Chapter 4 Kit
KIT
Pain came first, hot, sharp, and alive. It tore through my ribs like a red-hot wire, dragging my breath out in ragged bursts. For a moment, I thought the bastard had ripped me open.
My fingers pressed against the side of my shirt, came away wet. Blood. Mine. Not the first time, not even close, but somehow it felt worse this time.
Maybe because the one standing over me wasn’t an enemy I could bring myself to hate. Simon was still standing next to where the feral had fallen, his chest heaving, eyes wild and silver-bright.
The other vampire was sprawled across the floorboards, half its face caved in, dark blood pooling beneath. The smell of it hit me first.
Iron, rot, and something old, wrong, ancient. It burned my nose even after years of desensitization.
Simon had dealt the killing blow. He’d saved me. That fact alone sat wrong in my head, like a blade turned inward. He turned toward me slowly, as if afraid I might vanish if he moved too fast.
“You’re hurt,” he said.
“I’ve had worse,” I managed, though my voice came out rough.
I tried to sit up, but the motion sent white pain lancing through my side. My breath hissed between my teeth, and I clenched my jaw until it stopped shaking.
Simon was already moving. One second he was across the room, the next he was beside me, crouched low. Too close. His movements were fluid, predatory, and careful all at once.
Like he was trying not to scare me.
“Don’t,” I snapped when he reached for me.
My hand shot up out of instinct, blade still clutched in my fist. He froze, eyes flicking from the weapon to my face.
His voice stayed steady. “You’ll bleed out if you keep pretending you’re fine.”
“And what, you plan to help? Bit of poetic irony there, isn’t it?”
Something flickered in his expression. Hurt, maybe, or something too complicated for me to name. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Sure. You say that now,” I muttered.
He didn’t argue. Instead, he carefully reached forward again, this time slower, giving me plenty of room to stop him.
My instincts screamed to shove him away, to snarl or fight or do anything but let him touch me. However, the moment his fingers brushed my arm, I couldn’t move.
His hand was cold. Not corpse-cold, but chilled, like river water under moonlight. His thumb pressed against my wrist, feeling for a pulse that was hammering far too fast.
He looked at the blood seeping between my fingers, the way it soaked my shirt, and something changed in his face. The hunger I expected wasn’t there.
Instead, there was fear. For me. That thought confounded me.
“Take your damn hand off me,” I muttered, though I didn’t pull away.
He hesitated. “Let me help.”
There was no arrogance in it. Just quiet determination. Like he couldn’t stand the sight of someone hurting. God help me, I let him.
He tore a strip from the hem of his already-ruined shirt and pressed it against my wound. I grunted, more out of surprise than pain. He glanced up, his face pale under the dim light, eyes uncertain.
“Sorry,” Simon muttered.
“Don’t be,” I said through clenched teeth. “Just tie it tight.”
He did, careful as if I’d break. His fingers brushed against my bare skin, and the contact made every nerve in me flare. I told myself it was just adrenaline. It had to be.
“You shouldn’t have stepped in,” I said after a long silence. “That thing would’ve ripped you apart.”
Simon’s mouth tightened, a flicker of defiance in his gaze. “It was my mess. My sire made it.”
“Your sire?”
He nodded, eyes clouding. “He called them… experiments. I didn’t know one was nearby. If I had, I wouldn’t have stayed here.”
Something bitter rose in me. “So you’re saying this wasn’t an accident?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know,” Simon admitted.
I wanted to believe that he truly didn’t know. That was the problem. Every hunter instinct I’d honed screamed that vampires lied as easily as they breathed, that sympathy was just another trick.
But Simon didn’t move like a liar. He looked like someone who’d been running too long, too tired to keep pretending he wasn’t scared.
His gaze flicked back to my side, then to my face. “You should lie down. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
I barked out a laugh. “I’m not lying down in front of you. You think I’m that stupid?”
“Do you think I haven’t had the chance already?” Simon asked.
That silenced me. He’d had every opportunity. When I was pinned under that feral bastard, when I was bleeding and half-conscious, but he hadn’t taken it.
He shifted a little closer, close enough that I could smell him. Faint soap, dust, and something pleasant underneath. Vanilla. I hated that I noticed.
Simon’s hand hovered near my arm. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine,” I grumbled.
“You’re not.”
“I’ve been worse,” I said with a shrug.
