Neither (3 page)

“I can't believe I slept that long,” I say, yawning. My body feels heavy, but not as painful as it did last night. I do get a little twinge when I turn my head from the wound on my neck.

“You were tired,” Peter says.

“You're hiding something from me, which isn't unusual. You might as well tell me. You know I don't like secrets.” I feel the lie slip away. Or at least this one.

“I gave you sleeping medication instead of aspirin,” he said without hesitation. Wow, that was easy. Most of the time, it's like pulling teeth to get him to admit he's hiding something. That worries me because it means he's hiding something even bigger. God help us.

“You sneaky boy,” I say. I'm not mad about him drugging me. I probably should be, but it is such a small thing, and I do feel somewhat better. Less like I've been hit by a truck and more like I've had a rough weekend with lots of alcohol consumption, which I hadn't done in a while.

I'm surprised my mother hasn't already come up to see if I'm awake. It's pretty late.

“Your mother thought about knocking, but she went back downstairs. She is a very perceptive woman,” he says as if he read my mind. He probably did.

“Yeah, she is,” I say, turning my head. I have an awful crick in my neck, but I don't want to move from my present position.

“Your phone has been 'blowing up,' as Texas says.” Peter hands me my phone and I see that I have a bazillion messages from her. I hit call under her number.

“Oh my God, you're alive,” she says, picking up after one ring.

“So are you. What happened?”

“It was batshit crazy, Ava. Like, I don't even know. We need to meet so we can discuss this. Viktor's here. Don't worry; he's not going to do anything.” The last part she says a little breathless. Oh, dear. If it was anyone but Viktor, I wouldn't trust them, but Peter trusts him, and there seems to be some sort of master plan for all this crazy. I don't ask her about the new bind and the fact that now Viktor has to kill me. It might put a kink in our friendship.

“My parents are at the store today. Want to come over? I really, really need to talk to you,” she says.

“I really need to talk to you, too.” About Thing Three and potentially Four. God, this is getting complicated. How many Things could one person take? There is Thing One, my mother's terminal cancer diagnosis, Thing Two, which is Peter, and then the additional Thing Two-and-a-half, the Claiming. More than enough for one person.

“Come over as soon as you can. Bring your noctalis,” she says.

“Will do,” I say and hang up.

“Looks like we have a double date. I'm going to take a shower. You just... don't go anywhere.” I put my hands up as if he's a dog I'm asking to sit and stay.

“I would not,” he says, brushing my shoulder as I get up.

I so, so do not want to be away from him, even if I'm in the next room. I hold onto the key to the trunk that sits at the end of my bed. It’s the only thing of his I can hold onto right now.

I glance at my neck in the mirror, slowly peeling back the gauze. I have a Peter bite. Mom is definitely going to notice. I can't wear the scarf again or else cause everyone to be suspicious. I'd told her about Peter being a noctalis. She knew about the first time when he strangled me and she knew that he craved my blood, but the mark of his teeth on my neck is shocking, even to me. Did he really need to be that dramatic?

Surprisingly, it doesn't really hurt. I toss the gauze, which is stained a rusty red from my blood, and undress the rest of the way. My clothes are absolutely filthy. I'll have to sneak my laundry in when Mom isn't looking.

“Come talk to me through the door,” I say as I turn the shower on. Even a few seconds away from him is too much. He's going to be attached to my hip from now on.

“How are you feeling?” he says.

“I've been worse.” Yesterday was much worse, I think while shampooing my hair and trying to keep the bite away from the hot water and soap.

Images of last night run through my mind. The one that sticks out more than any other was Peter's face as he came toward me. In that second, I thought he was going to do it. To kill me. He didn't, but I thought he would. I'm never going to tell him about that. I don't want him to know I was scared of him that way. You couldn't be scared of someone you truly loved, could you?

The hot water does little to wash away my guilt. I can't believe I lost faith in him.

“Talk about something stupid,” I say.

He's been quiet. Probably listening to my thoughts or something.

“I am not sure what you consider stupid.”

