Page 71 of Claim of Blood
The peace lasted exactly five minutes. Oren swept through, carrying what looked like half the kitchen’s meat supply. He balanced an overloaded plate while somehow snagging an entire thermos of blood-coffee. Without a word, he vanished as silently as he’d arrived.
Then rapid-fire French exploded from the kitchen. Leo couldn’t understand a word, but the volume alone made both vampires wince.
Moments later, Marie Leleu stormed in, brandishing another thermos like a weapon. “Adam Matthews!” Her accent was pure PDC French, sharp as a cleaver. “That vampire of yours has stolen three of my thermoses! Three! They’re being held hostage in his security room, and he won’t let me in.”
Adam—First Son, ancient vampire—looked caught between guilt and resignation. “My apologies, Marie. I’ll speak to him.”
“Bah!” She waved him off. “He has enough to survive the apocalypse. But my thermoses!” She narrowed her eyes. “Return them, or no more pastries.”
The threat landed like a bomb. Leo choked on his juice. Lander gasped. “Marie, you wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
“I’ll retrieve them personally,” Lander promised, sounding genuinely alarmed. “After breakfast.”
“Good.” She stalked out, still muttering under her breath.
Adam rose, schooling his expression back into dignity. He bent to kiss Leo—deep, claiming. “Lander will look after you today. Try not to cause too much trouble.”
“Me? Trouble?” Leo batted his eyelashes innocently. Lander snorted.
Adam’s smile was all dark promise. “Behave.” Then he was gone.
Lander stood, collecting the dishes. “Before we do anything else, we should rescue Marie’s thermoses.”
They walked through the mansion, the sound of blaring rock music growing louder. At Oren’s door, the bass rattled the hinges.
Lander pressed a hidden panel. A keypad appeared, and he typed a sequence with weary familiarity. The door clicked open to reveal Oren’s lair of caffeinated excess.
Three of Marie’s thermoses were indeed present, two emptied, and one currently attached to Oren’s lips like a lifeline. But they were just the tip of the caffeine iceberg. Empty containers and plates covered every available surface, creating a landscape of caffeinated chaos that spoke of either intense focus or a complete breakdown of organizational priorities.
The air itself seemed to vibrate with residual caffeine energy.
Lander moved quickly to silence the speakers. Oren looked up, showing only slight irritation.
Leo took in the caffeine carnage. “I feel like I should ask...”
“Oren’s been obsessed with coffee since the Ottoman Empire,” Lander said dryly.
One of Oren’s eyebrows lifted a millimeter. Possibly a monumental reaction.
A servant passed by, and as he entered, something strange happened. A tingling awareness prickled down Leo’s spine—certainty, without sight or smell or sound: cat shifter.
His breath faltered. He’d never experienced anything like this. The knowledge didn’t come through his eyes or ears or nose—it simply was, settling into his mind with startling clarity.
He gripped the doorframe, shaken. What am I becoming?
“Cory, we need a cleanup crew.” Lander gestured at the chaos of Oren’s caffeinated nest. “And perhaps a larger trolley.”
The shifter’s eyes widened at the state of the room, but he recovered quickly, offering a slight bow before disappearing with feline grace.
Cory returned with reinforcements. As more servants arrived—another cat shifter, a wolf, a vampire—Leo’s awareness expanded. Each supernatural presence felt distinct. It was like discovering a new sense.
He gripped the doorframe, shaken. What am I becoming?
Lander was speaking to the staff. Leo only half-heard him, his thoughts spiraling: If he was developing abilities, what did that mean? Was he even human anymore? The question lodged like a burr in his mind, impossible to shake.
He needed to tell Adam.
