Charlie was two hours into his shift at the convenience store when his hunger caught up with him and his eyes fixed on the small basket of ketchup packets. His stomach twisted with a familiar gnawing emptiness. 

Three weeks as a vampire, and this was what his unlife had become—salivating over condiments at 11:47 PM.

Charlie swallowed hard. It was a stupid idea. It was always a stupid idea. Ketchup wasn’t blood, no matter how much his stomach growled and his brain tried to bargain. But it was red, and it was thick, and if he swallowed before the taste could really hit his tongue, maybe he could pretend.

Maybe it would take the edge off just enough to get through his shift without doing something worse.

He glanced toward the back of the store where the office door stood half-open. 

No sign of Mr. Denton, the night manager.  

The store was empty and the coast was clear.  

Charlie grabbed a packet and tore it open with his teeth, squeezing its contents onto his tongue before shoving the evidence into his pants pocket.  

Instant regret.  

It tasted like sadness and preservatives. Charlie grimaced, forcing himself to keep the sugary substance down. His stomach lurched, but the gnawing hunger receded just a little.  

He sighed.

How the hell had this become his life?

Vampires were supposed to be mysterious. Powerful. Maybe even a little sexy, if the movies were to be believed.  

Charlie’s life was nothing like a movie. 

He was stuck working graveyard shifts at a 24-hour convenience store because his landlord didn’t care if he was undead or fully dead—rent was still due on the same day. 

Charlie wiped his fingers on the hem of his hoodie and slumped against the counter. Another five hours and seventeen minutes until sunrise. He could feel it in his bloodless veins. His one new ‘superpower’ he was actually good at: knowing when the sun would rise.

How useless was that?

A simple Google search could have given him the same information. 

Behind him, the office door creaked.  

Mr. Denton appeared, clipboard in hand, his usual scowl firmly in place. “I’m gonna be a little longer on those order forms,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder. “You’re on your own. Try not to screw anything up.”  

Charlie offered a thumbs-up. “Got it, boss.”  

Mr. Denton gave him a long, weary look, like he wanted to say more but decided Charlie wasn’t worth the effort. With a grunt, he disappeared into the back room, leaving Charlie alone.  

For a blessed few minutes, all was quiet, the only sound to be heard the humming of the freezers.  

If the rest of the night passed like this, it wouldn’t be so bad.  

Maybe he could even sneak another ketchup packet or two. Maybe—

Ding-ding.  

The door chime echoed through the store.  

Then again.  

And again.  

Charlie straightened, heart sinking as a wave of customers poured in.

Of course.

Customers always came in droves. 

The Orpheum must have just let out. Charlie had forgotten about the indie rock concert tonight.

“Hey, the red slushie machine’s empty!” A teen in a backwards cap pointed accusingly at the machine.

A woman in a sequined top slapped a coupon onto the counter. “This says buy one, get one free!”

Charlie looked at it. “Ma’am, that expired in February.”

“So? Your store, your rules. Honor it.” Her pupils were dilated, her breath sweet with alcohol.

Would her blood be sweet too?

Charlie’s fangs threatened to emerge. He pressed his tongue against them, willing them to stay hidden. 

There were too many beating hearts in this store.

A balding man waved his hand in front of Charlie’s face. “Hello? Earth to zombie boy. I need twenty in Powerball tickets.”

“Sorry. What numbers would you like?”

“I don’t know. Good ones. The winning ones.” The man laughed at his own joke.

Charlie started punching random numbers into the lottery terminal while another customer complained about the price of energy drinks. A line had formed. Someone knocked over a rack of chips.

Just gotta survive the night. Fake it ’til you make it. Or fake it ’til you faint. 

One of those two things was going to happen, anyway.

“I said the slushie machine is empty!” the teen with the cap complained again.

Right.

At least that gave Charlie an excuse to abandon the register for a minute.

Pushing through the crowd he made his way to the back of the store. The teen was shaking an empty cup at the machine. “Dude, I’ve been waiting like forever.”

“Sorry, I’ll fix it right away.” Charlie knelt down and opened the machine’s rear panel. Inside, bags of brightly colored syrups hung like IV drips. The cherry one—the red one—wasn’t empty, but it seemed jammed.

“Yo, can I get cigarettes too?” someone shouted from across the store.

“Be right there!” Charlie called back, fumbling with the connector of the syrup bag. He had to get it loose to fix it.

“What’s taking so long?” The teen demanded.

Charlie gave the bag a firm tug, underestimating his own strength. 

The bag sprang loose, ruptured, and sprayed streams of bright red.

Sticky syrup coated Charlie’s uniform shirt and his customer’s white hoodie. The teen jumped back with a shriek.

“Ugh, what the hell, dude?! This is brand new!”

Charlie froze. The red liquid dripped down his chest. His body reacted before his mind could intervene—heart pounding, senses heightening, fangs descending partially from his gums. His vision tunneled, focusing on the red splatter across his hands.

Not blood.

Not blood.

Get a grip, Charlie. If you bite a dude covered in cherry syrup, you’ll never live it down.

The room tilted. Charlie grabbed the edge of the slushie machine, fighting the instinct surging through him. His stomach twisted with bloodlust despite the chemical cherry scent telling his brain this wasn’t what he needed.

From the front of the store, someone yelled, “Helloooo? I’ve been in line for, like, ten minutes!”

Charlie closed his eyes and counted to three.

Then five.

Then twelve.

This is fine. You’re fine. Nothing’s on fire.

He turned, sticky shoes squeaking against the tile, and trudged back toward the register.

Mr. Denton was already standing there. The night manager’s arms were crossed in front of his chest, eyes tracking the syrup dripping off Charlie’s sleeves and onto the floor.

Before him, the line of customers looked equally unimpressed.

Charlie attempted a winning smile.

Mr. Denton slowly reached into his pocket and produced a roll of quarters.

“Laundromat’s still open,” he said, pressing the quarters in Charlie’s hand. “Take care of it.”

“Do I—uh, should I clock out first, or—?”

“You’re not getting paid to bathe in cherry juice, are you?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you know what to do. I don’t want to see you back here tonight.”

---

Simon stood at the kitchen counter of his studio apartment, drinking protein shake number two of the day. 

It was nearing midnight. Prime hunting time. Simon had slept until noon, trained for three hours, researched potential leads for another four, and completed his weapons maintenance routine by sunset.

Now he waited.

His phone vibrated against the counter. Turner’s name flashed on the screen.

“You got anything for me?” Simon asked.

“A fresh lead, if you want it.” Turner sounded as if he hadn’t slept in a while. He was one of the newer hunters, and he probably wouldn’t last long. 

Few people did.

“Tell me,” Simon said. 

“Someone spotted a vampire at the Stop & Stock on 12th Street. Left covered in blood.”

Simon’s posture straightened. “Victim?”

“Unknown. But get this, he’s headed to Suds Laundromat. Probably wants to wash away the evidence.”

Classic vampire behavior. Hide the evidence, maintain the façade of humanity. Simon had seen it countless times.

“We think,” Turner said, “this might be that Charlie Dracul you’ve been looking for.”

Simon’s brows furrowed. He’d been hunting that particular vampire for weeks, ever since he first heard the rumors. 

Would tonight be the night he finally got to put a stake through that monster’s heart?

“I’ll head out immediately.”

“Director Harmon specifically requested—”

“Tell Harmon I’ll report when it’s done.”

Simon ended the call and pulled up the dossier on his tablet. It contained all the intell he had gathered on the bastard that had been terrorizing the city recently. 

One rumor claimed that he had drained three people in a single night last month. Another that he kept his victims alive for days, locked up in a warehouse somewhere. Superhuman strength was mentioned.

This vampire might be centuries old.

Especially with a name like Dracul. Other vampires would not let him claim that easily.

Simon moved to the weapon cabinet and selected a silver-plated stake—not a single scratch marred its polished surface—and placed it in a leather holster.

The rest of his gear he packed into a black duffel bag. Holy water. Bright flashlight. Garlic concentrate.

This sucker would not get away.

Simon had earned his reputation as the Organization’s most effective hunter for good reason. One hundred and seventeen eliminations in five years. Zero failures.

Charlie Dracul would make it one hundred and eighteen.

Simon went down to the parking garage. 

If Charlie Dracul was indeed washing blood from his clothes, it meant he’d fed recently. He would be dangerous.

Good.

Simon liked challenges. They kept him sharp.

He started his motorcycle with a low growl that echoed off the walls. The recent hunts had been disappointingly routine—young vampires, careless and easily tracked.

Not so tonight. 

Simon revved the engine and pulled out onto the street, the familiar cold clarity of the hunt settling into his bones. 

By dawn, another monster would be removed from the world.

* * *

Only a few minutes later, Simon parked across from the laundromat. The flickering neon SUDS sign cast alternating blue and pink shadows across the nearly empty parking lot. Through the large windows, he counted three people inside: an elderly woman folding clothes, a college-aged kid scrolling on his phone, and a slender man in a soaked red shirt frantically stuffing clothes into a washing machine.

Simon’s pulse sped up. 

That had to be…

He reached into his jacket, fingers brushing against the stake’s polished handle.

Something wasn’t right.

The vampire looked…

Well… there was only one word to describe him: pathetic. 

He was scrawny. Shoulders hunched as if trying to disappear. Nothing like the monster described in the file.

The supposed terror of the city appeared to be having trouble getting the washing machine to accept the coin he kept pushing back into the slot. 

He appeared so defeated that Simon almost felt tempted to go in and help him. 

But Simon knew better.

This had to be part of some elaborate scheme.

The best predators never looked dangerous until the moment they struck. 

Simon had learned that lesson the hard way on his third hunt. The vampire had appeared frail and elderly—until it nearly tore his throat out.

No, Charlie Dracul was meeting his end tonight.

Simon pushed through the glass door, the bell’s chime announcing his arrival. The elderly woman glanced up from her folding, then returned to her towels. The college kid didn’t look up from his phone.

Charlie’s back was still turned, fumbling with the coin slot.

Simon’s hand moved to the stake at his belt. In one fluid motion, he crossed the laundromat’s checkered floor.

Charlie spun around, finally, eyes wide. His gaze immediately took in Simon’s black clothing, the tactical boots, the leather holster.

“Okay, okay, just take whatever you want. I’ve got maybe twelve bucks and some lint, but—”

What, did this vampire think Simon wanted to mug him?

Ridiculous.

Simon drew the silver-plated stake.

Charlie’s words died in his throat. His face went white as the detergent powder. “Oh. Oh no. Oh no no no no—”

“Charlie Dracul.” Simon raised the weapon. “Your reign of terror ends tonight.”

“Wait, wait!” Charlie threw his hands up, backing against the washing machine. “I’ve never hurt anyone!”

As if Simon was going to believe such a cheap lie. “You eat people.”

“I eat ketchup!”

Simon’s jaw tightened. Did this monster really think he was that gullible?

“How could a vampire possibly survive on ketchup?”

Charlie’s shoulders sagged. “In a very sad way.”

The admission hung in the air between them. Charlie looked so earnest, so genuinely miserable, that for a split second Simon almost—

No. Classic vampire manipulation.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Simon raised the stake higher. “Every vampire claims they’re different. You’re all the same.”

Charlie’s eyes went wide with panic. Something shifted in his posture—a tensing of muscles, a subtle change in stance.

His survival instincts kicked in.

The vampire’s form blurred.

One second Charlie was pressed against the washing machine, the next he was a streak of motion.

Super-speed.

Simon’s gaze flicked to the door of the laundromat, expecting to see the vampire try to escape that way. 

But no.

Instead of zooming out the door, Charlie missed it by a mile, bouncing off the side wall like a ricocheting bullet. He slammed into the soap dispenser, sending detergent cascading across the floor, then rebounded into the elderly woman’s folding table, sending clean laundry to erupt into the air like confetti.

The college kid dove behind a bench.

Charlie careened toward the front windows, but still, his trajectory was all wrong. He hit the opposite wall with a meaty thud, spun sideways, and crashed through a row of plastic chairs.

Simon stared, for the first time in a long time, unsure what to do. 

What the hell was he watching?

Vampires were supposed to be gruesome monsters, not bouncy balls.

While Simon tried to make sense of what he was seeing, Charlie’s speed carried him in a wild arc past the front door, straight into the back wall. He bounced off as if he was made of rubber, arms windmilling, and toppled backward into an overflowing laundry cart.

The cart lurched into motion.

Charlie’s eyes met Simon’s for one brief, terrified moment as he rolled past, half-buried in someone else’s clean clothes.

The cart hit the door’s push-bar perfectly and burst out onto the sidewalk.

Simon stood in the ruins of the laundromat, surrounded by spilled detergent and scattered socks, watching the most feared vampire in the city disappear down the street in a laundry cart.

The elderly woman picked up a fallen towel.

“Young people these days,” she muttered.

---

Charlie stumbled off the laundry cart three blocks from the laundromat, his legs shaking from adrenaline. The cart rolled to a stop against a fire hydrant.

He looked down at the pile of clean clothes in the cart—someone’s jeans, a few t-shirts, and what appeared to be a week’s worth of socks. His stomach twisted with guilt.

Great. Now he was a thief on top of everything else.

Charlie gathered the clothes into his arms. He’d return them somehow. Maybe leave them at the laundromat with an apology note. And money for the detergent he’d destroyed.

If he survived long enough.

The hunter had adressed him by his name. Well, he’d added ‘Dracul’ for some reason, but he’d gotten Charlie right. Some kind of mix-up? 

It had to be.

And it was a good thing vampires didn’t need to use the bathroom or Charlie would have pissed himself when faced with that stake. 

Did the hunter know where he lived? 

If there was even the slightest chance he did, Charlie couldn’t go home.

So where could he go?

It wasn’t like he had the money to pay for a hotel. 

But he had a co-worker who lived only six blocks away…

His co-worker Brent. 

Charlie was fairly sure that Brent would let him crash at his place. He was a kind soul. Probably the kindest Charlie knew. Not the brightest soul, but considering his circumstances, Charlie would pick friendly over smart. 

He could really use a friend right now.

Charlie hurried through the empty streets, soap suds still clinging to his hair, cherry syrup making his shirt stick uncomfortably to his chest. A police car turned the corner ahead, and Charlie ducked behind a parked van until it passed.

Everything about this night had gone wrong. Everything about the last three weeks had gone wrong.

Brent’s apartment building squatted between a Chinese restaurant and a used bookstore, both closed for the night. Charlie buzzed apartment 2B and waited.

Nothing.

He buzzed again. Held it longer.

A window scraped open two floors up.

“What?” Brent’s voice drifted down, thick with sleep.

“It’s Charlie. I need—can I come up?”

A pause. “Dude, it’s like midnight. Are you okay?”

“I’m…” Charlie looked down at his syrup-stained shirt and the pile of stolen laundry in his arms. “Not really.”

“Give me two minutes.”

The window slammed shut. A few minutes later, the building’s front door clicked open. 

Brent stood in the doorway wearing pajama pants that hung low on his hips and a t-shirt that read “World’s Okayest Employee” stretched tight across his broad chest. His brown hair stuck up at impossible angles, and even half-asleep he looked like he could bench press a washing machine.

Idly, Charlie wondered if he could also bench press the hunter who’d pursued Charlie.

Maybe.

Except the hunter had been tall too.

“Bro.” Brent stepped aside to let Charlie in. “What happened to you?”

“Someone tried to kill me.”

“What?” Brent’s eyes went wide. “Are you serious? Did you call the cops?”

Charlie followed him up the narrow staircase. “I can’t call the cops.”

“Why not? Charlie, if someone actually tried to kill you, you have to tell the cops!”

“He tried to kill me with a wooden stake.”

Brent stopped on the second-floor landing and turned around. His concerned expression slowly shifted to something that looked almost… impressed.

“Oh. OH.” Brent grinned. “Dude, you went to one of those hardcore LARP events, didn’t you? The ones where they do the whole immersive experience thing?”

“What? No!”

“This is amazing.” Brent unlocked his apartment door, completely ignoring Charlie’s protest. “Look at you! You’ve got fake blood all over you. Did they give you a whole backstory? Was there like a chase sequence?”

Charlie followed him into the small apartment, setting the pile of laundry carefully on Brent’s coffee table. 

“Brent, listen to me. I’m actually a vampire.”

“I know, bro. You’ve been really committed to the whole thing.” Brent disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a damp towel. “Here, let me help you get cleaned up. But seriously, how much did this event cost? They run it at this time of night?”

Charlie took the towel and wiped ineffectively at the cherry syrup. “This isn’t a game. Someone actually tried to stake me tonight. With a real stake.”

“Right, because you’re a vampire.” Brent nodded seriously. “That’s so cool that they stayed in character the whole time. Did you have to run through the whole city? Is that why you have all this laundry?”

Charlie looked down at the pile of clothes. “I… borrowed these. I need to return them.”

“Oh, that’s nice of you to do laundry for other players! You’re like the most considerate LARPer ever.”

“Brent.” Charlie sat down heavily on the couch. This wasn’t the first time he’d tried to get through to Brent. Why was he even trying anymore? “Three weeks ago, I got turned into an actual vampire. By an actual vampire.” Who had been drunk at the time—because that was just Charlie’s luck. Some drunk asshole bit him on a dare and vanished into the night, leaving him to deal with all… this. 

“I know your backstory, bro.”

Charlie shook his head. “It’s terrible. I can’t bite people because I faint at the sight of blood, so I’ve been living on ketchup packets. I can barely use any of my powers. And apparently there are people out there who want to kill me just for existing.”

Brent looked at him. “That’s insane. Maybe you should step back from the LARP community for a while.”

Charlie let his head fall into his hands. The cherry syrup was making his palms sticky. Maybe it didn’t matter if Brent understood or not. “Can I sleep on your couch tonight? Just until I figure out what to do.”

“Of course, man. You know you’re always welcome here.” Brent stood and headed toward his bedroom. “Let me grab you some clean clothes. And Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

“Even if you ran into some nutjobs, I’m really proud of you for getting so into a hobby. It’s the most passionate I’ve ever seen you about anything.”

The bedroom door closed behind him, leaving Charlie alone with a pile of stolen laundry and the growing certainty that his unlife couldn’t possibly get any worse.

---

Simon’s phone buzzed. 

It sat on his kitchen counter next to his second protein shake of the morning. Simon had gotten home from the laundromat at 1 AM. It was now 7:23. In those six hours, he’d done two hundred push-ups, cleaned every weapon he owned, and written exactly zero reports.

Now Turner kept trying to call him. 

Simon answered on the fifth ring.

“Jesus Christ, finally.” Turner sounded exhausted. “What happened last night? You never called in.”

“Still pursuing.”

A pause. “Still pursuing? You went after him eight hours ago. You always report within the hour.”

“The situation was… complicated.”

“Complicated?” Turner’s voice pitched higher. “How does our job get complicated? You find vampire, you stake vampire, you file report. What the hell happened?”

Simon watched condensation drip down his protein shake. “Charlie Dracul got away.”

The silence stretched. “He got away,” Turner repeated flatly. “From you.”

“Yes.”

“That’s the first time, isn’t it? You’ve never missed a target.”

Simon didn’t need the reminder. 

Turner almost laughed. “This’ll blow Harmon’s mind.”

“Tell Harmon I’m handling it.”

“You better be. You know he’s already talking about putting a team on this.”

A team. As if Simon needed help catching one pathetic vampire who survived on condiments and rolled around town in a laundry cart. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Prove it.”

The line went dead.

Simon pocketed his phone and got ready to leave. He would find out exactly what game Charlie Dracul was playing with him.

* * *

The Stop & Stock squatted on the corner, its neon sign flickering between “Open 24 Hours” and “Open 2 Hours.” Through the windows, he could see someone mopping.

The automatic doors wheezed open. Behind the counter stood a middle-aged man with a manager’s badge that read “Denton” and an expression that suggested he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Help you?” Mr. Denton didn’t look up from his clipboard.

Simon approached the counter, adopting his most professional stance. “I’m investigating a violent incident that occurred here earlier tonight. A man named Charlie was seen leaving the premises covered in blood.”

Mr. Denton’s pen stopped moving. He looked up slowly.

“Blood?”

“That’s what witnesses reported.”

“You mean the cherry syrup?”

Simon kept his expression neutral. “I was told he left here in a bloodied state after an altercation.”

Mr. Denton set down his clipboard with the kind of deliberate patience reserved for dealing with idiots. “Kid couldn’t figure out how to change the slushie bag. It exploded. Cherry syrup everywhere.”

“You’re certain it was just syrup?” It was entirely possible the vampire had employed some mind manipulation tricks to make the people around him believe that.

“Look, buddy.” Mr. Denton leaned against the counter. “I don’t know who told you there was some ‘violent incident,’ but Charlie’s about as violent as a wet paper towel. Last week, Mrs. Henderson came in here with a nosebleed. You know what Charlie did?”

Simon waited.

“Fainted. Just dropped. Had to mop around him while he was out cold on my floor. Took fifteen minutes before he came to, then he spent another ten apologizing.”

Behind them, someone snorted. A teenage employee emerged from the chip aisle with a mop bucket.

“You talking about Charlie?” the kid asked. “Dude apologized to a door last week cause he thought he’d bumped into it.”

Mr. Denton nodded. “If you’re looking for dangerous criminals, you’re wasting your time. Now, you buying something or not?”

Simon stood there, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Either everything about his intel had been wrong or this vampire was extremely good at putting on a show. Which would make him extremely dangerous. Simon couldn’t let his guard down. “Where does Charlie live?”

Mr. Denton’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t give out employee information to random people. You want to harass my workers, get a warrant.”

The teenage employee piped up again. “He won’t be here tonight either. He’s called in sick.”

Simon turned and left without another word.

Outside, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through the Hunter Organization’s database. Three victims drained in one night. Warehouse full of captives. Superhuman strength.

He cross-referenced with police reports from the last month.

Nothing.

No unexplained deaths. No missing persons matching the timeline. No warehouse raids.

Had someone messed with the police database?

His phone buzzed. Turner again.

Simon let it go to voicemail and started walking.

* * *

The cemetery gates stood open, as they always did during daylight hours. Simon’s feet found the familiar path without conscious thought—past the newer sections with their uniform headstones, deeper into the older grounds where the oaks grew thick and the morning sun barely penetrated.

His mother’s grave sat beneath one of those oaks, far enough from the main path that he rarely encountered other mourners. The headstone was simple gray granite, the way she would have wanted it. “Margaret Crane. Beloved Mother. 1978-2007.”

Simon knelt in the damp grass. The morning dew soaked through his tactical pants immediately, but he didn’t care. He unwrapped the white lilies he’d bought from the all-night grocery—they were already showing brown edges, but they were the only lilies they’d had. He placed them carefully against the stone, adjusting them twice before they looked right.

“Hi, Mom.”

The words felt stupid, the way they always did. Talking to a stone. But he said them anyway.

“Hunt number one-eighteen should have been last night.” He sat back on his heels, eyes tracing the familiar letters of her name. “Charlie Dracul. The Organization’s been tracking him for weeks. Multiple kills. Shows all the signs of an old one, maybe centuries. The kind of monster that would—”

He stopped. The kind of monster that would drain a woman in her own home while her son slept down the hall. The kind he’d been too young, too weak, too human to stop.

“I had him cornered in a laundromat. Stake in hand. Clear shot.” Simon’s fingers found a piece of grass and tore it into small pieces. “And then he ran. But that’s not the problem.”

A crow landed on a headstone three rows over, watching him with black eyes.

“The problem is how he ran. He couldn’t control his own speed. Bounced off walls like he’d never used his powers before. Left in a laundry cart.” The words sounded even more ridiculous out loud. “A laundry cart, Mom.”

The crow cocked its head.

“Then this morning, I went to investigate the attack site. His boss laughed at me. Actually laughed. Said Charlie fainted when a customer came in with a nosebleed. Had to mop around him.”

Simon stood, pacing the small patch of grass in front of the grave. “Something’s off. Things aren’t adding up. Turner said they had multiple confirmed sources. Someone saw him. Someone reported those kills.” He turned back to the headstone. “But there’s nothing. No bodies. No missing persons. No evidence at all.”

The morning was warming up, humidity already making his shirt stick to his back. Other mourners were starting to arrive—he could hear car doors slamming in the distance, muffled voices carrying on the breeze.

“I know what you’d say.” Simon crouched again, straightening the lilies that didn’t need straightening. “You’d tell me to trust my instincts. That if something feels wrong, it probably is.”

His phone tried to call his attention again. 

Simon pulled it out. Harmon. 

Suppressing a sigh, Simon looked down at the grave one more time.

“I’m going to figure out what’s really going on. Who Charlie really is. And then I’m going to finish the job.” He touched the headstone gently, the granite warm from the morning sun. “I promise. I’m still doing this for you. All of it.”

The phone kept ringing.

“I have to go. Harmon’s going to want answers I don’t have.” He grimaced. “I’ll bring better flowers next time. The fresh ones from that place on Madison you liked.”

He finally turned and answered the phone.

“I’m on my way,” he said before Harmon could speak.

“You better be. And Simon? You better have a damn good explanation for last night.”

Simon glanced back once at his mother’s grave, all his promises fresh on his mind. “I’m working on it.”

* * *

The Hunter Organization’s headquarters occupied the top three floors of a glass office building downtown, disguised as a private security firm. Simon pushed through the revolving doors at ten-thirty sharp, his reflection in the polished marble floors looking as composed as always. Black tactical pants, black shirt, expression carefully neutral.

