Chapter 14 Simon
SIMON
“What do you want to do tonight?” Kit asked.
He dropped down onto the couch with a soft thump. The cushions groaned under his weight, dust lifting lazily in the warm air.
He looked comfortable there, legs stretched out, one arm draped casually over the backrest. I still wasn’t used to seeing someone so alive in this house.
It had been quiet for too long. Months of silence broken only by creaking wood and the occasional drip of rain through the cracked roof.
I tilted my head, studying him. “What do people usually do when they’re not fighting monsters?”
Kit smirked. “Usually? Watch TV.”
I blinked. “Is that why you brought that old TV the other night?”
He grinned, looking proud. “Yeah. We should test it properly now that it’s not threatening to explode.”
That made me laugh, actually laugh, and the sound startled both of us.
The truth was, I hadn’t stopped thinking about that night he showed up with the TV. He’d carried it under one arm like it weighed nothing, wires tangled around his wrist.
I’d been halfway through mending a broken chair when he appeared at my doorstep, a mischievous smile on his face and that unmistakable spark in his eyes.
“You can’t just sit here reading old books forever,” he’d said. “You need proper entertainment.”
We’d spent hours figuring out how to set it up. The cables were mismatched, the antenna was bent, and the only working outlet was across the room.
Kit had cursed under his breath more than once.
I had tried to help, though I barely knew what I was doing. At one point, the picture flickered to life. Static first, then a distorted news channel from some neighboring town.
We both cheered like we’d summoned fire from nothing.
When we finally managed to hook up the DVD player Kit found at a pawnshop, I remember him grinning, proud as ever. “See? Told you I could fix it.”
He really had. For the first time in months, the house had light, sound, and life.
Now, sitting beside him again, it felt almost normal. He turned on the TV, flipping through static and half-dead channels until he found an old movie playing.
Something black and white, soft and slow, the kind of story where nothing much happened except quiet conversation and longing looks. It suited us.
I’d already finished the blood he brought. It was animal as usual, cold and faintly metallic but enough to keep me steady. The lingering taste still coated the back of my tongue.
I’d brushed my teeth afterward, mostly for his sake. He never said anything about the smell, but I hated the reminder of what I was.
When I came back from the small bathroom, Kit had sprawled sideways on the couch, arm thrown over the back, remote in hand.
“Ready?” Kit asked.
I nodded, slipping down beside him. The cushions dipped under my weight, pressing us just close enough that our shoulders brushed. The warmth of him bled through the layers of his shirt.
I found myself leaning in before I could stop it.
The movie flickered quietly in the background. Some story about a sailor and a girl waiting for him to come home. I wasn’t really watching.
My eyes kept drifting toward Kit. The way the firelight danced over his face. The way he tilted his head when he was trying not to smile.
His hand rested between us, palm up. I hesitated for a second, then let my fingers slip into his. He didn’t even look down. Just gave a small squeeze. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It shouldn’t have been. Hunters and vampires didn’t sit on couches holding hands. They didn’t watch movies together, didn’t share quiet nights like this. But here we were.
Minutes passed in easy silence. I felt my body relax for the first time in what felt like forever. The hum of the old TV filled the room, blending with the soft crackle of the fire.
Kit turned his head slightly.
“You okay?” Kit asked me.
I nodded. “Just tired.”
“Then don’t fight it,” he murmured.
So I didn’t.
Without really thinking, I shifted closer, curling up against him. My head found its place against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat thudding softly beneath my ear.
He froze for a second, just a second, then exhaled and wrapped an arm around me. His hand rested at the back of my neck, thumb tracing slow circles against my skin.
The simple touch sent a ripple through me. Something warm, sharp, alive.
I hadn’t been held like this in what felt like forever. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be touched without fear, without hunger, without a reason. Just because.
The movie played on. I could feel the vibrations of his laugh against my cheek when something funny happened on screen. I closed my eyes, listening, memorizing the sound.
Every inch of him radiated warmth. Every breath he took, I could feel it move through him. Steady, human, and grounding. I wanted to stay there forever.
“Comfortable?” he asked after a while, voice low, teasing.
“Mmh,” I murmured, not bothering to move.
He chuckled softly. “You’re heavier than you look.”
“Liar,” I muttered, playfully punching him on the shoulder.
“Okay, fine. Maybe just a little.”
His hand moved again, fingers brushing through my hair. Slow, rhythmic strokes. My eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment I almost forgot what I was.
Almost forgot that under my skin, things weren’t quite human anymore. If he noticed the faint chill of my touch, he didn’t mention it. The fire popped. On screen, the sailor kissed the girl goodbye.
Something inside me ached at the sight, deep and old and familiar. That same ache that came every time I thought about what I couldn’t have.
Because this, us, it wasn’t supposed to exist.
