Page 37 of Claim of Blood (Blood Bound #1)

“I’ve been right here,” she pointed out. “You’re the one who’s been... distracted.”

The sharp bite of silver in the air caught Adam’s attention, too concentrated to be mere jewelry. His fingers paused on the crystal glass. “There’s an unusual amount of silver in the room. Five distinct sources, spreading out.”

Maja’s attention sharpened, her ice-blue eyes scanning with practiced efficiency. “Ah. I see them. That one by the bar couldn’t look more obvious if he tried. Like a peacock attempting stealth.”

The back door opened, letting in a wash of cool air and the familiar presence of another vampire.

Kenneth emerged, dusty blond hair catching the low light as he spoke quietly to his staff—a tattooed witch carrying a tray of drinks and Basilien, whose bear shifter nature was as obvious as the careful way he wore his button-down shirt, like a costume barely containing the predator beneath.

Adam sent out a gentle pulse of power, just enough to catch Kenneth’s attention. The younger vampire shivered in response, his eyes snapping immediately to their corner. His signature smile—the one that had launched countless social media tags—appeared as he approached.

“First, Daughter Maja, what an unexpected pl-”

“First. Daughter Maja. What an unexpected pl—”

“Kenneth.” Adam’s tone cut through the pleasantries. “I count five... enthusiasts. Armed.” He gestured subtly toward the wannabe hunters, about as stealthy as elephants in their positioning.

Kenneth’s smile wavered, turning businesslike as his gaze swept the room. He noted the social media influencers clustered at the bar, phones raised like modern shields. “Ah. This complicates things.” He glanced toward the entrance, where a massive figure filled the doorway—a wolf shifter.

They watched as Kenneth moved through the crowd with practiced ease.

First, he spoke to the bear shifter behind the bar, whose massive shoulders tensed at the instructions.

Next came the witch, her tattoos shifting like liquid shadow as she nodded.

Finally, Kenneth approached the wolf shifter, whose calm expression belied the tension in the set of his jaw.

“Shall we begin?” Maja’s voice held an edge that made the air itself feel sharper.

Adam nodded. The plan unfolded with practiced precision.

The witch’s flaming cocktails created a spectacular distraction, drawing every phone and eye.

The bear shifter moved with surprising speed, cutting off two hunters’ exit routes.

The wolf shifter began steering another toward the back, a friendly conversation about IDs turning steadily less friendly as the hunter realized he was trapped.

Kenneth’s influence drew the fourth toward the service hallway, while Adam and Maja moved like shadows, their compulsion subtle but inexorable. The last hunter stumbled directly into Maja’s waiting gaze, his will folding almost immediately.

One finally realized the situation. He reached for something under his jacket—but the bear shifter’s hand closed over his wrist before he could draw. “Let me take that,” he rumbled, smiling too widely. “Wouldn’t want to violate our weapons policy.”

The wolf shifter’s low growl sent another hunter stumbling into Maja’s influence. The witch’s power rippled invisibly, ensuring no one’s camera captured anything they shouldn’t.

The back room door clicked shut with quiet finality. The witch returned to her station. Both shifters posted themselves by the exits, ready in case any of their guests made a last, desperate mistake.

“Now then,” Kenneth said, his voice stripped of all public charm, “perhaps you’d like to explain your rather obvious attempt at hunting in my bar?”

The would-be hunters exchanged glances, bravado crumbling under three vampire stares. The youngest, barely more than a teen, cracked first.

“It was supposed to be a test!” he blurted. “Take out the vampire owner and his bear shifter enforcer. Nobody said anything about additional vampires—or witches or wolves!”

“A test,” Maja repeated, her tone cold enough to frost glass. “For what purpose?”

“To join the clan,” another admitted, sweat beading on his temple. “They said we’d be welcome if we completed the task.”

Kenneth scoffed. “I feel insulted. An easy task.”

Adam gave him a look. Kenneth lifted his hands, as if to say, What?

“Which clan?” Maja cut in, all humor gone.

“The Walkers,” they said in unison.

The name dropped into the room like a stone. Adam stilled, centuries of experience warring with a flicker of alarm. Maja’s posture shifted, her mind already parsing the implications.

“Where did they approach you?” Adam asked, voice deceptively soft.

“Chicago.” “Baltimore.” “PDC.” “Memphis.” “Salt Lake.”

The overlapping answers made something cold settle in Adam’s chest. He and Maja exchanged a look, the kind that only centuries of partnership could produce.