“Oh come on, anything that doesn't have to do with blood or binds or promising things or your mother.” Anything other than that.

“How about we talk about books?” God, I love him.

“Did you ever finish 1984?” I meant to ask him that a long time ago. In addition to current bestsellers, I've been putting him through the classics, too. He'd gone through most of them in his existence, but that's one he missed somehow. I don't know how, but there you have it.

“Yes, it was beautiful and tragic all at once,” he says.

“Exactly.”

I finish my shower as we talk about the book. I knew it was one he would like. Dark and raw and real. To be honest, that book scares the bejeezus out of me because it seems like something that could actually happen. Hell, I'm in love with an angel vampire. Totalitarian governments aren’t that far-fetched.

Damn. I realize I forgot to grab some clothes before I stripped down. Well, there is no way I'm putting the dirty clothes back on. Weighing my options, I decide to just wear my towel. It's less embarrassing than Peter picking out my underwear. Not that I'm ashamed of it or anything... I just don't want to deal with things like that just yet. I just got him back. Putting the moves on him seems a little weird.

“I'm coming out in just a towel. Just to, you know, warn you.” I didn't know what he'd think, but I can feel something start to rage in him and in me as soon as I say it. There it is again, like a black satin ribbon that wraps around us, dancing and teasing.

Desire.

Really? We've just been through hell, almost lost each other, and now we want to be all sexy? Really?

I push the door open slowly, hoping he's not going to tackle me or something equally crazy and also kind of hoping he will.

There he is, waiting for me. My own version of the perfect man. The thing is that Peter isn't perfect. He's far from it, but I love him anyway. I love him from the tips of his wings, to his mismatched eyes to his hair that's always in his face. I even love his dirty feet. I love him even though I thought he was going to kill me last night.

He looks at me as if he doesn't know what to say. The steam from the shower pours out of the bathroom, and my hair drips down my back. Neither of us can move.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on. In my human life or in this one.” Peter finally steps forward, putting one hand on my face. He leans in, kissing my shoulder. “I adore the way you smell.” I should tell him to stop, that we have more important things to worry about, but I can't seem to find the air to even breathe, let alone speak.

His nose brushes back and forth, as if he's savoring me. I stay still, shaking just a little because I want to kiss him so badly. Yeah, he adores me now that I'm clean. He always smells good. I don't know how that is, must be a noctalis thing. I swallow as his tongue licks moisture from my skin. It doesn’t escape my notice that it would be really easy for the towel just to slip off. My hands are inches away from the button on his jeans. I could just...

“Ava. You are making this difficult for me. You should put some clothes on,” Peter says, a tiny growl in his voice. Oh, hell.

He pushes away from me, and it's almost like being slapped. I know he has to, I know he should, but still. I want him so much that it hurts anyway.

“How can you want me so badly? You make it nearly impossible to stop,” he says, putting his hands behind his back and stepping away. I've left a damp patch on the floor, but I don't care.

“Close your eyes while I get dressed if it bothers you.” I don't mean to snap, but I'm getting irritable with this Peter. The Peter who says no. I just want him to say yes, even if it's wrong. Even if this is the worst possible time ever to make out and do other things.

I know it's dangerous, being physical with him. I worry every moment that he's going to crumble to ash in my arms, because he will if he starts loving me, but what if he never does? What if I live my whole life as his Claimed and nothing ever happens? Wouldn't we always wonder?

Maybe the bind is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe Peter can't love me like that while he loves Di. It's a different kind of love he has for her. Maybe he's not capable of the romantic kind. If we knew for sure, then I wouldn't worry so much. It seems insane that he's been with me this long and it hasn't happened. I wish Di had been more specific in her binding promises. I'm not sure if I can control myself much longer from jumping his bones. They're such sexy bones.

“I will take a shower while you get dressed,” he says, walking past me and shutting the bathroom door.

I get a flash of anger from him and hope he doesn't break anything. I wait for a second, just in case. The water turns on and his energy calms. Phew. I don't want to be around angry Peter unless that anger is directed at Di.

