Chapter Twenty
Hollen
“Am I hungover?” Hollen let out a groan, his voice cracking halfway through. His mouth was bone dry, every muscle aching with a pounding in his head that was second to none.
He cracked his eyes open, wincing at the too-bright light filtering through the sole window of his bedroom. He’d expected wood, not the dusty gray paint and faded pictures of his own bedroom. Munro’s calming scent was missing, replaced with laundry detergent and the litter box in the corner.
He couldn’t help but be a little disappointed. The nights he’d spent with Munro were some of the best of his life, even if he couldn’t recall exactly what had happened the night before. They must’ve kissed again—possibly more after Munro had sent Rhys away, the missing hours lost to pleasure.
“Shit. What time is it?” He rolled out of bed, grunting as he placed his feet on the carpet and steadied himself. At one point, he was sure the carpet had been plush and maybe even white, but now it was a flat gray thing that barely cushioned the concrete and wood beneath.
A shiver racked his body, his stomach grumbling. As he stumbled to the window, he realized that it wasn’t the sun filtering in, but a light from the apartment building that banished shadows from the front stoop. Usually, he would keep his blinds shut to ward off the yellow pest, but he must’ve forgotten to do that the night before, too.
George stirred, already tucked just under the top layer of his skin. He was everywhere, his warmth easing the aches of each muscle. “ It’s late .” His voice was so loud, as if he were whispering against Hollen’s ear and not from inside his head.
The headache sharpened, and he clutched at the wall. “I feel like crap.” Hollen lowered his face into his hands. “Last night…what happened?”
He racked his brain, but other than a few flashes of taking tea to tables and Rhys showing up, there was only darkness. He had the strangest recollection of drowning, but that was impossible. “I don’t remember much after Rhys showed up. I don’t even know if I finished my shift.”
His brain was decidedly blank, a few hours missing with nothing to replace them. Maybe his memories were hidden just behind his headache—or maybe they would come back when he wasn’t so exhausted. “It must’ve been a late night.” He cracked a yawn.
“ You’re getting weaker ,” said George softly. “ The bite is still taking its toll. You need to stay in bed .”
“Nah.” Hollen waved his hand. There was too much to do and too many bills to pay to think about wasting a day in bed. “I’ll be fine after a shower.” The heat would do wonders for his muscles, as long as Adair hadn’t gotten there first.
George tugged something in his chest, snapping his attention to him. “ Hollen, you can’t .”
Hollen let out a long sigh. “Remember that conversation we had when you first spoke to me?” He smoothed his pajamas over his legs before treading toward the bathroom. “This is my body—not yours. You can offer advice, but the final decision is still mine. I’ve been living with myself a lot longer than you have.”
It was hard to think of a time when George wasn’t there, that whisper of a conscience in his ear narrating the most ridiculous parts of his life. It was even more difficult to think of where he would be without George—a different job, life and lover… He didn’t want to know.
“ I’m trying to keep you safe ,” said George.
“Safe is overrated.” Hollen ducked into the bathroom, blinking in the bright light. One look into the mirror and he had to wince away from his reflection. “Okay, so maybe I don’t look the best.” His eyes were sunken and dark, his face pale with a few streaks of red where the imprint of his pillow remained. “At least I’ll match my uniform.”
“Hollen, baby, are you in there?” Adair called through the bathroom door. A moment later he was turning the knob and letting himself in. Hollen leaned heavily against the sink, dreading the moment Adair saw him. It was tricky enough to hide how desperate their situation was without Adair seeing him like this.
Adair was stunning, with his golden skin and bright eyes, even in baggy track pants and a tight top that was fresh and smelling of laundry detergent. His hair was pulled back as if he were ready to head out. Sometimes his dance practices would run late, especially with more upcoming competitions.
“Hollen?” Adair traced his gaze up and down. “Is that you?”
“Umm…yeah?” Hollen blinked in confusion before glancing down at himself. It was the same scrawny body he’d expected to see. “Am I supposed to someone else?”
“I met Gorgo last night, and we had a chat.” Adair shifted, glancing to the side. “He seems nice—crazy, but sweet.”
Where the hell was I when this happened? Hollen racked his brain but came up empty. There was no trip home last night, and certainly nothing after that. “I’m not sure what happened last night.”
He should probably be alarmed, but with exhaustion weighing heavy, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Probably for the best,” said Adair, muttering under his breath. “Well, I just wanted to wish you a good day. I’ll see you later, honey.”
“Bye.” When the words came from his mouth, it wasn’t in Hollen’s usual high tilt, warped instead in George’s baritone that thudded straight from his chest.
Hollen jerked back in time to see something shift across his eyes—his green flashing to yellow before turning back again. He could have sworn that there were tattoos on skin, gone before he was certain they were even there.
That was different. He looked at his hands, but they still looked and felt like his, his fingers curling without delay. George was simmering beneath his skin, stuck to every part of him.
