Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
Simon refused to give up.
But it was nearly morning and he still hadn't found Charlie.
This was ridiculous.
His deadline for bringing him in was almost over. If he failed at this, he'd lose this job.
Other hunters would take over and his reputation would take a massive hit. Reuben would be disappointed.
But that wasn't the true source of his anxiety. Simon tried to tell himself that it was, but he didn't believe his own lies.
Something about all of this was upsetting him beyond reason.
The apartment felt too quiet. Too empty. Which was ridiculous—it always felt empty because Simon lived alone by choice. But now the silence seemed to press against his ears, making him hyperaware of every small sound. The refrigerator's hum. The neighbor's TV through the wall.
His own heartbeat, steady and measured.
And then, another heartbeat. Rapid, panicked, not quite in sync with his own.
The sensation wasn't physical—he wasn't actually hearing another heartbeat. But he could feel it, like an echo in his chest. Like someone else's terror bleeding through into his awareness.
Charlie's.
Simon didn't know how or why, but he couldn't deny what he was feeling. Charlie's anxiety would not leave him alone.
He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the sensation. With every passing hour, the panic was getting worse, sharper, mixed with something else. Exhaustion. Depletion. Desperation.
Wherever Charlie was, he was not safe.
Simon moved to the window, scanning the skyline.
"Where are you, you little idiot?"
Again, Simon closed his eyes. The odd connection he felt to the disaster vampire he'd picked up pulled at him, almost like a compass pointing—
Northwest?
High up, too. Almost as if…
Simon saw a flash of something.
A rooftop.
Could it be?
"You absolute idiot," Simon breathed.
Charlie had run straight up. Vampire speed and panic, a combination that had probably carried him up the side of a building without conscious thought. And now he was trapped with sunrise approaching.
Forty-five minutes until dawn.
Simon stood at the window, watching the sky continue to lighten.
He should let Charlie burn. It would solve everything.
Reuben would accept that the target had been eliminated.
Harmon would stop asking questions. Simon could go back to his simple life of hunting monsters without complicated feelings about one specific monster who drank ketchup and apologized to furniture.
The panic in his chest intensified, sharp enough to make him wince.
It wasn't his panic, but it felt real enough. Charlie's terror bleeding through whatever connection Simon's blood had created.
He could ignore it. Take his pills, dull his senses back to normal levels, let nature take its course. The sun would solve his Charlie problem in less than an hour.
Simon pulled the prescription bottle out of his pocket. Two pills in his palm, dark red like crystallized blood. All he had to do was swallow them. Cut the connection. Let Charlie face the consequences of running.
The terror in his chest spiked again, and with it came something else. Not quite words, more like impressions.
Loneliness. Regret. The bone-deep certainty that dying alone on a rooftop was exactly what he deserved because his whole existence was just a joke anyway.
"Damn it."
Simon put the pills back and went to his gear closet. The UV-proof blanket was on the top shelf—silver-lined fabric, completely light-proof. A good tool when you had to move a vampire during daylight.
Admittedly, Simon hadn't made much use of it in the past.
Now he grabbed it along with a backup knife and headed for the door, already calculating distances. The sensation was coming from northwest. One of the financial district towers. At this time of night, security would be minimal but present.
Thirty-five minutes until sunrise.
He could make it.
He had to.
Simon paused at the door, looking back at his empty apartment. This was stupid. Reckless. Everything his training warned against. He was about to risk exposure to save a vampire he'd probably have to stake anyway.
The panic in his chest twisted sharper, and Simon found himself moving before he consciously decided to.
The motorcycle roared to life under him. Thirty minutes left.
He was going to save the little ball of chaos who'd run straight up a building with no exit strategy.
Because apparently, that's what Simon did now.