The receptionist, a young woman who’d started two months ago, gave him a nervous smile. “Mr. Harmon is waiting for you in Conference Room Three.”

Conference Room Three. Not Harmon’s office.

That meant an audience.

Simon took the elevator to the forty-second floor, using the ride to review his options. He could explain about the cherry syrup, the laundry cart, the manager’s testimony. He could present the lack of police reports, the missing evidence.

Or he could keep his mouth shut and take whatever they threw at him.

That was probably the smarter choice.

The elevator doors opened to reveal the familiar sterile hallway—white walls, no artwork, nothing that might suggest what really went on here. Simon’s footsteps echoed as he walked past the research labs, the training rooms, the armory. A few junior hunters lounging by the water cooler stopped talking when they saw him.

News traveled fast here.

Conference Room Three’s door stood slightly ajar. Through the gap, Simon could hear voices.

“—first time in five years—”

“—told you giving him special treatment would—”

“—needs to learn he’s not above protocol—”

Simon pushed the door open.

The conversation stopped immediately.

Director Harmon sat at the head of the long conference table, his gray suit as pristine as his carefully maintained silver hair. To his left sat Madeline Cross, Head of Intelligence, her tablet and color-coded files spread across the table like weapons. To his right, James Fitzgerald from Field Operations, whose scarred hands drummed against the table in a rhythm that suggested barely contained irritation.

And leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, stood Marcus Webb.

Simon’s mentor hadn’t changed much in the three years since he’d officially retired from field work. Same weathered face, same calculating dark eyes, same way of standing that suggested he could still take down half the room despite being north of fifty. He gave Simon the slightest nod—not of greeting, but of acknowledgment.

You’re in deep shit, that nod said.

“Sit,” Harmon commanded, gesturing to the single chair positioned at the opposite end of the table. The hot seat. Simon had seen other hunters called to it but never occupied it himself.

But he’d always known he’d end up here sooner or later. 

Harmon must be salivating at the chance to finally lay into him.

Simon sat, keeping his posture straight, his hands visible on the table.

“You want to explain what happened last night?” his superior demanded.

“I tracked the target to the laundromat as reported. He escaped.”

“He escaped.” Harmon repeated the words slowly, as if tasting something foul. “You’re telling me that Charlie Dracul, who we have numerous reports of being one of the most dangerous vampires in the city, simply… escaped? From you?”

“Yes.”

Fitzgerald leaned forward. “Did you call for backup?”

“No.”

“Did you set a perimeter?”

“No.”

“Did you follow any of the protocols we have in place for high-risk targets?”

Simon met his gaze steadily. “I assessed the situation and acted accordingly.”

“You assessed.” Madeline Cross pulled up something on her tablet. “Just like you ‘assessed’ the Rosebrier situation and went in alone? Or the warehouse raid where you ignored direct orders to wait for the strike team?”

“Both of those were successful eliminations.”

“That’s not the point!” Harmon’s palm slammed the table. “You think you’re better than everyone else. You think the rules don’t apply to you because you’ve got the highest kill count. Well guess what? Last night proves you’re not infallible.”

Simon kept his expression neutral, even as his jaw tightened. 

How long had Harmon been waiting for his chance to say that? 

“The intelligence was flawed,” Simon explained.

Madeline’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“The reports about Charlie Dracul. They don’t match what I observed.”

“So now you’re questioning our intelligence gathering?” Harmon pressed.

“I’m saying the target didn’t display the characteristics described in the file. There are no police reports corroborating the supposed kills. No missing persons. No evidence.”

“And you determined all this in the thirty seconds before he escaped?” Fitzgerald’s scarred hands had stopped drumming. “Or did you do unauthorized investigation afterward?”

Simon said nothing.

Harmon stood slowly, planting both hands on the table. “Let me explain something to you, since you seem to have forgotten. When Intelligence provides a target assessment, you trust it. When Field Operations creates protocols, you follow them. When I give an order, you obey it. You are not a one-man army. You are part of an organization.”

“An organization that’s benefited from my skills.”

“An organization you’re making look incompetent!” Harmon very nearly glared at him.

From his position against the wall, Marcus Webb finally spoke. “Perhaps we should discuss this more productively.”

Everyone turned to look at him.

Marcus pushed off from the wall, moving with the controlled grace of someone who’d spent decades in the field. “Simon’s methods have saved this organization time, resources, and lives. One failure doesn’t erase that.”

“His methods are going to get him killed,” Fitzgerald muttered.

“His methods,” Marcus continued calmly, “are effective precisely because he thinks independently. I personally trained him to be exceptional. We can’t be surprised when he acts like it.”

Simon caught the slight emphasis on ‘trained.’ Marcus had been the one to recruit him after his mother’s death, had spent years honing Simon’s natural abilities into something lethal. Every lesson had been about control, discipline, channeling his rage into purpose.

And other things, a voice in the back of Simon’s mind whispered. Things they never mentioned anymore.

“That said,” Marcus moved closer to the table, “Simon knows he acted outside acceptable parameters. Don’t you?”

It wasn’t really a question.

“Yes,” Simon said.

Harmon sat back down, visibly trying to regain his composure. “You have forty-eight hours.”

Simon blinked. “Sir?”

“Forty-eight hours to bring in Charlie Dracul. Properly this time. Following protocols. With regular check-ins.” Harmon’s gray eyes were cold. “Fitzgerald will assign you a partner—”

“No.”

The word came out harder than Simon intended. Everyone stared at him.

“No?” Harmon’s voice dropped dangerously low.

“I can’t work with a partner on this.” Simon’s mind raced for acceptable reasons. “I already had the vampire in my sights. I know what to do. Adding an unknown element now will complicate the approach. I need to—”

“What you need,” Fitzgerald interrupted, “is someone watching your back since you clearly can’t catch this one by yourself.”

“Actually,” Marcus said quietly, “Simon has a point.”

The room went silent again.

Marcus walked around the table, asserting himself. “Introducing a partner now would require additional briefing time, coordination of tactics, adjustment of approach. Time we don’t have if the forty-eight hour deadline is firm.”

“Since when do we let hunters dictate their own terms?” Madeline asked.

“Since they’ve proven themselves one hundred and seventeen times.” Marcus stopped beside Harmon’s chair. “If Simon says he works best by himself we should let him prove it.”

Harmon looked between Marcus and Simon, clearly unhappy. “If he fails again—”

“He won’t,” Marcus said simply. “Will you, Simon?”

“No, sir.”

Fitzgerald shook his head. “This is a mistake. He needs oversight.”

“He’ll have it,” Marcus said. “Regular check-ins, as you said. Full compliance with the rules.” He looked directly at Simon. “And he takes his full supplement regimen. No skipping doses because he thinks he doesn’t need them.”

Simon’s jaw tightened. He’d been rationing his supplements lately, trying to stretch them out. The Organization provided them free of charge—allegedly vitamin combinations to keep him in peak physical condition. But Simon knew what they really were. Marcus knew he knew.

And now Marcus was making sure he didn’t stray from the path.

“Fine,” Harmon said finally. “Forty-eight hours. Solo. But if you fail, Simon, this case will be out of your hands entirely. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“Cross will provide you with updated intelligence,” Harmon continued. “And I want those check-ins on time. Not a minute late.”

“Is that all?” Simon asked.

Harmon looked like he wanted to say more, but Marcus stepped forward slightly. A subtle intervention.

“That’s all,” Harmon said. “Cross, brief him on the updated parameters. Fitzgerald, a word.”

Simon stood to leave, but Marcus’s voice stopped him.

“Simon. My office after you’re done with the briefing.”

It wasn’t a request.

---

Marcus’s office occupied a corner of the forty-third floor, earned through two decades of successful hunts before his transition to training and advisory. Unlike the sterile conference rooms, this space had personality. Weapons from different eras mounted on walls—a crossbow from the 1800s, silver-lined nets, a collection of stakes in various materials. Books lined one wall, titles ranging from “The Art of War” to medical journals on hematology.

Marcus closed the door behind them and moved to a cabinet, pulling out an unmarked bottle and two glasses.

“Sit,” he said, pouring amber liquid into both glasses. “You look like hell.”

Simon sat in the worn leather chair across from Marcus’s desk but didn’t touch the drink. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Marcus settled into his own chair, studying Simon over the rim of his glass. “When’s the last time you took a full dose?”

“This morning.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Marcus’s voice stayed calm, but his eyes sharpened. “I can see it in your hands. The tremor. You’re rationing again.”

It wasn’t a question.

“The doses make me slow,” Simon said.

Marcus leaned back in his chair, studying him. “Your pupils are dilated. When did you last take a full dose?”

Simon hesitated. His boss would not like the truth. “Thirty-six hours ago.”

“Christ.” Marcus rubbed his face. “And you went after a vampire like that? Do you have any idea how stupid that was?”

“I was in control.”

“You think you’re in control.” Marcus’s voice hardened. “Just like Richardson thought he was in control. Just like Keane thought she was in control.”

Simon recognized the names. Other hunters who’d gone through Marcus’s special program. Other hunters who weren’t around anymore.

“I’m not them.”

“No,” Marcus agreed. “You’re not. You’re my best student. One of the few who we managed to save after—” He stopped himself. “The point is, you’re valuable. Too valuable to lose because you think you know better than the people who rebuilt you.”

Rebuilt. That’s what Marcus always called it. Not trained. Not changed. Rebuilt.

“The doses—”

“Keep the worst parts of you locked down.” Marcus leaned forward. “You remember what you were like when I found you? The rage? The violence? You attacked three of my men before we got you sedated.”

Simon remembered fragments. His mother’s blood on the floor. The vampire’s teeth. Then nothing but red haze until he woke up strapped to a medical table with Marcus standing over him.

“That wasn’t me,” Simon said quietly.

“No? Then who was it? Who broke Thompson’s arm in three places? Who bit through the restraints until his mouth bled?” Marcus’s eyes never left his. “That rage is still in you, Simon. The program didn’t remove it. We just gave you the tools to control it.”

Simon bit his tongue to keep his silence. There was nothing he could say in response that wouldn’t sound as if he were pissing on the gift Marcus had given him. 

He didn’t want to sound insolent in front of the man who’d given him a new lease on life.

“Your supplements are not optional,” Marcus said. “Two pills every twelve hours. It’s not a difficult ask when they’re the only thing standing between you and what you could become.”

Simon met his gaze. “What I could become is a better hunter. When I reduce the doses, my senses sharpen. I can detect them from farther away. I’m faster, stronger—”

“You’re playing with fire.” Marcus stood, moving to look out his office window at the city below. “Do you know how many recruits we put through the program after your cohort? Twelve. Do you know how many survived?”

Simon knew the answer. “Three.”

“Two,” Marcus corrected. “Sigal succumbed last month.” An uncharacteristic sigh escaped Simon’s mentor. 

Simon found he didn’t want to know exactly how Sigal had been lost. 

Whatever had happend to the young redhead would not happen to him.

“This is a serious matter,” Marcus said. “The process that saved you nearly destroyed you. We pushed your body and mind to the absolute limit. We turned your trauma into a weapon.” Marcus shot him a look. “But weapons need maintenance. Skip that maintenance, and they become unreliable. Dangerous. To themselves and everyone around them.”

He turned back to face Simon. “Harmon doesn’t know about the program, that’s why he keeps trying to partner you up. But I know what happens when you’re off your doses too long. The aggression. The impulsiveness. The way your judgment starts to slip.”

“My judgment is fine.”

“Really? Then why did Charlie Dracul escape?”

Simon didn’t answer.

Marcus returned to his desk, picked up a familiar prescription bottle, and held it out. “Two pills, every twelve hours. No exceptions. No rationing. No trying to give yourself an ‘edge.'”

Simon took the bottle. The label read ‘Haloperidol’ but they both knew that wasn’t what was inside. The real compound didn’t have a civilian name.

“If I find out you’re skipping doses again,” Marcus said, “I’ll pull you from field work myself. Permanently.”

“You can’t—”

“I made you what you are, Simon. I can unmake you just as easily.” Marcus’s tone wasn’t threatening. It was matter-of-fact. “The Organization trusts me to keep you functional. If I say you’re compromised, that’s it. You’re done.”

Simon pocketed the pills. “Understood.”

Marcus studied him for a long moment. “Your mother would be proud of what you’ve become. A protector. A shield against the monsters.”

“She’d be alive if I’d been this back then.”

“You were fifteen. You were human. You were helpless.” Marcus’s voice softened slightly. “That’s not what you are now.”

No, Simon thought. Now he was something else. Something Marcus had created in a laboratory with experimental procedures and illegal chemicals. Something that could hunt monsters because part of him understood them in ways normal humans never could.

“Take a dose now,” Marcus ordered. “Before you leave.”

Simon pulled out the bottle, shook two pills into his palm, and dry-swallowed them. Marcus watched to make sure he didn’t palm them.

“Good.” Marcus moved back to his desk. “Now, about Charlie Dracul. Tell me what really happened at that laundromat.”

“The target didn’t match the profile,” he said finally.

Marcus pulled out a tablet, swiping to what Simon recognized as the intelligence file. “Charlie Dracul. Suspected in three killings last month. Seen near the warehouse district where those bodies were found drained. Excessive strength documented in two separate incidents.”

“Except there were no bodies. I checked the police databases. No missing persons reports matching those dates. No homicides with that MO.”

“You think Intelligence fabricated the reports?”

“No.” Simon had considered it, but it didn’t make sense. “I think someone fed them false information. The witness statements are too detailed to be mistakes. Someone wanted us to think Charlie Dracul was dangerous.”

Marcus set down the tablet. “And your actual observation of the target?”

Simon almost laughed. Almost. “He crashed into a wall trying to use super-speed. Bounced off a soap dispenser. Left in a laundry cart.”

“You’re joking.”

“I watched him ricochet around the laundromat like a pinball. He has the power but no control. Like he’s never used it before.”

Marcus was quiet for a moment. “New vampire?”

“Has to be. Weeks old at most. But that doesn’t explain the Dracul name. No fledgling would dare claim that lineage without backing.”

“Unless he doesn’t know what it means.” Marcus stood, pacing to the window again. “Tell me about the convenience store.”

Simon blinked at the subject change. “What about it?”

“You went there. Talked to the manager.”

Of course Marcus knew. He probably knew every step Simon had taken since leaving the laundromat.

“The manager said Charlie fainted when a customer came in with a nosebleed. Just dropped. They had to mop around him.”

Marcus made a sound that might have been a suppressed laugh. “A vampire who faints at the sight of blood.”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Marcus turned back to him. “Which means you’re missing something. Either Charlie Dracul is the greatest actor in vampire history, or—”

“Or someone’s setting him up.”

“The question is why.” Marcus returned to his desk. “And who benefits from us eliminating a harmless fledgling.”

Simon had been wondering the same thing. “Could be vampire politics. Maybe he offended the wrong coven. Get the hunters to do their dirty work.”

“Or setting you up.” Marcus gathered the papers. “You’re our most effective hunter. If someone wanted to test our capabilities or distract us from something else…”

“They’d send me after a nobody and watch what happens.”

“Exactly.” Marcus locked the folder back in his cabinet. “But that’s irrelevant for now. You have forty-eight hours to bring him in, and Harmon won’t care if the intelligence was fabricated. Results are all that matter.”

“I understand, sir.” 

Results were all that ever mattered.

---

Charlie woke to the sound of aggressive positivity.

“Rise and shine, vampire lord! Time to face the day!”

Brent stood in front of his living room windows, arms stretched wide, about to pull open the heavy curtains.

“No!” Charlie rolled off the couch, landing behind it with a thud. “Don’t open those!”

Brent paused. “Dude, it’s noon. You can’t stay in the dark all day.”

“Actually, I can. The sun will burn my skin.”

“No way, bro, vitamin D is important.” Brent pulled one curtain halfway open.

Sunlight streamed across the room. Charlie pressed himself against the back of the couch, his skin prickling with an uncomfortable heat even from indirect exposure.

“Please, just close it!”

Brent sighed but pulled the curtain shut. “This is getting concerning. When’s the last time you went outside during normal hours?”

Three weeks ago, Charlie thought. When he was still human.

“I work night shifts,” he said instead.

“Right, but you’re not working today. Or tonight, since you called in sick.” Brent moved away from the windows, and Charlie cautiously emerged from behind the couch. “Which means we have all day to hang out! I was thinking we could hit the gym.”

“I can’t go to the gym.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Charlie’s mind went blank. “I don’t have a membership?”

“Guest pass, bro. Already called ahead.” Brent grinned, clearly proud of his planning. “Come on, it’ll be good for you. You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

That was technically true. Ketchup packets and cherry kool-aid didn’t really count as eating.

“I appreciate it, but—”

“No buts!” Brent was already heading to his room. “I’ve got extra workout clothes. We’ll get you swole in no time!”

“Brent, I really can’t.”

“You know what?” Brent emerged with an armful of gym clothes. “If you’re that committed to staying inside, we’ll work out here. I’ve got dumbbells, resistance bands, even a pull-up bar.”

Charlie stared at the offered clothes. “Here?”

“Yeah! It’ll be fun. We’ll open up some space, get a good pump going. Maybe it’ll help with whatever’s got you so stressed.” Brent’s expression softened. “Because honestly, man, you seem like you’re going through something. And exercise helps. Trust me.”

The genuine concern in Brent’s voice made Charlie’s chest tight. Here was someone actually trying to help him, even if Brent had no idea what was really wrong.

“Okay,” Charlie said, taking the clothes. “We can try.”

Brent’s face lit up. “That’s the spirit! Get changed. We’ll start with some light warm-ups.”

Charlie went to the bathroom to change, catching his reflection in the mirror. He wished that part about how vampires didn’t have reflections were true. He had one, and it looked terrible. He was pale—paler than usual. Dark circles under his eyes that seemed to get worse every day. The borrowed tank top hung loose on his frame.

When he emerged, Brent had pushed his coffee table against the wall and laid out his collection of weights. It was honestly impressive for a studio apartment—dumbbells ranging from ten to fifty pounds, several kettlebells, and resistance bands mounted to the wall.

“Alright!” Brent clapped his hands together. “Let’s start with some basic movements. See where you’re at.”

He demonstrated a few stretches, which Charlie copied. At least flexibility hadn’t changed with his transformation.

“Good! Now let’s try some push-ups. Give me ten.”

Charlie dropped to the floor and started. One, two, three—wait. These felt different. By ten, he wasn’t even slightly tired.

“Nice form!” Brent said. “Let’s try twenty more.”

Charlie did twenty more. Still nothing.

“Damn, okay! You’ve got better endurance than I expected.” Brent grabbed a twenty-pound dumbbell. “Let’s test your strength. Bicep curls.”

Charlie took the weight. It felt like holding a coffee mug. He did a curl, trying to make it look difficult, adding a grunt for effect because he knew this was supposed to be difficult.

“Come on, don’t just go through the motions,” Brent said. “Really feel the burn.”

“Right. The burn.” Charlie did another curl, scrunching his face in fake concentration.

Brent frowned. “That weight too light? Here.” He handed Charlie a forty-pound dumbbell.

Charlie took it, still pretending to struggle just so Brent would leave him alone.

“Bro, you’re not even trying. I can tell. That’s forty pounds and you’re treating it like it’s nothing.”

“No, it’s definitely something,” Charlie lied, adding a slight shake to his arm.

“Stop faking!” Brent grabbed the fifty-pound dumbbell. “Look, if you can’t lift it, that’s fine. No judgment. But don’t pretend it’s hard when it’s not.”

Something snapped in Charlie. He grabbed the fifty-pound weight and did ten rapid curls with one arm, then switched and did ten with the other, his face completely relaxed.

“Holy shit.” Brent’s eyes went wide. “You’re doing single-arm curls with fifty pounds like it’s nothing. What’s your max?”

“I don’t know.” Charlie was tired of pretending. “I told you. I’m a vampire. Super strength comes with the territory.”

“Right, vampire strength.” Brent nodded seriously, but Charlie could see he still didn’t believe it. “From all your vampire training.”

“I don’t train! I literally just told you—”

“Let’s find out your max!” Brent was getting excited now. He grabbed his backpack and started filling it with weights. “This is probably about seventy pounds total. Can you curl this?”

Charlie took the backpack by one strap and curled it easily. Too easily. Then, frustrated, he took Brent’s entire weight set—the rack and all—and lifted it overhead with one hand.

“See?” Charlie said, holding approximately two hundred pounds above his head like an umbrella. “Vampire. Actual vampire. Not LARPing. Not method acting. Vampire.”

“Dude. DUDE.” Brent was practically vibrating with excitement. “You’ve been training for this role for YEARS, haven’t you? The dedication! The commitment! You probably started working out in secret when you first got interested in vampire stuff!”

Charlie set the weights down with a clang. “Brent, I’m literally holding your entire gym with one hand.”

“I know! It’s incredible! You must have such a specific workout routine. And supplements! Are you on creatine? BCAAs? Some special program?”

“Does tomato juice count?”

“Is that code for something? Like a new pre-workout?”

Charlie grabbed the pull-up bar mounted in Brent’s doorway and did a pull-up so forcefully that the bar bent into a V-shape.

“Oh come on!” Brent rushed over to examine it. “That was a hundred-dollar bar! How did you—wait, this is amazing. The grip strength alone!”

“Because I’m a vampire!”

“Method acting to the extreme, bro. I respect it.” Brent was filming now with his phone. “My followers are going to lose their minds when they see this.”

Charlie stared at the phone screen, seeing himself clearly displayed doing inhuman feats. “I show up on camera.”

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t you?”

“Vampires aren’t supposed to show up on camera. But then, I show up in the mirror too.” Charlie slumped. “I can’t even do that right.”

“Maybe you’re a different kind of vampire?” Brent suggested helpfully. “Like in that movie where they could see themselves but only in digital cameras?”

“This isn’t a movie!”

“I know, it’s a lifestyle. A commitment. And honestly?” Brent deleted the video. “I respect that you want to keep the mystique. No social media evidence. Though I don’t think that’ll help your acting career.”

Acting career…

He was not an actor.

Charlie grabbed Brent’s couch and lifted it over his head with Brent still sitting on it.

“VAMPIRE!” Charlie shouted.

“This is the best day ever!” Brent laughed from his elevated position. “You’re like if vampires existed but also went to the gym! Have you considered competing? You could enter strongman competitions!”

Charlie set the couch down, defeated. “You’re never going to believe me, are you?”

“I believe you’re going through something and this vampire thing is helping you process it,” Brent said kindly. “And that’s valid, bro. Whatever you need to deal with your stuff.”

Charlie wanted to scream. Instead, his stomach growled loudly.

“When’s the last time you ate real food?” Brent asked.

“Three weeks ago.”

“That’s impossible. You’d be dead.”

“I’m already dead! That’s what I’ve been trying to—” Charlie stopped. What was the point?

“Look,” Brent said, sitting back down and patting the spot next to him. “Whether you’re a real vampire or just really committed to the role, you clearly need help. You’re obviously dealing with something heavy. So I’m here for you, okay? Even if I don’t fully understand what you’re going through.”

The kindness in his voice made Charlie’s chest tight. He sat down, pulling his knees to his chest.

“Thanks, Brent.”

“But seriously, you need to eat something. Even vampires need nutrition, right?”

Charlie’s stomach growled again. The hunger was getting worse. The ketchup packets weren’t even taking the edge off anymore.

“Yeah,” Charlie said quietly. “We do.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said quietly. “We do.” The sounds his stomach made became louder.

“Okay, that’s concerning,” Brent said. “That sounded like a wounded animal.”

“Sorry.” Charlie shifted on the couch. The exercise had definitely been a mistake. His body had burned through whatever meager energy his dubious diet had provided, and now it wanted payment.

“Let me make you something.” Brent headed to his kitchen. “I’ve got protein bars, leftover Thai food, some questionable yogurt…”

“I’m good.”

“You’re not good. You’re literally vibrating.”

Charlie looked down. His hands were trembling slightly. He pressed them against his thighs.

Brent returned with an armful of food, dumping it on the coffee table. “Eat something. Anything.”

Charlie picked up a protein bar to appease him, unwrapped it, took a bite. It tasted like cardboard and sadness. His body knew this wasn’t what it needed, but he forced himself to swallow.

“Better?” Brent asked.

“Yeah,” Charlie lied.

His phone rang. Mr. Denton.

Charlie almost didn’t answer, but habit won.

“You coming in tonight or not?”

“I’m not feeling well.”

“Jerry just called in with food poisoning. Madison’s got her kid’s recital. What do you expect me to do?”

“Mr. Denton—”

“I don’t care if you’re dying. Get here by eight or don’t bother coming back.”

The line went dead.

“Your boss seems nice,” Brent said.

Charlie dropped his phone. This was great. Just great. Eight pm… the sun set at seven thirty so he would have just enough time. “I’ll have to go to work tonight.”

“Dude, no. You’re clearly not okay.”

True, but what did that matter? Aside from Brent, nobody else in this world seemed to care. “If I don’t go, I lose my job.”

“So get another job.”

“It’s not that simple.” Charlie tried to explain. “I’m already late on rent on no one else will hire me for night shifts only.”

“And you can’t work days because you’re a vampire, right.” Brent nodded like this made perfect sense. “The commitment to the role is admirable but maybe tone it down for job interviews?”

A laugh bubbled up from Charlie’s chest, slightly hysterical. 

If only he could ‘turn it down’ for job interviews. 

What the hell had his life become?

