Pest Control, page 10
Though absolutely and utterly terrified and confused, somehow, he was sane enough to realize that the frozen, dead Everett had only been his fevered brain playing a sick trick on him. At the same time, he lacked enough sanity to discern if he was still stuck in a loop of nightmares or maybe some sort of sleep paralysis. He’d had a few episodes when he was younger, waking up trapped somewhere in the space between being asleep and awake, unable to move as demon-like creatures danced around his bed. But this—this was different. It had never felt so real before.
Liquid continued to drip onto his forehead, he realized belatedly. Drop after drop fell onto his face from a source unknown. Warm liquid. Red liquid. Like the drool of a beast that had just caught its prey, blood staining its saliva. It could’ve been Rhys’s blood, but there was no way to tell if he was injured or not as he was completely numb from the neck down. He should’ve been worried about missing a limb or something. Though as his vision began to clear, there was something much more pressing on his mind.
Squinting hard, he almost recognized the dark silhouette above him. It wasn’t a human; that he was sure of. It was something distinctly animal. Its teeth, long and sharp, could’ve sliced Rhys’s neck open in mere seconds, tearing him to shreds before he could even blink in reaction. They couldn’t belong to anything but a predator, a wolf.
A wolf with black fur, far larger than an ordinary wolf, paws almost disproportionately gigantic, like the prints he had come across so often. They pushed down against his chest with claws that could’ve definitely broken through the shirt and his skin with just a smidge more force. They could’ve scratched at him as if digging for his organs to feast on, as though he were nothing more than prey, a little lost deer. His stomach lurched as if to puke up what was left of his stomach acid, but nothing came out.
It was him, Rhys realized, eyes widening in unadulterated fear. The creature he’d tried to kill, with blood dripping from its intimidating, razor-sharp teeth, had returned for its revenge in one of his most vulnerable, weakest moments.
Adrenaline rushed to all of his numb limbs, filling them with blood in an attempt to fight or take flight from the angry beast. He thrashed under its hold, flailing pathetically, unable to escape. The wolf let out a noise, something that sounded like a mix between a snarling growl and a whine. Rhys screamed hoarsely in response, heart pumping like mad in his chest.
When its giant, blood-soaked snout leaned in close to his face, baring its teeth, Rhys thought it would finally end his misery. But it didn’t bite at him as he expected. Instead, its deadly jaws opened wide to let its long, rough tongue slither out and lick Rhys’s face from chin to forehead, coating him in another layer of putrid saliva.
He was still dreaming. He had to be dreaming—he had to be. In reality, there was no way he’d still be alive at this point, not when he was at the mercy of a bloodthirsty wolf.
A few long, tense moments passed before Rhys dared to peek his eyes open again. The wolf was still there, still whining like a kicked puppy, as if expecting something. Its eyes bored down into Rhys, so dark and imploring and—familiar, somehow.
They were shaped in such an alien but distinctly recognizable way, so sharp but also so delicate. Dark-brown irises burned with an intensity that could rival fire, sending shockwaves of heat through Rhys.
He knew those eyes.
He knew them because he’d fallen in love with them every day for an entire season, every day as autumn turned to winter, as everything around him died in the frost. At least this warmth was still alive, the flame refusing to be snuffed by the cold winter winds.
“E-Everett?” he rasped, reaching a shaky, weak hand up to card through the wolf’s thick fur. “Is…that you?”
The wolf yipped softly and nodded its head way too humanlike. What a trippy nightmare this was. Rhys’s fever must have really fucked him up if he was dreaming about Everett as a fucking sentient wolf, understanding human language. Its pink tongue lolled out of its mouth as if in a happy smile, somehow resembling Everett’s own smile, so endearingly precious and cute Rhys couldn’t help but giggle.
“You make a pretty wolf, Everett,” he croaked out, barely audibly. “Too bad you aren’t real though.”
At that, Wolf-Everett shook his head with a bark and rested it on Rhys’s chest. Rhys had to strain to look down at him, but he didn’t mind, nor did he mind this dream one bit, now that he knew there was no need to be afraid anymore.
