Page 43 of Claim of Blood
“Why didn’t you bite me?” Leo whispered, voice raw.
“You need time to regenerate,” Adam murmured. “The claim was... intense.”
Leo’s gaze fell to the empty IV bags. “How long?”
“Three days.”
Leo tried to sit up, panic flaring. Adam held him firmly. “Three—”
“Yes. Three.”
“Fuck.” Leo closed his eyes, shame and confusion tangling in his gut. “My family—”
Adam cut him off by sliding two fingers into his oversensitive hole. The sensation detonated through him, wiping the thought clean.
“Speaking of family,” Adam said calmly, “did you know about the microchip?”
“The what in my shoulder?” Leo’s breath came ragged as Adam’s fingers began to move.
“A microchip,” Adam repeated evenly. “With GPS.”
“I didn’t know,” Leo said, voice shaking. His mind reeled. “I want to see it.”
“If you can catch the chicken it’s attached to, you can,” Adam said, amusement in his voice.
“You put it on a chicken?” Leo blinked. The absurdity broke through the numbness.
“Lander’s idea,” Adam said, fingers idly circling. “He thought it might flush them out. So far, no one’s come.”
The implications crashed over him. If they’d been tracking him, they’d known exactly where he was—yet they hadn’t come. He felt hollow, brittle.
“They left hours after I claimed you,” Adam added, his hold tightening. “Just after dawn.”
“They wouldn’t just—” Leo’s voice failed. But the timing was inarguable. They hadn’t waited. Hadn’t even tried.
He shook his head, throat tight. “None of this makes sense.”
Adam withdrew his fingers slowly, leaving him aching. He shifted Leo to straddle his thighs, so they were face to face.
“The timing troubles us,” Adam said. “Your family abandoned a coordinated operation within hours. The Court and Pack have been searching. Nathaniel’s enforcers went to the rental company with security footage of the vehicle and plate numbers, but according to their system, that vehicle never existed.”
Leo frowned. “That’s not surprising. We’re thorough.”
“The Coven attempted to scry—”
A bitter laugh escaped Leo. “You can’t scry for hunters.”
He shifted slightly away, exposing his left ribcage. There, stark against his skin, was an intricate tattoo: a crossbow and blade crossed, with three hash marks etched along the blade. The carved handles and bow were covered in delicate patternwork.
“These aren’t just decorative,” he said, voice low. “A witch carves the patterns during initiation. It doesn’t make us completely invisible, but it scrambles scrying. Most covens assume the spell failed.”
“Clever,” Adam murmured, still tracing the patterns. “And this is standard for all hunters?”
“Yes,” Leo confirmed, trying not to react to the way Adam’s fingers drifted along his ribs, each touch sending small shivers through him. “Every hunter I’ve ever met has some version of it. The designs vary between clans, but the basics are always the same: the crossbow, the blade, the spellwork.”
“Adam,” he continued, voice quieter, “my family wouldn’t just leave. Even if they thought I was compromised, protocol was always to maintain surveillance. To gather intelligence. A few hours isn’t enough time.”
“Time for what?” Adam prompted, his hand sliding to rest on Leo’s hip.
