Chapter 12 #2
If vampires existed, why not magic? Why not hunter tricks to keep their prey contained?
Charlie examined the door more carefully. No symbols carved into the wood. No salt lines or strange markings. He ran his fingers along the doorframe, looking for anything that might explain why his body had betrayed him.
Nothing.
The shower was still running. He had time.
Charlie moved deeper into the apartment, searching. If Simon had trapped him here somehow, there had to be evidence. Hunters probably had all sorts of supernatural countermeasures. Vampire traps. Containment spells.
The living room yielded nothing. Just that lonely leather couch and mounted TV.
The kitchen, nothing but protein shakes and soy sauce.
But in what might have been meant as an office, Charlie found Simon's weapons: stakes, arranged on the wall like art.
But also things Charlie didn't recognize—silver chains with symbols etched into every link, vials of clear liquid that could have been water or acid or holy water for all Charlie knew. A leather-bound book without a title.
Maybe the spell was in there?
Charlie reached for the book, then hesitated. What if it was booby-trapped? What if touching it triggered something worse than just being unable to leave?
But his need for answers won out. He pulled the book from the shelf. The leather felt old, worn smooth as if it had seen a lot of use.
Charlie opened the book carefully.
The pages were covered in neat handwriting, but it wasn't a spell book. It was a journal.
February 3rd - M. Choo, warehouse district. Feral. Three victims confirmed. Eliminated.
February 9th - Unknown female, approximately 200 years. Hotel Grandview. Eliminated.
Charlie's stomach turned as he flipped through page after page of deaths.
Was this Simon's hunting log?
There seemed to be more than a hundred entries! These had been people once. Vampires, maybe, but still…
This was exactly why Charlie needed to run.
The shower shut off.
Charlie gulped and quickly returned the journal to its exact position. Was it the exact position? Or had it been a little bit to the right?
As Charlie tried to remember, something else caught his eye.
A prescription bottle.
Charlie didn't recognize the label, and when curiosity got the better of him and he held the bottle up to the light, the pills inside looked nothing like medication. They were dark red, crystalline, like garnets or frozen blood.
What kind of medication looked like that?
The bathroom door opened.
Charlie spun around, still holding the bottle, to find Simon in the doorway. Hair damp, wearing fresh clothes, expression unreadable.
"Don't touch those."
The words cut through Charlie's thoughts and forced his hand to open.
Immediately, the bottle dropped to his feet.
Simon crossed the space in three strides, scooping the bottle up before Charlie could blink. His damp hair dripped onto his fresh shirt, darkening the fabric at his collar. “You don’t get to go poking through my things.”
“I—” Charlie’s throat tightened. “I couldn’t… I didn’t even mean to drop it. You said it and my hand just—”
“Stop talking.” Simon slid the bottle into his pocket. His gaze burned when it met Charlie’s, hard and unreadable. “Some things you’re better off not knowing.”
Charlie swallowed hard, fighting the urge to retreat from the hunter.
What the hell were those pills for Simon to get this upset over them?
They'd looked almost like blood and Simon kept them in a room with his weapons. "Are they vampire poison?" The question slid from Charlie's lips before he could stop himself.
A dark expression flitted across Simon's features. "That's exactly what they are."
"So if I'd swallowed one..."
"You'd be writhing on the floor," Simon said flatly.
The confirmation should have terrified Charlie more than it did. Here he was, trapped in an apartment with a hunter who carried vampire poison in his pocket like breath mints. But somehow it just made him feel tired.
"Were you planning to use them on me?"
"These pills aren't for you."
"Then who—"
"Sit down." Simon pulled out a chair for Charlie, then moved around the desk to sit down himself. "I need information."
"About what?"
"About the night you were turned. Every detail you can remember." Simon took a tablet out of a drawer and opened a map of the city on the screen. "Where exactly did it happen?"
Charlie sat on the edge of his seat, trying to organize his scattered memories of that night. "Behind Rosie's. You know, that dive bar on Maple Street?"
"I know it." Simon zoomed in on the map. "Back alley?"
"Yeah. I was..." Charlie rubbed his face. "I'd had a few drinks. Not drunk, just... trying to forget about a few things. I went out back for air."
"Time?"
"Maybe one in the morning? The bar was still packed."
Simon marked something on the tablet. "Description of the vampire."
Charlie closed his eyes, trying to summon the details. "White guy. Maybe thirty, thirty-five. Brown hair, kind of shaggy. He was wearing…" Charlie almost laughed at the absurdity of it. "A Nickelback t-shirt."
Simon looked up. "Seriously?"
"I know. You'd think vampires would have better taste." Charlie picked at a loose thread on his jeans. "He was drunk. Really drunk. Could barely stand."
"Vampires don't get drunk easily. He must have fed on someone intoxicated. Multiple someones." Simon's fingers flew across the tablet. "What else?"
"He thought it was hilarious. The whole thing.
Kept laughing while he..." Charlie touched his neck unconsciously.
The bite marks had healed, but he could still feel the ghost of them.
"He said something like 'Let's see what happens' and then just..
. left. I passed out. Woke up three hours later feeling like I was dying. "
And aside from feeling like he was dying, he'd also felt really, really lonely. But Charlie didn't mention that part.
The memory still stung.
"You were." Simon set the tablet aside. "Did he say anything else? Give any indication where he was going?"
"He mumbled something about the others waiting for him."
Simon's expression darkened. "Others. So he wasn't alone."
