Page 102 of Blood Heir

Serevin groans as I help him into the backseat, and I slide in next to him. Cassian slams the passenger door shut, and Emilia jumps into the driver’s seat. With a sharp turn of the ignition, the car rumbles to life, and she stomps on the gas. The tires screech as we lurch forward, heading toward the meeting grounds.

The drive isn’t long, but every second stretches, tight with tension. Serevin’s hand wraps around mine, cold and unsteady, but strong in its grip. I squeeze back, my eyes locked ahead.

The location isn’t just a mansion—it’s practically a fortress, tucked into a remote hillside on the outskirts of Melbourne. This is where the old council meets when decisions are too dangerous for public eyes.

As we approach, the first barricade appears. A series of black SUVs block the road, armed men standing beside them, already raising their rifles.

“Identify yourselves!” one of them shouts through a megaphone.

But Emilia doesn’t slow down. She slams her hand on the horn, leaning over the wheel as the car barrels forward.

“Move!!” she screams.

The guards scatter at the last second, some diving out of the way, others scrambling to point their weapons.

Bullets slice past the car, shattering the side mirror with a sharp crack. Glass sprays into the car, and I instinctivelyshield Serevin with my arms as Emilia swerves sharply, tires screeching, weaving through the first barricade.

The second checkpoint is even tighter. Steel gates this time, thick with guards trying to close them.

“Hold on!” Emilia growls.

The car fishtails as she throws it into a tight turn, swerving through the narrowing gap before the gates fully shut. We speed past just as one of the guards tries to grab the handle. I feel his fist slam against the window.

Another shot hits the rear bumper. Metal grinds, but we keep moving.

Behind us, more engines roar to life.

“They’re following us,” Cassian mutters, pulling a gun from under his jacket, rolling down the window slightly.

We round the final curve, the main building rising before us—sleek, modern, cold. Spotlights beam into the night sky, illuminating the security teams scrambling as we pull up to the entrance.

“This is it,” I say, voice steady despite my pulse hammering in my throat.

Cassian and Emilia leap out as soon as we screech to a stop. Cassian slams the car door shut and immediately turns, spotting the caravan of vehicles speeding down the hill behind us.

Armed men pour from the vehicles, shouting orders, guns raised.

Cassian turns to me, fierce determination in his eyes. “We’ll hold them back. You two go.”

Emilia swallows hard but nods, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Cassian as they both raise their guns.

“Fioretta, go!” Emilia yells.

I grip Serevin’s hand tighter. His steps are unsteady, but his jaw tightens with resolve. Side by side, we sprint toward the building’s towering doors, leaving the gunfire roaring behind us.

We burst through the corridor, Serevin leaning heavily on me but refusing to slow down. My shoulder is practically beneath his ribs, keeping him upright as we sprint past guards who freeze mid-step, their mouths opening in stunned shock.

“It’s them,” one of the guards whispers hoarsely. “It’s Serevin.”

Another’s hand twitches toward his radio, but he hesitates. No one expected us here. No one knows whether to stop us or let us pass.

Serevin’s breathing is ragged beside me, his blood leaving faint streaks on the polished floor, but his eyes burn with one thing—rage.

At the end of the grand hallway stands the council’s chamber—tall oak doors sealed shut.

“They’re inside,” he growls.

With the last of his strength, Serevin pushes forward and slams his boot into the double doors.

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