Chapter Twenty-Nine
One Month Later
Hollen
Hollen balanced the tray of sweet desserts on one hand, a small decorative cup scrawled with flowers in the other. The spices of the night filled the air with fresh orange zest and cinnamon, candied bacon atop the most unsuspecting of the desserts.
His mouth watered at the smell, but his stomach didn’t rumble. When he’d tried the treats earlier, the taste had bloomed over his senses, better than he could remember anything tasting, save one thing that he’d sampled frequently over the last month.
Munro was leaning against the wall in the warm kitchen, his arms crossed as Sean worked away at a thick dough he’d been shaping into cookies. They had a full house and crew, each influenced in little ways to forget who exactly was writing their paychecks.
The secrets grated on him more than anything else, threatening to pour from his throat any moment. But who would he tell? Adair was quieter than ever, frequently staying at his grandmother’s or spending long hours dancing. Hollen had tried to speak with him about it, but Adair always shook his head. They both had their own secrets to keep now.
“You know what will happen now if you are exposed—what will happen to us? They will hunt you down, and I’m no longer strong enough to stop them.” Munro had said those words to him after he’d finally healed from the gaping wound in his chest, what little remained of his own blood squeezed from his very body and replaced by Munro’s.
It wasn’t the way he’d envisioned Munro inside him again. There were so many better ways that didn’t hurt quite so much. The scars on his chest still ached every day, especially when his stomach growled.
Delivering his plate quickly, he headed back to the kitchen, throwing his arms around Munro’s neck as soon as he was close enough. No one gave them a second glance, Sean shaking his head with a soft chuckle on his lips as he worked away. A frown tugged at Munro’s lips as he settled his hands on Hollen’s hips.
“Are you hungry?” asked Munro, kissing the top of Hollen’s head. His breath lingered in Hollen’s hair, spices soaking into him. “You don’t have to serve them, my love. Come to bed with me instead.”
Hollen nodded his head, placing a peck on Munro’s cheek. He kept his hands to himself in the busy place, even if most of them weren’t really watching. Their eyes were unseeing, tea the only thing on their minds.
There were a few perks to having a vampire as his boyfriend, especially when the same blood flowed through his veins.
For one, they could feed from each other for hours, taking little sips as they made love. It sated Hollen’s hunger, heat building within him until he couldn’t resist and longer, tilting his head and letting Munro take his fill. There was nothing quite like perching on Munro’s cock with teeth piercing his neck.
The other benefit was that they could lie awake with one another, speaking of nothing for hours. Sometimes Hollen would doze, but he rarely slept for long stretches anymore. The only day he’d managed a full eight hours was when an eclipse had kept them indoors.
Hollen grinned, trailing his nose over Munro’s neck. “It’s my night tonight. Adair is home—he was going to make us pizza.” Hollen grinned, slipping into Munro’s arms and turning to watch the bustling kitchen. He’d started to love the place, from the quiet patrons to Sean, who had swung his fist into Munro’s face when he’d first discovered what had happened to Hollen.
“I thought vampires were born, not made. What the fuck?” Sean hadn’t stopped swearing, even when Munro had taken the first hit, along with a second.
“So naive.” Munro had shaken his head, accepting the punches as if they were a mere annoyance.
Sometimes it still startled Hollen to think that Munro had split his power to save his life. Next to Munro, Hollen was the most powerful vampire in the world. Munro had knowledge and centuries on his side, but Hollen’s talents soared.
Infiltrating minds was easier than breathing, and he was stronger than he thought possible. His teeth were razor sharp, and biting his lip was more than an innocent inconvenience now.
The best part was transforming. Becoming a crow, or disappearing in a whirl of feathers, was amazing, but it was nothing to flying for the first time. He hadn’t quite been able to echo Munro’s wings, his own feathers tainted silver instead of straight black like Munro’s.
“Let’s go.” Munro took one last look around before ushering Hollen outside and sprouting feathers right there. Hollen followed suit, floating above the buildings as if he’d been born for it. Munro still kept a close eye, hovering near him in case a sudden wind gust caught him off guard.
When they collapsed on the couch in Hollen’s apartment, orange zest still clinging to his clothes, Hollen let out a sigh. He rarely locked the door anymore when he was home, keeping tabs on everyone in the building if he simply stretched his mind out and reached . At first, it had been overwhelming, and a little gross, but he’d figured out who to avoid and when.
