Page 13 of The Vampire's Werewolf Bodyguard

Simon

A giddy pair of humans pass them on the stairs. One man, one woman, with matching limps. Obviously not a threat, but that makes them more suspicious. Simon is on edge tonight.

There are just so many humans at the Broken Cross. Simon’s stomach twists with a thirst no bottled blood can quench.

And he pushed too far teasing Cody. Simon feels guilty about that, plus annoyed for feeling guilty. The werewolf is too nice.

Fucking bastard.

The stairs lead to a small, opulent office. Silk panels line the walls, and diamond chandeliers drip from the blood-red ceiling. The air reeks of blood and sex. Nose wrinkling, Cody moves to a corner with a better angle.

Kimiko sits behind her sturdy desk, reapplying lipstick. Her updo and violet corset look pristine. “Simon, Simon, Simon. I’ve been looking forward to your visit, but I didn’t realize you’d adopted a new pet.”

She lacks Andrea’s venom, but Simon still bristles. Cody is his bodyguard. Other people don’t get to insult him. “I thought I should bring my own, since you never share yours.”

“Those?” Kimiko gestures towards the stairs. “They aren’t pets, they’re snacks.”

Simon settles onto the chair across the desk. Relaxing, not resting. The thirst is fading, now that he isn’t surrounded by pulsing hearts. The only living creature in the room is Cody.

“Can I see your guest book?” Simon asks.

Kimiko pouts her freshly painted lips. “No small talk? No introductions?”

“This is Cody, my… temporary assistant.” Simon’s eyes narrow at Kimiko’s familiar calculation. “He’s off-limits!”

“Pity,” Kimiko says, hand on her chest. “He’s so… tall.”

Cody smiles politely. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

He doesn’t seem nearly as disconcerted by Kimiko’s flirting as he was by Simon’s request to dance. Simon isn’t sure how he feels about that.

“How have you been, dear friend?” Kimiko asks.

Simon dislikes that question. “I’ve recovered. Thank you for helping me that night.”

The werewolf in the corner is a strangely reassuring figure. Bulky under the leather jacket, uneasy attention wandering the entire room. Cody knows how weak Simon is right now, but Kimiko doesn’t need to.

Clearly delighted, Kimiko rummages through a desk drawer. “Oh, did thanking me hurt? I’m just glad you’re safe and sound.”

“How about you?” Simon asks .

Kimiko hands over a tablet. “I’ve been very well. Do you want details?”

“I can smell them,” Simon mutters, pulling the tablet closer. Beneath Kimiko’s peal of laughter, he hears a faint snort from Cody.

“Such a prude.” Kimiko’s lavender fingernail taps the screen. “Here’s my guest book database. The dates of Lawrence Baird’s visits are bookmarked—just tap here and here for the table.”

“I thought you hated technology,” Simon says. “This is very technology.”

“This is a guest book,” Kimiko insists. “Not one of those terrible telephones.”

“Can I copy this?” Simon asks. His memory is good, but there are a lot of names. Nothing’s standing out so far, and he doesn’t want to miss anything.

“I suppose,” Kimiko says.

Simon uses his terrible telephone to photograph each screen of names from the nights Lawrence visited the Broken Cross. “Any chance I can get the background checks, too?”

“Absolutely not,” Kimiko says, cheerful but firm. Then she points to two names. “These two have ties to the Crescent Blade. You’ve had dealings with them, right?”

“I spoke with their Kenyan branch during treaty negotiations,” Simon says. “I’ve never had contact with their American branch.”

Kimiko leans back in her throne-like chair. “They’re the most powerful local hunters’ guild, but they’ve grown terribly dull. All positive reinforcement, no vigilante justice. Besides, their roster is public, and your would-be assassin isn’t on it. But they’re the most suspicious names I can think of.”

“Thank you,” Simon says, sincerely this time. He returns the tablet. “I’m sorry again for making a mess at your club.”

“We’ve had worse. No, don’t ask what the worse was!” Kimiko’s grin stiffens. Almost a perfect mask. But Simon knows her well. He sees her hesitation, before she asks one more question he wishes she wouldn’t. “How long did he stick around this time?”

Dima, of course.

The funny thing is Simon hasn’t missed Dima the way he usually does. Too much else to think about. “You know him. He’ll vanish as soon as the next distraction calls.”

“I don’t know him. All these years, and perhaps only you do.” Kimiko rises to her feet. “Stay and dance a while. Order your pet a few drinks—my treat.”

