11
SIMON
Kit hesitated,then leaned in again. Slower this time, almost tender. The second kiss was different. Softer. The kind that didn’t need to prove anything.
When Kit drew back, he looked at me like he was memorizing every line of my face.
In the back of my mind, I wondered where this was going. If we’d already crossed the line we couldn’t uncross. But I couldn’t bring myself to care.
The night outside was quiet. The faint glow from the dying fire brushed against Kit’s skin, painting him in shades of amber and shadow.
His pupils were wide, the blue of his eyes nearly swallowed whole.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” I said, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.
He tilted his head. “Like what?”
“Like I’m not dangerous.”
Kit gave a soft huff that might’ve been a laugh. “You saved my life, Simon. That’s not something monsters usually do.”
I wanted to remind him that we saved each other. I also wanted to tell him that I wasstill dangerous. Even now, I could hear the faint rush of blood under his skin.
Could feel the thrum of his pulse calling to me. However, the words wouldn’t come. Because instead of fear, he reached for me.
His hand brushed my jaw, rough fingertips tracing the edge of my throat, the corner of my mouth.
“You’re trembling,” Kit said.
“So are you,” I managed.
We stood like that for a moment, suspended between sense and something heavier. Then he leaned in, slow enough that I could’ve stopped him. I didn’t. The kiss this time was deeper and hungrier.
Kit’s hand slid into my hair, fingers curling at the nape of my neck, drawing me closer. I could taste the faint trace of whiskey on his tongue, the salt of sweat and the warmth of living skin.
It was dizzying. Wrong and irresistible.
I’d never felt heat like that. Not since before I’d turned. It was as if the hunger in me had shifted, reshaped itself into something human again.
I wanted to taste him for all the wrong reasons. Not just for the blood, but for the spark beneath it.
When I broke the kiss, it was only because my control was slipping. Kit’s breath brushed my lips. His thumb lingered justbeneath my jaw, right where my pulse would’ve been if I were still alive.
“You stopped,” he murmured.
“I had to.” My voice was barely a whisper. “If I didn’t…”
Kit studied me, eyes dark and unreadable.
“You wouldn’t hurt me.” Kit sounded so sure. Like it was a fact, not a hope. That trust hit me like a blade turned inward.
I stepped back, but Kit followed, closing the distance with quiet certainty. His hands found my shoulders, his thumbs tracing small, grounding circles over my collarbone.
I could feel the warmth seeping through his palms.
Every instinct screamed at me to move away, to stay safe behind the line that had kept me alive this long. But his touch made that impossible. It made everything impossible.
“Kit,” I warned, though my voice didn’t sound like mine anymore.
