Chapter Five
S leep came unexpectedly. At one point, Aiden had been awake, watching Shay tear Thomas apart, and the next he’d jolted in place, hands plastered over his chest, catching himself as he fell out of a nightmare.
Morning snuck through the blinds. He couldn’t tell if he’d nodded off ten seconds or three hours ago, but the last thing he remembered was Shay propping himself against the opposite wall, chin slicked red, eyes half-lidded.
Thomas’s hollow body stretched across the hallway, mostly hidden behind the kitchen counter.
Aiden stared. He followed splintered bone and shredded skin, and swallowed bile.
Thomas’s face tipped toward him, lips slackened, eyelids peeled apart.
He had never been this close to the dead before.
Managed to ditch his grandfather’s open-casket Catholic funeral.
Even after he’d knifed Shay, Aiden had kicked him away, unwilling to stay for the grand finale.
Damn, he should’ve, though. Since Shay hadn’t fucking died .
He patted his pockets. No phone. Braced on his palms to glance at the counter. No phone there either.
Okay .
So, there was a corpse in his apartment, his phone was gone, and Shay was a vampire or a Chupacabra or. . . or something , and Aiden desperately needed a drink.
Something rustled on the other side of the counter.
He knew that sound: bed sheets shifting.
Carefully, Aiden got to his feet. He winced, stepping over the stagnant blood pooled around Thomas’s body, and crept into the largest part of the studio.
His breath quivered. Shay’s sleepy hands were splayed on the comforter, the rest of him nested in Aiden’s cheap bedding.
He looked as he always did, freckled and boyish.
Nothing like the beast from last night. Aiden rubbed a palm over his mouth, glanced at the backpack stuffed in the corner, over his shoulder at the butchered body, then back to Shay.
After what he’d seen a few hours ago, skipping town seemed pointless.
If Aiden ran, the police or Shay would catch him.
If he stayed, the man in his bed might kill him.
He knelt, braving a touch to Shay’s knuckles.
Shay opened his eyes and Aiden jerked his hand back, frozen at the edge of his mattress.
Shay knitted his brows. “You kicked me off a cliff,” he rasped.
Aiden licked his chapped lips. “Yeah, well, you ate Thomas.”
They watched each other, silent but for the sound of their breathing.
The pizzeria came alive downstairs and cars sped through the intersection outside.
Shay’s eyes were Easter blue again, his skin plump and flawless, like a newly packaged version of himself, changed just enough to be noticeable. He sighed and rolled onto his back.
“Should I even bother asking why the hell you. . .” Shay’s mouth slackened, opening and closing, as if he had more to say. Aiden glimpsed newly sharpened canines—two up top, two more below—longer and deadlier. “. . . stabbed me?”
Aiden’s throat worked around a swallow. “I regret it,” he said, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. “I—I had this plan, this shitty, ridiculous plan, but I immediately, like, immediately regretted it. I just. . . I found these—these rituals, you know? And a soul is worth a lot if?—”
“You tried to sacrifice me to the fucking devil?” Shay lunged toward him. His fangs cut the air in front of Aiden’s nose. He winced, just barely. “Seriously, Aiden? What the actual fuck is wrong with you—you’re kidding, right?”
“Clearly, I did a bang-up job since you’re still alive,” Aiden snapped back, surprised by his own courage.
“And you eat people now, so yes, this is grade-A run-of-the-mill devil-shit, Shay. And. . . I mean. . .” he snarled, furiously thankful he could fight with Shay again, “I’m sorry, but I found a way in , okay? You didn’t give me much of a choice.”
Shay laughed, one, barking hah . “Murder was your only option, huh? You couldn’t have picked someone else? Literally, anyone else?”
I don’t love anyone else . Aiden tightened his mouth, knees widening as he sat on his heels. “Look, it didn’t work. You’re back. I’m…” So fucking glad . “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for?—"
“Stabbing me?” Shay deadpanned. “Kicking me off a cliff? Murdering me?”
“For everything.” He chewed hard on his lip. “And I didn’t murder you. You’re right here. You broke into my apartment and tried to snack on me last night, remember?”
“Oh, my bad. After bleeding out in the ocean, I drowned. Don’t look at me like that.
You got what you wanted.” Shay paused, glaring at him through his lashes.
“I remember it. I… I remember dying. Waking up on shore. Coughing up my bodyweight in water and… You . I remembered you. So, yeah, I came here. I came looking for you, for answers, and. . .”
Aiden steeled his expression, but regret ached in his chest. “And?”
