Chapter Nineteen #2
Water pooled in the gutter, rushing toward gaping drains.
They stood there, holding hands, surrounded by heavy rain, until Aiden couldn’t stand the pressure in his chest any longer and stepped off the curb.
Shay followed, stalking him across the parking lot, weaving between cars.
His lips landed on the unbandaged side of Aiden’s neck, and Aiden fumbled with the keys, unlocking the RV.
Hands rushed under Aiden’s jacket, too sure, too forgetful, and he flinched away, whispering, “Easy, easy.” In the same breath, Shay said, “Sorry—I’m sorry. ”
The storm grew louder, drumming on the roof and the windows.
Aiden listened. Caught the soft, hitching sound of Shay’s breath, the slick break as their lips met and parted, the shuffle of clothes, timid laughter, cupped hands over bare skin.
He hurt everywhere. But he felt Shay everywhere, too.
Knew as they pushed through the fold-out door and climbed into bed, knew as he rested his palms on Shay’s chest, searching for his heartbeat, there , fast and strong, knew as he straddled Shay’s waist and looked down at him, softened in the dappled moonlight, that there was no after .
No leaving, no being left.
No life beyond him, this, them .
Shay touched his bruise. His thigh, too.
Bandaged throat—parted lips. Aiden took his fingers between his teeth, pressed his tongue to the place where claws had sprouted and blood had been, and trusted Shay to treat him tenderly.
He kept their bodies close. Kept Shay buried deep, riding him slow and hard.
Kept his eyes open, fixed on a fucking miracle.
Kept Shay’s fingers in his mouth until the heat churning in his groin grew thick and insistent, and he loosened his lips for a raspy moan.
Kept Shay underneath him until his thighs trembled and exhaustion needled his hips.
Shay pushed away from the bed, arms tight around Aiden, and pulled him into his lap.
“Say my name,” Aiden said, accidentally.
Shay did, softly at first, whispered against his cheek.
Aiden clutched his face. Pried at his lips until he tasted stale smoke.
Whimpered and rolled his hips, allowing Shay to take his weight.
Hold me, please, hold me . Pleasure burned in him, snapping like a flame where sutures and fang-prints and busted capillaries ached, reminded, healed. “Again,” he said, “please.”
Shay kissed him. Storm sounds swallowed Shay’s gasp, but Aiden felt it, right there, stolen from inside his mouth.
“Aiden,” like yes .
“Aiden,” like mine .
“Aiden,” like alive .
brEAKING: ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO
INVESTIGATION UNDERWAY—MASS MURDER-SUICIDE
A grisly scene in the unforgiving New Mexico desert leaves five victims brutally murdered and one dead by suicide.
Police have confirmed that missing Orange County nineteen-year-old, Laura Noble, joins the deceased.
Though no suspects have been named, police have launched an investigation into forty-four-year-old Catherine (Cit) Emerson, previously wanted in Montana, Texas, California, and Washington on charges including: kidnapping, coercion, possession of a controlled substance, assault, animal endangerment, and first-degree murder.
Emerson was found dead at the scene and is under investigation for a separate, similar case in Las Vegas, Nevada. WARNING: Graphic Imagery
Aiden thumbed at his phone.
Shay shifted beside him in the booth and tucked his socked foot behind Aiden’s ankle, sipping from a lukewarm to-go coffee. “Keep going,” Shay said, nudging the screen with his knuckle.
He flicked past the article, pausing over the first of four images.
Wide-angle. Bloodstained dirt, hardened wax, ant-covered rabbit, remnants of white chalk, cacti, dry shrubs, boulders skewering the sky in the distance.
He scrolled to the second. Candles—knocked and broken, burned out and splattered.
The third was a close-up of the altar, speckled with blood, half-gone handprints, mangled fur, and storm-soaked sigils.
Fourth, the knife. Plunged into wet dirt, standing tall and steady.
Memories clattered inside him, upended like a silverware drawer.
Falling, crashing into the tailgate, spearing the ground with the blade, bracing on the handle, heaving, breathing, bleeding— you’re dying, Aiden.
I’m dying —and finally, hands under his arms, lifting, catching.
