Page 17 of Claim of Blood (Blood Bound #1)

Gaspard was impeccably composed as ever, though there was a spark of amusement in his dark eyes. A spark Adam didn’t trust.

“Maja is managing a situation downstairs that requires your attention,” he announced in that polite, civil tone he used when chaos was blooming.

“We’ve had quite a gathering form. Most of your Court, several pack members, and a few of the more nervous human staff.

All here to offer their congratulations. ”

Adam raised a brow. “Congratulations?”

Gaspard’s mouth twitched. “And questions. About the hunter.”

Of course. They’d all felt it—that raw command flooding the halls, dragging half the mansion to their knees. Now they wanted confirmation. Reassurance.

Adam’s jaw tightened. That command—kneel—had been meant for Lander alone. But his power had surged outward, unchecked. Not a loss of control, exactly—just too much instinct. Not enough thought.

“The ballroom—” Adam began.

“—lacks proper Court arrangements,” Gaspard finished smoothly. “As you insisted when designing Innsbrook and the mansion. No dais, no throne. You said it felt too performative.”

“It is performative.”

“Indeed,” Gaspard agreed blandly. “Shall I draft architectural plans, then? Something tastefully modern? Glass instead of gold?”

“No,” Adam said flatly. “This isn’t the seventeenth century. We have modern ways of spreading news.”

Gaspard raised a brow but didn’t argue. He swiped a fingertip across his tablet and turned the screen toward Adam.

A live feed showed the mansion’s grand entrance.

A crowd had formed at the base of the staircase—vampires and wolves standing shoulder-to-shoulder, murmuring with thinly veiled tension.

Several human staff hovered near the edges, eyes wide.

One servant clutched a tray so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

Another stood stiff as marble by the door, bracing for something to break.

“They’re nervous,” Adam noted.

“They’re afraid,” Gaspard corrected. “They want to know if it’s safe to stay. A von Rothenburg in the heart of your Court? It’s shaken them.”

Adam sighed and rose. “Let’s put this to rest.”

He followed Gaspard to the second-floor mezzanine overlooking the foyer. The crowd quieted the moment he stepped into view—dozens of eyes turned upward.

“Not everyone can see you,” Gaspard murmured.

“But they can hear me.”

Adam rested his hands on the railing. His voice, when it came, carried like thunder through the vaulted hall.

“Thank you all for your congratulations,” he began evenly. “I am eager to see what having a Claim will mean for myself—and for this Court.”

The ripple of tension below was almost physical.

“Leopold is resting after yesterday.” He paused just long enough for the implication to settle. “It was an eventful day.”

A few nervous laughs flickered and died.

“Isn’t he a hunter?” someone called from the back—a pack member, unfamiliar. “A von Rothenburg?”

The murmurs rose again, louder this time. Uneasy, fractured, laced with fear.

Adam let it build before he spoke.

“I did not choose my Claim,” he said, voice steady as stone, “but I would have it no other way.”

The air shifted—charged and waiting.

“Leo may have been a hunter once,” he continued, each word deliberate, “but he is now more. He is mine.”

The crack that split the railing under his hand was audible. Power rolled off him—immediate, ancient, undeniable. Gasps shivered through the crowd as the murmurs vanished like smoke. He reined it back with care, deliberate and controlled.

“Are there any other questions?”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then Jason—young, newly turned—lifted a tentative hand. “Is it true there are hunters in Innsbrook?”

As if summoned by the question, the front doors burst open. Nathaniel strode in like a storm given shape, his wolf just under his skin.

“Not anymore,” he announced with casual satisfaction. “They’re bugging out as we speak.”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Adam, does this witch belong to you? Found him outside, looking rather lost.”

The figure who followed looked like he might faint. Young, flushed, wide-eyed—pulse visible in his throat.

“Dr. Elias Wright,” he blurted. “Emilia sent me?”

Adam’s gaze drifted across the gathering until it found Lander, who hovered at the edge, arms folded, scowling.

For reasons he didn’t fully understand, Lander was the only one he trusted near Leo right now. Maybe it was the quiet competence. Maybe it was that Lander hadn’t flinched under pressure—or that he’d already been pulled into the gravity of the bond and hadn’t run.

Or maybe it was just instinct.

“Lander, take Dr. Wright to Leo,” Adam said calmly. It wasn’t a request.

The murmurs started again, speculative now, brushing the edge of alarm. Adam raised his hand.

“A precaution,” he said, brooking no argument. “Suggested by Claudia.”

That earned silence. No one wanted to second-guess Claudia. Not twice.