"I guess not." Charlie's shoulders drooped. "Does it matter?"
"Everything matters." Simon stood abruptly, pacing to the window. "Vampires who travel in groups are either very old or very stupid. Old vampires don't wear Nickelback shirts and get sloppy drunk."
"So they're stupid?"
"Stupid and careless." Simon turned back to him. "Which makes them dangerous in a different way. No rules, no territory, no accountability. They turned you for entertainment and left you to die or go feral."
"Is that what usually happens?" Charlie asked quietly. "When someone's abandoned like that?"
Simon was quiet for a moment. "Most don't make it past the first week. They either starve, get burned by sunlight, or lose control and get themselves killed by hunters."
"But I made it three weeks."
"Miraculously." Simon's tone was impossible to read. "You shouldn't have survived. You definitely shouldn't be sane."
"I don't feel very sane," Charlie admitted. "I fainted at the sight of blood yesterday, but all I can think about now is…" He trailed off, heat rising to his face.
"Is what?"
Charlie shook his head. He couldn't possibly tell Simon that Simon's blood was all he could think about. That even now, with Simon across the room, Charlie could hear his heartbeat like a drum calling him home.
It didn't make sense.
Shouldn't he be sated now that he had fed?
Before last night, he'd made it three weeks without blood. How could he be craving another helping already?
The worst idea was that Simon seemed to have some idea what was going on. His eyes sharpened as he looked at Charlie.
"You're hungry?" he asked, and suddenly he was very close.
Charlie pressed himself back against the chair, but there was nowhere to go. Simon braced one hand on the wall above him, leaning in until Charlie could feel the heat radiating off him.
"You're thinking about blood. My blood."
"I—"
"Go ahead." Simon tilted his head slightly, exposing the line of his throat. Charlie could see his pulse jumping there, steady and strong.
Charlie's fangs descended so fast it hurt.
"Prove me right," Simon said.
"Right about what?"
"That eventually, the hunger wins." Simon moved even closer, until their faces were inches apart. "You drank from me once and now you want more. You'll always want more."
Was that true?
Charlie couldn't think.
The scent of Simon—leather and soap and that warm, living smell—flooded his senses. His fangs ached. Every instinct screamed at him to lean forward, to take what was being offered.
"I won't," Charlie whispered.
"Won't you?" Simon's eyes were dark, watching Charlie with an intensity that felt like being dissected. "Your fangs are showing."
Charlie slapped a hand over his mouth.
Simon gave him another long look. "Three weeks you lasted on condiments. One taste of real blood and you're already craving another hit. How long before you stop asking permission?"
The accusation hit like a slap. Charlie's hand dropped from his mouth, anger flaring through the hunger.
"Is that what you want?" His voice came out louder than intended. "For me to attack you? Would that make this easier for you?"
Simon didn't move. Didn't even blink.
"Because then you could stake me with a clear conscience," Charlie continued, the words pouring out. "No more questions about why someone set me up, no more wondering if you're killing an innocent person. Just another monster doing monster things."
Something flickered in Simon's eyes.
"I haven't hurt anyone," Charlie said. "Not in three weeks, not last night when you literally bled in front of me, not now when you're…" He gestured helplessly at their position. "Whatever this is."
"Testing you."
"Torturing me." The admission slipped out before Charlie could stop it.
Simon pulled back slightly but didn't move away entirely. "Torture?"
Charlie wished he could disappear into the floor. "You smell like—" He stopped, shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I won't bite you. I won't bite anyone."
"Even though you want to."
"Wanting isn't the same as doing." Charlie met Simon's gaze, trying to ignore how close they still were. "Humans want things they don't act on all the time. That doesn't make them monsters."
Simon took his time to think. Charlie could hear his heartbeat, still steady, unhurried. Like having a hungry vampire this close meant nothing to him.
"I didn't ask for this," Charlie said. He hadn't asked to become a vampire, or for Simon to track him down and take him back to his apartment. He hadn't even asked for Simon's blood.
All this time all he'd wanted was for everyone to leave him alone.
Why could he never catch a break?
Simon finally stepped back, allowing Charlie some space.
"No," Simon said quietly. "You didn't ask for any of this."
It wasn't agreement exactly, but it wasn't accusation either. Charlie couldn't read Simon's expression. The hunter had too much practice at keeping his thoughts hidden behind that sharp, assessing gaze.
"Most fledglings who get abandoned either die or go feral within days," Simon repeated, moving toward his jacket. "You lasted three weeks on packets of ketchup and pure stubbornness."
"And fainting," Charlie added, exhaustion seeping into his voice. "Don't forget the fainting."
"That too." Simon checked his weapons with an almost casual air. Like it was just a habit at this point. "You're either the weakest vampire I've ever encountered, or..."
"Or what?"
Simon didn't answer. He pulled on his jacket, then tossed something at Charlie. A hoodie. Black, of course.
"Put that on. We're going to Rosie's."
Charlie caught the hoodie reflexively. "Now?"
"The vampire who turned you was drunk and careless. Types like that are creatures of habit. If his pack hangs around that area, someone will know them." Simon headed for the door. "And pull the hood up. You look like death."
"I am death. Technically."
"You're technically annoying. Move."
Charlie pulled on the hoodie. It smelled like Simon. That clean, sharp scent that made his fangs ache. He pulled the hood up to hide his face and his obvious hunger, following Simon to the door.