Page 98 of The Dead Don’t Scream

HOME IS WHERE THE MONSTERS ARE

SLOANE

Six Weeks Later

Living with three men means privacy is a theoretical concept. Living with Rhys, Dante, and Callum means I haven’t used the bathroom alone since Halloween.

“Stop following me,” I tell Callum.

“I’m going to the kitchen.”

“You were already in the kitchen.”

“I forgot something.”

“What?”

He looks at my ass.

“That.”

I stop on the farmhouse stairs. Callum walks directly into me. His hands close around my waist before I can fall, lifting me effortlessly until my boots leave the floor.

“Put me down.”

“No.”

“You’ve become very comfortable ignoring direct instructions.”

“You weren’t using your serious voice.”

“I have a serious voice?”

“No.”

Dante’s laughter erupts from the living room.

“Finally, something we agree on.”

Callum carries me into the kitchen and deposits me on the island. Six weeks have passed since our anniversary hunt. Six weeks since the Reaper, Devil, and Scarecrow chased me through the corn beneath a crimson moon. Six weeks since I told Callum he had earned another year.

The masks have remained inside their wooden box since then. We don’t need them every time. Some mornings, foreplay is Rhys setting a mug of coffee beside my laptop without interrupting me.

Sometimes it’s Dante sending filthy messages while sitting directly across from me at dinner. Sometimes it’s Callum splitting wood outside while I watch his flannel shirt stretch across his shoulders and wonder how quickly I can get him behind the barn.

This is the part no one sees. Our real life. Four toothbrushes beside one sink. Dante stealing the blankets. Rhys leaving notes reminding us to buy milk.

Callum building shelves every time I bring home more books. Me threatening all three because they refuse to admit which one keeps finishing my expensive shampoo.

It’s Dante. Obviously.

Tonight, the farmhouse smells like cinnamon, pine, and the stew Callum left simmering on the stove. Snow taps softly against the windows—the first real storm of the season. A half-decorated Christmas tree leans in the living room. Three boxes of ornaments remain unopened. Callum keeps one hand on my thigh.

“Where are the others?”

“Rhys is in the office.”

“And Dante?”