Speaker 1: Caloroga Shark Media.
Speaker 2: Hello, and welcome to Romance Weekly. This episode is titled
The Midnight Masquerade, Episode four, Winter's Dawn.
Speaker 3: The first bullet misses my heart by inches. The second
catches one of Marina's men in the throat Morgan's impeccable aim.
The third shatters the mirror behind us, and I watch
our reflection fracture like all the lies between us.
Speaker 1: Move.
Speaker 3: Morgan's body covers mine as we roll behind the sweet's
overturned sofa. His skin is still hot against mine, both
of us half dressed from moments ago. Tell me you
have a plan always. I reach under the sofa cushion,
extracting a sleep case. The palace was built in eighteen
eighty two. The original owner was paranoid about fires, meaning
I pull out what looks like an antique key private
evacuation tunnels. All the old hotels have them, of course
they do. His laugh vibrates against my bare shoulder as
another bullet sprays plaster above us. And you just happen
to have the key. I own the hotel, darling. I
kiss him quick and fierce. I own lots of things
people don't know about, including the catalyst in your blood,
especially that I nod toward the bathroom. Third tile from
the left, shoot it. He doesn't hesitate. Trust looks good
on him, almost as good as the half buttoned shirt
and shoulder holster. The tile explodes, revealing a dark passage
beyond ladies. First, he offers such a gentleman, I slide
past him into the tunnel, letting him feel every inch
of contact, even when trying to get into my bloodstream.
Speaker 1: Already been there.
Speaker 3: His hands settle possessively on my hips. As we move
through the darkness in more ways than one. Behind us,
Marina's voice carries through the broken windows, running again Saulnishka
and here I thought the great Vivian night was done
playing games, Oh Marina, I pitched my voice to carry.
We're just getting started. Morgan's body goes rigid against mine.
Speaker 1: She's lying? Is she?
Speaker 3: My fingers trace his jaw in the darkness. Tell me
about Sarah, the real story. This time, his silence speaks volumes,
but his hands tighten on my hips, possessive, protective, desperate.
Sarah was CIA two, he finally says, voice rough deep
cover in Marina's organization, she discovered projects snowfall wasn't just
about weapons. It was about evolution, controlled genetic advancement, human enhancement,
closer sharing warmth in the cold tunnel, the Perfect Soldier program.
More than that, perfect humans, disease free, enhanced, immortal. His
laugh is bitter. Sarah volunteered for the first trial. Her
DNA was compatible like yours. Another explosion rocks the tunnel closer.
This time, Marina's getting impatient.
Speaker 1: What happened? I already know, but he needs to say it.
Speaker 3: The catalyst worked too well, started changing her faster than
anyone predicted. Marina wanted to study her, dissect her, learn
why her body accepted the changes when others died. His
mouth finds mine in the darkness, desperate Now I helped
her escape, got her new papers, a new life, But
Marina found her anyway. I finish his thought like she
found me.
Speaker 1: No.
Speaker 3: His kiss is fierce, claiming, not like you, because this
time I'm not letting you go. This time I'm not running.
My phone buzzes Celeste's signal three short pulses too long,
the code we arranged good. I smile against his mouth
because everything's in place. He pulls back slightly. What did
you do remember my contact, the one who was late.
I start moving down the tunnel again, pulling him with me.
He was right on time, setting charges in Marina's hotel
room while she was hunting us. Charges the kind that
release a very specific gas, one that reacts uniquely with
the catalyst in my blood. Understanding dawns in his eyes.
You're not the target. No. We reach another junction, this
one leading to the hotel's old wine cellar. Marina is
has been since Vienna, since she killed Sarah, since you
marked me with the catalyst, knowing I'd eventually lead you
right to her. His smile is sharp in the dim
emergency lights. Told you you were clever enough to know
when I'm being used. I press him against the stone wall,
letting him feel the knife at his ribs, or clever
enough to use it to my advantage. Instead of answering,
he kisses me, hard, deep, like a man who's finally
met his match. Above us, the charges detonate, the gas
floods Marina's sweet filtering through the hotel's century old ventilation system.
Within minutes, Alarm's blair footsteps pound above us. As her
team evacuates, she'll head for the roof, Morgan says, already
moving her contingency plan. I take his hand, leading him
through a different passage. The helipad has a lovely view
of Times Square, perfect for what comes next, which is
I pull him into an alcove, pressing close the catalyst
in my blood. It's not just genetic enhancement. It's a beacon,
a key that unlocks something in any one else who's
been exposed to project snowfall. His hand slide to my waist,
steadying me as another explosion rocks the building, like Marina.
