Page 2 of Claim of Blood
What would his brothers do?
His brothers would rather die than get made. And here he was, letting himself be seduced by the target’s book collection, of all things.
Before Leo could finish arguing with himself, Matthews rose with liquid grace. Instead of leaving, he stepped closer. Long fingers brushed Leo’s cheek—so light it might have been imagination, except for the way Leo’s whole body responded, leaning toward him like a flower following the sun.
Everything in him yearned to bare his neck, to surrender completely. Only years of hunter training kept him frozen, fighting the pull even as his blood sang beneath Matthews’ fingertips.
“So beautiful,” Matthews murmured, his voice a low caress. “I look forward to seeing you again, beauty.” He withdrew his hand, leaving Leo’s skin tingling where he’d touched it.
Leo watched him walk to the elevator, unable to look away until the doors closed behind him. His phone was heavy in his pocket, Matthews’ contact information burning like a brand. What had he just gotten himself into?
He barely registered leaving the café, skin still tingling. His thoughts circled back obsessively—Matthews’ fingers, that overwhelming urge to submit, the way every fiber of his being had wanted to follow the vampire upstairs.
The self-driving taxi arrived within seconds of his summoning it—one of PDC’s ubiquitous autonomous vehicles, its silver shell gleaming in the morning sun. He slid into the back seat, grateful for the dark tint as he slumped against the leather.
The car asked him to confirm the destination via a screen on the center console. Leo leaned forward, tapping the ‘Confirm’ button before dropping back into the seat. The car hummed and pulled smoothly into traffic.
Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to get his head straight before facing his family.
He’d encountered vampires before during missions—observed them from a distance, studied their movements, even helped track one that his brother Friedrich ultimately dispatched—but he’d never felt anything remotely like this. Never experienced this pull, this hunger that seemed to originate from his very blood. What kind of hunter fantasized about offering himself up as a meal?
The sophisticated buildings of the Central West End gave way to the old-money mansions of the First Cat’s western reaches. Leo watched them blur past, trying to focus on their mission details instead of the way Matthews’ voice had caressed the word“beauty.”
He winced, stomach knotting. Beauty wasn’t a compliment in his house—it was a liability. Will had once barked across the training yard,“You’ve got a face for bedsheets, not battlefields,”and Friedrich had laughed.
Reporting the encounter would be humiliating enough. Contacted by the target. Flirted with. Touched. But having to explain how he’d responded? That he’d frozen, hesitated—almost liked it? That would be worse.
The family reactions would be predictable and brutal. Friedrich—perfect hunter, perfect son, named for the ancestor who’d killed one of Merytre’s children in 1233—would deliver that sharp, assessing silence that cut deeper than shouting. Katherine would add this failure to her mental catalog of Leo’s mistakes, storing it like ammunition. His cousins Will and Max would make it into jokes that would follow him for years. Only Felix might show actual sympathy.
They were Vatican elite, descendants of legends. Leo was their disappointment.
The taxi turned onto their rented property’s curved driveway just as Leo’s phone buzzed with an incoming message. His heart jumped, thinking it might be Matthews—which was absurd,because while Adam had scanned his contact card into Leo’s phone, Leo had never sent his information in return. The notification was just the automated payment confirmation.
A wave of disappointment washed over him, followed immediately by horrified self-awareness. What was wrong with him? Hoping for a message from someone who didn’t even have his number? He was being ridiculous. Worse than ridiculous—he was being dangerous.
He could see his family waiting for him through the front windows as he approached the house. Friedrich pacing, Katherine perched on the arm of an antique chair, his cousins clustered around monitors. All of them looked up sharply as he entered.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Friedrich demanded before Leo could even close the door, his voice low and dangerous.
Leo lifted his chin, forcing himself not to touch the spot where Matthews’ fingers had left his skin burning. “He approached me. I had to play it cool.”
“Cool?” Katherine’s voice could have frozen hell. “Is that what we’re calling it now? You’ve compromised a three-generation operation in less than five minutes.”
Leo wished Uncle Stefan wasn’t out right now. The old man might be a hardass, but at least he thought strategically instead of just reacting. And Leo desperately needed someone strategic right now, because he couldn’t tell them the truth: that every fiber of his being had wanted to follow Matthews up to that fifteenth floor, hunter training be damned.
“You’ve been made,” Friedrich said, each word precise and cutting. “Two weeks of surveillance, wasted. And worse, you’ve exposed your face to him. Your real face.”
The one that got him teased at every training camp. The one they all said was made for seduction, not war.
He could almost hear Will’s voice, dripping with contempt:“No one takes a pretty boy seriously with a stake in his hand.”
“We saw the whole thing,” Will said, gesturing to the bank of monitors displaying the café’s surveillance feeds. “What did he want?”
Leo hesitated, an inexplicable urge to protect Matthews’ love of vintage mysteries making him pause. “He noticed I was writing. He...” Leo swallowed. “He was flirting with me.”
“Of course he was,” Katherine groaned. “Because you had to inherit Grandmother Sophia’s looks, didn’t you? Break your nose, add a few scars—I’ll do it myself.”
“Or at least dye that damn hair,” Will added, tugging at Leo’s auburn waves.
