The Blood Contract
Chapter 85: Still trying to stop me?

Chapter 85: Still trying to stop me?

As soon as Serena left with Adrian and Darrell, the air in the room shifted. The tension, thick and almost suffocating, sparked with a crackling energy as Salvador turned slowly to face Modi. His eyes were dark with fury, and the slow burn of restrained anger gleamed in them like coals under ash.

He didn’t waste time. "This is unacceptable, Modi," he spat, his voice cold and cutting like a blade of ice. "The last time you told me that Lucian was only playing us and trying to annoy us. Is my wife also trying to annoy us? Because she looked and acted like someone who very much cares about Lucian."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. But Modi couldn’t focus on the accusation. His ears rang with one word—wife. He blinked once, twice, then gave Salvador a puzzled stare.

"Your wife?" Modi asked, incredulous.

Salvador nodded with calm certainty, like it wasn’t the most shocking declaration he could’ve made.

"Yes. And I’m pretty sure you know that," he said.

Modi let out a sigh, dragging his hand across his face as though he could physically wipe away the weight of the situation. "You need to get it together, Salvador. Calling her Leah in public when everyone knows her name to be Serena is not only foolish, but reckless as well. What if they begin to ask questions? Can you keep it together until we achieve our aim?"

His tone was calm, but underneath it was the simmering frustration of someone babysitting a ticking bomb. Salvador looked like he was on the verge of lunging at him.

"You dare to call me foolish?" Salvador asked, annoyance etched into every inch of his ageless face.

"I didn’t call you foolish," Modi responded, shaking his head. "What I called foolish is the mistake of calling her Leah instead of Serena. That could get us in trouble."

Modi’s voice remained composed, deliberate, even as Salvador’s energy grew more volatile with each passing second. The last thing he wanted to do was poke the man, but there was only so much foolishness he could tolerate, even from a centuries-old man with a god complex.

Salvador adjusted his stance, shoulders straightening with authority, eyes narrowing in deep suspicion. "Have you become overwhelmed by this job? Because I can always appoint someone else to handle it," he said, tone sharp as flint.

"I’ve never complained about my job, Salvador."

"Then why is everything falling apart in your hands?" Salvador’s voice rose slightly, heated with accusation. "I let you handle this because of your meticulous planning skill. But you are disappointing me every day."

Modi stared at him, lips slightly parted, struggling to pinpoint the exact moment he’d lost this man’s impossible standards. "How am I disappointing you?" he asked quietly.

"You are well aware that it would be troublesome if she fell in love with him, yet you are not doing anything even while that same thing is playing out right before your very eyes," Salvador revealed, eyes blazing with frustration.

Modi’s fingers curled into fists at his side, but his voice remained measured. "What am I supposed to do? Eliminate Lucian so you can have Serena to yourself? How do you intend to achieve your goal without Lucian?"

"Hasten the process," Salvador shot back.

"And how do you propose I do that?" Modi asked, now visibly tired of the loop they were trapped in. "The next batch of gloves are yet to be completed. Without the gloves, how do I hasten the process?"

His tone carried a bite, frustration finally breaking through the layers of control.

"I don’t care, Modi. Think of something. Use your head. That was why I put you in charge in the first place." Salvador’s words were venomous, a harsh reprimand that echoed through the hall. Without another word, he turned sharply and stormed out, his footsteps echoing across the floor, each step fueled by his simmering rage.

If not for the fact that his intelligence had not fully returned after using the youth serum, he would’ve handled this entire operation himself. Perfected it. Controlled every thread with surgical precision. Instead, he was forced to rely on others—on scientists who approached the mission like it was a hobby instead of the critical operation it was. None of them truly understood what was at stake, because none of it affected them personally.

Modi watched him disappear down the corridor, the tight lines of frustration on his face slowly softening. The fire in his chest didn’t go out, but something else flickered through his eyes—a different kind of glint. The faintest hint of a smirk touched his lips, then vanished as quickly as it came.

