Page 7 of Claim of Blood
Friedrich looked up from his wine. “Wouldn’t want you getting distracted again.”
“I won’t,” Leo said firmly.
“Perhaps Leopold could use some exercise before his shift,” Friedrich suggested suddenly. “He seems stressed. A sparring session would help.”
Leo tensed. Friedrich’s “sparring sessions” were notorious, particularly when he felt someone needed to be put in their place.
“I should prepare for surveillance,” Leo said carefully. “I need to review the—”
“Surely you can do both?” Stefan’s tone made it clear this wasn’t a question.
Will and Max exchanged knowing glances. “Might be good for you, Leo,” Max said. “Since you probably don’t get much exercise with all that dick-sucking you do.”
“Yeah,” Will snickered. “Not exactly the type who does the fucking, are you?”
Their crude laughter filled the dining room. Katherine examined her nails, looking bored. Sabine continued eating as if nothing inappropriate had been said. Stefan’s face remained impassive, tacitly approving the humiliation by his silence. Leo caught Felix’s gaze briefly before his cousin looked away,shoulders hunched, unwilling to become the next target. Leo didn’t blame him.
Friedrich’s smile was predatory. “Only one way to find out, little brother. Meet me out back in ten minutes.”
The “sparring area” behind the mansion was little more than a flat patch of grass surrounded by trees for privacy. Friedrich stood waiting, twirling two wooden practice swords with casual expertise. Will and Max lounged nearby, clearly expecting entertainment. Stefan and Sabine watched from the patio, wine glasses in hand, while Katherine leaned against the railing with studied indifference.
Only Felix looked concerned, hovering anxiously at the edge of the clearing.
“Standard rules,” Friedrich announced as Leo approached. “First to five hits wins. Head, torso, and limbs all count.”
Leo caught the practice sword Friedrich tossed his way, testing its weight. Despite his earlier reluctance, a familiar calm settled over him as he took his stance. This, at least, was familiar territory.
“Begin,” Stefan called.
Friedrich attacked immediately, a flurry of powerful strikes that drove Leo backward. Leo parried each blow, letting his brother expend energy while he studied his patterns. Friedrich had always favored aggression over precision, using his superior strength to overwhelm opponents.
After deflecting a particularly vicious overhead strike, Leo ducked under Friedrich’s guard and tapped his sword against his brother’s ribs.
“One-zero,” Leo said, unable to hide the smile.
Friedrich’s eyes narrowed. He renewed his assault with even greater ferocity, forcing Leo to give ground. Leo circled cautiously, controlling his breathing. Friedrich pressed forward, but Leo was ready. His brother was predictable. Leosidestepped, letting Friedrich’s momentum carry him past, and landed a quick strike on his back.
“Two-zero,” Leo announced.
Friedrich attacked with renewed fury. Leo parried the wild strikes, feeling the familiar rhythm of combat settle into his bones. His brother’s technique was all aggression, no finesse—all emotion, no strategy. Leo spotted his opening and delivered a precise tap to Friedrich’s arm.
“Three-zero,” Leo said, his calm voice a stark contrast to Friedrich’s menacing growl.
Leo recognized the look crossing his brother’s face—the same expression Friedrich had worn since childhood whenever faced with something he couldn’t simply overpower. Three points up, and Friedrich hadn’t learned a thing. Never had, never would.
The thought settled in Leo’s mind with surprising clarity: he was the better swordsman. Friedrich relied on brute strength and intimidation, but those weren’t enough against proper technique.
If Friedrich ever hoped to improve, he’d need to learn patience. Control. Strategy. All the things that had been drilled into Leo precisely because he lacked his brother’s natural advantages. Ironic that those lessons had made Leo the superior fighter, while Friedrich’s privilege had stunted his growth.
A flash of movement caught Leo’s eye—Will shifting position, moving to flank him. Leo adjusted his stance, keeping both men in his field of vision. The momentary distraction was enough for Friedrich to score a hit on Leo’s shoulder.
“Three-one,” Friedrich said with relief.
The next exchange was fast and brutal. Leo landed a solid blow to Friedrich’s chest.
“Four-one,” Leo said. For a heartbeat, he felt it: control. Not the kind his family respected. The kind they feared. The kind they mocked when it came from him.
But it was real. And it was earned.
