Page 73 of Bound in Blood
“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’swhat 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. HelovedMateo. 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, “—respectthat.”
Marco wanted to believe him. His tone was sweet, his touch light and calming. But everything about this feltwrong.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 andpushing,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 thewrongnessthat 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.
