Page 15 of Bound in Blood (Vampires of Boston #1)

Chapter

Ten

MARCO

T he sun fucking burned.

Marco had barely taken two steps off the boat before it bit into his skin, burning hot and sharp like tiny needles pricking at his flesh.

Mateo had aggressively talked him out of wearing a coat, and right now he was ready to throw him into the ocean over it.

He tried to argue that America was full of strange people with strange habits, and a couple of coats in the middle of summer wouldn’t turn any heads.

Marco pulled his hat over his eyes, considered hiding his arms inside his shirt, but he knew it would do little to help.

Beside him, Mateo let out a string of curses under his breath, blisters already becoming evident on his skin.

At least he wasn’t having an easy go at this, either.

All around them, people shouted in English way too fast for either of them to understand, voices blending into an overwhelming cacophony.

They’d spent the last six years studying English, but neither of them had accounted for how fucking fast Americans talked.

Papers were being checked, bags shoved into waiting hands.

Nobody questioned their fake documents, which Mateo had paid dearly for.

The air smelled like salt, sweat, and smoke.

They knew they needed to move, but they couldn’t exactly figure out where. There was no shade, no alleyway to disappear into. Marco couldn’t concentrate on reading any of the posted signs with the sun stabbing needles into his skin.

A hand snatched Marco’s wrist.

He attempted to jerk back on instinct, a snarl forming in his throat, but before he could yank away, another hand gripped Mateo by one of his suspenders, dragging him with Marco, too.

Marco stumbled as he attempted to break away, but the grip was stronger than any human, and before he realized what was going on, he had tripped right into the cool embrace of a shadow.

Mateo collided into him a half-second later.

They both spun, fists clenched, ready for a fight as their eyes adjusted to the darkness, but once they had, they froze.

A woman stood before them. She was tall, and thin, her blonde hair pinned back neatly.

Her sharp brown eyes scanned them like she’d already figured out everything she needed to know about them.

Her dress looked too neat and expensive for her to be skulking about in some dark alley, but what did Marco know about Americans?

She crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed with the two of them, and Marco became acutely aware he did not remember the last time he had a bath.

She said something to them in English then, her tone angry, gesturing at them with one of her arms. She was talking too fast, Marco couldn’t translate. His head cocked in confusion, and she sighed, scrubbing a hand over her face. She tried another language, then a third one, before settling on:

“ Cristo, siete pazzi? Camminare sotto il sole così? Volete morire?! ? * ” Ah, she was scolding them.

Marco felt Mateo bristle next to him, his shoulder squaring.

He could feel his distrust as easily as if it were his own.

Mateo had been angry since they’d woken up like this, angrier still every time Marco tried to calm him down.

Marco’s anxiety spiked, caught between wanting to defend his brother and not wanting to face his wrath for babying him.

“ Chi cazzo sei? ? * ” Mateo spat out, fists clenching and unclenching, ready for a fight.

The woman sighed, exasperated, “ Quello che vi ha appena salvato il culo, a quanto pare. ? * ”

Marco couldn’t help feeling a little calmer at the familiarity of his native language, even if he had no idea who this woman was.

How had she known to pull them out of the sun?

Was she one of them? Marco couldn’t smell her blood, not as easily as he could smell a human’s, but he’d never met another like him before, other than Mateo.

And honestly, Marco had never really considered what Mateo smelled like.

The woman gave them a once-over, Marco’s fearful gaze, and Mateo’s hardened anger.

Her eyes were sharp and calculating. Assessing.

“ Append arrivati? ? * ” She asked.

Marco replied, “ Si. ” at the same time Mateo said, “ Ovviamente. ? * ”

She hummed, like none of this surprised her.

Marco wished she would get to whatever weird point she was trying to make.

His skin still stung with sun exposure, exhaustion taking hold of his limbs.

Mateo, who Marco knew was also ready to collapse, was geared for a fight.

Marco wasn’t sure they were in any position to refuse whatever this woman was about to offer them.

After a long moment, the woman sighed, “ Venite. ? * ” She turned on her heel, walking deeper into the alley, not waiting for a response. Expecting them to follow.

Mateo didn’t move, Marco barely breathed.

He should have been more cautious, maybe should have hesitated a moment, but he didn’t.

He met Mateo’s eyes, saw the fight ready to boil over.

But if they didn’t follow her, what was the alternative?

They had no money, no shelter, no plan other than to get to America.

Now they were here, and they couldn’t even understand the people. No, he wouldn’t let Mateo ruin this.

Marco stepped forward, following the woman quickly into the dark. He heard his brother swear under his breath, but a second later, he followed too.

The alley stretched deeper than Marco expected, winding away from busy streets like a forgotten vein of the city. The deeper they went, the quieter it became, sounds of the dock fading behind them. Marco rushed to keep up with the woman, who was testing even his supernatural speed.

She moved with purpose, like someone used to being followed. She didn’t ever check to see if they were keeping up, though, if she were like them, she would probably just know. That or she didn’t care if she lost them.

Mateo walked stiffly at Marco’s side, an angry rattlesnake coiled to strike if given an opportunity.

His fists were still clenched, and he watched the woman closely.

Marco knew his brother well enough to know Mateo was waiting for some betrayal.

There hadn’t been enough violence to sate his brother’s tendencies on the ship, so he was almost anticipating this interaction coming to blows.

Marco, on the other hand, would do anything to bathe the ship-stink from himself.

Abruptly, the woman came to a stop at what appeared to be a dead end, but as Mateo and Marco caught up, she knocked twice against the wooden frame of what Marco assumed was some boarded-up shop. It groaned before swinging inward, revealing a shadowed passage.

