“Not really.” Blink.
“What does blood taste like? You don't have to answer if it's too personal a question.” I'm not going to ask how mine tastes.
“I did not think you would want to know.”
“Sure. Why not?” I shrug.
“I cannot really describe it, but it is like you would die if you didn't have more. Like you wish it would last forever so you could have one more taste.”
“I had cheesecake like that once. Earth-shattering cheesecake,” I say.
“You are not put off by this topic of conversation?”
“Not really. You are who you are, you know? Who am I to judge?” I lick my fingers to get the last of the butter. I'm sure he's grossed out, but I am starving.
“That is very understanding of you.”
“Thanks.”
I wash my plate and wonder what we're going to do with ourselves. The house is so quiet.
“What is it?” He catches me looking at him.
“Just thinking,” I say.
“I am not familiar with this look on your face.”
“It's my plotting face.”
“What are you plotting?” he asks.
“Wait here for a second.” I run upstairs. This is going to be fun.
~^*^~
“You look like a serial killer in a mug shot,” I say.
“How is this?”
“Now you look like you're trying to lure children into your van with promises of lollipops and puppies.” He holds the mirror up and tries again. His lips pull up in a weird way. I pushed his hair out of his face, and my fingers have a field day. I could do that all day long, but we have important matters at hand.
“And now you look like you're in pain. It should be natural. It's easier if you just let it happen.”
I'm trying to teach Peter how to smile. It is not going well. Smiling doesn't sit well on his face. It makes him look crazy. For some reason, he can't make the expression reach his eyes.
“You need to think about something happy. Close your eyes.” He obeys. “Okay, now think of the happiest thing you can. Are you doing that?” He opens his eyes.
“You're supposed to keep your eyes closed,” I say. I'm having a hard time talking because he's really close. There's a freckle on his nose that I don't remember noticing.
“Then I can't look at you,” he says.
“Why do you need to look at me?” God, he smells good. His clothes are much cleaner than when we first met, and he's wearing shoes. He's almost a proper human now.
“Because you're what makes me want to smile.”
“Oh.” Way to make my face go red. I bite my lip and look down to hide my smile. Nobody's ever talked to me like this. Somehow I feel like, without saying it out loud, he is my boyfriend. Somehow.
“Look at me,” he says.
I turn my eyes upward and there it is. It's small, barely a lift in the corners of his mouth, but it's there, and it's heart-stopping. Damn, he's gorgeous. So freaking gorgeous.
I'm on those lips like white on rice.
For a second it's like kissing a tree or something, but then he gives and my brain's exploding and my mouth and nose are filled with wintergreen and heat and I want to be consumed by it and nothing else matters at this moment in time.
Peter, Peter, Peter.
“Ava,” he whispers my name, and it's suddenly the sexiest word in the English language. I open my eyes and I'm staring into his. He's smiling. Breathtaking.
“You're smiling.” I helpfully point out.
“I know.”
“It makes me really want to kiss you again.”
“I know.”
So we kiss again and again. It's like being in the middle of a blizzard with fireworks thrown in. His lips have that slightly waxy texture, but they're soft and take on the heat of my lips.
He pulls away. I open my eyes and wish his breathing were ragged, his body on fire. I know mine is.
I've kissed boys before, during Spin-the-Bottle sessions and once at a dance I'd been attack-kissed, but that is all washed away by Peter. Maybe he spent all those years of noctalis life practicing kissing. Wouldn't surprise me. I reach for him again.
“We should stop. Your parents are just up the road.”
“Uh huh.” I feel like my brain has temporarily gone on autopilot.
“I should go. For now. But I will be back.”
“Okay.” He's gone a second later and I'm left sitting on the couch, feeling my lips sizzle.
Peter
She kissed me. It was unexpected. Even though I felt a bit of her desire, it was hard to tell it apart from what I felt. We were both wrapped up in some sort of haze that consumed us. I should have pushed her back, but I didn't want to. I needed it as much as she did. Some form of human contact. Once I'd had a little, I needed more. Before her, the kill was what I needed. The hunt. The feel of the drain of life out from under me. It was not unlike this rush. Instead of death, this tasted of life. Of a different desire. In some ways, this was stronger. It was also desire that could never be satisfied. I could never have enough of her. Not if we spent every single second together.
I had to leave and it was terrible. The more time I spent with her, the more I never wanted to leave, and the harder it was for me to even want to. The feeling of being full, so full I could burst, swooped over me, and I knew that this was it. My end. A car sounded up the road. I used the sound to pull me out from under the haze. I also heard another sound. Viktor was waiting in the woods.
Ava
“How did it go?” I say. My brain is still a little fried from the kiss. My parents arrive through the front door about sixty seconds after Peter left.
“Everything looks good. No change,” Mom says.
I wouldn't say that is good, but I smile anyway. I'm still dazed. Everything has kind of a rosy glow around it. God, I'm kind of high.
“I think I'm going to lie down for a little while. They took a little too much blood out of me.”
Please don't remind me about blood. I give her a hug and a kiss, and she drifts down the hall. Dad's still bringing in groceries.
“How was it?” I say when he comes back in.
