Page 27 of Bound in Blood
It didn’t take much time before Logan shifted closer. Slowly. Carefully, until he was fully settled with his head on Mateo’s chest. Mateo wrapped his arm around him, a loose hold in case Logan got uncomfortable. Instead, Logan let out a quiet trembling breath and sank into him.
Mateo pressed a slow kiss to Logan’s hair, whispering quiet words of affirmation, “Tutto bene, angello. Ti ho preso.?*”
He felt Logan’s body relaxing in small degrees, surrendering to the slow unwind of a lifetime of tension. Mateo’s hand trailed lazy, gentle circles around Logan’s back as his mate’s breath began to even out. The warmth of the bond hummed softly between them, a steady, soothing thing in the quiet of the room.
And when Logan finally slipped into sleep, safe in Mateo’s arms, Mateo held him just a little closer before following his little fledgling into the dark.
* Mateo, I swear to God?—
* What?! I’m just telling the truth!
* Angel
* My sweet little love, I can’t stand it
* Don't you understand how precious you are? How much you're worth? God, honey, you break my heart.
* Please don't cry, my love. I just want you to be happy here.
* Sweetheart
* All right, angel. I got you.
Chapter
Ten
NEW YORK, AUGUST, 1944
MARCO
The sun fucking burned.
Marco had barely taken two steps off the boat before it bit into his skin, burning hot and sharp like tiny needles pricking at his flesh. Mateo had aggressively talked him out of wearing a coat, and right now he was ready to throw him into the ocean over it. He tried to argue that America was full of strange people with strange habits, and a couple of coats in the middle of summer wouldn’t turn any heads. Marco pulled his hat over his eyes, considered hiding his arms inside his shirt, but he knew it would do little to help. Beside him, Mateo let out a string of curses under his breath, blisters already becoming evident on his skin. At least he wasn’t having an easy go at this, either.
All around them, people shouted in English way too fast for either of them to understand, voices blending into an overwhelming cacophony. They’d spent the last six years studying English, but neither of them had accounted for how fuckingfastAmericans talked. Papers were being checked, bags shoved into waiting hands. Nobody questioned their fake documents, which Mateo had paid dearly for. The air smelled like salt, sweat, and smoke.
They knew they needed to move, but they couldn’t exactly figure outwhere.There was no shade, no alleyway to disappear into. Marco couldn’t concentrate on reading any of the posted signs with the sun stabbing needles into his skin.
A hand snatched Marco’s wrist.
He attempted to jerk back on instinct, a snarl forming in his throat, but before he could yank away, another hand gripped Mateo by one of his suspenders, dragging him with Marco, too.
Marco stumbled as he attempted to break away, but the grip was stronger than any human, and before he realized what was going on, he had tripped right into the cool embrace of a shadow. Mateo collided into him a half-second later. They both spun, fists clenched, ready for a fight as their eyes adjusted to the darkness, but once they had, they froze.
A woman stood before them. She was tall, and thin, her blonde hair pinned back neatly. Her sharp brown eyes scanned them like she’d already figured out everything she needed to know about them. Her dress looked too neat and expensive for her to be skulking about in some dark alley, but what did Marco know about Americans? She crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed with the two of them, and Marco became acutely aware he did not remember the last time he had a bath.
She said something to them in English then, her tone angry, gesturing at them with one of her arms. She was talking too fast, Marco couldn’t translate. His head cocked in confusion, and she sighed, scrubbing a hand over her face. She tried another language, then a third one, before settling on:
“Cristo, siete pazzi? Camminare sotto il sole così? Volete morire?!?*”Ah, she was scolding them.
Marco felt Mateo bristle next to him, his shoulder squaring. He could feel his distrust as easily as if it were his own. Mateo had been angry since they’d woken up like this, angrier still every time Marco tried to calm him down. Marco’s anxietyspiked, caught between wanting to defend his brother and not wanting to face his wrath for babying him.
“Chi cazzo sei??*” Mateo spat out, fists clenching and unclenching, ready for a fight.
The woman sighed, exasperated, “Quello che vi ha appena salvato il culo, a quanto pare.?*”
Marco couldn’t help feeling a little calmer at the familiarity of his native language, even if he had no idea who this woman was. How had she known to pull them out of the sun? Was she one of them? Marco couldn’t smell her blood, not as easily as he could smell a human’s, but he’d never met another like him before, other than Mateo. And honestly, Marco had never really considered what Mateo smelled like. The woman gave them a once-over, Marco’s fearful gaze, and Mateo’s hardened anger. Her eyes were sharp and calculating. Assessing.
