Page 13 of A Sip of Sin

“Holy hell,” he said, ducking into the closest alley and leaning against the wall for support. The lamppost at the end gave him the only light to see by, turning every tiny thing into wicked shadows.

His chest heaved, his stomach churning as the taste of bile rose in his throat. He turned his head to the side, waiting for it to pass. The blood had dried on his face in a sticky film, but he could see the dark shadow on his clothes that was definitely never coming out.

“I told you to run,” said George, his voice soft like he’d hadn’t just tried to break Hollen’s skull in two. Even though he was quieter now, the words still sent an ache through him, the synapses aching as if they’d been burned.

“Yeah, but ask nicely next time,” said Hollen, scrubbing at his face and trying to scratch some of the blood away. Pulling his shirt over his head, he wiped his face down before tossing it to the closest dumpster. “And just for that, I’m applying at that other pizza place next.”

George grumbled, shifting behind Hollen’s eyes. “Just take us home.”

Chapter Six

Munro

Huh.Munro watched Hollen disappear through the door, the scent of blood lingering, even as his presence faded.

Hollen had seemed so bland—so absolutely O-positive that Munro had wondered if he was even worth more than a brief amusement a feeding would resolve. It wasn’t that he liked to play with his food, but excitement kept the boredom and monotony at bay. It also helped him keep in touch as the centuries folded behind him.

But his blood…Jesus.He’d never smelled anything like it, saliva bursting in his mouth as his gutlongedfor a taste. He’d simultaneously wanted to destroy and consume, a few drops soaking the room in crimson smoke. There was power in blood, and Hollen absolutely reeked of it.

The others had felt it, too, their reactions a touch slower than Rhys’. All but Corby had halted the moment Munro had shown his attention. A claim over something that sweet meant more than the bonds of time and loyalty.

It was his business, after all—his city, his world. And even if they didn’t understand his intentions, insisting on bickering in the basement like crooked politicians, they were still nothing to him. Rhys was probably the only one in the room who knew the pure extent of that claim, the veins at his temples bulging as he strained to control himself.

Munro licked his lips, tightening his grip on Corby’s throat as he writhed and twisted. He wasn’t struggling to get away, too drawn to the few drops of blood that had been left on the floor that shone from the latest cleaning. The drops dimmed as they started to dry, losing their vibrance but none of their appeal.

Munro could imagine himself kneeling to the ground, licking that sweetness from the floor like a starving animal. It would fill his mouth with the taste of copper, maybe giving him a hint of how such a small man could wield something so pure and alluring.

Better yet, he could follow the trail back to the source, draining Hollen until he was an empty rind that could be tossed away. Munro would be filled to the brim, every cell saturated in that pure vibrance.

It wouldn’t be an easy task to get away with. Hollen had mentioned friends and had broken his hypnotism with shattering ease, throwing his grip off with a staggering force that was hidden within a small frame and green eyes. Hecoulddestroy them all—every acquaintance and person who had ever laid eyes on Hollen, wiping him from existence to get his fix.

But in today’s world, that was next to impossible.

“Covi,” said Rhys, drawing Munro from his thoughts. He was on his knees, cradling his arm against his chest with his forehead lined with discomfort. Corby had thrown him hard—hard enough to shatter bone and break skin, apparently. Blood dripped from Rhys’ forehead in a sluggish race, stark against the paleness of his skin.

It was the same blood that Munro had given him not long before, the essence of it dimmed and absorbed.

“Does anyone have anything to say?” asked Munro, dragging his eyes away from the door. The meeting had gone on without him as he’d followed Hollen around upstairs, correcting everymistake he’d seen. Perhaps he should have attended, though, when words had obviously been so quick to become mutinous.

Kail had the intelligence to look uncomfortable, while Victoria had the flush of rage on her cheeks. She had always been full of fire, so much like her maker Tess. When Tess was out in the world seeking more realistic truths, Victoria guarded her seat better than Munro could ask for himself. But with fire, sometimes came poor choices.

The tension in the room thickened, his followers—hismurder—looking anywhere but at him. He’d collected them over the centuries from every continent, spreading his lineage in a way that diluted it with every year. The newest ones had only a hint of his power—not that they knew that.Perhaps it’s time for a reminder?

“What was he?” asked Rhys, staggering and wiping the blood from his face with the edge of his torn robe. He was naked underneath, the curves and hardened flesh drawing Munro in. Perhaps it was the blood in the air, or Rhys’, but his hunger was difficult to restrain when all he could think about was plunging his teeth into a willing victim as he showed them what true pleasure was.

“Hmm.” Munro sucked in one last breath through his nose, basking in the taint of the air.No more.He was so close to losing himself to reckless drunkenness, tracking Hollen down wherever he had fled to.

When he finally grasped his control, he strolled toward the antlered throne, dragging Corby with every step. He could throw Corby on the very table Hollen had found himself on, watching his strength and power be sucked from his limbs by the magic that was bound to the stone.

There was more than one method of torture in the room, but the table was one of the worst. The cold could suck the very will to move from a vampire, leaving them paralyzed as theirfate was met. For others, their soul could be plucked from their body, imprinting on the table as another white line. There was an uncountable number of them already on the surface, locked away until someone with true magic released them.

Luckily, magic had died out centuries ago.

The table was too good of a death for Corby, his words still ringing in Munro’s ears. Disagreements were how progress was made, but Corby had obviously lost his way. Mutiny and disobedience were some of the few things that could put a time limit on a vampire’s life.

Munro quickened his pace, his nails breaking skin as Corby clawed at him. Corby’s feet skidded over the ground as he kicked out, obviously trying to reach for something or someone to grasp on to, probably thinking that someone would stand up for him and risk their own life to save his.

He stilled as they approached the antlered throne and Munro gently set him upon it, whispering soothingly as he nudged Corby to settle onto the surface. Corby’s eyes were wide, utter terror echoed in them, his chest rising and falling in quick pants.

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