Page 19 of The Vampire's Werewolf Bodyguard

Simon

A text message buzzes in. Simon’s hope is a worn-down habit, already crumbling before he reads the message. Sure enough. Another dead end from the Broken Cross guest book. Simon sends a polite, Thank you regardless .

Then he sets his phone aside to continue exploring Cody’s room.

There isn’t much to see. An array of computer monitors crowds the desk, and luggage huddles in the closet. Dirty clothes pile in a hamper that Simon doesn’t remember owning, nor does he remember Cody bringing it in. Otherwise, the off-white walls and simple furnishings are the same as ever.

Except the warm, living scent that clings to every particle of air. Everything else smells sweeter with the blend—mint toothpaste. Gardenia detergent. Cody’s scent has settled possessively into the room .

Simon inhales, though he doesn’t need the breath. The taste is a strangely soothing luxury.

Werewolves are territorial. Perhaps Cody will be annoyed at Simon poking through his things. Hopefully he is. Annoying Cody is fun. Simon traces the plastic keyboard. Imagining Cody’s clenched jaw eases Simon’s own disquiet.

Simon is territorial, too, and he dislikes tonight’s intruder. Not through any fault of Tobias Atwood’s. The man seems polite and competent enough for a human. But he’s a stranger in Simon’s home. As much as Simon craves companionship, he craves privacy and control, too. His preferred lifestyle does not include an unknown human lounging in one of his libraries.

Even worse, perhaps. Tobias’s interruption makes Simon far too aware of how much he likes his current situation.

Cody isn’t an intruder anymore. His presence is comfortable, like a too-large sweater, and it happened so fast. A mere month that Simon has tried to stretch longer than the scant mortal heartbeats it spans.

He suspects Cody feels the same. That’s why they haven’t kissed since that dance in the library. Or even talked about it.

If they kiss again, they might grow closer. If they talk, they might break apart. Simon isn’t sure which he fears more. Cody has been so kind. Attentive beyond the obligations of his job. Cody makes Simon’s home safer, more personal, than when Simon lives alone.

Cody makes Simon want to paint the gaps in the murals. That was all Simon could think of as he left Cody in the storage room. The empty space in the painted garden.

If Cody were a vampire, Simon would suspect him of scheming for favors, to put Simon in his debt .

But Cody is a werewolf. Which is why he’s currently locked in a storage room, and why the gun at Simon’s hip carries silver bullets.

Simon is infatuated, he’ll admit. But he’s not an idiot.

Part of him is reluctant to solve his own attempted assassination. Once the threat is over, Cody will leave. Dima will go silent. Simon will learn who wants him dead—ignorance is bliss, as they say.

Childish reluctance hasn’t stopped Simon from reaching out to a few people from Kimiko’s guest book, though. Vampires who owe him favors, and who might know something about local hunters or Lawrence Baird.

So far, Simon’s questions have only turned up rumors, not answers. Whispers about this guild or that coven scheming to break the treaty. Or a werewolf pack. Or a crew of rogue vampires.

An ocean, Simon decides, as he examines the empty glass on Cody’s nightstand. He’ll paint a stretch of ocean, dark and moonlit, to fill the gap in the garden mural. It won’t fit the rest of the painting, but it doesn’t have to. Not everything in life requires a pattern.

Alertness strikes by instinct. Quicker than thought.

Simon is already turning, hand to his gun, when he registers the footsteps and quiet breaths. The steady drum of an approaching heartbeat from a too-large creature.

A wolf emerges from the hallway shadows. It pauses in the doorway, half lit by the bedroom light.

Fire flickers at the edge of Simon’s vision. A helpless, reflexive grasping for magic that does nothing, because bottled blood isn’t good enough. That’s fortunate, because Simon doesn’t want to lash out without thinking.

He just didn’t expect Cody’s wolf form to be enormous.

The wolf’s shoulders are the height of Simon’s chest. Dark gray fur brushes the doorframe, with pale silver beneath his snout, inside his ears. Gold-orange eyes fix intently on Simon.

“What are you doing here?” Simon asks, striving for calm as his mind races. Where is Tobias? How did Cody get out?

Whys and hows can wait, because Cody is in no shape to answer.