Though, he did remember why he was scared at first as he focused on the drying globs of blood staining the wolf’s fur all over, like dyed streaks. “Why’re you all bloody?”
Wolf-Everett whined again, head motioning over toward the right. Rhys followed his gaze and landed on an equally bloody, lifeless body by the door, one with a sizeable rack of antlers on its head—a buck with its neck ripped open, blood still dark red as it ruined Rhys’s flooring.
Rhys chuckled breathlessly. “That’s one hell of a kill, wolfy. Did ya take it down all by yourself?”
Wolf-Everett barked, his fluffy tail wagging furiously behind him, making Rhys grin as best he could with his lack of energy.
“What a good boy,” he praised in a slurred voice, his weak fingers slowing in their petting without him realizing the extent of the exhaustion that crept back up on him. Rhys yawned, long and drawn out, eyes beginning to droop closed. “Y-you enjoy that dinner for me, okay? I…I’m gonna take a nap, now, so go ahead and eat without me.”
And with that, Rhys promptly passed out, despite Wolf-Everett’s panicked barks of protest, dreaming of warmth instead of ice.
★
The next time, Rhys was sure he was awake.
Well, maybe. He might’ve been dead for all he knew. Honestly, he wasn’t very religious, but if this was heaven, then perhaps he might consider believing in God. He lay on his mattress, which had been pulled to the floor to rest next to the fireplace with countless blankets and furs piled on top of him. His hunger pangs seemed to be gone, replaced with a pleasantly full belly. Rhys had no recollection of being moved here nor of eating, but who was he to complain when he was just so damn comfortable? The fireplace roared beside him, with several logs of firewood next to it—which, again, didn’t make much sense since he swore they’d run out just before Everett had left.
Everett had left. Right. There was no way Rhys was still alive or awake because there Everett was, lying right next to him. He snored softly, his warm breath sending goose bumps down Rhys’s body where his head was buried in the junction between Everett’s neck and shoulders. He’d wrapped his long arms and legs around Rhys’s body, clingy as ever. Rhys was 100 percent sure now that he was in yet another dream—one calling back a memory from the past, from the first few days of Everett’s stay—since there was no discernable reason he’d be allowed through the gates of heaven with all of his sins on his back.
Rhys lifted his gaze to stare at Everett’s sleeping, peaceful face, which scrunched up in protest when Rhys dared to poke at his slightly reddened nose. He missed his hallucination of Wolf-Everett, but this was just as good if not better, one he’d gladly have as his last sight before he inevitably passed away. Sure, it wasn’t real—of course it wasn’t; it couldn’t be. It was just another dream. But anything was better than having that dreaded, horribly real memory of Everett walking out into the blizzard repeating over and over again until it turned Rhys mad with anguish. It was nice of his mind to conjure up such a comforting image instead of torturing itself.
“Pretty,” Rhys murmured quietly to himself, voice raspy from sleep.
He gently stroked his thumb along the hard, sharp line of Everett’s striking jaw. Moving slowly to savor the moment, he mapped out every curve of his face, from the small tuft of coiled hair at his widow’s peak, to the barely-there divots of his dimpled cheeks, and to the soft, pillowy lips that parted open ever so slightly. Rhys hesitated to touch the foreign territory for a moment. But then he gave in to his desires, stroking the pads of his fingers across the warm flesh as would Everett’s tongue after he’d finished eating. He giggled under his breath when he spotted a small dribble of drool at one corner, so comical yet so endearing, even in this dream world.
Despite that, though, Everett’s lips were incredibly inviting, begging even, for Rhys to caress them in a different way, with his own. Rhys immediately shoved the thought from his mind, but after some deliberation, he wondered what harm there could be, this one time, to experience what it felt like to kiss Everett. It would be his only chance to do so, after all. And though the idea of stealing a kiss while Everett couldn’t consent wouldn’t be something Rhys would condone in the real world, this was still a dream. Everett was still a dream, and dreams of one’s own weren’t beholden to morals.
