"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 anythingotherthan 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 beyondgood luck with thatbefore 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 didnotwant 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.
