Chapter Twenty-Five
A iden straightened the leather collar around his neck and looped his rosary over his head.
Maeve lingered at the edge of his mind, speaking to him like a child.
If you die, she dies. If she dies, you die.
How she’d cooed and bent her knuckle beneath his chin, forcing his gaze.
Shay Bennett carries your future. There’s always a price—we both know that.
Yeah, he knew it fucking well. Heaving a sigh, he tucked his black tank into high-waist jeans.
Tightened his belt, blinked his white contact lenses into place, and laced his boots.
Snapped the cap off a lukewarm beer and dumped the bubbly liquid into his watered-down cocktail glass, still flavored like vodka and cranberry juice.
Georgia and Dylan lounged on the other side of the Green Room with Pru and Camila, sipping from a plate-sized margarita stuffed with Coronas.
Shay stood beside them, feigning smiles, engaging in empty pleasantries.
They’d left the bayou hours ago. Shared a taxi with Kelly, who gave shy assurances .
It’ll be all right, boys. We’ll handle this .
Maybe she’d noticed Aiden’s glassy eyes.
Maybe she’d seen him tremble. Maybe she’d put aside the first impression they’d made on each other now that her secrets were tangled with theirs.
Whatever the reason, she’d set her fingers on Aiden’s knuckles.
He’d wished for his mother, his grandmother, his sister, and squeezed her hand.
Shay had rested his forehead on the window, hidden behind his sunglasses. He hadn’t said a word until they were back at the hotel, standing alone in the elevator. “Maeve could be wrong,” he’d said, but lying never had been Shay’s specialty.
Aiden had nodded, just to give him peace. “Yeah,” he’d said, clearing his throat. “Yeah, it’s not like this shit comes with an instruction manual.”
They both knew, though. Aiden felt the truth in his elbows, buzzing like a beehive between his vertebrae.
Sometime soon, Laura would take his blood, and his essence, and his soul, and swallow him into herself.
Sometime soon, she’d guzzle him like gasoline, ground herself to this world, this plane, this place not made for things like her, and he would be gone.
Sometime soon, she’d try to steal his everything and Aiden would put a blade through her heart, ending them both in the process. Or...
I’ll dig the power out of her , Aiden thought. Bring her heart to my mouth and chew.
If Cit could create her, Aiden could undo her, and if he could undo her, he could become her. But he needed the why , the how , the sacrifice , the payment —love, like a crisp green bill.
Camila crossed the room and stood beside him.
Her reflection crowded the mirror, distinct and similar, like two leopards from different jungles.
“You look like a calavera,” she said, smiling faintly, and trailed her fingers along his smooth jaw.
“Mama wants you to call, hermano. Not text. Call . She wants your voice, not words on a screen.”
“I know.” Aiden sighed, scrubbing his hand over his buzz-cut. “Did she watch the Red Rocks show? I sent her the link.”
“Yeah, we watched it together. She said you looked like a hooker,” she said. Laughter barked from him, big and accidental. Camila giggled, too. “Said you’re too skinny, and she hates devil music, and she’s proud of you.”
“Devil music,” Aiden repeated, nodding slowly. “Yeah, well, at least it pays well. Did you get your car fixed?”
“Yeah, I did. New transmission, new tires, patched that power-steering leak.”
“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 feels wrong . 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 him want .
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 flicking it 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 after I took you from 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.