Page 13 of Bound in Blood (Vampires of Boston #1)

Chapter

Nine

MATEO

M ateo De Luca was no stranger to rage.

Not anger—burning hot and fast, flaring up and fizzling out within moments or days. No, his was all-consuming. It festered, wrapping itself around his ribs, coiling into his gut like a spring made of barbed wire. For years, it had never faded, never loosened its grip.

It took ten years of immortality before Mateo had smiled for the first time.

Nearly twenty before he stopped blaming Marco for everything that had happened to them.

Almost sixty to accept that the ghost of what his mortal life could have been would haunt him forever.

It had taken so much work to be better. To do better.

To smile and laugh and find joy in existing.

Someone had once told him, If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry.

That had become his philosophy. If you don’t laugh, you’ll level buildings with your rage.

He still felt it, sometimes. A phantom pain of his past, cropping up at the oddest times. Like now. Sitting in the back of an Uber, his fingers curled loosely around Logan’s, the old rage gnawed at the back of his mind, begging to be let in.

Not at Logan. Never at Logan. At the circumstances that landed them here.

At the fact that he’d been twenty-four for eighty-nine years, and only now could he bring himself to hold the attention of a man for more than one night.

And only because he’d been forced to, by some weird divine vampire intervention.

No matter who bore the brunt of it, Mateo’s rage had always been reserved for himself.

Thirty years ago, he would have driven Logan away.

He knew it. Logan—who, just like Mateo, had been thrown into this world with no knowledge, no warning.

Logan, who accepted it, accepted them with such ease, like he’d been made for it.

Logan, who was resting his head on Marco’s shoulder like he hadn’t had his entire life ripped away from him less than forty-eight hours ago.

He had every reason under the sun Mateo would never see again to hate them.

But instead, he trusted them. Or he was beginning to, anyway.

Mateo glanced down at their joined hands, his thumb rubbing absently over Logan’s knuckles. His skin was still warm—like the humanity hadn’t yet been entirely pulled from him.

Would he be as cold as me one day?

The thought made something uncomfortable twist in Mateo’s chest.

Logan shifted slightly, adjusting his head against Marco, murmuring something too quiet for even Mateo’s heightened hearing to pick up.

Marco responded with an amused hum, his cheek brushing against Logan’s curls.

They were already so natural with the casual affection that it made Mateo’s heart stutter.

When was the last time he held hands with someone without explicit intent?

He clenched his jaw, opting to look out the window instead.

Mateo exhaled, resting his head against the cool glass.

He shoved the rage back into the deepest pit of his mind, where it belonged.

He couldn’t let even a fraction of that person resurface—not with Logan, not when the kid had trusted him with his life , despite everything.

Not when Marco, after decades of just surviving , finally had something that had so much potential to make him truly happy.

They had spent so much time clawing their way through this world alone. Now, finally, they had been given something good.

He wouldn’t— couldn’t —ruin it.

So he took a breath, let it out slow, and when he exhaled, he put on a smile.

Mateo couldn’t change the past.

But he could do better in the future.

When they finally reached their home, Logan had almost completely fallen asleep again.

Mateo had heard his breathing even out, and quietly, he wondered when the little fledgling’s body would figure out it didn’t need to breathe anymore and break the habit.

Marco informed Logan that they had arrived, then thanked their driver and opened the car door.

Logan looked up at Mateo as Marco slid out of his seat, his fingers tightening around Mateo’s for just a moment before he let go. The loss of warmth as their hands separated chilled Mateo down to his bones, but the sun was starting to peak over the horizon, so he didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Mateo and Marco circled to the boot to grab Logan’s bags while they let him take in what would be his new home.

Mateo was proud of the house; he’d picked it out, after all.

A two-story home with red brick and dark wooden trim, he never really got tired of looking at it.

Judging by Logan’s expression, he wouldn’t, either. Mateo quietly felt a bit of pride.

“Wow,” Logan muttered, mostly to himself.

Marco came up beside him, a suitcase in each hand, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Don’t worry. The inside is all black furniture and red lace. Outside has to look normal so we don’t scare the neighbors.”

