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I told myself that I would never do it—I would never bite Simon Snow.
I want to now—more than I’ve wanted anything in the world. I’m used to wanting Snow, just not like this. Although, I’m sure if another blood-filled human walked into the bedroom right now, my fangs would pop for them as well. I would still salivate at the smell.
Simon smells good. My sinuses burn like I snorted vinegar.
I hardly ever get sick, but I am now. I don’t know enough about vampires to know how being sick impacts me, but this is a different sickness from before. A different one from the sickness I got after the numpties.
I’m chilled through, all the way to my middle. I’m used to that, but the cold isn’t supposed to bother me. Now, I’m shivering, like I can’t get a hold of my own body anymore. I’m hot too, which I’m not used to. I’m sweating, like I have a fever, and my skin is uncomfortably clammy to the touch. I wish I could peel it off and be free.
The most concerning difference, however, from the numpty sickness, is that I need to feed—and it is absolutely insatiable.
I would do anything to end this.
“How are you doing, babe?” Simon’s at the door again.
I roll away with a groan, burying my nose as far as it can go into the bed. I can’t trust myself to talk, not if I want to keep my fangs under control. I remember what Lamb said, when he taught me how to manage my fangs during meals—don’t open your mouth. I remind myself, over and over. Don’t open. If my lips stay closed, I still have control.
I’m not an animal.
I’m a man.
I’m in control.
Simon smells like a goddamn Vegas buffet.
“Not great, then,” Snow answers his own question. He dithers are the door for a few more seconds. He can’t help me here, and I hope he has the common sense to keep himself away. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call someone.”
Fuck, I don’t know. This hasn’t happened to me before.
I was fine two days ago. Simon and I went for fish and chips. We took the long way home so that I could hunt. Everything was normal. We had sex—and it was good. It’s always good with Snow. When I woke up in the morning, Simon’s scent was so strong that it sent me shooting out of bed.
Simon jolted away, staring up at me with tired, confused eyes. They were narrowed into blue slits. “What’s wrong?” Always on the defensive, that one.
For once, he was right. Something was wrong. “I don’t feel well,” I said. His odor made me gag, and then I was running to the bathroom. I threw up for five minutes, and dry heaved for ten more.
Simon tried to come into the bathroom to comfort me, but I hissed, like a proper vampire, and shouted, “Out, Snow.” It was the harshest I’d spoken to him since our time as hapless enemies at Watford. I softened in the next line, “Let me get a hold of myself. I feel like I might bite.”
He listened to me because Simon Snow has at least a shred of self-preservation. Yes, that shred is miniscule, and he seems hell bent on ignoring what little common sense he does have (seeing as he’s lingering so long in the damn door), but he’s not an entirely lost cause.
I’m still trying to get a hold of myself—48 hours later.
“Baz,” Simon says, still there at the door. He asks again, “Should I call someone?”
I gasp the first name that comes to mind, “Fiona.” My aunt is a vampire hunter. That isn’t to say that she knows anything about vampires, but she’s practically glued to her new husband Nicodemus (the vampire) lately. I’m sure he’ll come with her.
Fiona might provide me a sliver of comfort as I wrestle with my latent animalistic nature, but Nicodemus Petty might have some actual answers.
Simon’s finally gone, and I hear him on the phone in the other room. I’m grateful that I remembered to put Fiona’s name in his phone, just in case of emergencies. She resented that I did that, but now she should feel rather silly for how often she complained about it. I don’t even know where my phone is right now.
I wonder if this is what it feels like to have rabies. “I’m not sure if vampirism is unlike rabies.” Perhaps they come from the same evolutionary tree.
I’m chattering absolute nonsense.
I must fall asleep because I wake up to Nicodemus stooping over me. That looming, almost-angry expression I’ve come to know. Finally, someone I don’t feel the urge to consume. I hear Fiona outside of the door. I’m disoriented from my fitful nap, and for a moment I think I’m back at Watford. I’m confused why I can’t see Simon across the room when I turn my head.
Nico presses his palm to my head. His hand is so cool, I actually sigh. “Shit,” he mutters.
