Page 33 of Bound in Blood (Vampires of Boston #1)

Chapter

Twenty-One

MATEO

B y the time they got back to the bar, the rain had slowed to a fine, misty drizzle.

Vik was wiping down the counter, nodding at the last of the regulars on their way out, his easy smile still in place.

As promised, he didn’t ask questions when Mateo and Marco slipped in out of the alley like ghosts.

He just tilted his chin in greeting and went back to polishing glasses.

Mateo couldn’t decide if he liked or hated how quickly Vik had adjusted to their weird little vampire club. Probably a little of both.

Alexei was already there, seated in the far corner booth with Logan beside him, both of them staring at a laptop on the table.

Vik must’ve given him access to the back room security footage.

Marco was at Mateo’s side, dripping wet, silent but alert.

Mateo could feel the buzz of their shared tension in his chest like static.

Alexei looked up as they approached. “You saw him,” he said, no preamble.

Mateo nodded. “Briefly. Just a glimpse. He bolted before we could get close. Also, plot twist, it’s the asshole that turned us eighty-five years ago.”

Mateo tried not to be upset, that the feral Logan had sworn to protect was the same one that took Mateo and Marco’s life from them all those years ago.

There was no way Logan could have known.

They hadn’t shared the story with him. But it did make Mateo secretly hope the guy was too feral to save.

It didn’t matter how many good things came out of his immortality.

Mateo never had the choice to turn, therefore he was allowed to be mad about it.

He was pretty sure that was how that worked, anyway.

Alexei was watching him, though, like Mateo had said something wrong, and okay, maybe he did feel a little bad for harboring so much anger for that many years.

“How is that even possible?” Logan asked. “Weren’t you turned in Italy?”

“We were,” Marco said simply. “And he was feral then, too.”

“Then how did he get to America? I mean, I’m no history buff, but I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t let a feral vampire into the country.” Logan paused thoughtfully. “It’s not like he could have just stumbled across an ocean.”

“Maybe he stowed away,” Marco offered, tone dry. “Or got smuggled in. It wouldn’t be the first time someone slipped through the cracks.”

Mateo narrowed his eyes at the screen. The still frame showed a blurred figure frozen mid-run, the porch light catching just enough of his face to twist Mateo’s stomach. That scar. He’d never forget that scar.

“If he’s been feral this whole time…” Mateo trailed off. “Why now? Why Boston? Why near Logan?”

“Coincidence,” Alexei said too quickly.

Mateo’s gaze snapped to him.

Alexei didn’t look away, but something in his expression, some subtle shift in his posture, maybe, set Mateo’s nerves on edge.

“Doesn’t this all seem a little much to be coincidence?” he asked, voice sharp. He was trying his best to remain calm. Really, he was, but his Maker being this close to his mate was frying his nerves.

Alexei gave the faintest shrug. “Coincidences happen.”

“Not with us,” Mateo snapped before he could stop himself. “Not with vampires. Nothing we do is a coincidence.”

There was a beat of silence. Logan’s brows furrowed as he glanced between them, clearly picking up on the sudden shift. Marco shifted slightly, just enough to brush against Mateo’s side—steadying. But Mateo’s hands were already curling into fists at his sides.

“I’m just saying,” Mateo went on, sharper now, “This can’t be random. He turns us in Italy, disappears for nearly a century, and then shows up here right outside of our mate’s apartment? That’s not random, and if you think it’s random, I’m about to lose a lot of respect for you.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Alexei asked calmly, but there was tension under the surface, a twitch in his jaw. “That he planned this? That a feral vampire tracked you across the world for eighty-five years, when he can’t even form a coherent thought on his own?”

“I don’t know!” Mateo said, voice rising. “But I’m saying we can’t stick to the same plan like nothing’s changed.”

Logan leaned forward slightly, brows drawing together, like he was starting to put together the pieces Mateo had put down. “Are you suggesting…?”

“That we stop trying to capture him alive.”

The words hit Logan like a slap, and God Mateo wished he was in a position to regret it. But this was too raw, too close to home. He’d wanted this man dead for eighty-five years. He couldn’t allow himself to get sympathetic now.

Marco sighed, fingers rubbing at his temples. “ Teo… ”

“No, Marco. I’m serious. This guy has been doing this for at least eighty-five years.

Who knows how many victims he has?” He levels what he hopes is a sympathetic look at Logan.

“I’m sorry that your pet feral is going to have to be put down, tesoro, but that’s what happens when things are beyond saving. ”

Logan physically recoiled, his jaw going tight as the word pet echoed between them.

“He’s still a person, Mateo,” he said, voice shaking. “You don’t know. What if he had as little a choice in turning as you? What if?—”

“It doesn’t matter, Logan. He’s probably got a body count that could rival the population of some small countries! Nobody ever looks at people like Mussolini and say ‘yeah, sure, he’s responsible for over half a million deaths but what was his childhood like!?’”

“Mateo,” Marco warned, sharper this time.

“ What, Marco? What do you want me to do here? Play into his little savior fantasy? This isn’t some random stray dog that bit someone in self-defense.

This is him, Marco!” Mateo looked around, frantically trying to find someone that understood where he was coming from.

Not even Vik, who Mateo was sure would be on Mateo’s side, would look at him.

“This… this thing ruined our lives! I haven’t been able to go outside in the sun in almost a century. We never got to say goodbye to our family! Fuck, Marco, we come from a country that is known for how good the food is, and I can’t even fucking taste it!”

“I know,” Marco said quietly. Too quietly.

