Page 10 of Claim of Blood
No tension. No fear.
He turned the corner, starting another pass through the loop, and spotted them again—the trio gathered around the Tesla parked at the far curb. One vampire crouched under the open hood, gesturing animatedly with a socket wrench. Another leaned against the driver’s door, holding a phone flashlight. The third sat cross-legged on the grass, blinking too slowly.
Wolf, Leo thought. Probably.
Shifters always had that strange pressure about them—like something wild pacing just under the skin. This one wasn’t hiding it well. His eyes kept flaring with gold in the porch light, a sure sign he’d vaped too much something. But the three of them were just talking. Joking. Sharing a bag of chips. No tension, no challenge.
Across the street, someone lit one of those expensive patio pellet fires in a sculptural concrete bowl. The glow spread across a small circle of lawn where four people—three vampires and one broad-shouldered woman Leo couldn’t place—were already seated on outdoor couches with drinks in hand. Laughter floated across the street.
One of them looked up and gave Leo the brief, casual head-nod of neighborhood acknowledgment.
Leo hesitated.
Then, awkwardly, he lifted a hand and waved.
The vampire smiled faintly and turned back to the conversation.
They’d been there the night before, too.
At the end of the block, a pair of matte-black SUVs idled in a driveway while a gaggle of women and a few sharp-dressed men piled inside, laughing and tossing teasing insults. High heels clicked on the concrete. Someone shouted, “You’re not wearing that in public,” to a chorus of agreement. Leo caught the words VIP, First Cat, exclusive, and bottle service in the space of a few heartbeats. One of them fished a vape from her bra and lit up before she’d even finished getting into the car.
The doors shut. The engines purred away.
And then, silence.
Leo stood there for a moment longer than he meant to. The night air was cool against his face, and his hands had sunk into his pockets without his noticing.
Everything was so… peaceful.
This was a Court neighborhood. There were vampires on every street, wolves in the periphery, and humans who weren’t under compulsion. But there were also patio fires, club nights, and dogs playing with tennis balls. It didn’t feel like an enemy stronghold. It felt like a city. A life.
He’d been taught to see blood before anything else. That was the phrase Stefan used—see the blood before the face. Don’t look at the smile, the gesture, the story. Look for the truth beneath it: hunger.
But tonight, all Leo could see was life. Laughter. Comfort.
He’d been told that vampires corrupted places like this. Where they lived, fear followed. But Innsbrook didn’t feel corrupted. It felt... curated. Like someone had taken the chaos of the world and filed it into order.
And wasn’t that what the Rothenburgs were supposed to be fighting for?
He wished Felix were there. Not for backup. Just… someone to say:You’re not crazy for thinking this feels wrong.
Felix would probably quote some obscure poem about crossroads and moral consequences. But at least it wouldn’t be followed by a threat or a slur.
He thought of Felix’s voice, low and hesitant, reading from Elise’s journal:
I do not think Friedrich ever hated Helene. Not even when he killed her. I think he loved her, and it tore him apart. And I think Helene’s death finished what that love started.
No one tells the full story. Not to me. They say she died. Nothing more.
But Friedrich was not the same after that. He faded, like something inside him had gone with her.
Leo had reread those translated pages so many times he could practically quote them. And every time, they felt a little less like myth, and a little more like warning.
No one could tell Felix how Helena died.
No one wanted to.
Leo wondered if he would ever know the truth.
