Page 46 of Bound in Blood (Vampires of Boston #1)

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

LOGAN

T urned out, even though Logan had been taking exclusively public transportation and ride-shares in the time he’d known Marco and Mateo, they in fact did have a car.

A really nice one, too. He wasn’t sure what it was called, but it was classic and a convertible, shiny black with leather seats.

It was loud when Marco started it up, motioning for Logan to hop into the passenger’s seat.

“Where has this been?” Logan asked incredulously as he buckled up.

“Parking is a nightmare in this city,” Mateo, who was squished into a way-too small backseat, said. “And this car isn’t really designed for three people.”

“And Teo always makes me drive, even though I hate it, ” Marco muttered under his breath, pulling out of the garage Logan had quite literally never noticed and onto the neighborhood street.

Mateo shifted uncomfortably in the backseat, sticking his head over the center console and into Marco and Logan’s space. “I don’t have a driver’s license, remember?”

“Well, if that’s the standard for who gets to drive, mine expired in ‘97.” Marco said, without taking his eyes off the road.

“That’s… not great, actually. Can we pull over? I’ll call a car.” Logan looked between both twins. “Or, better yet, I have a driver’s license?—”

“ No,” both twins said in unison.

“Mi dispiace, amore mio ,? * ” Marco said sheepishly. “What we mean to say is that you are probably only used to cars from this century, and this car has become like a child to us.”

“Yeah, and you’ve probably only driven on like… country roads, or whatever they call the pavement between farms.” Mateo nodded. “Do they pave roads in Texas?”

“No, we exclusively have dirt roads,” Logan deadpanned. “In fact, I misspoke. My license is only good for horses.”

Marco made a thoughtful sound, before nodding. “Makes sense.”

Logan looked over at him incredulously. “What is that supposed to mean?”

The corner of Marco’s mouth quirked up, just slightly. “You’re good at riding, that’s all.”

Mateo wheezed from the backseat, like someone knocked the wind out of him. “Holy shit.”

Logan blinked, completely caught off guard, before narrowing his eyes at Marco. “You know, keep making comments like that and I might start mixing up which twin is which.”

Marco side-eyed Logan like he just said he spat on his mother’s grave. “All I did was compliment you.”

“In the most Mateo way you possibly could!” Logan grinned, shoving Marco’s arm playfully. “Eyes on the road.”

“Mm. Fine. But this isn’t over, amore. ” Marco accented the pet name, like he was promising to make Logan regret his words later. Logan felt little zaps of anticipation in his stomach. He hoped it wasn’t over.

The teasing died into a comfortable silence as Marco drove them further into the city.

Logan rested his head back on the seat, trying not to grin like an idiot.

Sure, they were driving toward almost certain danger, but Marco and Mateo hadn’t even questioned coming with Logan when he’d told them about the feral.

And maybe that had to do with the fact that it may or may not be the vampire that forced them into this world, but Logan was pretty sure that wasn’t the only reason.

They cared about him. Logan’s boss could set the feral on fire, no problem, but Logan wanted to keep him alive, so Mateo and Marco were coming to make sure nobody put the feral in danger unless completely necessary.

Maybe it was incredibly pathetic, but nobody had taken Logan’s thoughts into consideration before, and it felt really, really nice.

He was sure it wouldn’t always feel this easy, to trust that they weren’t going to abandon him as soon as things got hard… but today was a start.

The car rumbled to a stop in front of the bar, headlights casting long shadows against the No Parking sign Marco very clearly ignored as he threw it into park.

Logan barely had time to unbuckle before Vik stepped outside, letting the door slam shut behind him.

The neon red Last Call sign illuminated his face, and he looked pissed.

“You sure took your time,” Vik muttered, crossing his arms, eyes flicking between Logan and the twins.

Mateo swung himself out of the too-small backseat with a dramatic groan. “You know we can’t leave the house before sundown, asshole.”

Vik rolled his eyes. “How is that my fault?” He holds up a hand before Mateo can even attempt an answer. “I don’t care. Come on, kid. He’s still in the cooler.”

Logan stepped forward to follow him. “How’d you get him in there?”

Vik led them inside and past the bar, toward the tiny walk-in Vik only kept because sometimes people ordered from their very limited food menu.

