Page 1 of Claim of Blood (Blood Bound #1)

Chapter One

Leo

The first rule of surveillance was not to get noticed.

Leo had apparently failed spectacularly at that, as Adam Matthews—vampire and current stake-out target—walked directly toward his table.

After two weeks of careful observation from his “writing spot” in the café, everything was about to fall apart.

The warm, yeasty scent of fresh-baked croissants and sharp bite of espresso did nothing to calm his racing heart.

Medical students filled the surrounding space, their white coats draped over chairs, unaware they were sharing their study haven with a hunter and his target, though Leo wasn’t entirely sure which one of them was which anymore.

Friedrich would’ve mocked that thought. “You spend more time gazing than aiming.” He could almost hear his brother’s voice, dry and cold. “Maybe you’re not a hunter. Maybe you’re just prey.”

The soft tapping of keyboards and murmured consultations over textbooks seemed suddenly insignificant as Adam neared.

Le Petit Coin, as the café was called, embodied Porte du Coeur’s French influence with its blue-and-white awning and baristas who called out orders in the city’s distinctive French-influenced accent.

It was part of what made it perfect for surveillance—busy enough to blend in, but relaxed enough to linger for hours.

“May I?” Matthews gestured to the empty chair, not waiting for an answer before sliding into it with that otherworldly grace Leo’s family’s dossier had mentioned.

Up close, he was devastating. Tall without towering, with deep bronze skin and features that might have stepped from an Old Kingdom mural—dark eyes bordering on black, firm jawline, black hair styled modern but unable to mask what Leo suspected was ancient Egyptian heritage.

His smile was broad and perfectly normal, hiding fangs that only first and second-generation vampires could conceal.

If Matthews really was Merytre’s firstborn, he’d walked this earth since before Rome touched Egypt’s shores. The thought made Leo’s pulse quicken for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.

“I’ve seen you here every morning, always writing. I admit, I’m intrigued.”

Leo controlled his breathing, reminding himself that if Matthews had truly identified him as a hunter, their interaction would have happened quite differently. “I’m, uh, working on a novel, actually.”

“A novel?” Genuine interest shone in Matthews’ dark eyes as he slowly sipped his espresso. “What genre, beauty?”

The pet name rolled off his tongue so naturally, so unexpectedly, that Leo nearly choked on his coffee. “Mystery,” he managed. “A locked-room series.”

“Ah, the classics.” Matthews leaned back, studying Leo with an intensity that made him feel like a butterfly pinned to velvet.

“I have quite a collection of vintage mysteries myself. I witnessed Christie’s work transform the genre firsthand.

” He paused, catching himself. “Her influence, I mean. Perhaps you’d like to see them sometime? ”

Leo’s mind raced. Was this a trap? An invitation? Or just the friendly, flirting overture it appeared to be?

The von Rothenburgs had hunted vampires for the Vatican since the time of the Holy Roman Empire.

Leo’s ancestor had killed one of Merytre’s children in 1233—one of only two such kills in five thousand years.

That legacy had tracked Adam Matthews across three generations, and now he sat casually flirting over coffee.

“That’s... very kind,” Leo said carefully, his training screaming at him to maintain his cover while looking for an escape route. “But I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense.” Matthews pulled a sleek contact card from his suit jacket—a slim piece of smart metal that caught the light with Nocturne’s subtle silver logo.

“Your phone, beauty.” The words held a subtle command that bypassed Leo’s conscious mind. He found himself complying before his brain could protest, horrified by his own instant obedience. He watched as Matthews held the contact card against his phone’s scanner.

“Fifteenth floor,” Matthews said, holding out the phone with an amused smile. “Come by whenever you like. We can discuss Agatha Christie over a proper espresso.”

Leo snatched his phone back, heart hammering. What on earth was he doing? He was a hunter. A Rothenburg. Generations of training screamed at him for letting a vampire—not just any vampire, but Merytre’s fucking firstborn—touch his phone.

And yet… Matthews looked almost pleased, like Leo had handed over a thing far more intimate than a device. There was a flicker in his eyes—dark, satisfied—that made Leo’s stomach twist. Not smugness. Not amusement. Something heavier.

