"Enough," Simon said.
Charlie didn't stop. Couldn't, maybe. His eye had gone unfocused, lost in the feeding.
"Charlie. Stop."
Charlie's mouth left his arm instantly, like Simon had forced him away with an invisible shove. The vampire fell back against the wall, gasping, blood on his lips and confusion in his eye.
"I didn't—" Charlie touched his mouth, looking stunned. "I wanted to keep going but I just... stopped. How did you…?"
Simon didn't have an answer.
He hadsuspicions, but nothing more than that.
The words of the old vampire came back to him.
Do you have any idea what that means? Giving a starving fledgling your blood.
Simon tried to silence the voice in his head as he wrapped his arm with a strip of gauze, watching Charlie's burns continue their healing. The skin wasn't perfect—mottled and pink in places—but it was whole.
Alive.
Or whatever passed for alive with vampires.
"Can you stand?"
Charlie tried, made it halfway before his legs buckled. Simon caught him before he hit the stairs, pulling him back against his chest.
"Apparently not," Charlie mumbled. Then, quieter, like he wasn't quite in control of his words: "You taste like safety."
Simon's chest went tight. "You're blood-drunk."
"Maybe." Charlie's head lolled against his shoulder. "Doesn't make it not true. Even your anger tastes protective. It's weird."
What was that even supposed to mean?
"Stop talking."
Charlie's mouth snapped shut. His eye went wide, and he made a muffled sound of distress behind closed lips.
Simon's gaze narrowed as his suspicions grew stronger.
"You can talk," he said carefully.
"What is happening?" Charlie's voice came out high, panicked. "Why can't I—when you say things, I just?—"
"We're leaving. Now." Simon scooped him back up, blanket and all. Whatever was going on between them, the stairwell wasn't the place to figure it out.
Floor twenty. Fifteen. Charlie had gone quiet against his chest, breathing evening out as the blood worked through his system.
Floor ten. Five. Simon stopped at the second floor, reality hitting him. His motorcycle sat outside in broad daylight. Even if Charlie was wrapped completely, there was no way to secure him on the bike. One slip of the blanket at sixty miles per hour...
Through the small window in the stairwell door, Simon could see into the lobby. The security guard stood by his desk, phone pressed to his ear, gesturing at the elevators.
"Problem?" Charlie mumbled against his neck.
"Transportation." Simon pulled out his phone one-handed, scrolling through contacts he rarely used. The Organization had resources, but calling them meant admitting he had Charlie.
He couldn't do that.
