Page 25 of The Vampire's Werewolf Bodyguard

Simon

Dead bodies and meddling sires suddenly don’t matter. Surely Cody can’t mean—but he does, clearly, by the way his gaze drops to Simon’s lips. Cody is offering his own blood.

Simon’s thirst is fire rolling down his veins and coiling in his lungs. Scorching desire begging to be quenched.

He knows how to ride out the bloodlust. He doesn’t know how to cope with the truth of his answer. “I do trust you.” Simon inhales deeply, tasting Cody on the back of his tongue. “Would you let me?”

Cody draws forward, filling the hallway. His palm hovers inches from Simon’s cheek. “Yes.”

Heat caresses Simon’s jawline, even without touch. “You’re a werewolf,” Simon says, as if either of them could forget. He needs to spell this out, because Cody clearly isn’t thinking straight. “I’m a vampire. Would you really let me drink your blood?”

“Yes,” Cody repeats, as his hand curves against Simon’s face.

Simon leans in, shaky as a fledgling. Even shakier with the look of glassy awe in Cody’s eyes.

“My blood shouldn’t affect you weirdly, right?” Cody asks.

“It won’t,” Simon says, though anticipation shivers through him. Lycanthropy can’t be passed through blood, but the fact that Cody is offering is dizzying. Simon’s fangs ache with need, sharpening already. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Yes,” Cody says again—this time more a growl than a word. “I’m not just okay. I want you to drink from me.” His hand tenses against Simon, and certainty blazes in his eyes. “Just me. Nobody else.”

Disbelief vanishes in a curl of ash. Simon catches Cody’s wrist. “Then you may want to sit down.”

He isn’t strong enough to move Cody by force, but Cody stumbles willingly with him. The nearest room is the kitchen, dark except for the hallway light following them. Cody’s eyes glint like stars in the shadows.

“Sit,” Simon orders, pulling out a chair.

Cody yanks Simon with him. “You sit.”

The chair creaks in protest.

Simon crawls into Cody’s lap, barely sitting before heavy hands pin him by the hips. Every sense heightens. Denim and flannel tickle the insides of his thighs with every slight movement. Fuck, Simon would never let most people see him in the silly bat pajamas. Every vamp chaser at the Broken Cross would be so disappointed. But Simon isn’t putting on a show tonight. He trusts Cody to want him without any performance.

“Stay,” Cody says, half a joke, half a plea.

Arousal fills Simon’s cock, but that need is distant compared to hunger. Cody is already completely hard beneath him. Desire makes his blood sing for Simon.

“You smell so good,” Simon whispers in Cody’s ear. His lips brush delicate skin, winning a shudder. He tugs the collar of Cody’s t-shirt away and rubs the solid muscle of his shoulder. “I didn’t expect you to be in the mood tonight.”

“We’re not fucking.” Cody’s hands slip beneath Simon’s pajama shirt, as if his extremities aren’t listening to his own words. “I’m just helping you heal.”

Simon leans back slightly, trusting Cody to hold him balanced, and places a finger beneath Cody’s chin. His smile alone wins another shudder from the werewolf beneath him. “Trust me, this will be so much better than fucking.”

He seals Cody’s lips with his. Cody kisses back with a groan, pulse rising with each promise of teeth. Each exhale floods hot into Simon’s lungs.

When Simon speaks again, it’s with borrowed breath. “You know you didn’t kill anyone last night.”

Cody sighs. “You’re right. It wouldn’t make sense.” He tilts his head, stretching out his stubbled, sun-kissed throat. “I still want to give you this.”

Simon can’t resist the invitation. Slowly, deliberately, he kisses the juncture of neck and left shoulder. Warm skin welcomes his lips. Cody’s pulse is quick with nervous arousal.

Enough foreplay.

Simon bites deep and swift. Cody’s skin parts with precision. There’s always an instant before blood fills the mouth, an instant filled instead with anticipation. Then—as Cody jerks with a delayed pain response—the blood spills.

Nobody has ever tasted this sweet before. Like moonlight. Like fire. Like adoration.

Simon whimpers with bliss. Eyes closed, he withdraws his fangs and latches onto the wounds. Not a drop escapes his sealed lips. He clutches Cody’s shoulders, as if Cody might push him away. Unlikely, when Cody holds him just as tightly. Illogical fear slips away as Simon’s mind blanks with pleasure.

Strength pours into him. Freshly taken, willingly given. Cody’s blood washes away Simon’s weakness and feeds the dormant embers of magic. Sparks dance behind Simon’s eyelids as he becomes whole again.

A low moan reverberates between them. Simon isn’t sure whose. Cody’s blood tastes like nothing he’s ever tasted before. The same sweet metallic flavor, yes, but with a deeper richness. Something wild and intoxicating. More than mere satiation. Simon is getting drunk on the taste of his werewolf.

The thought is sweeter than the blood, brighter than the magic. One word echoes Cody’s all-consuming pulse:

Mine. Mine. Mine.