SHATTERPROOF: Remastered Edition (The Dissonant Universe: Countdown -3) by Xen

Author:Xen [Xen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-06-01T00:00:00+00:00

26

GREY THOUGHT HE WAS GOING to pass out.

He also thought he might be able to smell colors and taste sounds. He wasn’t even sure which way was up, right now. He sagged against Saint, his entire body throbbing in the aftermath, wet trickles warning him he was bleeding down his back, his senses scrambled. They’d been scrambled since he picked up that brush, and only now after he’d spent himself was everything starting to make sense again. If he’d been high as fuck before, this was what coming down must feel like, and he hurt deep in his bones as he gathered Saint close and tried to catch his heaving breaths.

He felt like something had shifted at his core, moving aside to make room for Saint, and he would never be the same again.

“Grey.” Saint gripped at his arms, and Grey realized he was still inside him, almost too numb and drained to feel it, and swore out an apology.

“Fuck. Sorry. Sorry.”

He pulled back, gently lowering Saint’s legs to the ground, contrition on his lips for Saint’s pained hiss—only to burst into panicked curses again as he saw the slick of glistening fluid on pale inner thighs.

“Fuck, we didn’t use a—”

“It’s fine.” A shallow imitation of a smile flickered across Saint’s lips. He bent, wincing, and retrieved his jeans and torn boxers. “STDs don’t really cross species. Nothing you might have can infect me. I can’t pass anything on to you. Consider yourself lucky. Magically transmitted diseases tend to involve transmogrification. Usually into something purple. Involving hooves.”

Grey tried a laugh, but it scratched his throat. These mundane words, after he’d broken every piece of himself with the force of his need for Saint…it didn’t feel right. He shook his head, bending to reach for his own shirt. “I…”

The words he’d wanted fell away. There was nothing in their space, blank and clouded, and he couldn’t even remember what he’d meant to say. He closed his eyes, but that didn’t stop the vertigo from taking a spin round his skull.

“I can’t… My head feels—whoa.” He reeled, and shot a hand out to brace against the wall.

“Yes. That happens.” A soft touch feathered against his arm. He opened his eyes to find Saint dressed and watching him with concern, something shielded in those liquid dusk-on-night eyes. “Inside. I’ll patch you up and make you something to drink. It will help…temporarily.”

“Temporarily?”

“Tea cannot restore the lost years of your life,” Saint murmured and, with a lingering look, turned and slipped inside the house.

Grey followed him. The edges of the world had a certain glassiness to them, but that didn’t stop him from seeing the dark, rotting emptiness of the house’s interior. Cobwebs festooned the house, covering peeling walls and cracking rafters and the mildewed, tattered remnants of furniture, each room dusty as a mummy’s rags. The fusty smell nearly choked him; the floorboards creaked under every step. He pulled his shirt up over his mouth, fighting to hold his tongue.

How could Saint live here?

The

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