Page 80 of Claim of Blood
The implications were staggering. Council-sanctioned coordination meant resources, authority, and planning on a scale that suggested something far larger than anything they’d anticipated.
“We need intelligence,” Adam said at last. “Real intelligence. Contact every asset. Cross-reference any unusual activity.”
He looked at the boys—barely men—and felt something cold in his gut. “And we must assume everything we thought we knew is obsolete.”
The terror in their eyes suggested they understood the shift. Kenneth exhaled, his patience exhausted. “Is there anything else?”
Rapid headshakes. Silence.
Kenneth’s predatory calm settled over the room. “I believe we’ve learned everything useful.”
The executions were swift and practiced. Adam and Maja moved in perfect synchronization, decades of working together evident in their fluid coordination. Quick, precise motions, and necks snapped with barely a sound. Kenneth dispatched the third with clinical efficiency, his grip finding the sweet spot at the base of the skull, severing the spine with a sharp twist.
The fourth made it two steps before Kenneth caught him. One hand clamped over his mouth while the other found the precise angle needed. A quick jerk, and the body went limp without spilling a drop.
The last hunter dropped to his knees, piss soaking his jeans as he sobbed. He was younger than the others by several years, Adam realized—short brown hair falling across his face, dark eyes bloodshot from crying. Average height but skinny in the way that spoke of too many missed meals, he looked more like a lost teenager than any kind of threat.
Kenneth knelt before him with predatory grace, and Adam settled back to watch. Kenneth had always enjoyed the interrogation process more than most, and Adam was curious what information they might extract before the inevitable conclusion.
“Now then,” Kenneth said, his voice carrying that particular edge that suggested entertainment was about to begin. “What’s your name?”
“J-Joshua.”
Kenneth’s gaze flicked to Adam, who gave the smallest nod.
“How old are you, Joshua?”
“Nineteen.”
Kenneth’s voice gentled. “Where did they find you?”
“Salt Lake.” The boy’s shoulders curled in on themselves.
“And how did they approach you?” Kenneth’s tone carried the clinical interest of someone who genuinely wanted to understand the recruitment process.
The boy’s shoulders hunched. “I was on the streets. Got kicked out years ago. For being...” The teen swallowed hard, tremors wracking his entire body. “For being gay.”
“Ah,” Kenneth said, though something in his posture shifted slightly. “Mormons?”
A jerky nod. Joshua raised his hands to wipe tears from his face, and Adam saw Kenneth go completely still.
The scars were impossible to miss—long, thin lines across the boy’s palms and fingers, the telltale marks of systematic whipping. Kenneth reached out with surprising gentleness, pushing up Joshua’s sleeve to reveal more marks, burns that spoke of cigarettes and heated metal.
“Did they try to beat the gay out of you?” Kenneth asked, his voice losing its predatory edge entirely. “Before they kicked you out?”
Joshua’s nod was barely perceptible, tears streaming down his face. “Please,” he whispered. “Please don’t kill me. I don’t want to die.”
Adam watched with fascination as Kenneth’s entire demeanor transformed. The vampire’s muscles relaxed, his voice gentling in a way Adam had rarely witnessed. Whatever Kenneth was seeing in this broken teenager was triggering something deeper than mere curiosity.
“I understand disappointing family,” Kenneth said quietly, his Scottish accent bleeding through more heavily than usual. “More than you might think.”
Adam knew enough of Kenneth’s history from Victoria—his maker—to recognize the resonance. She’d found him beaten nearly to death on a Scottish roadside in the 15th century, probably for similar reasons. Cast out by family, brutalized forbeing different. Victoria had taken pity on him then, bringing him into her Court until he’d eventually left to join Adam’s in Porte du Coeur. No wonder this broken teenager was striking such a chord.
Kenneth exhaled, steadied himself. “How did you survive?”
“I was desperate,” Joshua continued, his voice barely audible. “Working odd jobs. Dishwashing, unloading trucks... whatever I could get under the table.” His eyes dropped. “Sometimes I’d split a motel room with other guys, just to get a bed. A shower.”
He took a breath. “One night outside a diner, this guy tried to buy me. I said no. He dragged me into an alley and—” His voice cracked. “He started forcing himself on me.”
