CHAPTER 14
The Mask for The Creature
Malphas did not move.
Even with the cold, dual muzzles of her pistols inches from his retinas and the sole of her sneaker hovering like a death sentence near his jaw, his expression remained a mask of carved marble.
Internally, however, something inside him was experiencing a violent structural failure.
For a man like Malphas Lucian Mordrake, space was something he owned, and bodies were things he controlled. No one—not even his own father—had ever dared to breach his personal perimeter with such feral disrespect. The sting of it was sharp and visceral; his ego, usually an impenetrable fortress, flared with a white-hot, indignant fury. He was the heir to an empire of blood, yet here was a mere global “pop star” treating his face like a footstool.
