by Shelly Crane
It was our running joke. It had been so long since anyone had slept in a real bed. We stayed in Colorado for two months before we had to leave because winter was coming. We spent some time in New Mexico—keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Since The Wall was there, we thought it might work out to be so close, but that had proved to be hazardous. With Eli and Clara’s baby coming, the chance of the wrong person seeing or getting wind of it was just too much, so as soon as we could, we came back to Colorado. They were in the process of getting some type of building that everyone could fit in to keep out the elements. One step at a time.
Fay literally bounced in my arms.
“Go pack,” I ordered and swatted her butt.
She saluted and grinned. “Yes, sir.”
She took off, the bond wrapped from her to me between us, but turned and ran back to me. She jumped up and wrapped her legs around me.
“Thank you.” She kissed me, wrapping her arms tight around my head, like there was no reason on this earth not to. I groaned, feeling the intensity of it hit me. I didn’t feel this as often anymore. The bond Fay had given to me that day gave me everything I needed. I never felt starved, ever. I only felt emotion when it was really intense.
And that was fine with me.
She hadn’t understood what she was giving me that day. I hadn’t told her what the bond did because I never wanted her to bond herself to me for that very reason. I knew she’d do it just because she’d want to make my life easy and I never wanted her to be stuck with me forever. But then I went and mated her to me.
That day on the bank of the river when I held her, her lips blue and lifeless, and thought she was going to die right in front of me—nothing else mattered after that. She was in this. She couldn’t escape. The Horde would never let her be. It wasn’t like she could run away. She was safest here, with me, with us. I realized that all the reasons why I wanted to keep her away were all the same reasons we should be together.
But when she did bond herself to me, and she hadn’t even known what it would mean for me, she had just done it because she truly just wanted me—bloody hell.
When she found out what it meant, she bawled so hard, so happily. She loved to push the envelope though, to make me feel her. Like right now, as my fingers dug into her thighs and the tiny groan slipped free, her smug smile curved against my mouth. “You love to torture me,” I whispered and smirked.
“I just love you.” She sighed and licked her lips. “It’s been a year.”
I held her tighter. “An amazing year.” No jokes. It wasn’t funny. It had been a year since she almost died, since she bound me to her, since everything. I put her feet to the ground and brought my hands up, cupping her jaw. “And I love you, too.”
She pulled one hand free and laced our hands together on her chest. Our tattooed ring fingers rubbed against each other and I remembered getting them done almost seven months ago. We hadn’t gone with traditional wedding rings. This was anything but traditional.
We hadn’t done anything crazy. It was just us and the camp. Franz did it for us and the fool grinned through the whole thing. Afterwards, I took her into town, almost a two hour drive through the mountains, and we got these tattoos done. Our bond resembles Clara and Eli’s a little, but looks more like vines instead of barb wire. So that’s what we got—vines on our ring fingers. Then I took her to a hotel for the night, the only real bed we’d been in for the entire year, except for this weekend.
We spent plenty of time in reveries, but when you woke up in the morning, your back still ached from sleeping on the ground. You could fool your mind, but not your spine. It was nice to get away and take her places, but nothing was like sleeping in an actual bed.
Though Eli and Clara had a kid, and were even thinking about having another one down the road, we were not. That was off the table. We were doing everything in our power to prevent it.
More power to them, but it just wasn’t the world to bring them into. Besides, we got plenty of playtime with Ben. It was Fay’s idea to wipe kids off the table, so I knew she wasn’t wanting for it. We were happy. Like, bone-deep happy.
How can you be happy sleeping in a sleeping bag every night in a tent, knowing there were men trying to kill you, always looking over your shoulder waiting for the next attack, knowing that one day war will come, because it will come, there is no doubt, and looking at the same faces every day, doing the same thing every day, and still be happy?
