Chapter 30
Chapter
Thirty
Charlie's hand found Simon's under the table, but Simon's fingers stayed rigid. Through their bond, Charlie felt something dark rising, something raw and primal that made his own dead heart beat furiously in his chest.
Emerald continued her welcome speech, talking about community and healing and safe spaces. The words washed over Charlie without meaning. All he could focus on was Simon.
The vampire in the gray suit leaned back in his chair, examining his nail with the casual air of someone who'd never lost a minute of sleep over the people he'd killed.
"Thank you, Emerald," Maya said when the speech finally ended. "The retreat really has changed everything for us."
Other vampires murmured agreement. Staff emerged with the morning's blood service, those same crystal decanters Charlie had marveled at last night.
"Tell me," Simon said suddenly, his voice cutting through the pleasant chatter. "How many people have you turned for the Organization?"
The dining room went silent. Emerald's smile froze.
"I'm sorry?" she said.
"The Hunters' Organization." Simon's gaze stayed locked on the vampire in gray. "How many people have you turned for them?"
Maya looked between them, confused. "What's he talking about?"
"Simon, perhaps we should discuss this at another time," Emerald tried.
"No." Simon stood. "Everyone here deserves to know what pays for their ethical blood and meditation gardens. You turn people. For the Organization. They select the targets and you do the dirty work."
"That's ridiculous," Connor said, but his voice wavered.
The gray-suited vampire set down his glass with deliberate calm. "Have I seen you somewhere before?"
Simon's rage spiked. "You've seen me when you killed my mother in apartment 4B. It was February. Ten years ago."
"Ah." The vampire's lips curved slightly. "The Hale boy. You look like your mom."
Several vampires drew back from the table.
"Say her name," Simon said.
Emerald stood. "This isn't the place—"
"Say. Her. Name." Simon's hands gripped the table edge hard enough that the wood creaked.
The vampire in gray studied him with the detached interest of someone examining a specimen. "You think I remember the names of all my targets? Do you?"
"I keep perfect records." Simon's voice had gone deadly quiet.
The vampire made an amused sound. "Of course you do." He picked up his glass again, swirled the blood. "She died well, if it helps. Fought to the end."
The sound Simon made wasn't human.
Through their bond, Charlie felt him shatter, like everything holding him together just ceased to exist.
The next moment, Simon was on the move. His hand found the crystal decanter, smashed it against the table edge, and drove the jagged neck into the vampire's throat before anyone could react.
The vampire gurgled, hands coming up to the wound. Blood—the expensive, ethically sourced blood—splashed everywhere.
"Simon!" Emerald shouted.
"Oh shit," Maya cursed, accurately summing up the situation.
Two of the other elder vampires lunged for Simon. But Simon grabbed a candlestick from the table's center and swung it in a wide arc that caught one in the temple.
Apparently, having had to surrender his weapons didn't mean shit to him. It seemed everything could be a weapon in Simon's hands.
And when the other elder got his hands on Simon's shoulders, Simon twisted and used the vampire's own momentum to slam him face-first into the wall.
In the meantime, the gray-suited vampire had pulled the glass from his throat, the wound already starting to close. He smiled, blood coating his teeth. "You fight like Reuben's boy. All rage, no—"
Simon grabbed a chair and broke it over the vampire's head.
"That was antique!" Emerald protested, then quieted when she realized that was the least of their problems.
The vampire went down but rolled away from Simon's follow-up strike. Not dissuaded in the least, Simon dropped on top of him, hands finding his throat.
Charlie started forward, but Viktor caught his arm. "Don't get between him and—"
A soft chime echoed through the room. Not the gentle meal chimes from before. This was an electronic, urgent sound.
A few seconds later, the dining room doors burst open. In came men in tactical gear, weapons drawn.
Organization hunters.
They were coming for Simon.
"Oh fuck," Charlie said, and his body made the decision before his brain could catch up.
One moment he was human, the next—
Pop.
He was a rabbit.
"Did he just…" one of the hunters began.
Charlie did what he did best.
He panicked.
Which, unfortunately, meant he ran.
Straight at the hunters.
It was an objectively stupid idea, but it was all Charlie had. Also, braking wasn’t really an option at his current velocity.
The lead hunter had just raised his tranquilizer gun toward Simon when seven pounds of flailing bunny slammed into his ankles.
The hunter went down hard. His shot ricocheted off the ceiling lamp, which exploded dramatically.
"What the—WHY IS IT FAST?"
Charlie rebounded off the fallen hunter like a furry rubber ball, careened into a second hunter’s shin, slipped on his own momentum, accidentally clawed someone’s pant leg, and somehow launched himself directly onto another hunter’s face.
"GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF ME! IT'S CLAWING AT ME!"
The man spun in circles, smacking into walls, furniture, and two of his teammates. Charlie, still attached by sheer terror, bit down hard.
"STOP MOVING!" someone yelled.
"I'M TRYING!" Charlie yelled inside of his head.
Finally, he lost his grip and was flung sideways into a cabinet full of antique china.
The crash was spectacular—and probably very expensive.
But Charlie’s eyes fixed on Simon.
Who had just separated the gray-suited vampire’s head from his body.
Their gazes met.
Charlie twitched.
Simon blinked.
"CHARLIE, RUN!" Simon roared. "GET OUT OF HERE!"
Charlie's rabbit brain seized the command like gospel.
He skidded, rotated, and launched himself for the door.
"Get the rabbit!" someone yelled.
Charlie heard Simon laugh—laugh—as he squeezed past a hunter’s legs and blasted into the hallway, skittering around the corner as if someone had greased his paws.
He bounded down the retreat’s pristine halls, past a very startled Sage, knocked over a planter, and shot out into the gardens where a rabbit could vanish.
Even if that rabbit was technically a vampire who had just helped kill an elder simply by being incredibly, catastrophically obnoxious.
He had no idea how he'd done that.
Or how he’d survived it.
He only knew one thing:
He was never living this down.