He buried his head in his hands, and that was when he heard it.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Brent’s heartbeat. Clear as a drum, steady and strong. Charlie had never noticed it before, but now he couldn’t unhear it. The rhythmic pump of blood through veins, life flowing just under the skin.

Life that would feed his life.

“You okay?” Brent leaned closer. “You’re staring.”

Charlie jerked back. “Fine. I’m fine.”

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

“Maybe some juice would help? I’ve got apple, orange—”

“Tomato?” Charlie asked desperately.

“Let me check.” Brent got up, and Charlie found himself tracking the movement, watching the way the veins in Brent’s neck moved when he turned his head.

No. Absolutely not. Brent was his friend. Possibly his only friend.

“Found some!” Brent returned with a can of tomato juice.

Charlie grabbed it and drank greedily. It helped for about ten seconds before his stomach cramped, rejecting the substitute.

“More?”

“That’s the last can. But seriously, you should eat real food.”

Real food. Charlie’s gums ached. He could feel his fangs trying to descend and fought them back.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

“I need to use your bathroom,” Charlie said, standing too quickly. The room spun.

He locked himself in Brent’s bathroom and gripped the sink, staring at his reflection. His eyes had a reddish tint he’d never seen before. His fangs were partially extended despite his best efforts.

This was bad. This was very bad.

He splashed cold water on his face. It didn’t help. He could still hear Brent’s heartbeat through the door, could practically smell the blood flowing through his friend’s veins.

His stomach cramped again, hard enough that he had to brace himself against the wall. The protein bar was not sitting well. His body wanted to reject everything that wasn’t blood.

He needed to get out of here. But where could he go? It was barely past noon. The sun wouldn’t set for hours.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, Brent was doing pushups in the living room, his heart rate elevated from the exercise.

Thump-thump-thump-thump.

“Feeling better?” Brent asked, not stopping his workout.

“Yeah,” Charlie lied, returning to the couch.

His phone was buzzing on the coffee table. Another call from Mr. Denton. Charlie let it go to voicemail.

The message was brief: “8PM. Don’t leave me hanging, kid.”

“Your boss again?” Brent finished his pushups and grabbed a water bottle. A bead of sweat rolled down his neck, and Charlie found himself tracking its path.

“He really needs me tonight.”

“Dude, you can barely stand. You’re not going to work like this.”

“I have to.”

“No, you need to rest. Or see a doctor. Or both.” Brent sat down next to him, close enough that Charlie could feel the heat radiating off his skin from the workout. “Whatever this is, flu, food poisoning, extreme method acting exhaustion, you need actual help.”

“I’ll be fine after sunset,” Charlie said quietly.

“Why do you keep saying that? What’s magical about sunset?”

Probably nothing, but Charlie wanted to believe that nightfall would make everything better somehow. Even if he didn’t know how he could get food even if he did leave this house.

Thump-thump-thump-thump.

Brent’s elevated heart rate was starting to slow, but Charlie could still hear every beat, could practically taste—

No. He pressed his palms against his eyes.

“Seriously, man. You’re scaring me a little.” Brent’s voice was gentle. “Just lie down for a few hours at least. If you still want to go to work later, I’ll drive you.”

Three hours and fifty-eight minutes until sunset.

“Okay,” Charlie said, because arguing took energy he didn’t have. “I’ll rest.”

“Good.” Brent grabbed a blanket from his closet. “Take the couch. I’ll be in my room doing some work, but yell if you need anything.”

Charlie curled under the blanket, even though he wasn’t cold. His body didn’t regulate temperature the same way anymore. But the weight of it was comforting, something to hold him down when every cell in his body wanted to follow the sound of Brent’s heartbeat into the bedroom.

“Thanks,” he managed.

“That’s what friends are for.” Brent headed to his room, pausing at the door. “And Charlie? Whatever’s really going on, you can tell me. When you’re ready.”

The door closed with a soft click.

Charlie pulled the blanket over his head, trying to muffle the sound of Brent’s pulse through the thin walls. His stomach had gone past cramping into a constant, grinding ache. His fangs had fully descended now that he was alone, pressing against his lower lip.

Three hours and forty-three minutes until sunset.

He closed his eyes and started counting backwards from a thousand, focusing on the numbers instead of the hunger, instead of the sound of blood pumping through living veins just one room away.

Nine hundred ninety-nine. Nine hundred ninety-eight.

His phone vibrated with another message, but Charlie didn’t check it.

Nine hundred ninety-seven. Nine hundred ninety-six.

The counting helped, gave his mind something to hold onto as his body tried to shut down, conserving what little energy remained.

Nine hundred ninety-five.

Nine hundred ninety-four.

Nine hundred…

---

Charlie stood behind the register, gripping the counter hard enough to leave fingerprints in the cheap laminate.

Eight thirtyseven PM. He’d made it thirtyseven whole minutes without incident.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead and each flicker sent a fresh spike of pain through his skull. Everything was too bright, too loud, too much. The coffee machine’s gurgle sounded like a roaring waterfall. The freezer’s hum vibrated through his bones.

A customer approached with a six-pack, and Charlie forced his face into something resembling neutral.

“ID?” His voice came out rough.

The man fumbled for his wallet, and Charlie caught himself zeroing in on the lines on the guy’s hands. Thick veins, close to the surface. One paper cut and…

No.

Charlie grabbed a pen and clicked it repeatedly, using the sharp sound to center himself. The customer slid his ID across the counter.

“Thanks.” Charlie scanned the beer without looking at the date. The guy could be twelve for all he cared. He just needed him gone.

“You okay, buddy? You look rough.”

“Food poisoning,” Charlie managed.

“Brutal.” The man took his change and left.

Charlie waited until the door chimed shut, then rummaged under the counter where he’d stashed his emergency supplies. Not ketchup—he’d had enough of that.

His fingers closed around a bottle of cherry syrup meant for the slushie machine.

The same kind that had fooled his brain into believing it was blood last night. Maybe it would work again. 

He unscrewed the cap and took a swig. The artificial sweetness coated his throat, his body immediately recognizing it as another lie, another failed substitute.

“That’s disgusting.”

Charlie jerked around, syrup dribbling down his chin.

Mr. Denton stood in the office doorway, arms crossed.

“It helps with the nausea,” Charlie said weakly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“You know what helps with nausea? Not putting crap in your body.” Mr. Denton grabbed the inventory clipboard. “No wonder you’re feeling wonky when you’re drinking straight syrup like some kind of sugar vampire.”

Charlie almost laughed at the accuracy.

“Stock the beer cooler when you’re done being weird,” Mr. Denton said, disappearing back into his office.

The beer cooler. Right. Charlie could do that. It was nice and cool and would take his mind off customers and beating hearts and visible veins.

He grabbed the hand truck and headed to the blessedly quiet stockroom. There, he loaded cases of beer onto the hand truck, appreciating the simple physical task. No thinking required. Just lifting and stacking.

His phone buzzed. Text from Brent: “you doing okay?”

Charlie typed back: “fine. thanks for letting me crash”

Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Finally: “i found some tomato flavor protein shake if youre interested :)”

The kindness of it made Charlie’s chest tight. Here was Brent, still trying to help even though he thought Charlie was just some committed method actor having a breakdown.

Charlie wheeled the beer to the cooler and resumed stacking. The cold felt good against his fevered skin. 

Sadly, he could not stay in the back forever.

The door chimed. Another customer.

Charlie sighed, letting the cold numb him a moment longer while he listened to footsteps move through the store. They were measured, deliberate. Not the shuffle of a drunk or the quick steps of someone grabbing cigarettes.

Charlie peered through the cooler’s glass door.

Black tactical boots. Dark jeans. Leather jacket despite the warm evening.

His blood—what little remained of it—turned to ice.

The hunter from the laundromat stood at the end of the chip aisle, examining a bag of pretzels with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb.

Charlie dropped to his hands and knees, crawling behind the beer cases. Maybe the guy hadn’t seen him. Maybe he was just here for snacks. Maybe—

The footsteps moved closer to the cooler.

Charlie held his breath, which was easy since he didn’t really need to breathe anymore. One of the few vampire perks that actually worked.

The footsteps paused right outside the cooler door.

Then moved away, toward the register.

Charlie stayed frozen for another thirty seconds before carefully peering out again. The hunter stood at the counter, waiting. He’d placed a single energy drink next to the register.

Had he actually come to this place by coincidence? Was he not here to try to stake Charlie again?

Would he believe Charlie if Charlie lied about being a vampire? 

Maybe he could tell the hunter something about having a twin brother…

No, that was ridiculous. 

Charlie swallowed hard and straightened his uniform shirt, tried to smooth his hair, and walked out with what he hoped looked like confidence rather than barely controlled panic.

“Sorry about the wait.” He moved behind the register, avoiding eye contact.

“No problem.” The hunter’s voice was smooth. He almost sounded friendly when he asked, “Long shift?”

“Just started, actually.” Charlie found himself responding without thinking, as if this was a regular customer… 

But this man had tried to hunt him last night. Charlie needed to keep that in mind. 

“You look tired.”

Wasn’t that the truth? Charlie scanned the energy drink. “Two forty-nine.”

The hunter pulled out his wallet, and Charlie noticed his hands. Calloused, scarred across the knuckles. Fighter’s hands. One scar ran deep across his palm.

“Keep the change.” The hunter slid a five across the counter.

Their fingers almost touched.

Charlie yanked his hand back. “Thanks.”

The hunter didn’t move. Just stood there, studying Charlie with those sharp eyes that seemed to catalog every detail. Every weakness. The kind of focused attention that made Charlie feel stripped bare.

A bone-deep shudder went through him. 

This man had definitely come here for Charlie.

Why, though?

Charlie wasn’t dangerous to anyone but himself.

“You work here long?” the hunter asked.

Charlie tried to remember how to speak. It wasn’t easy, caught in this man’s dark gaze. “Few weeks,” he finally got out.

“Night shift must be rough.”

“It’s fine.”

“Lot of weird people come in at night, I bet.”

Charlie’s jaw clenched. “Some.”

The hunter smiled. It wasn’t friendly—but stupidly handsome in a way Charlie shouldn’t notice. “Like vampires?”

Every muscle in Charlie’s body locked up. He forced himself to laugh, though it came out like a dying wheeze. “Vampires aren’t real.”

“No?” The hunter tilted his head. “You sure about that?”

Charlie couldn’t find the words to say. 

He was going to die tonight, wasn’t he?

The hunter reached into his pocket.

Charlie tensed, ready to run, ready to—

The hunter pulled out a pocket knife.

“You mind?” He gestured at the energy drink. “These tabs are impossible.”

Before Charlie could respond, the hunter popped the tab with the knife’s edge. The blade slipped—deliberately, Charlie was sure—and sliced deep across his index finger.

Blood welled immediately. Rich, red, alive.

The scent hit Charlie like a sledgehammer.

* * *

Simon watched the vampire’s entire body go rigid.

The reaction was immediate, primal. Charlie’s pupils dilated until his eyes were almost black. His hands gripped the counter hard enough that Simon heard the laminate crack. Every muscle tensed like a predator about to spring.

There it is.

Simon kept his expression neutral, letting the blood drip onto the counter. Three drops. Four. The metallic scent filled the space between them.

Charlie took a step back. Then another.

Interesting. Most vampires would have lunged by now.

“You’re bleeding,” Charlie said, voice strangled. His gaze locked onto Simon’s finger with the kind of desperate focus that confirmed everything Simon needed to know.

“Am I?” Simon looked down at his hand with fake surprise. “Damn. Deeper than I thought.”

He lifted his finger, letting Charlie see the blood run down toward his palm. Testing. Pushing.

Charlie’s back hit the cigarette display. Packs cascaded to the floor.

“There’s—” Charlie’s voice cracked. “First aid kit. In the back.”

“I’m fine.” Simon stepped around the counter, closing the distance Charlie had tried to create. “It’s just a little blood.”

A sound escaped Charlie’s throat—half whimper, half growl. His lips parted, and Simon saw them. Fangs. Fully extended, pressing against Charlie’s lower lip.

Gotcha.

Now Charlie would reveal his dangerous side, but Simon wouldn’t let him. 

His hand moved instinctively toward the stake in his jacket. One fluid motion and this would be over. The monster was cornered, revealed, nowhere to run—

Charlie’s eyes rolled back.

His knees buckled.

He went down like someone had cut his strings, crashing into the cigarette display on his way to the floor. Packs scattered everywhere. His head made a disturbing thunk against the linoleum.

Simon stood there, blood still dripping from his finger, staring at the unconscious vampire sprawled behind the counter.

What the hell?

---

The door chimed.

“Yo, is this place open or what?”

Simon looked up to find a college-aged kid in a backwards cap standing at the counter, peering over at him. The blood from his finger was still dripping onto the floor next to Charlie’s unconscious form.

“He’s… taking a break,” Simon said.

“Behind the counter?”

“Yes.”

The kid shrugged. “Can you ring me up then? I just need a Monster and some Doritos.”

Simon stared at him. Then at Charlie. Then back at the kid who was already placing items on the counter.

“I don’t work here.”

“Come on, man. I’ve got exact change.” The kid slapped three dollars down. “Unless you want me to just take it?”

The office door banged open.

“What the hell is—” Mr. Denton stopped, taking in the scene: Simon standing behind the counter with blood dripping from his finger, Charlie sprawled on the floor, and a customer waiting with increasing impatience.

“For fuck’s sake.” Mr. Denton stepped over Charlie’s body to reach the register. “Not again.”

“Again?” Simon couldn’t help asking.

“Third time this month.” Mr. Denton rang up the customer with practiced efficiency. “Last week it was some lady with a papercut. Week before that, kid scraped his knee in the parking lot.”

The customer grabbed his items and left, apparently unbothered by the unconscious employee on the floor.

Mr. Denton pointed at Simon. “You. You’re helping me move him.”

“I don’t—”

“You made him faint, you help carry him.” Mr. Denton grabbed Charlie under the arms. “Get his legs.”

Simon found himself obeying automatically, gripping Charlie’s ankles. The vampire weighed almost nothing. Simon had carried gear packs heavier than this entire person.

“Break room’s back here,” Mr. Denton grunted, backing through a doorway.

They maneuvered down a narrow hallway to a cramped break room that smelled like burnt coffee and existential dread. A sagging couch occupied one wall.

“Gentle,” Mr. Denton warned as they lowered Charlie onto it. “Kid bruises like a peach.”

That was interesting. Vampires shouldn’t bruise.

Then again, they also shouldn’t be eating ketchup.

Who knew what this fool had done to his body?

Simon watched Mr. Denton arrange Charlie’s limbs with surprising care, putting a lumpy cushion under his head.

“There’s a first aid kit above the sink,” Mr. Denton said. “Fix your finger before you bleed all over my break room.”

Simon moved to the sink, unable to process how he’d gotten himself in this situation.

He found the kit and started cleaning his cut, watching Charlie in the mirror. This close, under the harsh fluorescents, the vampire looked even worse. Hollow cheeks. Cracked lips. Deep rings under his eyes.

A bottle of strawberry syrup sat on the table next to someone’s abandoned lunch.

Simon picked it up. It was nearly empty, and there were teeth marks on the cap like someone had been gnawing on it.

Mr. Denton glanced over. “That’s Charlie’s new favorite snack. Caught him with another bottle of it earlier.” He shook his head. “Kid’s a basket case. But he shows up, works hard, doesn’t steal from the register. That’s more than I can say for most.”

Charlie stirred.

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused. He tried to sit up, made it halfway, then stopped as the room apparently spun around him.

“Easy,” Mr. Denton said.

But Charlie’s gaze landed on Simon and his whole body went rigid. He tried to stand—too fast—and his legs immediately gave out.

Simon moved on instinct, catching Charlie’s upper arms before his knees hit the floor.

Charlie’s hands came up, gripping Simon’s forearms for balance.

They froze.

Charlie’s fingers pressed against Simon’s jacket, and even through the leather, Simon felt how cold they were. The vampire stared up at him, eyes still dilated but clearing, confusion giving way to recognition and then panic.

“You,” Charlie breathed.

“Me,” Simon agreed.

Charlie’s grip tightened for just a moment—surprisingly strong despite everything—before he seemed to realize what he was doing. He jerked back, stumbling until his back hit the wall.

“I need to—I should—” Charlie stuttered.

“Sit your ass down,” Mr. Denton ordered. “You just fainted. Again.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You look like death warmed over. Why did you even come in?” Mr. Denton pulled out his phone. “I’m calling someone to cover the rest of your shift.”

“Mr. Denton, please—”

“No arguments. You’re going home.” He looked at Simon. “You. Make sure he doesn’t pass out again while I find coverage.”

Mr. Denton left, already dialing.

Simon and Charlie stared at each other across the break room.

“You cut yourself on purpose,” Charlie said quietly, sitting back down on the couch.

“Yes.”

“To test me.”

“Yes.”

Charlie pulled his knees to his chest, making himself smaller on the couch. “Are you going to kill me now?”

The question should have had an easy answer. Yes. That was Simon’s job. That was why he was here.

But if he killed Charlie now, he’d never get answers to the many questions this vampire stirred in him. Like who the hell had set him on Charlie’s trail, and why?

Who would profit if Simon killed this incompetent fledgling?

So many questions.

Simon started with the first one on his mind. “When were you turned?”

“Three weeks ago.”

Three weeks. Christ.

“Your maker?”

“Gone.” Charlie’s voice went flat. “He was drunk. Thought it would be funny, I guess. Bit me in an alley and left.”

Simon felt his hands curl into fists. Whatever he thought of vampires, there were lines. You didn’t just turn someone and abandon them. You taught them to hunt, to feed, to control their abilities. You didn’t leave them drinking strawberry syrup in a convenience store break room.

“You don’t know anything,” Simon observed.

“I know I need blood. I know sunlight hurts. I know I’m stronger and faster than before.” Charlie’s laugh had a hysterical edge. “I also know I can’t use any of it properly and blood makes me pass out, so I’m basically the world’s most useless vampire.”

Simon rubbed his face. This was ridiculous. He was a hunter. The Organization’s best. He had over a hundred kills. He did not feel bad for vampires.

He definitely didn’t feel exasperated on their behalf.

“Someone reported you as Charlie Dracul,” Simon said. “Multiple murders. Warehouse full of victims. Ring any bells?”

Charlie’s eyes widened. “What? No! I’ve never… I work retail! The most violent thing I’ve done is argue with the slushie machine!”

Either Charlie was an incredible actor, or someone had played Simon.

In any case, Simon needed to get to the bottom of this. 

“I can’t let you roam free,” he said finally. “You’re coming with me.”

---

Before Charlie could process what Simon had said, he heard footsteps approaching in the hallway. Mr. Denton returning.

A second later, he appeared in the doorway. “Madison can cover the rest of your shift. You good to get home?”

“I’m taking him,” Simon said before Charlie had a chance to answer.

Mr. Denton looked between them. “You related or something?”

“Something like that.”

Charlie had to say something. “I don’t—”

“He can barely stand,” Simon cut in. “I’ll make sure he gets home safe.”

Mr. Denton shrugged. “Fine by me. Make sure you get better, Charlie.”

After that, Charlie followed Simon out because what else was he going to do? Argue with the hunter who’d already tracked him down twice? In front of his boss?

Outside, the parking lot was mostly empty except for a few cars and—

“No,” Charlie said, stopping dead at the sight of the motorcycle Simon was leading him to. “Absolutely not.”

Simon was already pulling on a helmet. “What’s the problem?”

“I’ve never been on one of those. I’ll fall off. I’ll die.”

Simon turned to look at him, and even with the helmet on, Charlie could feel the weight of his stare. “You’re a vampire. You’re already dead. You just forgot to die.”

Wow. Rude. “I can still get hurt!”

“You have accelerated healing.”

“Not if my head comes off!”

“Your head’s not going to come off.” Simon swung a leg over the bike. “Unless you keep wasting my time. Then I might remove it myself.”

Charlie winced. “Don’t you have a spare helmet?”

“No.”

“That’s illegal!”

Simon started the engine. The growl made Charlie’s bones vibrate. “So is being an undead creature of the night. Get on.”

Charlie looked back at the store, then at Simon waiting on the bike, leather jacket and dark helmet making him look like something out of Charlie’s extremely inappropriate dreams.

No. Not dreams. Nightmares. Definitely nightmares.

“If I die—”

“You’re already dead. We covered this.”

Charlie approached the bike like it might bite him. Which, given his recent luck with things that bite, wasn’t unreasonable.

“How do I—?”

“Left foot on the peg. Swing your right leg over. Don’t touch the exhaust.”

Charlie managed it on the second try, nearly kicking Simon in the process.

“Sorry, I—”

“Arms around my waist.”

“What?”

Simon reached back, grabbed Charlie’s wrists, and pulled his arms around his middle. “Unless you want to test that accelerated healing when you hit the asphalt at sixty.”

For a moment, Charlie’s brain stopped working, and then he became aware of several things at once. Like that Simon was warm. Incredibly warm. The hunter smelled like leather and something sharp and clean, like winter air. With his arms around Simon’s waist, Charlie was essentially hugging the man who hunted vampires for a living.

And he his body did not hate this as much as it should.

“Hold on tight,” Simon said. “Not that tight. Christ, ease up. You trying to crack my ribs?”

“Sorry!” Charlie loosened his grip slightly.

The bike lurched forward and Charlie immediately tightened his arms again, pressing his face against Simon’s shoulder blade.

“I said ease up!”

“I can’t! You’re going too fast!”

“We’re going fifteen miles per hour!”

“That’s too fast!”

Simon muttered something that got lost in the engine noise but sounded deeply exasperated. The bike picked up speed as they turned onto the main road, and Charlie gave up any pretense of dignity. He plastered himself against Simon’s back, eyes squeezed shut, fingers twisted in the leather jacket.

Every turn pressed them closer together. Every acceleration made Charlie’s already confused body even more confused. He was terrified. He was starving. He was pushed up against someone who radiated heat and strength and could probably bench press him with one hand.

His fangs ached, and he wasn’t sure this reaction was entirely caused by hunger.

“Stop shaking,” Simon called back over the wind.

“I’m not shaking!”

“You’re vibrating like a phone on silent.”

“That’s because I’m terrified!”

Simon took a sharp turn and Charlie made an undignified sound, burying his face completely against Simon’s back. Through the leather, he could feel muscle, solid and reassuring.

And Charlie really liked his scent. 

It wasn’t something he should think about, but every smell was more intense now that he was a vampire, and this wasn’t one he could ignore. 

No matter how much he should not be sniffing the man who wanted to stake him. 

All his traitorous body knew was that Simon was warm and strong and—

The bike slowed.

Charlie cracked one eye open. They were pulling into an underground garage.

“You can let go now,” Simon said.

Charlie realized he was still clinging like a koala. He carefully unwound his arms, trying to dismount with some dignity.

His legs immediately gave out.

Simon caught his elbow before he hit the concrete. “Pathetic.”

But even as he said it, his other hand came up to Charlie’s shoulder, steadying him properly. His grip shifted, firm but careful, making sure Charlie had his balance before starting to let go.

“I’m sorry my vampire powers don’t include motorcycle expertise,” Charlie snapped, then immediately cringed. “I mean—sorry. Thank you. For not letting me fall.”

“Come on,” Simon said, voice gruff. “Before someone sees us.”

He headed for an elevator, but Charlie noticed he walked slower than before, staying within arm’s reach. Like he expected Charlie to collapse again and was ready for it.

Charlie stumbled after him on jellyfish legs, wondering—not for the first time—what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

---

The elevator opened directly into Simon’s apartment, which turned out to be some kind of converted loft that probably cost more than Charlie would make in five years. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall, offering a view of the city that would’ve been impressive if there’d been anything else to look at.

Because the space was empty. Not minimalist. Empty.

A black leather couch faced a mounted TV. A single bar stool at the kitchen island. No art on the walls. No books. No plants. No signs that someone actually inhabited this apartment. 

“You live like this?” The words escaped before Charlie could stop them.

Simon dropped his keys on the counter with a metallic clank that echoed. “Says the vampire who lives off ketchup packets.”

Fair point.

Charlie shuffled further inside, hyper-aware of Simon watching him. The hunter had shed his jacket, revealing a sleeveless black shirt underneath. Simon had strong arms.

Strong enough to fight monsters for sure.

Charlie forced himself to look away, taking in more of the apartment’s aggressive lack of personality.

“There’s not even a coffee table.”

“Don’t need one.”

“What about when you eat?”

“Standing. Or at the counter.”

Charlie glanced at Simon. Did this hunter do anything other than hunt? “That’s serial killer behavior.”

Something flickered across Simon’s face—not quite a smile, but close. “You’re one to talk.”

“I’m not a serial killer. I work retail.”

“You’re a vampire. By definition, you kill people serially.”

“I don’t—” Charlie’s protest died as his stomach cramped hard enough to double him over. He grabbed the kitchen island for support, riding out the wave of hunger that left him shaking.

Simon moved closer. Not touching, but close enough that Charlie could feel his body heat. “When’s the last time you fed?”

Charlie thought of the protein bar he’d had that morning, and the syrup he’d had at work. But that wasn’t what Simon meant, was it? 

“Never.” The admission came out small. “I told you. I can’t.”

Simon studied him with those dark eyes of his that seemed to see every little flaw. “You’re dying.”

“You’re the one who told me I’m already dead.”

“True,” Simon said. “You’re learning.” He studied Charlie a moment longer. “Three weeks, you said? Most fledglings would’ve gone feral by now without proper feeding.”

