Page 94 of Never Say Die
He gasped, sucking in deep, agonizing breaths. His blood reacquainted itself with movement, kicking in his veins as his heart sputtered through starts and stops. Everything hurt. Blinking, breathing, curling his toes, pushing his fingers into the grass. Pain spread outward from his marrow. Warm, again. Necessary, again. He turned on his side and coughed leftover blood onto the ground, extracting his death-state to make room for the second chance Santa Muerte had permitted him.
Fuck, he thought,it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.
“Aiden,” Shay gasped out. “Aiden, hey, I’m right here. It’s okay, hey?—”
“Stop,” Maeve said, and her voice cut like a sword. “Let him be, Shay. You know what it’s like to return.”
Hunger yawned within him, cavernous and new. His vision tunneled, expanding until the bayou manifested, and the white house came into view, and Shay materialized, real and tangible, kept at bay by Maeve’s hand curled over his shoulder. Aiden looked at Shay andwantedlike never before. Wanted to sink his teeth into something. Wanted to break life apart in his mouth and chew, swallow, drink. The instinct surfaced like stepping back from a ledge, like seeking water in a drought, like inhaling, exhaling, like sleeping and waking.
And for once, Aiden felt entirely awake.
He crawled away. Put distance between himself and Shay’s supple flesh. Desire clattered inside him, eager to be held, to place himself in Shay’s lap and cling to him, but he didn’t trust the hunger brewing in his depths. If he went to Shay, he might put his teeth to the tender bend at his elbow or rip out his fucking jugular.
“Don’t,” Aiden said, gritted through sore teeth, and filled his lungs with another hot, shaky breath. “Please, don’t.”
A weak scream crackled from the wasted body a few feet away. Laura Noble scratched at the ground, voice weathered and death-worn. He whipped toward her, watching her struggle to rise and return. Snapped bones folded inward, too heavy for her to carry, but she still snarled and wailed, baring her pointed teeth, blinking her bleeding eyes—leaking red onto her cheeks, clotting in her eyelashes.
Aiden tripped over his numb feet and fell atop Laura, widening his mouth for her throat, digging his blunt fingernails under her ribs, already loose and cracked from the fall she’dtaken in New Mexico. She came away hot and slick, flavored like pennies and salt and necessity. He excavated his blood—his essence and power. Took what he’d given back into himself. She squealed, howling Catherine Emerson’s voice at the waking sun. Aiden snatched her chin and pried at the roof of her mouth, wrenching her wider, until her jaw popped, and her cheeks tore, and he could dig into her throat, claw the eyes from their mistaken places and bring them to his mouth. Crunch them under his molars. Chew through the last of those pitiful, white-trash-witches, put an end to what they’d started in the desert, and satisfy the murderous hunger he’d returned with. He pulled her bones through her skin. Sank his fangs into her heart and ate until Laura became nothing. Until Cit and her coven were gone.
Yeah, he thought, and plopped on the grass beside her butchered carcass,I win, bitch.
Aiden caught his breath, eyes turned toward the dawn-ripened sky. Blood slicked his mouth and chin, caked his fingernails and painted his hands. Crimson, like murder. Red, like picked berries. He glanced at Maeve and Shay. Leaned over until he spotted Kelly standing on the porch, holding her dog, waving shyly. When Maeve lit a hand-rolled cigarette, Aiden held out two fingers.
“Welcome back,” Maeve said. She took a hit then gave him the cigarette.
Aiden sucked smoke into his lungs. His bloody fingers darkened the white rolling paper, but he didn’t mind. Just inhaled the familiar, earthy burn, exhaled gray plumes, and followed Shay Bennett’s tentative footsteps as he closed the space between them. Carefully, Shay knelt, mirroring Aiden’s wide knees and hunched shoulders. Aiden licked his newly sprouted fangs—four up top, replacing his canines and premolars—and sighed. Shay pinched his chin and steered his face, and Aiden thought,always touch me like that.
“Hey, dipshit,” Shay whispered.
Laughter bloomed in his throat. “Hi, asshole.”
Shay kissed his monstrous mouth, and when Aiden opened his eyes, he was still awake. Fuckingalive. Holding onto the man he’d loved and lost, killed and kept, and came back to claim.
Aiden Moore Ramírez.
Selfish, powerful, self-made.
Transformed, again.
EPILOGUE
After Santa Muerte had granted Aiden a second life, he’d scrubbed himself clean in Maeve King’s shower, and tried not to wince while she’d bandaged his abdomen. They’d dumped what was left of Laura into the bayou, shared tea and whiskey on the porch, and promised to keep in touch.
“There are so few of us,” she’d said, facing the sunrise, wearing a triumphant smile. “It’s humbling to see you return, Aiden, and it’s certainly been a treat to meet you both. I can’t promise you an easy life, and I don’t have all the answers, but you’re welcome to reach out. I’ve stock-piled quite a collection of recipes over the years, believe it or not.”
That morning, they packed their things at the Sheraton, loaded the RV, and slept until Pru pulled into a truck-stop ten hours later. They shared potato wedges and floppy, greasy pizza at a roadside pizzeria, and Aiden flashed his fangs for Georgia and Dylan, crediting a Louisiana dentist for the cosmetic upgrade.
They laughed, and Shay linked their ankles beneath the table, and Aiden lived again.
KNIGHT’S BLOOD TOPS CHARTS IN THE UNITED STATES WITH NEW PLATINUM SINGLENEVER SAY DIE
Knight’s Blood played two sold-out shows in New York City.
The band popped champagne in a high-rise suite, snorted top-shelf cocaine off of marble countertops, and bounced on neatly made beds, smacking each other with pillows cased in Egyptian cotton. It was one week after Knight’s Blood’s first tour ended when the band announced their partnership with an elite record label and dropped a new album—Never Say Die.
Autumn teased the air when the band returned to Los Angeles, and Aiden brought Shay to his childhood home on a normal Tuesday night.
While Shay helped Blanca debone a chicken in the kitchen, Camila trapped Aiden in her bedroom. She knelt at his feet, and muffled her funeral cries against his shirt, convulsing and shaking and sobbing. Camila skidded through his death, transition, rebirth like a needle on a scratched record. Clumsily, lovingly, purposefully.