“Is it that bad?” I slur. “I’m sure I’ll be right as rain in a day or two.”
“It sure as hell is that bad,” Nico answers. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him so worried before. “Baz, have you ever fed off a human before?”
I shake my head. “Never had to,” I say weakly. I try not to sound as weak. I sound weaker when I speak again, “Rats. Foxes… Deer. Those are my favorite. Good, clean hunting.”
I can feel myself falling asleep again. Except, this time, it’s more like slipping away. I could use a good, long rest. When my eyes slide shut, Nico pats my cheek roughly until I wake up again. I glare at him and pout like a child.
“You need to drink from a human.”
I reel away from him. His lips are parted, and I can see the black holes where his fangs should be. He’s worrying his gum with his tongue, and I can tell that he’s scared. Why does he need to be scared?
“It’s just a cold,” I insist. “I’ll get over it.”
“You won’t,” Nico insists right back. He insists so hard that I actually look at him, shut up, and listen. His tone sends a chill down my spine, and this one has nothing to do with being ill. “I’ve only seen this one before. What you have, it’s called Vampiric Poisoning.”
“Vampiric Poisoning,” I say. I mumble it a few times, rolling it around on my tongue like a boiled sweet. I can admit that I’ve never heard of it. I say so, “I don’t know what that is.”
“Vampirism is a magical virus,” Nico says. I know that. Everyone knows that. I keep listening. “It makes us crave blood, and we can live on animal blood, fine. But human blood has a special effect on the virus.” He grunts in frustration. “I’m not a doctor. I’m crap at explaining.”
I wave a hand in the air, telling him to continue, no matter how hard it is. I’m invested now.
He continues, “I don’t know exactly what it does, but it stops the virus from killing you. Even if you drink from a human once, that’s enough. There’s not a lot of books on this, but every vampire knows it.”
“I didn’t.”
“Yuh,” Nico scoffs. “Because your family did a shit job explaining stuff to you.”
I mumble, “They explained nothing.”
“Exactly.” Nico sits me up in bed and it feels like my core is made of jelly. He props me against the headboard. “Long story short, you’re gonna die, Baz. If you don’t get some human blood in ya.”
I open my eyes slowly. There’s no light in here, and yet it’s excruciating. Everything feels too bright. I shake my head. I know I’m being stubborn. “I’d rather die.”
“Don’t go acting all high and mighty now,” Nico scolds me. “This is our lot. Doesn’t have to taint your saintly image.”
“I’m not a saint,” I spit. “Just not a thief.”
“Then let’s find someone to give it over willingly,” he compromises. He pushes his hands toward me, like he’s trying to get me to weigh two invisible options. When I don’t answer, he lets out a strangled scream and walks in a frustrated circle. He snaps, “Baz. Your aunt likes you. And because she likes you, I like you. If I let you die because of your pride, she’s going to kill me.”
“I’m not a monster.” Crowley, I’m crying. I brush my hot cheeks with the tips of my fingers. It’s not pride. It isn’t. How can I do something so barbaric? I don’t think it makes me better than anyone else—maybe once that’s what I believed. But it’s not the life I want for myself. I’m thinking clearly enough to remember that.
“Biting one human won’t make you a monster,” Nico says. His voice seems softer now. Then again, it could just be the fever making me imagine things. I want to see Fiona. I’ll probably attack her. “It’s hard. I know. I went into this vampire thing willingly, and I still cried myself to sleep after my first human.”
I glance at him sidelong. His expression his open. I whisper, “What if I start, and I can’t stop.”
“Once you’re not dying, you’ll be back on your morals.” Nico lays a hand on my shoulder. It’s strangely reassuring. He’s not a bad uncle, all things considered. “And I’ll be here. I’ll pull you off if you try to take too much.”
I hate this. I don’t want this. I want to die even less. Eventually, I nod, lulling my head away. I let my neck bend back over the headboard until the top of my head is touching the wall.
“I’ll go tell your aunt and your beau,” Nico says. He steps away from me. “Maybe one of them will be willing.”
