Chapter Nineteen
Munro
He’d never thought there would be a day that he hated the scent of tea. Calming blues and the smudges of black leaves had nothing on Hollen’s scent that still lingered.
Munro paced the kitchen, glaring at Sean every time he moved past the empty sink and counters. A whole night had been ruined, food put to waste and expensive steeps poured down the drain. He couldn’t give a shit.
Hollen’s words kept resounding in his head. Were they done? Would he ever see him again? It didn’t seem like it. And he couldn’t pinpoint the second it all went wrong. I should have kept my teeth to myself.
Sean ignored him as he swept by again, prepping for tomorrow’s menu while sighing over the loss of today’s. He flipped through a worn book, white pages faded to yellow and spots with dried moisture crinkling the page.
No one had returned after Munro had kicked them out the door, a few stragglers quickly turning away when they saw the empty interior. No one had questioned him, and he wasn’t sure if that was worse.
There was no Rhys at his side to point out the obvious flaws in whatever plan he’d been fooling himself with. There was no one to hear him out—a thousand at his command, but not a single ear at his disposal.
“If you keep pacing like that, I’m going to get dizzy,” Sean didn’t look up from his notes, squinting at the lines of a recipe before scribbling a few words next to it.
Munro growled under his breath, the sound thudding in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was anger or guilt coursing through him, but it turned his stomach, every scrap of food around the kitchen souring as he looked at it.
“With that kind of growl, it sounds like we now have werewolves in the kitchen. I never thought I’d see the day.” Sean rolled his eyes. “The kid will be fine as long as you keep your pointy teeth away from him. What’s the issue?” He let out a deep sigh. “He’ll come back.”
Will he? An ache seized his chest. “He was afraid of me.” He paced the length of the kitchen again. “Rhys has had him in his hands before, ready to rip his throat out, and he wasn’t afraid then. I stopped an entire room of vampires from feasting on him…”
“You’re a scary guy.” Sean let out a sigh. “I used to be scared of you, too.”
Munro leaned against the wall, shuddering against the cold. Sean had shown up like a whirlwind one day when his family had settled in town, pitching Munro his idea and not taking no for an answer. There was no way he’d ever been afraid.
“He was so weak.” Munro lowered his head into his hands. “It was only a few sips, but I lost myself for a moment. I don’t remember taking more, but what if…” He trailed off, biting his lip. His canine sliced through the skin of his lip easily, the sting grounding him. It was healed in an instant, but not before copper bloomed over his taste buds.
Hollen’s taste was so mingled with his own that it was hardly noticeable. It didn’t stop him from running his tongue over the spot, seeking more, even after his skin was knitted closed.
“I know it’s easy for you guys to get carried away sometimes, but you didn’t kill him. For what it’s worth, I’ve never seen you lose control.” Sean turned, grabbing a bowl and a handful of spices.
Munro shook his head. Here he was, the oldest vampire in the world with family stretched across the continents, and he was taking advice from someone he could eat. His chest pulled tighter, his breath catching in his throat.
“Have you guys considered that it might be because of George?” asked Sean. “I don’t know much about the whole situation, but I feel like that could be hard on a guy.”
Munro blinked, every bit of guilt sharpening into pure rage. That name was something that needed to be abolished off the planet. Children would need to be renamed, and adults would have to flee because otherwise they were risking his wrath.
“What does he have to do with it?” asked Munro. He clenched his fist, trying not to let another growl escape. When he heard that name, he pictured a man not so different from himself, his hands on Hollen’s naked skin and sharp words in his mind. No time would be too soon to end him.
Sean shrugged, turning away. “It was just a thought. Forget I said anything. It’s Hollen’s business, not mine.”
No. Munro snapped, closing the space between them and grabbing at Sean’s white uniform top. With a growl, he spun Sean around, baring his fangs as he leaned in. Sean’s heart fluttered, pulsing blood through the delicate veins and arteries in his neck. It bloomed against the surface, thudding with each beat.
He never saw Sean’s fist coming. His jaw sparked with pain as Sean threw the punch directly against his teeth, the skin of his knuckles bursting open as they scraped against the sharp points. Blood rushed between them, tainting the air in seconds.
Sickly cilantro, so thick that it was as if a bushel of the plant were in his mouth, rushed into Munro’s throat as he reeled back, gagging at the overwhelming taste. He choked, his stomach clenching as his body instantly tried to reject the liquid that could never be called sustenance.
He went to his knees, the lingering taste pushing drool from his lips.
“Sorry, boss,” said Sean, shaking out his hand toward Munro and sending the putrid drops flying. Tea and spices ceased to exist as everything was coated with the essence of such a vile weed.
Sean grabbed the nearest dish cloth, wrapping it around his hand. “I didn’t expect you to get up in my space like that.” He didn’t seem that sorry, a small smile on his lips as he wrapped his hand tighter. “But I’m going to fight dirty if you are. I’m assuming you have the same gene every vampire does that makes cilantro taste like soap? Betcha didn’t know I make sure to eat the stuff every day.”
Munro gagged again, the taste weaved between the roots of his teeth. It was awful, vile and completely overwhelming.
The bleeding had almost stopped by the time Sean grabbed the first-aid kit, wrapping his knuckles with gauze before grabbing a glove and turning back to his spice bowl as if nothing had happened. All the blood had landed on Munro in tiny droplets, with only one speck going astray to land on the floor of the kitchen. The room reeked of it.
