Chapter Ten
Munro
Time did twisted things. There were days that would pass sluggishly, people coming and going in a whirlwind of sound and color. Then he would blink and realize that a decade had gone by with little difference other than the clothing and his memories.
But the last few weeks had been torture. Every night he paced the floor as tea was served, his followers looking to him, sometimes fearfully, as they sipped from their polished glasses. Spices filled the air—cinnamon, cardamom, and ginger, but it made no difference to the desolation of each passing minute.
He’d tried to feed when he realized he couldn’t take the hunger and longing anymore—not tea, but blood, biting into a soft neck on a dark night. He’d almost gagged at the watery taste and the delirious look in the person’s eyes as he sent them on their way after a few unsatisfactory sips.
The blood had rolled in his stomach, threatening to burst from his throat and splatter over the dark alley. It took hours to settle, but he hadn’t been able to rest since, his body protesting the limited nutrition that flowed into him.
Instead of sleeping, he found himself often in the meeting room, staring at where the drops of Hollen’s blood had been. The room had been scrubbed after the bloodbath, Rhys no doubt leading the project to get rid of any evidence. Munro had never hated him quite so much.
The warmth of the room was back, along with the perilous chill of the table that balanced with immortality. One shout and he could summon Rhys and force him against the surface of obsidian, watching his energy and eventually his soul seep from his body to be sucked into the abyss of magic.
Munro blinked away the thought as he leaned against the wall in the kitchen, glaring at the server as he slipped by him with the tray of pastries. Tonight, Sean had outdone himself, incorporating strawberries into the menu, along with basil. The tea was rich with caramel undertones, Munro’s own cup of it within arm’s reach.
Steam curled over the glass, beckoning him to take another sip. He curled his lip, his teeth no-doubt on display to anyone who cared to look. The servers’ minds had all been convinced not to notice the strange displays of the patrons, Munro included.
He had to fight not to snap as another server went by, their tray brimming with treats. The place was packed, every one of the patrons as cold-blooded as he was. The servers were the only warmth, so much of his influence in their thoughts that they would not have been able to tell their closest family members where they worked.
As long as their pay landed in their accounts at the end of the week, Munro found they had no desire to resist the webs he had sewn into their thoughts. One tug, and the memories of their employment would unravel, leaving a small wound where months should have been. He never let it go on for too long.
The air pressure changed as the front door opened, but Munro didn’t lift his head. He knew exactly how it would play out.
There would be a small rush of adrenaline when he first looked up, hoping against hope that he would see Hollen there. It would only take a few seconds to recognize whoever else dared enter his domain with the scent of stale blood and the breeze from outside. A few had turned and left right there at the power of his glare, his stomach dropping further each time.
“Covi.” Rhys entered the kitchen with a whirlwind of energy, a server stepping to the side with their tray balanced on fingertips. There was a smile on his lips, blood staining the cracks between his teeth with the metallic taint filling the room.
Are you insane? Munro glowered, breathing deep and letting the blood rush over his pallet. The image of a woman filled his mind, along with blonde hair and dark eyes, music and sweat surrounding the moment of the bite. He huffed, his stomach turning.
The chef looked up, scrunching his nose with distaste before he shook his head. “Whatever it is, keep it out of my kitchen.”
Sean came from family—not a vampire himself but surrounded by them since birth and managing to survive three older brothers with fangs.
Munro nodded, pushing away from the wall.
Rhys stopped him with a hand on his chest. “I have news.” His grin stretched wider, his eyes almost wild. His prey had most likely been drugged, the amphetamines rushing through his veins with the same vigor. It seemed to give him that extra strength as he pushed Munro, keeping him pinned to his spot.
“I need you to come with me—just…give me a moment to prepare.” He staggered, leaning into Munro until the blood reeked in the air between them. Munro winced, turning his head to the side.
Sean was staring at them, his lips pressed into a thin line. There was a touch of surprise in his look as he glanced between them. “Rhys, you’re drunk. Get out of my kitchen before you break something important. Munro…”—Sean hesitated for a moment, before looking back to the strawberries he was endlessly cutting—“you should stay.”