I hate it. I hate it. I don’t want to bite Fiona. Or Simon. I don’t want to die. There was a time where I’d already have taken care of myself. Set the room on fire and let myself go up like a grease fire. I don’t want that anymore.
I can’t leave Snow alone. Not with Bunce in Omaha with Shepard. Keeping an eye on Snow is a two-person job, and I’ve learned to manage it as an army of one. Someone has to watch Snow… Simon. I can’t leave Simon.
I can’t bite him.
Simon’s at the door. I smell him before I see him. These days, he smells like butter, and all of the most delicious things in the world.
He says I smell like a waterfall underground.
I crack an eye open.
I have to bite him. He smells fresh and alive. I cry harder than I was crying before. I don’t cry like this, only when my world feels like it might end. And even then, sparingly. I shake my head and Nicodemus comes in after Simon, his hand on Simon’s back, between his wings. He decided not to get them removed.
Simon comes to my side and sits next to me. He leans against the headboard, and I’m twisting away from him.
“Snow, no,” I protest. “Not you.”
“Who else?” he asks. I can hear him smiling, and I don’t understand why he would be smiling. “I’m still immune to magic, so I can’t be turned. And I already told you once that I’d let you bite me.”
“And I told you that it was out of the question.” I pant for air. The room is closing in on me, and I can’t tell if I’m dying or panicking. Probably both. I imagine the virus destroying my insides. I wonder how long it’s been doing that, and how long I’ve gone without noticing.
“You know what else is out of the question?” Simon forces me into his arms. Somehow, he manages to stay gentle. So gentle. His finger traces down my spine and I shiver. It’s a good shiver, not like the ones I have been ravaged with since I fell ill.
I grumble instead of answering. My mouth is pressed right up to his collar bone. One bite. I’m dizzy from the feeling of his skin against mine.
He answers instead of me, “You, dying. That’s not allowed.”
“Not unless you’re holding the blade.”
“No,” he says gently. “Not then. Only when we’re both good and ready.”
He cradles and rocks me, and I see all of our history scrolling lazily behind my exhausted, closed eyes. We’ve been with each other longer than almost anyone. Fighting, crying, screaming, kissing. Loving. I love him so much. I don’t know if I can bite him. But he wants me to live. He loves me so much that he won’t let me die, so not biting him is a betrayal, isn’t it?
This is how I kill Simon Snow. By depriving him of me. I almost want to laugh. Who thought that things would end this way.
I don’t want it to end.
I huff a breath of him and try to hold on. I curl my fingers into his flesh, hard enough to bruise, but Simon doesn’t flinch. I whisper into his collarbone, “You won’t hate me?”
“I’ve never hated you.”
“Even if I try to take too much?” My fangs are giving me a lisp. I’m too tired to pull them back in. I’m drooling, soaking Simon’s shirt in slobber. It is like rabies, after all. I’m practically foaming at the mouth like a mad dog. “Even if I lose control?”
“Even if Nico has to knock you out cold,” Simon assures me in his most soothing voice. “Even if we have to tie you to the bed until you calm down. I don’t think I can hate you. I tried really hard, you know?”
“Mmm…” I’m losing words. And time. I can feel it.
Simon jostles me gently, bringing me back awake. “Do it,” he urges.
It’s the desperate fear in his voice, that he’s trying and failing to hide, that finally makes me bare my fangs. I’m crying when I do it when I sink my teeth into his shoulder. Tears mix with blood and roll down into the fabric of Simon’s shirt. I’m too tired to drink clean. I avoid anything vital, trying to hold onto a piece of me as I take what’s necessary to make it to tomorrow.
Simon lets out a sharp little gasp when it actually happens, but he doesn’t pull away. He’s used to pain. I want to apologize for adding to the scars on his body, but I’m drinking. And it’s good. And warm.
I’ve never tasted anything so good. Is this how all people taste, or is it just lovely, lovely Simon?
I know I should stop. But I’m thirsty. It feels as if I’ve never had any blood at all, like my throat has always been parched. I want to drink and drink and drink until I never have to feel this way again. I clamp down harder, but strong hands are pulling me back.