Simon eases the gun from its holster. A slow, natural movement, practice substituting for instinct. He doesn’t want to shoot, but he can’t tell how aware Cody is right now.

The wolf tenses, ears pinned back at the sight of the gun. So, he understands the threat. Cursing himself for antagonizing the werewolf, Simon aims for a shoulder. He just wants to disable, not—

Cody doesn’t lunge forward. He waits, watching. Muscles relax from the near-crouch, and his ears prick forward. This isn’t just any werewolf. This is Cody.

They watch each other for two beats of Simon’s slow heart, and a hundred of Cody’s. Simon’s sense of danger ebbs, as if the moon has already pulled away.

“Can you understand me?” Simon asks, and holsters his gun.

Another watchful moment, before Cody moves. His pelt ripples as he passes the doorframe. Then he pauses, as if unsure whether to continue.

“That wasn’t a very clear answer.” Simon props his hands on his hips, each movement slow and careful. “How about one bark for yes, one bark for no?”

No sound except Cody’s breath and pulse. Cody takes another step forward .

Simon marvels to find himself calm. “I could get you one of those button toys. The ones that let cats and dogs talk to their owners. You could press one button for food, and another button for walkies.”

Either Cody can’t understand him, or he completely lacks a sense of humor in wolf form. Nary a grimace or flick of his ears. But he pads closer, as if Simon’s words are permission to approach.

Simon supposes they are. “It’s all right whether you understand me or not, as long as you behave.”

He reaches out, palm down, fingers relaxed.

Simon has never been this close to a shifted werewolf before, and Cody seems more massive with every step. Yet Simon isn’t afraid at all. A memory surfaces, sharp as teeth through flesh. One night, a month after Dima bit him, when the shadow-gift’s first thrilling rush had worn off. Simon had woken in his coffin, feral with hunger, suddenly horrified by the fangs in his mouth, the silence of his heart.

Dima had been there that time, to soothe him through it, and Simon had been grateful. Which was probably why Dima helped.

Cody’s situation is different. He’s been a werewolf all his life, but self-discovery isn’t the purview of fledgling vampires alone. Werewolves have the same meager lifespan as humans. It’s rare to truly learn one’s nature in so few years.

Hot breath skates over Simon’s fingers. Cody smells him gently, then pushes his massive snout into Simon’s palm. His nose might have been cold to a human, but it’s warm against Simon’s undead skin.

“Crazy, out-of-control werewolf,” Simon murmurs. “Right.”

Cody nuzzles the inside of Simon’s wrist, pushing back the sweater sleeve. The gesture is intimate and strange. Like Cody is getting to know Simon in an entirely new way.

Simon inhales, another little luxury, and feels drunk on the wilderness.

Then his phone buzzes.

Cody flinches, ears pinned. Repressing his own startled reaction, Simon grabs his cell. “Don’t move. Despite what Kimiko says, phone calls aren’t scary.”

The screen shows a recently added contact—Tobias Atwood. Simon answers. “About time.”

Tobias’s voice is urgent. “Stay wherever you are and close the door. Cody got out, and I need to track him down.” His words echo, audible both directly and over the phone. Tobias is nearby.

“I’m aware,” Simon says, relieved Tobias is all right even as he resents the interruption. “We’re both in Cody’s guest room, and everything’s—”

A curse on the other end, and footsteps slap rapid-fire up the hall.

“—fine,” Simon concludes, as Tobias skids into the doorway.

Cody’s shoulders rise, bristling. Simon hangs up the call.

“My apologies, Mr. Caley,” Tobias pants, eyes darting wildly between vampire and werewolf. A gun gleams in his hand. “I’ll get my employee out of your hair. Cody, get your furry ass over here!”

Simon’s shoulders loosen. Some humans get confused, but Tobias still addresses Cody as a person, not an animal.

Then Simon tenses again at Cody’s snarl .

“Shit,” Tobias mutters. He looks frazzled and exhausted, but his voice turns calm. “Come on, Cody, same protocol as usual. Don’t bother the client.”

Cody moves between them, caging Simon beside the bed. Close enough that Simon would have to squeeze past his shoulder to leave the bedroom.