Red stained Sean’s fingers, small green pieces of stem clinging to him in a few places. There were a few spots on his white jacket where an especially juicy berry had flown through the air, staining everything it touched.
Is that pity? Munro tilted his head, wincing as Rhys chuckled against him, his lips whispering over his exposed neck. He was drunk or high, and probably too far gone to restrain himself. Don’t have pity for someone like me.
“I have someone down the hall.” Rhys looped his arms around Munro’s neck, nuzzling into him. The action caught him off guard. It was something he’d craved for the past few endless weeks, but Rhys was the last one he wanted it from. “Come see. It’s gonna be so fun.”
Munro stifled his gasp when the sharpness of teeth slipped over his skin—there one moment before it disappeared.
“You’re so tense, Covi.” Rhys laughed, too high and fast to be sane.
Sean snapped his fingers, finally drawing Rhys’ attention. “Hey.” To his credit, he stood his ground, even as Rhys turned a withering glare on him. “Out. I was planning on retiring in a moment anyway,” said Munro, letting out a deep sigh. He avoided Sean’s eyes as he side-stepped Rhys, escaping him and grasping his cup of tea. The steam was gone, but it was still warm when he took his first sip. That much warmth alone was enough to strengthen him, pushing the persistent chill from his limbs.
Constant cold had been his companion from the moment he’d come into his immortal life.
“The tea is perfect, Chef. My compliments.” Munro raised his glass in a salute, before setting it on the counter and turning away. Rhys was at his back, his breathing loud and feral.
“Munro, I didn’t—”
Munro waved his hand, cutting Sean off. He’d already humiliated himself enough for one night, weakness pulling at his core.
He left the kitchen before Sean could stop him, Rhys skipping ahead of him after a few steps. Rhys staggered into the wall as they rounded the corner to the hall, sending a grin over his shoulder.
In moments, the lights flickered off, plunging the hall into darkness. It was what every person met on their stroll into hell, the sensors in the walls picking up any signs of movement and triggering the darkness. For a vampire, it was child’s play, their eyes just as good in the dark as the daylight. Any server who accidentally stumbled back here ran with screams on their lips.
There was still the question as to how Hollen had made it past the first few steps. Munro had meant it as a joke of sorts to send him to find the laundry that didn’t exist. What he’d been hoping for was to have Hollen run screaming after the first step, offering a bit of entertainment as he’d fled into the night. There’s nothing like a good chase.
It would have given him the excuse to slip into his mind, twining with the intricacies as he took a small sip. The strangest sense of guilt clawed its way up his throat as he thought of it. He’d played the game a hundred times… Why is this time so different?
Hollen had made it past the layers of trepidation and the slip of darkness to the very chamber where his murder was so fond of arguing amongst themselves, as if their words alone could change the world.
While Munro wasn’t enraptured, he preferred to drop in from time to time, sometimes steering past the throne to the hidden door beyond where his bed lay. He’d had to cart the thing down the hall himself when the movers had fled—all thick wooden beams along with the mattress.
One thing that this century did well was the beds.
Rhys fumbled in the dark, skipping a step or two before the lights flickered on again. As Munro slipped past him, Rhys reached for his hair, grasping the tie and ripping it free. His hair sprang forth from its bonds with nearly as much enthusiasm as Rhys himself. Drunken fingers combed through it, tugging at the strands until Munro grasped a handful of it, slipping it in front of his shoulder so it dragged down his chest.
“Relax, Covi.” Rhys giggled, saliva shining over his lips. “You are going to reward me. You’ll give me anything I want.”
Munro raised one brow, refusing to back down. “What you’re asking for is a privilege—one you haven’t earned.”
“I noticed you haven’t been yourself,” said Rhys, winking as they reached the end of the hall. It was darkest here, and Munro strained his eyes to keep Rhys locked in his sights.