“You’re lying,” Logan said, but Mateo could see his eyes narrow in on the windows, trying to see inside. Marco had always been exceptionally good at delivering his little deadpan jokes without betraying anything. Mateo was incredibly jealous.

“You’re right, he is. There are purple accents, too. The ghosts prefer a little pop of color.” Mateo winked, stepping past the two of them to unlock the door, “Come on, quit rubber-necking. You’re burning moonlight.”

Mateo pushed the front door open, stepped inside, and flipped on the light. It had only been a day and a half, but fuck he missed his home. Their front door opened up into an entryway that led directly into their living room.

No black and red lace in sight, though Mateo was partial to the aesthetic that was popular in his teens.

Stepping inside felt like crossing an ocean and going back in time to 1930s Italy.

Mateo and, when he could convince him to help, Marco, had spent years collecting and restoring pieces of furniture from their home country.

Everything from the dark mahogany furniture to the ornate rugs had been chosen with care.

With the rise of the internet, it had become a bit easier to get things from back home, but Mateo enjoyed the chase all the same.

Only recently had Mateo and Marco looked at their home and really felt like it was theirs—s omething safe and constant in a world of continuous change.

Watching Logan rake his eyes over their work now was nerve-wracking in a way Mateo didn’t quite consider before.

When decorating the home, it had never mattered what anyone else would think.

Mateo and Marco never brought their meals home with them, after all, and their taste in decor was practically bland compared to other vampires.

But this was Logan’s home now, too. More than that, if he didn’t like something that they had put so much time and care into… it would sting more than a little bit.

Logan’s gaze flickered over the room, never settling on one thing for too long.

The high-backed chairs, antique bookshelves lined with novels in mostly Italian, framed paintings that weren’t particularly valuable in anything other than sentiment.

He stood like he was in a museum of only the most fragile and breakable things rather than his new home.

He didn’t speak, and Mateo was tense. So, so tense.

Needing a response, until he caught the look in Logan’s eyes.

Awe .

“This is…” Logan exhaled, shaking his head a little, like if he cleared his mind it would look different, “This is yours? You live here?”

Marco hummed in amusement, setting Logan’s bags down near the staircase that led to the bedrooms. “For nearly forty years now.”

Logan looked back at him, mouth parting slightly, before turning to Mateo, his expression a mixture of shock, awe, and confusion. Mateo wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to laugh at him or roll his eyes.

“I told you we were rich, Logan. What did you think? We’d have only Ikea furniture? Please. We’re gay and Italian, which means we’re no stranger to style,” Mateo teased, patting Logan’s head as he passed by him, tossing his keys into a bowl on the entryway table.

“You know, I think you could have told me you had Bill Gates money, and I still wouldn’t have prepared for this,” Logan muttered. “You’ve got to understand, in small-town Texas, wealth is usually measured by how many animal heads you have hanging on your walls.”

“That is… deeply disturbing,” Marco remarked, voice tinged with concern.

Mateo snorted. “We’ll start acquiring deer heads for the wall to make you feel more at home, tesoro. I’ll get on eBay right away.”

“I will walk my undead ass right back to my apartment,” Logan deadpanned, though Mateo knew he was fighting a smile, “I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere this… nice… before.”

Mateo inwardly preened at the praise, though externally he just waved Logan off. “Easy to horde wealth when the IRS doesn’t know you exist.”

Marco nodded in agreement, leaning against the banister. “And when the rich douchebags that come into town for business are more susceptible to our persuasion.”

“Right. Compelling billionaires and committing tax evasion. You’re a couple of real vampire Robin Hoods, you know that?” Logan quipped, shooting them both a flat look.

“Robin Hood wishes he were us. I’d never get caught outside in green tights.” Mateo cringed.

Logan rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, instead taking a step deeper into the house.

He moved like he was afraid of disturbing something, his gaze filled with a kind of reverence that made Mateo’s chest ache.

What did he care if this random kid liked his decorating?

He liked it, Marco liked it, and that’s all that should matter. Shouldn’t it?