Page 40 of Claim of Blood (Blood Bound #1)
Leo’s frown deepened, confusion in his expression. “I was taught that the magics are incompatible. That a witch cannot become a vampire, cannot be a shifter. They’d go mad.”
Elisabeth studied him for a long moment, then smiled with genuine warmth.
“Ah,” she said softly, “that clears up quite a few things.” She reached out gently, her magic settling into a calm shimmer around her fingers.
“The magic within vampires and shifters is the same magic within witches, dear one. Merely utilized in a different manner. Magic is all the same—as the air in the Arctic is the same as the air in the Sahara.”
“We’ve prepared the Gold Suite on the second floor,” Adam announced smoothly, his power a subtle undercurrent beneath perfect hospitality as he guided them away from the darker implications. “I trust you’ll find it comfortable.”
A small army of servants emerged from the house like a well-choreographed dance troupe, dividing efficiently between the two cars.
The humans among them quickly discovered what Lander had already known: his mother’s luggage had a weight-to-size ratio that defied several laws of physics.
The shifters stepped in smoothly, trying not to look too amused as they assisted their struggling colleagues.
Lander followed his parents, Adam and Leo, and the veritable hoard of servants up the stairs. Ilona, with her single bag, gave him a finger wave as he passed. He suddenly, childishly wanted to stick his tongue out at her.
The Gold Suite unfolded before them in warm amber light, crystal chandeliers, and matching carpet and curtains in a shade reverberant to the suite’s name.
The sitting room’s elegant furnishings invited intimate conversation, but Johan’s wandering gaze toward the bedroom door suggested he had other reunions in mind.
Lander vowed to avoid the second floor for the foreseeable future.
Soundproofing could only do so much against vampire hearing, and some childhood memories didn’t bear revisiting.
He’d spent enough centuries trying to forget the sounds that occasionally drifted under doorways when his parents felt particularly. .. enamored.
“Marie has fully stocked the kitchen,” Adam observed, his dark eyes holding carefully contained amusement. “Though she did leave rather specific instructions regarding blood oranges.”
Elisabeth’s laugh rang through the suite. “One minor magical mishap and suddenly everyone’s a critic.”
The servants moved around them with practiced efficiency, unpacking the luggage his mother brought with her, until one particularly eager footman made the rookie mistake of grabbing one of his mother’s red-soled heels without proper reverence, and the shoe growled.
Leo twitched reflexively for a weapon he wasn’t carrying. Lander smothered a laugh.
“Behave yourself,” Elisabeth chided the shoe. “These nice people are helping.”
“They get attached,” Johan added to Leo, deadpan. “You should have seen what happened when she tried to donate last season’s collection.”
“They’re shoes, Mor,” Lander sighed. “They shouldn’t have opinions.”
“Tell that to the Ferragamos,” Johan muttered. “I still have scars.”
His parents’ antics with the footwear might have continued indefinitely if Adam hadn’t brought up recent events. “I assume Erik mentioned our current situation with the local hunters?”
Lander watched his mother’s attention snap to Leo with the kind of focus that made him want to grab the hunter and run. He knew that look. Nothing good ever followed that look.
“The Rothenburgs?” Her eyes lit with delight as they drifted across Leo’s form. “Yes, we have.”
“Mor,” Lander warned, recognizing the tone that had preceded countless mortifying moments. “Perhaps we could discuss hunter politics after everyone’s settled?”
“Midnight cocktails then,” Adam said smoothly, already steering Leo toward the door.
Lander followed, trying very hard not to notice the way his father’s hands were already wandering, or how his mother’s eyes had taken on that particular gleam that had traumatized more than one household staff over the centuries.
He shot a sympathetic glance at the servants still organizing shoes with the careful attention of people handling unexploded ordnance.
As they climbed the stairs, a familiar giggle—and a much deeper growl—echoed behind them. Lander quickened his pace, but Adam’s hand landed on the back of his neck, freezing him in place. The change in Adam’s energy was immediate, rolling off him in waves that made Lander’s stomach drop.
They ascended in tense silence. At the threshold of Adam and Leo’s bedroom, Lander hesitated. Just long enough. He hesitated there, just for a moment. Just long enough.
Adam’s composure cracked. Talons bit into Lander’s throat, not enough to draw blood, but close. A low growl vibrated the air.
“You have two choices,” Adam said, voice quiet and lethal. “Enter this room willingly... or I fuck you on these stairs.”
Lander stepped over the threshold.