Something bitter rose in me. “So you’re saying this wasn’t an accident?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know,” Simon admitted.
I wanted to believe that he truly didn’t know. That was the problem. Every hunter instinct I’d honed screamed that vampires lied as easily as they breathed, that sympathy was just another trick.
But Simon didn’t move like a liar. He looked like someone who’d been running too long, too tired to keep pretending he wasn’t scared.
His gaze flicked back to my side, then to my face. “You should lie down. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
I barked out a laugh. “I’m not lying down in front of you. You think I’m that stupid?”
“Do you think I haven’t had the chance already?” Simon asked.
That silenced me. He’d had every opportunity. When I was pinned under that feral bastard, when I was bleeding and half-conscious, but he hadn’t taken it.
He shifted a little closer, close enough that I could smell him. Faint soap, dust, and something pleasant underneath. Vanilla. I hated that I noticed.
Simon’s hand hovered near my arm. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine,” I grumbled.
“You’re not.”
“I’ve been worse,” I said with a shrug.
He gave a small, humorless smile. “You keep saying that.”
“And it keeps being true.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t press. Instead, he reached into the first aid kit that had spilled from my bag when we fought earlier.
He worked in silence, hands moving with surprising steadiness. His focus was absolute, like patching me up was the only thing keeping him grounded.
I watched him, really watched him, for the first time.
He didn’t have that predatory stillness most vampires wore like armor. His movements were human, hesitant and precise.When he met my gaze, there was no glimmer of cruelty, just uncertainty.
“You were a medic or something?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Vet,” he said quietly. “Before.”
“Before you got bit?”
He nodded. “Before he found me.”
Silence settled again, heavier now. The only sounds were our breathing and the distant creak of the old house.
Then he said, almost to himself, “You should’ve let me handle it alone.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, right. Let a weak leech handle a rabid one? Not likely.”
His eyes met mine then, soft, silver-gray, catching the faintest bit of light. “I saved you,” he pointed out. “The least you can do is be a little nicer.”
I opened my mouth to snap back, but nothing came out. Because he was right.
“Yeah,” I said finally. “Guess you did.”
He looked away, but not before I saw the smallest flicker of something, relief, maybe, or pride. It shouldn’t have mattered. But it did.
