Page 29 of Never Say Die
“Fiiiinnnee. Be responsible for once in your life,” she said, and shooed him. “Make sure he takes that good, strong shit, Aiden. Like, the stuff you’re not supposed to drive on?—”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you, I got it,” he said.
Once he shouldered through the dancefloor and made his way back to their private table, he pulled out his phone.
Aiden Moore: where are you
Aiden Moore: seriously!!
Aiden Moore: SHAY ANSWER
A minute went by. Two more. Aiden felt through the ice bucket and brought the dewy bottle to his lips. Another minute. Nothing. He capped the tequila, sucked in a deep breath, and dove into the undulating crowd, sliding between drunken groups of friends and patrons shouting at bartenders. Squeezed past thebathrooms, following the path Shay had taken, and stepped into the brutal Vegas heat. Palm trees lined the clear, chlorinated water, illuminated by an artificial glow rising from the busy strip. Misters rained on the guests loitering near poolside VIP booths.Shay. His heart pushed against his vocal cords.C’mon, where are you?He glanced behind curtains on rented cabanas where legs and arms entangled.Not Shay.Peeked at couples sharing cocktails in dimly lit corners.Not Shay.
Aiden Moore: i’m actually worried
Aiden stood alone, steering his face back and forth as people meandered outside, holding onto drinks and each other.
“Hey rockstar.” That fuckin’ girl—again—leaned against a lonely wall, nursing an organic cigarette. Laura’s teal hair stuck to her forehead, hanging loose over one eye. “Where’s your other half?”
“Good question,” he said. Anxiety nagged at him. Made him nauseous. “Got another one of those?”
She held out a pack of American Spirits, waited for him to slide the filter between his lips, then flicked her thumb over a lighter, holding the flame in front of his mouth. “Lead singer syndrome,” she purred, and tilted her head. “Always running off with the prettiest one at the party. Good thing we carry convenient little trackers.” Laura extended her hand, tapping the rectangular dent on his tight jeans. “But by the looks of it, I’m guessing you might notwantto find him.”
He glanced at his phone again, twice, a third time. “What. . . ?”
“With someone else,” Laura clarified, and smashed thecigarette under her chunky black heel. “I saw him with Cassandra, though. Think they took off.”
Heat rushed into his face, but he swallowed, shaking his head. “How’d you even get in here?”
“Everybody has a fake these days,” she said, dismissively, and stepped around him. “Word of advice. . .” Her velvet-covered palm ghosted his shoulder. “Use yourphone. See you around.”
Jesus Christ, obviously.Aiden tapped the Find My Friends app. A map opened, displaying the Vegas strip. Shay’s icon appeared two blocks away. He didn’t run, but he wanted to. He took long strides toward the exit, flicked the half-smoked cigarette into the pool, and slipped into an elevator with a bachelorette party. Saidhi, yeah, that’s me,when the bride-to-be stammered—oh m-my gosh, are you fromthat band?—and galloped down the slow-moving escalator as soon as the doors floated open. He tried to slow his thoughts. Ignored Laura’s wry smile stamped into the back of his mind. Attempted to talk himself through whatever he might find. Shay, eating. Red and blue lights. Blood. A body. Something—someone—to hide. People who could’ve, might’ve noticed. Shay, alone.
Once he hit the sidewalk, Aiden ran. He dodged entertainers in shoddy animal suits and promoters flicking escort cards. Knocked his shoulder into someone carrying a light-up novelty cocktail and sent icy slush pouring down their cleavage. A dog-whistle shriek erupted. Aiden shoutedsorryover his shoulder and ran faster.
Okay, one block.He skidded, catching himself on his palm as he rounded the corner and closed in on Shay’s location. Glanced from his phone to the road. Turned in a circle, caught his breath, and darted into an underground parking garage. The swampy overhead lights hummed, casting yellow across the gray walls and concrete floor. A few cars lingered, stationed in spaces along the far wall, but otherwise, the place was empty. Noise from thestrip leaked in, mingling with the quietthudof his boots. A sign above the parking-station read: GROGERY OUTLET PARKING ONLY—CLOSED 11 P.M. TO 6 A.M. He tapped his phone. The screen lit, showing Aiden standing, literally, on top of Shay.