“Didn’t take much,” he admitted, “Yanked him off a guy he’d just drained, and he just…

froze. Like he was short-circuiting.” Vik gestured toward the cooler, the sleeve of his shirt slipping down to reveal a pretty nasty bite mark.

“Shit, Vik, did he bite you?” Logan stepped forward, to… well, he didn’t know what he could do to help. He just… wanted to help.

“I’ve had worse.” Vik quickly pulled the sleeve back over the fresh wound. “You wanted him alive, he’s alive. Your problem now.”

Mateo and Marco exchanged a quick glance, but neither of them commented.

Logan turned his attention to the cooler door. The heavy metal handle was smeared with blood, some Vik’s, some not. It had begun to dry, somewhere in between bright red and dried brown. He exhaled through his nose, steeling his nerves.

“Did he say anything?” Logan asked, though he wasn’t sure that feral vampires could speak. Wishful thinking, maybe.

Vik shook his head. “No. Just stood there, breathing like he’d just run a marathon. You’re right about the eyes, though. The black was flickering like a broken lightbulb the second I got him into the light.” He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed.

“All right. I’ll… just… open the door, I guess,” Logan said, glancing nervously between Vik, the twins, and the door.

“Good luck. If he gets past you, I’ve got matches and a fantastic insurance policy.” Vik grimaced. “But please don’t let it come to that. I like bartending a hell of a lot more than vampire hunting.”

“Wait,” Logan said, definitely not stalling. Nope, not him. He was totally ready to confront the feral, it was just… “We told Alexei we’d let him know if we cornered him again.”

Marco sighed, already reaching into his pocket for his phone. “I’ll call him.”

Logan shook his head, holding up a hand.

“No, I got it.” He wasn’t sure why he felt like he had to be the one to tell Alexei, but it felt important.

Other than Vik, Alexei had been Logan’s first real friend.

He’d come looking for Logan that first day after he’d turned.

He was family to Logan, whether he’d ever admit it or not.

And Logan had seen that flash of something in Alexei’s expression when he’d watched the feral in the security footage. Something he didn’t think the twins had noticed. Yeah, Logan had to be the one to tell him.

The phone barely finished ringing once before Alexei picked up.

“Logan.” Alexei’s voice was sharp, alert. Like a soldier preparing for battle, there was no preamble. He knew why Logan was calling.

“We’ve got him,” Logan said. “In the walk-in at the bar. Alive, but… not doing great.”

Silence.

Then, “I’m on my way.” Before the line went dead.

Logan exhaled, tucking his phone back into his pocket before turning back to others. “He’s on his way.”

Marco opened his mouth to reply, but before he got the chance, a sharp BANG, BANG, BANG on the walk-in door interrupted him.

“That’s new,” Vik said, sitting up a little straighter from where he’d been leaning on the wall. “He’s been pretty docile. Since I locked him in there, anyway.”

Logan’s throat went dry.

He’d feel better if Alexei were here. If Logan had one more advocate for keeping the poor creature alive before he opened that door.

Oh well.

He took a step toward the door.

Marco caught his arm immediately. “Logan…”

Logan gently pried his arm out of Marco’s grasp. “I just want to see if I can reason with him.”

“He’s dangerous,” Mateo warned.

Logan’s jaw clenched. “I’m stronger than I look.”

Neither of them looked entirely convinced, but Marco sighed and stepped back, putting his hands up in surrender. “Just, please, be careful.”

Logan nodded, smiling weakly at them before turning back toward the door.

His heart was pounding in his chest, and he hated that both Marco and Mateo could definitely hear it.

It wasn’t fear, not exactly. More like… anxious anticipation.

Curiosity that needed a little danger to be sated.

And his mates, his wonderful, understanding mates, knew he needed to do this, even though they thought it was a bad idea.

Another BANG echoed through the bar, followed by a low, pained sound.

Logan thought back to how in the alley, he’d almost looked like a scared kid, and for a moment he wondered if the feral wasn’t mad, but afraid of the dark.

Except… he had night vision. So maybe Logan was just humanizing an angry bloodthirsty monster.

He inhaled sharply, squared his shoulders, and reached for the handle.

The metal was ice cold and sticky with blood beneath his fingers as he twisted it open.

The heavy door creaked a bit as it swung outward, and the smell that had been contained by the thick walls hit him all at once.