He gave a small, humorless smile. “You keep saying that.”
“And it keeps being true.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t press. Instead, he reached into the first aid kit that had spilled from my bag when we fought earlier.
He worked in silence, hands moving with surprising steadiness. His focus was absolute, like patching me up was the only thing keeping him grounded.
I watched him, really watched him, for the first time.
He didn’t have that predatory stillness most vampires wore like armor. His movements were human, hesitant and precise.When he met my gaze, there was no glimmer of cruelty, just uncertainty.
“You were a medic or something?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Vet,” he said quietly. “Before.”
“Before you got bit?”
He nodded. “Before he found me.”
Silence settled again, heavier now. The only sounds were our breathing and the distant creak of the old house.
Then he said, almost to himself, “You should’ve let me handle it alone.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, right. Let a weak leech handle a rabid one? Not likely.”
His eyes met mine then, soft, silver-gray, catching the faintest bit of light. “I saved you,” he pointed out. “The least you can do is be a little nicer.”
I opened my mouth to snap back, but nothing came out. Because he was right.
“Yeah,” I said finally. “Guess you did.”
He looked away, but not before I saw the smallest flicker of something, relief, maybe, or pride. It shouldn’t have mattered. But it did.
When he reached for the bandage again, his fingers brushed my ribs, and I flinched. Not from pain, because of the way it felt. My pulse jumped, and his did too. His head lifted, eyes catching mine.
The air between us shifted, thickened. The room suddenly felt too small, too warm.
“Hold still,” he whispered, though his voice wasn’t steady anymore.
“I am.”
“No, you’re not,” Simon said.
He was right. My body was trembling. Not from blood loss, not from fear, but something I didn’t want to name.
He finished tying the last knot, then sat back on his heels, exhaling slowly. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the faint drip of blood from the feral’s corpse, ticking like a metronome.
“You should go,” I said finally, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. “Before more show up. The scent of blood will draw them.”
His gaze flicked toward the door, then back to me. “I’m not leaving you like this.”
I huffed out a dry laugh. “Didn’t realize vampires were so noble these days.”
“I’m not noble,” he said. “Just not what you think.”
His words hung there, sharp as a blade. I wanted to tell him he was wrong.
I’d seen his kind tear through families, drain them dry, leave nothing but whispers and ash. That no amount of trembling hands or soft eyes could change what he was. But the words wouldn’t come.
“What’s your name anyway?” Simon asked.
“Kit,” I found myself answering.
Why did I tell him my name? Whatever. I found myself watching him, the way the faint light caught the curve of his throat. My pulse stuttered. I looked away fast.
“Kit,” he said softly. My name sounded strange in his mouth.
“What?” I demanded.
“You’re still bleeding.”
He reached forward again, and before I could argue, his thumb brushed the line of blood at my jaw, where a cut from the fight had started to dry.
The touch was feather-light, reverent almost. My breath hitched despite myself. He froze. Our eyes met again, and something cracked open between us, raw and unfamiliar.
His lips parted, like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. His hand dropped away.
“I should clean up the rest,” he said finally, voice low.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Yeah. You do that.”
He rose, moving with that strange mix of grace and exhaustion, and crossed to the sink. The water ran red when he washed his hands.
I watched the line of his shoulders, the tension there, and wondered just for a moment what it would feel like to touch that softness, to find warmth in something I’d been taught to destroy.
I shut that thought down fast.
When he turned back, he was wiping his hands on another strip of cloth. Simon hesitated, then crouched beside me again.
“You should rest,” he murmured.
“I’ll rest when I’m dead.”
His mouth twitched. “You’re impossible.”
“Comes with the job,” I muttered.
Simon looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he just nodded, then reached out and adjusted the bandage at my ribs one last time. His fingertips lingered just a little too long.
It wasn’t enough to be called a touch, but it burned anyway.
When he finally pulled back, he said softly, “Thank you for trusting me, even a little.”
“I didn’t say I trust you,” I muttered.
“I know.” His smile was small, sad. “But you didn’t kill me either.”
“Yet.”
He laughed then. It was a quiet, breathy sound that did something strange to my chest. I turned away, staring at the cracked wall so I wouldn’t have to see the way his eyes softened when he looked at me.
Because if I did, I might start to forget why I was supposed to hate him. And that, more than the pain, more than the blood, scared the hell out of me.