Page 19 of Bound in Blood (Vampires of Boston #1)

Chapter

Thirteen

LOGAN

T he Pyre was already alive with noise by the time Logan walked through the back door, the thrum of music vibrating the floorboards, the low hum of conversation a familiar comfort amongst recent chaos.

Logan breathed in the smell of booze and bad decisions, feeling comforted in a way he could never explain.

Vik looked up from where he had been doing inventory, pausing mid-scribbling something on the clipboard he was holding. For a moment, he just stared at Logan, his steel-gray eyes assessing.

When Logan had first moved to Boston, Vik had sat next to him on the plane from Texas.

He’d caught Logan’s attention immediately, with his sleeveless shirt that exposed most of his ribs, his dark brown shaggy hair, his unreasonably handsome face, and his seemingly permanent glare.

He looked dangerous. Exactly Logan’s type.

Vik had two full sleeves of tattoos unapologetically on full display, even though there were definitely people staring. Logan noticed the tattooed flames in the bi-pride colors first and thanked whatever airplane gods might be listening for seating him next to the beautiful stranger.

It had shocked the hell out of Logan when Vik had been the one to start the conversation between the two of them on the plane.

Logan had kept it going nearly the entire flight just so he could keep looking at him, even when it was clear the attraction was not mutual.

Vik seemed more concerned than anything that a twenty-two-year-old was moving cross country by himself.

Like twenty-two was practically fresh out of the womb.

But Vik was nearly thirty-one, and had apparently made the same dumb decisions as Logan when he was Logan’s age, for the same reasons, and that meant he needed to take Logan under his metaphorical wing.

Logan had stepped off that plane with a job and a number to call for an apartment and his first honest-to-God friend, even if that friend seemed allergic to Logan’s optimism. But, hey, that optimism hadn’t steered him wrong yet, had it?

Logan stared back at him now, six months removed from his embarrassing crush and completely terrified he was going to give the game away immediately.

Vik had become somewhat of an older brother figure to him in these past few months, and Logan didn’t like keeping secrets from him.

But Vik only raised an eyebrow, his thick southern accent caught somewhere between surprise and approval when he said, “Well, shit. You look… alive.”

Logan snorted, rolling his eyes. “You know, for a stand-up comedian, you make a great bartender.”

Vik smirked, tossing his clipboard onto the bar, eyes flicking over Logan’s face again appraisingly.

“Really, though. The Russian guy made it sound like you were on your deathbed. But here you are, looking like you’ve spent the last few days on vacation.

Well, without the tan. Still as pale as usual. ”

He leaned up against the bar, crossing his bare arms over his chest. It couldn’t be more than fifty degrees outside, but Vik was allergic to shirt sleeves, and Logan was quickly learning that seemed to be an any-weather type of ordeal.

Logan shrugged, pulling his apron from the hook and tying it around his waist. “Guess I’m just built different.”

Vik rolled his eyes, though there was no heat behind it. “Kids these days. Glad you’re doing better, though. Means I can get off the night shift.”

“Wouldn’t want your old ass to have to stay up past nine,” Logan quipped. “You sticking around tonight?”

Vik stretched, cracking his neck before grabbing a rag to wipe down the bar. “I might. Wouldn’t want you collapsing on the floor or anything. It’s what? Monday? Tuesday? I’m tempted to send you home in a few hours to make sure you’re getting enough rest before the weekend.”

Logan huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes, making his way to the sink to wash his hands. “Jesus, Vik, I’m fine. You gonna walk me home, too? Tuck me in and make sure I get a full eight hours?”

“ Someone has to, or does your new Russian friend have it covered? Alexei, was his name?” Vik shot back. “If he’s adopting you, make sure to let me know, and I’ll text him your care instructions.”

“I am not a dog!” Logan argued, for the second time tonight. “I don’t need care instructions. ”

“Instruction One: Make sure he eats something not out of a microwave every once and a while. If anyone in the modern day could get scurvy, its Logan Grayson.”Vik smirked as Logan joined him at the bar.

There wasn’t a single customer, so short of ignoring him via busy work, Logan was stuck with the lecture.

“Instruction Two: Eight hours of sleep, minimum, because clearly he is incapable of taking a fucking break.”