“Oh.” Adair’s eye went wide, his cheeks flushing red. “Hi, Gorgo.”
“Hello, Adair.” Hollen’s hand moved seemingly on its own, grasping Adair’s and bringing it to his lips. He hesitated before placing a kiss on his knuckles. When he let go, the warmth of Adair’s hand lingered.
Adair was tinted red when he turned away, clutching his hand to his chest. “Have a great day, you two.”
“Yeah,” said Hollen, his own voice weak as he clutched the sink. His knees seemed ready to buckle with how much they were wobbling, the muscles aching and strained.
He waited for Adair to disappear and the sound of the front door opening and closing. “What the hell was that? You guys better not have fucked last night. That is not okay, George.”
“ We didn’t ,” said George, Hollen’s skin prickling and his fingers tingling. He wasn’t sure if it was out loud or in his head. “ I simply introduced myself .”
“You’re an asshole.” Hollen quirked his lips. The porcelain was freezing, sucking the last of Adair’s warmth from his skin. Even when he started the shower, the water still seemed chilled. Unsteadily, he washed himself, pulling his uniform on after he was dry before heading out the door.
He hadn’t gotten Munro’s number. He doubted he even had one, so he wasn’t able to give him a warning that it was long after opening by the time he made it to the street. A few lights were on, the sidewalk damp from a recent rain that he couldn’t recall.
The walk to work was a blur, most of the buses having delayed routes since most of rush-hour traffic was over. His stomach rumbled along the way, and he realized he hadn’t eaten anything in a long time. When he mentioned it to George, a soothing warmth filled his belly, his hunger fading away to nothing.
“It’s a beautiful night,” said Hollen, grasping the door to the teahouse and leaning against the handle. The sun was gone, but the warmth of it remained, adding to the dampness that hovered over the sidewalks. There were four cars parked in front of the teahouse. The red lettering on the foreign plates caught his eye.
He shrugged, running his hands through his hair before he stepped inside. Pure heat and spices washed over his skin, settling deep into his weary bones. The air inside was even thicker than the approaching fog at his back, countless murmurs filling the air.
Every table was filled, each chair occupied with other vampires looming at the edges of the room. Some he recognized from the regulars who had been there the few nights he’d worked, and others had been part of that terrifying night in the throne room.
The tables themselves had nothing on them but a few scattered bits of paper and pens. One woman dressed in red velvet had a silver dagger before her, the blade glinting in the light.
Am I early or late? Sean must’ve been putting the last of the menu together or changing it to suit Munro’s critiques. But that didn’t explain the packed room or why the conversation was dimming as he was noticed, eyes flitting his way and not wavering.
A thread of pure terror cut through him, his every sense on high alert. The last time vampires had looked at him like that, he’d been on the antipasto menu.
“Is that him?” a man seated near the middle of the room asked, curling his lip as he looked Hollen up and down. He scrunched his nose in obvious disgust as he flicked his tongue over his teeth. The sharp points were unmistakable as anything but vampire.
“What’s going on, George?” Hollen whispered, backing against the closed door. It was thick and firm against his back, as if it were solid steel and not wood. His clothes were flimsy against his sweaty skin. “Where’s Munro?” His voice was muted, barely making it past his own lips. There was bright hostility in so many gazes, but there was no Munro or the comforting iciness of his eyes.
All those nights ago Hollen had almost lost his life to them, with Rhys at the lead. Even with Rhys gone, their gazes were no less hungry. He clenched his hands into fists.
“ I don’t know ,” said George, his voice loud in Hollen’s ear and sending a shiver of nerves over the back of his neck. “ We should leave, Hollen .”
“Not without Munro.” This was his teahouse. If he was hurt somewhere or if his followers had rebelled and bound him to that icy table, he couldn’t leave him behind.
His breath caught as Munro stepped into the dining room, the vampires parting around him without a word. Instead of his usual suit, he wore red tonight, the fabric shimmering in the low light of the teahouse. If there was blood dripping into the collar of his neck, Hollen wouldn’t have been able to spot it against the dark vermillion.
He still smelled of the same spices as he paused in front of Hollen, the air practically saturated in it. That soothing scent called to a base part of him that had no worries about money or hungry stares. It was the same part that made him want to pull Munro in for a kiss, despite the audience.
“What’s going on?” asked Hollen, clutching the door as his knees went weak, the shaky adrenaline hitting him hard. It was easy to forget about the others as Munro stepped closer, touching his chin with cool fingertips.
“How could I be so blind?” asked Munro, his gaze almost sad. “You’re right there—on the edge, and I never even saw it.”
“Munro—” Hollen started, but Munro cut him off as his grip went tight on his chin.
“Tell me about George.”