“The same. She's not getting worse, which is good. She's stable for now. They could have done more tests, but I wasn't going to push her. There's no point, really.” He says the last part bitterly. I can tell he's been stewing on it the entire way home. He slams the milk into the fridge.
“It's okay to be mad,” I say quietly.
“I'm not mad,” he says, slamming the fridge.
Instead of arguing with him, I walk over and put my arms around his waist, like I did when I was little. I haven't hugged him like this in a very long time. He's shaking and I look up to find his crumpled face. He's crying. Silently, but there's no mistaking it.
He starts to collapse and we both slam to the kitchen floor. He's barely making any sound, which is much worse than the sobbing sound I should be hearing. There's nothing I can do as he holds me so tight it hurts.
“It's okay, Dad.” I say it quietly, so she won't hear. “It's going to be okay.” I'm more than a little freaked out that I'm on our kitchen floor trying to comfort a grown man, let alone my father. When there's really nothing I can say or do to make it better. I'm in just as much pain. He's been holding it in too long, but this can't be the first time he's let go.
“I can't lose her.” The words rip from him like tearing fabric.
“I know.”
I pat his back. It seems like the right thing to do. Over and over he says it. I can't lose her. Yeah, well, me neither. My own tears come, try as I might to stop them. I have to keep wiping them away. It takes a few minutes, but he gets hold of himself. Once he's done shaking, he extricates himself from me and stands up as if nothing happened.
“Don't tell your mother,” he says before he walks out the door.
I swallow the rest of my tears and go to wash my face with some cool water. My life is bipolar. One minute I'm flying on a
cloud, kissing Peter, and the next, my father is sobbing on my shoulder. I like the ups, but I could do without the downs. I guess you have to have both to balance things out and all. Or maybe I get the highs because of the lows. Or maybe... I'm thinking too much about this.
My phone buzzes. Yay, a distraction.
Where the hell r u? Did u die? Of course Tex is melodramatic. I almost don't want to answer her, just for the hell of it. I can't really deal with her right now. I've got bigger problems.
At home. Dealing with a lot. C u tomorrow.
Exhaustion crashes in on me, and even though it's only 7:30, I'm ready for bed. I look in on my mother, but she's asleep and I don't want to wake her. Dad is outside, still supposedly getting the groceries. I should check on him, but I don't want to. Color me selfish.
I barely have time to get my clothes off before I'm completely out. The last thing I remember is someone pulling a blanket over me, but I'm too tired to see who it is.
Twenty-Nine
“Did you meet the brother? Did you?” Tex bounces up and down like a child waiting for a pony ride.
“Yeah. He's cool.” I don't want her getting any ideas. She's taken this noctalis thing really well. Far too well.
“And? I need details. Height, eye color, do-ability.” She does that eyebrow thing again.
“Tex,” I say, putting my hands on her shoulders so she'll pay attention. “He's a creature that isn't human, that drinks blood and would probably kill you. This isn't time to be looking for a boy toy.”
“Why not? I'm done with human boys.” She shrugs off my hands.
“Are you even listening to yourself?”
She just rolls her eyes. What have I done? The bell rings and she skips away from me.
“We'll talk later. I want to meet that brother.”
She spins so her skirt flares out. A couple of heads turn, but she doesn't see any of them. I'm going to have to warn Peter and Viktor about her. I never underestimate her when it comes to boys. She tends to go a little nuts. When Blake broke up with her I had to physically tackle her and Jamie had to hold her so she wouldn't go through with her plan to key his car, slash his tires and go all Carrie Underwood on him like in that song.
I resist the urge to smash my head against my locker and stumble to my class. Maybe drift is the better word. I am so not present at school anymore. It makes me feel guilty that I'm not getting the good grades my parents want me to, especially my mother. She's always the one who puts my report cards on the fridge and takes me out for a treat if I make the honor roll. There's not much chance of that happening now, unless a miracle occurs, which is not likely.
I do try to focus, but it's kind of a losing battle. When my mother was first diagnosed, and I'd been in the bargaining stage, I thought that if I got good grades, she'd magically get better. She got worse and I got straight As. Nothing made a bit of difference, so I stopped trying.
I could probably get Peter to help me. He's definitely more book smart than I am, but that's only because he's had more time to read them than I have, or so I like to tell myself. Thinking about that makes me think about how much older he is than I am, which, in turn, creeps me out.
I can't think about anything without associating it with something unpleasant. That can't be a good sign.
I don't see Jamie until the end of the day. I know I've been wrapped up in my own life, but I know he's been avoiding me. I stopped leaving messages because his voicemail is full, and my texts have gone unanswered. I feel awful for not trying harder and when I see him slouching to his car at the end of the day, I've had it. I run to catch up with him. Normally, he walks so fast with those long legs I can't keep up. But the bounce went out of his step the second Cassie came back into his life.
He doesn't even jump when I sneak up behind him. “Look, James, I know you're all sad and your family is falling apart, but I'd like to be there for you, if you'd let me.”
“Leave me alone, Ava.” He starts walking faster and doesn't turn around.
“Nope, doesn't work that way. You don't get to decide when I'm in your business. You're always in mine. Now I'm returning the favor. You need to talk to someone, so it might as well be me.”
