Chapter Six
Munro
Huh. Munro watched Hollen disappear through the door, the scent of blood lingering, even as his presence faded.
Hollen had seemed so bland—so absolutely O-positive that Munro had wondered if he was even worth more than a brief amusement a feeding would resolve. It wasn’t that he liked to play with his food, but excitement kept the boredom and monotony at bay. It also helped him keep in touch as the centuries folded behind him.
But his blood… Jesus. He’d never smelled anything like it, saliva bursting in his mouth as his gut longed for a taste. He’d simultaneously wanted to destroy and consume, a few drops soaking the room in crimson smoke. There was power in blood, and Hollen absolutely reeked of it.
The others had felt it, too, their reactions a touch slower than Rhys’. All but Corby had halted the moment Munro had shown his attention. A claim over something that sweet meant more than the bonds of time and loyalty.
It was his business, after all—his city, his world. And even if they didn’t understand his intentions, insisting on bickering in the basement like crooked politicians, they were still nothing to him. Rhys was probably the only one in the room who knew the pure extent of that claim, the veins at his temples bulging as he strained to control himself.
Munro licked his lips, tightening his grip on Corby’s throat as he writhed and twisted. He wasn’t struggling to get away, too drawn to the few drops of blood that had been left on the floor that shone from the latest cleaning. The drops dimmed as they started to dry, losing their vibrance but none of their appeal.
Munro could imagine himself kneeling to the ground, licking that sweetness from the floor like a starving animal. It would fill his mouth with the taste of copper, maybe giving him a hint of how such a small man could wield something so pure and alluring.
Better yet, he could follow the trail back to the source, draining Hollen until he was an empty rind that could be tossed away. Munro would be filled to the brim, every cell saturated in that pure vibrance.
It wouldn’t be an easy task to get away with. Hollen had mentioned friends and had broken his hypnotism with shattering ease, throwing his grip off with a staggering force that was hidden within a small frame and green eyes. He could destroy them all—every acquaintance and person who had ever laid eyes on Hollen, wiping him from existence to get his fix.
But in today’s world, that was next to impossible.
“Covi,” said Rhys, drawing Munro from his thoughts. He was on his knees, cradling his arm against his chest with his forehead lined with discomfort. Corby had thrown him hard—hard enough to shatter bone and break skin, apparently. Blood dripped from Rhys’ forehead in a sluggish race, stark against the paleness of his skin.
It was the same blood that Munro had given him not long before, the essence of it dimmed and absorbed.
“Does anyone have anything to say?” asked Munro, dragging his eyes away from the door. The meeting had gone on without him as he’d followed Hollen around upstairs, correcting every mistake he’d seen. Perhaps he should have attended, though, when words had obviously been so quick to become mutinous.
Kail had the intelligence to look uncomfortable, while Victoria had the flush of rage on her cheeks. She had always been full of fire, so much like her maker Tess. When Tess was out in the world seeking more realistic truths, Victoria guarded her seat better than Munro could ask for himself. But with fire, sometimes came poor choices.
The tension in the room thickened, his followers—his murder— looking anywhere but at him. He’d collected them over the centuries from every continent, spreading his lineage in a way that diluted it with every year. The newest ones had only a hint of his power—not that they knew that. Perhaps it’s time for a reminder?
“What was he?” asked Rhys, staggering and wiping the blood from his face with the edge of his torn robe. He was naked underneath, the curves and hardened flesh drawing Munro in. Perhaps it was the blood in the air, or Rhys’, but his hunger was difficult to restrain when all he could think about was plunging his teeth into a willing victim as he showed them what true pleasure was.
“Hmm.” Munro sucked in one last breath through his nose, basking in the taint of the air. No more. He was so close to losing himself to reckless drunkenness, tracking Hollen down wherever he had fled to.
When he finally grasped his control, he strolled toward the antlered throne, dragging Corby with every step. He could throw Corby on the very table Hollen had found himself on, watching his strength and power be sucked from his limbs by the magic that was bound to the stone.
There was more than one method of torture in the room, but the table was one of the worst. The cold could suck the very will to move from a vampire, leaving them paralyzed as their fate was met. For others, their soul could be plucked from their body, imprinting on the table as another white line. There was an uncountable number of them already on the surface, locked away until someone with true magic released them.
Luckily, magic had died out centuries ago.
