Your Vanilla Scent (Junhao)

Prologue

If Myungho sat very still and concentrated really, really hard, he could hear the yelling.

It was pretty faint, and honestly more confusing than illuminating, but he couldn't help trying anyway. This wasn't the first time the den had needed to hunt down a feral member, but it was definitely the most emotionally fraught instance he could remember.

Silas was old, and thus quite strong, and also one of the den's original founders. The de facto leader, really. He'd been over to Vee's home a million or more times, and Myungho had obediently served him booze or blood or whatever else he requested. And true, lately Silas's behavior—never all that nice to begin with, in Myungho's unasked-for opinion—had been erratic. And his scent had taken on a sickly rotting edge. But anytime Myungho had brought it up with Vee, she'd told him to shut his mouth and threatened to send him to his room, so he'd stopped mentioning it.

Maybe he should have kept mentioning it.

It wasn't like Myungho even liked Silas. He'd always been cruel to most everyone, mocking Myungho at every turn for being weak and silly and nothing like what vampires were supposed to be. But that didn't change the fact that in the end, he was...family.

Was that the word for it?

Myungho supposed it must be. Because that was what family was, right? At least for vampires. Family meant the terrible creatures you were stuck with because you had nowhere else to go.

And now a member of Myungho's family was going to be put down like a dog. That should make Myungho sad. It really should. But Myungho was finding it kind of hard to muster up the emotion. He was telling himself it was because he was too worried for Vee to manage it.

He rose from the couch and paced the sitting room some more, sat back down for a while, careful to keep the lines of his suit neat, and then considered whether he had the focus to pick up a book.

But then he heard it, surprisingly clear among the distant shouts and scuffling.

Myungho.

Myungho paused where he stood, worrying at his lip with his teeth. Vee was calling for him. He needed to go to her.

But he didn't want to go. The thought of what he might find out there had his heart racing, his mouth horribly dry. Feral vampires always frightened him. But the punishment Vee would enact for disobeying her frightened him too. The isolation. The lost hours of time. Vee would know, somehow. She'd know he'd heard her and chosen not to listen.

She always knew.

So Myungho walked out the front door, his legs stiff and his knees locking every other step. The air outside was crisp, the forest's leaves changing beautifully with the turn of the season. But Myungho wasn't able to stop to enjoy it.

Instead, he ran.

It took him less than five minutes to reach the scene of the fighting, a clearing in the midst of their den's large forest acreage. Myungho paused there, uncertain and scared, the metallic, musky scent of vampire blood flooding his nose.

Anton lay on the ground, neck twisted all the way around. He certainly wouldn't be up for a while. Out of the corner of his eye, Myungho could see the mangled legs of someone up in a tree, but they weren't moving, so they must have had worse injuries than that keeping them out of the fray. Soonyoung was at the edge of the clearing, his right arm—clearly broken—dangling at his side and an ax in his left hand.

And Vee, in Silas's hold, her long neck all torn to bits, from either teeth or sharp nails. She was only barely holding him off, one hand clutched to Silas's forehead and one to his jaw, clearly trying to keep those fangs off her at any cost.

She sensed Myungho immediately, as she always did, turning her head slightly to catch his eye. "Myungho," she gasped. "Come. I need your help."

Myungho—his stomach a horrible, knotted mess—moved forward one shaky step on instinct, but then Silas let out a guttural snarl, and Myungho's momentum faltered.

He didn't know what to do. He wasn't good at fighting, and he wasn't exceptionally strong. Especially not compared to Silas, who was so much older, even without the extra edge his feral state gave him. Myungho tore his gaze from Vee to look to Soonyoung, who arched a brow at him as if to say, What are you gonna do now?

Myungho licked dry lips. "I—"

"Myungho." Vee's nostrils flared, her voice a cold, sharp blade. She was angry with him. So angry.

Myungho took another step forward. This was his duty as her companion, right? To die for her if she asked. It didn't matter if he was frightened.

He wished desperately for his beastie to take over, to give him courage, but it was staying deep within him, unmoved by Vee's plight, indifferent to her rage.

Myungho's feet faltered again as Soonyoung stepped toward Silas, his ax raised slightly. Myungho flinched in place.

"Myungho," Vee snarled. "I swear to God—"

But Myungho didn't get to hear what Vee wanted to swear to God because in the next moment, Silas stopped trying to knock off Vee's hands and went for her throat with his nails instead, digging into the wound on her neck and just....tearing.

The awful sound of Vee's decapitation was unlike anything Myungho had ever heard. Wet skin and muscle, the snap of bone, the last gurgle of her attempt to call Myungho's name.

Vee's head, when it rolled to his feet, was frozen in a mask of rage. Rage at Myungho, who'd done nothing to stop this. Who'd disappointed her yet again.

Myungho didn't wait to see the rest.

He didn't help Soonyoung, didn't stay to see what would win in the battle between sharp ax and feral vampire strength.

He ran.

He ran faster than he ever had, through the woods and all the way back home. He ran up the stairs to his room, tore apart the covers on the neatly made bed (no excuse for slovenliness, Myungho), and hid beneath them.

He didn't come out for a very long time.