Page 36 of Bound in Blood (Vampires of Boston #1)

Chapter

Twenty-Four

MARCO

M arco never understood why Jiro insisted upon waiting until right after sex to start fights. They’d get along great all night. Go out, talk to the other vampires they lived with, maybe find a nice human to snack on, and Jiro wouldn’t say a word to suggest he was upset.

Then, in the afterglow of something good, when Marco felt relaxed and sated and, honestly, ready for sleep (even though it wasn’t that late in the evening yet,) Jiro would sit up, stare Marco down with a calculating gaze, and tell him everything he’d been keeping to himself all night.

It was taking the fun out of getting off, honestly.

How could he finish when he was pretty sure as soon as he was done, his vulnerability would be used against him?

“ He’s holding you back, Marco.”

To be fair, Marco had known this conversation was coming. Jiro hated Mateo, and Mateo hated everything and everyone. It was a recipe for disaster, and Marco had been caught in the middle of it all.

Jiro’s voice was smooth and calm, measured in that way of his that always made Marco feel like the fight had been won before it had even started.

He exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers against his temples as if that would somehow stave off the irritation.

Marco didn’t want to have this fight. He wanted Jiro and Mateo to get along. Or at least pretend on his behalf.

“I don’t want to do this right now,” Marco muttered, rolling onto his side and tugging the blanket over himself.

Jiro didn’t let up, though. It wasn’t enough that he knew he was right. He had to hear the verbal confirmation that Marco understood he was right, too.

“Well, when is a good time to ‘ do this,’ Marco?” Jiro countered. “Because I’ve been waiting long enough for you to realize this on your own, but you won’t. So here we are.”

Marco stared at the wall in front of him, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes.

He remained quiet, because what the hell do you say when your partner of five and a half years wants you to cut your twin brother off?

Sure, Mateo had an anger problem, but could Marco really blame him?

He was angry too, he just showed it in different ways.

“I don’t understand why you insist on allowing him to… invade your life. I understand he’s family, but what is he doing for you? Other than rampaging through our home and?—”

“Stop.” Marco’s voice came out more as a plea than a command. He’d heard it his entire life:Mateo was a hothead, Mateo couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Mateo would get them both killed saying the wrong thing one day.

Marco flopped onto his back, and somewhere in the distance, he heard the front door slam shut. Fuck. Of course Mateo had overheard. They shared a wall.

Jiro arched a brow in the most ‘See what I mean? ’ way Marco had ever seen in his life. He didn’t push further, though. Not yet. Instead, he leaned back against the pillows, watching Marco closely. Probably waiting for some sort of apology. Marco wouldn’t be offering one.

Jiro sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. “I love you, Marco. But you know I’m right.”

Marco exhaled slowly, eyes trained on the ceiling. “I know you think you are.”

Jiro’s expression sharpened, and Marco braced for the blow that would inevitably follow. Jiro didn’t start fights he wasn’t absolutely sure he could finish. With Marco, he’d finish them with something unnecessary and cutting. He always went straight for the throat.

“You let him get away with everything, ” Jiro said, voice calm but lethal. “Every outburst. Every reckless decision. You excuse him because he’s your brother, but Marco, when he goes down, he will take you with him.”

Marco pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead, trying his best to remain calm. If he yelled, he lost. “He’s all I have.” The words came out desperate. A plea for Jiro, a man who’d immediately cut ties with his family like it was nothing, to understand.

But Jiro just scoffed, shaking his head like Marco was too stupid to realize something obvious. “You have me. ”

Marco felt his stomach twist. Did he have Jiro?

He loved Jiro, of course. He wanted to have him.

But as of late, Jiro’s affections seemed unattainable.

Like love was a reward for doing what Marco was told.

Marco knew he was a bit inexperienced in the relationship department, but love wasn’t supposed to come with conditions.

Jiro noticed Marco’s hesitation, because of course he did. His smirk thinned into something sharper, crueler. His dark eyes flashed in warning. “You don’t trust me.” An observation, not a question.

Marco swallowed, keeping his expression carefully neutral. “I didn’t say that.”

Jiro tilted his head, studying him like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. “Prove it, then.”

Marco frowned. “How do I prove to you that I trust you?” He really didn’t like where this was going.

He could see the checkmate flicker across Jiro’s expression. “Cut him off,” he replied, voice silky smooth.

“No,” Marco’s voice was steadier than it had been in years, “I love you, and I trust you. But no, I won’t do that.”

