Page 56 of Claim of Blood
He could taste Leo’s conflict in the air, the hunter’s scent tinged with confusion, longing, and stubborn pride. Adam’s fingers flexed at his sides, fighting the instinct to follow and close the distance that felt increasingly unnatural.
Instead, he remained where he was until they disappeared from view. Only then did he allow his shoulders to drop slightly, exhaling a breath he hadn’t needed to hold.
“I see your pet hunter is settling in.”
Maja’s voice cut through the quiet, ice-cold and disapproving. She stood in the doorway to the reception parlor, her platinum hair pulled back in its customary bun, her posture rigid with censure.
“He’s not a pet,” Adam replied evenly, turning to face her.
Her blue eyes narrowed fractionally. “What would you prefer I call him? Your Claim? Your blood match? Your liability?”
Adam moved past her toward the stairs leading to his study, knowing she would follow. “You’ve made your position quite clear, Maja.”
“And yet you continue to ignore it.” She followed him up the steps, her heels echoing across the marble. “Have you considered the implications of keeping a Rothenburg under our roof? A hunter whose family has hunted our kind for centuries?”
“The Rothenburgs have withdrawn from PDC,” Adam said as they reached his study. He settled behind his desk. “That changes the equation.”
Maja’s lip curled faintly. “For now. And when they return?”
“If they return, we’ll handle it.”
“Like you handled their son? By claiming him?” Her tone remained controlled, but Adam could sense the fury simmering beneath. “Without consulting any of us?”
He met her gaze steadily. “I don’t require consultation for my personal decisions.”
“This wasn’t personal. It was an act that affects this entire Court,” she countered. “You’ve introduced a hunter—a von Rothenburg—into our inner circle, potentially compromising everything we’ve built.”
Adam studied her rigid posture, recognizing the tension she carried when she was genuinely concerned rather than merely disapproving. In centuries, he’d seen it only a few times; his most vivid memory was from Paris in 1938.
The memory surfaced unbidden: Maja bursting into his Paris office, platinum hair flying loose from its usual severe styling, her eyes wide with alarm rather than their usual cool assessment. “The Gestapo,” she’d whispered, though they were alone. “They’re watching the Nocturne offices in Mannheim and Innsbruck. They’ve flagged thirty of our Jewish employees.”
Within hours, she’d arranged new identities, safe passage to the United States, and a complex paper trail that led Nazi investigators on a wild chase through dummy corporations in all three countries. She’d stayed awake for days, manipulating records, bribing officials, and personally escorting families to safety while Adam handled the pursuing officers.
Not once had she questioned whether it was worth the risk to their operation or their Court. She’d simply acted to protect what was theirs. That same year, they closed all three European offices, relocating the few remaining employees to the United States and St. Louis.
Less than two months later, a night of horror: Kristallnacht.
What Adam hadn’t known at the time was that it marked the start of a mass exodus from France. The routes he created for a handful of refugees would be used repeatedly, ultimately transforming St. Louis into Porte du Cœur.
Her current resistance carried the same weight. This wasn’t just Maja being cautious. It was Maja genuinely worried about the survival of everything they’d built together.
“I’ve introduced my Claim,” Adam corrected, his voice gaining a subtle edge. “A rare occurrence that even you must acknowledge supersedes conventional concerns.”
Her expression didn’t soften. “Blood compatibility is a biological quirk, not a divine mandate. It doesn’t negate generations of training and indoctrination.”
Adam leaned forward slightly. “You’ve been at my side for centuries, Maja. You’ve earned the right to speak freely. But don’t mistake that privilege for the right to question my judgment indefinitely.”
For a long moment, they held each other’s gaze in silent challenge. Finally, Maja inclined her head a fraction. Not submission—just acknowledgment.
“The Coven representative has been waiting for two hours,” she said, pivoting with her usual crisp efficiency. “Shall I send her in, or would you prefer to keep her waiting while you watch your hunter sleep?”
He ignored the barb. “Send her in.”
Maja paused before opening the door. “Lander seemed quite... attentive today.”
The remark landed exactly as she’d intended: a calculated provocation. Adam felt a flare of something unfamiliar, not quite jealousy, but a territorial awareness that caught him off guard.
“Lander did as instructed,” he replied, keeping his tone neutral.
