Blood Match

Chapter 27: The Mile High Club

⚜️ Author’s Note ⚜️
This chapter follows the Pierce siblings on their flight to Spain. Their world is one of decadence, cruelty, and power without restraint. The themes here are darker than previous chapters, touching on manipulation, exploitation, and the costs of indulgence. While intimate and violent details have been left off-page for reader comfort, the tone remains unsettling to reflect the Pierce siblings’ true nature.

The Gulfstream G650ER crouched like a predator under the floodlights, its sleek lines gleaming against the balmy Sydney night. The air was heavy with salt and lingering summer heat, the tarmac radiating warmth as the Pierce siblings boarded, their tension simmering beneath the humid haze.

Marlowe ascended the jet’s stairs with the elegance of a queen returning to her throne. The crimson of her lips cut sharply against the pale of her skin, her heels clicking in time with her disdain for what awaited them in Spain. She’d rather burn the peninsula to ash than pay homage to Leonidas’ insufferable Yule traditions, but defying him wasn’t an option—yet.

Behind her, a gaunt man of twenty-two years stumbled as he climbed, his pallid skin catching the harsh floodlights like a bad omen. His hands clutched the rail with white-knuckled desperation, his haunted eyes flicking between the towering jet and the ground below, as though weighing which offered the kinder end.

Marlowe paused mid-ascent, turning to level him with an icy gaze that froze him in his tracks. Her smile, sharp and humorless, sliced through his hesitation. “First time flying?” she asked, the sweetness of her tone mocking. Before he could stammer out a reply, she added, “Let’s hope you don’t lose what little composure you have. I’m not in the mood to carry dead weight.”

The man swallowed and forced himself forward under her withering glare.

At the base of the stairs, Gideon lingered, amusement glinting as he adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit. He turned to Emma, who walked beside him with an easy grace that contrasted sharply with the man ahead. She was as composed as ever, her petite frame poised in a way that suggested she was far more comfortable than a Pierce’s blood match should be.

“Another one from the farms, I assume?” Emma asked lightly, her brown eyes drifting toward the gaunt figure ahead.

Gideon smirked. “Barely understands daylight, let alone freedom. But he’s valuable. Marlowe will mold him into something… useful.”

“Useful?” Emma’s lips curved faintly. “To her or to you?”

Gideon chuckled. “Does it matter?”

Inside, polished wood and leather glowed under recessed lighting. Marlowe reclined with one leg elegantly crossed, gesturing the man to sit. He collapsed opposite her like a cut marionette.

Gideon slid into his seat; Emma joined him with unstudied poise. She glanced at the airfield, a faint, wistful smile playing at her mouth. “Strange. Missing Christmas dinner with my family for the first time in twenty-eight years.”

“Having regrets, Emma?” Gideon asked, amusement and warning braided in his tone.

“Not a single one,” she said, smile unfaltering. “But you can punish me if it makes you feel better.”

Marlowe’s interest flickered and passed. She fixed the gaunt man with a cold appraisal. “By the time we land for refueling, I expect you to manage a coherent sentence.”

He twisted his hands in his lap and stared at the floor.

“This will be tedious,” she sighed.

The engines roared to life; the cabin sealed. Gideon uncorked a crystal decanter filled with thick, crimson liquid, poured for himself and Marlowe, and raised his glass. “To our coven—and to enduring Leonidas’ insufferable Yule in Spain.”

Marlowe’s eyes flashed, blue brightening toward crimson as she smiled. “To ensuring Spain regrets having us at all.”

Emma lifted sparkling water, gaze lingering on the trembling man. Marlowe clicked her tongue. “Perhaps the first toast should’ve been to patience.”

The jet hummed through the dark toward Dubai.

For seven hours, Marlowe scrolled through encrypted messages and financial feeds, the phone’s faint glow carving her face into elegant planes. Attendants flowed through with silver trays. Humans were served Australian delicacies; for Marlowe and Gideon, there were more decadent offerings—delicate carpaccio and goblets that reeked faintly of life.

Marlowe set her phone down. “You’ve been quiet,” she told Emma, eyes bright with curiosity. “Surely you’ve been up to something wickedly clever.”

“I have,” Emma said. “Charlotte Deveraux—La Bohème, The Marriage of Figaro. Brilliant voice, sharp wit, all the right connections. A perfect candidate.”

Marlowe’s smile sharpened. “Go on.”

“I ‘bumped into her’ at a restaurant after an opening night,” Emma continued. “A mild dose in her champagne—distress, not death. I stepped in off-duty with my paramedic kit, stabilized her, and our ‘ambulance’ took it from there. She’s been in Gideon’s system since.”

Marlowe laughed softly, wicked delight humming in the sound. “I see why you keep her around, Gideon. Resourceful. Ruthless. Quite the little pet.”

Gideon tipped his glass. “Speaking of resourcefulness,” he said, silk over steel, “I find myself… peckish.”

Emma smoothed her skirt. “Let me freshen up first,” she said lightly, and crossed to the washroom.

Gideon watched the door click shut, then let his smirk darken. “If she keeps me waiting much longer—” He didn’t finish, but the promise lingered like a shadow.

Marlowe swirled her drink. “You’d think the farm and our party would’ve kept you sated,” she drawled. “But no—always more.”

“Emma told me she’s always dreamed of joining the mile-high club,” he said, grinning.

“Humans and their lists,” Marlowe scoffed. “Meaningless lists for a meaningless existence. Go on, then. Have heaps of fun while I sit here wondering if my blood match is a mute or just too useless to scream.”

The man flinched. “N-not a mute.”

“Oh, a miracle,” Marlowe said dryly. “He speaks.”

Emma returned composed. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Finally,” Gideon said, setting his glass aside. “Teasing is unwise.” He stood and gestured toward the private lounge.

The door shut behind them, sealing Emma into the dim light with him.

What happened next did not belong to the cabin.

Back in the main salon, the lounge door hissed open. Gideon emerged adjusting his cuffs, every line of him a predator at ease.

He poured fresh crimson from the decanter. The faint, metallic tang clung to him like a ghost.

Marlowe’s gaze flicked to the lounge. Her voice was frost and iron. “Please tell me you didn’t ruin her.”

Gideon didn’t flinch. “Ruin is such an ugly word,” he said smoothly. “She… served her purpose.”

Marlowe’s expression darkened. “She served two purposes. Do you have any idea how rare it is to find a paramedic willing to go to the lengths she did? She wasn’t just supposed to make it to Yule—she was critical to our operations.”

Her voice dropped, venom-sharp. “And you took too much.”

Gideon straightened, the smirk slipping toward menace. “Careful, Marlowe. I indulged. If you need another paramedic, I’ll acquire one. Humans are weeds—pull one out, another grows easily.”

Before she could respond, the overhead speaker crackled. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re beginning our descent into Dubai for refueling. Estimated touchdown in fifteen minutes. Please secure yourselves.”

Marlowe’s fury radiated. She snapped back into her seat, drained her glass in one motion, and set it down with a crystalline crack. “Don’t think for a second I’m sharing my mute with you.”

The gaunt man stirred. “N-not a mute.”

“Oh, what a miracle,” she jeered. “He speaks.”

Gideon reclined, amused again. “I’m sure Leonidas has spares prepared should there be… complications,” he said with a lazy wave. He sipped, lips glistening. “And if not—” his voice fell into a silken threat “—I’ll simply take one for myself.”

Final drop at 9 p.m.: a letter from the past changes everything.