Rhys paused at the door, his palm over the surface. “So, I got you a gift. I brought it in the back so you wouldn’t see, because I wanted it to be a surprise.” He giggled, the sound tinkling in the gloom.
Dread filled his core, his skin prickling. The last time Rhys had been this drunk, he’d tried to feed from a shifter. The pack had threatened to kill him when they found out, and Munro had barely been able to negotiate a truce. It had left a bitter stain on an already-strained relationship.
Munro nodded, reaching for the door, but Rhys stopped him with a hand on his chest. He seemed to sober, the mirth draining from his eyes as a distant light flickered, casting a glow over them. “I need to show you something first.”
A growl nearly burst from his throat as they were plunged into darkness again, Rhys patting at his pants and retrieving a small black phone. It was one piece of technology that had surprised Munro with the fierceness that it had taken over.
“Just get this over with, Rhys.” Munro huffed, shifting. The walls were too close tonight, the buzzing of the lights going directly to his thoughts. A distant scent caught his nose that had been haunting him for weeks. If he closed his eyes, he could almost taste the phantom drops of Hollen on his tongue, the vermillion curling over his tastebuds and filling him to the brim.
Rhys flashed him a smile as he lit up his phone, tapping against the keys. “Patience. This will be worth the wait.” Rhys turned the phone toward him. “Just watch.”
The sudden sound was jarring in the quiet space, the low quality of it scraping against his ears. It was dark and blurry, the video shaking as it pointed at a familiar sight across a barely lit street. Shouts sounded in the background, a voice echoing over and over. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it.”
“How did this get missed?” asked Munro, grabbing the phone and bringing it closer. Even with the poor quality, he could spot a figure in the shadows, clearly drinking from the neck of an obviously unwilling victim. Why aren’t they hypnotized?
The vampire didn’t seem to know they were being watched, drinking until the victim’s struggles ceased and they went limp. After licking their lips, the vampire dropped their meal, the victim slumping against a nearby fence before crumpling to the ground. He couldn’t tell if their chest was still moving.
The video went dark before starting over, the same shouts and scene repeating before his eyes.
Rhys shut the screen off, shoving it back into his pocket. “This is what I’ve been trying to tell you.” He moved in close, breathing deep as he dragged his nose along Munro’s throat. “We can’t stop all of them, even with the best algorithms in the world. This one has a thousand views so far and is growing. It will probably hit two thousand before it’s noticed and taken down. But those thousand will spread the word, sharing and re-sharing this clip faster than we can stop it.”
Not this again. “And so, what if that happens?” Munro hardened his resolve, placing a hand on Rhys’ chest. “I can remember a time when we were gods , Rhys. You were young then, but don’t you remember the worship? Perhaps it’s time for that to happen again.”
Rhys drew back, grasping Munro’s shoulders hard. “You know we aren’t gods.” He looked over his shoulder as if expecting someone to be there, ready to strike him down. Munro could picture any shifter or faerie settling that score with one blow. “Saying something like that could get us all killed.”
If only you knew. Munro dug his nails into Rhys’ chest, nudging him away. “Is that what this is all about? I’m guessing you killed the one who took the video. Vengeance is sweet.”
There were so many better places he could be right now. The last thing he wanted was another body from when Rhys got too excited and lost control. He knew every good place to hide one…and the bads ones.
“I brought you the one who started all this mess,” said Rhys, finally pulling away and reaching for the door. “This video only launched yesterday, but it’s not the only one. Someone is planting them—hoping they’ll spread across the world. Only someone with inside information could do that.”
Munro’s gut sank as Rhys parted the door, exposing the warmth of the chamber. It was deserted save one man who was sprawled across the table, the iciness of magic tinting his lips blue. His heart stuttered as he pushed past Rhys, the video and all danger forgotten.
Lying on the table, with his face pale and his hair haloed across the surface, was Hollen. His cheeks were stark, his lips taking on a blueish hue as the heat was drawn from his body. The table had never been meant for someone so weak, built to end vampires such as himself. He’d watched men go insane from a simple touch, but this was the second time Hollen had been trapped upon the surface, his eyes closed now as if in sleep.