“Oh my God ,” Logan groaned, grabbing a rag and tossing it at him. “I literally just got back and you’re already busting my ass.”

Vik caught the rag with trained ease, without looking up, twirling it between his fingers absentmindedly. “What can I say? All this time apart has given me time to think about your many flaws.” He passed by Logan, ruffling his hair. Vik had never ruffled Logan’s hair.

“Bro what the fuck!” Logan protested, ducking out of Vik’s grasp. “Go wash your hands, nasty. You don’t know where my hair has been.”

“You sure you’re not still sick? Your forehead is freezing.” Vik looked at him with an intensity Logan hadn’t noticed before. Logan knew Vik had more or less decided to unofficially adopt him in the past six months, but this was bordering on concern he wasn’t sure the other man was capable of.

Logan forced a laugh, swatting at Vik’s hand as it came close to his forehead again, as casually as he could manage. How was he already fucking this up? “Yeah, well, your hand is burning up. Maybe you’re getting sick.”

Vik smirked, but there was something else behind his eyes that Logan couldn’t name. All he knew was that he didn’t really like it. “Maybe. If you were contagious during shift change on Friday.”

Logan turned away as a couple of customers started to trickle in, trying hard not to worry about it. Humans didn’t know about the paranormal, so they wouldn’t automatically assume anything paranormal, right?

Logan fell back into the groove of bartending rather easily, for someone who had literally risen from the dead. Weeknights were slow, which meant he had a little more leeway to focus on making drinks and a lot more leeway to do his favorite thing: talking to the customers.

Before he had left Texas, Logan had worked as a pizza delivery driver from his senior year in high school all the way until the day before he left.

Other than bartending, it had easily been his favorite job.

Sure, the hours had sucked and he constantly smelled like pepperoni, but the people made it all worth it.

It was a truth universally acknowledged that every American loved pizza, so Logan got to meet people from all walks of life.

Bartending was like that, but the people were usually in various stages of inebriation, which meant it was easier to get them to share more about their lives with Logan.

He heard about births and hookups and divorces and deaths.

People celebrating highs and drinking to forget their lows…

and most all of them wanted to talk to the bartender—Logan—about it. There was nothing better.

There was also a sick part of him that loved working for tips.

It was like constantly getting a performance review.

If someone tipped him more than average, it meant they liked him.

Or that he’d done a good job at least. So, Logan found himself slipping into his routine with ease, hours passing by like seconds as the night went on.

He noticed how Vik watched him closer than usual, a concerned expression dogging Logan’s every step, even as the rush picked up. He asked Logan how he was feeling at least once every half hour, but Logan was consistently fine. Better than fine, really. This vampire thing was fucking easy.

Sure, everything was sharper, brighter, and louder. Sure, humans had a distinct metallic smell now that made Logan’s mouth water if he inhaled too deeply, but it wasn’t so bad. Just kind of like… walking by a steakhouse. It smelled good, and he wanted to taste, but he couldn’t afford to.

As things winded down for the night, Logan was glad Vik had let him stick around his entire shift. He had his fill of gossip, and some of the regulars had even given him pity tips when he’d informed them he’d been sick.

He’d tried to keep his ears open about the bodies, but nobody had mentioned anything unprompted, and it was weird to bring up murder to customers without a good excuse.

So, when the last customer after last call finally called it a night, he turned to his boss, who was busying himself washing the last couple of dishes.

“Hey Vik?” Logan asked, not really sure how to start this conversation.

“Yeah? You feeling okay?” Vik replied predictably.

Logan fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah, I just… someone mentioned something about bodies being found a couple of blocks from here last night? I was wondering if you’d heard anything.

” It wasn’t technically a lie. Logan had heard someone say it.

He was just trying his best to imply it was a customer.

Vik paused, mid-scrubbing a whiskey glass, hands still fully submerged in dish water. He turned slightly to glance at Logan, his expression unreadable.

“That so?” Vik asked, too casually, like he was trying to keep his tone light but didn’t quite succeed. He went back to washing the last couple of dishes, but his body had tensed. He looked on guard, his movements a little too precise.

“Yeah,” Logan shrugged, grabbing a broom and beginning a cursory sweep over the tile floor, “Figured you might know something, since you old people love reading the newspaper.”