Once Salvador was well out of sight, Modi turned on his heel and made his way to his office. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, locking out the echo of Salvador’s tirade. With a sigh, he strode to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of wine, the deep red liquid catching the light like blood under a microscope. He took his time, sipping slowly, letting the cool drink wash away the weight of the last few minutes.

He sat down heavily in the high-backed chair behind his desk, staring out the window for a moment before grabbing his phone. He dialed a number without hesitation.

"My office. Right now," he instructed, voice flat and final before ending the call.

Minutes later, a soft knock echoed from the door.

"Come in," he called.

The door opened and Maria stepped in—Marlowe’s informant and one of the more competent hands on the team. She was dressed in a pristine white lab coat, her long hair tied back, and large, square-framed glasses perched on her nose.

"Good morning, sir. You sent for me?" Maria greeted, her voice brisk but respectful.

"Yes, I did. What’s the current status of the new batch of gloves?" Modi asked, his gaze sharp, drilling into her with the intensity of someone who’d reached the edge of patience.

"It’s already at completion stage, sir. There are still a few finishes that need to be added," Maria answered confidently, standing straight.

"How long will it take?" Modi threw another question without pause.

"I’m not sure, sir. Maybe three weeks, maybe a month. It depends on how fast the last ingredient gets absorbed by the glove," she replied honestly.

There was a beat of silence, the answer settling like dust before Modi finally spoke again.

"Prepare to send another message," he said simply.

Already familiar with the meaning of those words, Maria nodded. "Yes, sir."

"You may leave," he added, waving her off. She gave a brief nod before turning and walking out.

***

Meanwhile, back at the Draven Mansion, the air was heavy with worry.

Marlowe sat at Lucian’s bedside, hunched forward, her upper body bent toward her knees, hands tightly clasped above her head in silent prayer. Her mind was racing, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. She was praying desperately that Lucian wouldn’t give up before Serena arrived, and praying even harder that Serena herself wouldn’t give up after healing him.

She was losing track of time. Minutes felt like hours.

Then, finally, the door creaked open.

Serena stepped into the room, her face taut with resolve, and her hand clutching a kitchen knife. The steel caught a flicker of light, sharp and unforgiving. Her eyes, however, weren’t wild—they were focused.

Marlowe sprang to her feet, confusion washing over her.

"What are you doing with a knife?" she asked, eyebrows drawing together in concern.

Serena didn’t even glance at her. Her eyes were on Lucian—pale, still, and unconscious.

"Is he still alive?" Serena asked, her voice tight with urgency.

"Yes," Marlowe answered quickly. "But what are you doing with a knife?" she asked again, trying to bridge the growing tension.

"I need it to heal him," Serena answered, her voice flat, almost robotic in her determination.

She raised the knife and set it against her palm, clearly preparing to draw blood.

But Marlowe moved quickly, reaching out and grabbing her hand before she could make the cut.

"You don’t need the knife to heal him," Marlowe revealed, her voice calm but firm.

"But that was how they did it at the council that day," Serena argued, glancing up at her with a sharp, suspicious gaze. "Are you still trying to stop me?" she asked, accusation dripping from every syllable.

"I’m not trying to stop you. You only need to touch him to heal him. The cutting and the mixing of your blood was for something else," Marlowe explained, choosing her words with care.

Serena hesitated. She wanted to ask what that something else was—but now wasn’t the time. Lucian was lying there, slipping further away with every second they wasted.

She dropped onto the edge of the bed, her breath shaky but her mind set. Without another moment of hesitation, she reached out and grabbed Lucian’s hand.

She felt it immediately.

That same overwhelming drain she had felt on the day of the joining hit her like a tidal wave, crashing through her bones and burrowing deep into her chest. Her breath hitched, her vision swam, and the sensation of her energy being pulled out of her body left her gasping.

But she held on tightly.

And she wasn’t letting go until she was absolutely certain Lucian was completely alright again.

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