Charlie didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know what was normal for vampires. His maker hadn’t stuck around long enough to say anything beyond good luck with that before disappearing into the night.

“I won’t hurt anyone,” Charlie said quietly.

Simon watched him for a long moment. Then, with the same deliberate calm he’d shown in the convenience store, he rolled up his sleeve.

“What are you doing?”

“Proving a point.” Simon pulled a knife from somewhere—did he just have knives everywhere?—and held it over his forearm.

Wait. What?

Was he going to…?

“Don’t!” Charlie cried. He did not want to faint again. Once per night was really enough.

“You need blood. I have blood.” Simon’s voice stayed matter-of-fact, but Charlie caught something else underneath. Curiosity, maybe. Or challenge.

Clearly, this hunter was insane.

“I can’t bite you! And I don’t want to see you bleed.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

Before Charlie could protest further, Simon turned away and made a quick, efficient cut across his forearm. Charlie heard the blade, smelled the blood immediately, but Simon’s body blocked his view.

“There’s a bottle in the cabinet,” Simon said almost casually. As if this was no big deal at all. “A black water bottle. Get it.”

Charlie’s legs moved without his permission,  and then he was fumbling through the cabinet until his fingers closed around metal. He held it out, careful to keep his eyes averted.

Simon took it, and Charlie heard liquid hitting aluminum. The scent intensified—rich and warm and nothing like the chemical sweetness of syrup or the acidic inadequacy of tomato juice.

This was life. Actual life.

“Here.” Simon pressed the bottle into Charlie’s hands. He’d already wrapped his arm; a red stain was spreading through white gauze.

Charlie stared at the bottle. Opaque black metal, cool to the touch, slightly warm from its contents.

“I can’t.”

“You can.” Simon moved back to lean against the far counter, giving him space. “You need it. I’m offering. No one gets hurt.”

“You literally just hurt yourself!”

“It was just a scratch.”

Charlie’s hands shook around the bottle. The scent wafting from the opening made his fangs fully extend, pressing against his lower lip.

“If I drink this…” Charlie started.

“What? You’ll discover you have a taste for it?” Simon’s voice carried an edge. 

He still expected Charlie to turn into a typical vampire. 

The realization should’ve made Charlie angry. Or maybe it should have scared him. Here he was, standing in the apartment of someone who saw him as a threat to be put down. 

But God, he was so hungry.

Charlie lifted the bottle, just close enough to inhale. The scent hit him like a physical force. His eyes rolled back, hands tightening on the metal until it dented.

“Careful,” Simon said. “That’s my only water bottle.”

Charlie almost laughed. Almost.

The first sip was tentative. Just enough to coat his tongue with blood. 

Simon’s blood.

It was nothing like he’d expected. Not metallic or harsh. It was warm and complex and satisfying in a way that made his whole body sing with relief. Like coming up for air after drowning. Like water in a desert. Like coming home.

He took a larger sip, unable to stop himself.

The constant ache in his stomach finally, finally eased. The trembling stopped. His vision cleared from a haze he hadn’t realized was there.

Charlie lowered the empty bottle, becoming aware of two things simultaneously.

One: he felt better than he had since being turned. Possibly better than he’d felt while human.

Two: Simon was staring at him.

“Your eyes,” Simon said, voice strange.

“What about them?”

Simon opened his mouth, closed it, then seemed to gather himself. “They’re brown.”

“They’ve always been brown?”

“They were nearly black earlier. Lifeless.” Simon stepped closer, and Charlie found himself frozen under that intense scrutiny. 

What was the hunter seeing in him?

Was Charlie healthy enough now to deserve being staked?

Or did Simon want to keep him for observation?

Was this some kind of experiment?

Simon was close enough now that Charlie could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, could count his eyelashes if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. Obviously.

Simon blew out a breath, and he seemed almost exasperated when he asked, “Who the hell turned someone like you into a vampire?”

The question hung between them.

Charlie opened his mouth to answer—to make a joke, maybe, or deflect—but Simon had already stepped back, shutting down whatever moment had just happened.

“Never mind.” Simon’s voice went flat. “You need sleep. Follow me.”

He turned and walked away, leaving Charlie standing in the kitchen holding a dented water bottle and feeling oddly bereft.

“I said follow me,” Simon reminded him sharply, so Charlie did. 

The bedroom was as sparse as the rest of the apartment. A bed with black sheets, military-crisp. A single nightstand.

Simon pulled a blanket from a closet and dropped it on the bed. “Get in.”

Charlie stared at the bed. Then at Simon. Then back at the bed.

What was happening?

“You’re not serious.”

Simon’s expression didn’t change. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

No. No, he didn’t. He looked exactly like someone who’d decided the most logical solution was to… share. A bed. Together.

Charlie’s brain short-circuited.

He sat gingerly on the edge of the mattress, hyperaware of every movement, trying to figure out the logistics of this absolute disaster waiting to happen. 

It wasn’t that he would mind lying next to Simon. 

In fact, he probably wouldn’t mind it as much as he should. 

His skin still hummed from drinking Simon’s blood.

Would Simon notice? God, he’d totally notice, wouldn’t he? That there was something majorly wrong with Charlie’s head that made him think the man who wanted him dead was unfairly attractive.

One way or another, Charlie was going to die tonight. He just didn’t know if he would die by the stake or from sheer embarassment.

“So, uh…” Charlie’s voice came out strangled. “How do you wanna… like, arrange this?”

While Charlie’s mind was running circles, Simon had moved to the closet, pulling something out.

“Back-to-back?” Charlie continued, words tumbling out faster. “Or head-to-foot? That might be better actually, more space, though your feet would be near my face which—do you snore? I mean, I don’t know if I do, but—”

Simon turned around holding a pillow, giving Charlie a look that could’ve frozen hell.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The bed! Sharing!” Charlie gestured wildly at the mattress. “You just said—”

“I’m not getting in there with you.”

Oh.

Charlie felt his face go nuclear. “Oh. Oh, right, of course you’re not. Obviously. That would be…” He laughed, high and hysterical. “Ridiculous. Why would you—I mean, we’re not—you literally tried to kill me last night so why would you want to???”

Simon dragged a chair from the corner of the room. “You thought I was going to share the bed with you.”

It wasn’t a question. Charlie wished the mattress would swallow him whole. “No! I just… you said get in, and there’s only one bed, and I thought…” Charlie pulled the blanket up to his chin like armor. “I misunderstood.”

“Clearly.” Simon pulled out a stake from somewhere—seriously, how many weapons he carry?—and rested it across his lap. He looked like the world’s most dangerous babysitter. Or the world’s most annoyed bodyguard.

Or just someone deeply regretting his choices.

Charlie lay back against the pillow, stiff as a board, face still burning. The mattress was actually comfortable. Soft. Nothing like the lumpy couch he’d been sleeping on at his apartment when he bothered to sleep at all.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Charlie said to the ceiling.

“Expecting what?” 

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Silence stretched between them. Charlie could hear Simon’s heartbeat from across the room, steady and strong. Could smell him too—leather and something metallic, and underneath it all, the warm scent of his skin.

The scent of his blood.

Drinking from the bottle had definitely been a mistake. Now all of Charlie’s senses were turned up to eleven, and they all seemed focused on the hunter sitting six feet away.

“Go to sleep,” Simon said without looking at him. “Before I change my mind about where to put this stake.”

Charlie pulled the blanket higher, covering his face entirely.

This was fine. Everything was fine. He was just lying in a hunter’s bed while said hunter sat in a chair with a weapon, probably planning all the ways to kill Charlie if he moved wrong.

Totally fine.

Through the blanket, he heard Simon shift in the chair. “And Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

“If you actually do snore, I will stake you.”

Charlie gulped. “Noted.”

---

Simon had been trained to sit motionless for hours. Surveillance was half the job—waiting in shadows, tracking targets, learning patterns before the kill. He’d once spent fourteen hours in a tree waiting for a vampire to return to its nest.

This was different.

This was sitting in his own bedroom watching the world’s most pathetic vampire drool on his pillow.

Charlie had curled into a ball almost immediately after pulling the blanket over his head, knees drawn up, one arm tucked under the pillow. He’d shifted twice in the past hour, each time pulling himself smaller, like he was trying to take up as little space as possible even unconscious.

Simon’s stake rested across his lap, unused.

Why hadn’t he used it?

The question kept circling back. At the convenience store, Charlie had been unconscious on the floor. Perfect opportunity. Quick thrust between the ribs, tell Denton the kid was quitting, that he’d run away.

The store manager would likely have believed it.

But instead of doing the smart thing, Simon had helped carry the vampire to a break room couch.

Then brought him home.

Fed him.

Put him in his bed.

Simon’s fingers drummed against the stake. Every single action went against his training, his purpose, everything the organization believed in.

Everything he believed in.

He didn’t take in stray vampires. He certainly didn’t feed them.

And yet.

Charlie made a small sound in his sleep, face scrunching before relaxing again. In the dim light from the window, he looked maybe twenty-five. Young. Human, if you ignored the pale skin and the way he didn’t breathe quite right—too shallow, irregular, like his body kept forgetting it was supposed to maintain the pretense.

The blood had helped. Charlie’s skin had lost that gray undertone, his lips no longer cracked. He’d stopped shaking.

And his eyes. They had turned brown. Chocolate brown. 

All because Simon had given a vampire his own blood. 

He hadn’t even been sure it would work until the first drop hit Charlie’s tongue and the vampire transfomed. But it had worked.

His blood had nourished a vampire back to health.

Marcus would kill him. Actually kill him.

His phone vibrated.

Speak of the devil.

Simon grabbed it before the buzzing could wake Charlie, stepping toward the window as he answered.

“Status?” Marcus’s voice was clipped. Never one for pleasantries after midnight.

“Still tracking.” The lie came out smooth. Twenty feet away, Charlie pulled the blanket higher.

“Turner said you haven’t filed a report.”

“Because there’s nothing to report.”

“You’ve been on this for over twelve hours and you have nothing?”

Simon licked his lips. His boss wouldn’t believe him if he feigned incompetence. Maybe deflection would work. 

“The intelligence was wrong,” Simon said, keeping his voice low. “You know that. We both know that. Someone fed us bad information.”

“Agreed. But that’s irrelevant to the mission parameters.”

“It’s entirely relevant. Someone wanted us to eliminate this particular vampire. Why?”

Marcus was quiet for a moment. “You can eliminate the vampire and then find out.”

“The thing is, I think someone’s playing us.” Simon watched the city lights below. “And I want to know who before I—”

A sound from the bed cut him off.

Not quite a word, more a wounded noise. Charlie’s breathing had changed. It came faster now, distressed.

Simon pressed the phone harder against his ear, willing Marcus not to have heard.

“Before you what?” Marcus asked.

“Before I move forward. I lost him after the convenience store. He disappeared before I could track him properly.”

Another sound from the bed. Louder.

“Simon, is someone there?”

Before Simon could respond, Charlie whimpered.

Hells, why did that pathetic vampire have to choose this exact moment to have a nightmare?

Simon hadn’t known vampires could have nightmares. 

“Simon?” Marcus asked.

Fuck.

Simon made a decision fast. “Someone’s at my door,” he said into the phone. “Probably Mrs. Chen from 4B again. Hold on.”

He muted the phone and crossed to Charlie in two strides, placing his hand firmly over Charlie’s mouth just as he started to cry out. Charlie’s eyes flew open, panicked and unfocused.

“Shh,” Simon whispered harshly. “Stay quiet.”

Charlie blinked up at him, confused and still half-caught in whatever nightmare had gripped him. Tears tracked down his face, pooling against Simon’s fingers.

Simon unmuted the phone, keeping his hand in place. “Sorry about that. Mrs. Chen’s convinced someone’s been stealing her newspapers.”

“At one in the morning?”

“She’s… not all there anymore. I should go deal with this before she wakes the whole floor.”

Charlie’s breathing was hot against his palm, rapid and scared. But he’d gone still, those brown eyes locked on Simon’s face like he was the only real thing in the world.

“The vampire,” Marcus said, pulling Simon back. “I trust that you’ll have something to report by morning.”

“Of course I will.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. Simon pressed his hand down slightly—a warning.

“Good. I want this resolved, Simon. The intelligence might be wrong, but he’s still a vampire.”

“Understood.”

“And Simon? Don’t let your curiosity override your training. In the end, vampires are all the same. Don’t forget that.”

The warning was clear. Richardson had gotten “curious” once. They’d found him drained in his own apartment, his research notes scattered around his body.

“That won’t be a problem,” Simon said.

“See that it isn’t. I’ll be expecting your report.”

The line went dead.

Simon stayed frozen for another heartbeat, Charlie’s tears wet against his palm, before slowly removing his hand.

Charlie immediately gasped, pulling in air he didn’t need. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—I was—there was a dream and—”

“Stop talking.”

Charlie’s mouth snapped shut.

Simon sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. That had been too close. Way too close.

“That was your boss?” Charlie whispered.

“Yes.”

“The one who wants me dead?”

“He wants all vampires dead. You’re not special.”

Charlie pulled himself up to sitting, the blanket pooling in his lap. His hair stuck up at odd angles. “You lied to him.”

Simon didn’t answer.

“Why?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Why was he protecting this pathetic excuse for a vampire? Why had he fed him? Why was Charlie in his bed instead of dust on the convenience store floor?

“I don’t know,” Simon admitted.

Charlie studied him for a long moment. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. This doesn’t change anything. You’re still a vampire. I’m still a hunter.”

“Right.” Charlie hugged his knees to his chest. “So what happens now?”

Simon honestly had no idea.

---

Charlie had been sure he wouldn’t sleep again after that nightmare—after Simon’s hand over his mouth, after hearing that other hunter talk about him like he was already dead. But exhaustion had won eventually, pulling him under sometime near dawn. His body, finally having received real nourishment for the first time in three weeks, had apparently decided to shut down for repairs.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d slept exactly, but it must have been a long time. His vampire senses told him that dusk was approaching. 

His vampire senses…

The thought still felt ridiculous to Charlie, but he couldn’t deny what he’d become. Especially now that he’d had actual blood on his tongue. 

Charlie sat up, the blanket pooling around his waist. His body felt different than it had in weeks. Stronger. More solid. Like his bones had remembered they were supposed to hold him up instead of threatening to collapse at any moment.

And everything about the world seemed sharper.

Like the sounds drifting in through the open bedroom door. Controlled breathing, the faint clink of metal on metal.

He crept to the doorway.

Simon was doing pull-ups on a bar mounted between the living room and kitchen, each rep perfectly controlled, just raw strength pulling his body up and down in a steady rhythm. His shirt lay discarded on the counter.

The movement had something hypnotic about it—and so did all that naked skin on display.

Charlie knew that he needed to look away. He had to go back to the bedroom, or make noise, or do literally anything other than stand there in the doorway like a creep.

But he found himself frozen.

It wasn’t just the visual—though watching Simon’s back muscles work was doing things to Charlie’s brain he didn’t want to examine. It was the sound. Simon’s heartbeat, accelerated from exertion, thundered in Charlie’s ears. Each pull-up made it spike, sending blood rushing through veins in a symphony Charlie had never noticed when he was human.

He could hear it. All of it. The surge through Simon’s artery, the steady pump-pump-pump that seemed to echo in Charlie’s own chest.

His fangs descended. 

Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no. 

What was Simon going to think?

Charlie tried to force his teeth back, but his body wouldn’t listen to him.

The memory of Simon’s taste was too intense. It hadn’t been metallic or harsh but warm and complex and right in a way that made Charlie’s whole body ache for more. He’d hoped the hunger would fade after feeding

But that wasn’t the case.

Of course not. Charlie didn’t get to be that lucky. His hunger hadn’t faded. It had only grown more specific. 

Now he didn’t just want blood.

He wanted Simon’s blood.

Charlie suppressed a yelp at his own thought.

His mouth went dry. His gums ached where his fangs pressed insistently against them, demanding acknowledgment of what his body wanted. Needed. The ketchup packets and cherry syrup seemed laughable now—like trying to satisfy a drowning man with humid air.

Once more he pressed his tongue hard against his fangs, willing them to retract. They didn’t.

Simon dropped from the bar, landing silent on bare feet. He reached for a towel, and Charlie watched the movement track across Simon’s shoulders, the way muscle shifted beneath skin. Watched a bead of sweat trail down Simon’s spine and wanted—

No.

Charlie dug his nails into his palms hard enough to hurt. 

This was insane. 

Simon wiped his face with the towel, then turned.

Their eyes met.

Charlie wanted to perish.

He knew what he must look like—standing in the doorway like some discount dracula in yesterday’s wrinkled clothes, staring with what was definitely not normal intensity, fangs visible and pupils blown wide and dark.

“You’re staring,” Simon said.

It wasn’t a question.

“I wasn’t—I was just—” 

Simon raised an eyebrow, and somehow that tiny gesture made Charlie feel more exposed than being caught red-handed.

“Being weird,” Simon finished for him. “You’re not getting more of my blood if that’s what you’re after.”

Heat flooded Charlie’s face. “I wouldn’t—that’s not—” He took a step backward, his shoulder hitting the doorframe. “I was thinking about food. Human food. That I should eat.”

“Right.” Simon tossed the towel over his shoulder. “Human food.”

“Yes.”

“The human food you can’t digest anymore.”

Charlie opened his mouth. Closed it. His stomach chose that moment to make a sound like a dying whale, which really didn’t help his case.

“I should… kitchen.” He fled before Simon could respond, putting the counter between them like it might somehow block the scent of warm, sweaty skin and pumping blood.

He yanked open the refrigerator, almost pulling the door off its hinges in his desperation for distraction. 

But the sight that greeted him somehow made everything worse.

Rows of identical protein shakes stood like soldiers at attention. One sad jar of pickles lurked in the back. And there, on the door shelf, a single bottle of reduced-sodium soy sauce.

“Why?” The word escaped before Charlie could stop it.

“Why what?” Simon had followed him to the kitchen, keeping a careful distance. Like Charlie was a skittish animal that might bolt.

Which wasn’t entirely wrong.

Charlie held up the soy sauce like evidence of a crime. “Protein shakes and… soy sauce?”

“Sometimes I get sushi.” Simon grabbed one of the protein shakes, cracking it open with the same efficiency he seemed to bring to everything. “I like the kind with the cucumbers.”

“Kappa maki,” Charlie said automatically.

“Yes, exactly,” Simon said as if this was the most normal thing in the world. 

“So that’s it?” Charlie asked. “Protein shakes and cucumber sushi?” 

“It’s efficient.”

“It’s sad.” Charlie put the soy sauce back, closing the refrigerator door. “Food’s supposed to be… I don’t know. Good. Enjoyable. Social.”

“I eat alone.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Charlie took another look at the empty apartment. “My friend Brent and I used to get sushi every Thursday. He’d always order way too much, then complain he was too full for the gym after.”

The memory hit harder than expected. Three weeks ago—God, was it really only three weeks?—he’d been sitting across from Brent at their usual place, arguing about whether rainbow rolls were superior to dragon rolls. Brent had been stealing pieces off Charlie’s plate while insisting he was too full to finish his own.

Now Charlie couldn’t even eat rice without his body rejecting it.

Simon studied him quietly. “Guess you can’t do that anymore.”

Charlie shrugged, the weight of everything settling on his shoulders. “Hard to maintain traditions when you’re…” He gestured at himself, at his fangs that wouldn’t retract, at his whole pathetic existence.

“When you’re what?” There was a challenge in Simon’s look.

Charlie met his gaze, something defiant sparking in his chest. “When you’re a vampire who can’t even vampire correctly. When your friend thinks you’re just really committed to LARPing. When the only person who acknowledges what you are is the one who’s supposed to kill you.”

The words hung between them, too honest for whatever this was.

Simon finished the protein drink in two more swallows, then crushed the bottle with casual strength that made Charlie’s stomach do something complicated.

“I’m going to shower.” Simon moved past him, and Charlie couldn’t help catching his scent. Sweat and skin and that underlying warmth that made Charlie want to reach out.

Dazed as Charlie was, the hunter’s words took a moment to register. Shower. Simon was going to shower.

Which meant he’d be busy behind a locked door with running water to mask any sounds.

This was Charlie’s chance.

As if he could read Charlie’s thoughts, Simon paused at the bathroom door, looking back. “I know the sun’s almost down. But if you try to run I’ll just track you down again. Don’t go anywhere.”

Charlie blinked as Simon vanished into the bathroom.

He turned.

The apartment door was right there. The sun would set in a few minutes. He could feel it in his bones; that supernatural awareness of daylight fading.

In spite of Simon’s warnings, he really should run. 

It was the only logical thing to do. 

Simon had fed him, yes, but he was still a hunter. He carried a stake the way a regular person might carry a phone. It didn’t matter that he was attractive or that he’d lied for Charlie. He might still kill Charlie. 

Charlie couldn’t stay.

He had to at least try to get away.

So he moved toward the door. He touched the handle.

But he couldn’t turn it.

It wasn’t that the handle wouldn’t move—it was him. 

He couldn’t move his hand. 

What?

Charlie stared. He wanted to go. He had to go. But the thought of leaving made his fingers shake and his chest tighten with inexplicable dread. It felt like breaking a promise. It felt like betrayal of the deepest level. 

The rational part of his brain screamed at him.

What the hell was he doing?

He couldn’t waste this opportunity. Simon couldn’t chase him naked and dripping. By the time he dressed, Charlie could be blocks away, lost in the city.

Charlie’s fingers tightened on the door handle.

He let go.

Something was wrong.

Charlie stepped back from the door, his heart racing—or doing whatever passed for racing in his undead chest.

This wasn’t normal. None of this was normal, but this specific thing, this inability to turn a door handle when his life might depend on it, was a new level of not normal.

Maybe he was just scared. Maybe some part of him recognized that running from Simon was pointless. The hunter had found him twice already. He’d find him again.

That had to be it. Self-preservation.

Or a spell.

The thought came out of nowhere, but once it arrived, Charlie couldn’t shake it. A month ago he would have laughed at the idea. Magic wasn’t real. Except a month ago he’d also thought vampires weren’t real. 

And look how that turned out.

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. Names, dates, locations. 

February 3rd – M. Chen, 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 should have 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. That they’d find this hilarious.” Charlie’s jaw clenched. “I was just a joke to 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 turn humans for entertainment and leave them 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.”

“On ketchup packets.” 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.

---

Simon’s pocket felt like it held burning coal.

The prescription bottle pressed against his ribs with each step, a constant reminder of the dose he’d skipped that morning. Thirty-six hours now since his last pills. Long enough that the edges of things seemed sharper. Colors more vivid. The city’s nighttime assault of neon and streetlights didn’t hurt yet, but it would soon.

Worth it, though. If they found the pack that turned Charlie…

If things went sideways, he needed every advantage.

Charlie walked beside him, drowning in Simon’s hoodie. The sleeves hung past his fingertips and he kept pushing them up, only for them to slide down again. He looked like a kid wearing his older brother’s clothes.

He looked vulnerable.

Simon’s jaw tightened. That was the problem, wasn’t it? Charlie looked nothing like the monsters Simon hunted. Even now, knowing what he was, watching those fangs descend earlier, Simon kept cataloging all the ways Charlie failed at being a vampire.

All the ways he was making Simon fail at being a hunter.

Marcus would have Simon’s head for this. Not just for lying—though that was bad enough—but for the doubt creeping through his thoughts like poison. Simon had built his life on one simple truth: vampires were monsters that needed eliminating.

All of them.

His mother’s blood on their apartment floor had taught him that.

So why was Charlie still living his undead life?

Because Simon did not yet know everything there was to know about him. 

Oblivious to Simon’s thoughts, Charlie kept trudging along. “Is it always this loud?” the small vampire’s voice barely carried over the Friday night chaos spilling from the bars they passed.

“It’s Friday night in the city. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. I guess I never noticed before.” Charlie winced as someone slammed a car door nearby. “Everything’s just… more.”

Enhanced senses. Simon knew that particular burden well. The pills dulled it usually, kept the overwhelming input at manageable levels. But now, with the suppressants wearing off, he could feel his awareness expanding. Every conversation on the street came through crystal clear. Every heartbeat in their vicinity registered like a drum.

Including Charlie’s.

It was faster than it should be. Anxious. 

Good. He should be anxious walking around with a hunter. Though, disturbingly, Simon didn’t think he was the source of Charlie’s anxiety. If anything, the vampire drifted closer to him the more anxious he got. 

As if he expected Simon to protect him. 

A ridiculous notion. 

Except, of course, that Simon had already protected this kid’s pathetic existence by hiding his whereabouts from his mentor. 

Simon shoved the thought aside as they turned onto Maple Street and the dive bar sprawl hit them full force. Five bars in three blocks, each trying to be grungier than the last. Rosie’s squatted in the middle like the drunk uncle of the family—unapologetically seedy and proud of it.

“I haven’t been back here since…” Charlie stopped walking.

Since he was turned. Simon could see it in the way Charlie’s shoulders hunched, the way his hands disappeared completely into the hoodie sleeves.

“You don’t have to go in,” Simon said, surprising himself. “I can question people myself.”

Charlie looked up at him, and even with the hood shadowing his face, Simon caught the glint of determination.

“No. I need to know why he did it. Why me.” Charlie squared his shoulders as best he could while drowning in borrowed clothes. “I need to know if I was just random bad luck or if there was a reason.”

Simon supposed that was fair. 

He’d often asked himself a very similar question. 

But now was not the time to ponder his fate. He approached the door to the bar. “You ready?”