I gnash at the air, like I’m feral, the taste of Simon still in my mouth. Nico puts me in a headlock and gently pets my hair, patient and calm. He’s talking to me tenderly. I didn’t think he was capable of tenderness. I don’t know what he’s saying.
I’m staring at Simon’s blood shoulder. He covers it with his hand. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”
It’s when I hear his voice that I snap back into place. It’s like someone put my world into sudden, unbearably sharp focus. I feel better. It’s nearly instant.
Nico feels me go limp in his grasp, and he lets me go. There’s a moment of silence, a long pause, before I lurch to my feet and run straight to the bathroom. I slam the door behind me. I stare at myself in the mirror. It’s horrific.
My face is smeared with my boyfriend’s blood. My white t-shirt isn’t exactly soaked, but I’ve dripped all over myself.
I never wanted this. I lean into the sink and scrub my face clean. I brush my teeth too many times. I wish that I could vomit blood. When I threw up at the start of all this, I had at least five rats worth of blood in my stomach, but it didn’t come up. I don’t know exactly where it goes, but it’s in there now. My cheeks are rosier, my lips too. With Simon Snow’s blood.
I fist my hand into my hair and sink to the bathroom floor. The tiles are cool, but my fever is gone, so I barely notice how they feel underneath me.
There’s a knock at the door. Then, Simon says, “Can I come in?”
“No.” I huff. I pull my knees up and hold them, like that will make me feel any better. “You can never see me again.”
“Really?” Snow makes his voice sound extremely disappointed. I hear him thump against the door, and I imagine him resting his forehead against the wood. “I don’t know if I can go my whole life never seeing you. You’re too fit not to look at.”
I surprise myself with a sad laugh. Eventually, I find the strength to stand. I’m still wobbly. I feel like I haven’t been out of bed for days—which is true. I open the door. The bedroom is empty save for Simon. Nico must have left to give us privacy.
I must have been in the bathroom longer than I thought because Simon’s shoulder is already patched with gauze. I stare at the injury. I frown. “I’m sorry,” I say.
“Don’t apologize.” Simon catches my hand. He brings the inside of my wrist to his mouth and kisses it. I think about how, if he bit me now (reversed the roles), he could take back what I stole. “I’m just glad this was easy to fix.”
“Easy?” I scoff. I tug my hand away and throw myself heavily back against the bathroom wall. I want to collapse. “Nothing about this was easy.”
“You know what I mean.” Simon walks in front of me and brackets my body with both arms. He has to look up at me to talk to me like this, and he butts his nose into my chin affectionately. “I’m glad Nico knew what to do.”
“I drank from you, Simon.” I don’t feel like he’s grasping the severity of that just yet. “I have a taste for your blood.”
“I trust that you won’t drain me dry.” Simon shrugs.
“I don’t understand how you’re so calm.” I want to cry again, but my tear ducts feel dry. I probably sweated most of it out, and that crying fit I had earlier was all the water left in me. I feel like I’ve been rung dry. “I turned you into a prey item.”
“You’re not going to get me to hate you.” Simon tugs my chin down, and his thumb brushes over my cold lips. “I already said I wouldn’t.”
“You should…”
“Nope.” Simon plants a nice, solid kiss on my mouth. I relax. Just a bit. “I already promised. And you didn’t kill me.”
My shoulders sag, and I fall forward into his shoulder. I don’t feel like biting him anymore. I’m looking forward to the rat blood in my future, even if it tastes like mud in comparison to Simon’s. No flavour is worth how that made me feel. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on.
“Do you just like saving people?” I ask. I know the answer. Simon Snow has the worst hero complex. “Even pitiful vampires who fall victim to their own condition.”
“Especially then.” Simon’s fingers are in my hair. It feels so good. I forget that I haven’t showered in two days, that my hair is sweaty and stringy and greasy.
“Will you ever stop saving me?”
“I don’t plan on it,” Simon answers, cradling me in his arms. He makes me feel shorter than him, and I let him. “Unless you want me to stop.”