Simon studied him quietly. "Guess you can't do that anymore."
Charlie shrugged, the weight of everything settling on his shoulders. "Hard to maintain traditions when you're..." He gestured at himself, at his fangs that wouldn't retract, at his whole pathetic existence.
"When you're what?" There was a challenge in Simon's look.
Charlie met his gaze, something defiant sparking in his chest. "When you're a vampire who can't even vampire correctly. When your friend thinks you're just really committed to LARPing. When the only person who acknowledges what you are is the one who's supposed to kill you."
The words hung between them, too honest for whatever this was.
Simon finished the protein drink in two more swallows, then crushed the bottle with casual strength that made Charlie's stomach do something complicated.
"I'm going to shower." Simon moved past him, and Charlie couldn't help catching his scent. Sweat and skin and that underlying warmth that made Charlie want to reach out.
Dazed as Charlie was, the hunter's words took a moment to register. Shower. Simon was going to shower.
Which meant he'd be busy behind a locked door with running water to mask any sounds.
This was Charlie's chance.
As if he could read Charlie's thoughts, Simon paused at the bathroom door, looking back. "I know the sun's almost down. But if you try to run I'll just track you down again. Don't go anywhere."
Charlie blinked as Simon vanished into the bathroom.
He turned.
The apartment door was right there. The sun would set in a few minutes. He could feel it in his bones; that supernatural awareness of daylight fading.
In spite of Simon's warnings, he really should run.
It was the only logical thing to do.
Simon had fed him, yes, but he was still a hunter. He carried a stake the way a regular person might carry a phone. It didn't matter that he was attractive or that he'd lied for Charlie. He might stillkillCharlie.
Charlie couldn't stay.
He had to at least try to get away.
So he moved toward the door. He touched the handle.
But he couldn't turn it.
It wasn't that the handle wouldn't move—it was him.
He couldn't move his hand.
What?
Charlie stared. He wanted to go. Hehadto go. But the thought of leaving made his fingers shake and his chest tighten with inexplicable dread. It felt like breaking a promise. It felt like betrayal on the deepest level.
The rational part of his brain screamed at him.
What the hell was he doing?
He couldn't waste this opportunity. Simon couldn't chase him naked and dripping. By the time he dressed, Charlie could be blocks away, lost in the city.
Charlie's fingers tightened on the door handle.
He let go.
