Page 26 of Claim of Blood (Blood Bound #1)
Chapter Thirteen
Adam
Adam stood motionless in the foyer, watching as Lander escorted Leo up the stairs. The moment their eyes had met sent a familiar surge through him—that gravitational pull that seemed to grow stronger rather than weaker with time.
He could taste Leo’s conflict in the air, the hunter’s scent tinged with confusion, longing, and stubborn pride. Adam’s fingers flexed at his sides, fighting the instinct to follow and close the distance that felt increasingly unnatural.
Instead, he remained where he was until they disappeared from view. Only then did he allow his shoulders to drop slightly, exhaling a breath he hadn’t needed to hold.
“I see your pet hunter is settling in.”
Maja’s voice cut through the quiet, ice-cold and disapproving. She stood in the doorway to the reception parlor, her platinum hair pulled back in its customary bun, her posture rigid with censure.
“He’s not a pet,” Adam replied evenly, turning to face her.
Her blue eyes narrowed fractionally. “What would you prefer I call him? Your Claim? Your blood match? Your liability?”
Adam moved past her toward the stairs leading to his study, knowing she would follow. “You’ve made your position quite clear, Maja.”
“And yet you continue to ignore it.” She followed him up the steps, her heels echoing across the marble. “Have you considered the implications of keeping a Rothenburg under our roof? A hunter whose family has hunted our kind for centuries?”
“The Rothenburgs have withdrawn from PDC,” Adam said as they reached his study. He settled behind his desk. “That changes the equation.”
Maja’s lip curled faintly. “For now. And when they return?”
“If they return, we’ll handle it.”
“Like you handled their son? By claiming him?” Her tone remained controlled, but Adam could sense the fury simmering beneath. “Without consulting any of us?”
He met her gaze steadily. “I don’t require consultation for my personal decisions.”
“This wasn’t personal. It was an act that affects this entire Court,” she countered. “You’ve introduced a hunter—a von Rothenburg—into our inner circle, potentially compromising everything we’ve built.”
Adam studied her rigid posture, recognizing the tension she carried when she was genuinely concerned rather than merely disapproving. In centuries, he’d seen it only a few times; his most vivid memory was from Paris in 1938.
The memory surfaced unbidden: Maja bursting into his Paris office, platinum hair flying loose from its usual severe styling, her eyes wide with alarm rather than their usual cool assessment.
“The Gestapo,” she’d whispered, though they were alone.
“They’re watching the Nocturne offices in Mannheim and Innsbruck.
They’ve flagged thirty of our Jewish employees. ”
Within hours, she’d arranged new identities, safe passage to the United States, and a complex paper trail that led Nazi investigators on a wild chase through dummy corporations in all three countries.
She’d stayed awake for days, manipulating records, bribing officials, and personally escorting families to safety while Adam handled the pursuing officers.
Not once had she questioned whether it was worth the risk to their operation or their Court. She’d simply acted to protect what was theirs. That same year, they closed all three European offices, relocating the few remaining employees to the United States and St. Louis.
Less than two months later, a night of horror: Kristallnacht.
What Adam hadn’t known at the time was that it marked the start of a mass exodus from France. The routes he created for a handful of refugees would be used repeatedly, ultimately transforming St. Louis into Porte du C?ur.
Her current resistance carried the same weight. This wasn’t just Maja being cautious. It was Maja genuinely worried about the survival of everything they’d built together.
“I’ve introduced my Claim,” Adam corrected, his voice gaining a subtle edge. “A rare occurrence that even you must acknowledge supersedes conventional concerns.”
Her expression didn’t soften. “Blood compatibility is a biological quirk, not a divine mandate. It doesn’t negate generations of training and indoctrination.”
Adam leaned forward slightly. “You’ve been at my side for centuries, Maja. You’ve earned the right to speak freely. But don’t mistake that privilege for the right to question my judgment indefinitely.”
For a long moment, they held each other’s gaze in silent challenge. Finally, Maja inclined her head a fraction. Not submission—just acknowledgment.
“The Coven representative has been waiting for two hours,” she said, pivoting with her usual crisp efficiency. “Shall I send her in, or would you prefer to keep her waiting while you watch your hunter sleep?”
He ignored the barb. “Send her in.”
Maja paused before opening the door. “Lander seemed quite... attentive today.”
The remark landed exactly as she’d intended: a calculated provocation. Adam felt a flare of something unfamiliar, not quite jealousy, but a territorial awareness that caught him off guard.