Hollen swallowed, his eyes watering as he held Munro’s gaze. Munro’s fingers dug into his chin, too strong to tear away from. Those icy eyes were colder than he’d ever seen—colder than the day they’d met.
This wasn’t the same man who had made love to him or the one who tugged at Hollen’s heart strings. Behind those lips was someone who could kill Hollen with a single bite.
“I can’t,” said Hollen. George’s presence flared beneath his skin, a shadow slipping over his flesh. He was so close to the surface right now and barely hidden beneath his knitted consciousness.
“Was it George this whole time?” asked Munro, lowering his hand to wrap loosely around Hollen’s neck. “As we grew closer and when we kissed—when I brought you into my bed, was that George I was giving myself to?”
Hollen shook his head, swallowing against the pressure on his neck that threatened to end him. He could scarcely breathe through the tightness in his chest, his heart pounding. There was a shuffling of cloth as others moved silently behind, their shapes flickering over Munro’s shoulder.
“No. Munro, please believe me. That was always me. George is…” Hollen trailed off. He’d already said too much if the growling in his head was anything to go by. George had never had a problem with him telling anyone, but Munro was different. “He’s my friend.”
“Your friend? ” Munro’s face flickered, his brows shooting nearly into his hairline. “He’s a demon.”
Hollen shivered. It was the same thing that had happened before with every other job, but this time Munro didn’t think he was crazy . “And you’re a vampire. I don’t hold that against you, but if you have a problem with him, then you have a problem with me.”
“Hollen.” Munro’s face softened, his icy stare gaining a touch of warmth. “Tell me about him.” He loosened his hold, letting Hollen suck in a quick breath.
“George?” Hollen raised his voice when there was no answer. He could feel George there like a black, impenetrable wall. He seemed to shimmer with the effort of holding himself back, the tendrils of his strength growing and wrapping around Hollen’s chest like iron bars. There was a warmth to the tendrils, only it wasn’t soothing this time.
“ Tell your boytoy to fuck off ,” said George, his voice resounding inside Hollen’s skull. “ You belong to me .” The bars tightened until they were bound closer than the hand on his neck. “ You’re mine, and I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe .”
“Hollen,” Munro said soothingly, the very opposite of the screaming vowels in his head. He stroked his thumb over Hollen’s pulse, sending a shiver over his nerves. “I just want to help you.”
Hollen jerked away, breaking Munro’s grip with surprise more than strength. His head was fuzzy, his nose burning as the smell of his own blood overwhelmed him. He could see it in the way that Munro’s pupil’s dilated that he could smell it too, only in Munro it unleashed a starving beast.
“What are they here for?” asked Hollen, his voice so small in the room that he wondered if he might melt away. The others loomed close to Munro—men, women, but all of them predators.
“For George.” Munro looked over his shoulder, tension running through his limbs. Hollen braced himself.
“I can’t let you hurt him,” said Hollen, clutching at his chest. His heart was beating so hard it hurt, the ache spreading along his ribs. “He’s my friend.”
Munro narrowed his eyes before curling his lips over his teeth. He’d never looked quite so lethal—a predator more than a lover. Fear trickled over his nerves, wrapping around George and holding them both tight.
“He’s not your friend, Hollen.” Munro closed the space between them, pressing Hollen’s shoulders to the door and pinning him in place. The wood creaked from the strain, Hollen wincing under the touch. “He doesn’t care for you.”
Yes, he does. George was the one who looked both ways before they crossed the street and helped him get back up every time he was thrown down. George had instincts primed to keep them both safe. George had even offered to leave a dozen times, but Hollen had refused, terrified of the gaping wound he was sure to leave behind.
“I don’t believe you.” Hollen let out a hiss, trying to break away, but he was too weak. Munro’s hands must’ve been made of pure titanium—unbreakable and cold. A few others shifted, the chairs nearly vacated as they moved closer. There was a coldness to their beings that made the hairs prickle over his body.
“I wish you did.” Munro lowered his gaze, staring at Hollen’s lips. “I would never be able to describe the depth of my feelings for you—not with every language I have learned over the centuries. Know that I would kill for you and end it all just to see you thrive. Right now, all I can see is your demise, and it’s breaking me.” Munro shifted his gaze, his eyes shiny as his lips went tight.
One vampire behind stepped forward, his hair so dark that it shone blue. “Just kill him and be done with it.” Munro jerked at the voice, snarling as he turned on them. “I didn’t drive for twenty hours just to watch you lose your nerve.”
Hollen closed his eyes as George reared up, and he felt something slip within him. Munro’s hands faded away, the touch a distant echo of hurt and betrayal.
The sensation of falling down a dark tube was so familiar that he knew it had happened before. Flashes of blood and screams swept over his memory—of Goerge plucking Rhys’ teeth from his mouth and of the black fire that had consumed Rhys’ hand.
When he opened his eyes, he knew it wasn’t himself that Munro was seeing, but George.