Page 107 of Claim of Blood
“Outside only,” Adam said. “I won’t have another hole in my walls.”
Emilia’s laughter rang clearly through the speaker. “That was one time! Well—twice. Though the conservatory doesn’t count, that was more of an implosion—”
“Outside,” Adam repeated, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
Gaspard’s voice cut in as Maja pocketed her phone. “That was Derek. Nathaniel is already en route with Charles. Both shifted when they got the alert.”
At the bottom of the stairs, Elisabeth and Johan emerged from a side corridor, their usual playfulness replaced by curiosity.
“Adam? We heard the commotion…” Elisabeth began.
“Court business,” Adam said. “Council only.” He caught the eye of a passing shifter servant. “Thomas, please escort Elisabeth and Johan to their rooms.”
Elisabeth opened her mouth to protest, but Johan’s hand on hers silenced it. “Of course,” he said quietly, though his gaze lingered.
The growing procession moved through the halls toward the south wing’s larger conversation parlor, footsteps echoing against marble and mahogany. Sofas shifted into a perfect semicircle with supernatural efficiency as Oren kept one hand to his earpiece.
“Target still in sight,” he said quietly. “Carlos and Lydia moving to intercept.”
Adam claimed the central seat, drawing Leo into his lap. Lander settled at his right, tension still coiled in his posture. Maja took her usual place on Adam’s left, expression sharp and unreadable.
The relative peace shattered with a thunderous crack that rattled the windows.
“Oh dear!” Emilia’s voice floated in from the garden. “The peonies! I swear they weren’t there last week. I’ll fix them, I promise!”
Moments later, she breezed into the parlor, trailed by a green-tinged Dr. Wright and Carl, who was methodically picking flower petals from his hair. Dr. Wright managed two steps before doubling over.
“I never—” he gasped, then promptly vomited onto the floor.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Emilia caught his arm and guided him toward the nearest couch, while Carl gave a flick of his wrist and vanished the mess without a trace.
“Maja,” Adam murmured.
She vanished and returned in a blur. “Refreshments are on the way.”
Nathaniel and Charles arrived next, adjusting emergency clothes they kept stashed at the mansion. Nathaniel’s shirt hung open, buttons missed entirely, while Charles hadn’t bothered with more than pants and an unbuttoned flannel.
Nathaniel and Charles arrived next, adjusting emergency clothes they kept stashed at the mansion. Nathaniel’s shirt hung open, buttons missed entirely, while Charles hadn’t bothered with more than pants and an unbuttoned flannel.
Adam had instituted the “minimum clothing policy” after one too many naked shifters had trotted through his formal dining room. The pack still found it deeply amusing—a vampire quirk they indulged with affectionate exasperation.
“You could at least pretend the buttons matter,” Maja muttered as Nathaniel gave up entirely, letting the shirt hang loose.
The pack leader grinned, sharp and toothy. “I’m wearing pants. That’s more than nature intended.” He dropped into achair across from the witches, sprawling with predatory ease. Charles followed, bare feet propped casually on an ottoman that cost more than most cars.
The vampires in the room might have been scandalized if they weren’t so used to it by now. After all, you couldn’t expect creatures who literally exploded out of their skin during transformation to maintain the same relationship with clothing as the eternally dressed.
Nathaniel’s nostrils flared as he settled, his massive frame coiled with barely restrained energy. Dr. Wright, still pale from teleportation, seemed to shrink further when those predatory eyes found him.
“Well,” Nathaniel drawled, smile spreading, “if it isn’t sweet stuff himself, finally out of hiding.”
The witch physician’s pulse fluttered visibly at his throat. His fingers dug into the chair’s arms, knuckles white. “I’ve been occupied with my practice,” he said, admirably steady despite the anxiety radiating off him in waves.
“Your human practice,” Nathaniel scoffed, the words edged with disdain.
Dr. Wright’s spine straightened. “It serves a vital function in this community. I’d treat shifters, too, if they ever needed my expertise.”
“Gentlemen,” Emilia cut in, her New Orleans drawl stretching the word. Her silver-streaked curls framed a face that managed to look grandmotherly and formidable all at once. “We’ve got more pressing matters.”
