Chapter 9 Kit
KIT
The fire had burned low, throwing weak orange light across the floorboards.
I sat there for what felt like hours, nursing the bottle of painkillers Simon had found in one of the upstairs cabinets and wondering when I’d stopped caring if they worked.
It was full dark by the time I heard footsteps outside, quiet and careful. The door opened with a soft scrape.
Simon slipped in, arms full. His jacket was dusted with dirt and the faint smell of rain clung to him. He looked tired, but there was a strange lightness in his face when his eyes found me awake.
“You’re still here,” he said, like he’d honestly doubted it.
That annoyed me for some reason.
“Didn’t have a ride,” I said, pushing myself up.
My body protested, but not as much as it had before. The wounds were healing, just slower than I’d like.
“You were gone a while,” I added.
“I got held up,” Simon said, setting the takeout bags on the table. “The diner was packed, had to wait longer than I thought.”
I eyed the food suspiciously. “You told them it was for you?”
He shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I said it was for a friend.”
A strange warmth bloomed low in my chest at that. A friend. Not prey. Just a word, simple and human, but it hit harder than it should have.
He unpacked the food. Greasy paper bags, plastic containers, and the familiar smell of fries and grilled meat. My stomach growled before I could stop it.
Simon smiled faintly, catching it. “Guess I picked right.”
“You guessed?” I asked.
He nodded, sitting across from me.
“I don’t eat this kind of thing anymore. Just remembered it being good,” Simon said.
“You remember?”
“Of course I do.” He looked down, tracing a finger along the condensation on the soda cup. “I used to stop by that same diner after work. I’d sit by the window and watch the streetlights. Everything looked different then, brighter and messier, but alive.”
Something in his voice softened the air between us.
“You miss it,” I said quietly.
“Every day,” Simon. admitted. “The sunlight. The noise. The taste of real food. The smell of coffee that isn’t burned.” He huffed a soft laugh, though it didn’t reach his eyes.
“You don’t realize what you love until you can’t touch it anymore,” Simon added.
For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. The truth in his tone hit too close to home.
I picked up a fry, stared at it, and finally said, “Guess that’s something we’ve got in common.”
Simon glanced up, surprised. “You miss sunlight too?”
“I miss something,” I said, leaning back. “Used to think I had everything figured out. A purpose. A place in the Guild. Then one day it all just stopped making sense.”
Simon studied me, quiet. His gorgeous eyes seemed to catch every flicker of light from the dying fire.
“Because you lost someone special to you?” he said softly. Not a question.
I froze. “You’ve been listening too much.”
He didn’t apologize. “You muttered his name once when you were having nightmares. Donovan.”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah. Donovan.”
The name tasted strange after so long. Like ash and whiskey and something I shouldn’t still want.
“He was my mentor when I joined the Guild,” I said, staring at the table. “Taught me how to track, how to fight, how to stay alive. We worked together for years. He was the best we had.”
Simon said nothing. Just waited.
“I thought…” I laughed under my breath, the sound brittle.
“Hell, I don’t even know what I thought.
That we were good friends, maybe something more, even if I never said it out loud.
He had this way of making everyone feel seen.
Then everything changed. He got a call from another hunter, who got turned into a vampire. ”
Simon’s lips parted slightly. “He left?”
“He didn’t just leave,” I said. The words came out rougher than I meant. “He turned his back on everything. On the Guild. On me. He said he loved Declan. I saw someone I trusted more than anyone choose a monster over me.”
The fire cracked softly in the hearth. Simon’s face was unreadable, his gaze fixed on me like he wanted to look away but couldn’t.
“I spent months pretending I didn’t care,” I said, voice low. “Told myself he was an idiot. That he’d die for it. That I was better off.” I swallowed, throat tight. “But every time his name was mentioned, it felt like someone was pulling my ribs apart.”
Simon’s hand moved, just slightly, across the table.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I stared at that pale hand, at the faint blue veins beneath his skin.
