Page 66 of Bound in Blood
“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 killedme,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.Trustedthem 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 youknowhim, 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 forno 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, mightlove him?”
“If I were the feral—” Logan started, but Mateo cut him off.
“But you’renot,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. Hedidmean to say it. He just didn’t mean for it to land likethat.
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 fuckingvampire hunterto 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 hecouldhave 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.