Everett’s hot breath ghosted along Rhys’s skin, deceptively real as Rhys slowly leaned in close, sucking in his own nervous breath with their faces only millimeters apart. It felt wrong—yet so right at the same time, so right there was no way he could’ve held himself back from fluttering his eyes shut and closing the rest of the distance between them to plant his chapped, cold lips against Everett’s warm ones.
It wasn’t Rhys’s first kiss—far from it—but it was almost as if it were, filled with warm tingles that had him giggling against Everett’s lips. For a moment, he felt twelve years old again, kissing his crush behind the slide to hide from the recess monitor, a hopeless romantic of a delinquent.
Too much time had passed since Rhys was this close to someone, felt this way toward someone. He was sure he’d never been half as in love with anyone as he was with Everett, loving him with his entire being and soul. He would never feel Everett’s love in return, not now when everything was but a dream, when the real world beyond had crumbled into ruins. Now, though, kissing Dream-Everett was enough and far more than Rhys deserved.
Though the kiss was meant to be chaste, nothing more than a peck, Everett seemed to think otherwise, responding to Rhys even in his sleep. Rhys squeaked when the soft lips melted against his own, starting at a slow, gentle pace, a push and pull he quickly became lost in, forgetting where they were, who he was, everything, his mind only filled with Everett, Everett, Everett.
It was a dream; it wasn’t real. Everett wasn’t actually kissing him of his own volition, but Rhys allowed himself to indulge in his fantasies anyway. The sounds of their lips’ embrace filled the small room along with the crackling of the fireplace. Rhys’s small mewls and Everett’s breathy groans seemed a bit lewd in combination with the wet slip and slide of their tongues. The situation only grew more heady and desperate when large hands pawed at Rhys’s waist—though when he heard his name whispered like a prayer into the night, his eyes flew open.
Everett was awake now, blushing furiously as Rhys pulled back from the kiss to meet two sleepy, dark eyes, blinking dreamily open to greet him.
“Hey there, pretty,” Rhys whispered, a small smile pulling at his cheeks as he watched Everett shoot up quickly from the bed, eyes wide and mouth gaping like a fish. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost, hmm? Come lie back down with me; I’m still so tired—”
“D-did you just kiss me?” Everett blurted out, as still as a statue before his eyes suddenly widened so much they threatened to pop out from their sockets, all sleepiness lost and replaced with utter glee. “Wait, holy shit, you’re awake! Rhys—oh my fucking hell, thank god it worked! I saved you! Hah, fuck you, death. You can’t take my Rhys away from me!”
The exclamation took Rhys by surprise, and he furrowed his brows in confusion. Why was Dream-Everett reacting like this? It was a dream, and shouldn’t this figure of Rhys’s imagination have been following what he desired? What was he talking about, with all of this “saving him” crap? Saving him from what?
Rhys blinked rapidly, heart beginning to seize in panic now that the happy haze of the kiss had lifted, leaving him once again to deal with the fear of his impending death. He couldn’t waste his time here, not when any second, his body would finally perish in the real world, snuffing out this once beautiful dream into darkness forever.
“What the fuck are you talking about— Actually, you know what? Let’s just go back to kissing, o-okay? Let me enjoy this dream while I still can, please? I-I don’t have that much time—”
Before Rhys could ramble any further, with tears gathering in his eyes, Everett carefully lifted a hand to cradle his head ever so gently.
“Damn it. Fuck. You should be better by now. You’re still feverish and delusional, aren’t you?” Everett sighed. “Rhys, you’re not dreaming, okay? You’ve been asleep for eight days. You woke up a few times but…not really. It wasn’t you—you weren’t all there like now. You’re alive, and I-I saved you. I worked so hard, but I thought I’d lost you—” Everett choked up, his big eyes shiny with real, genuine tears.
It wasn’t a dream.
“I…Everett…”
Without thinking, Rhys burrowed himself into Everett’s chest, sobbing with all the newfound energy his body had to give. He was embraced in return, so carefully, as if he had fragile bones that would snap easily. Hands stroked his back up and down, the only sensation his mind could focus on.