“I’ve got you,” spoken gently, scented like pennies.
“All right, gang. Options are Del Taco, Popeyes, Jack in the Box or Arby’s,” Pru called from the driver’s seat. “Choose your fighter!”
“Del Taco,” Georgia said.
Dylan bellowed from the bathroom, “Del Taaaaaacccoooo!”
Aiden swallowed around a jagged lump and bookmarked the article. “I’m good with Del.”
“Yeah, Del Taco’s fine by me,” Shay said, and fit his palm around Aiden’s knee. He leaned forward in the booth, searching for his eyes. His lips formed silent words. You okay?
Yes, no. Maybe. He tried to nod and shook his head, then opened his notes app, typing rapidly.
I did it I started it or finished it I dont know but the knife was part of their fucked up ritual AND my fucked up ritual - our ritual?
? whatever nvm I’ll explain when we’re alone.
He held his thumb over the backspace key until the words were gone.
It’s true—I could be like you. Shay squeezed his leg.
Aiden felt the weight of his hand on the bitemark a few inches above.
KNIGHT’S BLOOD TEA SPILLAGE
Jacob Hill: Turn on satellite radio
Jacob Hill: NOW RIGHT NOW
Shay Bennett: What channel?
Jacob Hill: Octane 37
Never Say Die debuted while they were three hours outside of Austin.
The radio host called it the hottest single of the summer .
Said Knight’s Blood was giving metalheads everything they’ve ever wanted .
Pru veered into a truck stop. Dylan cranked the volume and opened the passenger door, and the band bounced around outside the motorhome, singing along to their future.
Georgia smiled— really smiled—and pushed a bottle against Aiden’s lips, laughing as beer spilled over his chin.
Shay snuck a kiss to his mouth. Pru noticed, he thought.
She smirked but stayed quiet. Dylan danced with Sherlock.
Pot-bellied truck drivers watched from elevated big rigs. One of them waved as the song ended. He rolled down his window and hollered, “You like that band, huh? They’re pretty damn good.”
Aiden shouted, “We are that band!”
They snapped a selfie with him, signed his mustard-stained t-shirt, and hit the road.
Austin treated them well.
They stayed at a boutique hotel downtown, overlooking the Colorado River.
The city glowed and shook, energized by eclectic shops, trippy street performers, and graffiti murals.
Aiden stood at the window in their cozy, nautical-themed room, listening to sirens wail in the distance, and thought he might like to live there—new city, new life, new future.
The floor wheezed beneath bare feet. Shay appeared in the reflection on the glass, face lowered to his neck, inspecting the stitches beneath his jaw.
“Internet says three more days before we can take these out,” Shay said.
“Does it look better, at least?”
“Yeah, it does.” Shay kissed his shoulder.
Aiden and Shay were supposed to meet Pru, Georgia, and Dylan at a steakhouse for dinner.
They’d already rehearsed their set at The Moody Theater and pre-signed merchandise for VIP ticketholders.
All they had left to do was fill their bellies, get enough sleep, and arrive on time for a photoshoot with Nylon Magazine in the morning.
Their lives had ruptured in New Mexico. Hitting Texas with a new single had smoothed the rough patch, scrubbed out the blood, made it easy to leave Laura and Cit and their cultish coven across state lines.
“We’ll be late,” Aiden mumbled.
Shay unbuttoned Aiden’s nicest jeans. “God forbid.”
They dedicated any moment alone to making up for lost time.
At rehearsal, Aiden followed him into the bathroom and went to his knees.
He played the rest of the set with Shay slicked behind his teeth.
Before that, Shay had sealed his hand over Aiden’s mouth in the RV bedroom and worked three fingers between his legs.
Dylan tuned his bass, Georgia chatted with Pru, and Shay hushed Aiden while he whined through an orgasm.
Sometimes they fucked like teenagers, groping and kissing in secret.
Sometimes they stirred awake, halfway to a dream, and crawled to each other in the witching hours.
Sometimes Aiden wanted to be bitten.
Sometimes Aiden knew with animalistic certainty that Shay wanted to bite him.