Charlie nodded, pushing the hood back slightly. His brown eyes caught the neon from Rosie’s sign, making them glow amber for a moment. “Let’s go find some vampires.”

The casual way he said it, like he wasn’t one himself, like they were partners in this…

Simon shook his head. 

Would this vampire ever cease to make him wonder?

“What?” Charlie asked, noticing Simon’s gaze.

“Nothing.” Simon headed into the bar.

Inside, Rosie’s was exactly as Simon expected—sticky floors, music too loud, lighting too dim, and a crowd that ranged from college kids slumming it to regulars who’d been drinking here since before Charlie was born. The smell hit overwhelmingly hard: spilled beer, fried food, sweat, and underneath it all, blood. Hundreds of hearts pumping alcohol-thinned blood through vulnerable veins.

Charlie made a small sound beside him.

“You good?”

“There’s so many,” Charlie whispered, and Simon knew he didn’t mean people. He meant heartbeats. Meals. Temptations.

Simon wasn’t going to let him feed. “Stay close.”

They pushed through the crowd toward the bar. Simon kept Charlie slightly ahead of him, one hand hovering near the vampire’s lower back. Not touching, but ready to grab him if he bolted. Or attacked. Though watching Charlie apologize his way through the crowd made the latter seem unlikely.

“Sorry, excuse me, sorry, could I just—sorry!”

At the bar, Simon ordered a beer he wouldn’t drink and watched Charlie try to figure out what to do with his hands. He kept pulling the sleeves down, pushing them up, tugging the hood forward, pushing it back. Fidgeting like a teenager at his first house party.

“Relax,” Simon said. “You’re drawing attention.”

“I don’t know how to stand. Do I lean? Do I put my hands in the pockets? There’s too many people and they all smell like—” Charlie cut himself off, color rising in his cheeks.

Like food. They all smelled like food to him.

Simon was about to respond when a woman appeared at Charlie’s side. She looked to be in her mid-twenties with her blonde hair in that deliberately messy style and her dress too short for the season. Her friends giggled behind her, clearly responsible for whatever dare had sent her Charlie’s way.

“Oh my god, you’re adorable,” she announced, sliding between Charlie and the bar. “Like a sad puppy in a hoodie.”

Charlie went rigid. “I—what?”

She reached up and tugged at the hood’s edge. “Are you hiding? That’s so cute. Are you shy?”

“No, I’m just… personal space?” Charlie tried to step back but hit the person behind him. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t apologize!” The woman pressed closer, her hand finding Charlie’s arm. “Confidence is sexy. Although the whole nervous thing is kind of working for you.”

Simon watched Charlie’s eyes go wide with panic. The vampire’s gaze darted to the woman’s neck, then away, then back to Simon with a clear plea for help.

“My friends think you’re cute too.” She gestured behind her where three women were watching and laughing. “But I saw you first, so…”

“That’s very… flattering?” Charlie’s voice cracked. “But I’m actually—”

She leaned in, getting closer to his face. Her neck stretched right past Charlie’s mouth. Simon saw the exact moment Charlie stopped breathing entirely, his whole body locking up like someone had flipped his off switch.

“You smell really good,” she said. “Like… leather and something else…”

That was Simon’s hoodie she was smelling. His scent on Charlie.

“I have a medical condition,” Charlie blurted out, trying to lean away. “Very contagious. You should probably—”

“Is it the kind where you can’t kiss anyone?” She smiled, clearly thinking this was flirting. “Because that would be tragic.”

Her fingers walked up Charlie’s arm to his shoulder. Charlie’s fangs—Simon could see it happening—started descending despite Charlie’s visible effort to stop them. His mouth clamped shut so fast Simon heard his teeth click.

“Mmmph,” Charlie managed through closed lips.

“What was that?” She leaned closer.

Charlie’s eyes found Simon’s again, desperate now. His whole face screamed ‘help me’ while trying to smile with his mouth firmly closed. The effect was demented.

Still with his mouth closed, he tried to speak. “I cad’t—I deed to—”

“Are you okay?” She actually looked concerned now. “You’re breathing weird.”

That was because Charlie wasn’t breathing at all.

Simon moved.

“There you are, babe.” He slid an arm around Charlie’s waist, pulling him firmly against his side. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

The woman blinked, looking between them. Charlie made another strangled sound.

“Oh.” Her face fell. “Oh, you’re—”

“Very taken,” Simon said, his tone pleasant but final. “Have a good night.”

She retreated to her friends, who immediately surrounded her with consolation and shots. Simon kept his arm around Charlie, who was vibrating like a tuning fork against his side.

“Breathe,” Simon ordered quietly.

Charlie sucked in air like he’d been drowning. “Her neck was right there. Right there. She smelled like vodka and I could hear her pulse and…”

“But you didn’t bite her.”

“I wanted to. God, I wanted to.” Charlie’s voice was shaky. “Is that what it’s always going to be like? Fighting this constant need?”

“Yes.”

The simple answer seemed to steady Charlie more than platitudes would have. He sagged slightly into Simon’s hold, and Simon realized he still had his arm around the vampire’s waist. He should let go. He was going to let go.

He didn’t let go.

“Thank you,” Charlie mumbled into Simon’s shoulder. “For the rescue.”

“You looked like you were about to either bite her or have a panic attack.”

“Both. Definitely both.” Charlie pulled back slightly, looking up at him. The hood had fallen back completely now, exposing Charlie’s too-innocent features. “The boyfriend thing was quick thinking.”

“It was efficient.” But Simon still didn’t remove his arm. Charlie fit against his side too easily, and with his senses heightened from the skipped pills, Simon was hyperaware of every point of contact. The way Charlie unconsciously leaned into him. The rapid flutter of his not-quite-alive heart.

This was a mistake. All of it.

“We should move,” Simon said, but before he could act on it, a voice cut through the bar noise.

“Well, well. Simon Crane.”

---

Simon’s arm tightened around Charlie before he consciously decided to do it. Four figures approached through the crowd, moving with that too-fluid gait that marked them as predators. Old enough to have control, young enough to be stupid about it.

The one in front looked like he’d raided a thrift store’s grunge section—ripped jeans, wallet chain, and a Creed tour shirt from 2002.

“Didn’t expect to see the Organization’s pet killer here.” The vampire’s smile was almost fever bright. “Slumming it with the natives?”

Simon cataloged exits, weapons, potential collateral damage. Fifteen feet to the back door. Two stakes accessible. Silver knife in his boot. Too many humans in the splash zone.

“We’re looking for someone,” Simon said, keeping his voice level. “Vampire, brown hair, questionable music taste. Nickelback shirt.”

The Creed vampire laughed. “Danny? Oh, this is rich. What’d that idiot do now?”

“He turned someone three weeks ago. Behind this bar.”

Interest flickered across the vampire’s face. His gaze slid to Charlie, still pressed against Simon’s side. “Three weeks? Wasn’t that when…” He stopped, nostrils flaring. “Oh shit. Oh, this is beautiful.”

The other vampires shifted, picking up on something Simon couldn’t identify. One of them, a redhead with too many piercings, started giggling.

“Is that him?” She pointed at Charlie. “Is that Danny’s joke?”

Charlie stiffened. “Joke?”

Creed’s grin widened. “Danny thought it would be hilarious. Turn some random human. See how long he would last. He had some bets going.” 

Simon hated this vampire more than he hated most vampires. “Where’s Danny now?” he demanded.

“Dead. Two weeks ago.” Creed stepped closer. “Some hunter with a grudge. Danny was my progeny. My responsibility.” His eyes locked on Simon. “Know anything about that?”

Simon hadn’t killed anyone named Danny two weeks ago. He kind of wished he had.

But that didn’t matter. He could still stake the vampires who were in on his ‘joke.’

“Outside,” Simon said. “Now.”

“Or what? You’ll start something in a room full of witnesses?” Creed gestured at the oblivious crowd. “Even the Organization’s special project has rules—”

Simon moved. Not vampire-fast, but fast enough. His fist connected with Creed’s throat, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say. In the same motion, he shoved Charlie toward the back exit.

“Go.”

The bar erupted. Not panic—the music was too loud, the crowd too drunk to process what was happening. But the vampires moved as one, following as Simon hauled Creed through the back door by his ridiculous wallet chain.

In the alley behind the bar, Simon threw Creed against the brick wall hard enough to crack mortar.

The vampire recovered instantly, lunging with his claws extended. Simon twisted, letting momentum carry the vampire past him, then drove a stake toward his heart. Creed spun away at the last second, the wood gouging brick instead of flesh.

“You were saying something about special projects?” Simon asked.

“Everyone knows about you.” Creed circled him while the other three spread out, cutting off exits. “The Organization’s pet experiment. We’ve been hearing about it. About what they turned you into.”

While Simon was seething on the inside, the redhead tried to strike him from behind. Simon dropped, sweeping her legs, but she was already airborne. Her boot caught his shoulder, sending him rolling. He came up with his knife drawn, silver edge shiny and lethal. 

Two of them rushed at once—Creed from the left, the teenage-looking one from the right. Simon’s enhanced senses let him track both. He sidestepped Creed’s grab, used his momentum to slam him into the younger vampire. They tangled for a crucial second.

His throwing stake caught the teenager in the chest. Ash scattered.

The redhead shrieked, going for his eyes. Simon caught her wrist, bones grinding under his grip—stronger than any human’s had a right to be. She tried to pull free, confusion flashing across her face at his strength.

“What are you?” she gasped.

His knife answered, separating her head from her shoulders. More ash.

Somewhere, Charlie made a panicked sound.

Simon didn’t have time for him now. 

Creed backed against the wall, one hand pressed to his ribs where Simon’s stake had grazed him. “Did you tell your new pet about your organization?” 

Simon’s eyes narrowed on him, but he couldn’t forget about the other vampire. The one in the suit. He stood by the dumpster, watching.

Creed tried one more desperate rush. Simon met him halfway, stake finding its mark this time. The vampire’s eyes went wide as he crumbled to dust.

Just Simon and the suited vampire now, Charlie near the club entrance, breathing fast and scared.

“Who’s the monster now?” the vampire asked softly.

“You are.” Simon pulled his stake free from where Creed had fallen, not bothering to clean it. “You always were.”

“Are we?” The vampire smiled, sad and knowing. “Do you even know what you did to your little vampire pet?”

Simon paused. “Me? I didn’t do anything. You guys turned him.”

The vampire moved—older and faster than the others—but Simon was ready. They collided in the center of the alley, the vampire’s strength meeting Simon’s enhanced physiology. For a moment they were locked, neither giving ground.

“You were the first to feed him blood,” the vampire managed, even as Simon’s stake pressed toward his chest. “Do you have any idea what that means? What giving a starving fledgling your blood—”

Simon drove the stake home, cutting off the words. The vampire collapsed into ash with that knowing smile still on his face.

Simon stood among the dust of four vampires, stake in hand, breathing hard. The pills in his pocket felt heavier than ever. His hands were steady—they always were during a kill—but something cold was spreading through his chest.

He turned around.

The alley was empty.

Charlie was gone.

---

The last vampire crumbled to ash, and Simon stood among the dust with his stake still raised.

Charlie didn’t think; he ran.

The world dissolved into a streak of neon and shadows. His legs moved without conscious command, vampire speed carrying him through streets that blurred past like watercolor in rain. Faces became smears of flesh tone. Cars stretched into ribbons of metal and light. The city folded around him as he sped through its streets and up its walls. 

Four vampires. 

Simon had killed four vampires like it was nothing. Efficient. Practiced. Deadly.

And Charlie was a vampire too.

His chest burned even though he didn’t need to breathe. His vision tunneled until all he could see was the next building, the next leap, the next escape from the terrible knowledge clawing at his mind.

Those vampires…

He’d been a joke to them. His entire existence had been a joke to them. Danny had turned him for entertainment, placed bets on how long the pathetic human would last. And Simon—

Simon who’d picked him up from the floor of the convenience store. Who’d fed him. Let him sleep in his bed. Lied to his boss to protect him.

Simon who’d just murdered four vampires without breaking a sweat.

Simon who was apparently the Organization’s “special project,” whatever that meant.

Charlie ran into something solid. The impact echoed through his bones, sending him stumbling sideways until he fell, hands slapping against concrete. He blinked, gasping, the world snapping back into focus.

He sat on a rooftop.

The city sprawled below him in all directions, a carpet of lights that stretched to the horizon. Wind whipped through his hair.

He pulled up his hoodie—Simon’s hoodie, he realized with a sick twist in his stomach. He still wore Simon’s clothes, still carried Simon’s scent on his skin.

How high up was he?

Charlie crept to the edge, peering over. The street looked like a model train set. Cars moved like toys. People were specks of motion barely visible in the glow of streetlights.

Forty floors? Fifty?

“How did I…?” His voice cracked, lost in the wind.

He had no memory of climbing. No memory of choosing this building over any other. Just the blur of panic and speed, and now he was here. Wherever here was.

Charlie backed away from the edge and pulled out his phone. The screen stayed black no matter how many times he pressed the power button.

It was just as dead as he should be. 

Just as useless too. 

He sat down hard on the concrete, knees pulled to his chest. The city hummed below him—traffic and music and voices blending into a low throb of human activity. All those people going about their lives, unaware that a failed vampire sat trapped on a rooftop above them.

The hunger was coming back.

It started as a whisper in his empty stomach, growing stronger with each passing minute. How long had it been since Simon’s blood? Hours? It felt like days. The sharp, gnawing need clawed at his insides, reminding him that ketchup packets and cherry syrup weren’t going to cut it anymore.

His body had tasted real blood now. It wouldn’t be satisfied with substitutes.

What giving a starving fledgling your blood means.

Charlie pressed his face against his knees. How had he been so stupid? Simon was a hunter. A killer. Charlie had watched him end four lives without hesitation, without remorse. The way Simon moved, the way he struck—that wasn’t someone who’d suddenly develop a conscience about one pathetic fledgling.

So why was Charlie still alive?

Was he a joke to Simon too?

The wind picked up, cutting through the hoodie. Charlie shivered, which was stupid because vampires weren’t supposed to get cold. But apparently he wasn’t supposed to do a lot of things. He wasn’t supposed to survive three weeks on condiments. He wasn’t supposed to faint at the sight of blood. He wasn’t supposed to trust the hunter trying to kill him.

But he had felt safe with Simon.

Right up until he watched Simon slaughter four vampires like it was just another Tuesday night.

---

Simon stood in the empty alley, ash settling around his boots like gray snow. 

The bass from Rosie’s still thumped through the brick wall. Inside, people were still drinking, still dancing, completely unaware that four vampires had just died fifteen feet away from their overpriced drinks.

Simon wiped ash from his stake. 10:23 PM according to his phone.

He had until morning to file his report. Until morning to explain why he’d killed four random vampires while his actual target had bolted. 

No, he had to find Charlie.

But Charlie could be anywhere.

Simon had tracked dozens of vampires. Old ones who thought they were clever. Young ones who thought they were invincible. But they all had patterns. Territory. Hunting grounds. Covens.

Charlie had none of that. Three weeks old, living off ketchup packets, working at a convenience store. He barely qualified as a vampire, let alone one with escape plans.

Which meant he’d run on pure instinct.

Like a panicked vampire chicken.

Simon moved through the alley, looking for any sign of direction. No blood drops—Charlie hadn’t been injured. No disturbed trash cans or scraped walls that would indicate a panicked vampire learning to control super-speed.

Just nothing.

Simon circled the block. Friday night crowds thick enough that even a vampire moving at supernatural speed would have to slow down.

But Simon didn’t see frightened or startled or knocked-over pedestrians. 

So he scanned the buildings instead. Fire escapes. Ledges. The kinds of paths a frightened vampire might take when the ground felt too dangerous.

There—a bent railing on a fire escape three stories up. Fresh damage, maybe.

Simon took the same route, hauling himself up easily. His enhanced strength made it trivial, and from the fire escape, he could see more damage. Scratches on brick where fingers had scrambled for purchase. A window screen nearly torn from its frame.

Charlie had gone up and east, deeper into downtown where the buildings grew taller and the lights grew brighter.

Simon followed, rooftop to rooftop, reading the story in disturbed gravel and scraped ledges. Charlie’s path was erratic. No logic to it. Just away, away, away.

Three blocks. Five. Eight.

The trail went cold at the edge of the financial district where a twelve-story apartment building faced a thirty-floor office tower across a six-lane street.

Too far to jump, even for a vampire.

Simon stood at the edge, staring across. Charlie had been terrified, running on adrenaline and instinct. 

Had he managed to fly?

That would be impressive if it wasn’t so inconvenient.

No, for now Simon would assume that a three-weeks-old fledgling had not managed to fly. 

Down, then. Charlie must have gone down.

Simon descended to street level, but the sidewalk was useless. Too much foot traffic, even at—he checked his phone—10:51 PM. The city’s nightlife was just getting started, and any trace of Charlie’s passage had been trampled by hundreds of designer sneakers and questionable life choices.

According to the notes Simon had taken, Charlie’s apartment was seven blocks from here. 

Might he have run there?

It was a possibility… and Simon needed to start somewhere. 

Unsurprisingly, the building was in the poorer part of town. When Simon got there, he realized that the front door’s lock had been broken, probably some time ago. In the meanwhile, someone had wedged it permanently open with a chunk of wood.

Inside, the elevator had an OUT OF ORDER sign that looked older than Charlie.

Simon took the stairs.

Second floor: someone was cooking something that might have been fish or might have been a cry for help.

Third floor: a couple arguing about whose turn it was to buy toilet paper. The kind of fight that wasn’t really about toilet paper.

Fourth floor: Charlie’s.

The hallway carpet had given up pretending to be carpet and settled for being a vague suggestion of floor covering. Simon found 4B at the end, next to a window with a small hole in it.

The door was locked.

Simon knocked, then knocked again when there was no response. 

Then he picked the lock. It took him less than a minute. 

The studio apartment was maybe three hundred square feet of sadness.

A twin bed pushed against one wall, sheets crumpled in a heap on top.

A kitchenette that consisted of one hot plate, a small sink and a mini fridge. Charlie’s dishes were washed and stacked in the drying rack, but covered in a fine layer of dust—cleaned but never used again. The trash can overflowed with empty condiment packets. 

The mini-fridge wheezed like an asthmatic when Simon opened it. Inside, he found dozens of ketchup packets arranged by size and restaurant. A few packets of soy sauce. Hot sauce bottles in various stages of empty. And behind all of it, shoved to the back—a six-pack of beer minus one. 

On a small table, Simon spotted a stack of books: two fantasy novels with dragons on the covers, a guide to “Finding Your Purpose After 25,” and a cookbook called “Meals for One That Don’t Suck” that had a fine layer of dust on it.

The walls held thumbtacked posters—bands Simon didn’t recognize, a print of Van Gogh’s Starry Night, a calendar with red circles around night shifts at the Stop & Stock. Last Thursday had “Brent – sushi night” written in careful handwriting, then crossed out.

Hadn’t Charlie mentioned something about that? About a friend who complained about being too full for the gym.

Brent.

Would Brent know where Charlie was?

Maybe, if Simon could find him.

Simon looked around the apartment once more. No address book. No laptop. No—

A phone charger. Plugged into the wall but no phone attached.

Did Charlie have his phone with him? 

He might have. It was worth a try in any case. Simon had gotten the vampire’s number the same way he’d gotten his address, from the employee file the convenience store kept in a database.

Scrolling through his phone, he found it and hit Call. 

Straight to voicemail. Not even a ring.

“This is Charlie, leave a message, or don’t, it’s fine.”

Even Charlie’s voicemail greeting sounded apologetic.

Simon tried again. Same result. The phone was either dead or turned off, and given Charlie’s general life management skills, Simon would bet on dead.

He pocketed his phone and took one more look around the apartment. 

Nothing more of interest here.

Simon left the apartment as he’d found it, door locked, no sign he’d been there. The building’s depressing hallway felt even more oppressive on the way out.

Back home he’d try to track the phone properly.

The ride took twelve minutes. Simon’s apartment building had working locks, a doorman who nodded in recognition, and an elevator that didn’t sound like it was dying. The contrast to Charlie’s building was stark enough to feel like an accusation.

Behind locked doors, Simon booted up his laptop and logged into the Organization’s tracking system. One of the few perks of being their best hunter—access to resources that would make the NSA jealous.

He entered Charlie’s number and waited.

The program churned through cell towers, triangulating the last known signal.

DEVICE OFFLINE – LAST PING: 10:18 PM

Five minutes before Simon had killed those vampires. Charlie’s phone had died right as everything went to hell.

Typical.

The last location showed near Rosie’s, but that was useless now. Charlie was long gone from there.

Simon pulled up the expanded data. The Organization’s system didn’t just track location, it pulled everything. Texts, calls, contacts.

The last outgoing text had been to someone named Brent at 7:42 PM: “fine. thanks for letting me crash”

So Charlie had stayed with this Brent recently.

Simon scrolled through the call history. Mostly the Stop & Stock, a few calls to someone listed as “Mom” that stopped three weeks ago, and Brent. Lots of calls to and from Brent.

Brent’s full number was right there in the system, along with his last name pulled from carrier records: Brent Kowalski.

Simon checked the time. 11:51 PM. Not too late to call someone on a Friday night.

He dialed the number.

“Yello!” That was an awfully cheerful voice.

Simon pressed on. “Is Charlie there?”

“Charlie? No, why would he—who’s this?”

So Charlie wasn’t hiding at Brent’s. Simon could hang up now, move on to the next lead. But—

“I’m trying to reach him. His phone’s dead.”

“Oh yeah, that sounds like Charlie. Sorry, I haven’t heard from him since he went to work last night. Is everything okay?”

“He’s disappeared.”

“What do you mean, he disappeared? He should be at work at this time. Have you checked there?”

“He’s not at work.”

“What? But he was so stressed about keeping that job.” Concern crept into Brent’s voice. “Did you check his apartment?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, now I’m worried.” A pause. “Wait, you’re not that stalker guy, are you?”

Simon blinked. “What?”

“The guy Charlie said was following him. With the stakes and the whole ‘I’m going to kill you’ thing. He was pretty freaked out about it, though I told him it was probably just someone really committed to the LARP.”

Christ. Charlie had told Brent about him. And Brent had assumed it was part of the game.

“I’m not a stalker,” Simon said, which was technically true. Hunters didn’t stalk. They tracked.

“Okay, good, because Charlie seemed legitimately scared. Said the guy cornered him in a laundromat and tried to stake him. The commitment to the vampire roleplay is impressive but that sounds like it went too far, you know?”

“Right. Too far.”

“So who are you then?”

“I’m… a friend. I’m worried about him.”

“So you’re not from his LARP group?”

“I’m… adjacent to it.”

“Cool, cool. Well, if he’s not at work or home…” Brent trailed off. “This isn’t like him. Even with the whole vampire thing, he’s been really reliable about work.”

“If he shows up—”

“I’ll call you back at this number?”

“Yes.”

“Got it. Hey, uh, find him, okay? He seemed really off yesterday. Like, more than his usual vampire thing.”

Simon ended the call.

So Charlie wasn’t at Brent’s. Wasn’t at work. Wasn’t at his apartment. And his only friend thought his vampirism was elaborate roleplay.

11:56 PM.

Where the hell was Charlie?

---

The eastern horizon had gone from black to bruised purple, and Charlie pressed himself back against an air conditioning unit that barely covered half his body.

He’d been up here for—what, seven hours? 

Hard to tell when his phone refused to turn on.

The rooftop stretched thirty feet in every direction from his pathetic shelter. Gravel and tar paper that would start heating the moment the sun touched it. 

Once more he wondered if he could survive the fall. 

Maybe.

He peered over the edge again. His stomach lurched.

Vampires had enhanced healing. But enhanced healing wouldn’t help if his head separated from his shoulders on impact. Or if he landed wrong and ended up a vampire pancake, slowly reconstituting on Madison Avenue while commuters stepped over him.

The purple sky shifted toward pink.

Charlie’s skin prickled with warning. Not burning yet, but soon. Like standing too close to an oven with the door cracked open.

“Jump,” he whispered to himself. “Just jump. You got up here somehow.”

His legs refused to cooperate.

He’d tried four times already. Each time, his body locked up the moment his feet left the ground, dropping him back onto the gravel roof with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. Whatever vampire instinct had carried him up here in blind terror had apparently clocked out for the night.

Which was just perfect. 

Here he was, Charlie the vampire, turned as a joke, surviving on ketchup packets, and now about to become the world’s most pathetic supernatural barbecue. They’d find his crispy remains up here eventually. 

Charlie huddled against the AC unit again. He tried to fold himself smaller, knees to chest, but his feet stuck out into the growing light. The sensation shifted from oven-warmth to standing under a heat lamp. Not burning yet, but the promise of pain building in his skin.

He thought about Simon’s apartment. That sparse, empty space that had somehow felt safer than anywhere Charlie had been since turning. Which was insane, considering Simon was a vampire hunter who’d been sent to kill him.

But Simon had fed him. Had pulled him against his side in that bar, creating a wall of warmth and leather between Charlie and the world. Had lied to his boss to keep Charlie safe.

Why?

The question had been circling Charlie’s brain all night, between attempts to psyche himself up for the jump. Why had Simon protected him? Why had that vampire said—

You were the first to feed him blood. Do you have any idea what that means?

What did it mean?

Charlie didn’t know. His maker hadn’t stuck around to explain vampire rules. The only things Charlie knew came from movies, and those were apparently mostly wrong. Vampires could see themselves in mirrors. They showed up in photos. They couldn’t turn into bats—at least, Charlie couldn’t.