The clear dismissal is welcome. Ungratefully, Simon itches to leave his friend’s watchful gaze. “ Thank you , Kimiko.”

He leaves the office with Cody close at his heels. Funny. A fucking werewolf is more reliable than Simon’s own sire.

Hopefully the guest book logs will turn up more answers. Or at least new questions.

When they’re upstairs, out of range of Kimiko or Andrea’s keen hearing, Simon murmurs, “Apologies for her poor manners.”

“It’s fine,” Cody murmurs back. “Your friend seems fun.”

Something about that response rankles Simon’s nerves. He suddenly wants to dance. Blow off steam. Shove aside his loneliness. But he shouldn’t push Cody’s good temper, or his own unreliable strength.

Besides, he can’t stay around with so many living heartbeats. The thirst will overwhelm him until he’s tempted to pick someone to feed from. What if they’re poisoned again? Simon’s careful rules can’t keep him safe. No first-timers. No repeats. No werewolves.

“We’ll head back now,” Simon says, and Cody nods, sticking close.

Leaving the club is a relief. Simon feels safer under the open sky, with only Cody near enough to touch. He can’t sense any other nonhumans nearby.

“What are you thinking?” Simon asks, because he wants to avoid his own thoughts, and Cody is definitely thinking about something. Even as his gaze roves the streets, his expression turns inwards.

For a moment, Cody seems like he might not answer. That would be fair. They aren’t exactly friends. Barely friendly at all. Then Cody’s roving gaze pauses briefly on Simon. “I didn’t know you were involved with the treaty.”

Lovely. A history lesson. “A minor role. I mediated with certain parties.”

“Not the werewolves,” Cody says, amused.

“I didn’t want fleas.” Simon watches carefully enough to catch Cody’s stifled grin. “I represented our kind to a few hunters’ guilds, and certain reluctant individuals among our own people. Why do you ask?”

“I still don’t know much about you,” Cody says. “I guess I’m curious.”

Simon isn’t used to talking about himself. It’s been years since he had a real conversation with someone who didn’t already know him.

“There are two main reasons the treaty council wanted me as a liaison,” Simon says. This was common knowledge, before it became history.

“What are those?” Cody asks obligingly as they near the parking garage.

“I spoke with the guilds because I appear, as vampires go, fairly nonthreatening.”

Cody snorts. “I can believe that.”

“Excuse me.”

“No offense meant.” Cody grins. “You’ve got that whole… eternally youthful thing going on.”

Other adjectives lurk beneath those words. Simon chooses not to dig them up. “That was the idea. Can you imagine Kimiko negotiating? The woman is a menace. Not that she would agree to help—she definitely misses unauthorized predation.”

“I can believe that,” Cody says. “What’s the second reason?”

“Simple. The other vampires know I am threatening.” Snapping fingers, rushing flames. Simon wilts, remembering himself. “Or I was at the time. I’m not much to fear at the moment. But I assure you, when not poisoned, I’m quite intimidating.”

“Really,” Cody says, too amused.

“Believe me or not,” Simon says loftily. God, he’s saying more to Cody than he’s said in what feels like decades.

At the parking garage, Simon reaches for the door—and Cody catches him by the shoulder. His hand is shockingly warm on Simon’s bare skin.

“Me first,” Cody says. When he moves forward, his leather jacket brushes Simon’s arm.

Briefly dazed, Simon follows Cody into the quiet maze of cars. He doesn’t remember when he stopped hating and fearing Cody’s touch. Maybe it’s that jacket. The leather just really fits Cody’s broad shoulders.

Francisco always teased Simon’s dramatic taste in clothing .

Fifty feet from the car, Cody stops short. The garage is packed with vehicles, the nearest heartbeat across the level. Nobody in sight, so what—

The telltale footstep skids at the same instant Cody grabs him. Those large hands aren’t gentle now, but Simon still isn’t afraid. Not until Cody shoves him behind an SUV, so fast his head spins.

A sharp crack. Another. The scent of blood.

For one blazing instant, every solid inch of Cody pins Simon to the car. “Don’t move,” Cody whispers in his ear.

Simon’s hand itches for his own gun, but instead of struggling against the restraint, he melts into it. His mouth waters for the blood. He wants to trust Cody.

Then Cody’s a foot away, gun drawn, eyes closed. Listening. They hear footsteps at the same time—running away. Not towards them.

And Simon realizes the blood is Cody’s.