Page 32 of Claim of Blood (Blood Bound #1)

Chapter Sixteen

Leo

Leo woke to movement—Adam’s cock, thick and insistent, sliding in and out of him. For a moment, confusion clouded his mind. When had this started? The bedroom lay veiled in darkness, the early hour barely registering on the dimly lit clock.

The realization should have startled him. Instead, warmth pooled in his belly as his body responded to the slow, purposeful invasion. Adam had taken him while he slept, claimed him without asking, and Leo’s treacherous body was already arching into it.

With his vision limited, his other senses sharpened. Cool air brushed his exposed thighs, contrasting with the heat of Adam’s chest pressed to his back. The scent of their mingled arousal thickened the air, and Adam’s controlled breathing was loud in the quiet room.

A soft moan escaped Leo as he pressed back, seeking more. More friction, more contact, more of the pleasure that made him forget to question anything. He’d welcome this new normal —waking to Adam’s touch, surrendering before his mind could catch up.

“Good morning, beauty,” Adam murmured against his neck, his voice rough with desire.

The greeting sent heat racing down Leo’s spine. As if this were perfectly ordinary. As if it was simply their routine to start the day with Adam, taking him so thoroughly that nothing else existed.

His head tilted automatically, baring his throat. The gesture came without thought now. Adam’s fangs grazed the sensitive skin before piercing it, and sparks of pleasure lit up every nerve.

The bite deepened their connection, and Leo felt what little remained of his coherent thoughts dissolve. This was what he was becoming—Adam’s willing victim, an eager participant in his undoing.

Adam’s hand slid around to grasp Leo’s cock, stroking in time with each thrust. The dual stimulation was exquisite, and Leo’s breath hitched as he pushed back desperately. He could feel Adam swelling inside him, the rhythm going ragged, his fangs tightening possessively on Leo’s neck.

“Mine,” Adam growled. “Let them all smell me on you. In you.”

The words should have horrified him. Instead, they tipped him over the edge. Everyone would know: the servants, the Court, Lander. They’d see the marks, smell the sex, understand exactly how thoroughly Leo had been claimed.

And he wanted them to know.

The orgasm crashed through him, sudden and unstoppable. A cry tore from his throat. Adam’s hand milked him through it as his muscles clenched around Adam’s cock. With a final deep thrust, Adam followed, marking Leo inside and out.

Slowly, Adam withdrew. He pressed a kiss to the fresh bite mark. “Stay here. I’ll get a cloth.”

Leo mumbled something—he wasn’t sure what—and let his body sink into the mattress.

Water ran in the bathroom. A moment later, the warm, damp cloth cleaned his thighs and stomach with careful attention.

He cracked an eye at the clock. “Six? Seriously?”

“Vampires,” Adam said with obvious amusement, tossing the cloth aside. His fingers traced lazy patterns over Leo’s hip. “Besides, I want my scent to linger on you today. A proper cleaning can wait.”

“The whole household is going to know.”

“They already do.” Adam sounded far too satisfied about it. He helped Leo sit up, steadying him when his legs threatened to give out. “Shower. Just water. Then we’ll dress and join Lander for breakfast.”

The casual way he said it—like having breakfast with Lander after being thoroughly fucked was normal—sent another wave of heat through Leo. This was his life now: being claimed, displayed, part of something he didn’t fully understand.

The shower was quick, more rinse than wash. Heat still slicked between his thighs, the undeniable evidence of Adam left inside him. He should have been ashamed. Instead, something deep inside purred with satisfaction.

Lander was waiting in the hallway, looking disgustingly composed. His knowing smile made Leo blush, but underneath the embarrassment was a thrill—he liked being seen like this, marked and claimed.

Lander’s nostrils flared, eyes darkening with something that looked too much like hunger. Leo felt an answering heat stir low in his belly.

This was what he’d become. And for the first time, he didn’t feel conflicted about it.

“Good morning,” Lander said cheerfully. “Sleep well?”

“You’re disgustingly chipper,” Leo muttered. But he didn’t mean it.

Adam’s hand settled on the small of his back, guiding him toward the stairs.

Breakfast was oddly normal: pastries and coffee for Leo, blood-laced concoctions for Adam and Lander. The quiet, domestic moment struck Leo as absurd—sitting at a sunlit table between two ancient vampires.

The peace lasted exactly five minutes. Oren swept through, carrying what looked like half the kitchen’s meat supply. He balanced an overloaded plate while somehow snagging an entire thermos of blood-coffee. Without a word, he vanished as silently as he’d arrived.