But Mateo was nowhere near done. “ Do you know, Marco? He came for you first! I saved us back then. And I’m going to do it again now. Logan, this isn’t some after school special and that vampire is not something worth saving.”

Mateo’s words hung heavy in the air. His chest rose and fell heavily with each breath he didn’t need. He was just so… angry. Angry like he hadn’t been in a long time.

Marco’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

“We don’t know that.”

Mateo blinked. “What?”

“We don’t know that he’s beyond saving,” Marco said, still calm, still Marco. But there was something in his voice, measured, deliberate, that made Mateo’s stomach twist. “We don’t know anything about him. Not really.”

Mateo stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You saw what he did to you. To me . You think someone like that deserves mercy?”

“I’m saying we don’t get to decide that,” Marco replied, and he looked at Logan when he said it, not Mateo. “Not without trying.”

Logan sniffled, nodding at Marco’s words. Mateo wondered when he’d started crying.

“Mateo, I know you better than anyone. You’re irrational, but you’re not cruel.” Marco held up his hand toward Mateo, like he had his finger on a deadman’s switch and was ready to let go. “Let’s think things through here.”

Of course, it always came back to this. You’re too angry, Mateo.

You’re wrong, Mateo. Calm down, Mateo. Well, yeah, maybe Mateo was angry.

But someone had to be, right? He frantically looked toward Alexei, to Vik, to anyone.

But there were four other men in this room, and not one of them was on Mateo’s side.

“I cannot believe you are taking his side,” Mateo growled. “After all that thing has done to us.”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side, Teo. And let’s not forget, you had no problem sparing him two hours ago.”

“That’s before I knew who he was! ” Mateo shouted.

“ You didn’t nearly die defending us that night, I did!

I had to watch my brother bleeding out on the fucking cobblestones because of him.

You nearly killed me because of him! This is only easy for you because you’re the one who always needs protecting, and I’m the one always getting hurt! ”

“Did you want Marco to die because he almost killed you?” Logan asked, voice quiet and shaking, like he’s terrified of Mateo’s answer. “When Marco killed me, was he worthy of death then?”

Mateo’s mouth dropped open, but no words escaped.

The question hit harder than anything else tonight. Harder than Marco’s quiet disappointment. Harder than Alexei’s indifference. Harder than realizing the monster from his nightmares was real and walking Boston’s streets.

Because Logan wasn’t wrong.

Logan had every right to hate them after what he and Marco had put him through. He had every right to call them murderers, to cry about his ruined life, to spend the next few decades angry like Mateo had.

Instead, Logan forgave them. Moved in with them. Trusted them when they definitely didn’t deserve it.

Mateo’s gaze dropped to the floor. “That’s different,” he said, but he knew he was wrong.

“Because it was Marco? Because you know him, and you know he wouldn’t do something like that on purpose?” Logan pressed. “How many accidental killings make someone irredeemable?”

Logan looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “We don’t know this kid’s name or his story.

What if someone turned him and dumped him?

Or what if he was turned by accident and confused?

What if he didn’t have access to things like blood bags, and the thought of feeding off humans was so awful he starved himself until he became this? ”

“I would argue,” Alexei—who had been letting the three at them yell at each other for too long and was clearly fed up— started, “That this feral might have family that views him the way you view Marco.”

Mateo’s fists unclenched on reflex, but only because the words knocked the air out of him. He turned slowly to look at Alexei, searching his face for… something. Confirmation. Denial. Anything.

Alexei offered nothing. Just the barest tilt of his head, like he hadn’t just cracked the floor beneath Mateo’s feet.

“Do you think there’s someone out there that still cares about him?” Logan asked Alexei, quietly, like he was afraid of the answer. “If he’s been feral for so long?”

“I think,” Alexei replied, expression unreadable, voice just a tinge too neutral, “That we would be fools to assume he doesn’t.”

Mateo hated how cold he suddenly felt.

He was good at anger. He’d been good at it for eighty-six years.

It kept him grounded and focused. It was always there for him when everything else went to hell.

Sure, he’d been working on getting the rage under control for the past forty or so years, but what did being happy-go-lucky ever do for anyone except make them an easy target to walk all over?

But now? With his mate looking at him like he was a monster, his brother’s eyes all soft with disappointment, and the only friend who had ever understood all of Mateo’s anger firmly siding with the opposition for no rational reason…

Mateo felt lost.

Mateo’s voice was small when he finally spoke, “What, so… we just capture him? Pretend everything is okay? Ignore years of pain and murder and bloodshed because somebody, somewhere , might love him?”

“If I were the feral—” Logan started, but Mateo cut him off.

“But you’re not, are you?”

Logan flinched like he’d been struck.

The silence that followed was unbearable. It buzzed louder than any shouting could’ve. Mateo could feel the words lingering in the air, thick and mean and irreversible.

Marco didn’t say anything this time. He didn’t have to. The disappointment in his posture said enough.

“I didn’t mean—” Mateo started, but he didn’t finish. Because, yeah, actually. He did mean to say it. He just didn’t mean for it to land like that.

Of course Logan would empathize with the feral. Logan was kind and gentle. He saw the best parts of everything and everyone. He’d gotten a fucking vampire hunter to see the human side of a feral within a matter of half an hour, for Christ’s sake!

Logan didn’t see a bloodthirsty monster, he saw a mirror of what he could have been. If he’d been alone when he woke, if he didn’t have the choice of blood bags over live humans. Logan saw a soul where nobody else had in at least eighty-five years. In the feral, yes, but also in Mateo.

The room was too full. Too quiet.

Without another word, Mateo turned and walked toward the back door.

Nobody said a word to stop him.