Like Marina, I confirm, who's been secretly dosing herself for years,
trying to replicate Sarah's success. The gas we'll activate everything
at once, all those genetic modifications she's been playing with.
I arch into his touch, feeling his heart race against mine.
Think of it as calmer in aerosol form. His laugh
rumbles through both our bodies. Remind me never to really
make you angry, oh darling. I kiss him, tasting smoke,
and promise you already did in Paris. Remember the handcuffs
weren't personal. No, I nip his bottom lip felt pretty
personal to me. Before he can respond, my phone lights
up Celeste's message is brief roof. Now we emerge into
the January dawn. Just as Marina reaches the helipad, she's
already changing, her skin, glowing with an unnatural sheen, her
movements too fluid to be human. The perfect Soldier program,
she snarls, seeing us would have made billions, would have
changed everything. But you, She points at me with a
hand that's more claw than flesh.
Speaker 1: You stole it all.
Speaker 3: No, Marina, I step forward, feeling the catalyst sing in
my blood, feeling it reached for her twisted DNA like
a heat seeking missile. I just perfected it. What happens
next is beautiful and terrible. Marina's engineered genetics, accelerated by
the gas, turn against her. Every enhancement, every modification, every
piece of Project Snowfall she's ever touched, activates at once.
She doesn't scream much. When it's over. Marina's body glitters
like frost in the dawn light, beautiful, crystalline, and completely
still Project Snowfall's final victim, frozen by her own ambition.
It's done, Morgan says, pulling me against him as sirens
wail below.
Speaker 1: All of it? Is it?
Speaker 3: I turn in his arms, studying his face in the
rising sun. The catalyst is still in my blood, still
changing me, still making me something more, more dangerous. His
smile is sharp, more brilliant, more impossible to resist all
of the above. I press closer, letting him feel how
my skin burns hotter than normal, how my heart beats faster,
how every nerve ending is hyper sensitive to his touch.
Still want to take me in agent steel. His kisses
answer enough, deep and demanding and full of dark promises.
His hands mapped territory that's forever altered. Now learning how
the catalyst has enhanced every sensation, every pleasure point, every
secret place he's claimed as his mine. He growls against
my throat enhanced or not running or staying mine?
Speaker 1: Prove it.
Speaker 3: He backs me against the helipad rail Manhattan spread out
below us like a glittering invitation. His touch is expert, professional,
a man who's studied every way to make me shatter,
and plans to use them all. The CIA will want
to study you, he says, between kisses that burn hotter
than they should, the only successful bond with the catalyst.
Let them try. I arch into his hands, feeling pleasure
build faster, and stronger than humanly possible. I've got other plans.
Tell me instead, I show him using my enhanced strength
to flip our positions, pinning him against the rail. His
laugh is dark and delighted as I demonstrate exactly what
the catalyst has done to my stamina, my flexibility, my
ability to process pleasure. Later, much later, we lie tangled
in the emergency blankets, celested thoughtfully left in the helipad
supply kit. The sun is fully up now, turning the
city into a jewel box of light and possibility. So
Morgan traces patterns on my cooling skin. These other plans.
Speaker 2: Hmm.
Speaker 3: I stretch, feeling new power ripple through my muscles. How
do you feel about Monaco? I hear the casino's got
some interesting new security features. Playing another game, but his
smile says he already knows the answer, a different one.
I roll on top of him, letting him feel how
ready I am for another round. This time we're both
wearing masks. This time, we're both breaking rules. This time,
we're both the bad guys. This time I kiss him,
tasting future and danger, and promise we make our own rules.
His phone buzzes. My phone buzzes. Somewhere in the city,
A new game is starting together, he asks, already reaching
for his clothes. I look at the man who hunted me,
changed me, freed me. At the future spreading out before
us like a glittering web of possibilities together. I agree,
but I'm keeping the handcuffs. His laugh echoes across the
rooftop as dawn paints Manhattan in shades of gold and promise.
Below us, Marina's body shimmers like a warning, like a beacon,
like an invitation to whatever comes next. Time to play
a new game.
Speaker 2: Romance Weekly is a production of Calaroga Shark Media executive
producers Mark Francis and John McDermott. Portions of this podcast
may have been created with the assistance of Ai
Speaker 1: Calaruga Shark Media.