She gripped my shirt and pulled me down to kiss me again. “You get a million points for doing this.” She kissed me again and brought her knee between mine, rubbing her leg against my knee and thigh to taunt me. My moan had to be heard across the river. “Like a million,” she breathed and then smiled so smugly as she turned to walk away. “I’ll go pack now.”
“You are so gonna get it, princess.” I chuckled huskily and watched her behind and legs sway as she walked away.
“Promise?” she threw over her shoulder. I heard her giggle come back to me through the woods.
Yeah. I had never known what happy was before this girl. But even I, a devourer, knew you could be happy like this.
Bone-deep happy.
My name is Enoch Thames and I am a devourer whose life was altered so completely. The one thing I thought I hated most was the one thing that saved me above all else.
(Theme Song) Monster : Imagine Dragons
Haunt : Bastille
Wanted Man : NeedToBreathe
Fall Into These Arms : New Politics
This : Ed Sheeran
The Baddest Man Alive : Black Keys
Atlas : Coldplay
Shark Attack : Grouplove
Wait : M83
Waiting Alone : Shiny Toy Guns
Laura Palmer : Bastille
Thank you
to the readers who have waited patiently for this story, knowing what I have going on, and still want to be there to read the next book, swoon over the next book boy, fall in love with the next love story. Thank you. You are the reason I do this.
Thank you, Chelsea Fine, for being my sister in that “thing” that we don’t speak of. I’m so happy that I got to meet you and I get to text stalk you. It’s a privilege. You’re the cream to my coffee, the chili to my hotdog. I love your guts, chick.
Thank you, Jamie Magee, for your emails and texts asking where I am and whether Enoch was behaving. It meant a lot. And no, Enoch was never behaving… *wink*
Thank you, Lila Felix, for caring enough to text me when I had doctor visits and even when I didn’t. You get me. I <# you.
Thank you, Rachel Higginson. You got me over the book hangover for this book and it was a doozy. You know what I mean. Milkshakes and yards and Hellcat islands. You and me, one day. I love ya, babe. Thank you.
Shelly is a New York Times & USA Today Bestselling author from a small town in Georgia and loves everything about the south. She is wife to a fantastical husband and stay at home mom to two boisterous and mischievous boys who keep her on her toes. They currently reside in everywhere USA as they happily travel all over with her husband's job. She loves to spend time with her family, binge on candy corn, go out to eat at new restaurants, buy paperbacks at little bookstores, site see in the new areas they travel to, listen to music everywhere and also LOVES to read.
Her own books happen by accident and she revels in the writing and imagination process. She doesn't go anywhere without her notepad for fear of an idea creeping up and not being able to write it down immediately, even in the middle of the night, where her best ideas are born.
Shelly's website:
www.shellycrane.blogspot.com
https://www.facebook.com/shellycranefanpage
https://twitter.com/AuthShellyCrane
Now, please enjoy an excerpt from Shelly Crane’s newest Contemporary novel,
WIDE OPEN, available now.
Milo
My mouth tasted like vomit. That wasn't unusual. The arm creeping over my middle wasn't unusua
l either, nor the way I felt completely repulsed and sick. I worked so hard drinking, doing any drug I could get my hands on, sleeping with any girl who looked in my direction and didn't slap me for my foul mouth as I told her all the things I wanted to do to her. Slurred, really.
I knew it wouldn't be long until Mason was there to pick me up. The small get-togethers he wouldn't get wind of, but the big ones, he always came and tried to save me. It had been about a month since I'd seen him. He just didn't get it. I didn't want to be saved.
At least, not at first.
I hated him. I hated him with every fiber of my being for what he did to Mom. I couldn't stand to look at him let alone live with the bastard. So I started going out all the time just to get away from him, only seeing Mom during the day when I skipped school and Mason was at work.
But she never remembered me the right way, so it was pointless to keep seeing her. I tortured myself by staying there, and I wouldn't feel guilty for leaving. I spent so much time gone that it felt like I didn't live there anyway, so I stopped going home.