Aiden Moore: WHERE ARE YOU
No answer. He jogged through the parking garage, thinking, searching, and halted before two closed doors. The bathroom signs were blue with geometric figures holding hands—the gender-neutral kind he’d always prayed for pre-transition. He held his breath and leaned toward the first door. Adrenaline amplified his pulse. Blood rushing inside him, thrumming, pounding, stampeding, dulled his senses. Everything saidrun. Everything saidgo, hurry, quick. A heavy, gasping breath came from behind the second door, followed by a dampslap—wet skin—and a throaty, feral noise. Crocodile sounds. Tiger sounds. Both, combined. Like a wolf’s growl, slowed, deepened, made worse.
Aiden squeezed his eyes shut and tapped on the door. Shyly at first. Then louder. “Shay. . . ?” The sounds died. Chills scaled his spine. He managed to whisper, “It’s me.”
The door swung.Oh, no.He didn’t have time to rationalize or theorize or run. One second, he was standing in the parking garage, and the next, he was slammed against the door inside a pitch-dark bathroom. Pressure, then stinging, clamping, pinching pain, weighed on his neck. He’d been bitten before, by ex-boyfriends and one-night-stands. Nips to his thighs and belly. Sometimes harder—possessive crescents printed on his ribs and shoulders. But Shay’s fangs were deadlier. Sank deeper. Madehim gasp and cry out. Sent a single, fixed thought,this is it, into overdrive.This is it, this is it, this is it.Shay pressed him against the door, hips against hips, chest to chest, pinning him like a ragdoll. Aiden surged against him, but it was no use. Shay’s teeth were heavy in the soft column of his throat, and there was nothing left to do but hold onto him. Aiden thought, briefly, about shoving his thumbs into Shay’s eye-sockets. Kneeing him in the groin. Digging his knuckles into the bandaged gash on his stomach. But instead, he gripped Shay’s nape with one hand, clutched his shirt with the other, and memorized the weight of Shay’s palm on his thigh, pushing upward, over his hip, beneath this shirt. Such a strange, intimate touch. Too gentle, too honest.
“It’s me,” Aiden whimpered, sucking in another shaky breath. Tears stung his eyes. Burned on his cheeks. “Shay, it’s me. It’s me, it’s me, please. It’sme.”
Aiden thought his life would flash before his eyes. He’d meet thehimhe could’ve been. Stare into a heavenly white light. Feel flames on his feet. But none of that bullshit happened. God didn’t have a damn thing to say to him, and neither did the devil. He shut his eyes and gripped Shay’s ribs, pulling him closer. Shay splayed his hand on Aiden’s tailbone. Tugged until their hipbones knocked and Aiden’s breath ratcheted.Is this how you felt?Aiden pushed his fingers through the fine hair at the root of Shay’s skull.I’ll die being held, at least.
“Shay, it’s me,” he said again, desperately.
Newly sprouted claws scraped his lower back. Shay opened his mouth wider, retracted his teeth, and pressed his tongue to the punctures left behind. Aiden choked back a weak sound. Breath cooled the wound, then lips landed on his neck again, suckling there, kissing blood from his tender skin. Aiden stared into the opaque darkness and shivered when Shay pressed too hard, grazed his teeth over Aiden’s thrumming pulse, hinted at another bite. Thoughtdo it, don’t do it.Blinked through a dreamlikestate—the place before dying—and met Shay’s glinting, night-shine eyes.
Shay knitted his brows. Sadness crossed his face. Something close to sadness, at least. Confusion, maybe. As if he’d unlocked the answer to a long-held question. He opened his mouth against Aiden’s cheek. Copper tainted his breath. His voice rumbled like a thousand different animals. “Get out,” he said, and tore his hand away from Aiden’s waist. “Get out!Go!”
The door opened with Aiden still leaning against it. He stumbled into the parking garage, one hand plastered over his sore neck, the other scraping the asphalt as he hit the ground. He scrambled backward. Shay stared at him, shoulders rising as he inhaled great, painful breaths, hands forming fists at his side. Red dripped from between his knuckles. Light poured into the bathroom, illuminating linoleum and porcelain, and the groupie, Cassandra, slumped against the wall, arranged like a Halloween prop—lipstick smeared, chest ravaged, thigh chewed, throat butchered.
Aiden said his name, just once. “Shay,” likeplease.
