I sometimes wondered if he’d ever find what he was hunting for. Ever satisfy that hunger. Or if it would eventually consume him too. Not on my watch though. All the time Saint needed victims, I was happy to provide them. I had a talent for it. For sniffing out someone twisted and dirty enough to warrant the attention of the Night Keepers. That was how I’d first figured out what Monroe was, though of course I hadn’t ever used it like that against him.
Sad as it was, our Coach was the third and final person in the world who I truly counted as a friend. Who truly knew me. He saw my monster and helped me feed it. And I saw his too. So did the others, even if they wouldn’t acknowledge it. That was why they never pushed back against his rules, let him set the laws in his classes and on the pitch. I wasn’t even sure Saint realised that he allowed Coach to tell him what to do so much. But he did. He fell into line at the blast of a whistle like the rest of us.
And why? It wasn’t like there was any difference between his position and those of the other teachers; Saint could have put him under his thumb a long time ago if he’d had a mind to. One way or another. I doubted he could have intimidated Monroe into submission, but he used his money and influence like a weapon just as often. His mom ran the school board, he could have taken his job from him. But he didn’t, he played ball with him. Because whether Saint had noticed or not, there was a fourth monster in this school and we gravitated towards him just as we did to each other. It was only his position as staff that kept him from connecting with us fully.
Thunder boomed overhead again and I swear the walls of the fucking church shuddered at the might of the storm.
There was no shelter out on that beach. Nothing at all aside from that rock.
If Tatum Rivers was still out there, she was soaked through and risking hypothermia. And if she wasn’t, then I could only imagine what Saint would do to her in punishment.
She’d sworn an oath, promised herself to us, given herself freely. Even if her eyes had burned with pure loathing the whole time. And I didn’t hate the idea of owning that girl. Of making every little decision for her, having her at my beck and call. There was a rush to be had there.
The deal made it clear that sex was off the cards and I was glad about that. I didn’t want a girl sucking my cock because she had to. I wanted her on her knees and begging for it because she just needed to taste me so fucking much that it burned her up. I wanted her to feel like she’d die if she didn’t find out what it felt to have my flesh grinding against hers or my name spilling from her lips in ecstasy.
Saint pushed out of his throne with a devilish smile on his face as he retrieved his vodka from the coffee table.
“Drink it from the bottle,” I urged, catching his eye and smirking at the disgust the mere idea of that brought to his chiselled features. He made a move to pour the vodka into his glass and I spoke quickly before he could, “Or are you too chicken shit to take your liquor like a big boy?”
“Fuck you. Why don’t you drink from a glass? You could at least pretend to be civilised sometimes,” he growled in response.
“Deal.” I snatched the glass from his hand and poured a healthy measure of Jack into the bottom.
Saint visibly shuddered as he raised the bottle of vodka to his lips. Even the fact that the thing had cost him the best part of two hundred dollars couldn’t help him to stomach the reality of what he was doing.
I hooked my cellphone from my pocket and snapped a photo as he tipped his head back. Luck was firmly on my side and lightning flashed through the stained glass window behind him just as I took the shot. His dark skin was still painted with the shit we’d used to scare Tatum, and he bore mine and Blake’s handprints either side of his heart.
“Fuck,” I said as I looked at the photo, impressed with my own skills. “You really do look like one of the Night Keepers in this.”
“Where?” Blake demanded, tripping over his feet as he came to squint at the screen.
“Wow, I’m not even a girl and I’m wet for you in that, Saint,” he joked, panting like a dog.
“Take one of me!” he demanded, flexing his muscles as he stood before the fire and I did just to shut him up. His eyes were half-mast and he had a dopey as shit smile on his face that would have really damaged his reputation with the girls if they saw it. I couldn’t wait to send him a hundred copies of it one after another in the morning while he nursed his hangover.
“Don’t post that shit of me necking vodka like a hillbilly,” Saint warned, pointing at me like he thought I was heading straight to social media to tag ourselves like a bunch of thirteen year old girls having a slumber party.
“I don’t post anything online,” I reminded him, rolling my eyes. Sure, I had an account and people were constantly posting photos of me and tagging me in shit, but I didn’t interact on it. Ever. I basically only had it so that I could use messenger to contact my so-called friends who lived down in Murkwell whenever there was a fight night coming up.
No, I wasn’t posting that shit anywhere, but it was about to become my new screensaver for sure. I quickly saved it, snorting a laugh as I imagined Saint’s face when I casually left my phone where he could see it in class tomorrow. He was gonna lose his fucking mind.
I strolled away as Saint went in hunt of another glass, cursing me for stealing his in a voice that slurred just a little. The two of them were getting lit, but I was finding it hard to chase my buzz.
I dropped my untouched glass of Jack on the dining table and placed the bottle down beside it as I abandoned my drinking habit for the night. I was only ever three kinds of drunk. Bloodthirsty drunk. Party animal drunk. Or self destructive drunk. Right now I was on the path to number three. And number three came with a real ass eater of a hangover and a dollop of self hatred thrown in. I didn’t like the sound of that for my future so I cut myself off.
The wind changed so that the rain hammered against the stained glass window and I pouted like a little bitch as I watched it sliding down the glass.
Saint had stayed on his feet, tipping his head back to roar at the vaulted ceiling like a motherfucking beast. Blake followed his lead and I moved to join them with a smile that was only half forced.
“I am the dark in the dead of the night!” Saint yelled, cupping a hand around his mouth.
“Hear me roar!” I shouted alongside Blake. It was some bullshit we’d come up with as kids which liked to resurface whenever Saint flipped the switch past hammered to wasted.
Blake started laughing, draining his drink before dropping down into Saint’s throne with his eyes hooded.
I moved closer as Saint continued to jump about to the classical insanity that was assaulting our ears and I couldn’t help but love him even more than usual as I watched him cutting loose.
Blake watched too, the smile slowly slipping from his face until all I could see was his pain.
“Fuck my life,” he murmured like he didn’t expect anyone to be listening and my gut twisted sharply at his words.
“C’mon, man,” I said to him, offering a hand as he looked up at me with a hollow expression. “Time to sleep it off.”
Blake let me heave him to his feet, dropping his glass into his chair as he threw an arm around my shoulders and I half dragged him to his room at the back of the building. We passed down a short hallway where there were two doors waiting for us.