“The Walkers are a West Coast clan,” Maja said slowly. “California-based. No rights in any of those cities.”

Adam’s jaw tightened. “Hunter clans don’t cross boundaries without explicit authorization. This level of coordination...” He trailed off, the implications enormous. “It’s been centuries since I’ve seen anything like this.”

“Council-level orders,” Maja finished, her tone flat. “Has to be. The Vatican wouldn’t sanction this movement lightly.”

The realization hung heavy. Adam rubbed his forehead, feeling the weight of their own ignorance settle like lead. “We run a global intelligence network,” he murmured, “and we missed a coordinated operation spanning half the continent.”

Maja’s expression darkened. “Which means they’ve found channels we don’t monitor. Or worse—channels we think we do.”

She turned to the terrified teens. “Were there other families recruiting in these cities?”

“We... we didn’t ask,” one said. “But there were rumors. Other clans moving around, setting up in places they’d never been.”

“Systematic deployment,” Maja said, her voice clinical. “If the Walkers are recruiting in five major cities, how many others are doing the same?”

Adam felt the familiar chill of clarity. “And to what end? This isn’t random expansion. This is preparation.”

“The timing is suspect,” Maja continued. “The Rothenburg withdrawal. Now this. Someone is coordinating.”

The implications were staggering. Council-sanctioned coordination meant resources, authority, and planning on a scale that suggested something far larger than anything they’d anticipated.

“We need intelligence,” Adam said at last. “Real intelligence. Contact every asset. Cross-reference any unusual activity.”

He looked at the boys—barely men—and felt something cold in his gut. “And we must assume everything we thought we knew is obsolete.”

The terror in their eyes suggested they understood the shift. Kenneth exhaled, his patience exhausted. “Is there anything else?”

Rapid headshakes. Silence.

Kenneth’s predatory calm settled over the room. “I believe we’ve learned everything useful.”

The executions were swift and practiced.

Adam and Maja moved in perfect synchronization, decades of working together evident in their fluid coordination.

Quick, precise motions, and necks snapped with barely a sound.

Kenneth dispatched the third with clinical efficiency, his grip finding the sweet spot at the base of the skull, severing the spine with a sharp twist.

The fourth made it two steps before Kenneth caught him. One hand clamped over his mouth while the other found the precise angle needed. A quick jerk, and the body went limp without spilling a drop.

The last hunter dropped to his knees, piss soaking his jeans as he sobbed.

He was younger than the others by several years, Adam realized—short brown hair falling across his face, dark eyes bloodshot from crying.

Average height but skinny in the way that spoke of too many missed meals, he looked more like a lost teenager than any kind of threat.

Kenneth knelt before him with predatory grace, and Adam settled back to watch. Kenneth had always enjoyed the interrogation process more than most, and Adam was curious what information they might extract before the inevitable conclusion.

“Now then,” Kenneth said, his voice carrying that particular edge that suggested entertainment was about to begin. “What’s your name?”

“J-Joshua.”

Kenneth’s gaze flicked to Adam, who gave the smallest nod.

“How old are you, Joshua?”

“Nineteen.”

Kenneth’s voice gentled. “Where did they find you?”

“Salt Lake.” The boy’s shoulders curled in on themselves.

“And how did they approach you?” Kenneth’s tone carried the clinical interest of someone who genuinely wanted to understand the recruitment process.

The boy’s shoulders hunched. “I was on the streets. Got kicked out years ago. For being...” The teen swallowed hard, tremors wracking his entire body. “For being gay.”

“Ah,” Kenneth said, though something in his posture shifted slightly. “Mormons?”

A jerky nod. Joshua raised his hands to wipe tears from his face, and Adam saw Kenneth go completely still.

The scars were impossible to miss—long, thin lines across the boy’s palms and fingers, the telltale marks of systematic whipping. Kenneth reached out with surprising gentleness, pushing up Joshua’s sleeve to reveal more marks, burns that spoke of cigarettes and heated metal.

“Did they try to beat the gay out of you?” Kenneth asked, his voice losing its predatory edge entirely. “Before they kicked you out?”

Joshua’s nod was barely perceptible, tears streaming down his face. “Please,” he whispered. “Please don’t kill me. I don’t want to die.”

Adam watched with fascination as Kenneth’s entire demeanor transformed. The vampire’s muscles relaxed, his voice gentling in a way Adam had rarely witnessed. Whatever Kenneth was seeing in this broken teenager was triggering something deeper than mere curiosity.