Page 5 of Bound in Blood (Vampires of Boston #1)

Chapter

Three

MARCO

H e hadn’t meant to.

Fuck! He hadn’t meant to.

Logan’s body had gone limp in Marco’s arms, his warmth already beginning to fade, and Marco’s brain was empty save for the sound of his ragged breathing.

The coppery tang of Logan’s blood was still thick in his mouth, coating his tongue, his lips, Logan’s throat.

God, it was the best thing Marco had tasted in ages .

Even as the life slipped from Logan, Marco considered taking what little was left.

It was a craving that couldn’t be sated.

“ What the fuck, Marco?!”

Mateo’s voice barely registered through the haze.

Marco didn’t even look up. Mateo had stood up and was now pacing the room like an angry, caged animal.

Marco’s hands pressed against Logan’s chest, feeling for something, anything, but his hands confirmed what his heightened hearing was already telling him.

Logan’s heartbeat was stuttering. Too slow, too weak.

He was dying.

Marco tried to think, but his thoughts weren’t making sense. The scent of Logan’s blood was still thick in the air, the taste still on his tongue. Why had he taken so much?

Why did he want more?

Vampires, unlike in most variations of their lore, found no sense in killing their prey.

It was inefficient. When you found a blood source you particularly enjoyed, draining all of it upon first contact was a guarantee you’d never taste it again.

When Marco had first bitten into Logan, the first taste of the human hitting his tongue, he had tried to remind himself of this.

The downside, however, to losing your humanity, meant that your brain and body didn’t always follow the same rules.

Marco had never actually drained a human.

Typically, he would take enough to knock them unconscious while his venom worked its way through their system, stimulating their blood cells to produce more rapidly until they were back to their old selves.

Mateo had drained a human once, back when they had first turned. He had woken before Marco and killed the first unfortunate human that crossed his path. Was sane enough after to keep Marco from doing the same.

But now, Marco had made the mistake. If you could call it that. Mateo’s mistake had been born out of newborn hunger he didn’t understand. Marco had just been greedy.

He pressed harder now on Logan’s chest as his mind began to sober from its bloodlust. Had his hands been shaking this entire time? Panic started to set in, his hands doing their best to just... will the life back into the human. The beat beneath his palms only got weaker, slipping away.

“Marco.”

Mateo’s voice was sharp, Marco could feel the emotion radiating off his brother. His anger, confusion, his concern. For the human and Marco. If Marco’s entire world wasn’t narrowing to the dying man in his arms, he might have felt some concern for his brother’s well-being, too.

Fuck. Logan was going to die. And soon.

Marco felt the first tear roll down his face as Logan’s body drained of warmth, his face nearly sheet-white. The scent of his blood, a grim reminder of what Marco had done, was everywhere.

You did this. You killed him.

He couldn’t let it happen. Couldn’t?—

“Marco, you need to let go of him. There’s still time to get him to a doctor!” Mateo shook his shoulder, trying to grab at the limp body between them, but there was some deep, dark part of Marco that would fight even his brother to avoid letting go.

“That won’t help him.” Marco rasped. He didn’t recognize his own voice.

His mind felt empty, hollowed out. Void of all logic, reason, and consequence. All that remained was a singular, desperate need to continue holding the dying boy.

Mateo stopped pacing. His eyes snapped toward Marco, narrowing. “Then what do you suggest?” His voice cracked on the last word. Mateo, it seemed, felt the same way Marco did.

They couldn’t lose Logan.

They wouldn’t.

Yes, they’d only met hours ago. No, it made no rational sense, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t let him go.

The thought alone sent shockwaves of something dark and primal through him.

His hands tightened their grip, and his fangs, which should have retracted by now, ached with an intensity he’d never experienced.

“No,” Mateo warned, catching the thought within seconds of it passing through Marco’s mind.

Marco could save Logan. Could give him a bit of an upgrade, really. And he’d be alive… mostly.

Mateo shoved hard at Marco’s shoulder, voice scraped raw with desperation. “Marco, stop!” he pleaded, “ Think about this! The hospital could?—”

Marco wouldn’t give him time to finish the sentence.

His body moved on instinct, fangs dropping down as he raised his wrist to his mouth, slicing the vein in one clean movement.

Blood began pooling as the wound started trying to close immediately, but Marco was faster.

He gently coaxed Logan’s jaw open before shoving his entire wrist into the other man’s mouth.

Mateo raged, trying his best to wrench Marco’s wrist from Logan’s parted lips, but it was all in vain. Marco hadn’t felt the brunt of Mateo’s anger like this in a long time.

They were both, in their own way, trying to protect the boy, he rationalized. But Mateo was foolish if he believed they’d get him to a hospital on time. What good is your humanity if you’re dead? And Marco would not let Logan die.

Logan’s throat worked as his body instinctively forced him to swallow. Marco watched in wonder at the tiny little reaction, feeling, deep down, some odd sense of pride. He allowed Mateo to throw him off of Logan, knowing it didn’t matter.

It was done.

Marco watched the defeat play across his brother’s features, anger quickly simmering down into acceptance.

