Page 73 of A Sip of Sin

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 andreached. 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 triedto 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.”

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