Page 96 of Claim of Blood
“You think I wanted this?” he bit out. “You and Adam, playing at soulmates while I stand in the corner and smile?”
Leo gasped, pain spiking with each thrust. “Lander—”
Another snap of hips. Leo cried out, the sound ragged and raw.
“You don’t even see it,” Lander snarled. “You’re already perfect for each other. I’m just the one getting used. Just like Andreas. The happy extra. The good little side piece.”
The hand at Leo’s throat tightened. His vision wavered.
“I won’t be like him,” Lander growled. “I won’t be your leftover.”
Each word landed with a brutal thrust, driving into Leo like punctuation. His legs trembled. His cock dripped, painfully hard, untouched.
“You were a stranger,” Lander whispered, furious. “And now I can’t sleep without smelling you in the sheets.”
Leo’s voice cracked. “Then stop—”
“Neither of us can,” Lander snapped. “That’s the fucking problem.”
One hand yanked Leo’s hips back even harder. The other shifted to his cock, squeezing tight—a punishment, not pleasure.
“I hate this,” Lander whispered. “Hate that you make me want it.”
Leo moaned. It slipped out involuntarily. Shame, pain, desire all twisted into something he didn’t have words for.
Lander’s breath caught. He slammed into Leo once, twice—then stilled, groaning low and furious as he came. The heat of it spilled inside Leo, mixing with Adam’s from earlier. A second mark. A second claim.
Lander leaned in, voice wrecked. “Let me know what Adam thinks of that.”
Then he pulled out, and the weight was gone, leaving Leo alone with the ghostly sensation of fangs against his throat.
Leo sagged against the wall, breath ragged, vision blurry.
His cock throbbed, aching, but he didn’t touch it. Couldn’t. His pants hung around his thighs, wet with evidence of both vampires. He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe.
He understood why Lander was angry, could see the pain beneath all that rage, but understanding didn’t tell him how to fix it. How do you convince someone they matter when they’re convinced they don’t? How do you prove you’re not trying to push them aside when every breath you take seems to be proof of your bond with someone else?
Leo stumbled from the underground complex, his mind already trying to shove the encounter into a mental box he could lock away for later. Compartmentalize. Focus. That’s what he had to do—find something tangible, something he could fix.
The grand double doors of the mansion loomed ahead, sunlight pouring through the high windows and slicing across the marble like judgment.
Maybe he should clean up first. Wash off the scent, the slick mess still clinging to his thighs.
But no, Oren was waiting.
“Leo.”
The voice stopped him cold. Calm. Crisp. Unmistakable.
Oren stepped out from a side hallway, all quiet control in a tailored black suit. Gaspard followed, his usual bored expression faltering as his gaze caught on Leo. His nose wrinkled almost imperceptibly, registering the scent.
Leo’s face went hot. He opened his mouth—had no idea what to say—then Gaspard flinched.
A sharp smack echoed through the entry hall. Oren’s hand had struck Gaspard’s stomach with practiced ease.
“Leo’s business is Adam’s business,” Oren said, not looking away from Leo. “And Adam’s business is his own.”
Gaspard straightened like a chastised schoolboy. He inclined his head in silence.