Deep down, maybe deeper than Mateo would admit out loud, Marco knew he was feeling relief.

His eyes flicked between Marco, Logan’s still body, and the blood smearing Logan’s too-pale lips.

His jaw worked, but he didn’t speak. What was the point?

The air in the room was thick with tension when Logan began showing the first signs of change.

Marco hadn’t ever witnessed the process before, personally. He and Mateo had been turned at the same time, and Mateo had woken before him. The shift wouldn’t be perceivable by human senses, not at first, but to Marco, it was unmistakable.

The blood running through Logan’s veins began reacting with the bit of Marco’s that he had ingested, his human blood trying its best to fight the sickness that was overtaking him. If Marco were to touch Logan, he knew his skin would be scorched with fever.

“I can’t sit here and watch this,” Mateo snarled with renewed anger. “He’s going to need to feed when he wakes.” He’d been cradling Logan’s head on the couch, but now he stood, almost too abruptly, causing Logan’s head to bounce.

Marco glared. “Where are you going?” he asked, catching his brother by the wrist.

“I doubt he’s going to want to drink from a live source, but he’ll drain the entire building if we’re empty-handed when he wakes.

” Mateo jerked out of Marco’s grip. “Gonna go compel a nurse to give us blood bags.” He snatched his coat off the ground where Logan had dropped it. God, had that only been an hour ago?

Marco vaguely heard the apartment door click shut, but his eyes were transfixed on Logan as his body continued trying to fight what Marco had done to him.

He wouldn’t wake up alone, not like Marco and Mateo had.

Marco would make sure of it. He remembered the fear of being a Newborn, the piercing hunger that never quite sated those first few days.

Everything had been too bright, too loud, and the fact that they’d only had one casualty between the two of them was considered so rare it was almost unheard of.

Two casualties now, Marco corrected himself shamefully.

Marco exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he observed Logan for any signs that something was going wrong.

He looked so fragile, curled in on himself, skin still pale from blood loss.

The fever hadn’t yet settled, hadn’t broken into the second stage of the transformation, and Marco could feel the heat radiating off him from several feet away.

He couldn’t leave him like that. Twisted at an odd angle on the couch, his face contorted in the beginning stages of what would be excruciating pain, the smell of blood and death, and Marco’s mistake permeating the room. No, his Logan deserved better.

His Logan. Mateo was going to hate that.

Gently, Marco scooped Logan into his arms, the heat from Logan’s skin feeling like it might leave burns. He was weightless, even to Marco’s vampire-strength standards, causing Marco to swallow down new pangs of guilt. This was all his fault, after all.

Marco scanned the small apartment, looking for the most comfortable place to put Logan.

Shoved into the corner was a twin-sized bed, the cheapest piece of furniture Marco had ever seen, but it had a mattress and was relatively adult-sized, so it would have to do.

Marco gently set Logan down on the bed, covering him with blankets and fluffing the pillow.

If you didn’t look too closely at his face, Logan almost looked like he was taking a nap.

Marco sat down on the floor next to Logan’s head, reaching for his hand under the blanket.

He stared up at this man that he’d drained and claimed, trying to figure out exactly why he’d done it.

He felt a pull in the center of his chest, like a thread had wrapped around his heart and guided his actions.

When he thought too hard about it, he only confused himself more.

Marco had never thought twice about the humans he’d interacted with in the past, but Logan had some hold on him that bordered on insanity, seeing as he’d only met the guy a few hours ago.

Mateo was going to fucking kill him, he was certain.

Mateo, who had accepted Marco’s decision a lot quicker than Marco thought he would. Mateo, who was out getting blood for Logan unprompted. Mateo, who insisted they target the cute bartender that night, for reasons he wouldn’t disclose.

Hm.

As if summoned by Marco’s thoughts, Mateo swung the front door to Logan’s apartment open, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. His expression was unreadable, but Marco could practically feel his anger, his… anticipation? No, that couldn’t be right.

“Any change?” Mateo asked, dropping the duffel bag on Logan’s kitchen counter and opening the fridge.

Marco shook his head. “No. I was told it could take days, once.”

Mateo exhaled sharply, loading the blood bags he had collected into the fridge, then glancing up at Logan’s still frame. “You tucked him in?

Marco bristled. “He was uncomfortable.”

“How the fuck would you—” Mateo took a deep, calming breath, “Never mind.” His eyes lingered on Logan’s body, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “It won't be so bad, I suppose. Having someone new around. That is, if he can stand looking at us.”

Marco swallowed, grip tightening ever so slightly around Logan’s limp fingers. “He will. He’ll have to,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Mateo studied him for a long moment. Maybe Mateo was being so calm because he’d never seen Marco act like this before. Mateo was the irrational one who made snap decisions, not him. “I hope you’re right, Marco.”

The room settled into silence as Mateo finished putting away the blood bags, closing the refrigerator, and sitting down on the floor next to his brother.

They said nothing, letting the emotions between them speak for themselves.

Once Logan woke, they would determine their next steps.

But for now… all they could do was wait.