang through the club.

“Masks and blindfolds off.”

The Reveal

They tore them away at the same time.

Cade’s glowing red eyes met Zara’s amber ones.

For one frozen second, the world stopped.

Recognition slammed into them both like a freight train.

"You,” he breathed, lips still swollen.

“Mongrel scum,” she hissed, scrambling off him, reaching for the knife hidden in her garter.

He was faster; he grabbed her wrist before the blade touched his throat. ”Beast bitch.”

They stared at each other, still flushed, still breathing hard, adrenaline and hatred and leftover pleasure crashing together in a toxic storm.

Zara yanked her wrist free. “We’re done here.”

“Are we?” His grin was feral, dangerous.

“The target’s probably already gone. I’m leaving.” She turned toward the door.

He caught her arm. “Not yet.”

She whipped around—fast—her leg sweeping up in a vicious kick aimed at his ribs.

He blocked it.

Barely.

Her heel connected with his forearm instead, the impact sharp enough to make him grunt. But he didn’t let go. His hand wrapped around her ankle, holding her leg suspended in the air, her body arched and balanced on one foot.

They froze.

Her skin gleamed in the low light, one leg extended high, trapped in his grip. The red satin of her romper had ridden up, exposing the curve of her thigh, the dangerous line of her body. Gold jewellery glinted at her wrist that concealed more danger, and her throat. Her amber eyes blazed with fury and something hotter, darker.

Cade stared at her—breathless, blood still pounding from the fight, from the sex, from her.

“Let. Me. Go.” Her voice was low, deadly.

He should have.

He didn’t.

Instead, he pulled her closer, using her captured leg as leverage, forcing her to hop forward or fall. She crashed into his chest, and he released her ankle only to cage her against the wall, both hands braced on either side of her head.

“Not yet,” he murmured again, voice rough as gravel.

She glared up at him, breathing hard. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe.” His hand slid up her thigh, fingers grazing bare skin. “But you want it too.”

She did. God help her, she did.

“This is a mistake,” she whispered, even as she pulled him back into a bruising kiss.

“Best mistake I ever made.”

This time, it was slower. Hotter. Dirtier.

Because now they knew.

Knew exactly who they were fucking.

Knew it was forbidden.

Knew it could get them both killed.

And they didn’t care.

Cade pushed her against the wall, yanking her shorts down just enough. She wrapped one leg around his waist as he drove into her from behind, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her hip.

"Fuck, you feel even better the second time,” he groaned.

“Shut up,” she gasped, pushing back against him, meeting every brutal thrust.

“Make me.”

She reached back, nails raking down his neck. He hissed, slamming into her harder.

They came together this time—violent, shuddering, mouths locked in a kiss that tasted like blood and regret and something neither of them wanted to name.

When they finally pulled apart, the music outside had stopped.

Screaming echoed through the halls.

“Target’s escaping!” someone was speaking to them in their earpieces, that was one way.

Cade’s mouth twisted into a feral grin as he tucked himself away. “Truce, princess?”

Zara yanked her clothes back into place, amber eyes sharp again. “Only until he’s dead.”

They moved like they’d been fighting together for years.

She vaulted over a table, landed in front of the target—some sweating diplomat—and drove her knife up under his ribs in one clean, elegant motion. The man gurgled, eyes wide.

Cade arrived a second later, blood already on his knuckles from dropping two guards.

He watched her finish the kill.

Didn’t interfere.

Didn’t try to steal it.

Just… let her have it.

The target slumped dead at her feet.

Zara turned, breathing hard, and found Cade watching her with something unreadable in his eyes.

“Yours,” he said simply as he lifted his hands up in defence.

She blinked. “What?”

“The kill. It’s yours.”

“I don’t need your permission, Mongrel.”

“Wasn’t asking.” He wiped his hands on a stolen napkin, eyes raking over her—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, the faint mark of his teeth on her neck. “You earned it.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

So, she said nothing and bolted.

Zara turned and melted into the chaos, disappearing into the night like the shadow she was.

Cade watched her go.

Then he grinned.

And left.

Cade rode his motorcycle through the rain, still tasting her on his tongue, still feeling the ghost of her nails down his back.

What the fuck just happened?

Zara sat in the back of a sleek black town car, thighs still sticky with him, staring out at the city lights.

This never happened. It can’t happen again.

Neither of them knew it yet.

But that night had already changed everything.