Page 102 of Claim of Blood
Only Maja stood unaffected, gaze cold, arms crossed. She was used to this. She was made for this.
And Lander…
Lander still fought, hands locked around Adam’s wrist in one last furious attempt at resistance. His fangs were out, body trembling with tension, but the power pressing down on him was older than his lineage, older than his understanding of submission.
Finger by finger, his grip loosened. Breath by breath, defiance bled away. His legs trembled. His spine bowed.
Adam watched his eyes, waiting for the moment they lost focus—when resistance gave way to inevitability.
It came like the collapse of a dam. Sudden. Absolute.
Adam’s gaze held Lander’s, voice low and lethal. “Are you finished?”
His grip slackened, just enough to allow a reply.
Lander’s body sagged, every muscle going slack in defeat.
Lander sagged, his body collapsing under the weight of defeat. Every muscle gave out at once.
“Yes,” he wheezed, the last threads of resistance unraveling.
Adam hauled him upright by the throat, then struck him across the face—hard enough to split his lip. Blood spattered the tile in a sharp arc. “Now move.”
When Lander swayed, still dazed from the blow, Adam’s patience snapped completely. His hand locked around Lander’s upper arm with bruising force, and he began dragging the younger vampire from the kitchen like a misbehaving child.
The walk through the mansion was a deliberate parade of humiliation. Lander’s shoes scuffed against the marble as he tried, and failed, to match Adam’s pace. Staff vanished into alcoves or flattened themselves against the walls, doing everything short of prostrating on the floor to avoid drawing attention.
Lander dug in near the main hallway, heels catching against a carpet edge. It made no difference. Adam didn’t break stride, didn’t look back. He simply tightened his grip and dragged him bodily, the resistance meaningless against his strength.
A stumble earned him a vicious jerk. The motion would have separated a mortal’s shoulder, and Lander’s shout echoed down the corridor.
They entered the grand foyer, the light of the crystal chandelier catching every speck of blood on Lander’s face. Servants and Court members lined the balconies above, drawn by the spectacle.
Adam didn’t slow. Not until he saw Leo descending the staircase, barefoot and still damp from the shower. Adam’s white shirt hung oversized on his frame, soft cotton brushing his thighs, drawstring pants loose at the hips.
Perfect.
The dark thing rising in Adam’s chest surged to the surface. He hurled Lander forward. The younger vampire hit the marble with a sound that silenced the entire room—a sickening crackfollowed by the smear of blood across pristine stone as he skidded to a stop at Leo’s feet.
Leo froze mid-step, wide-eyed. His breath caught, hands clenched at his sides. He didn’t speak. Didn’t interfere. But Adam saw the guilt in his eyes, sharp beneath the shock.
Before Lander could lift his head, Adam was beside him. One knee planted. One hand pressing his face into the cold marble. The angle was brutal—shoulder twisted, limbs bent awkwardly, cheek scraping blood into the grout.
“Apologize,” Adam said, voice perfectly pitched to fill the vaulted foyer.
“Adam!” Leo’s voice cracked, half warning, half plea. He flinched as every head turned toward him.
Adam didn’t look up. He didn’t need to.
“Now,” he said, fingers tightening. “Loud enough for everyone to hear.”
“I’m sorry,” Lander choked, voice raw, every syllable echoing. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Touched what belongs to me,” Adam cut in, sharp and cold. He inhaled, slow and deliberate, letting the gathered vampires scent the truth. “Say it.”
Lander hesitated, breath hitching. “I shouldn’t have touched what belongs to you.”
“And what am I to you?”
