BLOODLINE AT THIRTY THOUSAND FEET

The Prescott estate sat atop a private ridge overlooking the glowing expanse of Denver, surrounded by fifty acres of dense pine forest and four rings of electrified security fencing. To the outside world, it was an impenetrable fortress of stone, reinforced glass, and armed security patrols.

To me, for the last three years, it had merely been a mausoleum.

The iron gates groaned open as the convoy swept up the winding, heated driveway. It was past two in the morning on Christmas Day. The blizzard had cleared, leaving behind a crisp, starry night where millions of city lights reflected off the fresh blanket of virgin snow below.

When the lead SUV stopped beneath the heated stone portico, the world was utterly silent.

I walked to the middle Suburban and opened the heavy armored door.

Cassandra was sitting awake, her eyes wide with exhaustion and lingering shock. Curled against her chest on either side were the twins, sound asleep beneath the soft wool emergency blankets Frank had provided.

“Is it over?” she asked, her voice cracking with fatigue.

“It’s over,” I said softly, reaching inside. “Marco and Dennis will never cross your path again. No one from my world will ever threaten you or these children. You have my word.”

She looked out at the massive stone facade, the towering timber beams, and the soft amber light glowing through the three-story windows. “Damon, this place... it’s enormous. We don't belong in a castle.”

“It’s not a castle,” I said, gently lifting Luke into my arms without waking him. “It’s a home. And half of everything behind those doors belongs to you.”

We entered the great hall. A roaring fire was already crackling in the massive floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace, tended by Mrs. Gable, the elderly housekeeper who had practically raised me after my mother passed. When Mrs. Gable saw the two sleeping children in our arms, her eyes filled with tears, but with the discretion of a lifelong Prescott employee, she bowed her head and silently led the way upstairs.

We laid Luke and Violet into the oversized guest suite adjoining the master bedroom. The room had been hastily prepared with extra duvets and plush pillows. Violet immediately rolled over, clutching her gray stuffed elephant, while Luke sprawled out on his stomach, snoring softly into the down mattress.

Cassandra stood at the foot of the bed, watching them breathe. The tension that had held her shoulders rigid for three years seemed to finally snap, causing her knees to buckle slightly.

I caught her by the waist, steadying her.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. The warmth of her body, the familiar scent of vanilla and rain that she had always carried, flooded my senses. My hands rested against her hips, remembering every line of her, while her hands came up to rest against my chest, right over my racing heart.

“I hated you for months, Damon,” she whispered, not looking up. “I thought you chose this violent life over me and our future. I thought you let me leave because I didn't fit into your empire.”

“I let you leave because I thought I was protecting you,” I confessed, my voice thick with emotion. “I thought if you were far away from my enemies, you would have the peace I could never give you. I was a fool, Cassandra. I spent three years ruling an empire that felt completely empty.”

She looked up, her dark eyes searching mine in the dim amber light of the hallway. “What happens now? You’re still Damon Prescott. You still have forty men with guns outside your gates.”

“Now,” I said, leaning down until my forehead rested against hers, “I teach those men that their only job on this earth is to guard the three people in this room. Tomorrow, you can decide whatever you want. If you want to leave for Omaha, I will buy the entire town and surround you with an army you’ll never see. But if you stay... I will spend every day earning back the three Christmases we lost.”

A tear tracked down her cheek, but this time, a faint, fragile smile followed it.

“They don't even have presents to open, Damon,” she murmured. “It’s Christmas morning, and they have nothing under a tree.”

I looked over at my sleeping son and daughter, and for the first time in ten years, a genuine, unburdened smile spread across my face.