Chapter Twelve
Munro
Munro stared at the closed apartment door, his palm still tingling from where Hollen had clasped his only a minute before. He probably seemed strange lurking in the hallway, gazing at the chipped paint on cheap wood for longer than was healthy.
There was a lot of trust to showing someone where you lived. Now he knew where Hollen slept, where he ate, and presumably where he spent most of his day when sunlight ruled the city. Behind the flimsy barrier, Hollen was free to be.
But I suppose I showed him my room first. He’d done everything backward. He was supposed to be the one who called the shots—the one in control. But Hollen had stripped him of that in moments.
He looked to his hands. They had paled over the centuries as he found less reasons to stroll beneath the sunlight, drinking cool sips of water just to keep hydrated. People and ages came and went the same way they always had, and it did so little to tempt him. But Hollen…
First the kiss, then the blood. It had been such a spur of the moment thing that Munro hadn’t thought of it for more than a split second before he’d sliced his own tongue to give Hollen a taste. He was fed from all the time—days before Rhys had been carving his teeth into his neck while bringing himself release. This shouldn’t have been any different.
But it was.
He let out a soft sigh before turning away from the door. The apartment was shockingly close to the teahouse, and it had only taken him about twenty minutes to escort Hollen home after he’d found one of his own shirts for Hollen to wear. The fabric had dwarfed him, but a strange possessive anxiety had churned in Munro’s gut.
It had been a long time since he’d had something truly for himself that didn’t wilt and die the moment he made himself truly known. There was a yearning within him focused with such precise obsession that it was almost calming .
A woman passed him by as he exited onto the street, not sparing him a single glance. Most didn’t notice him—they weren’t meant to. It wasn’t magic, but more of an illusion that he could wrap around himself to avoid looks and slip from someone’s memory as easily as a passing thought.
Why did I give him my blood? He licked his lips, chasing the sweet taste that Hollen had left behind. There was still the metallic taint of his own blood, along with that darkness that seemed to linger on everything Hollen touched. It was so intoxicating that apparently he had lost his mind to it, giving Hollen something that meant so much.
Blood was life . Rhys took it regularly, sipping away at Munro’s soul like a warm drink. But to give it to someone so entirely…mortal was something he’d never considered. There was nothing in it for Hollen except for the taste, which he probably hadn’t acquired. Why did I do it?
He gritted his teeth, disappearing into the nearest alley. Darkness wrapped around his skin, protecting him with shadow as he reached out with his senses. There was no one close by except the gentle snuffling of a rat in the dumpster one block over. If he reached hard enough, he could sense Hollen, his heart beating so steady and soft. It was mesmerizing.
“Enough.” Munro shook his head. I need to get these thoughts out of my head.
There were wings hidden beneath his skin with feathers ready to burst forth as soon as he closed his eyes. He urged them out with a sound like shredded paper, his clothes dropping to the ground in a heap.
A prickling itch tickled over his skin as paleness gave way to lustrous black, his arms bending and snapping into shape. His fingers stretched, long-flight feathers arching into wings that he flapped, trying to balance as five toes became four, tipped with brutal talons.
To anyone watching, he would appear as a raven standing on a heap of clothes that someone had discarded. If they approached, curious about the biggest one of his kind that they’d ever seen, he would simply nudge their mind until they turned away.
He wasn’t sure how birds could stand it, his feathers like pins that tugged against his skin every time he moved. They were jet black, consuming the light from any stars and extinguishing them. His eyes were the only brightness, their usual blue and just as icy as they always were. He had seen himself so many times in this form that he knew where every feather lay, even the one on his tail that was shorter than all the rest.
Poking at his clothes with his beak and urging them into a small pile, he folded them over themselves, hopping from one side of the pile to the other. As soon as everything was as neat as it was going to get, he gathered what he could, taking off with a flap of wings.
A few feathers immediately floated free, drifting to the alley floor to get lost in the nearest muddy puddle. They were so similar to his hairs, a few falling out every time he brushed it. The form was one of a few he could take, but different from the legends of vampires who morphed into bats.
Even with his overly large wings, it was a struggle to get into the air with the extra burden, his muscles burning from the effort. He flapped until he caught a small breeze above the stillness of the alley, letting it take him.
A few raindrops flicked against his back as the wind picked up, the moisture rolling off him as quick as it landed. He angled his wings toward the moon, slipping closer to the teahouse with each flap.
There were only a few people on the street, their cars flickering below the lamps, and one lonely man walking his dog through the beginnings of a puddle. He turned his head away, focusing on the pitted street where his home lay as the clothes slowly soaked heavier.
He had no desire for the few he saw, not even to fill his rumbling stomach that ached.
Three short minutes passed before he landed in the darkness against the side of his teahouse, letting his feathers fall from his skin and into dust. Hunger gnawed at his belly from shifting when he had already pushed himself too far, his hands shaking at the force of it as he quickly dressed.
The clothes were damp from the rain as it picked up, the material clinging to his skin uncomfortably as he walked to the front door. His front display was showing its age, the tea dipping in the cup as it evaporated and leaving a stained ring behind. The small sandwiches looked hard, a bit of the sauce at the edge going dry as it soaked into the crust.
Rhys had always insisted that they should get a fake display that they wouldn’t have to change every night, scoffing at the tiny morsels that always went to waste. To Munro, nothing made life more real than the daily reminder of the expiration date of everything around him.
He slipped through the door, closing it behind him when he was met with silence. The followers in his murder always had a way of sensing his mood, steering clear when he was not at the house and only emerging during the all-clear. The dark dining room matched his thoughts, shadows clinging to the corners.
