That was the thing about vampire life that he didn’t think he was ever going to get used to, the fact that everything was about appearances. It was all posturing and looking good in front of crowds. It was like dealing with the worst parts of high school and not having a graduation day to look forward to.
The guys in the trenches with him were trying to keep their heads down and not make waves, while the higher ups were clawing their way up the ladder, all desperate to be at the top. He’d learned to meld into the background and keep his mouth shut unless he was asked a question. And he was grateful not to belong to some of the other masters.
He’d asked Tamlin if he’d wanted to have a spike implanted in the head of his dick. The guy’s response had involved the words “fuck” and “no,” and Ewing had walked away with the knowledge that if he was ever traded to another master, there was no way he wanted that master to be Benton Lamoux. The sick fuck.