“Lander did as instructed,” he replied, keeping his tone neutral.
Maja’s knowing look made it clear he hadn’t succeeded as well as he thought. Without another word, she opened the door and left.
A few minutes later, a sharp knock preceded the arrival of a woman in her early thirties—Leila Anderson, Emilia’s niece and representative of the PDC Coven. Her dark hair was tied back in a practical ponytail, and she carried a tablet along with several rolled blueprints.
“Ms. Anderson,” Adam greeted her, rising. “My apologies for keeping you waiting.”
“Mr. Matthews.” Her tone was professional, but not cold. “I appreciate you making time.”
She unrolled the blueprints across the desk, revealing property maps of a section of the Fourth Cat.
“One of your Court members has purchased this warehouse,” she said, indicating a building outlined in red. “It directly adjoins a property that has been in Coven hands for over fifty years. Our concern is not the purchase itself, but the intended use.”
Adam studied the map. “Which member?”
“Julian Reeves.”
He stifled a sigh. Julian was relatively new, having moved from Chicago three years prior—ambitious and occasionally careless.
“And the intended use?”
“He’s filed permits for a nightclub,” Leila explained, pulling up digital documents. “Given the shared wall with our sanctuary space, the noise and energy would be extremely disruptive.”
Adam nodded slowly. “I wasn’t aware of this purchase, but I assure you, it won’t proceed as planned.”
She looked mildly surprised at his immediate concession. “Just like that?”
“The Anderson Coven has been an ally to this Court since before Porte du C?ur existed,” he said. “I value that relationship. Julian should have consulted me.”
Some of her tension eased. “My aunt said you’d be reasonable.”
“Emilia knows me well.” He straightened. “I’ll speak with Julian personally. The property will either be repurposed for something compatible or sold.”
“Thank you.” She gathered her materials. “One other matter—more observation than complaint.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“There were sightings of another hunter clan, the Cordrays, skulking around the Fourth Cat last night,” she said carefully. “They appeared to leave this morning, but covered their tracks well. My aunt thought you should be informed.”
The message was clear: the Coven was watching hunter activity and sharing it—an overture of trust.
“All our members have checked in,” Leila added. “But with the Rothenburgs withdrawing so suddenly...”
“Please thank Emilia,” Adam said sincerely. “I’ll look into it.”
After she left, he examined the blueprints again. Julian’s purchase was ill-considered on multiple levels—not just the proximity to Coven property, but also its location near the Third Cat’s less-than-lawful interests.
A soft knock broke his focus. Lander stood in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the hall light.
“He’s settled in for the night,” Lander reported. “Though I doubt he’ll sleep easily.”
Adam felt the tension again—an awareness of Lander that was too sharp, too intimate. Something primal stirred in him, part territorial, part something he didn’t have a name for.
“Sit,” Adam said, gesturing to the couch.
The command came out more forcefully than he intended, and he didn’t bother softening it. Lander’s eyebrows rose slightly, but he complied, sitting with perfect posture.
Adam pulled out his phone to text Gaspard, acutely aware of Lander’s scent, the lingering traces of Leo in it. The quiet stretched between them, taut and charged.
Gaspard arrived soon after, his gaze sweeping over them with measured curiosity. “You needed me?”
Adam handed him the blueprints. “Deal with Julian. He overstepped.”
Gaspard accepted the documents. “What should I do with the property?”
“Whatever the Coven prefers. Julian needs to learn the protocols.”
Gaspard nodded, giving them both another glance before leaving.
When the door closed, Adam studied Lander. “How was he today?”
“Curious. Restless. Conflicted.” Lander shifted, posture tight. “He asked about you.”
“What did you say?”
“That you were attending business.” A pause. “He seemed... disappointed.”
Adam didn’t respond, noting how Lander’s scent had changed again. He crossed to stand in front of him, the air between them suddenly electric.
“You felt it,” Adam said.
“Yes.” Lander’s voice dropped. “Not like you and him, but... something.”
Leo’s scent still clung to Lander, and it triggered something visceral in Adam—a confusing mix of territorial rage and raw, unexpected desire. Not the need to possess, as he felt with Leo, but something else—a need to dominate, to put Lander in his place, to bring him to heel.
Adam moved closer, crowding him back into the couch cushions, until his knee brushed Lander’s thigh. In that moment, something in him slipped the leash.