Lander moved at once, leading the flustered witch up the stairs. Nathaniel watched them go, blue eyes bright with something Adam couldn’t name.

“Court dismissed.”

The vampires bowed or inclined their heads. The humans lingered until Gaspard gave them a quiet, “You’re dismissed.”

They scattered—still uneasy, but determined.

Nathaniel turned to his pack members. “Alright, you nosy bastards. Clear out.”

Adam gestured for Nathaniel to join him upstairs. Oren materialized beside them, silent as always. Adam didn’t bother pretending to be surprised.

“Who’s the doctor?” Nathaniel asked as they climbed.

“New with the Porte du Coeur coven. Pediatric specialty. That’s all I know.”

Nathaniel’s gaze drifted toward the third floor. “Kid looked lost.”

“Why the interest?” Adam asked.

Nathaniel shrugged, broad shoulders rolling. “Just worried. That’s all.”

They stepped into Adam’s office, the heavy door closing behind them. Privacy, at last. The three of them settled into oversized chairs built for shifters, though Nathaniel’s still creaked ominously.

“My pack clocked a moving van at first light,” Nathaniel began without preamble.

“Rental, parked in one of the mortal subdivisions near the big lake. One of my guys thought it was odd—who moves at dawn? Then he saw Katherine von Rothenburg. Recognized her from the packet Maja circulated. Turns out some of my pack do read.”

Adam arched a brow. “To their knowledge, Leo’s only been gone a few hours. Why move so quickly?”

“Exactly.” Nathaniel rubbed the back of his neck. “Figured they’d hang back, gather intel, maybe send a scout. But they were moving like someone lit a fire under them.”

“Pre-planned response,” Adam murmured. “Ready to enact the moment contact dropped.”

“What about the apartment in the First Cat?” Gaspard asked, voice low.

Nathaniel’s expression darkened. “Pack and a few witches hit it early this morning. Moved up the timeline when the Innsbrook family started packing out. Couldn’t wait for nightfall. But the place was clean. They’d cleared out hours before. Right after Leo was brought in, I’d guess.”

Adam’s jaw tightened. They’d been ready. Watching. Waiting for the signal.

“Didn’t get a tracker on the van,” Nathaniel said. “They were gone before we could tag it. But we searched the house.”

Gaspard straightened. “And?”

“No cameras. Just empty mounts. Wiring cut.” Nathaniel’s voice dropped. “All of Leo’s clothes were still there.”

Adam frowned. “Why leave them? Unless they assumed he wouldn’t need them again.”

“Or unless they didn’t want him traced,” Gaspard said quietly. “A powerful enough witch could track personal effects.”

Nathaniel grunted. “Anything that looked personal was left.”

Oren had gone still.

Adam saw it immediately. “What is it?”

Oren didn’t look up from his tablet. “They moved before anyone could report Leo missing. Before we took public action. We had just found their location.”

He looked up then, eyes flat. “All his clothes and effects were left behind?”

“Yes,” Nathaniel said.

Oren’s voice was measured. “Then how did they know he wasn’t in a hospital? Or drowned in the lake? How did they know he was here?”

Adam met his gaze—and understood.

“They tracked him,” Oren said quietly. “They’ve always known where he is.”

Silence fell.

Then, almost gently, Oren added, “He’s microchipped.”

The word struck like a blow.

Without another word, Oren vanished.

Adam, Nathaniel, and Gaspard exchanged a single look before bolting for the third floor.

Dr. Wright barely glanced up from his tablet as they burst into the guest suite, fingers flying over the screen in a blur of notes and diagnostics. The elegant room looked like a field hospital now—IV poles, sterile packs, open cases of supplies scattered among the antique furniture.

Lander stood near the bed, posture taut, eyes flicking toward the door the instant they entered.

“Oh—Mr. Matthews,” Elias said, finally looking up, one finger still scrolling.

“So the bond—wait, sorry, the claim? I’ve mostly worked with shifters, so the terminology sometimes overlaps.

But physiologically, I’m already seeing similarities.

The regenerative patterns in his bloodwork are.

.. well, frankly, extraordinary. You usually only see this in high-magic lineages, though this—this is different. Symbiotic. I’ll need another scan—”

“Elias,” Lander interrupted, voice clipped.

The witch hesitated, then stammered, “Anyway, the claim is settling slowly. I don’t know if that’s normal. He’s terribly low on blood. Severely dehydrated. Also—”

The door opened again, and Oren strode in holding a matte-black device.

Lander raised a brow. “That a chip scanner from the kennels?”

“Yes,” Oren said without looking up. “Doctor, we need him on his stomach. If it’s there, the chip will be between his shoulder blades.”