The table was too good of a death for Corby, his words still ringing in Munro’s ears. Disagreements were how progress was made, but Corby had obviously lost his way. Mutiny and disobedience were some of the few things that could put a time limit on a vampire’s life.
Munro quickened his pace, his nails breaking skin as Corby clawed at him. Corby’s feet skidded over the ground as he kicked out, obviously trying to reach for something or someone to grasp on to, probably thinking that someone would stand up for him and risk their own life to save his.
He stilled as they approached the antlered throne and Munro gently set him upon it, whispering soothingly as he nudged Corby to settle onto the surface. Corby’s eyes were wide, utter terror echoed in them, his chest rising and falling in quick pants.
“I didn’t mean it,” said Corby, wrapping both hands around Munro’s wrists. “I swear.” His grip was still warm…but not for long.
“No one ever does,” said Munro softly. He let out a breath as he changed his gentle hands to brutal ones, pressing Corby hard against the piercing throne.
The frame was innocent enough, made of a carved wood—mahogany if he recalled correctly—still naturally tinted red, even with all it had been through. The arms were sturdy enough that shackles could be added, and even someone with immense strength wouldn’t be able to break free. Munro preferred to use a more straight-forward method to keep someone still.
The silver tips of stag antlers had been lovingly arranged on the throne by a true artist, creating a spiderweb of brutality that all pointed to the poor soul who happened to be seated. When he’d first commissioned the piece, he’d thought of sharpening the points, but it really was better this way. The silver was a joke of his own making—one that no one had ever laughed at.
In the long history of his existence, one of his sons had been allergic to the gleaming metal. A few years later, word on the street was that silver repelled vampires. As if. There were a very few things that could stop a vampire.
Corby let out a screech as his back met the tips of the antlers, and Munro kept pushing, his grip steady and unyielding. Arching his back, Corby tried to escape the inevitable, but it was no use.
His shoulders were pierced first, jagged horns appearing through his chest as if by magic. Blood soaked into his shirt—dark and strong, coating Munro’s senses completely but doing little to sate him after Hollen’s alluring scent.
Corby was limp by the time he was fully seated, his eyes half closed and blood dripping from his lips. It wouldn’t be long before his eyes became sightless and his heart beat for the last time. The antlers had been expertly placed to avoid the vital organs and surrounding arteries, but he had already lost a lot of blood.
“Now,” said Munro, licking his fingers clean as he turned to face the others, “I believe you were discussing a revolution of sorts.” His heart picked up, excitement bursting through his veins. “Please continue.”
Kail shifted, Rhys screwing up his face and let his tattered robe fall wide.
Rhys clenched his jaw before crossing the space. “Covi.” He gave Corby a hesitant gaze, the scent of blood overwhelming. Corby was twitching now, blood pooling on the floor in a spreading lake. “If a single human with no affiliation with our world knows about us, then there is no way of knowing how long it will take the rest of the world. We would be captured—”
“And tortured,” said Munro, cutting him off. “I’m very aware of the little science experiments we would become before we would blink out of existence. We have fail-safes in place—computer viruses written into every base code—to stop any images and knowledge of us from spreading online. And people can easily be hypnotized into forgetting. We have nothing to fear.”
Something curled in his gut, twisting and echoing his words back to him. If someone else said those same things to him, would he believe them? He clenched his jaw.
Munro turned away from the scent of blood, strolling toward the door. Beyond were the calming scents of tea and the gentle clinking of glass. With the chaos here, the place would be empty tonight, but there was no reason he wasn’t able to sip alone. It wouldn’t satisfy him, but the warmth would keep him strong for another day.
A hand on his arm stopped him.
“You weren’t able to,” said Rhys, his eyes locked on Corby’s body. “You couldn’t hypnotize the mortal. I saw you fail. I’ve never seen that before.”
Munro pulled his arm free, raising his voice to address the room. “You are all welcome to enjoy the feast.” He motioned to the rapidly cooling blood. “It’s not very often we can cherish such an old vintage.”
As he slipped from the room, most of them were moving toward the body or already kneeling to suck the blood from the delicious wood. Kail was still at his place next to the table, his arms crossed as he stared at them.
Rhys met Munro’s gaze, licking his lips before running a hand down his chest. The appeal that had been there moments ago evaporated into smoke, his focus still on those few drops of blood that Hollen had left behind. Even with his eyes closed, he could sense exactly where they were.
Munro had to force himself to keep walking.