Chapter 12 Simon
SIMON
Kit had come by again, ignoring every warning I’d given him the last time. He’d dropped his bag by the door, muttered something about needing to check on me.
Before I could argue, he was already sitting in the old armchair by the fire. I should’ve told him to leave. Instead, I’d poured him tea and found myself watching the way the light flickered across his face.
He was telling me about some job the Guild had sent him on. A phantom in an abandoned motel that turned out to be nothing but bad wiring and mold.
Kit looked tired, but his voice was steady. Every so often, he’d glance at me like he was checking for cracks in my composure.
“You’re feeding enough?” he asked finally.
“Enough,” I lied.
Kit frowned. “You sure? Because you look—”
“Don’t say it,” I grumbled.
He smirked. “—like hell.”
I tried not to smile. It almost worked.
The fire popped in the hearth, casting sparks. Outside, the wind rattled the windows. For a while, everything felt almost normal. That was the worst part, how easy it was to pretend.
Then the feeling hit me. A cold ripple across my skin, sharp enough to cut through the warmth of the room. Every sense went on high alert.
My hearing sharpened, my vision narrowed to the shifting shadows beyond the windows. The air reeked of decay. Blood turned sour, rot and hunger all tangled together.
I froze.
“Simon?” Kit’s voice softened. “What is it?”
“Hush,” I told him.
Kit didn’t argue. He’d learned not to, when my tone changed like that.
There was movement outside. Fast. A scrape of nails against wood, a low hiss like something half-human trying to breathe through ruined lungs.
My stomach turned cold. I knew that sound.
“No,” I whispered. “Not here.”
Kit was already on his feet, hand going for the knife at his belt. “What is it?”
“One of them.”
His brow furrowed. “Them?”
“From my sire,” I cut in. “A feral vampire.”
Even saying it made my mouth go dry. I’d known it was only a matter of time before one of them found me, despite Kit having investigated the area before and proclaiming it safe.
The next second, the front door shuddered under a heavy blow. The hinges groaned.
Kit swore under his breath and drew his blade. “You got any more weapons?”
I shook my head. The door splintered.
The creature that lunged through didn’t look like me one bit. Its eyes were sunken and wild, veins crawling up its neck like black roots. Its mouth dripped blood. Fresh and wet human blood. I could smell it.
Kit moved first, fast and precise. He ducked under the creature’s swing and drove his knife upward, aiming for the heart. The blade caught bone instead. The feral shrieked, flinging him back into the wall.
“Kit!” I screamed.
I didn’t think, I just moved.
The world narrowed to instinct. My body reacted before my mind did, the old hunger roaring up in my veins like fire. I slammed into the creature, driving it away from him. We hit the floor hard.
Its strength was inhuman, fueled by bloodlust and madness. Claws tore into my shoulder, and I barely managed to roll aside before its teeth snapped down where my throat had been.
I heard Kit swear again, scrambling to his feet. There was a blur of motion, and suddenly his boot connected with the creature’s side, buying me half a breath.
“Get back!” I shouted.
“Not a chance!”
Kit was still standing between me and danger. The overprotective bastard. Did he forget I was a vampire and could defend myself to some extent?
The feral twisted toward him, snarling, and something primal inside me snapped. No one, no thing could touch my Kit under my watch.
I lunged, catching the feral by the throat, slamming it into the floorboards hard enough to crack the wood. My teeth bared, my vision hazed red.
I could smell its blood, feel it pulsing under my grip, and the hunger screamed for me to take it. To drink, to rip, and to feed. Then I saw Kit.
He was staring at me, chest heaving, eyes wide. Not with fear, but with something like concern.
“Simon,” he said quietly. “Don’t give in to the blood lust.”
The sound of his voice was enough to cut through the haze. I tightened my grip, not to kill, but to hold on, to keep the creature still.
“Knife,” I rasped.
Kit moved without hesitation. He crouched beside me, his hand steady even though his pulse was racing so fast I could feel it thrum in the air. He drove the blade clean through the feral’s chest.
The creature convulsed once, then went still.
For a long moment, the only sound was Kit’s harsh breathing. My shoulder burned, blood soaking through my shirt. Kit knelt beside me, eyes scanning the wound.
“Damn it,” Kit muttered. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Simon,” Kit warned.
“I said it’s nothing,” I blurted.
Kit met my eyes, jaw set. “You just took down one of your sire’s monsters, and you’re bleeding. Don’t tell me it’s nothing.”
