Page 46 of Claim of Blood
Adam’s hand tightened around Lander’s throat, confusion and rage warring inside him. “Why?” he demanded roughly. “Why do I feel this compulsion to force your submission? To establish my claim beyond any doubt?”
“I...” Lander swallowed against his hold. “I feel it. The compatibility. Not strong, but there’s a pull.”
The admission hit Adam like a physical blow. He knew those subtle pulls—he’d felt them himself over millennia. Fleeting attractions that whispered of compatibility but never quite sparked into anything serious. But this was different. This was Leo.
Adam’s fingers unclenched from Lander’s throat as he stepped back. The other vampire dropped several inches as his feet met the floor. He stumbled slightly, catching himself against the wall.
“Show me,” Adam demanded. “Make it abundantly clear that you recognize to whom he belongs.”
Understanding flickered in Lander’s eyes. Without hesitation, he sank to his knees, then bent forward, touching his forehead to the warm hardwood floor at Adam’s feet. The position was one of complete submission, a powerful gesture from one vampire to another. To bare one’s neck so completely was a formal acknowledgment of absolute dominance—traditionally reserved for a vampire’s first entrance into a Court or, in the gravest circumstances, when begging forgiveness for serious transgressions.
Adam held him there with just the pressure of his gaze, satisfaction curling through him at the display. After a long moment, he felt the primal urge begin to settle.
“Adam.” Leo’s voice was soft but firm. “Let him up. Please. Our breakfast is getting cold.”
The simple domesticity of the comment cut through the remaining tension. Adam’s lips twitched despite himself. “Rise,” he commanded Lander, who smoothly returned to his feet.
As they settled back at the table, Maja and Gaspard entered, followed by human servants moving quietly to replace the shattered mug and clean the spilled coffee and juice. The two vampires loaded plates at the buffet before joining them, their movements casual but their attention sharp.
“Still no sign of the Rothenburg clan,” Maja reported, cutting into her eggs. “They’ve vanished completely.”
Leo’s fork paused halfway to his mouth, his shoulders tensing slightly. After a moment, he resumed eating, but Adam noted the mechanical nature of his movements, the way his jaw clenched with each bite.
“Perhaps we should reach out to the Hunter’s Council,” Gaspard suggested, stirring cream into his coffee. “At least determine if—”
Maja’s derisive snort cut him off. “The Courts don’t deal with the Hunter Council, Gaspard. As you well know. Let the shifter packs play their dangerous games if they must, but we maintain our distance.”
“They would speak with us,” Gaspard pointed out mildly.
“Of course they would,” Maja agreed, her tone sharp. “They’d love nothing more than to get their hooks into one of the Night Courts. Especially this one.”
Leo remained focused on his plate, but Adam could see the slight tremor in his hands as he cut his food into increasingly smaller pieces.
“What’s interesting,” Gaspard mused, “is that Claudia’s nomads report normal hunter movements in other parts of North America.”
“Same in Tokyo,” Maja added. “Bai says their local clans are maintaining their usual patterns. Even Erik’s people in Copenhagen haven’t noticed any disruption.”
“Which makes the complete disappearance from PDC rather conspicuous,” Gaspard noted. “One day they’re here, the next—nothing. No patrols, no observers, not even their usual surveillance.”
“The speed of their withdrawal concerns me,” Maja said, reaching for her coffee.
Adam let their voices wash over him, his attention divided between Leo and Lander. His Head of House had seamlessly shifted into discussing household matters with Gaspard—something about hiring new gardeners—but Adam caught the careful way Lander’s movements avoided intersecting with Leo’s space.
Leo had given up any pretense of eating, pushing a piece of sausage in diminishing circles around his plate. The shadows under his eyes looked darker in the breakfast room’s warm light.
Adam watched Leo’s tension mount with every clipped bite and every motion that didn’t quite meet the mark. He needed something—anything—to shift the atmosphere.
“Perhaps a tour,” Adam suggested, setting down his empty coffee cup. “You haven’t properly seen the house yet.”
Leo nodded, grateful for the excuse to abandon his barely touched breakfast. As they left, Adam noted how the staff gave them a wide berth, their curious glances tracking Leo’s movements. His claim seemed oblivious, lost in his own thoughts, as Adam guided him through the mansion.
They moved methodically—first the conservatory with its soaring glass ceiling, then the covered pool and manicured gardens. Into the house proper: vast kitchens, formal and informal dining spaces, day rooms, parlors. The gentleman’s parlor drew a flicker of interest when Leo noticed the fully stocked bar, but it passed quickly. They continued through entertainment rooms, offices, and up to the bedroom floors.
Leo remained quiet, barely registering the opulent surroundings. It wasn’t until they paused on the landing between the second and third floors that he finally spoke.
“Why haven’t I seen anyone drink blood?” The question came abruptly. “Aren’t vampires supposed to need it to survive?”
Adam turned to face him, considering the response. “The myths—most deliberately spread—are largely false. We need both regular food and blood. Older generations need less blood, while younger ones require more. Even then, more than half of our diet is ordinary food.”
