Page 21 of Bound in Blood (Vampires of Boston #1)

Chapter

Fourteen

LOGAN

H ow fast do symptoms of PTSD set in?

Logan considered Googling it as he watched Vik load money into the safe, slower than anyone had ever moved in the history of ever.

God, Logan just wanted to go to bed. Things had been fine until someone tried to mug him, and now the reminders surrounded him, turning him into a nervous wreck.

He could still see the fear in the man’s eyes.

Could smell the coppery tang of blood mixed with the distinct smell of someone in desperate need of a bath.

He was pretty sure he could still hear the sound of bone snapping, even though it sounded much farther away than when Logan had snapped the man’s wrist himself.

He hadn’t been able to think, just react. Too fast. Too strong.

Thank God Vik hadn’t seen. That he’d opened the door right when he did, and not a moment earlier.

Honestly, he’d already seen too much. Logan had half a mind to compel him, but decided against it.

It felt wrong to compel his boss, and even if he’d wanted to, he wasn’t sure he could do it outside of the panicked state he had been in earlier.

Logan inhaled deeply, trying to push the unease down, and immediately regretted it. The smell of money, stale beer, Vik’s cologne… it all felt overwhelmingly strong in a way Logan still wasn’t used to.

“You good?” Vik asked without looking up, voice casual but fingers stilling against the safe.

Logan startled. “Huh? Oh, uh… yeah. Just tired.”

Vik locked the safe and stood, stretching his arms over his head. “Still shook up over the mugger then?”

Logan forced a laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah I guess you never expect something to happen to you until it happens, right?”

Vik watched him for a moment before grabbing his jacket off the back of a nearby chair. Ah, so some sleeves were acceptable. “Let me walk you home.”

Logan hesitated, not really sure how to tell him that ‘home’ no longer meant his shitty studio apartment. “You don’t have to do that.”

Vik gave him a flat look. “Just humor me, Logan. In case the guy comes back around. It’s not like I’m asking to sit at your front door with a shotgun all night.”

Logan scoffed, grabbing his hoodie from the apron rack. “Actually, you don’t have to do that because I’m still staying with those friends I mentioned earlier.”

Vik raised an eyebrow. “The twins you just met, you mean?”

Logan blushed. “Uh… yeah. Them.”

Vik gave him a long look, the kind that made Logan feel like he was being sized up. “So, you go from barely letting people buy you a drink to moving in with two guys you’ve known for what? A week?”

Logan groaned, running a hand through his hair as they both headed for the front door. “It’s not like that, Vik.”

Vik crossed his arms, expression skeptical but not outright disapproving. “You sure they’re not weirdos?”

Logan huffed, rolling his eyes. “Define weird .”

Vik’s eyes narrowed. “Are they gonna murder you in your sleep?”

Logan bit his tongue to keep from laughing.

“They’re not gonna murder me, Vik.” Again, anyway.

Vik hummed like he wasn’t convinced, fishing his keys from his pocket as they stepped outside. “All right. But if they do turn out to be axe murderers, you better haunt my ass so I can go full Taken on them.”

Logan snorted, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as they started down the sidewalk. “I’m absolutely sure that this bar is purgatory, so I’m not sure that’ll be much of a problem.”

Vik’s smirk was short-lived. As he reached to lock up behind them, his expression shifted—something flickered behind his eyes, and Logan barely had time to register it before Vik stopped cold .

His entire body tensed. Logan nearly bumped into him from behind.

“What?” Logan frowned, trying to see around him.

Vik didn’t answer.

Then the scent hit.

Logan inhaled sharply, stomach twisting at the overwhelming wrongness of it—thick, metallic blood, but not the usual background scent of a bar fight gone wrong. This was fresh .

And then he saw it.

A shape crouched in the alley, half-obscured by shadows. The body beneath it wasn’t moving.

Logan’s pulse hammered in his ears.

The mugger.

Or at least, what was left of him.

And the thing on top of him—head bent, hands gripping the man’s slack shoulders—lifted its face.

Black, bottomless eyes focused in on Logan.

His stomach dropped.

Vampire.

Not a friendly one, by the looks of it.

“Oh, fuck .”

Vik moved faster than Logan could track him. No hesitation or shock, just action.

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 come help 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, he flinched.

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 was fear.

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

The vampire, the thing that 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 looked tired. Dark circles forming under his black eyes. This was no predator.

This was a ghost .

A ghost of whatever he used to be, anyway.

Logan swallowed hard.

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

No, he was starving. And scared. 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 gone years without 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.

“We don’t have to hurt him, then.” Logan took a careful step toward them, holding up his hands.

“What do you suggest we do, Logan? Tie it up? Ask it real nicely not to kill anyone ever again?”

Logan did his best to ignore the obvious sarcasm. “He’s afraid, Vik!”

Vik scoffed but didn’t take his eyes off the feral. “Good. It should be.”

The feral took another shaky step backward, shoulders hunched like he was bracing for a blow. His fingers twitched as if they wanted to claw something, but he didn’t lift his hands. He just watched with wide, glassy eyes.

Logan was going to be sick.

There was something human left in him, underneath it all. Logan knew it. Something raw and desperate to come out.

Vik, however, was done hesitating.

With practiced speed, he lunged.

The knife flew from his hand, aimed with deadly precision for the chest, but before the blade could land, the feral moved.

Too fast, a blur of ragged limbs and desperate instinct, he ducked, holding up his arms to defend his face.

His body twisted at an unnatural angle as he just barely avoided the attack.

Vik cursed under his breath, already reaching for another weapon, but Logan was focused on the boy’s arms.

More specifically, the gigantic bite-mark-shaped scar on his left arm.

It stretched jaggedly across his forearm, deep and brutal, like something had taken the flesh with it when it bit down.

The feral’s breath hitched as he scrambled back, his entire body trembling. His hands clenched into fists, bracing for another attack, but he didn’t fight back.

For a moment, Logan thought he saw the black of his eyes flash. Recede into something that looked like blue, but it might have just been a trick of the streetlights as the boy turned and ran.

Logan stood frozen, heart pounding as the feral disappeared into the dark.

The alley was silent except for the sound of Logan’s own breathing while Vik remained eerily still, knife still clenched tight in his grip.

“ Fuck! ” Vik growled, throwing his knife to the ground, his eyes still scanning the darkness like he could somehow will the vampire back to finish what he started.

Now that Logan was removed from the conflict, though, something wasn’t sitting right with him. “How did you know only fire would kill him?”