Page 79 of Never Say Die
“To Knight’s Blood,” Georgia said, and lifted her beer. “I love you, assholes. Even you,” she said, and tipped her Guinness toward Shay. “To our fuckin’ future.”
They clinked their bottles and Aiden thought,I better live to see it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Aiden slept soundly, curled under warm sheets with his nose pressed to Shay’s collarbone. He’d fallen into obscure dreams. Shadows stretching. Teeth chewing. Water sloshing—over him, under him. Shay fucking him in a red, red pool. Aiden looking elsewhere—there, up—over his shoulder. Camila pointing, sayinglook. Blood dripping from above.There, he thought.Look up. Kelly sayingwake up.His abuela sayingwake up. Cit sayinglook up. Laura, shark-mouthed and human-eyed, holding the Two of Cups, saying,Aiden, look at me.Shay sayinglook at me, baby, look at me. Water splashing, his cunt clenching. He woke to Shay nuzzling closer, as if he’d known, as if they’d shared the same dream.
“Mornin’,” Shay murmured.
He cracked his eyes open and tipped his face into a kiss. Lazily at first. Then with purpose. “Morning,” he said, and slipped his palm down the front of Shay’s briefs.
They’d done this before—exited sleep and entered each other, rapidly, insatiably. Shay bucked into his circled hand and nudged Aiden onto his back, crawling over him. Kissed his shoulder. Dragged his lips along crescent scars. Tongued at ahardened nipple. Aiden arched into his mouth and rested his knuckles on the pillow beside his head, searching for fabric to grip. His fingers slipped through sticky juice. Ran into chilly, grizzled meat. He turned, blinked, and clamped his teeth around the scream crowding his throat.
“What? What—oh mygod,” Shay said, gathering Aiden into his arms.
Aiden squirmed and thrashed, heaving in panicked breaths. Shay stood, stumbling backward, holding him like a bride. They hit the wall, and he adjusted Aiden under each forearm, mumbling frantically—what is that, holy fuck, Jesus, is that. . . ?Aiden clung to him, eyes pinned to the heart lying prettily on his pillow.
Like, legit, should-be-in-someone’s-fucking-chestheart.
Aiden gagged and slapped a hand over his mouth.
“Donotpuke. If you puke, I’ll puke,” Shay wheezed.
“Not to be a dick, but this wasn’t you, right? You didn’t go out for a snack and?—”
“You think I brought home leftovers? C’mon,” he snapped. “I wouldn’t leave anorganin our bed, Aiden. I’ve been asleep next to you all night.”
He held back bile and his half-digested dinner. Remembered dreaming.Wake up. Look up. Aiden, look at me.He scanned the room. Carpeted floor, cracked window and rustling curtains, his rosary coiled differently on the nightstand, the metal lock on the bedroom door resting against the frame. Even in his dream, he’d sensed Laura, standing over their bed, watching them sleep.
“She was here. Like,herehere, like, in our room, Shay,” Aiden whispered. He thought of Georgia, Dylan, and Pru, and flailed, pointing wildly at the door. Shay set him down and Aiden kicked at the floor to stay upright, moving too quickly for his sleepy limbs to process.
Shadows darkened the main room. He searched the whitebedding for blood.Nothing. Dylan snored, asleep with a pillow wedged between his thighs. On the adjacent bed, the sheets shifted, wrapped around Pru. Georgia made a soft, pleased noise, lying atop the comforter beside her. Sherlock watched from his hammock, strung inside the oversized animal carrier on the desk.Okay. Aiden slumped against the wall.Okay, everyone’s okay, everyone’s alive, it’s fine, we’re fine, I’m fine?—
Fingertips brushed his tailbone and Aiden startled.
“Bedroom,” Shay said, hushed. “Now, please.”
Aiden trailed him into the separate room and eased the door shut, leaning heavily against it. “Okay, so, she broke into our hotel room, watched us sleep, and gifted us someone’s literal, actual heart.”
“I don’t know ifgiftedis the right word, but we need to get rid of it.” Shay stood at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, nose wrinkled, staring intently at the extracted organ. “She didn’t eat, just. . . removed it, I guess. Not carefully,” he noted, gesturing at torn veins and dented atriums with a crooked finger. “I don’t get it. What the hell is she trying to prove? Is this a. . . a game to her? A way to break us down, make us afraid? For what?”
“Well, I murdered her cult leader, and you ate her friends. Pretty sure you tried to eat her, too.”
“Then why drag this out? Why not kill us while we’re asleep?”
“I don’t. . . I don’t know, but I have an idea aboutthat, I think. Do we have any bleach left?”
“Not much.”
“Enough to clean a sink?”
“Maybe, yeah. Why?”
Aiden kicked over his backpack and grabbed it by the strap, upending loose feathers, crinkled paper, dirty clothes, and the hunting knife bundled in a t-shirt. He fit his fingers around the handle, gripping tightly, and clenched his jaw. Awkward,holding that knife again, putting the blade to use for something else. Across the room, Shay’s throat flexed, and his pupils ran outward, shadowing his eyes for the time it took to blink.
“You kept it,” Shay said, breathless.
“Had your blood on it.” Aiden shoved the knife into the bag and stood, jutting his chin toward the ruined pillow. “Hand it to me.”
