Page 5 of A Sip of Sin

The couple at the nearest table looked their way, one of them taking a sip of their tea with their eyes trained on Munro. Their conversation was hushed, but Hollen could grasp the gist of the unhappy tones. It was probably politics or maybe their displeasure about having a soaking stranger lingering in the entrance.

“That sounds like him,” said Munro, a small smile briefly passing over his lips. It lit up his eyes, some of the coldness seeping away. “I’m surprised he mentioned my name at all. We don’t see eye to eye on a great many things.” Munro glanced atthe time once more before sliding his watch back into his pocket. “But if he sent you to me, there must be a reason. Come back tomorrow. We open at eight sharp, and I expect you to be on time.”

“Eight in the morning?” Hollen grinned, butterflies bursting in his belly. He didn’t care how much he was going to make or how long orientation would be. He had ajob.

“In the evening,” said Munro, beginning to turn away. “Only the best of the sinners come out after sunset.”

Ugh. Nights.Hollen nodded anyway, reaching his hand out. Munro glanced at it before scoffing and turning away.

Hollen only shrugged, a grin on his face as he escaped back into the storm.A job is a job.

Chapter Three

Munro

Munro cast his gaze toward the door, letting it linger longer than he cared to admit. The soggy version of a young man had retreated long ago, the sodden stains of footsteps fading to a slightly darker shade than the carpet. The scent of wind and rain had remained long after the coolness had faded to the warmth of the tea in his hands.

The cold had always been his enemy—more an inconvenience now after centuries in this climate. He would much rather be slowed by a blizzard than have morbid thirst hit him beneath an unforgiving sun.

The man had seemed so weak, from his soaked clothes to the almost sickly dampness of his scent. But then he’d spotted that spark of defiance and the fury in his gaze that was absolutely unsettling. There had been a flash of power—of absolute darkness—that had drawn him in.

This is a terrible idea.He turned away, ignoring the familiar faces seated at his tables. Some were there to enjoy the same things he did, while others were looking to climb their way in the ranks. The latter would only find disappointment when they realized that he never mixed business with pleasure.

He hoped, at least, that they found some appeal to the smell and taste of fresh bread and spices, the tea slipping down their throats in a way that was satisfying, even if it offered littlesustenance. He usually admired the food, running the bread and filling over his teeth and tasting the subtle nuances before setting it back on the silver platter.

It was about the senses, not the sustenance, and to hell with the waste. He’d gone from riches to times of famine where there had been little to eat except the few sips of a willing victim. But culinary delights and foreign aromatics were where he’d truly thrived in the last century. Blood, in comparison, was dull, albeit necessary.

The tea.He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. The walls weresoakedwith it, herbs and flowers mixed with water to release the astounding concoction. There was a simplicity to it that always amazed him, but when it hit his lips, it opened every horizon.

A simple black tea was almost as good as the sweetest substance that had ever passed through his lips. It brought him back to the days of starvation when survival meant stretching each meal with crushed herbs and warmed water. He never knew how long he’d be waiting for prey to come while his belly rolled.

“Covi.”

Munro blinked his eyes open, turning to the familiar voice before the memories could take him.

Rhys stared back, his wavy hair falling just above his shoulders. He’d changed his clothes, a robe on instead of the shirt, with a tie at his waist keeping it from falling open. His brown eyes were narrowed, locked on Munro’s lips, where he swept a drop of blood clean with his tongue. Munro hadn’t realized he’d nicked himself while staring after his newest employee, so caught up that he hadn’t even asked his name.

Rhys glanced at the busy room, slipping his gaze over the others and dismissing them as he often did. “You seem unsettled.”

Munro hardened his gaze before glancing at the door. He didn’t expect another to walk through it tonight, mortal or not, but if one had found their way in, it could lead to more. He’d protected his establishment on so many levels, but the man had walked through every one, demanding a job.But perhaps that’s why Erie sent him to me.

“Not here,” said Munro, thinning his lips. There was a time and a place for discussion, but Rhys had never had the skill to know when or where. Ears and eyes were everywhere, the mindless chatter ready to halt in order to catch the latest gossip. Corby looked up from his tea, his smile knowing.

“Is it the new tech?” asked Rhys, fiddling with the tie on his robe. One pull and he would be nearly naked, which was a state Rhys was in more often than not.

Munro shook his head, clenching his jaw. When he’d first come to this city shortly after its founding, he’d kept Rhys and himself hidden the best way he’d known. Hypnotism, altering memories, and a little bit of skill had always been enough, and he’d honed the defense into a massive, webbed instrument that had allowed others to reap rewards.

But the world was a fast-paced killer that was quickly surpassing their best. There was only so much he could cover up to protect them all. That would fade out of existence if he invited a mortal inside, offering them a glass right next to a pair of sharp canines.

Rhys shifted, tugging at the tie. It pulled free by a few inches, barely hanging on by the thick knot. “Then something else?”

“Would you like tea…or perhaps something stronger?” asked Munro, touching Rhys’ chin and forcing him to tilt his head. “You look hungry.”

Rhys grinned, his lips stretching over sharp teeth. In the outside world he could use illusions to keep some parts of his appearance hidden in the same way the faeries did. When thatfailed, he could pluck a memory from someone’s mind without a second thought, taking his fill without them being any the wiser. But Rhys rarely strayed from him to feed.

“Starving,” said Rhys, slipping from Munro’s hold and grasping his hand. “Come with me.”

Munro followed, avoiding the knowing looks from his patrons as he disappeared through the kitchen to the wide hallway beyond. He’d decorated the space with hues of red, accented with a leather couch and deep wooden table that was just large enough for two cups.

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