Page 45 of Claim of Blood (Blood Bound #1)

The basement was cold. Still. Silent except for the soft echo of his own footsteps. And then he saw him—Lander sprawled on the velvet sofa, tablet resting on his chest, eyes locked on the ceiling like he wanted to disappear into it.

Leo stepped forward. “We need to—”

Lander was on him before the sentence finished.

The sofa was a blur behind him. Leo’s back hit the stone wall with a brutal slam that knocked the breath from his lungs. Fangs bared. Power roared off Lander in waves. No hesitation. No grace. Just rage.

“Fuck,” Leo gasped, bracing his palms against Lander’s chest. It was like trying to stop a freight train.

“I can smell him in you,” Lander snarled, voice rough and too close. “Still wet. Still dripping.”

His hand shoved into Leo’s pants. No warning. No care. Just the sharp drag of fingers finding slick heat.

“Still no underwear. Figures,” he hissed. “Adam’s perfect little pet. Always ready. Always open.”

“Lander—what the hell—”

“You don’t get to walk in here like you didn’t break it.” His voice cracked with fury. “You fucked everything.”

Leo shoved at him again. Useless.

“You’re the one avoiding us—”

“What’s there to say?” Lander snapped. “That I’m a third now? A backup? Here to keep you warm when Adam’s busy closing a fucking merger?”

Leo’s heart pounded. “That’s not—”

Lander spun him. The wall cracked with the force of it. Leo’s shoulder hit stone and then Lander’s weight was behind him, unforgiving.

“Tell me to stop,” Lander growled.

Leo froze.

That hesitation was all it took.

A hand slammed around his throat. Tight. Crushing. The pressure sent black flickers to the edge of his vision. Not enough to knock him out—but close.

Leo didn’t fight.

The other hand yanked down his pants. Cold air hit his thighs, then heat as Lander’s cock pressed to his hole.

“You’re still open,” Lander spat. “Of course you are.”

He shoved in.

Leo’s hands scrabbled against the wall, nails scraping uselessly at the stone as pain and shock tore through him. His body stretched around Lander’s cock, already sore from Adam earlier that morning, and now invaded again without warning, without care.

“I said say it,” Lander hissed into his ear. “Tell me to stop.”

Leo couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. His throat was on fire. His mind was a snarl of humiliation, arousal, and disbelief.

Lander’s hips snapped forward. Again. Again. Each thrust a weapon. His cock driving in deep, relentless, punishing.

“You think I wanted this?” he bit out. “You and Adam, playing at soulmates while I stand in the corner and smile?”

Leo gasped, pain spiking with each thrust. “Lander—”

Another snap of hips. Leo cried out, the sound ragged and raw.

“You don’t even see it,” Lander snarled. “You’re already perfect for each other. I’m just the one getting used. Just like Andreas. The happy extra. The good little side piece.”

The hand at Leo’s throat tightened. His vision wavered.

“I won’t be like him,” Lander growled. “I won’t be your leftover.”

Each word landed with a brutal thrust, driving into Leo like punctuation. His legs trembled. His cock dripped, painfully hard, untouched.

“You were a stranger,” Lander whispered, furious. “And now I can’t sleep without smelling you in the sheets.”

Leo’s voice cracked. “Then stop—”

“Neither of us can,” Lander snapped. “That’s the fucking problem.”

One hand yanked Leo’s hips back even harder. The other shifted to his cock, squeezing tight—a punishment, not pleasure.

“I hate this,” Lander whispered. “Hate that you make me want it.”

Leo moaned. It slipped out involuntarily. Shame, pain, desire all twisted into something he didn’t have words for.

Lander’s breath caught. He slammed into Leo once, twice—then stilled, groaning low and furious as he came. The heat of it spilled inside Leo, mixing with Adam’s from earlier. A second mark. A second claim.

Lander leaned in, voice wrecked. “Let me know what Adam thinks of that.”

Then he pulled out, and the weight was gone, leaving Leo alone with the ghostly sensation of fangs against his throat.

Leo sagged against the wall, breath ragged, vision blurry.

His cock throbbed, aching, but he didn’t touch it. Couldn’t. His pants hung around his thighs, wet with evidence of both vampires. He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe.

He understood why Lander was angry, could see the pain beneath all that rage, but understanding didn’t tell him how to fix it.

How do you convince someone they matter when they’re convinced they don’t?

How do you prove you’re not trying to push them aside when every breath you take seems to be proof of your bond with someone else?

Leo stumbled from the underground complex, his mind already trying to shove the encounter into a mental box he could lock away for later. Compartmentalize. Focus. That’s what he had to do—find something tangible, something he could fix.

The grand double doors of the mansion loomed ahead, sunlight pouring through the high windows and slicing across the marble like judgment.

Maybe he should clean up first. Wash off the scent, the slick mess still clinging to his thighs.

But no, Oren was waiting.

“Leo.”

The voice stopped him cold. Calm. Crisp. Unmistakable.

Oren stepped out from a side hallway, all quiet control in a tailored black suit. Gaspard followed, his usual bored expression faltering as his gaze caught on Leo. His nose wrinkled almost imperceptibly, registering the scent.

Leo’s face went hot. He opened his mouth—had no idea what to say—then Gaspard flinched.

A sharp smack echoed through the entry hall. Oren’s hand had struck Gaspard’s stomach with practiced ease.

“Leo’s business is Adam’s business,” Oren said, not looking away from Leo. “And Adam’s business is his own.”

Gaspard straightened like a chastised schoolboy. He inclined his head in silence.

Oren’s attention never wavered. “The new system is in place,” he continued smoothly, as though nothing had happened. “I’d like to walk you both through it.”

Leo nodded, grateful for the lifeline. His thoughts were a mess—his body worse—but at least Oren was steady, grounding him by sheer force of presence.

“Yeah. Let’s do that.”

Gaspard’s gaze still lingered, curious and unreadable, but Leo ignored it. He squared his shoulders and followed Oren toward the security wing, one step at a time, leaving blood, heat, and confusion behind him.

Work. Focus. That was all he could afford right now.