Page 49 of Claim of Blood (Blood Bound #1)

The walk through the mansion was a deliberate parade of humiliation.

Lander’s shoes scuffed against the marble as he tried, and failed, to match Adam’s pace.

Staff vanished into alcoves or flattened themselves against the walls, doing everything short of prostrating on the floor to avoid drawing attention.

Lander dug in near the main hallway, heels catching against a carpet edge. It made no difference. Adam didn’t break stride, didn’t look back. He simply tightened his grip and dragged him bodily, the resistance meaningless against his strength.

A stumble earned him a vicious jerk. The motion would have separated a mortal’s shoulder, and Lander’s shout echoed down the corridor.

They entered the grand foyer, the light of the crystal chandelier catching every speck of blood on Lander’s face. Servants and Court members lined the balconies above, drawn by the spectacle.

Adam didn’t slow. Not until he saw Leo descending the staircase, barefoot and still damp from the shower. Adam’s white shirt hung oversized on his frame, soft cotton brushing his thighs, drawstring pants loose at the hips.

Perfect.

The dark thing rising in Adam’s chest surged to the surface. He hurled Lander forward. The younger vampire hit the marble with a sound that silenced the entire room—a sickening crack followed by the smear of blood across pristine stone as he skidded to a stop at Leo’s feet.

Leo froze mid-step, wide-eyed. His breath caught, hands clenched at his sides. He didn’t speak. Didn’t interfere. But Adam saw the guilt in his eyes, sharp beneath the shock.

Before Lander could lift his head, Adam was beside him. One knee planted. One hand pressing his face into the cold marble. The angle was brutal—shoulder twisted, limbs bent awkwardly, cheek scraping blood into the grout.

“Apologize,” Adam said, voice perfectly pitched to fill the vaulted foyer.

“Adam!” Leo’s voice cracked, half warning, half plea. He flinched as every head turned toward him.

Adam didn’t look up. He didn’t need to.

“Now,” he said, fingers tightening. “Loud enough for everyone to hear.”

“I’m sorry,” Lander choked, voice raw, every syllable echoing. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Touched what belongs to me,” Adam cut in, sharp and cold. He inhaled, slow and deliberate, letting the gathered vampires scent the truth. “Say it.”

Lander hesitated, breath hitching. “I shouldn’t have touched what belongs to you.”

“And what am I to you?”

The silence held, charged and pulsing.

Blood dripped steadily from Lander’s split lip.

“My First,” he whispered.

Adam’s tone didn’t shift. “Louder.”

“My First!” The declaration cracked like a whip, ringing against marble and stone.

Adam leaned close, voice low and lethal. “I am so much more than your First, and you know it.”

Then he stood, sweeping his gaze across the gathered onlookers.

“Does anyone here question my claim?” His voice was calm, but his power rippled under every word. “Does anyone believe this boy has a right to what is mine?”

No one moved. No one breathed.

Adam looked down again. “Would you like to leave my Court?” His foot pressed down on Lander’s back—not crushing, just anchoring.

Lander stiffened, scent spiking with panic.

“Would you like me to release you from my service? To cast you out?”

Elisabeth’s sharp breath broke the stillness. Ilona stepped forward, voice steady but unmistakable. “If Adam releases you, Lander, it will be a black mark. No Court will take you. You’ll be nothing.”

Lander twitched, the truth of it striking deeper than any blow.

Adam gave him a shake, enough to reopen the wound on his lip. “Well?”

A beat passed. Then another.

“No.” The word broke on Lander’s breath. “No, First. Please don’t release me.”

And softer, barely audible: “I’ll do anything. Be anything. Please.”

Then Adam stepped off him, removing the foot he’d braced between Lander’s shoulder blades. The pressure disappeared, but the weight of it lingered. Lander didn’t move. He stayed where he was—forehead pressed to blood-streaked stone, chest rising in shallow, broken pulls.

“Everyone out,” Adam commanded, his voice carrying easily through the foyer despite its quiet tone. “Except you.” His gaze found Leo, still frozen on the stairs, face burning with mortification. “You stay.”

The Court and hovering servants dispersed quickly, though Adam caught the satisfied gleam in Maja’s eyes, the way Ilona’s lips curved with approval. They understood. This was how power worked.