They arrived late and flushed, and Pru saddled them with a knowing glare. Aiden ignored her, paid Dylan for the eightball he’d scored from a roadie at the venue, sighed at Georgia’s lecture about punctuality, and ordered a ribeye, bone-in.
Being in Austin made them forget. Or maybe they chose to forget. Either way, Aiden knew it wouldn’t last. He leaned into the bite-sized normalcy, anyway. Chewed, swallowed, wanted more.
After the Nylon shoot, they were scheduled to meet at the venue for sound check, but Aiden insisted on snorting a line off Shay’s smooth chest, and Shay licked white residue from the crease of Aiden’s hip.
They left the blinds open and fucked in the sunlight, starved and insatiable and lovesick.
When Georgia called, Aiden answered, poised atop Shay, breathless and close.
“Our Lyft driver had a blow out,” Aiden said. “Yeah, I’m helping her change the tire—” He smashed his hand over Shay’s mouth, muting bombastic laughter. “—we’ll be there soon. Ay dios mio, stop yelling! We’re on our way!”
They arrived late and flushed again.
Jacob called after sound check. Detailed offers from potential labels. Offer s . Multiple. Mentioned paychecks—individual wire transfers delivering in the next few days. “It’s a fuckin’ doozy,” he said, chuckling. “You shit-stains are in the big leagues now.”
Knight’s Blood kicked off the show with Never Say Die. Played a raunchy set in an intimate theater. Listened to the audience shout their lyrics, sing their songs, rage joyfully to their music, and walked away from another sold out concert wanted by fans across the country.
The gig payment delivered the morning after their show.
Aiden set his phone on Shay’s back and huffed, peeling both eyes open for the facial recognition software.
His bank app filled the screen. Credit card, maxed.
Savings, close to nothing. Checking… Zeros .
More zeros than his account had ever seen. The number knocked the wind from him.
Aiden pushed at the body beneath him, bouncing excitedly. “Jesus fucking Christ, Shay. Look at this— look! ”
Shay made an unhappy noise but cracked his eyes open. “Uh huh… That’s nice— oh , damn. Look at you, rich guy,” he murmured, smiling sheepishly. “Guess you can afford the good shit now.”
“I’ve always bought the good shit, babe. That’s why I’m broke.”
Shay laughed, hard and sudden, and kissed Aiden on the mouth.
Aiden sent money to his mom, then his sister, then his landlord .
Te quiero, Mama. Get yourself something nice.
See? Told you we’d make it. Fix your fucking car.
Last month, this month, next month. With interest. Sorry for the delay.
Camila Ramírez: Thanks for the cash but I don’t need it
Aiden Moore: just take it cami. it’s fine.
Camila Ramírez: Whatever. You okay?
Aiden Moore: i’m fine just a little run down.
Camila Ramírez: How was Colorado?
Aiden Moore: totally fine. your psychic needs a tune up.
Camila Ramírez: You’re a moron. Can you hook me up with a ticket to your show in New Orleans?
Aiden Moore: maybe
Camila Ramírez: Pinche cabrón
Aiden Moore: c’mon chill out!! you know i’m kidding. i’ll have jacob handle it
Aiden Moore: just one?
Camila Ramírez: Just one
Camila Ramírez: Te quiero
Aiden Moore: love you too
brEAKING: ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO
INVESTIGATION UPDATE—MASS MURDER-SUICIDE
Police revealed a shocking piece of information today: the body of nineteen-year-old Orange County native, Laura Noble, made famous by the recent New Mexico massacre, has gone missing.
Authorities believe members of a cult-like organization led by Catherine (Cit) Emerson, also connected to the brutal murder of Cassandra Rey in Las Vegas, could be responsible for the disappearance.
Noble’s family is accepting donations to cover funeral arrangements and an investigation is currently underway.
Aiden got sick as quietly as possible, heaving into the compostable toilet in the RV’s bathroom. No , he thought. No, no, no. But he was well-acquainted with that dreadful fucking knowing, that primal unease. Prey instinct.
You fucking black-eyed bitch.
He doubled over again, emptying the rest of his stomach.
You didn’t stay dead, did you?