Hunters weren’t meant to care for vampires, and vampires weren’t supposed to crave more than blood. But when Kit’s thumb brushed against the back of my hand again, slow and reassuring, I couldn’t help it.
I turned my head, just enough to look up at him. He met my gaze, and for a long moment, neither of us said anything.
There was something in his eyes then. A quiet, wordless tenderness that made my chest tighten.
“What are you looking at?” Kit asked.
“You,” I said without hesitation. “I like looking at you.”
He blinked at me, then huffed a small, crooked smile. “You should watch the movie.”
“I’d rather watch you,” I told him honestly.
That earned a laugh, soft and disbelieving. “You’re terrible.”
“Probably,” I said with a shrug, not even pretending to deny it.
He went back to stroking my hair, fingers threading lazily through it, and I let myself sink against him. His touch was steady, grounding, and yet the air between us had shifted.
Something new was taking shape in the quiet.
I rested my cheek against his chest, listening to the slow rhythm of his heart. It filled my ears, a reminder of everything I wasn’t and everything I still wanted to be.
That pulse, steady and strong, called to the part of me I tried hardest to bury.
The hunger stirred, faint but familiar, whispering how easy it would be to lean closer, just a little more, to taste what I’d denied myself for so long.
I swallowed hard, forcing the thought back down. I couldn’t ruin this. Not this. So I held on tighter instead, curling closer, hoping he couldn’t hear the war inside my chest.
He didn’t speak. Just shifted, his arm wrapping more securely around me. His scent filled my lungs until it was all I could taste. The world outside could’ve ended right then, and I wouldn’t have noticed.
And then, quietly, Kit said, “You’re still hungry, aren’t you?”
My body went still. “Kit…”
“It’s okay,” he said, voice low. “Do it.”
I pushed up slightly, searching his face. “Kit, remember our conversation before?”
He met my gaze without flinching. “Yeah and I don’t care.”
For a long moment, neither of us moved. The flickering light from the TV played across his features, painting him in pale gold and shadow. I could hear his steady heartbeat in the silence between us.
“I’ll just…” My voice cracked. I took a shaky breath. “Just a taste.”
He nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and tilted his head to the side. The movement was small but deliberate, exposing the curve of his throat.
Every instinct in me screamed to look away. This was wrong, dangerous and irrevocable. Still, he’d offered freely, and I was so, so tired of pretending I didn’t want or need him.
I leaned in slowly, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin. His pulse fluttered under my breath. My fangs ached, the hunger clawing up through me like wildfire.
“Tell me to stop,” I whispered.
Kit said nothing. When my lips brushed his skin, he inhaled sharply but didn’t move. The first taste hit like a shock. Sweet, sharp and alive.
I drank carefully, mindful, but every pull made it harder to stop. The world narrowed to the beat of his heart and the sound of his breathing.
His hand came up, hesitantly at first, then with quiet certainty, threading into my hair. Not pushing me away, but anchoring me there.
I forced myself to pull back. My lips trembled as I lifted my head. His pulse raced under flushed skin, but his eyes were calm.
“Simon,” he said softly.
I pressed my forehead to his shoulder, breathing him in. “I shouldn’t have—”
“I’m fine. It didn’t hurt at all,” Kit assured me.
“That’s not the point.” My voice came out rough. “This changes things.”
“I know. You told me,” he said. “Maybe that’s okay.”
I looked up at him then, and what I saw undid me completely. Trust, warmth, and something dangerously close to love. The blood still lingered on my tongue, sweet and burning.
I knew this was a turning point, that everything between us had just shifted into something I couldn’t take back, and I didn’t care.
Kit brushed his thumb across my jaw, his touch soft. “Better?”
“Yeah,” I breathed, closing my eyes. “Much.”
I held on tighter instead, curling closer. Kit shifted his arm, wrapping it more securely around me. His scent filled my nose. Leather, cedar, something warm and faintly sweet.
After a while, I felt his breathing even out, slow and steady. He’d fallen half-asleep, fingers still tangled in my hair. I stayed where I was, too afraid to move, too afraid to wake him.
I’d faced death before, faced monsters, faced my own reflection and flinched. But this, this soft, and impossible peace, terrified me. Because I wanted more.
I wanted mornings where he’d still be here when I was about to sleep for the day. I wanted laughter that didn’t end in fear. I wanted nights where I didn’t need to worry about the sound of footsteps outside.
But that was asking for the impossible. Right?
I tilted my head up slightly, watching Kit through half-lidded eyes. His face was relaxed, the firelight painting gold across his skin. I memorized every line, every freckle, every breath.
If this was all I could have, these stolen and fragile moments, I’d take them. Even if they ended tomorrow.
Another movie had ended, but I didn’t move. I stayed there, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat echo in my bones.