Mason texted me so much that I eventually tossed my cell out the window of my friend's car one night. They laughed and laughed, whooping and telling me how free I was. We smoked enough dope to chill for the next day and a half. I never went back to school after that. I never went back home either. Why would I? No one understood me; no one really cared about me. They all just wanted me to "make something of myself".
How can you do that when you don't even know the parts that make you up? The parts that make you you? The parts that piece together and make you feel whole? I hadn't felt whole in a really long time. I felt older than I was. I may be a seventeen year old, but inside I felt like I was fifty.
The girl next to me groaned and dug her nails into my side a little. "What time is it?" her raspy voice breathed against my shoulder.
I leaned over the side of the bed and lifted my phone from my pants pocket. My new cell was dead. "Don't know. Does it matter?"
"I have to work tomorrow." She yawned and stretched.
I started to get up, but she grabbed my arm. I winced at the burn on the inside of my elbow. I looked down at it, seeing the bruising from the needles under her fingertips.
"I'm outta here." I shook off her hand.
"Wait. Why so eager to get away?" She rolled over on her stomach, her naked behind peeking out from the sheet, her feet swinging back and forth in the air. "You weren't so eager to leave earlier."
I scoffed. "Passing out and wanting to stay are not the same thing."
"Sometimes they are. Sometimes it just doesn't matter." She watched as I zipped my jeans, commando. "I'll cook you breakfast," she bribed.
I paused. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd eaten. I was so thin that I had to belt my pants to keep them up. I always crashed wherever I was or with a friend, ate whatever came my way, but sometimes it didn't come very often. For all intents and purposes, I was homeless, but had yet to sleep outside.
At her mention of food, my stomach decided to throw a fit. "What do you want for it?"
"Got any blow?"
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the little baggie. "Some."
"Split it with me," she said, biting her lip and sitting to let the sheet fall away. I stared at her chest since she was offering the view. She slithered up to me, unzipping my pants as she pressed her lips to my ear and said, "Come back to bed for a while. We'll hit the blow, and after, I'll make you some eggs."
"Why do you want me to stay?" I asked, not really caring, but wondering why she was offering me more sex and breakfast.
"Because," she pushed my pants down my hips, "my parents will be gone 'til tomorrow morning, and there's nothing better than sex after a hit."
I watched as she took the baggie from me with her fake nails. She leaned forward and kissed my cheek before dipping her pinkie nail in and sniffing the little she took up her nose. She put her finger back in the bag and I took it, rubbing what was left of the powder on my gums.
Normally, I would have bolted, but I didn't have anywhere else to go. The promise of food was almost as satisfying as the sex I was about to have.
She set up the lines and after we did them, one after the other, she pushed me down on the bed and straddled me. I rolled with the drugged ecstasy that crawled slowly through my veins as she groaned and moaned on top of me.
And that was how Mason found me.
The door opened and my head fuzzed over as I turned to look at him. His eyes locked on mine before he turned away, but not before I saw the disgust on his face. I gripped the girl's hips to make her stop, since someone coming into the room wasn't a clear enough cue for her. I pushed her onto the bed and sat up, scooting to the edge.
I stared at his back in the doorframe. "Leave. I don't need you here."
"You do, Milo," he said before turning. He looked and saw all there was left of me. I suddenly felt like I was wide open for him to see it all, for him to see all the rot and gore inside me. He shook his head, his eyes searching my face. "God, help me. You do need me."
I scowled. "No, I—"
"Milo…when's the last time you ate something?" He rubbed his hair. I noticed how good he looked. He looked like he'd gained some weight, the good kind. His arms and torso were bigger, new tattoos peeking out from his shirtsleeves. I realized it had been weeks since I'd seen him.
I stood and yanked on my jeans, spitting my words, hating how good he looked, knowing he was happy with that girl I'd seen before. "None of your fu—"
"Milo!" he scolded, just as a hand crawled around his arm. The girl—his girl—looked around him, the sympathy pouring off her in droves as she looked at me. He touched her arm, his fingers caressing, smoothing. He looked back at me. "Don't use that filthy mouth with Emma here."
