Page 39 of Bound in Blood

His hands darted into his jacket, and before Logan could blink, he had a knife in one hand, and a small cardboard box in the other.

He tossed the box to Logan.Matches.

“I’ll slow him down, but the blade won’t kill him. When I give you the signal, you need to set him on fire.”

Logan’s stomach twisted as he fumbled with the box of matches, barely catching it before it hit the ground.

“Set him on fire?!”Logan asked incredulously, eyes snapping to Vik like he’d lost his damn mind.

“Yes, Logan. He’s not going to listen to logic. He’s feral. Text whichever of your vampire buddies is hanging around and tell them to comehelp us,” Vik said, before springing into action.

The feral vampire let out a low snarl, blood dripping from his lips as he sized them up. His head twitched, fingers flexing against the corpse beneath him, like he wasn’t sure whether to fight or flee.

Logan frantically fumbled his phone out of his pocket, sending Alexei a panicked text:

Feral at the bar. Get here ASAP.

He shoved his phone back into his pocket without waiting for a reply.

Vik had raised his knife, preparing to throw it. He moved with the confidence of a man with years of experience in murder. Like wherever he needed the knife to go, it would land.

The feral watched for a moment, hands still gripping the dead man like a vice. His body was coiled tight, but when he moved, it wasn’t to lunge at Vik.

No, heflinched.

His body jerked backward as Vik moved closer, abandoning his meal as he stumbled in the other direction. Blood dripped from his lips, but his expression wasn’t one of hunger or rage.

It wasfear.

Logan froze, taking in the features of the feral vampire.

The vampire, thethingthat was supposed to be a mindless killer…. it looked barely as old as Logan. Pale, blood-stained skin stretched taught over sharp cheekbones, hair that might have once been blond but was covered in mud and blood and whatever else made it a sick brownish color. He lookedtired.Dark circles forming under his black eyes. This was no predator.

This was aghost.

A ghost of whatever he used to be, anyway.

Logan swallowed hard.

The boy, because hewasa boy, wasn’t a monster terrorizing the streets of Boston on purpose.

No, he wasstarving.Andscared.And Logan needed to help him.

Vik, however, either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

He took another step forward, movements slow but deliberate, like he was stalking a dangerous animal. His grip tightened around his knife, like he was prepared to throw it at a moment’s notice.

The feral stumbled back another half-step, his entire body trembling.

Logan could clearly see it now. His clothes were ruined. He was covered in dirt and gore and who knows what else. He looked like a dead man walking. Like someone who had goneyearswithout food, without safety, without anything.

“Vik, wait,” Logan said before he could stop himself.

Vik didn’t turn. His eyes stayed locked on the feral, his stance never wavering, “Stay back, Logan.”

“He’s not attacking!”

“That’s because it sees the knife.” Vik’s voice was even and measured, but Logan could hear the tension.