He speaks through clenched teeth. “I don't want to talk about it.”
“Too bad.”
“Why do you have to always be like this?” He finally turns. He looks like absolute hell, like he's been on drugs for a while, tried to get off them and then got run over by a truck.
“You drive me to it.”
“Fine! My sister is pregnant. She's keeping it. She doesn't know who the father is, since she slept with a bunch of guys. My dad's been beating the shit out of me because he can't hit her and he's been drunk for two weeks straight. Is that what you wanted to hear?” I try not to look shocked. I'd known about the first part, but not the second.
“No, it isn't, but I'm glad you told me. Did it feel good to get it out?”
“Not really.”
My Jamie, always a ray of sunshine, has been crushed beneath a dark cloud. The only thing radiating from him is darkness. When I told him about my mother being sick, he brought me flowers and cards and candy and held my hand and texted me and made me lunch and was the sweetest. I want to tell him so much that I understood, but I can't.
“Is she sure that's what she wants to do?” I'm not into destroying life, but it might be better if she... took care of it.
“Yeah. She said she feels like it was supposed to happen or something. Destiny.” He spits out the last word.
“Jamie, you need to say something.”
“I can't.”
“Why not?”
“Just drop it, Ava.” He's never talked to me like this. It makes my eyes sting. I change the subject.
“Is she looking for work?”
“I doubt she'll be able to find anything. No one around here is going to hire her.”
When you live in a small town, all your transgressions, however minor, are immortal. Everyone remembers everything that everyone else has ever done, especially if it's something bad like getting arrested, doing drugs or crashing your car into the side of the supermarket, which she'd already done. Twenty years from now, people will still be talking about it.
“Has she tried Miller's? They have health insurance there.”
Briefly, during one of her home stints, Cassie worked at a restaurant. Granted, she did get in a fistfight with a busboy, getting herself fired, but experience is experience. The busboy tried to grab her ass, according to Cassie. For all I know it's true.
“I'll mention it.”
“How's your mom doing?”
Despite having a mixed-up daughter and an alcoholic husband, Sally Barton isn't a weak woman. She spends her life trying to make everyone think that her family is completely together. She does a pretty good job. Only Tex and I know what really goes on in that house. It kills me, and not just for Jamie's sake. It's one of the reasons I never go over to his house and why he doesn’t ask me to. It isn't just his dad's drinking, which apparently has gotten worse.
“She's glad to have Cassie back. She took her to the doctor yesterday. The baby's okay.”
“Good.”
“Still not sure how I feel about being Uncle Jamie.” There it is. A remnant of the boy I know.
“It's going to work out.” I squeeze his arm and he winces. I want to ask, but I don't. Maybe I'm a terrible friend, but I don't think this is what he needs right now. He just needs someone to talk to.
“I wish I could believe you.” I give him a gentle hug. Just for a second. “Thanks, Ave.”
“You're welcome. Anytime.”
I make it to my car before the tears start to fall. I've cried more in the past two months than in my entire life. I let them fall, wiping them away so I can see to drive. I hope Peter isn't around because I don't want to have another episode like I had before.
~^*^~
“No, absolutely not.”
“Come on, Ava, I want to m
eet him!” Tex is actually on her knees, hands clasped in front of her, begging me to introduce her to Viktor. People going to their cars are staring at her, but she's oblivious, completely unaware that she looks insane. She’ll do anything in pursuit of hot guys, even if they aren't human.
“No! It's not going to happen. Just let it go.”
“How come you get to be so damn special?”
Both of our voices are raised, and we glare at each other for a second before I cave. I need her right now. I need her more than I need to fight with her about this. Viktor would probably never go for it anyway.
“I don't want to fight,” she says.
“I don't want to fight with you either, but I feel like that's all we do,” I say, sighing.
“Let's make a pact not to fight.” She holds out her hand. I shake it.
“Deal. We won't talk about things that will make the other one mad.”
“So we can talk about frosting. We agree on that.” I hold up one finger.
“Yes. And Patrick Dempsey's hotness.” She holds one up.
“We do agree on that as well,” she says, laughing.
“Ickiness of boob sweat.” Three fingers.
“Ridiculousness of Donald Trump's hair.” Four.
We go on like that until we're both laughing, holding onto my car for support. Someone walks by and mutters something about lesbians. I don't bother to shoot whoever it is a dirty look.
“There is something we need to talk about,” I say when we can breathe again.
“Cassie.” We both say it at the same time.
“I feel like we should do something,” I say.
“Like what?” She nibbles on her nails.
I put my elbows on the hood of my car. “I don't know. My mom always bakes in crisis situations. When my grandmother had a stroke she made a triple-layer cheesecake and a bunch of bread,” I say.
“Somehow I don't think that's going to help.”
“I also don't think they make a Hallmark card for this either.”
“'I'm sorry your screwed up sister is knocked up' doesn't have a good ring to it,” she says.
“Not really.”
“We'll have to think of something.”
“Agreed.” We shake again, and Tex yanks me in and gives me a nasty wet kiss on my cheek.
The Noctalis Chronicles Complete Set Page 23