“I was starving.” His gaze shifted to the body in the hall. “I didn’t. . . I didn’t know what to do. It hurt, everything hurt. I. . . I just. . . I knew what I needed, but…”
“ But? ”
“But I expected to feel worse about it. I expected not to know myself, but I did. Nothing possessed me. I wasn’t influenced. I. . . I did that. . . I. . .” He gestured to Thomas with a trembling hand. “How did I do that?”
Aiden tipped his head, glancing around Shay’s perfect fucking face.
“Those new fangs,” he said, simply, and sighed through his nose.
Anxiety lodged in the center of his throat, the same place it’d been since the night of the ritual, but Shay was back, and Thomas was gone, and he was grateful for that. “I need my phone.”
Shay flexed his jaw. “We can’t go to the police?—”
“I’m not an idiot. I need to make sure Georgia and Dylan don’t stop by before we make that go away.” He nudged his chin toward the hallway. “We need an alibi, too. Thomas had family in Canada, didn’t he? Friends. An ex. Something.”
“An ex, yeah. Ex-girlfriend, I think.”
“Good. That’ll work.” Aiden held out his hand. “Phone.”
“You’re excruciatingly calm right now,” Shay said, skeptically.
He reached under the pillow and retrieved Aiden’s hidden iPhone.
“How, exactly, do we make any of this go away? You—” He pushed to his palms and flinched, curling one arm around his middle.
“Put a knife in me,” he gasped out, snaring Aiden in a hard look.
“Yeah, it hurts like a bitch. Thanks for asking.”
“Didn’t seem sore last night,” he mumbled, and tugged the comforter away. “Nice shirt. Let me see.”
“Figured you’d let me borrow some clothes at the very fucking least.” Shay hissed through his teeth as he stripped the black tank away. An angry puncture wound split the skin to the left of his navel. Scabs lined the edges, but the gaping center shone red .
Aiden remembered the weight of the knife.
Warm blood soaking his knuckles. Shay saying his name on a winded breath.
He remembered that feeling—that awful, monumental, instantaneous grief.
Remembered knowing in his depths that he would be haunted.
Here he is, he thought. The haunting he’d begged for in the seconds, minutes, hours after.
He hadn’t realized he’d reached forward until Shay snatched his wrist, halting his fingertips inches from the gash.
“I have band-aids with spaceships on them and a bottle of vodka,” Aiden said.
He wrenched away, reminded of last night, being pinned against the wall in the kitchen, and Shay’s hands latched around his waist at the Ocean Grove trailhead.
“There’s a sleeping bag in my closet. If you can handle Thomas, I’ll go grab some shit from the pharmacy. ”
“You want me to put Thomas in a sleeping bag? That’s your plan?”
“It’s better than leaving him in the kitchen, Shay. I assumed you weren’t going back for seconds, but if you’d like to finish him off then be my guest.”
“You have zero self-preservation instincts. I killed a man in front of you last night and?—”
“And, what? I killed you the night before that. Let’s cut the shit.
You want me dead? Do it.” Aiden’s heart pounded.
Exhaustion ached behind his eyes. He’d done the impossible, made the impossible happen, watched the impossible sleep in his bed.
So, yeah, if death was on the horizon, Aiden wouldn’t run.
At least Shay would deal the final blow.
Poetic justice, you know? Shakespeare bullshit.
Shay stayed silent, fierce eyes locked onto Aiden’s face.
Aiden stood. He scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck and flicked through his phone, checking texts—none—his bank account—seventeen whole dollars. Great . He’d save a few bucks and walk to the pharmacy .
“Put your clothes in the sleeping bag with him, all right? I’ll be back in a bit. Just… just don’t leave. You should probably check in with your former bandmates,” Aiden said.
Shay rolled his eyes, scoffing.
Aiden sighed. “What now? What else could you possibly need besides some medical tape?—”
“My phone drowned with me,” Shay snapped. “So, explain what you mean by former . Right now.”
“Chain Reaction’s summer tour is done. David Crystal checked into a wellness center yesterday and you. . .”
“Got kicked off a cliff.”
“Sure, yeah. Anyway, it’s over. Bid your fancy glam-metal career a bitter farewell.”
Shay flopped on his back and immediately clutched his stomach, cursing under his breath. “Damn, Aiden. You casted one hell of a spell.”
“It wasn’t a spell, asshole,” Aiden said. I’m not my goddamn sister. He grabbed his wallet off the counter, creeping over Thomas’s stiff legs.
“Is this what you asked for? Chain Reaction in shambles? Turning me into. . . into whatever the fuck you’ve turned me into? Did you get what you wanted?”
Stolen future.