Blood and sweat and something else… something that smelled distinctly of rotting flesh and something Logan couldn’t name.

The feral had retreated to the farthest corner of the cooler, perched on top of a box of expired chicken wings, half cloaked in shadow. His whole body was coiled tight, like how a cat sat right before they jumped.

He was still in the same clothes as a few nights before, only they had become impossibly bloodier.

His fangs protruded from where his lips were slightly parted.

This close, Logan could see the little indents on his lips, like his fangs had been out for so long that they’d permanently worn down the skin there.

But it was his eyes that stopped Logan in his tracks.

They flickered wildly, black, blue, black-blue, like a frayed electrical wire sparking unpredictably. His pupils were blown wide, his gaze sharp but unfocused, like he was staring through Logan. Searching for something that wasn’t there.

For a long moment, nobody moved.

The cooler hummed softly around them, the only sound in the thick, charged silence.

The feral’s chest rose and fell in sharp uneven breaths, which Logan was pretty sure was more from fear than necessity.

His fingers were twitching anxiously on the box beneath him, dirt and blood caked nails scraping against the cardboard.

Logan remembered as a kid, his grandpa taught him to hold his hand low and palm up to a skittish animal to show it you meant no harm. He found himself doing the same for the feral now, though he wasn’t sure why. This wasn’t a barn cat he was trying to pet.

He moved slowly, crouching at the knees just a bit to make himself smaller. Slow, nonthreatening. Easy. “Hey,” he said, voice calm and careful, “It’s all right. Nobody is going to hurt you.”

The feral’s nostrils flared, head twitching slightly. His eyes still flickered like a broken bulb.

Without turning away from the feral, Logan called out to Marco and Mateo, who were trying their best to give Logan space, but were still hovering just beyond the door. “Do you see what I mean? About the fear?”

It was Mateo who answered back, “Yes, but I’d like to argue he looked much more put together when he tried to kill us.”

The feral’s gaze flicked toward the sound of Mateo’s voice, head snapping in a jerky, animalistic movement. His pupils flared, lips parting slightly, maybe in recognition or confusion or just in reaction to the sound of a voice that once belonged to prey.

Logan felt flickers of concern through the bond, and he knew he needed to wrap this up quickly. Yes, Marco and Mateo respected his agency, but they were still overly protective assholes that would burn this bar down before letting the feral harm a hair on Logan’s head.

“O-kay,” Logan said slowly, eyes still only on the feral. He watched the way his breathing hitched, the subtle way his fingers curled tighter into his palms, as if something in him understood what Mateo had said, even if his mind couldn’t process it.

“Do you remember them?” Logan asked, voice softer now. Do you remember anything?

The feral’s jaw clenched and unclenched nervously. The muscles in his throat worked, almost like he was trying to form words. His mouth opened, just slightly, then shut again, lips pressing into a thin, tense line.

Logan waited patiently.

Then, so quiet it was barely audible over the buzzing around them… a rasp of sound.

Not quite a word, but something close.

He was fully looking past Logan now. His eyes were focused. Like he wasn’t even aware that Logan was there. He slowly, jerkily stood from his spot on the boxes, taking a step closer to Logan. No, taking a step closer to the door.

The feral swallowed hard, licking his lips, body trembling like a frayed wire about to snap. He took another step forward, and Logan took a step back, suddenly not feeling very brave anymore.

The feral’s lips parted again, the blue flashing for much longer than the black for three flickers in a row. He was sounding something out, it seemed, but his vocal chords weren’t cooperating after years of disuse.

“M…m…m…” The sound was broken and raw, almost like it was being forced out of him against his will.

“Logan, step back,” Marco pleaded. “I don’t like?—”

Just then, the black of the feral’s eyes receded almost entirely. His cerulean blue eyes focused sharply right behind Logan, just over his shoulder. He opened his mouth one more time, and Logan briefly wondered if he was going to call out for one of the twins. Instead, he said?—

“ Mein Herz… ? * ”

Then, from somewhere behind Logan?—

“ Солнышко ? * , my August, I’m here.”

* ? I’m sorry, my love…

* ? ‘My heart’ in German

* ? Russian pet name meaning ‘sunshine.’ Pronounced ‘SOLnyshkuh’