“We might need a change in protocol,” Simon says, moving slowly. No surprises, just a tentative scritch behind Cody’s ear. A firmer scritch, when Cody’s bristling fur settles.

“Be careful,” Tobias warns.

Simon continues rubbing behind Cody’s ear, fingers lost in the thick pelt. “Has Cody ever hurt a principal? Or anyone?”

“Never,” Tobias answers. “But he always warns me not to let my guard down. If he can’t control the shift, he can’t control himself. That’s what he says, anyway. Fuck.”

“Maybe he doesn’t need to control himself,” Simon muses. “What happened tonight?”

Tobias winces. “I take full responsibility for this incident, Mr. Caley. I fell asleep.”

Of course. Those shadowed eyes. A delayed flight. Mentions of a pregnant wife at home. Simon’s lips twist in amusement. A poisoned vampire, an out-of-control werewolf, and a sleep-deprived human. There isn’t a stable person in the house.

Though Simon feels more stable with Cody edging closer, fur brushing Simon’s jeans. His body heat radiates like a furnace, and Simon is certain of one thing. Cody doesn’t like intruders any more than Simon does.

“No harm done, as long as you stop calling me Mr. Caley.” Simon’s smile deepens as Tobias stares like he’s gone mad. Maybe he has. “Now, take a deep breath—humans still do that, right?”

All right, that was unfair. Little vampire jokes tend to freak humans out.

Simon stops smiling, because smiling seems to be scary. And the more nervous Tobias gets, the more Cody’s fur bristles. “I’ll take over dog-sitting duties,” Simon continues. “You should sleep, or pace around the house or something. Probably sleep.”

“Mr.—” Tobias catches himself. “I can’t do that. Speaking as a professional, and as Cody’s friend.”

Heartwarming. Inconvenient. “I appreciate that,” Simon says politely. One of those magic phrases he’s used countless times over the centuries. Then his voice hardens into his best impression of Dima. “But I have this under control. You should leave.”

Simon has never had Dima’s talent for enthrallment, but he can be intimidating when he needs to be. A cold predator plucking the fight-or-flight strings of human hearts.

Tobias flinches, then holsters his gun. “Cody was right. This is a hell of a job.” He hesitates, scowling through his internal conflict, then leaves.

As his footsteps fade, Cody’s fur smoothes into place. All according to plan—Simon is once again alone with a werewolf, in a room more claustrophobic by the moment. A sensation Simon hadn’t known he could still feel, given how comfortable his coffin has become.

But even if Simon isn’t in danger right now, Cody takes up so much space.

“Great plan,” Simon mutters to himself, then raises a cheerful voice. “All right, good boy, let me past so I can— ”

Cody spins, broad forehead meeting Simon’s torso. One firm nudge sends Simon stumbling backwards.

Terrible plan. Alarm pulses belatedly through Simon’s mind, as his legs hit the edge of the bed. The next nudge knocks him onto his ass. He shouldn’t have confidently sent Tobias away. What if Cody is out of control, and fuck all Simon’s musings about mortal lifespans and knowing oneself?

Is this what Francisco saw before he—

There are no gnashing teeth, no rending claws. The massive beast sits down slowly. Even more slowly, his head rests on Simon’s thighs.

Simon stares, stunned. As the warm weight settles on his knees, the closeness doesn’t feel claustrophobic anymore.

“I wasn’t going anywhere,” Simon says, with a flicker of excitement he would have called breathlessness long ago. “I was going to close the door.”

Cody’s head gets heavier. Each hot breath tickles Simon’s nerves.

“Yes, now I’m really not going anywhere. Good job.”

Simon gently touches Cody’s ears again. Silky fur slides between his fingers. Would Cody permit this in his human shape? Would Simon want to reach out? A moment like this would break their impasse. Neither too close nor too far, never speaking, never acting. Because you can’t destroy a portrait you’ve never painted.

Perhaps this is too much already. Cody’s still the same person, just wolf-shaped and moon-drunk. A little less polite in his overprotectiveness.

Simon doesn’t mind that as much as he should. He likes the thought of someone returning to him. Someone staying with him. The only thing that’s missing is conversation. If they were mates, they could speak like this. The thought isn’t as horrifying as Simon expects.

Then Cody flinches beneath Simon’s palm—and begins to change.