Chapter One #2
“Sold out bars ,” Shay corrected. He stepped forward, jamming his pointer finger against Aiden’s sternum.
The movement startled him. Thrilled him.
“I did what I had to do, like I’ve told you eight hundred times before, and I’m not fucking sorry for that.
Knight’s Blood was dead. Buried. Rotting in the ground.
Just because you pretended not to smell it doesn’t mean I had to. ”
“You did this. I need you to know that.”
“You’ve made sure to remind me?—”
Aiden hadn’t planned this part. The kissing Shay part.
He’d meticulously bullet-journaled everything else.
Pig’s blood from the butcher in Koreatown, dove feathers ordered from an online metaphysical shop, Ketamine from Dylan’s dealer in West Hollywood, the knife from a lockbox in Walmart’s stupidly huge hunting section.
But not this. Shay’s mouth slackened against his lips.
Aiden touched the tattoo sprouting from his collar and followed raised ink across his freckled throat.
Aiden had never kissed Shay. Not in the decade they’d orbited each other.
He wanted to know if kissing him felt the way he’d always thought it would.
It did. It didn’t.
The kiss ignited in his chest, lower, tightening beneath his navel. Disastrous and inevitable. Too big, like a wing stretching open in his body, shaking and trembling.
Yeah , Aiden thought, miserably. Yeah, I loved you.
Shay laughed, a warm breath against Aiden’s chin, before he kissed him again, hard and deep and wet. Aiden let him. Tasted him. Licked into his mouth and pushed himself closer, as close as he could get, until Shay nipped his bottom lip and said, “Can’t stay away, huh?”
Aiden’s cheeks burned. He memorized the slope of Shay’s strong jaw. “You did this,” he said again.
“I knew you’d be easy for me, Aiden Moore.” Shay teased at his mouth. Above them, moonlight peeked through the cloud cover. “I always knew.”
Aiden kissed him again. Reached backward and curled his fingers around the handle flattened against his tailbone. “Yeah, I bet you did,” he whispered, and shoved the sleek, silver blade into Shay’s stomach.
You did this . Almost true. In the end, Aiden still held the knife.
Ocean sounds swallowed Shay’s gasp, but Aiden felt it, right there, stolen from inside his mouth.
Warmth soaked his knuckles, buried in torn fabric.
Shay clutched to him. Dug his fingers into Aiden’s waist. Held on.
His breath came in awful, giant puffs, and his voice hitched, furious and terrified, as he said Aiden’s name.
Aiden hadn’t planned this part either. His chin dimpling, regret blooming at the sight of a half-finished tragedy, the wait sitting on his tongue like a match post-strike.
Do it. Don’t do it. Do it. Don’t do it .
The devil better eat this love. Do it. Paimon better pulverize it. Do it. Beelzebub better pay a fucking premium. Do it.
Because damn, god-fucking-damn , this shit hurt.
Don’t do it.
“Go to hell,” Aiden snapped, choking on the lump in his throat. He wrenched away, slammed his boot against Shay’s chest, and sent him tumbling off the cliff.
Aiden scrubbed his reddened hands with dish soap.
He hadn’t stopped shaking since Shay’d met his eyes, falling backward, reaching out, asking to be caught.
Aiden’s whole body had convulsed while he’d poured the pig’s blood in a circle, clawed at the dirt until his cuticles peeled, and upended the plastic pouch filled with feathers into the center of the damp ring.
He’d buried them—the consensus between three different books and two outdated websites—and stared at the gleaming, black liquid drying on the knife.
Touched the cool blood. Brought his fingers to his lips.
Sucked. Tried not to gag. Cried, hard. Ugly, retching sobs.
And then he’d plunged the knife into the earth, through the feathers, until the handle met the ground.
He’d thought, momentarily, that it’d all been for nothing.
That he’d done the unspeakable for an audience of exactly no one .
But gazing at the half-hidden moon, he’d realized the ocean had stopped singing, and the wind had stopped blowing, and the animals in the trees had gone quiet.
Everything had paused to witness what Aiden Moore had done.
Carefully, he’d lit the edge of a sallow page where two words in black ink were scrawled— stolen future —and put the hot ashes in his mouth.
Shay’s blood had lingered like a penny on his tongue.
Soot still coated his teeth. He uncapped a bleach pen and scribbled on his palms, rubbing the chemical into his skin.
Knuckles smacked and fingers slipped, wringing until the water ran clear.
Nausea rolled through him. He gripped the edge of the sink and stared at his reflection, water-spotted and splintered by a narrow crack.
Bloodshot eyes watered. Fingers raked through his dark hair, still sticky with texturizer, and he scrubbed his palm over the shaved area around his ear.
Sipped for air. Exhaled too fast. Turned away from himself and stormed into the rat-cage apartment he rented above a pizza parlor in Echo Park.
Okay, it’s done, he thought. It’s done. It’s fucking done.
But Shay’s expression carved itself into his eyelids. On every blink, Aiden saw him.
Aiden wrenched open the freezer and grabbed a mostly full bottle.
He tipped the frozen lip against his mouth and swallowed.
Tequila, the shitty kind from the bottom shelf, scorched his throat.
He coughed. Put his back to the fridge and let his knees buckle.
Seated on the kitchen floor with his legs spread, he drank desperately.
A final notice from the power company lay discarded on the rug and his muddy boots left brown marks on the tile.
Across the room, his backpack slouched against the wall, concealing the messy knife, torn cellophane, and leftover feathers.
So, this was regret, huh? He took another swig. Clamped his lips and focused on not puking. Sickness ballooned in his gut. He chased it with more tequila, staring at the popcorn ceiling, replaying Shay’s teeth on his bottom lip.
I knew you’d be easy for me.
Car horns blared and laughter echoed from the sidewalk.
Damp mid-summer heat snuck through the window, but Aiden didn’t take off his jacket.
He drank until his skin went hot, and his bladder hurt, and his stomach finally said, bitch, enough.
He crawled to the bathroom, heaved tequila and blood and ashes into the toilet, and thought, I bet Lucifer’s having a good fucking laugh .
His temple smacked the bathtub on a violent sob.
Then he thought, Shay , and everything went dark.