Page 5 of The Vampire's Werewolf Bodyguard
Simon
Instinctive alarm slashes through the darkness. Simon lashes out, only for heavy hands to catch his wrists. He twists, teeth bared, but can’t break free—too weak to even try again. He’s as dizzy as he was when the poison first struck, and the werewolf has him trapped, helpless on the floor.
Is this how Francisco felt, three centuries ago?
“Shit,” Cody hisses, tightening his grip. But his next words are soothing. “Easy there, Simon, it’s me.”
Like that’s supposed to be reassuring. Simon falls limp, staring up into the looming werewolf’s face, and drags his fear back into the shadows of his mind. He can’t be afraid. He can’t. Thankfully Dima isn’t here to see how pathetic he is.
Cody’s eyes are dark brown. His hands around Simon’s wrists are unbearably warm.
“Get your paws off me,” Simon says coldly .
Cody doesn’t move. “Are you going to claw my eyes out?”
Simon lifts his chin. “I’m not the one with claws.”
The widening of Cody’s eyes is barely perceptible. Then he glances down at his fingernails, dark and sharp. They haven’t met Simon’s skin, but they’re clearly shifted. The heightened thud of Cody’s pulse is palpable where his palms meet Simon’s wrists.
Cody’s jaw tenses, and his claws retract into blunt fingernails.
“Sorry about that.” Cody’s rapid pulse doesn’t show in his voice. He releases Simon, then offers a hand. “Let me help you up.”
Simon shoves himself upright—carefully. Slowly. The world sways, but he makes it to the chaise lounge under his own power.
Cody crouches in front of him, giving him space while examining him intently. Like Cody’s really here to protect Simon. There’s a na?ve youthfulness to his concern. Maybe he’s from a new, modern pack, where they don’t teach the reason vampires should hate werewolves.
Leaning elbows on knees, Simon stares at the floor until the dizziness passes. He needs to compose himself.
“Are you all right?” Cody asks—a normal question that makes Simon want to claw his eyes out after all.
Simon wishes he could turn into a swarm of bats and fly away like Tania could. Much better talent than lighting candles. “Here’s some protocol for you, wolf. You will not touch me.”
Cody’s jaw tenses again. Good. Simon would rather act rude than scared.
“Trust me, I don’t want to touch you,” Cody says. “But I might have to as part of my job, and I won’t always be able to ask permission first.”
“You won’t get my forgiveness. ”
“Thankfully not part of my compensation package.” Cody stands up slowly and takes a step back. More considerate space. His heartbeat is rapid, but none of the adrenaline bleeds into his voice. “Now, help me do my job. Was that the poison or something else?”
This would be better if Cody were human. Simon feels overexposed, wondering how well Cody can observe him. “That was the poison. I’ll be fine once it’s burned off, but for the next few days, I’ll be… compromised.”
Simon sure hopes it will just be a few days.
He expects annoyance or concern or a predator’s interest in weakness. But Cody just nods. His assessment is professional now. Neutral. “Okay. Just tell me next time you’re about to fall over.”
“I’ll consider it.” Simon stands up, more carefully this time. “I’ll show you your room, then you can explore the rest of the house by yourself. Top three floors only.”
“You’ve got it,” Cody says, and scoops up his duffel bags.
Simon decides where Cody should sleep as he walks. Suggesting a kennel would be funny, but more immature than Simon prefers to appear. His home has two stories above ground and two below. The lowest level holds Simon’s suite, including his coffin room. The only furnished guest rooms are on the first floor below ground.
He doesn’t like the idea of Cody poking around on his own, but he doesn’t truly have much to hide. Having a stranger in his home will be just as irritating if Cody wanders around as if he stays put in one room.
Simon stops at the first door after the stairs. “Does this work?”
It’s a simple room. Off-white walls, dark blue bedding. The nightstand looks dusty. A monthly housekeeping service tends the top three floors while Simon sleeps, but he canceled it for the foreseeable future. Too difficult to keep out disguised assassins.
“It works,” Cody says, setting his bags down. Then he shrugs off his jacket. Even under the loose t-shirt, his balance and strength are clear. He seems even larger without the jacket, like his skin can barely contain his sheer animal presence. It’s…
Unsettling, Simon decides. Entirely unsettling.
“I’ll be downstairs,” Simon says. “There aren’t any windows, so no stalking necessary.”
“If you say so.” Cody drops the jacket on the bed, already leaving traces of himself everywhere. “I’ll have more questions after I look this place over. Do you want to meet tonight, or tomorrow night?”
Never would be nice. Maybe Simon can just sleep for a month, until his unwanted werewolf babysitter is gone.
“Tomorrow,” Simon says instead, and leaves.
He’s been up since before sunset. He’s too tired for this.
Once he’s on the staircase, out of the werewolf’s sight, Simon allows himself to lean on the railing. Ridiculous. He’s a vampire. Four hundred and fifty years old. An immortal creature of the night. And walking downstairs is nearly too much for him.
Maybe Dima’s right about Simon needing a bodyguard. Dima’s usually right, and when he’s wrong, it’s easier not to point it out.
Simon locks the door to his downstairs suite behind him, then heads to the small kitchenette. A counter, a sink, and a mini fridge of bottled blood. Simon grabs a half-finished bottle and forces down a sip.
After a hundred years of experimenting, they still can’t fix the stale taste of the preservative compound. But bottled blood does its job. Simon can go months, maybe years, without live feeding if he has to.
But not forever. If Simon wants to feel safe drinking from a vein again, he has to solve the mystery of Lawrence Baird.
Sure, Dima is working on it. But Dima operates on a decidedly vampiric timescale. Urgency is a foreign concept, except when fascination strikes him. One hint of a mysterious relic or power can distract Dima onto a decade-long tangent.
As for Cody—the man said it himself. He’s a bodyguard, not an investigator. No matter how concerned and professional Cody acts, Simon can’t trust a werewolf.
He lied to Cody, of course. The premeditated attack was personal. Lawrence used Simon’s name. What Simon doesn’t know is whether Lawrence was a lone vigilante or part of a larger group.
Simon forces down the last sip of stale blood. He feels steadier now, at least. Leaving the empty bottle on the counter, he stares at the half-burned candle next to it. He snaps his fingers.
A hint of warmth kisses his fingertips. Not enough. The candle’s wick remains cold.
Truly pathetic.
Simon regrets killing Lawrence. He should have shot him in the knees instead of the head. Had Lawrence lived, the treaty council could have interrogated him. That interrogation would have neatly solved the mystery. No need to cower behind his werewolf bodyguard. But without Lawrence’s enthralled testimony, Dima’s right. Calling in the council is risky.
After the treaty, most hunters’ guilds transitioned into liaison and enforcement. The fanatical splinter groups are the ones that went underground. They had hunted vampires and werewolves for centuries. Putting down their blades wasn’t an option.
The treaty can’t prevent rogue vampires or werewolves either. Pushing a werewolf over the edge is easy, their brute nature just under the surface. Vampire fledglings struggle to control the bloodlust, too. More vampires die within their first year than any other point in their undead lives. They take risks and get themselves fried by sunlight, or they go mad with thirst and break the treaty. The treaty breakers are put down by the nearest qualified enforcer.
Rogue hunters are harder to find than vampires or werewolves. They blend in with the wider population, and Simon doesn’t have many contacts with the current generation of humans.
Hiding his search from Cody is an added complication.
But at least Simon has a name to follow, plus one of the greatest modern inventions. Who needs human contact when he has the internet?