Kit turned to look at him. “Next time, please allow me to do something.”
Quin placed a kiss on the tip of Kit’s nose. “I think you did more than just ‘something’ tonight.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Believe me when I say this, baby boy, but that was the furthest thing from hardship for me. I’d happily do that for the rest of my life.”
Kit’s stomach lurched at the reminder of Quin’s mortality.
It must have shown on his face, as Quin winced. “Relax, Kit. Please. Let yourself relax. You can stay here all day, and when you wake up, I’ll be back with Mabel.”
Kit did what Quin wanted, turning around and closing his eyes. The sunrise wasn’t far off, anyway.
SIXTEEN
Quin
Quin shifted on the bed,arms reaching out for Kit, but only space greeted him. He opened his bleary eyes to a brighter room than he’d expected, catching sight of Kit where he stood at the window, curtains thrown wide.
Quin’s brain failed to process the indistinct shape that loomed behind Kit in the low light.
Light.Fear flooded Quin. He threw off the covers and sprang up, blinking as black dots flickered across his vision. From this angle, Quin could see that the sun hadn’t yet risen.
It was close, though.
Kit stood there alone, the shape that Quin thought he’d seen now gone. Or—more likely—had never been there at all.
“Kit?” he called out.
Kit didn’t move a muscle.
Goosebumps broke out all over Quin’s body at Kit’s unnatural stillness. “Kit,” he said, more insistent this time, but Kit didn’t respond. Quin rushed over, grasping Kit by the shoulder and turning him around. What he saw had him stumbling backwards.
Kit’s open eyes were fully black, like two deep pools of oil. Blood trickled from them, cutting down his pale face and onto his bare chest. Stains dotted the carpet. Kit’s mouth was parted, fangs out and grazing his lips.
But it was his blank expression that had Quin’s stomach roiling.
Quin glanced out of the window, knowing that he’d kept the curtains shut to avoid the morning light.
One second Kit was standing there in front of Quin, and the next, he crumpled. Quin almost didn’t catch him. Kit weighed next to nothing, but he seemed slighter than usual. Quin placed Kit on the bed, then drew the curtains closed. After putting on the bedside table light, Quin perched beside Kit.
It was as if Kit wasn’t there at all.
Quin cupped Kit’s face with one hand. “Baby?” he whispered. “Can you hear me?”
Nothing. Not a twitch of a muscle, nor the blink of an eyelid.
Quin pushed down his panic. Other than his eyes, Kit didn’t appear hurt. He was in no immediate danger, so Quin ran to the bathroom, wetting a dark washcloth with warm water.
When he re-entered the bedroom, Kit still lay there, unmoving. As gently as possible, Quin wiped Kit’s face and chest clean of blood. At least he looked somewhat normal after that, and he’d stopped crying.
If it weren’t for his open, unseeing eyes, Quin might have presumed Kit was sleeping. Quin returned to the bathroom only to throw the washcloth into the sink and to wipe his hands clean. When he caught sight of himself in the mirror, his skin had paled, and his eyes were suspiciously wet. He refused to get emotional, though. Kit needed him to keep a level head, so that’s what he’d do.
He got back onto the bed beside Kit, the mattress dipping under his weight. With care, he turned Kit’s face towards him. “Kit,” he said. “Come back to me.”
Quin waited for a long moment. During the day, Kit would go into a deep sleep, but not like this. Not when the sun hadn’t risen. Kit had told him he could sometimes stay up beyond the sunrise before falling into his usual sleeping state.
Quin found the wait unbearable. He sat up, gathering Kit in his arms. Eying Kit’s slack mouth and sharp fangs, he wondered if fresh blood might rouse him. Going with his gut, Quin pressed a tentative thumb to one of Kit’s fangs, hard enough to slice his skin. Quin hissed as he pushed his bleeding thumb into Kit’s mouth, swiping the digit over Kit’s tongue.
