Page 75 of Claim of Blood
But some wounds, he was learning, even a maker couldn’t heal.
The guilt sat heavy in his chest. Of all his children, Maja deserved better than to learn of her new “brother” by walking into the mansion to find a claimed hunter sprawled across his and Lander’s laps.
He sighed, centuries of diplomacy warring with paternal regret. The question wasn’t whether her absence was avoidance—it was. The question was whether she was merely processing or if this marked the beginning of something neither of them could mend.
Oren had accepted Leo’s presence with stoic pragmatism. Victoria ruled her own territory, too distant to care. But Maja... Maja had never left his Court. Never questioned his decisions. Until now.
A message popped onto his screen: Maja requesting approval for a new encryption protocol. Direct, professional, devoid of their usual warmth. The formality stung more than he’d expected.
Adam sighed again, feeling every century settle across his shoulders. He needed to speak with her properly. She deserved that much.
The task would be easier if she’d simply come home. But she’d been at the office every day, staying late, finding any excuse to avoid the mansion—and him.
His headache had nothing to do with spreadsheets and everything to do with family.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard before decisiveness took hold. The dinner invitation was simple, an olive branch between maker and child. The moment he sent it, he remembered Leo—and ancient curses slipped from lips that had spoken them when they were still the common tongue.
Lander’s response to his hasty message came immediately:“Handle your Court, First. Beauty and I can discuss ward specifications tonight or tomorrow. Weekends are still sacred, even to vampires. ;)”
The modern emoticon made Adam’s lips twitch. Before he could respond, Maja’s reply appeared:
“Over/Under. 8pm. Don’t be late.”
Her choice was a pointed, neutral ground, a public space, yet still within his Court’s domain. Adam leaned back, rolling the implications around like aged wine. “As you wish, daughter,” he murmured to the empty office, sending his confirmation.
The day passed in a river of calls and reports. Gaspard appeared at noon, as he had for nearly two centuries, carrying a crystal decanter of blood warmed to perfection.
“The staff are adapting well to Leo,” Gaspard reported, settling into his usual chair. “Though Marie has threatened to salt the entire herb garden if Oren raids her bacon supply again.”
Adam chuckled. “Some battles even I won’t fight.”
“Ah, but your claim certainly has,” Gaspard said, eyes bright with mischief. “He marched into Marie’s kitchen to defend Oren’s protein needs. I believe her exact words were: ‘I don’t care if he’s the First Son’s claim—nobody tells me how to run my kitchen.’”
“Is he intact?”
“Mostly. He was sulking in the entertainment room, trouncing Oren at Mario Kart while Lander provided commentary.”
Adam felt that dangerous warmth bloom in his chest again. His beautiful hunter, defending vampires from their own cook.
“Perhaps I should warn him about Marie’s victory over the Boston Pack Alpha.”
“Oh, let him discover that on his own,” Gaspard said, rising with a grin. “It’s more entertaining that way.”
After Gaspard left, Adam pulled up Emilia’s contact, ready to set Leo’s plan in motion. As evening painted the sky in watercolor bruises, he prepared to meet Maja, hoping she was ready to speak—and that he was ready to listen.
The afternoon brought Emilia’s familiar face to his screen, her silver-streaked curls a crown around features that held both power and pragmatism. Her eyes glittered with interest as Leo’s proposal unfolded, though a crease appeared between her brows.
“The ward network would need to be extensive,” she mused, her New Orleans drawl wrapping around each syllable like silk over steel. “Innsbrook isn’t just land, sugar—it’s old power layered over older secrets. The energy required to bind it all? Considerable.” Her manicured nails tapped a slow rhythm on her desk, each click weighted with magical calculation. “Inexchange for that kind of commitment, the patrols can’t just be a gesture. We’d need real boots on the ground.”
“You’ll have them,” Adam promised.
Emilia’s smile turned knowing. “Your claim suggested this, didn’t he?”
“He did.”
“Interesting.” Something shifted behind her gaze, curiosity sharpening to something closer to fascination. “Tell me, sugar—did you do your research before you claimed him?”
“The claiming was…unexpected,” Adam admitted, though the tone of her question made unease flicker at the edge of his thoughts. “Oren performed a standard background check after the fact.”