Adair peeked his head out of his room, waving to them both as he headed to the kitchen. “Hey guys. You’re early.”
He didn’t look at them, averting his eyes and keeping his gaze locked on his path.
Hollen swallowed, shifting on the couch. “You okay?”
Adair only gave him a stilted nod.
The first week after their return had been hard for Hollen, but Adair had seemed to take it far worse. Sometimes Hollen saw Adair staring at his hands, as if expecting tattoos to appear out of nothing. There were some nights that Hollen looked for them, too.
Hollen dreaded the silence, the reassuring presence of George in his mind gone forever. When Adair left for days, Hollen would play music as loud as he could when he was alone, spending the rest of his time with Munro just so he didn’t have to hear the quiet.
“Let me know if I can help,” called Hollen, snuggling closer to Munro when Adair didn’t answer. When his friend was ready to talk, he would be there with open ears.
“Here,” Hollen grabbed for the remote, flicking the television on so the news could drone in the background. The breaking news banner didn’t catch his attention at first, but the frantic voice of the reporter did. There was always something going on in the world, but so little of it affected his small bubble.
The lady on screen was pale, her red lips pressed tight. “ Some viewers may find these images disturbing. Viewer discretion is advised.”
Hollen pressed his face into Munro’s chest, inhaling deeply. He could never get enough of him—not before and not now. Munro wrapped an arm around his waist even as he stiffened, his gaze caught on the screen.
“Rhys.”
Hollen snapped up, whirling on the picture. The lady had disappeared, his heart thudding in his chest at the new image.
There was Rhys with a crisp silk shirt clinging to his thick frame. One sleeve was long, but the blackened tips of his fingers poked out, still seeming charred and fresh. His eyes were relaxed, a grin on his lips as he lounged on a leather chair.
“Welcome,” said Rhys, his smile spreading and shifting in the darkness. There was little light, shadows taking up most of the screen. The man at his feet was naked and shivering, blurred lines across the screen obscuring most of his face and exposed body. There were tears on his face as he whimpered, cringing at the sound of Rhys’ voice.
“You may recognize the man at my feet…or perhaps not.” There were gaps in Rhys’ grin as he spoke, the memory of yanking those teeth out splashing through Hollen’s vision.
“Perhaps they will use technology so he will stay anonymous, denying you the same pleasure as myself.” Rhys reached for the man, petting the top of his head. There was a glint in his eyes, the top of his lip curling. “What you may not know is that this man is a murderer.”
Rhys grabbed the man’s hair, tugging him to his knees and exposing his throat. The thick lines of his neck bulged, his chest rising and falling fast. He scrambled as he tried to cover the blurred bits of himself, but Rhys only laughed, shaking him from his grip. The man moved like a wicked puppet, unable to free himself.
“Tell them what you did,” said Rhys, his voice soft. Hollen recognized that tone. It was the same one Rhys had once tried to use on him—one that he could use himself now to influence another’s mind.
“I killed them,” said the man, his teeth chattering as he said it. “The girls.”
“Hmm.” Rhys shook him by the hold on his hair, the man’s body flinching about as if he weighed very little. “You have to give us more than that. Tell them about what kind of monster you really are.”
The man sobbed as his story spilled from his lips, his confession of killing close to forty preteen girls making Hollen’s stomach curl and bile rise in his throat. Every word was the truth, Rhys’ hold on the man absolute.
Rhys sat back on his worn chair that he made look more like a throne, dragging the man into his lap with him.
“I fear, I have a confession of my own,” said Rhys, tilting the man’s head back until it bulged, on the verge of breaking his neck. “I’m not very forgiving.”
He lunged for the man’s throat, slicing into him with his remaining teeth a moment before the video cut off, revealing the pale face of the reporter once more.
The reporter cleared her throat, her hands trembling as she clutched at a few papers before her. “A report from our source within the police department has confirmed that the man in the video has turned himself into custody. They’ve confirmed reports that he is not human. This report was released before government officials stormed the police department. The man apparently disappeared…”
Hollen’s ears were buzzing, his voice caught in his throat. Rhys…you bastard.
He startled as Munro threw his head back, his laugh echoing through the apartment. Hollen stared at him, his eyes wide.
“There is no wrath like a lover scorned,” said Munro, the lines at his eyes going deep. He shook his head, a hand on Hollen’s leg—squeezing tight. “So it begins.”