And sunlight didn’t make them burst into flames immediately. It was more of a slow cooker situation.

Pink sky became coral. Coral edged toward gold.

His exposed feet began to sting.

Would Simon look for him? Or would he write Charlie off as a lost cause, file his report, and move on to the next hunt?

Charlie pulled his feet back into the shade, but there wasn’t enough shadow left. His ankles started to burn.

He could survive the jump.

Probably.

Maybe.

The alternative was probably still better than being cooked alive, so what did he have to lose?

Charlie stood, pressing his back against the AC unit. The moment he stepped forward, he’d be in direct sunlight. No more time to hesitate.

Jump or burn.

Some choice.

---

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. Marcus 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. Marcus 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.

---

Simon took the corner at forty-five degrees, knee almost kissing asphalt. His skin burned along his left side—phantom pain that had nothing to do with road rash and everything to do with the vampire currently dying somewhere northwest of here.

The pull in his chest twisted sharper, dragging him forward like a hook behind his ribs. Not left at this intersection. Straight. Then right at the next light.

He didn’t understand how he knew. Only that Charlie was that way and getting farther from safety with every second.

The sky had shifted from gray to pale gold. Each minute brought fresh agony rippling through his chest. Charlie’s pain echoing in his bones like his body couldn’t tell the difference between them.

Three more turns, following nothing but instinct and the growing certainty that if he didn’t hurry, something essential would be lost. The sensation spiked suddenly.

Charlie must be in direct sunlight now. Simon’s vision blurred at the edges.

The pull led him to a forty-story glass tower in the financial district. Dawn reflected off its windows like a wall of fire.

Up, his instincts screamed, confirming his earlier vision of Charlie on a rooftop.

Simon ditched the bike at the curb and assessed the building entrance in two seconds. Glass doors, magnetic lock, security desk visible inside with one guard reading something. Camera positions at two corners.

Twenty-two minutes until full sunrise.

He pulled out his Organization ID—not for vampire hunting but the cover they used for law enforcement cooperation. Knocked on the glass with authority, not desperation.

The guard looked up, ambled over slowly.

“Building’s closed,” through the intercom.

“Police business.” Simon held his ID to the glass, angling it so the light caught the official-looking seal. “I need roof access. Now.”

“I need to call—”

“No time.” Simon’s voice carried the kind of command that made people obey first, question later. “There’s someone on your roof. Open the door or I break it down and you explain the insurance claim.”

The guard hesitated. Simon felt Charlie’s pain spike again, sharp enough he had to lock his jaw to keep from gasping.

“Your choice,” Simon said, hand moving to his belt where the knife rested. “But I’m going up either way.”

The guard’s hand moved to the button. The lock buzzed open.

Simon was past him before the door finished swinging, already mapping the lobby. Elevators to the left, stairwell access to the right behind another security door.

“Hey! You need to sign—”

“What floor is roof access?” Simon called back, jabbing the elevator button.

“Fortieth floor, but it’s locked. You need—”

The elevator doors closed on whatever he needed.

Simon hit 40 and tried to calm his breathing. The phantom burning had spread across his entire left side now, his skin prickling with sympathetic blisters that weren’t really there. Charlie was running out of time.

The elevator climbed with agonizing slowness. Twentieth floor. Twenty-fifth. Simon’s hands clenched and unclenched. The UV blanket in his backpack felt heavier with each floor.

Thirty-fifth. The pull in his chest had become almost vertical, confirming Charlie was above him.

Thirty-eighth. A fresh wave of agony that definitely wasn’t his made Simon’s knees buckle. He caught himself against the elevator wall, gasping.

Fortieth floor.

The doors opened on a service corridor. At the end, a heavy door marked ROOF ACCESS – AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Industrial lock, the kind meant to keep people from jumping.

Simon pulled his gun—the one loaded with regular bullets, not silver—and shot the lock twice. The sound echoed in the narrow corridor like thunder.

The lock mechanism sparked, mangled but still holding. The door didn’t budge.

“Fuck.”

Another wave of Charlie’s agony dropped Simon to one knee. The burning sensation had spread to his chest now, his body convinced it was dying despite being safely out of the sun.

No time for finesse.

Simon aimed at the hinges instead. Three shots on the top hinge, the metal shrieking as it gave way. Three on the bottom. The middle hinge bent but held, and Simon kicked the door at the weak point. It toppled outward with a crash.

Blazing golden light poured through the opening.

“Charlie!”

Simon ran across the roof, gravel scattering under his boots. The smell hit him first—sweet and charred, like meat left too long on a grill.

Charlie was curled in a ball against the AC unit, knees to his chest, but the shadow had shrunk to almost nothing. His feet and lower legs stuck out into direct sunlight, the skin blistered and blackening. One arm, wrapped around his shins, was burned from fingertips to elbow. The left side of his face where he’d pressed it against his knees was an angry red, already starting to blister.

His right eye, the one still in shadow, tracked to Simon with disturbing clarity.

“Couldn’t jump.” Charlie’s voice came out as a rasp. “I tried. I’m sorry. My legs wouldn’t—I tried to jump but—”

“That doesn’t matter now.” Simon was already pulling the UV blanket from his backpack, shaking it out.

“You came.” Charlie sounded confused by this, like Simon appearing was more surprising than the sunrise currently cooking him alive. “I thought—you killed them all—why did you come?”

The sunlight was creeping closer, the shadow shrinking by the second. Simon could watch new blisters forming on Charlie’s exposed ankle in real time.

“Don’t worry about that.” He threw the blanket over Charlie, making sure every inch was covered. The moment his hands made contact, Charlie went completely still. Not tense, but calm in a way that made no sense given the circumstances.

Simon scooped him up, blanket and all. Charlie weighed nothing—less than his gear bag on a heavy night. The burned parts of his body were rigid, but he curled into Simon’s chest with disturbing trust, face pressed against his neck.

“I couldn’t jump,” Charlie mumbled against his throat, still apologizing. “My body wouldn’t let me.”

“Stop apologizing.” Simon headed for the ruined door, moving fast but careful not to jostle Charlie’s burns.

“I ran up but couldn’t get down. Isn’t that stupid?” A broken laugh. “World’s most useless vampire.”

Simon kicked the fallen door out of his way and plunged into the blessed darkness of the stairwell. He should put Charlie down now. The immediate danger had passed. But Charlie was shaking under the blanket, little tremors that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than pain.

“How did you find me?” Charlie’s head poked out of the blanket, breath hot against Simon’s neck. Too close to where his pulse beat.

Simon didn’t answer. How could he explain the pull in his chest, the certainty that had led him here? The way Charlie’s pain had felt like his own?

He took the stairs two at a time. Thirty-nine floors. The guard would have called the police by now. They needed to get out before—

“Simon.” Charlie’s voice went strange. Thin. “I think… am I… am I dying?”

Simon looked down. Blood was seeping through the blanket where Charlie’s burns were worst. Not normal bleeding. The flesh was trying to heal but couldn’t. Not without…

“You need blood.” The words came out flat.

Charlie made a sound that might have been a laugh or a sob. “Oh. Then…”

“You’re not dying.” Simon said it with more force than necessary, something fierce rising in his chest at the thought. “I won’t let you.”

The words hung between them. Too possessive. Too much like a promise.

Floor thirty-two. Thirty-one. 

Charlie’s breathing had gone shallow, rapid little gasps against Simon’s throat. “Think we can… grab… ketchup packets?”

“That’s not funny.”

“Little bit funny.” But Charlie’s grip on Simon’s jacket was weakening, his body getting heavier as consciousness slipped.

Floor twenty-five.

Simon stopped on the landing, setting Charlie down carefully against the wall. He pulled back the blanket enough to see—

The burns were worse than he’d thought. Not healing at all, just continuing to eat through flesh like acid. Charlie’s vampire body trying and failing to repair damage that required fuel it didn’t have.

Simon pulled out his knife.

“No,” Charlie mumbled, eye struggling to focus. “Why… would you…?”

“Shut up.” Simon sliced across his forearm, deeper than before. The blood welled immediately, rich and dark.

Charlie tried to turn his head away. 

Simon wouldn’t let him.

“Look at me.” The command came out sharper than intended.

Charlie’s eye snapped to his immediately, pupil dilating.

“You’re going to drink,” Simon said, bringing his bleeding arm to Charlie’s mouth. “Now.”

Charlie’s cracked lips parted without hesitation. The moment the blood touched his tongue, his entire body shuddered. Not revulsion. Relief. Like a drowning man getting air.

His fangs descended fully, but he was too weak to bite. Just pressed his mouth against the cut with a desperate sound that made something twist in Simon’s chest.

“That’s it.” Simon’s other hand came up to cradle the back of Charlie’s head, holding him in place. “More.”

Charlie made another sound, muffled against Simon’s skin. His unburned hand reached up, fingers wrapping around Simon’s wrist. Not to push away but to pull closer, to keep the source of life from leaving.

Simon watched the burns start to change. The blackened skin at Charlie’s ankle flaked away, revealing raw but healing flesh underneath. The blisters on his face began to shrink.

It was working. Better and faster than Simon had expected.

Charlie’s grip on his wrist tightened, and Simon felt the pull—not just blood leaving his body but something else. Something deeper. Like Charlie was taking more than sustenance.

Like he was taking pieces of Simon himself.

“Enough,” Simon said.

Charlie didn’t stop. Couldn’t, maybe. His eye had gone unfocused, lost in the feeding.

“Charlie. Stop.”

Charlie’s mouth left his arm instantly, like Simon had forced him away with invisible strings. The vampire fell back against the wall, gasping, blood on his lips and confusion in his eye.

“I didn’t—” Charlie touched his mouth, looking stunned. “I wanted to keep going but I just… stopped. How did you…?”

Simon didn’t have an answer. 

He had suspicions, but nothing more than that.

The words of the old vampire came back to him. 

Do you have any idea what that means? Giving a starving fledgling your blood.

Simon tried to silence the voice in his head as he wrapped his arm with a strip of gauze, watching Charlie’s burns continue their healing. The skin wasn’t perfect—mottled and pink in places—but it was whole. 

Alive.

Or whatever passed for alive with vampires.

“Can you stand?”

Charlie tried, made it halfway before his legs buckled. Simon caught him before he hit the stairs, pulling him back against his chest.

“Apparently not,” Charlie mumbled. Then, quieter, like he wasn’t quite in control of his words: “You taste like safety.”

Simon’s chest went tight. “You’re blood-drunk.”

“Maybe.” Charlie’s head lolled against his shoulder. “Doesn’t make it not true. Even your anger tastes protective. It’s weird.”

What was that even supposed to mean?

“Stop talking.”

Charlie’s mouth snapped shut. His eye went wide, and he made a muffled sound of distress behind closed lips.

Simon’s gaze narrowed as his suspicions grew stronger.

“You can talk,” he said carefully.

“What is happening?” Charlie’s voice came out high, panicked. “Why can’t I—when you say things, I just—”

“We’re leaving. Now.” Simon scooped him back up, blanket and all. Whatever was going on between them, the stairwell wasn’t the place to figure it out.

Floor twenty. Fifteen. Charlie had gone quiet against his chest, breathing evening out as the blood worked through his system.

Floor ten. Five. Simon stopped at the second floor, reality hitting him. His motorcycle sat outside in broad daylight. Even if Charlie was wrapped completely, there was no way to secure him on the bike. One slip of the blanket at sixty miles per hour…

Through the small window in the stairwell door, Simon could see into the lobby. The security guard stood by his desk, phone pressed to his ear, gesturing at the elevators.

“Problem?” Charlie mumbled against his neck.

“Transportation.” Simon pulled out his phone one-handed, scrolling through contacts he rarely used. The Organization had resources, but calling them meant admitting he had Charlie. 

He couldn’t do that.

But he had one other option. Someone who owed him a favor.

“Viktor,” the voice answered on the second ring. “This better be important, Crane.”

“I need a discrete pick-up. Van or SUV with tinted windows.”

A pause. “You working?”

“Something like that.”

“Text me the address. Fifteen minutes.”

Simon sent the location and pocketed his phone. Fifteen minutes in this stairwell with that guard potentially checking floors. Maybe even with back-up.

“We’re going to the basement,” Simon told Charlie. “Less chance of running into people.”

“Smart.” Charlie’s voice was getting stronger, more coherent. “Simon?”

“What?”

“Thank you. For coming back.”

Simon didn’t answer, just started down the last flights of stairs toward the parking level.

---

The black van pulled into the parking garage twelve minutes later. Its windows were tinted so dark it had to be illegal.

Simon recognized Viktor’s driving. He took his turns a little too fast and hit the brakes just before he had to, as if he still thought he was invincible.

The van stopped three spaces away. The driver door opened.

Viktor looked different. Fuller somehow. Less like he was held together with caffeine and determination. His hair had grown out from the military cut the Organization preferred, and he’d put on muscle that wasn’t just functional. He looked healthy. Human.

Happy.

Simon didn’t know what to do with that.

Viktor didn’t give him time to ponder his respones, regardless. His expression shifted the moment he got close enough to really see them. His pace slowed, nostrils flaring.

“Jesus, Simon.” Viktor’s gaze tracked from Charlie’s huddled form to the blood on Simon’s sleeve. “This your target?”

“We need to go.”

Viktor opened the van’s side door without asking more questions, though his eyes lingered on the way Charlie had his face pressed against Simon’s throat.

Simon climbed in, maneuvering carefully to keep the blanket in place. The moment he tried to set Charlie on the bench seat, Charlie made a wounded sound, fingers twisting in Simon’s jacket.

“Don’t go.” The words came out slurred, desperate.

Hell.

What was a man to do?

Simon stayed on the floor of the van, back against the wall, Charlie still in his lap. 

It was more practical this way. Easier than fighting an injured vampire.

Viktor watched in the rearview mirror as he started the engine. “You seem friendly.”

“He’s nobody.”

Charlie made another small sound, burrowing deeper into Simon’s chest. “‘M not nobody. I’m Charlie.”

“Hi, Charlie.” Viktor’s tone was carefully neutral. “You look like you’ve had a rough night.”

“Got cooked.” Charlie’s voice was getting dreamier. “Simon saved me. Came back for me even though I ran away. Even though he’s supposed to kill me.”

Viktor’s eyes found Simon’s in the mirror. One eyebrow raised.

“He’s confused from drinking too much too fast,” Simon said flatly.

“I can see that.” Viktor pulled out of the garage and onto the street. “Your blood, from the smell of it.”

Simon didn’t respond.

What could he say, really? He could hardly deny the other hunter’s senses.

“That’s interesting.” Viktor took a hard turn. “Marcus’s favorite is feeding vampires now?”

“It was necessary.”

“I’m sure it was.” Another turn, tires squealing. Viktor always drove like something was chasing him. “How many times?”

“What?”

“How many times has he fed from you? He reeks of you.”

Simon’s hand had somehow ended up cupping the back of Charlie’s head, keeping him steady through Viktor’s driving. “Twice.”

“Only twice?” Viktor sounded genuinely surprised. “And he’s this—” He gestured vaguely at how Charlie was clinging. “That’s unusual.”

Charlie mumbled something incoherent against Simon’s throat. His breathing was evening out, body going heavier as the blood worked through his system.

“He’s passing out.” Simon observed. “Finally.” This was good. It would take the young vampire’s body a few hours to regenerate. 

They drove in silence for a few minutes, Charlie’s consciousness fading with each passing block. His grip on Simon’s jacket slowly loosened, though he didn’t let go entirely.

“You’re off your suppressants,” Viktor said quietly. It wasn’t a question.

“How can you tell?”

“Just a guess.” His eyes met Simon’s in the rearview mirror. “You’re holding him like he’s yours.”

The words hit unexpectedly hard. Simon looked down at Charlie’s unconscious form, at his own arms wrapped protectively around him. When had that happened?

“He’s the one clinging to me.”

“Sure.” Viktor pulled into a parking structure Simon didn’t recognize. “That’s why you’re cradling him like something precious instead of dumping him in the back.”

That was entirely unfair. Simon wasn’t… Simon didn’t… “Where are we?” he asked to avoid all the other questions he had no answers to.

“My place. That okay?”

“Didn’t know you had a place.” Simon shifted Charlie’s weight slightly. The vampire had gone completely limp, breath shallow against his neck. Simon really should dump him.

He didn’t.

He looked at Viktor again. “Last I heard, you were heading west.”

“That what I wanted you to tell everyone. And I’m glad you did.” Viktor parked, killed the engine. “I needed time to figure things out.” He scoffed at himself. “I had no idea how to be a normal person. You know how long it’s been since I had to think about groceries? Or about how the rent gets paid?”

“The Organization handled everything.”

“Everything.” Viktor got out, came around to open the side door. “Sixteen years, Simon. Since I was twelve. More than half my life.”

Simon had known Viktor was young when recruited, but hearing the number hit different. Twelve years old. A child.

“Remind me how old you were,” Viktor said. “When Marcus found you.”

“Fifteen.”

“Right.” Viktor’s expression softened slightly. “At least you had some normal life before. I barely remember mine.”

He reached to help with Charlie, but Simon was already moving, adjusting his grip to carry the unconscious vampire.

He couldn’t say why, but he didn’t want Viktor to touch Charlie. Charlie might be a disaster vampire, but he was Simon’s disaster vampire.

Simon had gone through too much tonight to hand that responsibility over to someone else. 

“I’ve got him.”

“Sure you do.” Viktor led them to an elevator. “Third floor.”

The building was old but clean. Nothing like Charlie’s rundown apartment complex, but nothing like Simon’s sterile high-rise either. It felt lived-in. Normal.

“How long have you been here?”

“Three months.” Viktor unlocked a door marked 3C. “Took a while to figure out the whole civilian thing. Credit history is a bitch when you technically haven’t existed since middle school.”

The apartment was small but warm. The furniture was mismatched but comfortable-looking. There were books on the shelves and a plant by the window. Probably fake, because it sat next to black out curtains that would have to keep all the light out during the day.

“You can put him on the couch,” Viktor said, clearing some magazines off the cushions.

Simon set Charlie down carefully. Without thinking, he pulled a throw pillow under Charlie’s head and adjusted the UV blanket to cover most of him. Charlie’s hand stayed fisted in Simon’s jacket until Simon gently pried his fingers loose.

“When did you get so domestic?” Simon asked Viktor, straightening.

“When I realized I could be.” Viktor moved to the kitchen—which seemed well-stocked. “You want coffee? Water? Something stronger?”

“Water.”

Viktor filled two glasses. “You know what’s fucked up? Grocery shopping. First time I went to a supermarket after leaving, I stood in the cereal aisle for twenty minutes. Couldn’t figure out how to choose. There’s a whole world beyond protein shakes, did you know that?”

“The shakes are efficient.”

“They’re joyless, which is the point.” Viktor handed him the water. “But you know that. Somewhere in that thick skull, you know that.”

Simon didn’t answer, watching Charlie sleep instead. The vampire’s face had relaxed completely, making him look even younger. The healing burns were barely visible now, just faint pink marks that would probably fade completely by tomorrow.

Simon had succeeded in saving him. 

Should that make Simon happy?

Oddly, it did.

“So,” Viktor said, settling into an armchair across from the couch. “Want to tell me why the Organization’s best hunter is playing nursemaid to a vampire instead of staking him?”

That was exactly what Simon wanted to know. But he didn’t, though, so what was he supposed to tell Viktor? “It’s complicated.”

“Nothing’s ever complicated with you.” Viktor took a long drink of water. “Remember that nest in Detroit? The youngest of them looked fourteen.”

“She was a vampire.”

“Right. So you staked her before I could even say anything.” Viktor leaned forward. “Because every vampire is automatically a monster, right?”

Simon thought of Charlie fainting at the sight of blood. Charlie apologizing to a door. Charlie surviving on ketchup and hot sauce for three weeks because he wouldn’t bite anyone.

But a few irregularities didn’t change the truth.

“Why are you protecting this one?” Viktor asked.

“I’m not protecting him. I’m investigating. Someone set him up. We got false intelligence about murders he didn’t commit. I want to know who and why.”

Viktor made a sound that might have been a laugh. “You fed him your blood to investigate?”

“He was dying.”

“Vampires are hard to kill.”

“He was out in the sun.”

“And that’s hurt him, sure. But vampires can survive a lot of burning before they actually die. You know that.” Viktor’s gaze was too knowing. “You’ve tested it.”

Simon had. Part of advanced training. Understanding exactly how much damage vampires could take before termination. The memory sat like acid in his stomach now.

“This one’s different,” Simon said finally.

“Because he’s innocent?”

“Because he’s—” Chaotic. Harmless. Mine. Simon caught himself before any of those words escaped. “He’s three weeks old. Abandoned by his sire. He didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Neither did we.”

The words gave Simon pause.

“Do you ever wonder,” Viktor said quietly, “what would have happened if Marcus hadn’t found us? If we’d been left to turn naturally?”

“We’d be dead. Or monsters.”

“Would we?” Viktor stood, and then he started pacing restlessly. “I’ve been doing research. Real vampires, not the Organization’s version. Did you know some vampires live peacefully? They have territories, sure, but they also have rules. Communities. They don’t all prey on innocent humans.”

“Is that the fairy tale you’re telling yourself now?”

“Do you really think that?” Viktor turned back to him. “That I’m the one falling for a fairy tale? When’s the last time you questioned an assignment? Really questioned it?”

Simon thought of Charlie’s file. All those murders that never happened. “This one.”

“And look what you found. An innocent kid who probably would have died of starvation rather than hurt anyone.” Viktor nodded at Charlie. “How long did you say he lasted on his own?”

“Three weeks.”

“Three weeks without blood. Without guidance. Without anyone explaining what was happening to him.” Viktor’s expression was unreadable. “And he didn’t kill anyone. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

Before Simon could answer, Charlie stirred on the couch, making a soft sound of distress. His hand reached out, searching for something.

For Simon.

Simon kept himself rooted to the spot, too aware of Viktor’s gaze on him. 

It was no use. His old friend wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “There’s something between you two,” he said, moving closer. He sniffed the air. “Something about your scent on him. It’s not just that he’s fed from you.”

Simon stayed focused on Charlie’s sleeping face. 

Why did everything about this target have to bring up more questions? 

“One of the vampires at the bar said something before I killed him.”

“What?”

“He asked if I knew what it meant to give a starving fledgling my blood. Being the first to feed him.”

Viktor went very still. “You were his first?”

“He’d been living on ketchup and syrup for three weeks. I was the first real blood he’d had since turning.”

“Fuck.” Viktor sat down hard in his chair. “Simon, do you know what that means?”

“It doesn’t mean anything. I kept him from dying. That’s all.” And that was already weird enough.

Viktor rubbed his face. “When a vampire turns someone, they’re supposed to feed them immediately. First blood comes from the sire. It completes the turning, creates the bond between maker and fledgling.”

“So?”

“So his sire abandoned him and never gave him that first feeding.” Viktor looked at Charlie’s hand gripping Simon’s sleeve. “And then you came along.”

Simon stepped further away from the couch. This could not be right. “I was keeping a potential informant alive. Nothing more.”

“You gave a newly turned vampire their first real blood. In vampire terms—”

“In vampire terms nothing. I’m not a vampire.” Simon’s voice came out harder than intended. “He’s not my anything. He’s a target who happens to have information I need.”

Viktor studied him. “Can he refuse your direct commands?”

Simon’s lips drew into a thin line. 

“Have you tested it?”

Simon didn’t know what to say. He thought of Charlie’s hand dropping the pill bottle. His mouth snapping shut. But that could be explained other ways. Fear. Confusion. Charlie being Charlie.

“The Organization teaches us about sire bonds so we can exploit them,” Viktor said carefully. “But they never mentioned we might be capable of forming them ourselves.”

“Because we’re not. We’re human. Enhanced, but human.”

“Right. That’s why you need those pills. That’s why you can smell blood through skin. That’s why you’re strong enough to fight vampires hand-to-hand.” Viktor’s voice was gentle but insistent. “We’re something in between, Simon. The Organization made sure of that.”

“The Organization saved us.”

“Did they?”

Simon shook his head and focused back on Charlie. “He’s going to turn. Eventually. They all do. Once the hunger really sets in, once he gets a taste for real hunting—”

“And when’s that gonna be?”

“Soon! He’s still new and clinging to human morality.” Simon stared down at Charlie’s sleeping face. “Give it time. He’ll become what they all become.”

“A monster?”

“Yes.”

Viktor was quiet for a moment. “Is that what you’re waiting for? For him to prove he’s a monster so you can stake him with a clear conscience?”

Simon didn’t answer.

“Because from where I’m sitting, the only monster behavior I’ve seen is from the vampire who turned him as a joke. Charlie’s just a kid who got dealt a shit hand and is trying to survive without hurting anyone.”

“You don’t know him.”

“Neither do you. Not really.” Viktor stood, moving to the kitchen. “But you saved him anyway. Fed him your blood. Carried him out of danger.” He pulled out a beer, offered one to Simon who shook his head. “That’s not normal hunter behavior, and you know it.”

“I’m investigating—”

“Bullshit. You’re protecting him. And maybe that’s because of whatever bond got created when you fed him, or maybe it’s because somewhere deep down, you know the Organization’s definition of ‘monster’ isn’t as clear-cut as they taught us.”

Charlie stirred, fingers searching for Simon again. “Don’t go,” he mumbled, still mostly asleep. “Please.”

The words hit something in Simon’s chest he didn’t want to examine.

