Page 48 of Claim of Blood
“As what? A pet hunter? A trophy?” Leo shifted on the lounger, the cushion dipping between them.
“As a partner,” Adam said simply.
He watched the conflict play across Leo’s face—doubt, temptation, fear, hope.
“We’re bound together now,” Adam said. “We can fight it and make ourselves miserable, or we can build something meaningful from it. The choice—at least in part—is yours.”
Leo looked up, meeting his gaze. “And if I choose to leave?”
“You can’t,” Adam said, his voice low but honest. “Not yet. Maybe not for a long time. The claim won’t allow it—neither will I.” He turned fully toward Leo on the lounger, their knees touching. “But you can choose how you live within these walls. As a prisoner, bitter and resentful. Or as something more.” He reached for Leo’s hands, covering them with his own. “I don’t want your submission from fear or compulsion. I want your partnership. Your mind. Your heart.”
Leo’s pulse fluttered beneath his palms. “You’re asking a lot from someone whose family you just tore them away from.”
“Your family abandoned you, beauty. I claimed you,” Adam corrected gently. “There’s a difference. One you’ll come to understand.” He squeezed Leo’s hands before letting them go. “Think about what I’ve said. About what we could build together—if you’re willing.”
The silence between them stretched, full of unspoken questions and possibilities. Adam could hear Leo’s heartbeat gradually slowing, his breathing deepening as he processed everything. The pull between them hummed like a live wire, but Adam forced himself to stand. Despite what his instinctsdemanded—to stay close, to soothe, to claim again—he knew Leo needed space. Time to adjust without his constant presence pressing at every thought.
“I need to attend to some work matters,” Adam said. “You have free run of the house, though you won’t be permitted to leave the grounds. You may enter the vampire court below, but you will have a guardian.”
Leo’s head snapped up, the momentary vulnerability replaced by a flash of anger. “Not a prisoner, right? Just a partner who can’t leave and needs constant supervision.”
Adam paused, recognizing the contradiction in his own words. “The restrictions are temporary. Necessary.”
“Necessary for whom?” Leo challenged, rising to face him. “You talk about partnership while giving me house arrest and a babysitter.”
“For your protection,” Adam said evenly, though possessiveness threatened to slip into his voice. “Your family may be gone, but there are other hunters. Other threats. And members of my own Court who might see you as leverage.” He stepped closer, meeting Leo’s glare without flinching. “I’ve made enemies in four thousand years, Leo. Until I know you can protect yourself in our world, these precautions stay.”
Leo’s jaw tightened. “So much for choice.”
“You have choices,” Adam countered softly. “Just not that one. Not yet.” He reached out, brushing a lock of auburn hair from Leo’s forehead. He was pleased when Leo didn’t flinch. “Earn my trust. Learn our ways. Your leash will lengthen.”
Leo’s gaze held his, defiance flickering. But beneath it was something else—resignation or perhaps the first fragile seed of understanding. He looked away, sinking back onto the lounger. “Go attend to your ‘work matters,’ then,” he muttered, the words brittle but lacking their earlier heat.
Adam lingered a moment longer, weighing whether to press or retreat. The bond pulled at him, urging him to stay, to soothe, to claim. But centuries of discipline held. Leo needed time. And Adam needed distance to think clearly.
With a nod, he turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
The descent to his office felt longer than usual, each step drawing him farther from Leo. Conversation still clung to him like a burr—Leo’s accusations, his own promises, the truths neither of them could deny. A need to turn back gnawed at him, an instinct as steady as breath. Instead, he pressed his palm to the embedded console outside the office door, fingers tapping out a terse summons.
Come to the study.
He didn’t sit. He stood at the window, watching sunlight etch thin bands of gold across the estate’s eastern lawn. Even here, he could feel Leo upstairs—an awareness threaded through his senses like a second heartbeat. The bond tugged at him, a constant, low-level pull that demanded his attention.
And yet he had to go.
The acquisition of the Belgian firm had dragged on for months—delicate negotiations, contractual labyrinths, the usual egos that bristled when an immortal tried to buy them out. The Belgian team had flown into Porte du Coeur that morning, and courtesy—as much as optics—demanded his presence in the boardroom, not his bedroom.
The door opened without a sound. Lander’s scent arrived first—juniper, stone, a trace of fresh linen. Adam didn’t turn immediately. He watched the slow crawl of morning across the grass and tried to quiet the frustration tightening his chest.
“You wanted to see me?”
Adam turned. Some of the heat of their breakfast confrontation had faded, but something else remained. A resonance he didn’t trust. A pull he hadn’t asked for.
He pushed it down.
Opening the drawer in his desk, he retrieved the ring. Leo’s ring. The von Rothenburg crest gleamed dully under the office lights—a symbol of everything Adam needed to sever Leo from. Generations of blood-soaked doctrine and brittle legacy.
“Have it melted,” he said, holding it out. “Forge something new. A scarab at the center—onyx, if possible. Inset the ruby here.”
