Page 36 of Claim of Blood
“Best at treating patients who can’t always say what’s wrong. He’ll be there within the hour.”
“Thank you,” Adam said, and hung up.
He tried to return to work but failed. His gaze kept drifting back to the monitor.
When the door opened again, he was almost grateful for the distraction—until he looked up and saw Gaspard.
Gaspard was impeccably composed as ever, though there was a spark of amusement in his dark eyes. A spark Adam didn’t trust.
“Maja is managing a situation downstairs that requires your attention,” he announced in that polite, civil tone he used when chaos was blooming. “We’ve had quite a gathering form. Most of your Court, several pack members, and a few of the more nervous human staff. All here to offer their congratulations.”
Adam raised a brow. “Congratulations?”
Gaspard’s mouth twitched. “And questions. About the hunter.”
Of course. They’d all felt it—that raw command flooding the halls, dragging half the mansion to their knees. Now they wanted confirmation. Reassurance.
Adam’s jaw tightened. That command—kneel—had been meant for Lander alone. But his power had surged outward, unchecked. Not a loss of control, exactly—just too much instinct. Not enough thought.
“The ballroom—” Adam began.
“—lacks proper Court arrangements,” Gaspard finished smoothly. “As you insisted when designing Innsbrook and the mansion. No dais, no throne. You said it felt too performative.”
“It is performative.”
“Indeed,” Gaspard agreed blandly. “Shall I draft architectural plans, then? Something tastefully modern? Glass instead of gold?”
“No,” Adam said flatly. “This isn’t the seventeenth century. We have modern ways of spreading news.”
Gaspard raised a brow but didn’t argue. He swiped a fingertip across his tablet and turned the screen toward Adam. A live feed showed the mansion’s grand entrance. A crowd had formed at the base of the staircase—vampires and wolves standing shoulder-to-shoulder, murmuring with thinly veiled tension. Several human staff hovered near the edges, eyes wide. One servant clutched a tray so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Another stood stiff as marble by the door, bracing for something to break.
“They’re nervous,” Adam noted.
“They’re afraid,” Gaspard corrected. “They want to know if it’s safe to stay. A von Rothenburg in the heart of your Court? It’s shaken them.”
Adam sighed and rose. “Let’s put this to rest.”
He followed Gaspard to the second-floor mezzanine overlooking the foyer. The crowd quieted the moment he stepped into view—dozens of eyes turned upward.
“Not everyone can see you,” Gaspard murmured.
“But they can hear me.”
Adam rested his hands on the railing. His voice, when it came, carried like thunder through the vaulted hall.
“Thank you all for your congratulations,” he began evenly. “I am eager to see what having a Claim will mean for myself—and for this Court.”
The ripple of tension below was almost physical.
“Leopold is resting after yesterday.” He paused just long enough for the implication to settle. “It was an eventful day.”
A few nervous laughs flickered and died.
“Isn’t he a hunter?” someone called from the back—a pack member, unfamiliar. “A von Rothenburg?”
The murmurs rose again, louder this time. Uneasy, fractured, laced with fear.
Adam let it build before he spoke.