“In,” she barked sharply, an English word Marco recognized.

Mateo hesitated, ready to argue, but Marco grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward, stepping through the passage.

Inside, the air was cooler, a mercy on Marco’s sun-blistered skin. The air was thick and damp and had a smell Marco couldn’t quite place, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

The woman shut the door behind them, their eyes barely adjusting to the darkness before she struck a match.

The flickering glow caught on her face as she reached for an oil lamp, illuminating the space.

It appeared to be some sort of basement, barely furnished—a table, chairs, like a meeting space.

Marco briefly wondered if he was about to be sacrificed to appease some long-forgotten god.

It took a second too long to notice the other three figures in the room, their eyes flashing in the dim light as they watched Marco and Mateo appraisingly.

None of them resembled each other in the slightest, so they couldn’t have been related.

There was no scent that usually accompanied humans in here, so they all must have been like Marco.

The closest to Mateo and Marco was a younger-looking woman, perched precariously on a crate.

She had a rounded face and slight curves, as if she were caught between teenager and adult, twenty years of age at the oldest. Her tightly coiled hair was put half-up with a bandana, to keep it out of her face, Marco reasoned.

Her amber eyes watched them with an expression that wasn’t unkind, just… wary, maybe.

Next to her, sprawled half lazily on the floor, was a man built like a soldier.

He looked older than Marco and Mateo, maybe early to mid-thirties.

He had broad shoulders and mousy brown hair that was pulled into a bun on top of his head.

He lifted his head slightly to eye them, hazel-eyed gaze flicking between Marco and Mateo with vague disinterest. He looked… bored, mostly. It comforted Marco.

Across the room, the only one sitting at the table was another man, half-draped in the shadows of the darkened room.

His black hair fell into his face as he idly tapped his fingers against the table.

His dark eyes looked first at Mateo, then at Marco.

He held his gaze for a beat, then looked away.

Feigning disinterest, it appeared, as Marco could still feel his attention on him.

The woman who had brought them here said something to the group in English, and Marco noticed her accent was still vaguely Italian when she spoke. It made him feel a little more at home. She tossed her match to the floor and snuffed it out with the toe of her shoe.

The woman closest to them laughed, a light, amused sound. She asked something, to which the first woman responded with, “Italian.” She nodded, standing and approaching Mateo and Marco.

“ Ciao! Sono Eleanor .” The woman—Eleanor—said warmly. She spoke casually, like she’d already decided they were friends. Her hand extended to Marco first, and he couldn’t help but take it. He hadn’t had anyone speak so kindly to him in years, not even his brother.

He shook her hand, briefly wondering when the last time he’d had contact with another person was, outside of taking their blood. Once he let go, she turned to Mateo, who promptly ignored her.

Eleanor laughed, as if his anger was the funniest thing in the world. “You’ll warm up to me,” she said in Italian, before stepping back. “I’m the best of this bunch.”

From the floor, the broad-shouldered man let out a long sigh, like he didn’t want to go through the effort of speaking. “Alexei,” he said simply. His accent was thick, Russian maybe? Marco had never met anyone from Russia before.

“Alexei what?” Mateo challenged, in English, arms crossed over his chest.

Alexei just blinked at him before rolling his eyes and slumping back into his corner, like existing was hard enough without Mateo’s demand for a surname. Mateo scoffed, but before he could pick a fight, the third member of the group spoke.

“Jiro,” was all he said. His voice was quieter than Alexei’s, but sharper. Alexei, like Mateo, spoke as if he were ready for a fight. Jiro spoke with a finality that even Mateo did not challenge. Marco, personally, found it incredibly attractive.

Marco turned to the woman who had brought them here.

The leader, he figured, by the way she carried herself.

It was refreshing for Marco to see a woman in charge of things for once.

She set down the oil lamp at the table, gesturing toherself.

“Isabella,” she said, before adding in Italian, “And today is your lucky day.”

“Why is that?” Mateo asked through clenched teeth. Marco turned to tell him to hush, but Isabella beat him to it.

“Because you clearly have no idea what you’re doing, and I’m going to help.” She spoke like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I mean no offense, but why help us?” Marco asked. “You are like us, I assume, but what incentive do you have?”

“Call me sentimental,” she replied. “Look, you need a place to stay, English lessons, and help blending in. We’ll provide that.”

Mateo looked ready to argue, a fight brimming just beneath the surface. A fight they would not win. But Marco was tired. Tired of running, tired of not knowing where they’d sleep or how they’d survive day to day. Whether his brother would admit it or not, they needed help.

“We’ll stay.”

Mateo turned to him, eyes flashing with frustration, fists ready to connect with Marco’s nose, but Marco wouldn’t give him the chance. His gaze was locked on Isabella, awaiting her response.

She smirked, like she’d expected nothing less. “Good,” she said, “Welcome to the family.”

Family.

Marco swallowed hard, ignoring the sting in his chest at the word.

He’d only ever used it in reference to Mateo for most of his life.

Probably just a word used to keep them in line.

When he’d worked at the docks as a human, he was often told his coworkers were ‘like a big family.’ Marco had quickly figured out this meant they would abuse him however they liked, but sometimes they’d invite him to a drink after work.

The oil lamp flickered, casting their shadows against the walls, and for the first time since waking up like this, Marco let himself hope.

* ? Christ, are you crazy? Walking under the sun like that? Do you want to die?!

* ? Who the fuck are you?

* ? The one who just saved your ass, apparently.

* ? Just arrived?

* ? Obviously.

* ? Come.