Chapter 12 Simon #2
Kit stood there, dirt smeared on his cheek, breathing a little hard from dragging the body out back. His hair was mussed, his jacket torn where one of the feral’s claws had grazed him.
“Thought you left,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.
“Didn’t feel right,” Kit answered simply, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Didn’t want to leave you like that.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Like you were about to fall apart.”
I huffed a quiet, humorless laugh. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” Kit asked.
Kit crossed the room before I could answer. He stopped just in front of me, close enough that I could smell the faint copper tang of blood where his wrist was scraped. The scent hit me like a punch to the gut.
My gaze flicked there before I could stop it. Just a drop of red, bright against his skin. It was nothing. Nothing, but every cell in my body screamed for it.
“Simon,” Kit said quietly, catching my expression. “How long has it been since you fed properly?”
“I can’t remember,” I lied.
“Answer me.”
“Maybe two days ago,” I admitted.
His jaw tightened. “That feral attacked because it.could smell how weak you were,” Kit pointed out.
“Hey!”
Kit didn’t flinch. “You should really keep your strength up.”
“I’m fine,” I pointed out.
“You’re not.”
He reached out and caught my wrist before I could push him away. His hand was warm, grounding, and when I met his gaze, what I saw there wasn’t pity. It was resolve.
“Then drink from me,” Kit said.
The words hit me like lightning.
I froze. For a heartbeat, I thought I’d misheard him. “What?”
“You need blood,” Kit said, calm but firm. “And I’m offering.”
My breath caught. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am,” Kit said finally.
I laughed once, low and disbelieving. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking for?”
“Yes,” Kit said with a nod.
“Do you?” I snapped. “You think it’s as simple as me taking a sip? You think it wouldn’t change things?”
Kit held my gaze. “It already has.”
That stopped me cold. He took a step closer, and I could feel the warmth radiating from him, the pulse in his throat, the steady beat of his heart.
My instincts screamed at me to move. Either toward him or away, I didn’t know which.
“Kit,” I said slowly, “you don’t understand. If I drank from you—”
“You’d get stronger,” Kit finished.
“I’d want more,” I told him.
“Then take it slow.”
“I could hurt you,” I said.
Kit smirked. “You’ve had plenty of chances to, and you haven’t.”
I stared at him, at the quiet stubbornness in his eyes, at the faint curve of his mouth. He was offering something sacred, something dangerous, and he didn’t even realize what it meant. To me, to any vampire.
Feeding wasn’t just survival. It was intimacy. Claiming. Trust. To drink from someone willingly and constantly, it bound you to them in ways that went deeper than blood.
“I can’t,” I said finally.
He didn’t look away. “Why not?”
“Because I wouldn’t stop.”
His throat worked as he swallowed. “You would. I trust you.”
That word hit harder than any blow. My chest ached with it.
“Kit, if you knew what it does to us, to me, you wouldn’t say that,” I told him.
“Then tell me.”
I exhaled shakily. “It’s not just blood. It’s connection. It’s need. When we feed from the same someone constantly, it’s not hunger anymore. Once I start, I’ll want more of your blood. Of you.”
Kit didn’t flinch. If anything, he stepped closer, his voice steady. “Then maybe you’re not the only one who wants more.”
The silence that followed burned hotter than any fire.
Kit meant it. I could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t afraid.
I wanted to say something to stop this before I broke. But when I opened my mouth, no sound came out. My hunger, my fear, my want tangled together until I couldn’t tell one from the other.
His pulse was loud in my ears.
The scent of him filled the room, salt and warmth and something that was just him. I reached up before I realized I was moving, fingers brushing the side of his throat. His breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away.
“I can’t,” I whispered again, though it sounded less certain this time.
“I didn’t ask you to,” Kit murmured. “I just wanted you to know you could.”
That undid me. The quiet offer. The calm in his voice. The way he looked at me like I was worth saving.
I let my hand fall, forcing distance between us.
“You have no idea what that means to me,” I said.
“Then tell me,” he said, softer now. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
I met his eyes. “That I don’t deserve it.”
He exhaled slowly, the faintest smile curving his mouth. “You keep saying that like it’s your call.”
Something in me cracked then.
I didn’t move toward him, didn’t touch him again, but the air between us changed. The hunger ebbed just a little, replaced by something gentler, heavier.
“I mean it, Kit. This, whatever this is, it’s dangerous,” I told him.
I just looked at him, memorizing the lines of his face, the flecks of gold in his eyes when the light hit them right. He lingered a moment longer, then stepped back toward the door.
“I should head back,” Kit said, his voice low but steady. “You need rest.”
I nodded, unable to speak. At the doorway, he hesitated again.
“For what it’s worth,” Kit said, “you’ve got more control than you think.”
Then he was gone, the night swallowing him whole.
I stayed where I was long after the sound of his footsteps faded. The hunger still coiled inside me, restless and alive, but underneath it was something else. Something far more dangerous.
Hope. It was ridiculous. Impossible. But it was there all the same. He’d offered his blood. His trust. Himself. I’d said no, because I had to.
Because if I ever crossed that line, there’d be no coming back. Still, the thought of his heartbeat under my lips and his warmth in my veins, haunted me long after he was gone.