Eleven
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 five 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. Simon had had the perfect opportunity to deliver a quick thrust between the ribs,and then he could have told 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.
Everythinghebelieved 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 looked 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 transformed. But ithadworked.
His blood had nourished a vampire back to health.
Reuben 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?" Reuben's voice was clipped. Never one for pleasantries after midnight.
"Still tracking." The lie came out smooth. A few feet away, Charlie pulled the blanket higher.
"Turner said you haven't filed a report."