Am I too late? Munro took a step, a low growl rumbling in his throat. The blood on Rhys’ teeth and the paleness of Hollen’s cheeks had his heart beating fast, his lips parting as he crossed the space in a few leaping strides. It couldn’t be Hollen’s blood. He would have smelled it… right?
“I found him working in a club, and I followed him into an alley. He was too easy to take—barely even a challenge, really.” Rhys stepped toward the table, stroking Hollen’s cheek. Hollen didn’t stir. It was hard to see if his chest was rising beneath his clothes. The T-shirt and black jeans clung to his skin, the taint of alcohol and sweat a lacquered coat.
“Is he…dead?” asked Munro, fighting the strange fluttering in his gut. He barely knew Hollen, but he’d thought about him nearly every moment since they’d met, even the dark times when he should have been resting. But now he looked so lifeless, his blood cooled and that stubborn attitude silent.
There was nothing in the air—no allure—but still Munro wanted him. He needed those eyes to flutter open and catch his gaze, a warm hand reaching for him. Munro was frozen, unable to reach out with Rhys touching Hollen, stroking his limp wrist before moving to his face.
“Soon,” said Rhys, sweeping a few strands of hair back from Hollen’s forehead. “I thought you would want the honors. You seemed enthralled by him—by his blood.”
Munro pushed Rhys to the side, carefully scooping Hollen off the table and bringing him into his arms. His fingers scraped against the freezing surface, sending a bolt of icy rigidity up his arm from the quick touch. The pain curled around his fingertips, settling deep into his nerves.
Hollen was nearly as bad as the table, so cold that he sucked the warmth from Munro’s skin in an instant, replacing it with such a deep ache that it stole his breath. He didn’t flinch away, instead holding Hollen against his chest tighter, willing the warmth into his limbs.
Hollen’s heartbeat that had always been so even, was slowing, the cold tipping him straight to death. I’m too late. Munro reached beneath Hollen’s shirt, pressing a palm to his chest. The thump was barely there, tickling his palm as it danced slower. He pressed hard, Hollen’s sternum firm against his fingers.
I can’t. Not like this. He drew his hand back. He’d never considered turning someone like this, not since the first time when he’d split his power to make another. That had been so long ago that he barely remembered the feeling of a beating heart in his palm, blood soaking into his skin.
Rhys hovered close, the excitement thick in his glassy eyes. “I want to watch you bite him.” He leaned in, licking his lips. “Do it, Covi.”
If Rhys had been anyone else, Munro would have killed him in an instant. Maybe he still would, forcing him on the table or impaling him on the stag antlers. His rage seared against the cold, sharpening his senses.
“I never thought I would truly want to end you, Rhys,” said Munro, carefully shrugging out of his jacket so there was only one layer between himself and Hollen. He dropped it to the floor, adjusting Hollen so his head rested in the crook of his elbow. Hollen was limp, his arms hanging.
Munro’s limbs were already slowing, strength draining from him as it sank into Hollen. The room was hot, but not hot enough, the thermostat cranked as far as it could go. “Get out of my sight before I kill you where you stand.”
Rhys furrowed his forehead. “But, Covi”—he took a step back—“you have to.”
Munro snarled, twisting his fingers into Hollen’s shirt and ripping it free. He gave his own the same treatment, bringing their naked chests together. A deep ache ripped through him, every bit of his warmth flowing straight into Hollen.
“The last person who tried to force my hand, I had locked away for an eternity—a fate that would be a blessing compared to yours if you don’t leave now.” Munro didn’t look up as Rhys fled the room, his attention captured by Hollen as he stirred.
His eyelashes fluttered, revealing a hint of green before he let out a sigh. Somehow—amazingly—he was still in there, the beat of his heart growing faster with each passing moment.
“Hold on.” Munro lowered his voice, crossing the chamber to the thick wooden door that marked the entrance to his own room. It was convenient as hell to sleep in the same place he worked, his sheets smelling of the spices that he craved each day.