Rhys didn’t know how it was even possible that Everett was here—he’d seen Everett walk out into that nasty blizzard with his very own eyes. There was no way he should’ve been able to survive the wretched winds and frigid temperatures that should’ve stricken him with frostbite and frozen him from the inside out, just like in Rhys’s first dream. It was impossible. Yet here Everett was, a survivor of the winter’s rage, a battle he hadn’t even needed to engage in.
“I-I thought you died,” Rhys wailed, “You left me, Everett, abandoned me—”
“N-no,” Everett urged, his arms tightening around Rhys. “No, that’s not it, Rhys, you don’t understand. I didn’t abandon you. I would never.”
Rhys peeled himself back enough to look up at Everett through damp eyelashes, eyes pink and puffy from crying so hard. “Then why, Everett, why? Why did you l-leave me? Why?”
Everett couldn’t seem to meet his tear-filled gaze, eyes looking anywhere but down at Rhys, as if ashamed. “I had to,” he said through gritted teeth. “I needed to do something to save you, anything. I couldn’t just sit around and let you die—”
“Yes, yes you could have!” Rhys screamed, making Everett flinch. “I’d have rather died here with you than alone! What if you never came back, Everett? What if the last I ever saw you was when you walked out that door? What if I died before you could make it back from whatever you thought was so much more important, huh?”
Clenching his eyes closed, the veins in Everett’s forehead stood out. “Please stop—”
Rhys knew he should’ve focused on the elation of finding each other alive, yet there was no holding back his grief, his sadness, his anger.
“How could you?” he said, voice trembling. “How could you walk out that door and leave me behind? Right after I poured my heart out to you, told you I loved you. Did you even mean it when you said you loved me back? Look at me, Everett—”
A violent snarl ripped deep from within Everett’s chest, so loud the vibrations jarred Rhys’s frail body like an earthquake. A sound so terrifying, so bone-chilling, Rhys’s entire body froze all at once, his mouth snapping shut, eyes growing wide in disbelief that his Everett had somehow made that noise.
“You can tell me so many things, and I won’t fucking care,” Everett sneered, his voice edged with a rumble that had Rhys’s blood running cold. “But don’t you fucking dare imply that I don’t love you! I would die for you with a smile on my face. I would protect you with my last dying breath—with pleasure because you are mine! You are my pack. You are mine, and I have to protect you!”
Tears streaked down Everett’s red face, now so sad yet so angry. Rhys was conflicted, wanting to wipe the tears away and cower back in fear. He couldn’t run away, not with his weak body, not when Everett had transformed into something entirely inhuman right before his very eyes.
“How dare you, Rhys? How dare you accuse me of abandoning you, when all I was doing was risking my fucking life for you, to save you, to bring you back food so you wouldn’t starve to death? And you know what? You’re right; I did almost die out there, but it was worth it, worth you, and I’d do it again for you a thousand times more, whether you approve of it or not, because I love you, Rhys. I fucking love you, so don’t you dare tell me otherwise.”
Rhys didn’t know what to say. Honestly, even if he did, he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to speak. His mouth was as dry as if he’d eaten a handful of gritty sand. His heart thumped through his chest like a rabbit whose leg had been caught in a snare.
Everett was still speaking, but Rhys was no longer listening, the growls fading into a low background hum. Unable to hear, he could only stare up at Everett’s furious face, his narrowed eyes and tightened, clenched jawline, and his rapidly moving mouth—and his teeth. His sharp, protruding canines, to be exact.
How had he never noticed that before? Over the last couple of months, he’d spent hours upon hours gazing upon Everett’s face—while he slept, laughed, talked, ate—but he’d always had normal human teeth, not these animal like razor blades. His mind had to be playing another trick on him, but he wasn’t sure what to think anymore. He squeezed his eyes shut, but they were still fucking there when he opened them, glinting mockingly. The teeth didn’t match Everett at all, looking completely out of place yet, at the same time, perfectly accompanying the terrifying snarls and growls as if some wolf had taken over Everett’s body—
