Page 53 of Monstrous Travels as Wicked as Sin

“Not always.”

“Always.” Joe rolled onto his back with a sigh.

Percy wrapped his arms around him and kissed his cheek, settling his head by his shoulder. “Tomorrow.”

Joe looked across at him, eyes and voice cold. “Don’t you trust me?”

“What kind of a question is that? Of course I trust you.”

“Don’t you love me?”

“Joe… Of course I love you. I can be tired one night and not have it mean anything.”

Joe rolled over completely, turning his back on Percy.

Percy raised himself onto one supporting arm. “Seriously?”

“You still think I’m possessed, don’t you?”

“No. Joe, no.” Percy placed a hand on his arm and pulled him back, feeling a sick guilt at the sight of his dejected face.

“I thought you’d know me better, you know?” There was a tear at the edge of Joe’s eye that he swept away with the bottom of his palm. “Like you’d be able to tell the difference between me, your fiancé, and the ghost of some Scottish manor.”

“I do. I can.” Percy touched a hand to Joe’s cheek and leaned in close. “I promise you, I’m just tired. I know you, and I love you, and I’ll make it up in spades first thing in the morning.”

Joe’s eyes and lips softened, so Percy dropped a kiss there, and slid an arm under Joe’s neck for him to snuggle in like he always did. And he did. And Percy held him warm and safe, the weight and the movement and the smell of him the same as ever…

But he was right.

Percy still felt, in the pit of his gut, something was off.

He had no reason to think it. Joe had passed every test he could think of, and Percy felt awful that he couldn’t switch it off, whatever alarm was buzzing away inside.

He was tired.

He was sure he would wake with it gone and back to normal in the morning.

That reassurance in mind, he switched out the lamp, and closed his eyes, and very shortly, he was sound asleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

WAKING NIGHTMARE

It might have been the cold or the absence of warmth that awoke Percy some time around two o’clock that frigid and unforgettable morning. Or it might have been the screech of agony that came from beneath the casement window. Percy was never able to remember too exactly, so great was the horror that intruded on his previously peaceful mind.

Comprehending only two ideas—that Joe was gone, and that someone was hurt—Percy dashed from the bed and to the window in a very few fast strides. There he dropped to the floor on sight of the terrifying exhibition playing out before his eyes.

Mistaken.

He must have been mistaken.

A cold sweat made him grip the ledge twice as tight for stability. His hammering heart allowed no sound but the rush of blood in his ears. The terror… Indescribable terror forced him to turn to every ounce of the cold distance that had carried him through his entire life just to make himself look a second time.

The sheep that had given that howl of a savage death trembled and twitched on the cold, wet grass. Steam rose from the great gash that ran from the creature’s throat to the bottom of its belly, its quivering innards shining as they oozed out intothe moonlight. To the shaking of its every dying nerve was added the gouging movement of cruel teeth hard at work, ripping and tearing the raw flesh apart. And there, deep in the blood and gore, was Joe, crouched on the ground like some sort of primitive animal, devouring the still-hot insides.

In his dizzying withdrawal past the windows and to the relative safety of the bed, Percy’s eyes fell on two more of the once-white creatures, red and mutilated, splayed out in the nearby field, the rest of their kindred having fled to the hilltop by the church.

Percy, desolate and broken, had only one surety left in the world, and that was his dagger. Without any ability to plan or think beyond base instinct, he took it from his suitcase and carried it to the bed with him. He assumed the position he’d woken in, and lay down on the cold weapon, gripping the hilt tight, the blade warming beneath his hip, counting his breaths in and out, and willing his body to stop shaking.

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