Page 51 of A Sip of Sin

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 offsomething. 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 takejusttoo 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.”

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