Through their bond, Simon felt Charlie's unwavering acceptance, his steadfast belief that Simon was more than the weapon Reuben had forged, more than the monster he'd feared becoming.
Simon reached for the blood bag Charlie had set aside. The plastic crinkled between his fingers, the scent tantalizing even through the tight seal. With a decisive motion, he tore the tab open and brought it to his lips.
The first taste was a revelation. None of the burning emptiness of Reuben's blood. Nothing that stole his thoughts away and turned him into a puppet. Just clean, sustaining life flowing through him, healing the silver burns, clearing his mind.
Charlie watched—which was a big thing for someone who used to faint at the sight of blood. "Better?"
Simon lowered the nearly empty bag. "Yes. But that's not just because of the blood."
"No?"
"No." Simon set the bag aside and turned fully toward Charlie. "It's because of you."
Charlie ducked his head, that familiar self-consciousness Simon had come to recognize and somehow, impossibly, cherish.
"I didn't do anything special," Charlie said.
"That's where you're wrong." Simon reached out, tilting Charlie's chin up until their eyes met. "Youarespecial, and so is everything you do."
Charlie's doubt crept into their bond, his reflexive dismissal of his own importance. But beneath that ran a current of hope so strong it nearly took Simon's breath away.
"What happens now?" Charlie asked, the question hanging between them.
"I don't know," Simon admitted. "The Organization will fragment without Reuben, but it won't disappear overnight. There are others who believe in what they're doing."
"And other vampires will try to fill the power vacuum," Charlie added.
"Probably." Simon's fingers traced the line of Charlie's jaw, still marveling at the sharpness of sensation, the rightness of the touch. "But that's tomorrow's problem."
Charlie leaned into the touch. "And tonight's?"
Simon closed the distance between them, pressing his forehead against Charlie's. "Tonight is for remembering why we're fighting in the first place."
The kiss that followed wasn't like their first—desperate and confused—or their second—passionate and raw. This wasslower, deeper, a promise written in the language of lips and breath. Simon poured everything he couldn't yet articulate into it: gratitude, wonder, the terrifying realization that Charlie had become essential to him in ways he was only beginning to understand.
When they broke apart, Charlie's eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted. "Wow."
"Yeah," Simon agreed.
Outside, the noise continued. Viktor's voice rose and fell as he coordinated with whatever underground network he'd maintained since leaving the Organization. Brent's footsteps returned, then retreated again, respecting the space they needed. Somewhere, Noah was dismantling the power structure that had defined Simon's existence for a decade.
But here, in this moment, Simon found a pocket of quiet. A space where the overwhelming input of his new vampire senses zeroed in on only one individual.
"I meant what I said earlier," Charlie murmured, his hand coming to rest over Simon's undead heart, which felt fuller than it ever had. "You get to choose what you want to be now."
Simon covered Charlie's hand with his own. "I'm choosing to be with you."
The simple declaration lit Charlie's face with a joy so bright it almost hurt to look at directly. But Simon didn't look away. Couldn't look away. Not from something as beautiful and precious as the man before him.
He kissed Charlie again, drinking in his warmth. His scent. Everything that made him unique and extraordinary and irreplaceable.
Charlie melted into the kiss with abandon, his hands sliding up Simon's chest, around his neck, tugging their bodies together.
"Are we really doing this now?" he gasped when he could breathe again.
"Do you not want to?—"
"No, I absolutely do," Charlie interrupted. "I'm just saying...there's a lot going on outside this room. Like, literally right outside that door."