“I should report in,” Simon said. “Marcus is expecting an update.”

“About the vampire you were supposed to kill?” Viktor took a long drink of his beer. “The one currently drooling on my couch? The one who smells of your blood? Good luck explaining that.”

Simon’s phone buzzed. Marcus.

“Speak of the devil,” Viktor muttered.

Simon looked at the screen, then at Charlie’s peaceful face, then back at the phone. He’d have to answer eventually. Have to explain why Charlie Dracul was still alive. Have to lie or admit the truth.

Have to decide what the truth even was.

The phone kept buzzing.

---

Simon considered letting the call go to voice mail, but that wouldn’t solve anything, would it? 

God, could any of his problems even be solved anymore?

Maybe not.

But he’d never been one to run away from trouble. He released a breath and answered the phone. 

“Where are you?” Marcus’s voice cut through before Simon could speak.

“Hunting.”

“Your forty-eight hours are up.” Papers rustled in the background. “I need you here. Now.”

Simon’s gaze found Charlie on the couch, the vampire he’d saved tonight. He was still unconscious, the UV blanket rising and falling with his shallow breaths. “I’m close to a breakthrough.” Or a breakdown, really.

“Now, Simon. That’s not a request.”

The line went dead.

Viktor raised an eyebrow from his armchair. “That sounded friendly.”

“He wants me to report in person.” Simon pocketed his phone, mind starting to race. Marcus would give him maybe an hour before sending someone to find him. After that, with his deadline expired, Charlie would become fair game for any hunter looking to pad their numbers.

“They’ll reassign the target,” Viktor said, following his thoughts. “Someone else will come for him.”

“Multiple someones, probably.” Simon knew how it worked. A failed hunt meant open season. Every ambitious hunter in the Organization would want to claim the kill Simon couldn’t make. “They’ll be mobilizing already.”

Viktor set down his beer. “I know people. In the community.”

Simon raised a skeptical eyebrow at his friend. “The vampire community you mentioned?”

“There’s a safe house about two hours north. They take in strays sometimes.” Viktor glanced at Charlie. “He’d be safer there. For some reason, the organization hasn’t caught on to them.”

Charlie stirred on the couch, one eye cracking open. His voice came out rough, confused. “Vampires?”

“You’re awake.” Simon moved closer without thinking about it.

Charlie struggled to sit up, the blanket sliding off his shoulders. The burns had faded to faint pink marks. “Did someone say vampires?”

“There’s a community,” Viktor explained. “Other vampires who could help you. Teach you how to survive properly.”

Charlie’s whole body went rigid. “No.”

“Think about it,” Viktor insisted. “It’s your best option.”

“Other vampires hate me.” Charlie pulled his knees to his chest. “Like that one at Rosie’s who called me a joke. And last week one tried to recruit me for his weird vampire cult and when I said no, he told me I was an embarrassment to the species.”

Simon hadn’t known about that last part, but he couldn’t say that he was surprised to hear that Charlie struggled to make friends among vampires. “When did this happen?”

“Tuesday. Outside my apartment.” Charlie’s fingers twisted in the blanket. “He could smell hot sauce on me. Said I was disgusting. That I should just walk into the sun if I wasn’t going to commit to being a real vampire.”

The casual cruelty of it made Simon want to find that particular vampire and stake him. 

“This community is different,” Viktor said gently. “They’re not like that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Charlie said. “I don’t want to live with a bunch of vampires. I just want my life back.” His shoulders hunched. He looked miserable. 

But the sooner he accepted the truth, the better. “Your old life is gone.” The words came out harsher than Simon intended. “Pretending you’re not a vampire won’t help you.”

Charlie looked up at him, something raw in his expression. “Easy for you to say. You’re still human.”

Viktor snorted.

Simon glared at him. 

Viktor raised his hands at him in a placating manner before turning to Charlie again. “Simon’s got all the emotional finesse of a used up corkscrew, but he’s right. You’re a vampire now, and you need to learn how to get by as one.”

Charlie looked doubtful. “I faint at the sight of blood.”

“And yet you drank from Simon just fine.” Viktor gave him a smile as if this was a good thing while Simon’s wrist tingled with the memory of Charlie’s teeth on it. 

Charlie licked his lips as if he were experiencing a similar memory. “I got myself trapped on a rooftop.”

“Your powers don’t come intuitive to you. That’s fine. You can still learn to control them. All fledglings need training.” 

“How do you know that?” Charlie cast a suspicious look at Viktor. 

Before Viktor could answer however, Simon’s phone buzzed again. A text from Marcus: Thirty minutes or I’m sending a team.

“I have to go.” Simon turned toward the door. “Viktor, can you—”

“Yes, I’ll take care of your fledgling.” Viktor stood, stretching. “Don’t worry about it at all.”

Charlie looked between them, panic creeping into his features. “You’re leaving?”

“Marcus is suspicious enough already. If I don’t show…” Simon didn’t finish. They all knew what would happen.

Charlie stood on unsteady legs, the blanket falling away completely. He looked small in Simon’s borrowed hoodie, vulnerable. “When will you be back?”

Charlie shouldn’t have asked that. Simon was a hunter. Charlie was a vampire. Just a few hours ago, Charlie had tried to run from him. He shouldn’t want Simon to come back to him.

But nothing was as it should be now. “A few hours,” Simon found himself saying. “Don’t leave the apartment.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Charlie’s attempt at humor fell flat. “Not really a daytime person anymore.”

Simon opened the door, then paused. Looked back at Charlie standing there drowning in his hoodie, Viktor beside him like some kind of vampire life coach.

This was insane. He was leaving a vampire in the care of an ex-hunter so he could go lie to his mentor about why he hadn’t killed said vampire. His life had veered so far off course he couldn’t even see the original path anymore.

“Simon?” Charlie’s voice was small.

“What?”

“Be careful.”

The genuine concern in those two words did something to Simon’s chest he didn’t want to examine.

He left without responding, taking the stairs three at a time, trying not to think about how he’d fed Charlie earlier, how the phantom burn of Charlie’s pain still echoed in his skin… 

How completely fucked he would be when Marcus figured out the truth.

* * *

The door clicked shut behind Simon, and Charlie stood there in the borrowed hoodie, staring at a stranger who was apparently going to teach him how to be a proper vampire.

Viktor shoved his hands in his pockets. “So.”

“So.”

They looked at each other across the small living room. Charlie had no idea what vampire training involved, but he was already sure he was going to fail spectacularly. 

How else could this possibly go down?

“Should I… sit?” Charlie gestured vaguely at the couch.

“If you want.”

Charlie sat. Then immediately stood back up. “Actually, what are we doing? Like, is there a vampire manual? A PowerPoint? Do I take notes?”

Viktor’s mouth twitched. “You want to take notes on being a vampire?”

“I don’t know! I’ve been winging it for three weeks and all I’ve learned is that ‘red things’ are not a food group and I can’t jump off buildings.”

“Let’s start simple.” Viktor moved closer, studying him with the kind of focus that made Charlie want to hide behind the couch. “Can you control your fangs?”

Charlie touched his mouth self-consciously. “They just kind of… happen.”

“Show me.”

“I don’t know how to make them…” Charlie thought about blood, and his fangs descended immediately. “Oh.”

“Good. Now retract them.”

Charlie tried to think about not-blood. About taxes. About his overdue library books. His fangs stayed firmly in place.

“I’m trying.”

“Don’t try. Just let them go back.”

“That’s the same as trying!” Charlie’s words came out oddly as he tried to speak around his fangs. “Ith’s like telling someone to just relax when they’re thressed.”

Viktor pressed his lips together, clearly fighting not to laugh at Charlie’s lisp. “Okay, different approach. What makes them go away normally?”

“Fainting?”

“Besides that.”

Charlie thought about it. “When I’m distracted, I guess? Like when I’m at work and focusing on not dropping change.”

“So focus on something else.” Viktor grabbed a book from his shelf. “Read this out loud.”

Charlie took the book—some thriller about spies—and started reading. Three paragraphs in, his fangs retracted on their own.

“See? Just needed to stop thinking about it.”

“Great. So my vampire power is not thinking.” Charlie handed the book back. “I should be really good at that.”

Viktor gave him a small smile. “Everyone starts somewhere. When I first got enhanced strength, I ripped three doors off their hinges in a week. The Organization made me practice with eggs for a month.”

“Enhanced?” Charlie asked. “What does that mean?”

Viktor’s smile faded. He walked to the kitchen, and Charlie thought he’d pushed too far, but then Viktor opened his refrigerator and pulled out something that made Charlie’s stomach clench.

Blood bags. Medical grade, with hospital labels.

“Why do you have those?”

Viktor didn’t answer the question. Instead, he  set the blood bags on the coffee table between them. Charlie immediately scooted back on the couch, pressing himself against the armrest.

“We need to work on your tolerance,” Viktor said, sitting in the chair across from him. Fainting at blood will definitely get you laughed out of the vampire community.”

“I can’t help it.”

“You can.” Viktor picked up one of the bags, and Charlie’s vision immediately started to tunnel. 

He gripped the couch cushion, forcing himself to keep his eyes open. 

Viktor seemed suprised by his reaction. “I’m not even opening it.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlie apologized for being pathetic. “It’s just—knowing what’s in there—”

“It’s B positive, if that helps.”

“Why would that help?”

Viktor shrugged. “Some vampires have preferences. Types they respond to better.” He tilted the bag, watching the blood shift inside. “What type is Simon?”

“How would I know his blood type?”

“You’ve fed from him twice. You can’t tell?”

Charlie’s face heated. Would a proper vampire have figured it out? “I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Okay.” Viktor nodded. “But his blood doesn’t make you faint?”

“No.” Charlie forced himself to look at the bag in Viktor’s hands. His stomach churned, but the dizziness was manageable as long as it stayed sealed. “His is… different.”

“Different how?”

Charlie didn’t know how to explain that Simon’s blood tasted like safety and controlled violence and something protective that made Charlie’s entire body sing. That wasn’t a normal thing to say about someone’s blood.

“It just doesn’t make me sick.”

Viktor hummed thoughtfully. “Interesting. Well, we need to get you tolerating other sources.” He stood, taking the bag with him. “Stay there.”

“Where are you going?”

“Getting supplies.”

Charlie watched Viktor move around his kitchen, pulling out a bowl, a spoon, and…

“Is that ketchup?”

“You can tolerate ketchup.” Viktor set everything on the counter. “You need blood, so we’re trying something.”

Trying what…?

“No. No, no, no.” Charlie stood, alarm bells ringing in his head. Did Viktor mean to mix blood and ketchup? “That’s not a solution. That’s a crime against nature.”

“Desperate situations call for desperate solutions.” Viktor opened the ketchup bottle with the focus of someone conducting a scientific experiment. “Think of it as a stepping stone.”

“You’re not seriously going to—” Charlie watched in horror as Viktor opened the blood bag and squeezed a measure into the bowl like he was making pancake batter.

The smell hit immediately. Charlie’s fangs descended while his stomach simultaneously tried to crawl up his throat.

“This is good,” Viktor said, adding ketchup to the bowl. “You haven’t fainted yet.”

“I’m going to throw up.”

“You haven’t eaten anything to throw up.” Viktor picked up the spoon and started whisking like he was competing on one of those cooking shows on TV. “The consistency is important. Too thick and it’s obvious what it is. Too thin and the textures separate.”

“You’re just making shit up.”

“I’m problem-solving.” Viktor added a pinch of salt. “Let’s have some electrolytes.”

Charlie watched the mixture turn a repulsive color, neither brown nor red, and somehow worse than either option alone. It looked like evidence from a particularly creative murder scene.

“There.” Viktor poured it into a glass and held it out to Charlie. “Think of it as a bloody mary. Without the vodka. Or the celery.”

“Right…”

“Just try it.”

Charlie took the glass against his better judgment. It smelled like sweet tomatoes mixed with iron, artificial preservatives battling with organic copper. His fangs ached, wanting the blood, while his human memories screamed that ketchup should never smell like this.

“Maybe if I do it fast…” Charlie brought the glass to his lips and took a large gulp.

It was instantly, catastrophically worse than he’d imagined.

The ketchup’s sweetness somehow amplified the blood’s metallic taste, like pennies dipped in corn syrup. The textures were wrong, too thick and too thin simultaneously, coating his throat with something his body couldn’t decide whether to accept or reject.

Charlie made it three steps to Viktor’s sink before his body came to a decision.

“That was dramatic,” Viktor said, handing him a dish towel after the retching stopped.

“That was assault.” Charlie wiped his mouth, the taste somehow worse on the way back up. “Never make me eat that again.”

“It was worth a try.”

“Was it?” Charlie turned on the tap, desperately trying to rinse the flavor from his mouth. “Was it really?”

Viktor leaned against the counter, and for the first time since Simon left, he looked genuinely confused. “I don’t understand. When I need blood, I just drink it. It’s not pleasant, but it’s manageable.”

Charlie paused, water still running. “When you need blood?”

Viktor’s expression shifted, like he’d said more than he meant to. He moved back to the living room, but Charlie followed, pieces clicking together in his mind.

“The enhanced strength you mentioned. The blood bags in your fridge.” Charlie’s voice rose. “You’re not human, are you?”

Viktor’s jaw tightened. For a moment, Charlie thought he wouldn’t answer at all. Then he moved to the window, pulling the curtain aside just enough to look down at the street below.

“I’m like Simon. We’re… something in between.”

“In between what?” 

“In between human and vampire. We were bitten but not fully turned. The organization intervened before the transformation completed.” Viktor let the curtain fall. “Then they pumped us full of experimental drugs and turned us into weapons.”

The words settled heavy in the room. Charlie sat back down on the couch, processing.

“Simon’s like that too?”

“Why do you think he’s so strong? Fast enough to keep up with vampires?” 

“I thought he was just… really good at his job.”

“He is. Because the Organization made him that way. Made us that way.” Viktor moved back to his chair. “When a vampire attacks someone but doesn’t complete the turning, there’s a window. A few hours where the victim exists between states. The Organization developed a way to… stabilize that state.”

Charlie’s mind raced back through every interaction with Simon. The way he’d moved in that alley, fast enough to take down four vampires. The way he’d found Charlie on that rooftop even though Charlie hadn’t been able to call him.

The way Charlie felt inexplicably safe around someone who hunted vampires for a living.

“So he’s part vampire.”

“We prefer ‘enhanced.'” Viktor’s smile held no humor. “Sounds better in the reports.”

“How many of you are there?”

“Not many. The process has a high failure rate. Most die. Some go insane. A lucky few get to spend their lives hunting the thing they almost became.”

Charlie shook his head. “Does that mean…” his face heated. “Is that why his blood tastes different? Because he’s not fully human?”

“Could be,” Viktor allowed. “But my theory is different. Did you know newly turned vampires usually get their first blood from the vampire who turned them? Your sire abandoned you, so Simon unwittingly stepped into that role when he fed you. Turns out we’re just vampire enough for that.”

Charlie had no idea how to feel about that.

How should he feel about the fact that his sire had left him hungry and the person who’d saved him from starvation was a hunter who hadn’t known what he was doing, who’d never wanted to be Charlie’s anything?

But even though Simon didn’t want Charlie, Charlie wanted Simon.

Against all reason.

Was that because Simon was his sire now?

Charlie couldn’t untie all the knots in his head—or his heart. 

“What do I do?” Charlie asked. 

Viktor shrugged. “Honestly, kid? I don’t know. Never expected anything like this to happen. But you’re not bound to Simon forever if that’s what you’re worried about. Plenty of vampires live independent lives away from their sires.” He paused. “You just gotta learn how to be independent.”

“Right.” Charlie forced a wobbly smile. “How do I do that?”

“Well…” Viktor thought. “I guess the blood training didn’t work out.” His eyes lit up with an idea. “Let’s try something else.”

“Please don’t make me drink anything else.”

“No, this is different. Better.” Viktor leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Every vampire has an animal form. Something that connects to their strongest ability.”

Charlie peeked up. “Like turning into a bat?”

“That’s mostly movie bullshit. Real forms are more varied. It’s usually tied to whatever your strongest trait is. I knew a vampire who had amazing perception and she could turn into an owl. And then there was this guy who had incredible strength. He turned into a grizzly bear.”

Despite himself, Charlie felt a spark of interest. “I can be really fast.” 

The fact that he couldn’t control his speed was a different matter that he shoved aside for now.

“Exactly,” Viktor said. “So your form will be something fast.” Viktor’s enthusiasm seemed genuine now. “Maybe a cheetah. Or a falcon!Imagine diving at two hundred miles per hour.”

Charlie sat up straighter. A cheetah would be cool. Sleek and deadly, all coiled muscle and grace. Or a falcon, sharp-eyed and free, nothing but sky and speed.

“How do I find out?”

“Meditation, basically. You focus on your core nature, let your body find its true shape.” Viktor stood, pushing the coffee table against the wall to clear floor space. “Sit in the middle. Cross-legged is fine.”

Charlie positioned himself on the carpet, trying not to feel ridiculous. “This seems more like yoga than vampire training.”

“You want to discover your inner predator or not?”

Inner predator. Charlie liked the sound of that. Maybe he’d be a wolf. Or a powerful and lethal jaguar. Something that would make other vampires stop laughing at him.

“Close your eyes,” Viktor instructed. “Focus on your speed. Remember how it felt when you ran from Simon at the bar.”

Charlie’s memory supplied the panic, the desperate need to flee. His body moving faster than thought, propelling him up and away from danger.

“Good. I can see you connecting. Now let that feeling spread. Don’t force it, just let your body remember what it wants to be.”

A tingling started in Charlie’s fingers and toes. Like pins and needles but deeper, his bones themselves shifting. His skin prickled, itched, then—

“Holy shit,” Viktor said.

Charlie opened his eyes. The room looked wrong. Too big. Too bright. Everything in sharp focus but from a much lower angle.

He looked down at himself.

Brown fur.

Four legs.

Paws.

Big paws, granted, but definitely paws. And his ears… He could feel them, hanging down past his face. Soft and floppy and…

Charlie thumped his back foot against the floor in frustration. The sound was exactly what he feared.

He was a rabbit.

A rabbit.

---

Simon had made the walk through the Organization’s headquarters hundreds of times, but today the familiar route felt like walking to his own execution. 

All because he’d failed to execute someone else.

How messed up was that?

About as messed up as most other things in his life, if he was being honest with himself, which he rarely was. 

Shoving the thought aside, he approached Marcus’s office. He could hear voices from inside. Multiple voices.

That wasn’t good.

Simon knocked once and entered without waiting for permission. He knew he was being expected, after all. 

Three sets of eyes turned to him.

Marcus sat behind his desk, fingers steepled. Harmon occupied one of the leather chairs, his perpetual scowl deeper than usual. And in the other chair sat a woman Simon was never happy to see.

“Riley,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.

The head of Internal Affairs stood, smoothing her charcoal suit. She’d been a hunter once, before an injury ended her field career. Now she hunted hunters, looking for signs of compromise, corruption, or worse.

“Crane.” Her smile was sharp as glass. “We need to talk.”

Simon’s gaze flicked to Marcus, whose expression gave nothing away. “About?”

Riley produced a tablet from her briefcase, swiping to bring up an image. “This was taken six hours ago. Care to tell me more about what I’m seeing here?”

The photo was grainy, shot from a security camera at a bad angle. But it clearly showed Simon carrying a figure wrapped in a UV blanket. Charlie’s hand was visible, clutching Simon’s jacket.

Simon’s mind raced through lies, explanations, deflections. None of them would work. The evidence was right there.

“You want to explain why you’re playing taxi service for vampires?” Harmon leaned forward in his chair. “That’s your target, isn’t it?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Simon said.

Riley’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Because it looks like you’re aiding and abetting a known vampire. One you were specifically assigned to eliminate.”

“I was gathering intelligence—”

“By carrying him to safety?” Riley pulled up another image. This one showed Viktor’s van. “We tried to track the vehicle but weren’t successful. Whose van is this, Crane?”

Simon kept his face blank, but internally he cursed. They’d been sloppy. Too focused on Charlie’s injuries to worry about cameras. “I can’t say.”

Riley shot him an incredulous look. “You can’t or you won’t?”

Simon said nothing, knowing there was nothing he could say.

Riley set the tablet on Marcus’s desk. “Let me summarize this. You failed to eliminate your target. You were then seen providing aid to said target. You helped him escape in a van. And you’ve been radio silent for the past six hours.”

She turned to Marcus. “This requires immediate suspension pending psychological evaluation. He’s clearly been compromised.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Marcus said quietly.

Riley’s head snapped toward him. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll handle Simon personally.” Marcus’s tone left no room for argument. “This is a specialized situation requiring specialized oversight.”

“Sir, with all due respect—”

“With all due respect, Riley, there are aspects of this case you’re not cleared to know.” Marcus stood, and despite his age, his presence filled the room. “I trained Simon. I know his methods. If I say I’ll handle it, I’ll handle it.”

Riley looked ready to argue, but Harmon touched her arm. “Marcus knows what he’s doing.”

The two shared a look Simon couldn’t interpret. Then Riley gathered her tablet, her jaw tight with suppressed anger.

“Fine. But I want a full report within twenty-four hours.”

“You’ll have it,” Marcus said.

Riley left without another word, her heels clicking sharp against the floor. Harmon followed, pausing at the door.

“Whatever’s going on here, fix it fast.” He shot Simon a look of pure disgust. “I don’t care what makes you special, Crane. No one’s irreplaceable.”

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

Marcus moved to his cabinet, the one with the good whiskey and the weapons older than Simon. He didn’t speak for a long moment, just stood there with his back to Simon.

“Is it happening?” he asked finally.

“Is what happening?”

“Don’t play stupid with me.” Marcus turned, and for the first time since Simon had known him, he looked old. Tired. “Are you going native?”

The words hung between them like a blade.

Simon’s jaw tightened. “I’m not going native.”

“Then how do you explain all of this?” Marcus gestured widely. “Carrying vampires to safety? Refusing to share intel?”

“It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that.” Marcus’s voice hardened. “You’ve abandoned your post. Just like Richardson did. Just like Keane.”

Simon swallowed. Richardson and Keane were both dead. 

“They forgot what they were,” Marcus said. “What we made them to be.” He moved closer, and Simon could smell the whiskey on his breath from the drinks he’d already had today. “They thought they could walk the line. Thought they could be something other than what we trained them to be.”

“I don’t think that.”

“Don’t you?” Marcus’s hand slammed down on his desk, making the weapons on the wall rattle. “Tell me how this is different, Simon. You were sent to eliminate a vampire. Instead, I find evidence of you rescuing him.”

Simon met his gaze steadily. “Charlie isn’t a real vampire.”

Marcus went very still. “Explain.”

“He’s three weeks old. Abandoned by his sire. He’s been surviving on ketchup and hot sauce because he can’t bring himself to bite anyone. He faints at the sight of blood.”

“And you believe this?”

“I’ve seen it.”

Marcus laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Oh, Simon. They really got to you, didn’t they?”

“No one got to me.”

“A vampire who doesn’t drink blood? Who faints at the sight of it?” Marcus shook his head. “That’s exactly the kind of deception they’d use. Make you think they’re harmless. Different. Special.”

“He is different.”

“No vampire is different!” Marcus’s composure cracked, real emotion bleeding through. “They’re all the same underneath. Predators. Killers. Monsters.”

He moved to his display of weapons, running his fingers along an ancient crossbow.

“How many vampires have you killed for me, Simon?”

Simon didn’t answer.

“One hundred and seventeen,” Marcus supplied. “I keep track of all my hunters, but especially you. My best. My greatest success.” He turned back. “Tell me, if vampires can be good, what does that make us? What does that make you?”

The question cut too deep for comfort.

It was what Simon had tried very hard to avoid thinking about ever since he’d met Charlie. 

He’d eliminated so many vampires, left behind so many dust piles. 

Had any of them been like Charlie? 

Scared, confused, trying desperately to hold onto their humanity?

No. They couldn’t have been. Because if they were…

“They were all threats,” Simon insisted.

“Every single one,” Marcus agreed. “Just like your present target. Whatever act he’s putting on, however convincing it might be, he’s a threat. He’ll always be a threat.”

Marcus returned to his desk, pulling out the familiar prescription bottle. “You’ve been skipping again, haven’t you?”

Simon’s silence was answer enough.

Marcus nudged the bottle toward him. “You know what to do.”

It wasn’t a request. Simon took the bottle, shook out two of the dark red pills. They sat in his palm like drops of crystallized blood.

Would taking these cut his link to Charlie?

They were supposed to suppress the monster inside him after all, and it was his monster that had bonded with Charlie, that had become a sire-substitute to a fledgling vampire.

“I’m watching,” Marcus said.

Simon looked up at his mentor and dry-swallowed the pills. They went down hard, scraping his throat.

“Good.” Marcus sat back. “I’m giving you one more chance, Simon. One. Eliminate that vampire within the next twelve hours, or you’ll undergo correctional training.”

Correctional training.

Every muscle in Simon’s body tensed. 

Initial training had been hard enough. 

Without wanting to, he remembered the medical chair in the sub-basement, the leather straps cutting into his fifteen-year-old wrists. They’d pumped his veins full of anti-vampire chemicals that burned like acid, made him smell vial after vial of blood until his fangs descended against his will.

And every time they did, someone yanked them out of his mouth with silver pliers. 

No anesthesia—pain was a valuable teacher, Marcus had said. His body needed to recognize the vampire infection as a threat to keep in check. 

His humanity had been hard-won.

