Page 48 of Claim of Blood (Blood Bound #1)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Adam

Adam loosened his tie as he stepped through the heavy oak doors, footsteps silent on polished stone. The familiar blend of blood, linen, and magic grounded him in the heart of his Court. For the first time in days, the tension in his shoulders began to ease.

Movement caught his eye—Carlos and Lydia emerging from the kitchens, tactical gear stark against the mansion’s refined interior. Each carried a hard case, the scent of blood pouches and pastry lingering in their packs.

They noticed him at once, tilting their heads in unison. “First,” they murmured.

“Evening,” Adam replied, noting the mixed magazines clipped to their belts—silver-tipped and standard. “Heading out?”

“Yes, First,” Lydia said, adjusting her grip. “Evening patrol with the PDC Pack. Oren assigned us to the northern route.”

Adam raised a brow but didn’t question it. Oren’s kin—third generation, trained to the hilt. If he’d redrawn the rotation, there was a reason. “Stay sharp,” he said, watching them disappear toward the basement access and its tunnels.

As their footsteps faded, the low hum of voices drew him toward Oren’s office. Inside, the security chief and Gaspard stood over a broad desk, deep in discussion. Blueprints and maps were spread out before them, corners weighted down with reinforced schematics and color-coded tags.

Adam paused in the doorway. “Carlos and Lydia are gearing up.”

“Earlier patrols are prudent,” Oren said without looking up. “Your phone.”

Adam blinked. “Pardon?”

Oren extended a hand, tone flat. “Security update.”

Adam handed it over without argument, watching as Oren plugged it into a compact black console on the desk. His movements were crisp and mechanical, all efficiency, no wasted motion.

“Three-minute sync,” Oren said. “Encrypts your key and ties it to the internal loop. Leo knows the rest—he got the full briefing.” The faintest twitch of his mouth suggested amusement.

Adam’s lips curled faintly. “Anything else I should be aware of?”

“We’re rolling out the full perimeter system. Equipment installation should take four days. Emilia wants time to align the wards with the land’s magic.”

Gaspard nodded, indicating the proposed patrol routes and points where small huts would be installed. “Leo can go over the permits once they’re ready,” he offered, then paused. “If that’s acceptable?”

“Of course.” Adam smiled, pleased at how seamlessly Leo was integrating into Court operations. “It’ll be nice having someone take on some of that burden.”

“Excellent.” Oren turned back to Gaspard, already refocused on their work.

Adam left them to their planning, following the sound of laughter and shuffling cards to one of the entertainment parlors.

The rich scent of aged whiskey mingled with the click of billiard balls as he entered.

Elisabeth, Johan, Maja, and Ilona sat around one of the card tables, a game of Euchre in full swing.

“Evening,” he greeted them, smiling as Johan quickly tried to hide his terrible hand.

“Just in time to witness my spectacular defeat,” Johan lamented while Maja’s satisfied smirk told the whole story.

“Someone has to keep him humble,” Ilona added, not looking up from her cards.

Elisabeth glanced up with a knowing smile. “He headed upstairs about ten minutes ago.”

Adam couldn’t help but return her smile. “Reading my mind now?”

“Just your face, darling. Just your face.”

The stairs beckoned. His fingers worked at his tie as he climbed, anticipation building with each step. The Belgian acquisition had been exhausting, but coming home to Leo always made the day’s frustrations fade.

The sound of running water grew clearer, accompanied by the faint scent of Leo’s soap.

His wallet found its usual place on the console table beside the bedroom door, muscle memory from countless evenings just like this one.

Adam pulled off his tie with relief, letting the silk slip through his fingers—it felt good to be home.

Steam curled invitingly from beneath the bathroom door as he slung his jacket over one arm and unbuttoned his shirt, already imagining Leo’s wet skin against his. But as he pushed the door open, the scene that greeted him shattered his contentment like glass.

Leo stood in the shower, frantically washing between his legs, his movements desperate and almost violent.

Fresh bruises darkened his hips in the unmistakable shape of fingers—too large to be Adam’s, too rough.

A faint red mark circled his throat like a collar.

And the scent. Lander’s release, mingling with his own, was unmistakable despite Leo’s desperate attempts to wash it away.

The world tilted.

His tie and jacket slipped from his suddenly nerveless fingers, the expensive fabric forgotten as they hit the floor. Rage replaced desire in one thundering heartbeat, so complete and consuming that his vision actually narrowed to a pinpoint of fury.