“Where have you been?”
Munro paused at the sound of Rhys’ voice, turning to where he was sitting at one of the shadowed tables. There was a slit of light from the exit sign that caught his eyes, making them glimmer with darkness.
Rage licked at the tips of his fingers, and Munro clenched his hand into a fist. “I didn’t realize I was under watch.”
He said it so savagely that Rhys flinched.
Rhys stood, his chair squeaking against the floor as he pushed it back. He had his phone in his hand again, the screen flickering as a video played. There was no sound this time—no screams.
“I’m worried about you, Covi—about all of us. I’ve been searching for more videos, and I’ve found so many.” Rhys brought the phone up, his face illuminated by the shifting light.
Munro’s gut clenched, fear and guilt settling over the rage. He’s only looking out for you and everyone else. Exposure had always been a risk as his followers made their way in the world, but things had been going so well.
The last time vampires had been exposed centuries before, they’d been hunted to the brink of extinction. He’d survived in hiding, living off scraps of whatever he could drink from while he planned his revenge.
The revenge had never taken place, his idea sputtering out when he realized that this wasn’t something he could do alone. Vampires weren’t the feared beings with a strength that legends feared. They were vulnerable in their own way, their immortality striking terror into their own souls.
But he never wanted to drink from a sparrow again or have the anxiety that every cracked branch was a hoard approaching. He had lost most of his strength then by simply staying alive. And it was within that dark chapter that he had met Rhys.
Rhys had been his only light for a long time. He was the first one to make him laugh after so much darkness, the longing between them undeniable at the time. Munro had grown out of it, but for Rhys, it was all he had known for so long.
“Let me see them,” said Munro, taking a breath to calm himself. What he had with Hollen was so new and fresh, but loyalty was forever. He knew Rhys would die for him a thousand times over.
Reaching for the phone, Munro skimmed over the paused video, hitting the symbol in the middle to start it. It was similar to the last one he’d seen, with a vampire feeding from a struggling prey, completely unaware of their surroundings. The next one Rhys had lined up for him was the same…and the next.
The faces were unfamiliar, along with the usernames, but the messages were all clear. Vampires exist.
“They’re from different places around the world.” Rhys leaned in, pointing to the background of the latest video. “That’s Spain there, and this one is somewhere in South America.” He flicked the screen, a new clip starting. “They’re getting smarter—trying to track us,” said Rhys. His eyes were wide, his breath coming in short pants. “Our computer viruses aren’t fast enough to combat the entire population. Things like this are coming out faster than we can find and neutralize them. Everything is at risk.”
“I’m not worried.” Munro passed the phone back to Rhys, regarding the rage that crept over his features. “I don’t think this is the same world we used to live in. People are accepting, and we have allies.”
He turned away, heading for the bleak light in the kitchen. The surfaces were scrubbed and spotless, every dish put away in its spot. Even the shelves above eye level were meticulously cleaned and dusted.
His gut twisted as he touched one cool metal surface. Sean must’ve cut the dinner service off early, ushering people out when Munro didn’t return as he always did to see his guests off. His followers wouldn’t have lingered, heading back to their homes to conduct whatever business they needed to.
He’d never missed it before. Hollen was changing everything so quickly.
“I can’t believe this.” Rhys stomped after him, a fire in his eyes. He slammed his hand on a gleaming metal countertop, dishes tinkling in their bins. “You’re so infatuated that you can’t see the danger right in front of your eyes.”
With his lips thinned in a determined line, Rhys drew close, bracketing him against the wall. It was the same thing he had done earlier, with his system fried with drugs from his victim. Only now he was fully present, every ounce of rage directed at Munro. “I can’t let you destroy us all over a piddly human who is not going to be around in fifty years.”
Munro had always been tall, especially for his time, but Rhys had a few inches on him and thickness in his frame that Munro didn’t possess. In a fair fight, Rhys could have overpowered him every time, ripping his throat out and draining him dry.
For the first time in years, a trickle of true fear seeped down his spine.
“What are you thinking, Rhys?” asked Munro softly, bracing himself as Rhys pressed their chests together. There was a time when he would have desired the position, but now it only brought him regret.
It was a regret that he had never been able to love Rhys the way he deserved. At first, it had been lust and a defined fascination that kept him going back for more. That lasted just long enough to have Rhys completely hooked and devoted to him. It was too late by then to simply part ways.
“Perhaps Corby was right,” said Rhys, his voice a low hiss. “And you only killed him to protect your reputation. You’re failing us, Munro.” He lowered his mouth to Munro’s neck, dragging his teeth over the sensitive column.
Munro fought the urge to tense—to run, refusing to show anything that could be considered weakness. Rhys had bitten him so many times, but this was the first time it had been a threat. Munro’s skin prickled at it, his fury reigniting.
“I believe our time together is over,” said Munro, his voice steadier than the quivering in his chest. “Thank you for your companionship, Rhys, but it is no longer required.”
Rhys drew back as if he’d been slapped, his face drained pale in an instant. He opened and closed his mouth as his eyes shimmered. “I didn’t— Munro… Covi.”
Munro shook his head, cutting off any further protests. His chest ached, centuries of their time together coming to an abrupt close. It wouldn’t work to simply let Rhys down gently like he deserved. He would just come crawling back—seeking the only unchanged thing in his life.
“I am no longer your leader, Rhys.” Munro straightened himself, a hand to Rhys’ chest, holding him away. “Find another murder that will welcome you in. You are no longer welcome here.” He dropped his voice, letting a growl seep into his tone. “And if you touch anything that belongs to me…? Well, I don’t believe I need to explain what will happen to you.”