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 so hard 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.