“Apologies.” Munro ground the word out, gasping between gags. Any strong tastes could affect someone’s blood, like garlic or onions. But cilantro always seemed to be the worst, nearly incapacitating with its soap-like qualities.
“It’s okay. You’re worried.” Sean let out a hum, grabbing one bag of a red spice that had fire licking through the scent.
Munro struggled to his feet before stumbling to the sink and ducking his face under the cold water. He let it run through his mouth until the worst of the taste was gone, replaced with the subtle metallic glint of the pipes. When he faltered back, he was nearly drenched, the blood on his shirt diluted under the cold water, along with most of the scent. It chilled him instantly, turning his movements into sluggish delays.
“Tell me why you think George is involved,” said Munro, trying to keep his voice steady through the worry and repulsion. “If he’s hurting Hollen, I need to put a stop to it.”
“Well, I guess he has to be involved, doesn’t he?” Sean tilted his head, looking to the ceiling as if in confusion. “If the guy is stuck in Hollen’s head, he’s got to live off something . I’m not going to pretend I know exactly how that works, though.” He shrugged.
“In his head?” Munro furrowed his forehead. It didn’t make any sense. From the way Hollen talked about him, he’d assume George was a friend—an overbearing one who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
“Hollen called him a demon…said he was possessed and all that.” Sean waved his hand. “If he wasn’t such a level guy, I’d be worried for his sanity.”
The air seemed to leave the room as Munro’s world dropped out from under him, his stomach flipping as the blood seemed to grind to a dry halt inside his skin.
“A d-demon?” Munro had to lock his knees so he didn’t slide to the floor. Demons were the worst plague that could have ever happened to the world. They were worse than a feral vampire who drained every person they came into contact with—or a faerie who had lost its family. Sucking the life from everything they touched, a demon would only grow stronger, until all that was left behind of their host was a lifeless hull.
“Fuck.” Munro shook his head.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear, boss.” Sean glanced his way, his eyes wide.
Munro grabbed the nearest plate, throwing it hard against the opposite wall. Delicate china shattered into a thousand pieces, Sean jumping out of the way as the shrapnel dotted over the ground. “ Fuck!”
“Whoa.” Sean backed away, skirting along the edges of the kitchen until he was the closest to the exit.
“It makes sense.” Munro dragged a hand through his hair, jerking the tangled bits free from his scalp. “That’s why he tasted so good.” Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Because of the demon?”
Munro shook his head. “Call it an evolutionary quirk, an act of mercy, survival of the fittest—whatever you want.” He let out a humorless huff. He was empty— completely drained. “When someone is close to death, it often calls to a vampire, luring us in to take just too much.”
His chest cracked wide, the ache so deep he could scarcely stand it. “Hollen tastes so good because he’s dying. George is killing him, and he’s close, barely teetering on the edge. If I had taken one more sip, it would have been everything he had to give.”
Sean’s eyes went wide. “Oh shit.” His spices were abandoned, the recipe book slipping closed. “What the hell do we do?”
“Nothing.” Munro closed his eyes, letting his head thud against the wall. All his strength and years were for nothing. The thirty-two university degrees and properties in every part of the world meant little next to the absolute darkness ahead for Hollen. The desperation was almost enough to push him into an eternal sleep.
“You can’t mean that,” said Sean. Munro opened his eyes as Sean crossed his arms, his jaw set. “I thought you liked Hollen. Hell, the kid is great, and you’re just going to give up like that? Figure out a way to get the demon out of his head, and he’ll be just fine. You gotta be a couple hundred years old, so I’m sure you know how to deal with things like this. Take it one step at a time.”
You poor, naive little creature.
The rest of Hollen’s life would be a sad existence of exhaustion that would approach delusion until he finally snapped and slipped away. Once he did, his body would follow, but not before the demon would wear his bones and skin like a suit. If it was strong enough, the demon would rebuild itself, taking on Hollen’s form until it found a better one to possess. It would eventually find another host—person, vampire, faerie—whichever was the best match.
“I’ve taken care of a demon before,” said Munro, letting out a shaky breath. His pressed suit was stained and ruffled, but for once, he didn’t care. Let him look just as worn as his life.
“Good.” Sean seemed to relax. “You should be a pro, then.”
“One would think,” Munro said softly. He had to leave. One more sniff of cilantro and he was going to curl up on the floor. “He killed most of my family before I managed to bind him with the help of a magician.”
“I didn’t realize magic was real,” said Sean, looking at his hand. A bit of blood had seeped through the gauze, staining the inside of the glove. The smell was overwhelming. “It makes sense, though. Vampires, werewolves, and faeries do seem a bit magical.”
Munro let out a laugh. It was high and without an ounce of humor to it, approaching hysterical as Sean took a step back.
“That’s the best part.” Munro’s laugh turned into a sob, his voice cracking. “As soon as I bound that bastard, I drained the magician dry so no one would ever be able to reverse the binding. He was the last of his kind—a dead breed to a lost race.”
Karma’s a bitch. It was all coming to a head—every mistake and poor choice he’d made in his life—the people he’d let die that night, to the wrong ones he’d let live, their faces permanent in his memory.
“I won’t stand a chance alone.”