“You remember,” Marcus said, reading Simon’s expression. “How hard we worked to save you. To make you what you are.” His expression softened slightly. “You’re like a son to me, Simon. But that’s exactly why I can’t let you fall. The Organization has protocols for a reason.”

Simon wanted to argue, but what could he say?

That he would rather stake himself than go back into the basement?

That seemed dramatic. 

Especially now that the pills started working, dulling that ever-simmering rage deep inside him. 

Slowly, the constant awareness of heartbeats faded to nothing. The sharp edges of everything softened.

And with that softening came clarity.

Of course Marcus was right. Vampires were threats. All of them. Charlie’s helpless act was just that—an act. Simon had been foolish to fall for it, to let his guard down. 

The lack of suppressants had obviously affected his judgment more than he’d realized.

“I’ll handle it,” Simon said, and the words came easier now. “The vampire will be eliminated.”

“Good.” Marcus pulled out a folder, sliding it across the desk. “Before you go, there’s one more thing. We traced some of those false intelligence reports about your target. The calls came from a specific location.”

Simon opened the folder. An address, phone records, timestamps.

“A library?” Simon looked up.

“The Riverside Public Library, to be exact. Someone there has been feeding us false information about Charlie Dracul. Making him seem more dangerous than he is.” Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “Find out who’s been messing with the Organization and eliminate them too.”

“Understood.”

---

By the time Simon made it back to Viktor’s apartment building, his pills had fully kicked in. The city’s assault of smells—garbage, exhaust, humans—became manageable background noise. Even the persistent pull in his chest that had led him to Charlie on that rooftop had gone quiet.

Good. He didn’t need distractions.

He’d been given only twelve more hours to eliminate his target. He had eleven left now. The math was simple. His job was simple.

So why was he standing outside Viktor’s door, unable to knock?

Because he still had not been able to de-mask Charlie. He had no proof that the vampire was just a predator putting on an act like Marcus claimed.

He had to see the truth with his own eyes before he could stake Charlie with a clear conscience.

He would get to the truth.

His knuckles rapped against the door before he could second-guess himself again.

“It’s open,” Viktor called from inside.

Simon turned the handle, stepped into the apartment, and stopped.

Viktor sat cross-legged on the floor, holding a piece of carrot. He was making soft clicking sounds with his tongue, the kind people used to coax frightened animals.

“Come on,” Viktor murmured to something behind the couch. “I know you like vegetables, and it’s red.”

“What are you doing?”

Viktor looked up, and Simon had never seen him trying so hard not to laugh. “We have a situation.”

“Where’s Charlie?”

Viktor pointed behind the couch. “That’s the situation.”

Simon moved closer, looked over the furniture, and felt his carefully reconstructed worldview crack all over again.

A rabbit sat huddled against the wall. Brown fur, enormous eyes, ears flat against its head in obvious distress. It was pressed into the corner like it was trying to become one with the drywall.

“Tell me that’s not…”

“Oh, it is.” Viktor stood, still holding the lettuce. “He shifted about an hour ago. We wanted to figure out his animal form and well…” He gestured helplessly. “Rabbit.”

Simon stared at the rabbit. The rabbit stared back with its impossibly innocent, and slightly panicked, eyes.

“Change him back,” Simon said.

“Can’t. We’ve tried everything.” Viktor waved the carrot again. “Meditation, visualization, I even tried startling him with a loud noise. Nothing works.”

“He’s stuck?”

“Completely.” Viktor set the carrot on the coffee table. “Turns out shifting is easier than un-shifting. Who knew?”

The rabbit made a small, pathetic sound. Its nose twitched.

Simon’s hands clenched. This was ridiculous. He’d come here to confront a vampire, to prove Charlie was dangerous, and instead he was looking at something that belonged in a petting zoo.

“How is this even possible?” The words came out sharp, accusatory. “Vampires don’t turn into prey animals.”

“That’s what I said.” Viktor shrugged. “But here we are. I think it’s actually kind of fitting, considering—”

“It’s not fitting. It’s wrong.” Simon stepped around the couch. The rabbit pressed itself flatter against the wall. “Vampires are predators. All of them.”

“Simon.”

“Even the weak ones. Even the new ones.” His voice rose despite himself. He couldn’t allow for exceptions. If there were exceptions…

If vampires could be different…

Could Simon have been different?

Was there never any point to all the suffering he—

No, he refused to let the thought take hold. 

Simon crouched down in front of the rabbit. The animal’s ears drooped lower. Somehow, even in animal form, Charlie managed to look apologetic.

That made it worse.

“Change back,” Simno commanded, knowing his voice did not come out kind. “Now.”

The rabbit went completely still.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then Charlie’s small body began to shudder. The air around him shimmered like heat waves rising from asphalt. Fur receded, limbs stretched, and in a matter of seconds, Charlie was human again.

Naked. On Viktor’s floor. Curled on his side with his knees drawn up, one arm wrapped around his middle.

Simon’s gaze caught on the vulnerable curve of Charlie’s spine, the way his shoulder blades jutted out like bird wings. His skin was pale except where the healing burns had left faint pink marks. He looked soft. Breakable. Nothing like the monsters Simon hunted.

Nothing like a monster at all.

Simon grabbed the throw blanket from the couch and tossed it over Charlie, covering him completely. Too roughly, maybe, but he needed Charlie covered. 

Needed to stop seeing all that soft skin.

“Thanks,” Charlie mumbled from under the blanket, pulling it tighter around himself. His voice came out small. “I’m sorry. I tried to change back but I couldn’t remember how to be human.”

“How do you not remember how to be human?” The words came out harsher than Simon intended.

Charlie’s head emerged from the blanket, hair sticking up wildly. “I don’t know. It’s like… once I was a rabbit, I could only think rabbit thoughts? And rabbits don’t really think about being human.”

Viktor returned with sweatpants and a t-shirt, which he handed to Charlie. “At least you didn’t get stuck as something worse.”

“What’s worse than being a prey animal?” Simon asked.

Charlie pulled the shirt on under the blanket, obviously trying to maintain some dignity despite everything. “A goldfish?”

Viktor snorted. “Fair point.”

Simon watched Charlie struggle into the sweatpants while still wrapped in the blanket, managing to nearly fall over twice in the process. 

This was the vampire his boss wanted dead in—Simon checked his phone—ten hours and forty-three minutes. This ridiculous creature who got stuck as a rabbit and wondered if goldfish might be worse.

“Stand up,” Simon ordered.

Charlie scrambled to his feet, the blanket falling away. Viktor’s clothes hung loose on his frame. The t-shirt collar gaped, showing prominent collarbones.

“Did I do something wrong?” Charlie asked, that familiar anxiety creeping into his voice. “Besides the rabbit thing.”

“You exist wrong.” The words escaped before Simon could stop them.

Charlie flinched like Simon had hit him.

“Simon.” Viktor’s voice carried a warning.

But Simon couldn’t stop now. The pills had dulled his senses but sharpened something else—a desperate need to do his job, and a desperate need for the world to make sense again. For vampires to be monsters and hunters to be heroes and the line between them to be clear.

“You’re supposed to be dangerous.” Simon stepped closer. Charlie stepped back. “You’re supposed to be a threat.”

“I’m sorry?” Charlie’s back hit the wall. The same wall he’d been pressed against as a rabbit.

“Stop apologizing.”

“I—” Charlie’s mouth snapped shut, eyes going wide. A muscle in his jaw twitched like he was fighting to speak.

Interesting. So even on the pills, Simon could compel the fledgling he’d never wanted to claim.

“You can talk,” Simon said, testing.

“What’s happening?” Charlie’s voice came out thin. “Why couldn’t I—when you said—”

“Simon.” Viktor moved closer, understanding dawning on his face. “Don’t do this.”

Simon ignored him. All his focus narrowed to the infuriating creature before him, who was still pressed against the wall like he thought he could phase through it if he tried hard enough.

“Tell me truthfully what you think about when you see humans.”

Charlie’s answer was immediate, compelled: “I wonder if they’re happy. If they’re tired. Sometimes I make up stories about where they’re going.” His eyes widened at his own words. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“What about their blood?”

“I try not to think about it.” Charlie licked his lips. “But when I do, I feel guilty. Like I’m betraying them by noticing they’re alive.”

This wasn’t right. Forced to spill his secrets, Charlie should be revealing predatory instincts. Hunting strategies. The truth beneath the act.

But there was no act. There was only this soft-looking boy with eyes the color of chocolate and no sense of self-preservation.

Simon’s chest tightened. 

“Tell me what you really are.” His voice came out rougher now. 

Charlie’s face crumpled. “I don’t understand what you want. This is what I am. I’m sorry it’s not—” His breath hitched. “I’m sorry I’m not what you need me to be.”

“Didn’t I tell you to stop apologizing?”

“I can’t!” Charlie’s voice cracked. “I can’t stop being sorry for existing wrong. Is that what you want to hear? That I know I’m a disappointment? That I’m a failed vampire and a failed human and I don’t fit anywhere?”

The words hung in the air between them. Charlie’s eyes were bright with unshed tears, his whole body trembling against the wall.

Viktor stepped closer. “That’s enough.”

“No.” Simon didn’t look at him. Couldn’t look away from the man who was turning his whole world upside down. “It’s not enough.”

Marcus’s voice echoed in his memory: They’re all the same underneath.

They had to be. Because if they weren’t… If Charlie was exactly what he appeared to be…

What did that make the hundred and seventeen dust piles Simon had left behind?

“Tell me about the last time you wanted to hurt someone,” Simon commanded.

Charlie blinked, confused. “I… I can’t remember.”

“You can’t remember?”

“No, I mean…” Charlie’s brow furrowed, like he was searching through his memories. “I don’t think I’ve wanted to hurt anyone. Not even…” He swallowed. “Not even the vampire who turned me. I just wanted him to come back. To explain what was happening to me.”

Simon’s hands clenched into fists. This was wrong. All wrong.

“When you’re hungry,” he pressed, “when you need blood, what do you think about?”

“You.” The word escaped before Charlie could stop it, and his face went red. “I mean, your blood. It’s the only thing that doesn’t make me sick. I think about how it tastes like comfort and I hate myself for wanting it because you don’t, you didn’t, I mean, you never wanted—”

“Stop.”

Charlie’s mouth snapped shut, but his eyes were still talking. Wide and brown and so painfully human despite everything.

Simon felt something fracturing inside his chest. Some fundamental truth he’d built his entire life around, splintering like ice under pressure.

He could feel the shards of it dig into him.

“You know what he is now.” Viktor’s voice was quiet, careful. “You know he’s not lying.”

“Shut up.”

“The compulsion proves it, Simon. Everything he’s saying is true.”

Simon turned on Viktor so fast that Charlie made a small sound of alarm. “I said shut up.”

Viktor held his ground, studied him for a moment. “What happened at HQ? Did you take your pills, finally?”

“That has nothing to do with this.”

“Doesn’t it?” Viktor’s gaze narrowed. “Then maybe you’re simply terrified to think that some vampires might be decent people.”

“I’m not terrified of anything.”

“No?” Viktor gestured at Charlie. “Then why are you torturing him?”

“I’m not…” Simon stopped. Looked at Charlie, who was still pressed against the wall, tears now sliding silently down his face. Waiting for whatever command came next because he had no choice.

Just like Simon had no choice when Marcus put him in that chair. When they pumped him full of chemicals that burned. When he was made to be grateful for having his teeth yanked out of his mouth because the pain would save him from turning into a monster.

But Charlie wasn’t a monster.

Which meant…

“Attack him.” The words came out before Simon could stop them. He pointed at Viktor. “Show me what vampires do. Attack him.”

Charlie’s body jerked like someone had yanked invisible strings. His legs moved without his permission, taking one stumbling step toward Viktor.

“No,” Charlie gasped, his hands coming up to grab his own arms, nails digging in hard enough to draw blood. “No, please, I don’t want to.”

But his body kept moving. Another step. His fangs descended.

Viktor didn’t move. Didn’t even blink as Charlie stumbled toward him, fighting his own body every step.

“It’s okay, Charlie.” Viktor’s voice was steady, calm. “I know this isn’t you.”

Charlie made a wounded sound, his whole body at war with itself. His right leg stepped forward while his left tried to plant itself. His arms reached out even as his shoulders twisted back, trying to stop their own movement.

But he couldn’t stop. 

His body lurched forward faster now, hands extending toward Viktor’s throat. Charlie turned his head away, eyes squeezed shut, a sob escaping his throat.

“I can’t stop it,” Charlie cried. “I’m trying but I can’t. Viktor, run!”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Viktor said simply.

Charlie’s hands made contact with Viktor’s shoulders, and that’s when something extraordinary happened.

Instead of gripping, instead of attacking, Charlie’s hands just… rested there. Shaking violently, yes. His fangs fully extended, yes. But even with Simon’s command compelling him forward, Charlie’s fingers wouldn’t close. 

He wouldn’t cause harm. 

“I can’t,” Charlie whispered, and it sounded like it was tearing him apart. “I can’t hurt him. I can’t hurt anyone. Please, Simon, please—”

His legs gave out.

Charlie crumpled, but before he could hit the floor, Simon was there.

It wasn’t conscious. One moment Simon was standing three feet away, the next he had Charlie in his arms, catching him before his knees could crack against Viktor’s floor.

Charlie was sobbing now, real tears that soaked immediately into Simon’s shirt. His whole body shook with the effort of fighting the compulsion that still pulled at him, trying to make him attack even as Simon held him.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie gasped against Simon’s chest. “I’m sorry I can’t do it. I’m trying but I can’t—I can’t be what you need—”

“Stop,” Simon said, and hated himself for how Charlie went silent immediately, still crying but unable to apologize for it.

The full weight of what he’d just done crashed over Simon. He’d tortured Charlie. Forced him to fight his own body, made him think he was going to hurt someone innocent. 

Just to soothe his own ego.

He was disgusting. 

Worse than the vampires he hunted because at least they acted on instinct. He’d done this deliberately, methodically, just to protect his own mind.

Viktor hadn’t moved from his spot. “He physically can’t hurt people,” he said quietly. “Even with a direct command from you. Do you see it now?”

Simon saw it. Saw what he’d done to the gentlest creature he’d ever encountered. 

Bile rose in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie whispered against his chest, and Simon wanted to tear himself apart for making Charlie think any of this was his fault.

“Don’t,” Simon said roughly. “Don’t apologize. Not for this.”

But Charlie was already pulling back, misinterpreting Simon’s tone. “I’ll try harder next time. If you need me to be—”

“No.” The word came out sharp enough that Charlie flinched. Simon loosened his grip, but couldn’t bring himself to let go entirely. “There won’t be a next time.”

Charlie went very still in his arms. “You’re leaving.”

It wasn’t a question. There was a deep sense of resignation in Charlie’s voice. Like he’d been expecting this, waiting for Simon to abandon him just like his sire had. It made Simon feel like the lowest form of life.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s okay.” Charlie’s voice was small. “I understand. You were right, I do exist wrong and—”

“Stop talking.”

Charlie’s mouth snapped shut, and Simon immediately wanted to punch himself. Using compulsion again, even accidentally, after what he’d just put Charlie through.

“You can talk,” Simon said quickly. “I didn’t mean to—fuck.”

Viktor moved then, just slightly, enough to remind them he was there. “Maybe ease up on the commands.”

Simon wanted to snap at him, but Viktor was right. Everything Simon did made things worse. Every word, every action, every attempt to prove Charlie was a monster only proved that Simon was one instead.

“Please don’t leave me.”

The words were barely audible, whispered against Simon’s shoulder where Charlie had hidden his face again.

“I’ll give you a minute,” Viktor said, and quietly disappeared into his bedroom. The door clicked shut.

They were alone.

Charlie was still pressing his face against Simon’s shoulder, his breathing shaky and uneven. Simon could feel the dampness of tears through his shirt. Could feel how Charlie’s fingers had twisted into the fabric like he was afraid Simon would disappear if he let go.

Simon should be planning Charlie’s elimination. Should be heading to that library to investigate whoever had been feeding them false information. Should be doing anything other than kneeling on Viktor’s floor, holding a crying vampire who apologized for existing.

“I won’t leave,” Simon heard himself say.

Charlie’s breath hitched. “You won’t?”

“No.”

The word settled between them like a promise Simon had no right to make. Marcus would come for them both. The Organization didn’t tolerate failures, and protecting a vampire instead of eliminating one was the ultimate betrayal of everything they stood for.

But Charlie was trembling in his arms, and Simon couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d just done. How he’d used Charlie’s trust against him. How he’d forced him to fight his own body just to prove a point that didn’t need proving.

He’d thought he was one of the good ones. But he wasn’t.

He was exactly as morally corrupted as the Organization that had shaped him. 

“I’m sorry,” Simon said, and the words felt like glass in his throat. When was the last time he’d apologized to anyone? “I treated you terribly and the only reason you don’t want me to leave now is because my blood created a bond between us that you never wanted.”

Charlie pulled back slightly, just enough to look at Simon’s face. His eyes were red-rimmed, confused. “What?”

“The sire bond.” The words tasted bitter. “When I fed you that first time, I didn’t know what it would do. Your actual sire abandoned you, never gave you first blood. So when I did…” Simon’s jaw tightened. “I accidentally became something to you that I had no right to be.”

“I accidentally became something to you that I had no right to be.”

Charlie shook his head, almost violently. “I don’t care about any of that.”

“You should care.”

“But I don’t.” Charlie’s fingers tightened in Simon’s shirt. “Everyone leaves.” The words tumbled out, desperate and raw. “My maker left me bleeding in an alley. My mom stopped answering my calls years ago. Even the other vampires want nothing to do with me.” Charlie’s too-trusting eyes searched Simon’s face. “But you, you lied to your boss for me. You saved me from that roof. I don’t care if it’s vampire biology or magic or whatever.” His voice cracked. “Just please don’t abandon me. I’d rather you stake me than leave me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.” Charlie’s laugh was broken. He took a breath to say more.

Simon didn’t want him to say more. Simon kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate and frustrated and full of everything Simon couldn’t put into words. 

How Charlie’s existence had destroyed everything Simon thought he knew. 

How his goodness made Simon question every choice he’d ever made. 

How the thought of staking him made Simon want to turn the stake on himself instead.

Charlie made a small, shocked sound against his mouth, then melted into it completely, like he’d been waiting for this his whole life.

---

Charlie’s mind went completely blank.

Simon was kissing him. Simon, who hunted vampires, who’d tried to stake him twice, who’d just spent the last ten minutes proving Charlie was defective, was kissing him like the world was ending.

Maybe it was.

Charlie couldn’t think past the heat of Simon’s mouth, the way his hands had come up to frame Charlie’s face like he was something worth holding onto. There was nothing gentle about the kiss.

Charlie liked that.

He liked it a lot. 

But then his fangs descended without his input. 

Shit.

What if he nicked Simon?

He tried to pull back, but Simon held him in place, kissing him like he was trying to crawl inside Charlie’s skin. Like he could somehow undo everything he’d done if he just pressed close enough, held tight enough.

The taste of blood sparked on his tongue—definitely from a cut, Charlie’s fang had caught Simon’s lower lip. The flavor hit Charlie’s system like a drug, making his whole body light up with need. He whimpered, and tried again to pull back, but Simon’s grip turned almost bruising.

“Don’t,” Simon growled against his mouth, and then he did something that short-circuited Charlie’s brain entirely—he deliberately pressed his cut lip against Charlie’s fang, letting more blood well up.

Charlie made a broken sound, his hands fisting in Simon’s shirt hard enough to tear the fabric. He surged forward, knocking Simon backwards onto the floor. Simon let him, pulling Charlie down with him until Charlie was sprawled on top of him, their bodies pressed together from chest to hip.

Charlie had never felt predatory before, but something about Simon’s blood on his tongue and Simon’s hands pulling him closer made him feel the need to feast.

“So this is what it takes to make you go wild,” Simon said against his mouth, and he sounded happy, satisfied, like Charlie going feral was what he’d wanted all along.

But that wasn’t right. Simon had wanted him to be a monster so he could stake him with a clear conscience. Not so Charlie could lie on top of him, fangs out, drunk on a few drops of freely given blood.

“I don’t understand you.” Charlie pulled back just enough to see Simon’s face. “You hate vampires. You hate what I am.”

“I don’t hate you.” Simon’s hands had found their way under Charlie’s borrowed shirt, fingernails dragging along his spine hard enough to leave marks. “I hate that you exist. I hate that you’re good. I hate that you’re making me question everything I’ve ever believed.”

“Then why—”

“Because I can’t stake you.” The admission seemed torn from Simon’s throat. “I’ve tried to convince myself I could. Tried to make you into something worth killing. But you’re not.” His hands tightened on Charlie’s waist, holding him in place. “You’re the only truly good person I’ve ever met and you’re a vampire and that’s breaking my brain.”

Charlie stared down at him, this dangerous hunter who’d killed over a hundred vampires, who was currently underneath Charlie looking destroyed by his own confession.

Charlie had wanted a lot of things since being turned. To be human again. To stop craving blood. To belong somewhere, anywhere, with someone who didn’t think he was a joke.

He hadn’t dared to let himself want this.

But now Simon’s thumb was stroking along his jaw, warm and real. “I’m not leaving,” Simon said firmly. “Stop thinking I’m going to leave.” His hand slid down Charlie’s back, steadying him, grounding him, and then stopped abruptly. “What is that?”

Charlie’s mind was still foggy from the kiss, from the taste of Simon’s blood on his tongue. “What’s what?”

Simon’s hand moved lower, and his expression shifted to something between disbelief and exasperation. “Charlie. You have a tail.”

“What?” Charlie twisted, trying to see, and sure enough. There it was, a rabbit tail had sprouted just above the waistband of his borrowed sweatpants. Fluffy and white and absolutely ridiculous. “Oh my God.”

He scrambled backward, face burning. “I didn’t…I don’t know how…”

“You partially shifted.” Simon sat up. “While we were kissing.”

“I’m sorry!” Charlie’s hands went to cover the tail, which only made things worse because now he was actively aware of it. It twitched. “I guess I just… I got…”

“Overwhelmed?”

The word came out oddly gentle, and when Charlie looked up, Simon’s expression had softened into something that wasn’t quite a smile but wasn’t judgment either.

“This is so embarrassing,” Charlie mumbled, still trying to hide the tail that absolutely would not shift back. “I’m literally a disaster. I can’t even kiss someone without turning into Bugs Bunny.”

“Peter Rabbit,” Simon corrected.

Charlie blinked at him. “What?”

“Bugs Bunny is a rabbit who walks upright and eats carrots. You’re more Peter Rabbit. Small, nervous, gets into trouble.”

“Are you seriously critiquing my rabbit form right now?”

“I’m providing accurate taxonomy.” Simon’s mouth twitched, and Charlie realized with shock that he was fighting not to laugh.

“This isn’t funny!”

“It’s a little funny.” Simon reached out, and Charlie thought he was going to touch the tail, which would have been mortifying, but instead his fingers found Charlie’s wrist, pulling his hands away from their futile hiding attempt. “Stop that. You’re making it worse.”

“How could this possibly get worse?” Charlie could feel the tail twitching with his agitation, completely outside his control. “I’m a vampire with a prey animal form who just sprouted a tail because someone kissed me. I’m like the universe’s idea of a joke.”

“You’re not a joke.” Simon’s voice went serious again, thumb brushing over Charlie’s pulse point. “You’re just… unprecedented.”

“That’s a nice way of saying ‘weird.'”

“I don’t do nice.” Simon tugged him closer, and Charlie went despite the humiliation of the tail situation. “I mean what I say. You’re unprecedented. Do you think there’s any other vampire who literally couldn’t hurt people? Who apologizes to doors? Who gets stuck in rabbit form because they can only think rabbit thoughts?”

“Those aren’t good things!”

“They’re you things.” Simon’s other hand came up to Charlie’s face, tilting his chin up. “And I happen to find them just as adorable as I find them exasperating.”

Charlie’s breath caught. The tail gave an involuntary twitch of what might have been happiness, which was so mortifying he wanted to sink through the floor.

“It moved,” Simon observed.

“Please don’t narrate my tail movements.”

“It’s responding to your emotions.”

“Simon, I’m begging you—”

Simon grinned. “Maybe I like it when you beg.”

Charlie’s brain short-circuited and his tail, his traitorous, horrible tail, twitched so hard it was basically wagging.

“I—you can’t just—” Words failed him completely. His face felt like it was on fire, and he was pretty sure vampires weren’t supposed to blush this much. Or at all. “That’s not fair.”

“Fair?” Simon’s thumb traced along Charlie’s jaw, and his grin shifted into something darker, more dangerous. “Nothing about this is fair. You think it’s fair that you exist? That you’re everything I was taught was impossible?”

Charlie couldn’t look away from Simon’s eyes. “I don’t mean to be impossible.”

“I know.” Simon’s voice dropped lower. “That makes it worse.”

Viktor’s bedroom door opened.

“Are you two done having your moment, or…” Viktor stopped, taking in the scene. Charlie on the floor with a rabbit tail. Simon’s hands on his face. The general atmosphere of tension thick enough to cut. “Oh my God, is that a tail?”

Charlie wanted to die. Fully die. Not vampire die, but actually cease existing.

“It just happened!” he protested, trying to twist away from Simon to hide the tail again, but Simon’s grip kept him in place.

“That’s incredible.” Viktor sounded genuinely delighted. “It takes most vampires years of practice to partially shift.”

“Can we stop talking about this?” Charlie pleaded.