The heat in his voice surprised me. It wasn’t anger, it was fear disguised as frustration. He reached out like he meant to touch my shoulder, then hesitated, hand hovering midair.
“Let me,” he said finally, softer.
I should’ve told him no. Instead, I stayed still while he tore a strip from his sleeve and pressed it against the wound. His fingers were warm against my skin, careful but firm.
“Thanks,” I murmured.
Kit glanced up at me, eyes catching the light from the fire. “You don’t have to thank me for patching you up. You just saved my ass again,” he pointed it out.
“Well killing it was a joint effort,” I said.
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah well. We work well together.”
Despite the blood, the wreckage of the door, the smell of death still clinging to the air, I felt a laugh threaten to break through. Kit had that effect on me, even when the world was falling apart.
But the humor didn’t last. My gaze fell to the corpse on the floor. The feral’s skin was already beginning to gray, curling in on itself like burnt paper. How many of these would keep turning up?
“You need to stop coming here, in case more would turn up,” I told him.
Kit stared at me like I’d said something stupid.
“You think I’m just going to leave you alone with these things hunting you?” Kit demanded.
“It’s not safe, Kit,” I pointed out.
“I know.” Kit reached out again, this time laying a hand against my jaw. His thumb brushed the edge of my cheek, and I felt the tremor in my chest all over again. “But I’m not walking away.”
My throat tightened. “You don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“Sure I do,” Kit said with a shrug.
He was too close. I could feel the warmth of him, the rhythm of his heartbeat, steady and strong. I wanted to tell him to stop. To step back and to give me space to think, but I didn’t.
Because the truth was, the thought of him walking out that door forever made something deep inside me twist painfully.
“You can’t keep saving me, Kit,” I said quietly.
“Then stop making me want to.”
That did it. I turned away, shaking my head, trying to find something else to focus on.
“If the Guild finds out about us, we’re doomed,” I said.
“They won’t.”
“If one of my sire’s creatures tracks me again—”
“We’ll handle it together,” Kit said firmly.
“We?” I asked.
He smiled faintly. “Yeah. We.”
For a second, all I could do was look at him. At this stubborn, reckless hunter who’d somehow become the only thing keeping me tethered to something that felt like living.
The hunger stirred again, faint but present, twisting through my veins. His scent filled the air. Blood, sweat, adrenaline, and it was too much. My jaw clenched, and I forced myself to step back.
Kit noticed. “Simon?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” Kit pointed out.
“I said I’m fine,” I snapped, harsher than I meant to.
The silence that followed hurt worse than the wound. Kit’s hand dropped from my arm, and I hated the flash of hurt that crossed his face.
“I just need time. The blood. It calls when I fight. You should go before I forget myself,” I told him.
Kit didn’t move. For a long moment, I thought he’d argue again. But then he nodded slowly, his expression unreadable.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll give you space.”
I expected him to turn and walk out right then, but Kit just stood there, still and thoughtful, eyes flicking over me like he could see every fracture beneath my skin.
Then, instead of leaving, he crouched beside the feral’s body.
“You got rid of the last one,” he said after a moment. “I’ll bury this one out back.”
“You don’t have to,” I pointed out.
Kit shrugged. He slid his arms under the corpse and dragged it toward the back door. I watched him go, the muscles in his back tightening under his shirt, his movements steady.
“Thank you,” I said.
He paused at the threshold, the night wind catching his hair, making it ripple like shadow and firelight.
“You did good tonight,” he said softly.
“I nearly lost control,” I muttered.
“You fought,” Kit countered. “You protected me. That’s not losing control.”
The warmth in his voice undid something deep in me. I didn’t have the words to answer, so I just nodded. He gave me one last look, then stepped into the dark.
When the door closed behind him, I sank down beside the cold hearth.
The hunger was still there, coiled tight and angry under my ribs. I could taste it. Metal and heat and need. The fight had woken something I’d been keeping buried for far too long.
The part that wondered what it felt like to feed properly. Human blood.
No. I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead, breathing through the ache that pulsed behind my eyes. I wouldn’t cross that line. I’d survived this long without it.
I wasn’t about to destroy what fragile control I had left.
But my mind wouldn’t stop playing the same image over and over again. Kit’s face lit by the fire, his eyes steady and full of something that wasn’t fear.
The way he’d reached for me earlier, how he’d said we when I told him he should stay away. It was unbearable, that kind of faith. That kind of trust. The door creaked open again. I looked up, startled.