Page 5 of Claim of Blood
The conversation in the living room came to an immediate halt. Leo heard shuffling, then his mother’s commanding whisper: “We’ll continue this later.”
Leo quickly retreated from his eavesdropping position, moving silently down the hall to intercept Felix before he could reach the stairs.
“There you are,” Felix said brightly, holding a stack of what looked like old papers. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I wanted to show you something I found—”
Leo grabbed Felix’s arm, steering him back toward Felix’s bedroom. “Let’s talk in your room,” he said, unable to keep the edge from his voice.
Once inside, with the door closed, Felix looked at him in confusion. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re about to punch someone.”
Leo paced the small room, hands clenching and unclenching. Should he tell Felix what he’d overheard? He trusted his cousin more than anyone else in the family, but still...
“Nothing,” Leo said finally. “Just family stuff. What did you want to show me?”
Felix studied him for a moment, clearly not believing the dismissal, but didn’t press. Instead, he glanced nervously at the door before reaching under his bed. He pulled out what looked like a standard hunter’s equipment trunk. He opened the combination lock, lifted the lid, and removed a false bottom to reveal dozens of old journals, notebooks, and loose papers organized into folders.
“What is all this?” Leo asked, momentarily distracted from his anger.
“Research,” Felix said, sorting through the papers. “Family history, vampire lore, hunter records—stuff I’m not supposed to have.” He pulled out a worn leather journal. “Including this.”
Leo took the journal. “What is it?”
Felix’s smile was like a warm coat thrown over freezing shoulders. He didn’t joke or judge; he just listened.
Felix took the journal back and opened it to a marked page. “Family stories the official records don’t include.” His voice dropped. “About our ancestor Friedrich and the vampire he killed.”
Leo leaned closer. “What kind of stories?”
“The kind that suggest duty wasn’t the only thing driving him.” Felix’s finger traced faded ink. “Elise wrote that he was... changed after Helena’s death. Died within months, though the family claims it was disease.”
A chill ran down Leo’s spine, though he couldn’t say why. “Why are you telling me this now?”
Felix closed the journal carefully. “I’ve been dying to show you this for months. It took me forever to translate—Elise’s handwriting is impossibly tiny, and the dialect is nothing like modern German. Plus, all these weird abbreviations she used...” He ran his fingers reverently over the cover. “But it’s fascinating stuff. I mean, why wouldn’t you want to know about our own family history? The real history, not just the sanitized version they tell us.”
His eyes lit up with genuine academic enthusiasm. “There’s so much more in here about Friedrich and Helena that the family never talks about. I’ve got other journals too—accounts that contradict our ‘official’ stories completely.”
Before Leo could answer, a knock on the door made them both jump. Felix frantically shoved the journal under his shirt as the door opened. Weber, the family’s long-serving butler, stood there.
“Dinner is served, gentlemen,” Weber announced, his face giving nothing away.
“Thank you, Weber,” Leo replied. “We’ll be right down.”
Weber nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
“We’ll talk more later,” Felix promised, then slipped the journal from beneath his shirt.
Leo watched as Felix knelt before the trunk at the foot of the bed. His cousin’s fingers worked with practiced precision, replacing the leather-bound volume beneath the false panel in the trunk’s bottom. Other journals, in various sizes and colors, and a scattering of loose papers, lay nestled in the hidden compartment.
Leo’s pulse quickened. Those journals might contain answers about what he was experiencing—this pull toward Matthews that defied all his training, all his family’s warnings.
Felix pressed the panel back into place with a soft click, then locked the trunk. “Don’t tell anyone about these,” he said, his voice dropping. “Friedrich would burn them without a second thought.”
Leo nodded, his mind racing with possibilities.
A second, sharper knock rattled the door. “Now, young masters,” Weber called, his formal tone carrying a rare edge of impatience.
Felix shot Leo a meaningful look as they headed into the hallway. “Later,” he mouthed silently, then straightened his shoulders and adopted the neutral expression expected of a Rothenburg.
Leo followed suit, his training kicking in automatically—face blank, posture alert, senses scanning for threats—as they descended the grand staircase. Whatever secrets those journals held would have to wait.
