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 wantedSimon'sblood.
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 man dying of thirst 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.
