Page 33 of The Vampire's Werewolf Bodyguard

Simon

Simon has been bitten before. Lifetimes ago and an ocean away, he bared his throat for the promise of eternity. It was exhilarating. It was violent. Simon transformed, and for all that happened later, he doesn’t regret accepting the shadow-gift. Not when it led him here.

Cody’s bite is nothing like that memory. His teeth carve Simon’s soul into its truest shape. Not transformative but ascendant. Simon arches into the pain, eyes rolling back with the pleasure. Tension he hadn’t noticed resolves into white-hot bliss.

Loneliness burns away from his cold bones. To Dima, Simon was just the latest toy to play with before discarding. But Cody has chosen Simon above all others. This bite means Simon is special .

Simon isn’t ashamed to need that anymore. He deserves a return on his devotion. His own gift to Cody is selfish, and he isn’t ashamed of that either. The promise of eternity—together.

As the shock of connection eases, Simon revels in the physicality of the moment. The mingled scents of blood and sex. Stubble scrapes his shoulder, and Cody’s thighs stick to the backs of Simon’s. A drop of blood escapes Cody’s lips and races down Simon’s throat.

Each thrust drives Cody’s heavy cock against Simon’s prostate. Not all the sparks coursing through Simon’s veins are magic. Cody growls, the sound reverberating through their joined bodies, and rolls his hips just right.

Simon’s orgasm is almost an afterthought. He surrenders to ecstasy as Cody’s teeth pierce deeper. Shuddering, overwhelmed with the binding, Simon collapses onto the coffin lid.

His pleasure-slack body soars as Cody—his mate—chases his own finish. Shallow, sloppy, precision lost along with composure. With one last thrust, Simon’s guts tingle with the heat of Cody’s release.

Cody slumps over him, a comforting, panting weight. His grip softens in Simon’s hair. Simon loosens his own grip on the coffin lid with effort. He hadn’t noticed the splinter pricks.

The sharper pain of Cody’s unclenching jaw is welcome. Fangs shrink as they withdraw from Simon’s skin. A wet kiss presses beneath Simon’s ear, before Cody’s sweaty forehead rests on his shoulder.

Drops of blood tap the wood beneath him. Simon bleeds slowly by nature, but there will be a mess if he doesn’t put pressure on the wound .

Making a mess sounds fine. As does Cody’s substantial weight—Simon barely needs to breathe anyway. But the wooden edge digging into his thighs is painful in a less sexy way.

“I’m suffocating,” Simon says, the complaint proving the lie.

“Sorry.” Cody kisses his shoulder, then extricates himself from Simon’s body. There’s one aggravating second of absence before Simon straightens and stumbles into Cody’s arms.

Simon’s neck aches. Werewolves don’t heal their bites like vampires, so Simon’s own accelerated healing will have to do the work. The lingering evidence is almost as hot as Cody’s gaze, dark with wonder, like Simon is something miraculous. Cody’s lips, stained with Simon’s blood. Cody’s arms, strong around him.

Cody’s soul, bound forever to his.

“You can feel it, too,” Cody says, tracing the bite mark. His touch is tender. Worshipful.

“It’s astounding.” Simon is light yet solid, free yet bound. There shouldn’t be any empathic element, yet he can’t tell where his happiness ends and Cody’s begins. Simon reaches to cover Cody’s hand, pressing it into the bite. The bleeding has stopped, but the wound won’t close until Simon sleeps. “Better than I imagined.”

“Sorry about the scar,” Cody says, not sounding sorry at all.

“I want the scar.” Simon lifts on his toes to loop his arms around Cody’s shoulders. “Nobody’s left a mark on me in over four hundred years. How do you feel about that?”

“Nobody else ever will,” Cody promises—easy, possessive, unafraid.

Simon already senses the changes in his mate. Stability from the mating bond. Strength from the shadow-gift. Cody won’t have to shy from the sun, and he won’t drink blood to survive. He’ll just live as long as Simon lives.

Thankfully Cody likes the bratty thing. Simon intends to be a handful for eternity.

“Excellent.” Simon pulls Cody down for a soft, bloody kiss. “Now, I need to sleep. It’s almost dawn, and I’m quite elderly.”

“All right, Grandpa,” Cody says, the bastard. The gorgeous bastard. He sweeps Simon off his feet before he can complain about the nickname. Then Cody hesitates. “Uh, the coffin looks a little cramped, so…”

“Your bedroom,” Simon commands, settling his head against Cody’s shoulder. The guest room is still underground, and Simon trusts Cody to protect him during the day.

At least until they order a bigger coffin.