Simon’s hair is still tangled with sleep, and his feet are bare. He’s wearing long flannel pajamas, dark red with a pattern of tiny white bats. Cody would normally spend ten minutes teasing Simon about how cute he looked, before enthusiastically apologizing. Now, he just feels guilty that Simon raced up out of misplaced concern.
“It could have worn off,” Cody says. “I wouldn’t have to get soaked in blood to kill someone.”
“I’m avampire,” Simon counters, with convincing disdain, before a sharp melody interrupts. He snarls at his phone. “One second, someone is… Fuck.”
Face an expressionless mask, Simon lets the phone ring twice before putting it to his ear.
“Hello, Dima.”
Cody’s shoulders lock with tension. Dima has no right to call Simon—but Cody has no right to resent him. Dima’s just a self-centered, neglectful sire. Cody’s a monster lurking in Simon’s home.
“I’ve heard the rumor,” Simon answers, lowering his eyes. The other half of the conversation is too muffled to interpret, even to Cody’s keen ears. After another moment, Simon replies, “The culprit remains unknown.”
Cody still can’t understand Dima’s words, but he can make a damn good guess.
“I’m the one who needs to feel comfortable,” Simon says. “I don’t need a new bodyguard.”
Simon lifts a hand and glares, cutting Cody off before he can say anything. Fuck. Agreeing with the creepyvampire elder wasn’t on Cody’s to-do list, but it’s true. Cody can’t stay here if he can’t trust himself.
He doesn’t know where he’ll go. Turn himself in to the treaty council, probably. But he can’t stay with Simon.
Then Simon hisses, eyes flashing red. “Don’t call me that, and don’t pretend you still give a shit about me. Go ahead, cancel. I’ll pay for my own damn bodyguard.”
Silence rings through the hallway.
“Anything else,sire?” Simon asks, with seething sweetness.
The next reply sounds softer.
“If you insist,” Simon says, and hangs up. He stares at the phone for the length of two slow heartbeats. “Dima will be here tomorrow night. I intend for his stay to be brief.”
Cody exhales, deflated. “Maybe he’s right.”
“No, he isn’t.” Simon doesn’t sound angry anymore. Just sad. “He’s a controlling bastard who only cares about me when it suits him.”
“I don’t like him,” Cody says. “But you’d be safer without me here. I can’t trust myself anymore. Simon, I killed someone.”
“I need you to stop being a fucking idiot.” Simon slips his phone in his pocket. “I haven’t been attacked since we visited the Broken Cross, when you chased off the attacker. If someone found my pet werewolf inconvenient, wouldn’t getting rid of you suit their aims?”
Cody can’t answer through the new pang of guilt. The initial threat hasn’t gone away, and Cody doesn’t know how to fix everything at once.
This is why he needs a pack. Someone to temper his reckless impulses. Someone to focus on, someone to protect, besides himself.
That could be Simon, part of him still wishes.
Simon’s gaze falters in the silence. “If you truly want to leave, then get the fuck out. I’m very good at saying goodbye.”
The pain is clear in his words. Simon is right. Running away or locking himself up won’t fix anything. If Cody didn’t kill the person in the woods, another predator is out there. Even if he did…
Simon is more than a principal now. There aren’t protocols for what Cody feels. But there are instincts, and protection isn’t just fighting someone’s battles for them. Being pack means mutual protection. It means making each other stronger.
There’s one easy way to restore Simon’s power.
“I want to stay,” Cody says. “But only if you can defend yourself.”
Simon’s tension reveals itself in its sudden absence. His smile is bright. “I have plenty of silver bullets.”
“No, I mean—” Cody takes a deep breath, nervous despite his conviction. This is the right thing to do, and he wants it, but it still goes against everything he’s been taught. “If you were drinking fresh blood, you would have healed by now, right?”
