Page 74 of Claim of Blood
Adam
AdamMatthewshadlivedthrough the rise and fall of countless empires, witnessed the birth of nations, and adapted to millennia of changing technologies. Yet somehow, quarterly financial reviews still managed to be tedious beyond measure. He watched Leo sink into the leather couch, the young hunter’s presence a welcome distraction from Janet’s increasingly agitated voice through the video call.
“Mid-year salary increases are highly irregular,” Janet insisted, her spreadsheet-loving soul clearly disturbed by this deviation from procedure. “The fiscal impact would be much better managed if we waited for the standard end-of-year review cycle.”
“Janet,” Adam said, his patience wearing thin, “people need to eat today, not at the end of Q4. Inflation isn’t politely waiting for our fiscal calendar.”
“But the projections—”
“Are less important than our people.” His tone carried the weight of someone who had watched civilizations crumble forforgetting that simple truth. “Competitive compensation isn’t just about retention statistics. It’s about doing what’s right.”
“We’ll need to adjust the quarterly forecasts,” Janet pressed on, undeterred.
“Then adjust them.” Adam’s fingers traced the edge of an antique letter opener, a habit he’d developed somewhere around the Italian Renaissance. “I believe we’ve covered the essentials. Let’s table the rest for next week’s board meeting.”
The call ended. He turned his attention to his visitors, grateful for the shift from corporate tedium to Court matters. “I trust Oren’s security nest has been appropriately raided for Marie’s thermoses?”
“And we may have solved our surveillance problem in the process,” Lander said, his tone carrying that particular note of pleased surprise that made Adam’s eyebrow rise. “Your claim has some rather innovative ideas about integrating coven wards with our existing security.”
Adam leaned back, studying Leo with renewed interest. The hunter met his gaze steadily, a hint of color touching his cheeks, but his posture remained confident. “Do tell, beauty.”
Leo outlined his proposal with the precise efficiency Adam would expect of a hunter mapping a target, yet his eyes held the spark of someone discovering a new way to protect rather than destroy. As he spoke, Adam felt something shifting in his chest. He’d expected Leo’s integration to take months, perhaps years. He’d prepared for resistance from his Court, for Leo to struggle with the transition from hunter to... this. But here was his beautiful claim, barely two weeks into this new life, presenting strategic solutions that could protect everyone Adam held dear.
The confidence in Leo’s voice, the way he’d considered every angle—it wasn’t just impressive. It was transformative. Leo wasn’t just adapting to Court life; he was actively working to strengthen it. To protect Adam’s people as if they were his own.
Adam set aside his letter opener, pride blooming warm and fierce in his chest. “Elegant solution, beauty.” His voice came out rougher than he intended, thick with emotion he hadn’t expected. “Simple, effective, and mutually beneficial.”
His eyes met Lander’s, sharing a moment of unspoken recognition. This was beyond anything he’d dared hope for. Not mere acceptance, but genuine care for the Court’s well-being.
Still, a shadow of concern tempered his elation. There were factions within the Court who remained deeply unhappy about a hunter—even a former one—in their midst. Leo’s insight was a promising start, but it would take more than clever proposals to win over centuries of ingrained suspicion.
“I’ll contact Emilia this afternoon to discuss the trade,” Adam said, though his mind was already racing ahead to the conversations he’d need to have. The delicate politics of presenting Leo’s idea as the stroke of genius it was, while managing inevitable resistance.
But watching Leo’s face light up at his approval, Adam felt something he hadn’t experienced in millennia: hope that the Court might not just accept his claim, but embrace him as one of their own.
The morning sun had crept higher during their discussion, its filtered light casting soft shadows across the carpet. Adam’s phone buzzed insistently—another reminder of the modern world’s demands on his ancient attention.
“Unfortunately,” he said, regret coloring his tone, “Nocturne requires my attention for the rest of the morning.” His gaze lingered on Leo, taking in the subtle flush that still colored his cheeks whenever Adam looked at him too intently. “Perhaps you could take Leo to the pool? It’s a lovely day for a swim.”
Lander rose with fluid grace, but Leo hesitated, something vulnerable flickering in his expression. Adam caught his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm that was both possession andpromise. “We’ll discuss the ward arrangements over dinner. I’m looking forward to hearing more of your insights.”
The warmth in Leo’s eyes at the simple praise made something twist in Adam’s chest—something dangerously close to more than mere desire. As he watched them leave, Adam wondered when exactly his beautiful hunter had begun claiming pieces of him in return.
Then his phone buzzed again, and he turned back to the relatively mundane task of running a global intelligence firm. At least this century’s paperwork didn’t involve actual paper. Though some days, he rather missed the elegant simplicity of papyrus and clay tablets—they rarely demanded immediate responses to “urgent” meeting requests.
The quiet hum of electronics had replaced the whispers of ancient temples, but Adam found both equally meditative in their own way. His office became a revolving door of Court business between calls—Gaspard delivering household reports, Oren slipping in to provide security updates, young shifters darting through with messages from the pack.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, remembering why he’d established the separation between Nocturne’s corporate headquarters and Court business in the first place. The gentle ping of another reminder drew a sound that might have been a curse in a language dead for millennia.
His gaze drifted to the corner of the screen, where Maja’s status remained stubbornly “Available”—a modern indication that told him nothing of true importance. His third-made child had always been efficient, brilliant even, but her absence from the mansion felt like a physical ache.
Maja, who had rarely left his side for the better part of a millennium. Maja, whom he’d raised from a traumatized child into the formidable woman she’d become. While Oren came and went as duty called, and Victoria had long ago claimed herown territory in New York, Maja had been his constant. His confidant. His closest friend.
He remembered the day he found her—hidden beneath the floorboards of her family’s home. She’d been covered in her father’s blood, her pale hair stained where it had dripped through the cracks above her. She had looked up at him without tears, too numb for them, and he’d carried her away from the ruins of everything she knew.
He’d raised her, watched her grow into her power, been there for every triumph and failure. The claiming of Leo had been sudden, unplanned—everything in Adam’s existence rarely was. The blood compatibility had left him no choice, and the aftermath had swept Leo into their lives like a storm.
A storm Maja hadn’t been prepared for. One that threatened everything she’d helped him build. And now, he wished desperately that he could shield her from this new hurt—the pain of being excluded, of watching her world change without warning.
