Nocturnal (32 page)

“You look different in the sun,” I say, turning on my side so I can ogle, I mean look at, Peter. I usually walk the fine line between ogling and looking. With his long, messy hair out of his eyes and his shirt off so he can soak up the maximum amount of sun, he's pretty damn gorgeous. With my heightened eyesight he was even more amazing than before we'd swapped blood.

“So do you,” he says, opening his eyes and glancing over at me. He tries to smile, but it's still not quite right. “How was that?”

“Still needs work.” He blinks at me, which is the noctalis equivalent of a shrug, or a sigh, or an, “oh well.” Sometimes it's all three. This feels like one of those times.

Even with the unpleasantness that happened here a week ago, we're sitting outside the mausoleum where I first met him. It seems like it was years ago, but it hasn't even been two months. 

“You know she's going to find a way,” I say, taking the conversation to a dark place. He'd told me so many times that we'd worry about it when it happened, but I just couldn't do that. I wasn't the immortal one. Still, he had his own weaknesses. Me, namely. The breeze teases our hair, tossing it around, as if it agrees with me. Peter closes his eyes.

He says the same thing he's said every time I've said the same thing.

“She is not here now, and it will take her time to come up with one. Enjoy the sun. Isn't it glorious?” He's so freaking cheerful, I want to ask if he got a personality transplant. Instead I puff my cheeks out and give up. For now. One day this is going to be a problem, but Peter seems content to let it go. It seems like we've swapped places.

I'd been the reckless one when we'd first met. I'd been the one who, after I knew he could kill me, still came and hung out with him. Multiple times. Even after he'd physically threatened me, that wasn't a deal breaker. The only way he could have gotten rid of me was to actually kill me. Which he hadn't done yet. 

And then there was his brother, Ivan, who wanted me dead at first, but then decided he wanted me alive so I could destroy Peter. They're not really close, if that wasn't apparent when I first met them. But Ivan and Peter had united to face a common enemy. Their mother, Di. 

Of course, not their biological mother, but the woman who'd made them what they are. Noctali. A word I still didn't really understand. As far as I knew, it meant that Peter had wings and he drank blood. An angel vampire. His other brother, Viktor, was a vampire werewolf. I don't even know how that works. I had no idea about Ivan and Di. I'd never asked.

“I really need to go home.” I groan, rolling up to a sitting position. I didn't want to go home, but I knew I had to. At least Dad wouldn't be home and I wouldn't be subjected to smelling him. Not that my dad smelled bad. He smelled really good. Kind of delicious, and I didn't want to think about the fact that I'd started smelling other people's blood and it made my mouth water. Nope, wasn't thinking about it.

“Then you should go.” I knew he wasn't human, and didn't see things the way I did, but it still stung that he didn't beg me to stay.

“Okay, then.” I stand up, folding up the blanket I'd been using so my butt didn't get wet. It was nearly May, but the warm air didn't reach Maine until at least June. “Are you coming over later?”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“I don't know.” I'm getting frustrated, which happens quite often with Peter. I brush a stray bit of grass off the blanket.

“I will be wherever you are.” And then he says things like that, and my heart does this squeezy thing and I get all tingly. I want to kiss him, but don't act on my urge. I'm wary of anything physical with him. Not because I don't want to, or he doesn't want to, but because I don't want him to die. 

Peter can't fall in love with me. Which should give him a good reason to say goodbye and good riddance. There's just one problem. Neither of us can stand to be without the other one. The Claiming is kind of hard to ignore, what with him only being able to drink my blood and me wanting him to.

I'm still recovering from the last donation. I'd let him take much more than was good for me, because he'd needed it. If I wasn't careful, I was going to get anemic. We already had one sick person in the family. We didn't need another.

“See you later.”

“Goodbye, Ava-Claire.” I smile when he uses both of my names. He and my mother are the only people who are allowed to call me that. I give him a stupid little wave as I leave, but he just watches me as I walk away. I like the way he watches me. It also scares me...

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For my parents:

Mom, for all your love and support and listening to my incessant typing and not getting mad when I ignored you for the imaginary people in my head.

Dad, who always believed in me. This is for you.

For my friends, Bix, Ray, Lizard and Eenie. You rock my socks. Thanks for never doubting me, even when I always doubted myself.

For everyone who ever wanted to write. You don't need permission to tell a story.

And finally, this is a story about love.

“The world moves for love. It kneels before it in awe.” 

-The Village