Page 6 of A Sip of Sin

The couch was occupied with two lovers feeding when they approached, the stiff leather doing nothing to deter them. Munro had designed this spot after he’d grown tired of the constant taint of blood in the dining room. Here, at least, someone could feed in peace, and the leather was far too uncomfortable to do much more than that.

Rhys let out a hiss, drawing their attention. One look and they were mumbling out apologies and wiping the blood from their lips. The younger of the two bowed his head at Munro in a sign of respect that seemed more like an afterthought. The flush on their cheeks was from more than the heat of the room, which Munro always kept high.

The few who weren’t his kind that came through the door without somepersuasion, quickly left once they started sweating, the hot tea only encouraging them on the way out. For him, the extra heat added a languid energy to his bones that he was so often lacking.

“What are you thinking of?” asked Rhys, pushing Munro onto the couch. Munro went without a fuss, catching Rhys as he landed in his lap. Rhys was exceptionally light for his size, or maybe it was that Munro was so used to him, his weight unchanged through so much memory.

Turning his head to the side, Munro let out a hum as Rhys pulled at the collar of his shirt, popping the first few buttons to expose the scarred skin there. His heart picked up as soft lips touched his neck, teeth scraping over such a sensitive spot.

“My son, Erie,” said Munro, tightening his grip where he’d settled his hand on Rhys’ hip. That name had been the last thing he’d expected from the sodden man’s lips, and he still hadn’t recovered from the jolt. It had been so long.

“Oh,” said Rhys before licking a stripe along Munro’s neck, his saliva cooling and tingling almost instantly. “I haven’t seen him in years.” Rhys was breathing fast, his excitement obviously growing when he opened one last button, exposing more of Munro than was strictly necessary.

With one last lick, he bit down, his fangs piercing through Munro’s skin like tissue paper. Blood rushed to the surface, the taint of copper striking the air, even as Rhys sealed his lips over the spot, sucking to make the blood well faster.

“Nor I.” Munro resisted the urge to shake his head, locking his limbs as Rhys fed from him. The soft noises and sharp prickling were an absolute routine that had gotten old centuries ago. No matter how much time passed, it never hurt any less than the first time he’d felt teeth in his flesh, but he refused to let Rhys go hungry.

Some seemed to enjoy the sensation, others turning the pain into something more sensual. Munro struggled to see the appeal when he was the one playing victim. If their roles had been reversed, it would have been another situation entirely.

“Ah.” Rhys gasped, licking over Munro’s skin as he started to heal, catching the last of the blood on his tongue as it rolled down Munro’s shoulder. A few drops soaked into his shirt, ruining the fabric. “Covi, you taste so good.”

Rhys rolled his hips before resting his flushed face against Munro’s neck, the heat of his cheeks burning into him. Hisbreath came in ragged spurts, his hard cock pressing into Munro’s belly. As he dipped his fingers beneath Munro’s stained shirt, Munro caught him, pulling his hand away.

“Please?” asked Rhys, drunk on blood with his pupils blown wide. He rocked his hips insistently, his movements becoming more desperate. “I want you. It’s been so long.”

“No,” said Munro, standing from the couch and lifting Rhys along with him. He looked away as he pulled Rhys’ hands from him before depositing him on the couch. He straightened his shirt, smoothing the front and slipping the buttons back into place. The blood at his collar was still damp, the bits that didn’t soak into the fabric stamping on his skin.

A little mess was bound to happen when hungry bellies were combined with sharp teeth. His neck still ached, even as it healed, his own grumbling stomach extending the process.

“Is it me?” asked Rhys, closing his eyes as he leaned against the couch. He shoved his hand into his robe as he laid back, his movements partially hidden by the fabric. He parted his lips, tracing the bright red flush of them with his tongue.

Yes.Munro couldn’t say it aloud and shatter that spark within Rhys that made him thrive. What they had wasroutine, but so different than opening the shop on time or greeting his guests every evening. In his work there were different flavors and exciting spice combinations that weren’t always as pleasing as he would have hoped.

Routine was what led a vampire to their final resting place, lost beneath layers of dirt because they could no longer stand the surface. If he gave in, Rhys would soon become the shovel and tedium that put him there.

Sure, he was beautiful, but with his ragged breath and desperate eyes, he wasn’t attractive. There was no fire—no excitement, only the promise of a somewhat satisfying endgame.

Munro turned away, reaching into his pocket and plucking out his phone. There were few contacts listed, and he dialed the one near the very top. So few of his family carried the devices, still stuck in the old ways instead of embracing the technology that was all around them.

Rhys had started to gasp from his spot on the couch, picking up the pace of his hand as he jerked himself in the confines of his robe. When he grew louder, Munro took a few steps down the hall, putting space between them. Something deep in his chest kept him from leaving altogether.

“Who is this?” a voice answered on the other end, the angry hiss so familiar that it shocked him. “How did you get this number?” It had been years since Munro had heard that voice, but it hadn’t changed a bit, with the same dark undertones and steady rage.

Erie had always been like that—so cool, calm and collected, but ready to destroy all if he faced a threat. He had threatened to remove Munro from the surface of the planet when Munro had found out about his less-than ideal lover situation.A shifter?It was maddening.

“When was the last time we spoke?” asked Munro, flicking his gaze to the delicate wallpaper of the hall. “I ask you to infiltrate a pack, you defect, then I never hear from you again.”

He’d asked Erie to do it on an absolute whim, his knowledge of shifters limited to the very few encounters he’d had. There was no reason to stray from his family and immerse himself in the drama of another that was equally as secretive.

But his society was getting too behind, shifters and faeries encroaching on their territory while he turned a blind eye and watched the news, looking at the places he had seen before and how severely they had changed.

It had been a first step that he’d regretted ever since—asking Erie to befriend a shifter and dive deep into the pack to earn their trust.

The last he’d heard from the few sources he had in that world, there were defectors involved—ones who weren’t even recognized by their own pack. They could be the most dangerous of all.

“They’re mine,” said Erie, his voice dropping into a growl. “I’ll fight you for them, and I’ll win. You know you can’t beat me on this. Your power diminishes by the day.”

Munro raised one brow.Really?He’d hoped, even with the rumors, that his son would have better taste than that.

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