Jiro sighed dramatically. “Marco, come on. What has he ever done for you, really?”

Suddenly, Marco was six, sobbing in his childhood bedroom because he couldn’t see in the dark, crawling into Mateo’s bed.

Mateo, who said he’d personally fight off any monster that came for them.

Then, Marco was sixteen, getting pushed to the dirt because he wouldn’t fight back.

Then there was Mateo, stepping in and beating the shit out of anyone who got too close.

Ten years later, Mateo scaring off a vampire trying to kill them.

Mateo, saving Marco’s life over and over.

Mateo, being Marco’s voice when he couldn’t find the words.

Marco inhaled sharply, forcing himself back to the present. He looked at Jiro, really looked at him, and wondered how the hell he’d let it come to this. He’d been horrible to his brother, for what?

“He’s my brother,” Marco said, voice tight. “ That’s what he’s done for me.”

Jiro sighed, searching Marco’s face for a long moment.

Looking for cracks in his armor, a way to dig in and change his mind.

Marco knew this game. His face betrayed nothing.

He loved Mateo. Some divine mate-bond intervention could plop into his lap tomorrow, and he’d still not let that mate force Marco to cut off Mateo.

But, honestly, what soul-bonded mate of Marco’s wouldn’t be somehow tied to Mateo too?

“Fine.”

Marco blinked. “ Fine?”

Jiro scooted closer to Marco, resting his head on Marco’s chest. His hand traced calming circles over Marco’s heart.

“Mm-hm. Fine.” His voice was smooth and even, but something about it made Marco’s stomach turn.

“I won’t bring it up again. You’ve made yourself clear and I—” He sighed like the entire conversation exhausted him, “— respect that.”

Marco wanted to believe him. His tone was sweet, his touch light and calming. But everything about this felt wrong. Marco had never once seen Jiro just… give up. Especially when he thought he was right.

He exhaled, wrapping an arm loosely around Jiro’s waist. Maybe there’s a first time for everything. He turned to kiss Jiro’s temple. “All right,” he murmured, “Let’s go to sleep.”

Jiro made a small, satisfied noise, tucking himself closer into Marco’s chest. “That’s all I wanted,” he whispered.

Liar.

But Marco let himself believe it. Just for tonight.

When Marco woke the next evening, something felt wrong.

His eyes snapped open, looking around the room frantically for anything that might be out of place, but on the first sweep of the room, he found nothing.

Jiro was still there, curled against Marco’s side, seemingly still asleep. His arm was still draped loosely over Marco’s chest, fingers curled just slightly against his skin.

Marco blinked.

Jiro hadn’t ever been much of an overnight cuddler. He liked space, and distance while he slept. On rare occasions like this, when they’d slept pressed together, Marco liked to stay in bed and savor it for as long as possible.

But hadn’t they gone to sleep upset?

Marco frowned.

The conversation from the night before creeped back into Marco’s mind like a slow, crawling sickness. Jiro had wanted him to cut Mateo off. He’d been pushing and pushing, until he’d suddenly conceded. Said he wouldn’t bring it up again.

It had been too easy.

And now Jiro was cuddling with him, like he never did.

After conceding an argument, like he never did.

Marco exhaled, slow and measured. His hands flexed against the sheets, trying his best to shake off the wrongness that had settled into his bones.

Of course, his partner would want to cuddle with him.

He’d seen that Marco truly loved his brother, and decided to drop it.

Next to him, Jiro blinked awake, dark eyes unfocused, lips curling into a faint smile as he looked up at Marco. “Evening, darling.”

Darling? What the hell was going on?

Marco sat up, gently, blanket pooling around his waist. Jiro pressed up on his elbows, watching him carefully. “Everything okay?”

Something inside Marco twisted. He tried his best to remain calm. “Yes. I, um, think I’m going to go check on Mateo. See how upset he is with me.”

Jiro said nothing as Marco swung his legs over the bed, looking for his trousers and a shirt. When Marco looked back over to him, his dark eyes were already on Marco. Steady, patient. Like he was five steps ahead, waiting for Marco to catch up.

“It would be a waste of time. He’s not in his room.” Jiro’s voice was as casual and flippant as if he were talking about the weather.

“Has he already gone out?” Marco tilted his head in confusion. The light peaking in through the curtains revealed there was still an hour of daylight, at least. “That’s fine. I can head to that bar he?—”

“He left, Marco.”

The room dropped ten degrees.