“Yeah,” Kit said, eyes dark and burning. “You didn’t have to.”
Something in the way he said it hit deeper than it should have.
We stood there in silence, inches apart, the faint glow from the streetlight seeping through the cracks in the boards and catching on his cheekbones.
I could smell the salt of his sweat, the scent of his body wash.
“You shouldn’t risk yourself for me,” I said finally.
“And you shouldn’t still be here.”
“Where else would I go?” I demanded.
He didn’t answer. His jaw tightened. Then before I could blink, he reached out, fingers curling in the front of my shirt, pulling me close.
“Kit,” I began.
He kissed me. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was heat and frustration and fear all tangled together. The kind of kiss that felt like it had been waiting for too long.
For a heartbeat, I froze, stunned by the sheer intensity of it. The taste of salt, the scrape of stubble, the warmth of him pressing close enough to make me forget what I was.
Then instinct took over, and I kissed him back.
The world narrowed to that single, impossible point of contact. His hand slid to the back of my neck, holding me steady.
My fingers tangled in his jacket, clinging like I could anchor myself there.
He tasted alive. Breath and heartbeat and something bitter-sweet that made my fangs ache, not from hunger, but from wanting.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. His forehead rested against mine, eyes still closed.
“Hell,” Kit muttered, voice rough. “I shouldn’t have done that”
“Don’t,” I said softly.
He opened his eyes, searching my face for something. Regret, maybe, but all I felt was the echo of that kiss, the weight of what it meant.
“Simon.” He said my name like it hurt.
“You think I haven’t wanted that?” I asked. My voice shook, but not from fear. “You think I don’t?—”
Kit stopped me with a quiet sound, half a sigh, half a plea. “This isn’t supposed to happen.”
“Maybe not,” I whispered. “But it did.”
Outside, the night settled again, quiet except for the faint chirp of crickets.
Somewhere far down the street, a car door slammed. A reminder that the world was still moving, still dangerous. But here, in this fragile pocket of peace, none of that mattered.
Kit’s thumb brushed my jaw, light as a breath.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“So are you.”
He huffed out a faint laugh. “Guess we’re both idiots.”
“Guess so.”