As the last footsteps faded, Adam’s rage shifted into something colder, more controlled. The public display had served its purpose—no one would question his authority again. Now came the harder work of understanding what had driven Lander to such stupidity.

Adam let the silence settle. Let the weight of what had just happened hang between them. Then, with measured calm, he bent and gripped Lander by the collar.

The younger vampire didn’t resist. He let himself be hauled upright, his right arm still cradled against his chest, the angle of it visibly wrong. Blood streaked his mouth and chin. His eyes were unfocused.

Adam took in the injury without comment.

“My study,” he said. “Now.”

They ascended the stairs without a word, keeping a careful distance as they moved down the hall. The only sound was the uneven drag of Lander’s steps and the soft slap of Leo’s bare feet on stone.

Adam held the door, watching as Leo hesitated before choosing one of the leather chairs while Lander remained standing, every line of his body radiating uncertainty and barely concealed pain.

The younger vampire looked thoroughly broken—lip still seeping blood, wrist cradled protectively, shoulders hunched in defeat.

The study door clicked shut behind them.

“Explain yourself,” he said, moving to lean against his desk rather than sit behind it. “And choose your words carefully.”

Lander’s laugh scraped raw against the silence, bitter and broken.

“Explain? You want me to explain why I hate how my body just... responds to whatever you want? How I can feel myself wanting to please you both even when I’m angry?”

His left hand clutched his injured wrist like he could anchor himself to the pain.

“You’re ancient,” he spat, tone brittle. “You should know what this is. You should be able to look at me and tell me what the fuck I’m becoming. Because I can’t.”

Leo shifted in his seat, the movement sharp. “Lander—”

“Don’t,” Lander snapped, not looking at him. “You feel it too, don’t you? That... echo. Like a shadow of what he is. But together, when you’re both in the room…”

He drew in a breath that shook as it left him. “I fucked you because I was angry. Because I was hurt. Because I thought maybe if I got it out of my system, I could stop needing it. Needing you.”

“Did it work?” Adam asked, tone even.

Lander’s voice dropped. “No. Of course it didn’t.”

Silence settled again, heavy and close.

“The magic chose you for a reason,” Adam began, noting how Lander’s broken wrist had already begun to heal, though the bone still jutted awkwardly beneath pale skin.

“Did it?” Lander bit back. “Or did you?”

His voice cracked at the edge, but the bitterness stayed sharp.

“That night in the alcove, you made me watch. Then you made me guard Leo. Was that magic guiding you?” Lander’s eyes glinted, something fevered behind them. “Or were you just seeing how far I’d bend before I broke?”

He took a step forward. Not threatening, just close enough to be seen. “Everyone keeps talking about destiny and bonds and purpose, but none of this feels like fate. It feels like control. Like you’re moving pieces around because you can.”

Adam didn’t rise to the accusation. He absorbed it. For the first time, a sliver of doubt cut through his anger. Had it been the magic pulling him to this point—or just the raw possessiveness of a creature used to control?

Adam had no good answer.

“And you’re not wrong,” he said, voice even. “I do move pieces. I’ve done it for centuries. But I’ve never felt anything like this. Not with anyone else.”

Lander’s expression flickered.

“Don’t mistake your confusion for manipulation,” Adam continued. “I never forced the bond. You said yourself, you feel the echo.”

“That’s not an answer,” Lander said, quieter now.

Finally, he straightened. “You have a point, though. None of us truly knows what this is.” His gaze shifted to Leo. “Would you fetch Elisabeth and Johan for me?”

Lander’s eyes widened. “I really don’t need to hear about their—”

“Not about that,” Adam cut him off smoothly. “About Andreas.”

Leo slipped out, the door clicking shut behind him. Silence followed—dense and uncomfortable.

Lander dropped onto the couch like his body had given up trying to hold tension. His injured wrist lay awkwardly in his lap. Adam caught the faint tremor that ran through him as he settled. The scent of old blood lingered where the bone had torn through muscle before setting wrong.

When Leo returned with Elisabeth and Johan, they moved with their usual unhurried grace, slipping into the room as though they’d been waiting for the invitation.

Elisabeth’s hand found Johan’s with practiced ease.

Leo settled back into his chair, still visibly uncomfortable with the whole situation.

Her gaze flicked to Lander’s wrist, then to Adam’s face, measuring, but not judging. Court discipline at its finest. Johan’s hand tightened briefly over hers, a quiet acknowledgment of the tension.