“Don’t be. You didn’t do it,” I answered.
“No,” Simon murmured, “but I know what it’s like to lose someone. To want to stop caring and not be able to.”
Our eyes met, and for a heartbeat everything else faded. The Guild, the blood, the fear. Just two people sitting in a ruined house, both pretending they weren’t broken.
“Maybe that’s the joke,” I said, forcing a thin smile. “All of us chasing monsters, when we’re the ones who can’t stop bleeding inside.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached across the table and brushed his fingers lightly over my wrist.
It wasn’t much. Just a touch, a brief spark, but it sent something deep and dizzy through me. My pulse jumped, traitorous.
“Sorry,” Simon said quickly, pulling back. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” I said, though my voice came out rougher than I intended.
The silence that followed was thick with things neither of us said. I reached for my burger mostly just to have something to do with my hands.
Simon watched me eat with a faint, wistful look, like he missed even the act of chewing.
“Why are you still here?” I asked. “You don’t have any obligation to stay. I’ll only bring you trouble.”
“I’m aware,” he said honestly.
“But?”
He hesitated. “Because you keep surprising me. And…” He trailed off, searching for the words. “Because it’s been a long time since I wasn’t alone.”
I felt that one like a knife to the gut.
“Yeah,” I said after a beat. “I get that.”
He gave a small, sad smile. “Then maybe we’re both idiots.”
“Maybe,” I agreed.
The air between us had changed. Not just warm now, but charged, fragile and heavy, like the moment before a storm breaks.
Simon stood first, starting to gather the wrappers, and when he reached for the soda cup near my hand, our fingers brushed again. Neither of us pulled away this time.
He froze, eyes flicking up to mine. The faintest breath parted his lips, and for a second, the world narrowed to that single point of contact.
The cool slide of his skin against mine, the tremor in my chest that had nothing to do with pain. I could’ve leaned in. I thought about it. His eyes searched mine, uncertain, open.
Damn it, I wanted to know what it would feel like. To bridge that last inch of distance, to taste the ghost of something I’d sworn I’d never want again.
But I didn’t. I forced myself to look away, flexing my hand as if shaking off a spell.
“I should get some sleep,” I said hoarsely.
“Of course.” His voice was soft, unreadable.
He moved to clean up the rest of the food, the movements careful, almost reverent.
I watched him for a long moment before finally turning toward the small couch near the hearth. It wasn’t comfortable, but it would do.
The firelight danced across the room, painting him in gold and shadow as he crossed to the window.
He paused there, staring out into the night. His profile was all sharp lines softened by something heartbreakingly human.
“You’ll be safe,” he said quietly, not looking back.
I wanted to laugh, but the words stuck somewhere in my chest.
“You’re the one who should be worried. Sun’s coming up soon,” I reminded him.
He smiled faintly. “I’ll manage.”
I watched him move toward the darker side of the room, the faint rustle as he settled near the wall.
The house fell into that strange, comfortable silence again. Two people breathing in rhythm, pretending the world outside didn’t exist.
Sleep didn’t come easy. My body ached, but not just from wounds. My thoughts kept circling back to Simon. The way he’d said he missed sunlight, the way his fingers had trembled when they brushed mine.
The way, against all logic, I didn’t want him to leave.
I turned on my side, facing the faint outline of where he sat in the shadows.
“Simon?” I murmured.
A soft rustle. “Yeah?”
“Thanks. For everything,” I said.
For the food. For staying. For not being what I was taught to fear.
There was a pause.
“Goodnight, Kit,” Simon said softly.
His voice carried something in it. Something fragile, something I wasn’t ready to name.
I closed my eyes and let the sound settle deep into me. For the first time in years, the ache in my chest eased just enough to breathe.
Somewhere between the dying firelight and the quiet rhythm of his breathing, I realized I was no longer sure who was saving who.