I put on my most comfortable jeans and a soft t-shirt. It's warm enough to wear sandals, so I put my flip-flops on.

“You might want to turn your back as well, Ava. I am not dressed,” Peter says behind me. Crap, I forgot all about his clothes, too. They're buried in the bottom of my dresser in the back so Mom doesn't find them if she goes to put laundry away.

“Okay, they're closed,” I say.

He spots my lie right away. “Are they?”

No, they aren't. I sigh and close them. He's too good. I hear him walk across the carpet and lean down to pick out clothes. The towel drops and my breath catches in my throat. Sweet Jesus. I've never seen Peter naked, but not because I don't want to. He just seems oddly modest for someone who's immortal. The rest of them don’t seem to have the same qualms, especially Cal. I shiver when I think of his name.

His boxers slide over his skin with the most delicious sound. I'm only able to hear it because of the increased senses I acquired when he Claimed me. I was usually glad for the increased hearing, but this is sweet torture, and I have to bite my lip and try really hard not to open my eyes.

“Are you all modest? I really don't feel like you are, seeing as how little value you put on clothes. Well, all of you except Cal.” The bastard.

“I am not modest with anyone but you, Ava,” he says as he pulls his pants on. “It is only self-preservation. You make me want to do so many things that I do not think you are ready for. That I do not think I am ready for.”

“You mean sex?” There, I said it. We need to get that out in the open. “Is it because of the bind?”

“Partially,” he says, putting his shirt over his head. “I do not think it is a good idea to be involved... that way when there are so many complications.”

“But there will always be complications. This whole relationship is a complication.” My eyes are still closed, but I know he's dressed so I open them. Even without the wings, he's a magnificent specimen.

“I know. I just don't think now is the right time.”

“You don't think it's ever the right time for anything,” I say, trying not to pout. I'm whining, but I can't seem to help myself. If he wasn't so damn good-looking things would be so much easier.

“I know,” he says, walking over and kissing my forehead. “That's why I'm the one who has to say no.”

I sigh heavily and cross my eyes at him. I hope he's going to smile and kiss my lips, but he doesn't.

“Your mother is about to come up. I will be on the roof,” he says, and without further ado, is out the window. Seconds later my mother pokes her head in the door. She's sans wig today, just a scarf on her head. She must be gardening, seeing as how her knees are covered in dirt.

“Hey,
ma fleur
, you're sleeping late again. You feel okay?”

“Yeah, I'm good,” I say, keeping my head turned away from her so she can't see the bite on my neck. Peter was good enough to do it low, almost where my neck meets my shoulder. Still, I'm going to have to find a way to hide it. Or grow a pair and tell her, but that's going to require a long explanation I'm not sure I'm ready to give.

“You want some pancakes?”

“Thanks, but Tex and I are going out. Is that okay?” I feel horrible for turning down her pancakes, but I have to talk to Tex. She's the only one who will give the play-by-play of last night that I need. I also need to talk to Viktor.

“Oh, that sounds like fun. I finally got in touch with the girls, and they're coming over this afternoon.” I almost wrench my head around to meet her eyes, but I don't.

“You sure?”

She nods. “Absolutely.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No, baby, you don't have to leave. You can stay if you want. It's your house and I'm sure they would love to see you.”

I haven't seen her friends in a long time. Before her terminal cancer diagnosis, I saw them nearly every week for some sort of get-together so they could complain about the school board, kids, stretch marks, and other mom things. Mom has other things on her mind now.

I'm not sure if I want to be around today, but I know Mom will need the support. Dad will be no help and he'll probably hide in his office like he usually does when they get together. What is it about men and groups of women? It's like they're allergic to them or there's too much estrogen for them to take or something.

“Okay, well I'll be home later. You making them lunch?” I ask.

“I thought I'd do pasta salad. You want to help?”

I grin at her. “What kind of question is that? Of course I do.”

“Oh, good. I don't want to infringe on your friend time.” It isn't really friend time, but I can't tell her that. She took the Peter-being-immortal Thing Two and Two-and-a-half well, but I don't think she'll take this well. Yay for Things Three and Four.