older and more powerful he got the more annoyed he used to feel dealing with the petty situations posed by coven members on a daily basis. Each time those thoughts cropped up, he’d tried to discount those private feelings, believing that the older he got, the more he had a responsibility to protect younger members of his kind - not that they seemed to appreciate it.
I wasn’t running a coven full of children. Sitting in Ireland, Kirill got a clarity he could never achieve when thinking at the place he used to call home. And his thoughts were factually accurate. Every vampire in his previous coven was aged between a hundred and twenty and three hundred years old. Many of his members had been below his threshold of one hundred and twenty years when his U.S. coven was started but living in a small town wasn’t something most vampires wanted to do, especially once Kirill had instigated his bagged blood policy decades before. Most of the vampires who chose to stay with him were younger in terms of their species, and with the exception of his enforcers, weren’t physically capable of protecting themselves against someone like himself. They were drawn to his power and his wealth, but they had also become complacent, accepting their life of ease as a right instead of a privilege.
Sycophants, leeches. Kirill felt the anger burn deep in his belly. No one ever said a harsh word to his face, but oh, how the gossip used to thrive in the hidden corners of his estate. Gossip that Kirill had been arrogant enough to ignore. It was the fate of any powerful vampire to have the younger generation dream of challenging him and taking everything he’d worked for. The odd times someone had the balls to actually challenge him, Kirill had been sure to make an example of the people concerned, which helped keep new challenges to a minimum.
But what Yakov had done… Fuck! Kirill cursed his own arrogance this time. Yakov said all the right things, was efficient to a fault, and until Kirill ended up chained up in his own basement, Kirill believed him to be one of the most loyal members of his coven. But yeah, I also believed he was older than he actually was, believed he was more powerful than he could’ve possibly been, and he was definitely a damn sight sneakier than I gave him credit for. How the hell did he even get into my coven in the first place?
A hand on his shoulder had him looking up. Ra was in front of him, a platter of food in his hand. “You need to eat,” he said gently. Kirill noticed Arvyn was sitting on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, a heaped plate of food in front of him. “There’s coffee, soda or whiskey if you prefer.”
“Thank you.” Kirill made a point to let his fingers linger over Ra’s as he took the offered plate, dropping his feet back to the floor so the plate could rest on his lap. “I guess I got caught up in my thoughts.”
“We’re here if you want to talk.” Ra sat beside him, close, but still giving Kirill his space. The ancient god had a plate full of colorful salad vegetables and what looked like prawns on his plate. He popped one in his mouth, chewing slowly.
Kirill looked down at his own plate. Lasagna. One of his favorites. The smell of basil, fennel and parmesan cheese wafted up with the steam. “How did you know?” Kirill waved at his plate as he leaned forward to pick up a knife and fork from the coffee table.
“About the lasagna?” Ra chuckled. “I didn’t, but you had the look of a man who needed comfort food. Arvyn was easier to work out as I know how much wolf shifters love their steak and bacon, but I didn’t know if you could still have that, you know, since you’ve…”
Ah. Ra was being tactful. Kirill nodded. “You’re right. Now that I’ve fed from Arvyn and had a drop of your blood, rare steak is off the menu for me. So is bagged blood, or nibbling on anyone else, so you two don’t have to worry about me being with anyone else.”
“You can’t anyway,” Arvyn said around his mouthful. “That scar on your shoulder takes care of that, and yes, my precious Ra, I will see to it you are similarly scarred before the day is