Page 61 of Claim of Blood
But the hunters moved on. Not his family. Not anyone who gave a damn about Leo von Rothenburg. No rescue, no scouting, no dramatic standoff at the gates. Just... nothing.
The worst part was how much it stung. Two weeks since he’d been taken—joined, he corrected himself bitterly—and they hadn’t even bothered with a token gesture. No message, no sign he mattered enough to warrant concern.
Was he really so expendable?
The question twisted in his gut, competing with the persistent ache that only seemed to grow stronger the longer Adam stayed away. He didn’t miss most of his family—cold, calculating,varying degrees of cruel—but Felix... Felix, with his quiet curiosity and careful notebooks. Leo had expected at least a word from his cousin. Anything.
Instead: silence.
Leo exhaled and pressed his forehead to the cool metal rail. The hollow feeling pulsed stronger, a constant reminder of the bond he barely understood. According to Lander, separation from a blood match caused pain that only worsened over time. He was starting to believe it. The dull throb had sharpened into something that made it hard to sleep, hard to focus on anything but the need to seek Adam’s presence.
But Adam was busy. So Leo stayed hidden, nursing hurt pride, even as his body ached for contact.
“You know,” Leo said without looking back, “for a babysitting assignment, you seem pretty miserable, too.”
Lander’s typing paused. “I’m not miserable.”
“You act like being near me is a chore. You flinch when I breathe too loud. And don’t think I haven’t noticed all the Adam’s busy excuses. Like I should be grateful he remembers I exist.” He turned to face Lander fully. “So either you drew the short straw on Leo-sitting duty, or there’s something else no one’s explained to the hunter.”
For a moment, Lander looked like he might answer honestly. Then his expression settled back into professional neutrality.
“Adam values your safety and comfort,” he said evenly. “The negotiations require his full attention.”
“Right.” Leo turned back to the fence, swallowing his frustration. “I’m sure that’s the whole story.”
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft sounds of the stables, and Lander’s resumed typing. Leo focused on the geldings, trying to ignore the ache under his breastbone.
“You’ll need to return to him soon,” Lander said eventually, his voice lower. “The pain you’re feeling—it gets worse.”
Leo’s hand went automatically to his chest. “How much worse?”
“My father once tried to travel during the early stages of a claiming bond.” Lander’s jaw tightened. “He made it three days before the pain became... debilitating. For both of them.” He gazed at Leo. “I’ve watched you rub that spot for a week. It’s not going to stop.”
Leo didn’t lift his head. “It’s been two weeks.”
“Adam is powerful,” Lander said. “You need to return to him. Or it will get worse.”
“I can’t think around him,” Leo admitted. “I just become this... submissive thing.”
“Do you hate it?” Lander asked.
The denial hovered on Leo’s tongue, automatic. But then he really considered the question. The way his body responded to Adam’s touch. The certainty. The quiet that came over his mind when he let himself yield.
“No,” he muttered. “I don’t hate it.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I just don’t understand why it doesn’t scare me like it should.”
And that was the problem. When Adam touched him, Leo’s world narrowed to nothing but Adam—his scent, his voice, the hunger in his eyes. It should have terrified him. Every hunter instinct should have screamed in alarm.
Instead, some traitorous part of him craved it. Craved the simplicity of existing only for Adam’s pleasure, of having every decision made for him, of being claimed so completely that nothing else mattered.
“What you and Adam have? That kind of pull is rare,” Lander said. “Most of us—it’s mild. Manageable. What I feel for you—that’s the normal version. What you feel for Adam isn’t.”
Leo closed his eyes. “So I’ve been told. Multiple times.” There was no fighting this. He could stay here, nursing his pride while his body tore itself apart. Or he could face the inevitable.
It wasn’t like the sex was bad. Far from it. Adam had shown him pleasures he hadn’t imagined. The problem was the mindless part—losing himself so completely, becoming nothing but sensation and need.
But maybe that wasn’t the problem he’d convinced himself it was.
He rubbed the ache in his chest and straightened from the rail. The words came out quieter than he intended, almost a plea.
