Page 99 of Claim of Blood
They rounded a curve near the northern boundary when two figures stepped from the trees—vampires in tactical gear, weapons slung across their backs, moving with quiet precision despite the sun. They straightened the moment they saw the golf cart, posture shifting to sharp professionalism. Leo caught the subtle flare of their nostrils, the way their eyes sharpened as they scented him, but their faces remained composed.
“Sir,” the taller one addressed Oren, then gave a respectful nod to Leo, just as deep. “Northern perimeter is secure. We’ve integrated the route adjustments.”
“The new gear’s solid,” the second added, patting his rifle. His gaze flicked between Oren and Leo, clearly unsure who ranked higher in the moment.
Gaspard leaned forward, one brow lifted. “While we have you—what would you need in a patrol house? We’re setting up permanent outposts along the boundary.”
The two guards exchanged a glance before answering.
“Weapons storage. Tactical gear. Secure comms,” the first said.
“Medical kits. Strong security infrastructure,” the second added.
“All reasonable,” Gaspard murmured, logging the requests on his phone. He looked at Leo, lips twitching in something close to amusement. “You’d know better than most what else we’ll need.”
Leo answered without thinking, instinct taking over. “Reinforced walls, bulletproof glass. Multiple exits. Lockable safe rooms. Independent power and water.” He paused when he realized everyone was watching him. Listening. Taking notes.
“You’re serious about my input?” he asked, uncertain.
“You’re Adam’s claim,” the taller vampire said, matter-of-fact. “Your word is his.”
That hit harder than it should have. Not just respected by proximity—trusted to speak with Adam’s authority. It was still surreal.
“Perfect,” Gaspard said, still typing. “I’ll add this to the permit stack. You can sign off when we’re back—saves waiting on Adam or the full Council.” The casual way he said it made Leo’s chest tighten. Like this was normal. Like it wasn’t strange at all.
They continued on, the cart humming through shade-dappled trails as the estate’s edge came into view. The silence felt companionable, everyone absorbed in their own thoughts. For Leo, that meant trying not to dwell on the alcove. Lander’s body, Lander’s voice, Lander’s rage.
The terrain grew rougher as they approached a creek, forcing Oren to slow down. Emilia motioned for a stop, eyes half-lidded as she extended her awareness across the land, her fingers sketching invisible patterns in the thick summer air.
Oren checked something on his phone, then pointed to a camera nestled in the limbs of an old oak. “New install. Just came online this morning.”
Everyone pulled out their phones. Leo tilted his screen, tracking the camera’s range across the sloping ravine. A subtle blind spot stood out, something he wouldn’t have noticed without training.
“The blind angle’s longer than it looks,” he said. “The creek bed offers full cover almost to the edge of the estate. My clan would’ve used that.” He caught himself, corrected. “Any clan could.”
Oren didn’t flinch at the correction, just made a note. His eyes narrowed slightly, focused, not judgmental.
Another tiny, strange satisfaction bloomed in Leo’s chest. He was being taken seriously. Not questioned. Not handled.
They moved on. Emilia anchored a few more magical nodes while Leo and Oren flagged structural weak points. The longer they worked, the easier it was to stay in the moment, to keep from falling backward into the mess of Lander’s hands and words.
Eventually, the sun dipped lower, shadows stretching across the tree line. The cart turned back toward the mansion.
“I’ll need to return to set anchors,” Emilia said, fanning herself lazily. “Thursday night, say seven? Does that give your man enough time?”
Leo started to say he’d need to check with Adam, who should be at the mansion soon, but Emilia waved him off with a knowing smile. “No need to consult him right now, sugar. You can get back to me—I know how busy he keeps himself these days.”
Leo opened his mouth to defer to someone else, then realized he did know Adam’s schedule. “Eight would be better. The board meeting always seems to run late.”
Emilia’s pleased smile made him feel like he’d passed some kind of test.
The cart coasted up the long gravel path. Halfway up the drive, Nathaniel straightened. “I’ll check the western edge before nightfall.” Then, with no warning, he vaulted over the back of the cart and vanished into the woods.
“Shifters,” Gaspard muttered. “Everything’s a production.”
They arrived at the mansion just as golden light spilled across the stone steps. Emilia’s car waited at the front. She gathered her things, gave her usual warm goodbyes, and paused in front of Leo.
“You’re doing well here, sugar,” she said. “Sometimes the right cage sets us free.”
