He took the stairs two at a time. Thirty-nine floors. The guard would have called the police by now. They needed to get out before?—
"Simon." Charlie's voice went strange. Thin. "I think... am I... am I dying?"
Simon looked down. Blood was seeping through the blanket where Charlie's burns were worst. Not normal bleeding. The flesh was trying to heal but couldn't. Not without...
"You need blood." The words came out flat.
Charlie made a sound that might have been a laugh or a sob. "Oh. Then…"
"You're not dying." Simon said it with more force than necessary, something fierce rising in his chest at the thought. "I won't let you."
The words hung between them. Too possessive. Too much like a promise.
Floor thirty-two. Thirty-one.
Charlie's breathing had gone shallow, rapid little gasps against Simon's throat. "Think we can… grab… ketchup packets?"
"That's not funny."
"Little bit funny." But Charlie's grip on Simon's jacket was weakening, his body getting heavier as consciousness slipped.
Floor twenty-five.
Simon stopped on the landing, setting Charlie down carefully against the wall. He pulled back the blanket enough to see?—
The burns were worse than he'd thought. Not healing at all, just continuing to eat through flesh like acid. Charlie's vampire body trying and failing to repair damage that required fuel it didn't have.
Simon pulled out his knife.
"No," Charlie mumbled, eyes struggling to focus. "Why… would you…?"
"Shut up." Simon sliced across his forearm, deeper than before. The blood welled immediately, rich and dark.
Charlie tried to turn his head away.
Simon wouldn't let him.
"Look at me." The command came out sharper than intended.
Charlie's eye snapped to his immediately, pupil dilating.
"You're going to drink," Simon said, bringing his bleeding arm to Charlie's mouth. "Now."
Charlie's cracked lips parted without hesitation. The moment the blood touched his tongue, his entire body shuddered. Not revulsion. Relief. Like a drowning man getting air.
His fangs descended fully, but he was too weak to bite. Just pressed his mouth against the cut with a desperate sound that made something twist in Simon's chest.
"That's it." Simon's other hand came up to cradle the back of Charlie's head, holding him in place. "More."
Charlie made another sound, muffled against Simon's skin. His unburned hand reached up, fingers wrapping around Simon's wrist. Not to push away but to pull closer, to keep the source of life from leaving.
Simon watched the burns start to change. The blackened skin at Charlie's ankle flaked away, revealing raw but healing flesh underneath. The blisters on his face began to shrink.
It was working. Better and faster than Simon had expected.
Charlie's grip on his wrist tightened, and Simon felt the pull—not just blood leaving his body but something else. Something deeper. Like Charlie was taking more than sustenance.
Like he was taking pieces of Simon himself.
