Page 84 of Never Say Die
“Good. No lo vuelvas a romper.”
“Fuck you, it broke itself.” Her bare lips spread into a grin. She reached for his rosary, following the faceted beads to a hidden bandage on his neck. “He treatin’ you right?” she asked, hardly above a whisper. “Don’t lie to me.”
“Yeah, he is, Cami. No lies.”
“He still feelswrong. I don’t know what it is, but it’s something. You’re careful, yeah? Reading that book? Sayin’ your prayers?”
“I don’t think she’s listening these days, but yeah, I’m praying. I promise. What about you, huh? How’s the botanica?”
“We’re doin’ okay. Got five new orders this morning, connected with a local perfumery, bought a few boxes of handmade charms from our Puerto Vallarta vendor. The convention always gives us a boost, but honestly, I still can’t believe they kept the show on schedule after the body-in-the-pool incident. I mean, I’ll take the business, obviously, but. . .” She cringed, wrinkling her nose.
Aiden chewed on his lip. “Wild, huh?”
Camila nodded.
A stage-tech leaned around the doorframe and said, “Knight’s Blood, five minutes.”
“Sit with Pru at the VIP table upstairs. Order whatever you want—drinks, food, it’s all covered,” he said.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, c’mon, your brother’s a rockstar.” He kissed her forehead. “Enjoy the perks.”
She rolled her eyes, pawing him away. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Don’t get cocky.”
“Get?” Georgia laughed, bright and loud. She took Aiden by the wrist and tugged him along. “He came out of the womb cocky. Have fun with Pru, Cami!”
Knight’s Blood waited in the stage-wing, adjusting instrument straps, tossing back tequila, licking salt, and chomping limes. Shay drank steaming lemon-water with honey, and kissed liquor from Aiden’s mouth as their introduction rang through the dark theater. Georgia smacked her lips at them, kissing the air, and Aiden pitched his grin toward her—what, you want one?She screeched through laughter and plastered her palm to his whole face. Swords collided. War-sounds filled the air. The Witch-king of Angmar’s evil voice called them to the stage, and the packed audience roared with applause.
Shay walked out last, trailing his hand along Aiden’s shoulders as he strode toward the microphone. “Good evening, New Orleans,” he growled, and his sexy, entrancing laughter echoed through the room. “Are you ready?”
Aiden got lost playing for a voracious crowd. People raged in the pit and threw their fists in the air, sang along and swayed together. An interconnected, oscillating mass of phone screens, plastic cups, and snarling smiles. Aiden bounced across the stage and sang with Dylan. Stood under a spotlight while Shay pinched his chin, smiling and singing, and wanted to kiss him in front of the entire world. During the encore, Aiden and Shay faced each other, seated on barstools, centerstage. Aiden strummed his acoustic guitar, and Shay sang to him, to everyone, but mostly to him. Listening to the crowd chant and hum, looking at Shay, and Shay looking back, Aiden thought he might make peace with a prophecy.
Look at all I’ve done,he thought,look at all I’ve had.
But being there, hearing them, seeing him… It made himwant.
It made death—true death—a goddamn impossibility.
Peace? Fuck that.
Come and get me,he thought.Come and try.
Knight’s Blood signed memorabilia for VIP ticketholders after the show. They posed for selfies and scribbled on t-shirts, hoodies, posters, and plastic album covers, sipping whatever pale ale the bar had on tap. The line seemed never-ending, but they eventually made their way to the final fan, a girl from Mississippi who flattened her palms on the table and bared her cleavage for Dylan’s signature.Bold move.Dylan’s face ripened like a tomato, and Aiden nodded at Shay, gesturing toward the back door with his chin.
The gluey midnight climate drifted under Aiden’s bomber jacket. He tugged a wrinkled cigarette out of his pocket—bummed off a bartender earlier—and held it between his teeth while Shay struck a lighter. Orange sparked, glowing against the darkness. Stale bottles and hot rain permeated the air, but all Aiden tasted was beer on Shay’s mouth, smelled nothing except smoke curling into his lungs.
Shay kissed him like they were in a bedroom. Alone in a backseat. He kissed him like they had unfinished business. Something unthinkable to say to each other. He crowded Aiden against the wall beneath a burnt-out bulb and nosed lovingly at his cheek. Aiden took one last hit off his cigarette before flickingit away half-smoked, and framed Shay’s face in his hands, hitched his thigh around Shay’s waist, opened his mouth and kissed him feverishly, hungrily, like Shay demanded to be kissed.
“You’re mine, Aiden Moore,” Shay whispered, wet-lipped and darkly serious. “No one’s taking you from me.”
“How can you say that afterItookyoufrom me?” Aiden asked. He memorized the shape of Shay’s cheekbone, the curve of his ear, the pockmarked scar on his jaw. “I wanted you so badly I killed you when I couldn’t have you.”
“And I wanted you so badly I came back from the fucking dead to claim you,” Shay said.
Heat shot through his chest, desire spasmed between his legs, and Aiden wanted to be touched, to be held, to escape fate. “I thought you came back to get even.”
“Yeah, that, too.” Shay kissed him like they were in love. Dangerously, recklessly, valiantly. Like they were being honest, finally. Telling the truth outside a concert hall, a little drunk after playing another sold-out show. Skin, sweat-soured. Hearts, racing. Those too-big dreams, manifesting. Prophecy and consequences be damned.