“Who was Andreas to you?” Adam asked, skipping pleasantries. “Beyond the obvious.”

Elisabeth and Johan exchanged a glance.

“He was... balance,” Johan said first, choosing the word carefully. “The claims can be overwhelming—that constant need to mark, possess, display. But with Andreas, the desperate edge softened. We could think clearly. Act with purpose instead of instinct.”

“Like he was bearing some of the magical burden,” Leo said, his voice quiet but alert, leaning forward slightly. “Diluting the intensity.”

Adam nodded. “I’ve noticed something similar. With Lander present, the blood compatibility’s pull is... manageable.”

At that, Lander’s good hand curled into a fist in his lap.

“Exactly,” Johan said, exhaling slowly. “Before Andreas, it was easy to get lost in the haze. With him, I could think again.”

Elisabeth huffed softly, not without humor. “Lucky you. For those of us on the... receiving end, clarity took longer. But Andreas helped. More than I wanted to admit at the time.”

Leo groaned and buried his face in his hands.

Adam pressed a knuckle to his lips to hide a smirk. The parallel didn’t need to be spoken aloud.

Elisabeth offered Leo a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, dear.”

“So I’m basically magical methadone,” Lander muttered, voice tight with pain and resignation. “Fantastic.”

“Such a human metaphor.“ Johan murmured, one brow lifting.

The look Lander gave him could’ve stripped paint.

Elisabeth smoothed over the tension with practiced ease.

“We met Andreas toward the end of our second year together. The first year back in Norway was... difficult. Being apart felt unbearable at first. It got better once we returned to Erik’s Court, but with Andreas.

..” Her eyes softened. “Separation became possible. Natural, even.”

“Andreas had doubts, too,” Johan added. “They came slower. But Adam’s power is different—stronger. It makes sense you’d need balance sooner.”

Lander’s jaw flexed, a tremor running through him that had nothing to do with the healing wrist. “This is still just speculation.”

“What would you prefer?” Leo asked. “A double-blind study?”

Lander glared.

Elisabeth cut in gently. “You’re not a placeholder. The magic chose you, even if we don’t understand it yet.” Her gaze warmed. “And in my experience, thirds often find their own match. The bond reshapes itself to make room.”

The sharp intake of Lander’s breath cut through her words. Adam caught the spike of distress in his scent, watched his shoulders draw tight despite the pain it caused his wrist.

Very interesting.

“Thank you, Elisabeth. Johan.” Adam’s voice was smooth. Dismissal wrapped in politeness.

They stood as one. Elisabeth gave Lander a parting look that managed to be kind without softening the truth. Johan’s touch lingered briefly at her lower back as they slipped out.

The door shut. Silence returned.

Adam crossed to where Lander sat and extended a hand, palm up. An offer, not a command.

Lander hesitated, then slowly raised his broken wrist. Adam took it with surgical precision.

Then snapped the bone.

Lander’s strangled cry didn’t make it past his teeth. His body locked, shoulders curving in on themselves.

Leo surged to his feet. “What the fuck—”

“It was healing wrong,” Adam said, calm and unbothered. He took a seat beside Lander while still holding the wrist. With his free hand, he rolled up his sleeve, exposing his forearm. “You can wait for it to heal naturally,” he said mildly, “or you can feed. Your choice.”

Pride warred with pain in Lander’s expression. Adam watched it flicker, falter, and then break.

Lander leaned in with a muttered curse. His fangs sank into Adam’s wrist, too sharp to be careful.

Heat knotted in Adam’s stomach as the blood exchange began—visceral, grounding, potent. He felt the bone knitting beneath his fingers, the way Lander’s breath evened as the pain eased. A glance down confirmed the flush spreading across Lander’s skin—and the swelling in his jeans.

Adam’s own arousal stirred, uninvited but undeniable.

The intimacy wasn’t about desire. Not entirely. It was about surrender. Trust. Even if it was reluctant.

He let it go on until the wrist finished setting, then withdrew his arm.

Lander looked wrecked—pupils blown, mouth slick with blood, chest rising unsteadily.

The moment crackled with the start of something else.

Then their phones went off.

Shrill and simultaneous. Adam reached for his first, already registering Oren’s encrypted alert.

Intruders.

Right outside the mansion grounds.