Then rapid-fire French exploded from the kitchen. Leo couldn’t understand a word, but the volume alone made both vampires wince.

Moments later, Marie Leleu stormed in, brandishing another thermos like a weapon. “Adam Matthews!” Her accent was pure PDC French, sharp as a cleaver. “That vampire of yours has stolen three of my thermoses! Three! They’re being held hostage in his security room, and he won’t let me in.”

Adam—First Son, ancient vampire—looked caught between guilt and resignation. “My apologies, Marie. I’ll speak to him.”

“Bah!” She waved him off. “He has enough to survive the apocalypse. But my thermoses!” She narrowed her eyes. “Return them, or no more pastries.”

The threat landed like a bomb. Leo choked on his juice. Lander gasped. “Marie, you wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“I’ll retrieve them personally,” Lander promised, sounding genuinely alarmed. “After breakfast.”

“Good.” She stalked out, still muttering under her breath.

Adam rose, schooling his expression back into dignity. He bent to kiss Leo—deep, claiming. “Lander will look after you today. Try not to cause too much trouble.”

“Me? Trouble?” Leo batted his eyelashes innocently. Lander snorted.

Adam’s smile was all dark promise. “Behave.” Then he was gone.

Lander stood, collecting the dishes. “Before we do anything else, we should rescue Marie’s thermoses.”

They walked through the mansion, the sound of blaring rock music growing louder. At Oren’s door, the bass rattled the hinges.

Lander pressed a hidden panel. A keypad appeared, and he typed a sequence with weary familiarity. The door clicked open to reveal Oren’s lair of caffeinated excess.

Three of Marie’s thermoses were indeed present, two emptied, and one currently attached to Oren’s lips like a lifeline.

But they were just the tip of the caffeine iceberg.

Empty containers and plates covered every available surface, creating a landscape of caffeinated chaos that spoke of either intense focus or a complete breakdown of organizational priorities.

The air itself seemed to vibrate with residual caffeine energy.

Lander moved quickly to silence the speakers. Oren looked up, showing only slight irritation.

Leo took in the caffeine carnage. “I feel like I should ask...”

“Oren’s been obsessed with coffee since the Ottoman Empire,” Lander said dryly.

One of Oren’s eyebrows lifted a millimeter. Possibly a monumental reaction.

A servant passed by, and as he entered, something strange happened. A tingling awareness prickled down Leo’s spine—certainty, without sight or smell or sound: cat shifter.

His breath faltered. He’d never experienced anything like this. The knowledge didn’t come through his eyes or ears or nose—it simply was, settling into his mind with startling clarity.

He gripped the doorframe, shaken. What am I becoming?

“Cory, we need a cleanup crew.” Lander gestured at the chaos of Oren’s caffeinated nest. “And perhaps a larger trolley.”

The shifter’s eyes widened at the state of the room, but he recovered quickly, offering a slight bow before disappearing with feline grace.

Cory returned with reinforcements. As more servants arrived—another cat shifter, a wolf, a vampire—Leo’s awareness expanded. Each supernatural presence felt distinct. It was like discovering a new sense.

He gripped the doorframe, shaken. What am I becoming?

Lander was speaking to the staff. Leo only half-heard him, his thoughts spiraling: If he was developing abilities, what did that mean? Was he even human anymore? The question lodged like a burr in his mind, impossible to shake.

He needed to tell Adam.

But then the cleanup began—and the absurdity of it swallowed everything else.

The operation was nothing short of architectural.

The first trolley groaned under plates, carafes, and enough empty mugs to stock a small café.

The second carried what Leo could only describe as a museum of coffee paraphernalia—French presses, espresso cups, and several devices he couldn’t even identify but suspected were caffeine-delivery systems.

The third trolley was a monument to Oren’s more questionable habits: towers of energy drink cans, to-go cups from every coffee shop in PDC, and a paper trail of caffeinated excess rattling with every step.

As the procession passed, one particularly ambitious stack of saucers began its descent. A sharp-eyed servant—Leo’s new awareness identified him as a cat shifter—caught it midair with reflexes that suggested this wasn’t his first Oren cleanup.

Only when the door clicked shut behind the last trolley did Lander step closer to Oren’s desk, his casual posture not quite masking the fond exasperation in his eyes as he surveyed the wreckage.

“When’s the last time you hunted?” he asked, tone dry enough to suggest this conversation had happened before. “You’re looking rather pale.”

Leo glanced between them, puzzled. Pale? Oren’s complexion looked as healthy as Adam’s. But something in Lander’s voice made him look closer, past the surface, to a subtle hollowness in Oren’s expression.