She gulped as she looked at me. Her eyes lingered on my stomach before she looked up at my face. She smiled, just barely. "I've got some hot coffee in the car if you like mocha," she offered.
He looked at her again as she came to his side. They barely fit in the doorframe together. He circled her waist with his arm, looking strung out and guilty. It angered me that he felt like he deserved her or anything else that would make him happy. "Trying to lure me out with hot coffee," I mused angrily. "Wow, Mason. Getting the girl to do your dirty work for you."
"Milo," he snapped.
"It's my coffee," she smoothed over, "but you're welcome to it. I haven't drank any yet."
She rubbed his chest and he sighed. He looked at me again, renewed determination in his eyes. "Let us take you to get some food at least. Anything you want."
"No." I searched for my shirt and tugged it on roughly. I realized it was inside-out too late, but left it. I didn't care.
"Come on, Milo. You can still hate me, but do it while you're eating something." I gave him a droll look. "Milo…you look like hell, bro."
"Aw, thanks," I sneered.
"I'm serious," he said quietly. "Please, Milo."
He begged me. He had never begged before, just ordered me around, dragging me back to the house to my room, and then I'd sneak out before he woke up. He'd never tried to feed me before.
"Come with us, Milo," his girl asked. "There's an omelet place five minutes from here that's pretty amazing."
I gritted my teeth. I didn't want his charity. As if she read my mind his girl said, "I'm buying."
She smiled and tilted her head. I sighed, sticking my dirty-socked feet inside my boots without tying them. "Whatever. I eat, then I'm out." I looked over at them and glared. "Don't try to stop me from leaving."
"We won't," she insisted. She rubbed Mason's arm and looked up at him sadly. She looked as if she were about to cry. I had no idea why. It couldn't be for me. I didn't even know this chick.
I led the way from the room. The girl I'd left on the bed yelled something at us. I could tell she was mad, not understanding what was going on, but I kept walking. I was pissed, really, because she had gotten my last hit and I hadn't go
tten off before Mason interrupted us.
Mason's car wasn't parked on the street. I looked for it, but Blondie passed me and went to a big truck in the driveway. He got a new truck? How the heck did he have money for that?
I didn't say a word as I climbed into the backseat. She handed me the coffee, and I snatched it from her hands, tossing the lid off, and gulping it down. It burned my tongue and lips, but my fogged brain was past the point of caring or stopping. As I finished it, I watched as she scooted all the way over to press against his side. They whispered things back and forth that I couldn't hear. The drive was short. Blondie had been right about that. We piled into a booth in the back, them on one side and me on the other, and I didn't even pick up the menu.
It pissed me off just smelling the food. My stomach growled so loud and hard that it hurt. I was cold and rubbed my neck. When the waitress came, I ordered a root beer and a western omelet with cheese and hashbrowns. Mason ordered the same and the girl got waffles.
Before an awkward silence could settle in, she started talking.
"I'm Emma, by the way." She smiled. I stared at their intertwined hands on the tabletop. Mason had never had a girlfriend before, really. He wasn't the touchy-feely type either. I was oddly fascinated at the way his thumb ran over her knuckles, over and over.
"Hi, Emma," I spouted sarcastically and let my gaze settle on her face.
She was one of those girls who was gorgeous by design and didn't even have to try. Her eyes, her nose, her cheeks. They all seemed to fit so perfectly. Her lips—they were Mason's favorite thing, other than her legs, which I knew were his absolute favorite. He'd always been a legs man. And she had some nice twigs on her, from what I'd seen. I settled my eyes lower on the barely-there sliver of cleavage that peeked from her top.
It was the first time I'd seen a girl blush in what felt like years. The girls I kept company with didn't blush. They were beyond that point, beyond the level that allowed them to feel embarrassed about sexual things. They'd done it all.