Leo moved with startling speed, out of the shower, grabbing Adam’s arm with wet fingers. “Please,” he begged, water dripping from his hair, naked and vulnerable and marked by another’s violence. “Leave it alone. Lander’s upset, he wasn’t—”

Adam kissed him deeply, tasting desperation on Leo’s lips, then gently pulled away. In the next breath, he was moving, supernatural speed carrying him through the house with deadly purpose.

He found Lander in the kitchen.

The younger vampire leaned against the island with maddening ease, chatting with Vance, one of Gaspard’s made vampires who handled evening meals in Marie’s absence, as if he hadn’t marked Adam’s claim and left him scrubbing shame from his skin.

There was laughter in his voice, casual and light, and Adam could smell the remnants of Leo on him—the proof of what he’d done clinging to his skin like oil.

Lander turned at the shift in the air. He saw Adam. His smile faltered.

Too late.

Adam crossed the space in a blur, one hand locked around Lander’s throat, driving him to the floor with enough force to crack the tiles. Lander’s back arched reflexively, hands scrambling against Adam’s grip.

Adam didn’t ease up.

Power bled off him in waves—cold, ancient, and absolute. The pressure flattened the air, pinning everyone within its radius. Vance sagged against the island, breath coming short and sharp as he fought to remain conscious under the crushing weight of it.

He leaned in, voice low and lethal, the words cutting through the silence like a blade. “Enjoying your tantrum?”

Lander’s defiance burned bright at first, his grip tight around Adam’s wrist, jaw clenched, but it flickered fast. The weight of Adam’s power pressed against him like gravity made personal, ancient force stripping away rebellion and reducing him to instinct.

One finger at a time, his hands slipped.

Resistance drained like water through cupped palms. His gaze wavered. His limbs trembled.

The sound of hurried footsteps approached—Oren and Gaspard first, responding to the surge of dominance like a physical threat. Elisabeth arrived next, sharp breath catching as she took in the scene. Johan appeared beside her, protective instinct already coiled in his shoulders.

Maja watched from the threshold, arms crossed and face unreadable. Ilona leaned against the doorframe with the calm of someone entirely unsurprised.

And Adam didn’t release him.

Lander choked, teeth bared in something between pain and defiance.

It didn’t matter. Adam let his power crest higher—not to hurt, but to suppress. To remind Lander what he was. What Adam was. The hierarchy between them wasn’t theoretical; it was carved into their bones.

Vance buckled, sliding down the cabinets in a heap, too overwhelmed to stay upright. His hands scrabbled uselessly at the polished wood before giving out entirely. He wasn’t alone. From the hallway came muffled gasps, the sound of knees hitting stone.

Servants sagged against the walls or slumped to the floor, doing their best not to whimper.

Gaspard’s posture stiffened to unnatural stillness, one hand braced on the wall like the floor had tilted.

Oren’s jaw locked so tightly it might have cracked his molars; a bead of sweat tracked down his temple despite the cool air.

Elisabeth’s breath caught as she stepped into the radius.

She didn’t fall—but her knees flexed slightly, her body adjusting in small, practiced ways to endure.

Only Maja stood unaffected, gaze cold, arms crossed. She was used to this. She was made for this.

And Lander…

Lander still fought, hands locked around Adam’s wrist in one last furious attempt at resistance. His fangs were out, body trembling with tension, but the power pressing down on him was older than his lineage, older than his understanding of submission.

Finger by finger, his grip loosened. Breath by breath, defiance bled away. His legs trembled. His spine bowed.

Adam watched his eyes, waiting for the moment they lost focus—when resistance gave way to inevitability.

It came like the collapse of a dam. Sudden. Absolute.

Adam’s gaze held Lander’s, voice low and lethal. “Are you finished?”

His grip slackened, just enough to allow a reply.

Lander’s body sagged, every muscle going slack in defeat.

Lander sagged, his body collapsing under the weight of defeat. Every muscle gave out at once.

“Yes,” he wheezed, the last threads of resistance unraveling.

Adam hauled him upright by the throat, then struck him across the face—hard enough to split his lip. Blood spattered the tile in a sharp arc. “Now move.”

When Lander swayed, still dazed from the blow, Adam’s patience snapped completely. His hand locked around Lander’s upper arm with bruising force, and he began dragging the younger vampire from the kitchen like a misbehaving child.