Page 59 of Never Say Die
“Then consider me the devil,” Shay said. He reached for Aiden. Grasped his knuckles and squeezed. “We’re fine, Aiden. We’ll be fine.”
Water pooled in the gutter, rushing toward gaping drains. They stood there, holding hands, surrounded by heavy rain, until Aiden couldn’t stand the pressure in his chest any longer and stepped off the curb. Shay followed, stalking him across the parking lot, weaving between cars. His lips landed on theunbandaged side of Aiden’s neck, and Aiden fumbled with the keys, unlocking the RV. Hands rushed under Aiden’s jacket, too sure, too forgetful, and he flinched away, whispering, “Easy, easy.” In the same breath, Shay said, “Sorry—I’m sorry.”
The storm grew louder, drumming on the roof and the windows. Aiden listened. Caught the soft, hitching sound of Shay’s breath, the slick break as their lips met and parted, the shuffle of clothes, timid laughter, cupped hands over bare skin. He hurt everywhere. But he felt Shay everywhere, too. Knew as they pushed through the fold-out door and climbed into bed, knew as he rested his palms on Shay’s chest, searching for his heartbeat,there, fast and strong, knew as he straddled Shay’s waist and looked down at him, softened in the dappled moonlight, that there was noafter.
No leaving, no being left.
No life beyond him, this,them.
Shay touched his bruise. His thigh, too. Bandaged throat—parted lips. Aiden took his fingers between his teeth, pressed his tongue to the place where claws had sprouted and blood had been, and trusted Shay to treat him tenderly. He kept their bodies close. Kept Shay buried deep, riding him slow and hard. Kept his eyes open, fixed on a fucking miracle. Kept Shay’s fingers in his mouth until the heat churning in his groin grew thick and insistent, and he loosened his lips for a raspy moan. Kept Shay underneath him until his thighs trembled and exhaustion needled his hips. Shay pushed away from the bed, arms tight around Aiden, and pulled him into his lap.
“Say my name,” Aiden said, accidentally.
Shay did, softly at first, whispered against his cheek.
Aiden clutched his face. Pried at his lips until he tasted stale smoke. Whimpered and rolled his hips, allowing Shay to take his weight.Hold me, please, hold me. Pleasure burned in him, snapping like a flame where sutures and fang-prints andbusted capillaries ached, reminded, healed. “Again,” he said, “please.”
Shay kissed him. Storm sounds swallowed Shay’s gasp, but Aiden felt it, right there, stolen from inside his mouth.
“Aiden,” likeyes.
“Aiden,” likemine.
“Aiden,” likealive.
BREAKING:ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO
INVESTIGATION UNDERWAY—MASS MURDER-SUICIDE
A grisly scene in the unforgiving New Mexico desert leaves five victims brutally murdered and one dead by suicide. Police have confirmed that missing Orange County nineteen-year-old, Laura Noble, joins the deceased. Though no suspects have been named, police have launched an investigation into forty-four-year-old Catherine (Cit) Emerson, previously wanted in Montana, Texas, California, and Washington on charges including: kidnapping, coercion, possession of a controlled substance, assault, animal endangerment, and first-degree murder. Emerson was found dead at the scene and is under investigation for a separate, similar case in Las Vegas, Nevada. WARNING:Graphic Imagery
Aiden thumbed at his phone.
Shay shifted beside him in the booth and tucked his socked foot behind Aiden’s ankle, sipping from a lukewarm to-go coffee. “Keep going,” Shay said, nudging the screen with his knuckle.
He flicked past the article, pausing over thefirst of four images. Wide-angle. Bloodstained dirt, hardened wax, ant-covered rabbit, remnants of white chalk, cacti, dry shrubs, boulders skewering the sky in the distance. He scrolled to the second. Candles—knocked and broken, burned out and splattered. The third was a close-up of the altar, speckled with blood, half-gone handprints, mangled fur, and storm-soaked sigils. Fourth, the knife. Plunged into wet dirt, standing tall and steady. Memories clattered inside him, upended like a silverware drawer. Falling, crashing into the tailgate, spearing the ground with the blade, bracing on the handle, heaving, breathing, bleeding—you’re dying, Aiden. I’m dying—and finally, hands under his arms, lifting, catching. “I’ve got you,” spoken gently, scented like pennies.
“All right, gang. Options are Del Taco, Popeyes, Jack in the Box or Arby’s,” Pru called from the driver’s seat. “Choose your fighter!”
“Del Taco,” Georgia said.
Dylan bellowed from the bathroom, “Del Taaaaaacccoooo!”
Aiden swallowed around a jagged lump and bookmarked the article. “I’m good with Del.”
“Yeah, Del Taco’s fine by me,” Shay said, and fit his palm around Aiden’s knee. He leaned forward in the booth, searching for his eyes. His lips formed silent words.You okay?
Yes, no. Maybe. He tried to nod and shook his head, then opened his notes app, typing rapidly.I did it I started it or finished it I dont know but the knife was part of their fucked up ritual AND my fucked up ritual - our ritual?? whatever nvm I’ll explain when we’re alone.He held his thumb over the backspace key until the words were gone.It’s true—I could be like you.Shay squeezed his leg. Aiden felt the weight of his hand on the bitemark a few inches above.
KNIGHT’S BLOOD TEA SPILLAGE
Jacob Hill: Turn on satellite radio
Jacob Hill: NOW RIGHT NOW
Shay Bennett: What channel?
Jacob Hill: Octane 37