Leo shoved the phone into his pocket and forced himself to breathe. He didn’t owe this man anything. Especially not compliance.

But Matthews’ presence was overwhelming. It was like gravity given form, pulling everything in the room toward him. Even now, Leo could feel himself being drawn in by that dark, ancient gaze.

“I find myself particularly curious about your take on ‘And Then There Were None,’” Matthews continued, as if he hadn’t just demonstrated an unsettling level of control over Leo.

His lips quirked slightly. “Though my first edition still bears its original, rather offensive title. I much prefer the modern one, don’t you? ”

“God, yes,” Leo agreed, somehow relieved that Matthews hadn’t actually said the original title out loud. That a potentially ancient vampire showed such modern sensibility about racial slurs was intriguing. “The story itself is brilliant enough without the historical baggage.”

“The ultimate locked-room scenario, wouldn’t you say?” Matthews said, looking pleased.

Leo nodded before he could stop himself.

“I’d like that, actually.” And God help him, he really would.

Locked-room mysteries had been his passion since he’d discovered his first Agatha Christie paperback in his grandfather’s library.

Now here was a man offering to show him first editions, inviting him right into Nocturne’s headquarters.

Into the vampire’s lair, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his eldest brother warned.

What would his brothers do?

His brothers would rather die than get made. And here he was, letting himself be seduced by the target’s book collection, of all things.

Before Leo could finish arguing with himself, Matthews rose with liquid grace. Instead of leaving, he stepped closer. Long fingers brushed Leo’s cheek—so light it might have been imagination, except for the way Leo’s whole body responded, leaning toward him like a flower following the sun.

Everything in him yearned to bare his neck, to surrender completely. Only years of hunter training kept him frozen, fighting the pull even as his blood sang beneath Matthews’ fingertips.

“So beautiful,” Matthews murmured, his voice a low caress. “I look forward to seeing you again, beauty.” He withdrew his hand, leaving Leo’s skin tingling where he’d touched it.

Leo watched him walk to the elevator, unable to look away until the doors closed behind him. His phone was heavy in his pocket, Matthews’ contact information burning like a brand. What had he just gotten himself into?

He barely registered leaving the café, skin still tingling. His thoughts circled back obsessively—Matthews’ fingers, that overwhelming urge to submit, the way every fiber of his being had wanted to follow the vampire upstairs.

The self-driving taxi arrived within seconds of his summoning it—one of PDC’s ubiquitous autonomous vehicles, its silver shell gleaming in the morning sun. He slid into the back seat, grateful for the dark tint as he slumped against the leather.

The car asked him to confirm the destination via a screen on the center console. Leo leaned forward, tapping the ‘Confirm’ button before dropping back into the seat. The car hummed and pulled smoothly into traffic.

Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to get his head straight before facing his family.

He’d encountered vampires before during missions—observed them from a distance, studied their movements, even helped track one that his brother Friedrich ultimately dispatched—but he’d never felt anything remotely like this.

Never experienced this pull, this hunger that seemed to originate from his very blood.

What kind of hunter fantasized about offering himself up as a meal?

The sophisticated buildings of the Central West End gave way to the old-money mansions of the First Cat’s western reaches. Leo watched them blur past, trying to focus on their mission details instead of the way Matthews’ voice had caressed the word “beauty .”

He winced, stomach knotting. Beauty wasn’t a compliment in his house—it was a liability. Will had once barked across the training yard, “You’ve got a face for bedsheets, not battlefields,” and Friedrich had laughed.

Reporting the encounter would be humiliating enough. Contacted by the target. Flirted with. Touched. But having to explain how he’d responded? That he’d frozen, hesitated—almost liked it? That would be worse.

The family reactions would be predictable and brutal.

Friedrich—perfect hunter, perfect son, named for the ancestor who’d killed one of Merytre’s children in 1233—would deliver that sharp, assessing silence that cut deeper than shouting.

Katherine would add this failure to her mental catalog of Leo’s mistakes, storing it like ammunition.

His cousins Will and Max would make it into jokes that would follow him for years. Only Felix might show actual sympathy.

They were Vatican elite, descendants of legends. Leo was their disappointment.