His room was simple in the best of ways, with a bed, the softest sheets he could find, and vents that roared with more heat than the throne room. Off to the side there were two doors that housed a bathroom and a closet each, leaving just enough room between them for a small seating area.
He had heard the whispers before— Why have his most vulnerable place next to where his followers assembled? There were days when their words were ripe with mutiny, cursing him beneath their breath and promising change.
And yet, Rhys had been the only one to step foot in his rooms, pleasure the only thing on his mind at that time.
The rest still had that innate fear—one they probably didn’t fully understand. He was older than them by more than they could possibly fathom. He’d seen the rise and fall of so many empires that defeat and victory had become routine. There was nothing any one of his murder could do to him that would put him at risk.
Hollen. Munro glanced to him and the blush of blue on his cheeks.
The bed dipped as he sat on the edge, laying Hollen against the soft sheets. His hair was dark against the cream color he had chosen, his skin so pale it was painful to look at.
Tearing his gaze away, Munro slipped into the bed next to him, pulling Hollen back to the spot against his chest where he fit so perfectly. With Hollen sucking away what little body heat he naturally made, sluggishness pulled at his limbs, slowing his own heart and thoughts.
When Hollen stirred, pushing against his chest and letting out a soft groan, Munro held him tighter, pressing him into the bed. There was a very slim chance that Hollen would recover from exposure to so much magic, but only if he got warm now.
“Be still.” Munro moved his hands to Hollen’s arms, pinning them to the bed as Hollen struggled. His lips were parted, a stream of steady whimpers and moans between his lips.
It didn’t take long for Hollen’s heart to pick up, until it was racing wildly, faster still as his strength seemed to return and he squirmed. The scent of his blood was tucked away just beneath his skin, so unremarkable even when Munro nosed at the column of his neck, breathing deep.
There was something enthralling about being so close to someone he desired so fiercely. Beneath the few layers there was a blood unlike anything he’d ever scented, wrapped with bland flesh to keep it safe.
Just a taste. His teeth ached as he grasped Hollen’s hand, bringing his wrist into the light. Hollen’s skin had turned from blue to pink, but he was still pale, his veins standing out in the light. A steady pulse throbbed beneath Munro’s grip, each thump drawing him closer. All it would take was one scrape of his teeth and a tiny puncture, and he could have a taste.
He’d done worse in his life—murder, for one. Most of his feedings involved biting someone while he held them hypnotized, zipping the memory from their mind before he disappeared into the night. There was no way that could be called consent, but this…
Bringing Hollen’s wrist to his lips, he parted them, touching the cool skin with his tongue. He tasted of sweat and the dull bitterness of dark magic. There was a warmth there, too, and something else Munro couldn’t name. It had a murky familiarity of something that was buried deep within his brain.
Just do it. He’ll never know. Munro placed a kiss against the thin surface of Hollen’s wrist, roughly nuzzling against the spot that was just out of reach. There. The scent hit the air, not as strong as it had been when Hollen’s blood had dropped to the floor, but that hidden wonder that was so clearly concealed.
Munro let out a groan, swallowing as his mouth filled with saliva. It smelled like life, freshness, and a power that promised to be more addictive than the worst drug he could imagine.
Come on. Munro opened his mouth wide, settling his teeth against Hollen’s skin. The tips of his canines were still sharp, even after the thousands of bites they had withstood. This one would be just the same as all the others. Hollen was the same—just another snack.
I can’t. Munro turned his head away, snapping his jaw shut as it ached. Hollen stirred again beneath him, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.
He was handsome in a way—pretty, even. It was strange that he had never noticed. That was usually the first thing he noticed about a man, the second being how edible they seemed. But now he was caught, tracing each freckle on Hollen’s cheeks with his gaze as he slept.
“I can’t bring myself to bite you,” said Munro, his voice cracking as he tried to stay quiet. “My world could be ending because of you, and I can’t even bite you.”