Page 11 of The Mafia Bloodline
“Thank you,” I said softly, unsure what else to say.
Layla stepped closer, her eyes kind. “He’ll take care of you, you know,” she said. “They all do, once they’ve bonded. It’s… intense at first. Overwhelming, even. But you’ll find your footing.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, the air shifted, it changed.
The door opened behind me, and I felt it before I saw him. That same electric pull in my chest, the invisible tether tightening as his presence filled the room.
Volken.
His footsteps were slow, deliberate, the weight of them pulling at something deep inside me. I turned, breath catching.
He was every bit the storm I remembered, tall, dark, his eyes glacial and burning all at once. And the moment his gaze found me, everything else disappeared.
“Volken,” Layla said, smiling faintly. “Your mate was just…”
She didn’t finish.
Because Volken crossed the space between us in three long strides, his hand sliding to the back of my neck as he pulled me against him. His mouth crashed into mine, fierce and claiming, and the sound that tore from my throat was half gasp, half surrender.
The world went silent. The kiss was fire and possession and relief all tangled into one, and for a second, I forgot anyone else existed.
When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged. “You shouldn’t be walking around alone,” he growled softly, his thumb brushing over my lower lip. “Not here. Not yet.”
I blinked up at him, stunned, my lips tingling, my mind a mess of heat and confusion.
“I didn’t know I was a prisoner here.” I mutter angrily.
Behind us, Layla cleared her throat, and I could feel the smirk in her voice. “Well,” she said, glancing at Roman, “looks like Volken’s just as subtle as ever.”
Roman only grunted. “He’s a Dragic,” he said dryly. “Subtlety isn’t in the blood.”
Volken ignored them, his attention fixed on me, eyes softer now but no less intense. “You’re safe here,” he murmured, low enough that only I could hear. “You’ll always be safe here. I just want to make sure you have someone with you at the beginning so you don’t get lost.”
And somehow, even though I barely knew this man, this creature, I believed him.
That terrified me more than any demon ever could. Because standing this close to him, seeing him in full light for the first time, I understood what danger was supposed to look like…and how badly I wanted to touch it anyway.
Volken was devastating.
The kind of handsome that didn’t belong in reality, too sharp, too deliberate.His jaw was carved in clean lines, shadowed by the faintest trace of stubble. His mouth was firm, sensual in a way that made my stomach twist, and his eyes…God, his eyes, were the pale, cold blue of glacial ice. The kind that could freeze a man’s blood or melt your resolve in one look.
He still wore the black glasses I’d glimpsed before, though now I could see they weren’t for show. They dulled the faint glow in his gaze, the mark of what he was. But even with them, there was no hiding the predatory sharpness that lingered beneath. His hair, long enough to brush his collar, was dark as a raven’s wing, and when the light caught it, I could see faint silver strands woven through. Not age, but battle. Experience.
My eyes trailed down, catching on the edge of the ink that peeked out from beneath his black shirt, tattoos that wound up his neck, curling like shadows. I couldn’t make out the symbols, but they looked ancient,like runes meant to protect or destroy. Maybe both.
He was raw power wrapped in restraint, a contradiction of danger and calm. And somehow, I knew instinctively that if anyone ever laid a hand on me, this man would kill everyone in his path until he found me.
And that was the problem,because I shouldn’t want that. I shouldn’t want him.
The sound of footsteps drew my attention away. Volken turned slightly, his hand still possessively resting on the small of my back as more people entered the room.
The first was a man dressed sharp-suited, ice-eyed, his presence colder but somehow steadier than Volken’s storm. Beside him, was a beautiful redheaded woman that walked with a quiet confidence, her red hair gleaming under the chandelier’s light. She smiled the moment she saw me, warmth in her gaze that reminded me of Layla’s earlier welcome.
Then a mountain of a man appeared, a grin already curling his lips, his golden hair tied back, tattoos snaking across his hands like lightning frozen in skin. Behind him came one last man that was bigger than the rest, darker, a wall of muscle and shadow whose eyes gleamed with quiet menace.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. The room felt charged, humming with power that didn’t belong to this world.
Volken’s hand tightened slightly at my back as they approached, his voice low and steady. “These are my brothers,” he said. “Roman, Lucien, Viking and Draugr.” He presented as he pointed to each man. “and Layla you have already met, this here is Sorcha.”
