The Noctalis Chronicles Complete Set Page 43

  One look at his face when I come out of the changing room is all it takes for me to want the dress. I thought it was nice when he held it up, but I like that he likes it on me more. It's got a cool swirly black and green pattern of leaves and there is a subtle sheen to it when I move. The straps are thin, so my shoulders are pretty naked. Although, my boobs look fantastic, so there is that.

  I try to forget that I was wearing a green dress that night at Bolero when my parents had shattered my world forever. That night had led to meeting Peter. And my mother would still be sick if they had told me or not.

  I have absolutely no place to wear the dress. It's more of a formal dance kind of thing, what with the sparkles and all, but I don't think I'll be going to prom this year. The point of prom is to spend it with a big group of people. I just have Jamie and Tex and I can't bring the person I want to bring, so it would be lame. I might have to go anyway, to make my mother happy. Maybe I could smuggle him in. He's stealthy enough. I'd only have to dance with him once to make it worth it. But prom is a long way off. I couldn't see past this week yet.

  After the thrift store, I take Peter to the local equivalent of a department store so he can buy unmentionables. There is no way I am going with him to buy underwear, so I write him out a check and sign it.

  First of all, I'm not his mother and second, I would spend the whole time picturing him in said underwear and he'd know and that would be super awkward for me, especially if he could read my mind.

  I can't even go into the store with him; it's that bad. I feel a serious case of the giggles coming on so I stand outside and stare at the window displays and hope he can shop in a store without me needing to rescue him.

  He comes out a few minutes later with a bag. Phew. I don't ask to see what's in it and he doesn't offer to show me. Instead, he shoves the bag in the back of my car along with the thrift shop bags. I really wish I was a fly on the wall to watch him check out, but alas, I was not.

  “So where are we procuring this car from?” I have to change the subject so I'll stop thinking about whether he got boxers or briefs. Or those things that are in between.

  Shut up, Ava.

  His stupid hair's in his face again, but I don't push it back. “A dealership.”

  “You're going to take a car from a dealership?” Is he insane? Of course they're going to notice a missing car. There's also the little problem of security cameras. I doubt even Peter's noctalis powers would work on those.

  “If you take them from the back of the lot, most people don't notice.” Oh, he's definitely done this before. I don't know how I feel about that. I'm going to cover all my bases to make sure he knows what he's doing.

  “What about license plates?”

  “I take the temporary ones from the dealership.”

  “What if you get pulled over?” I'm trying to poke holes in this plan because I really don't like it.

  “I never get pulled over.” He's super confident. I've never seen Peter cocky, but I can hear it in his tone.

  “Yeah, I bet you don't. So which dealership?” I'll steer him away from the one where my parents bought their cars.

  “It doesn't matter.” I really feel uncomfortable about this. We have to drive a little ways before we even get to one dealership, and I go right past the first one.

  “What about there?” Peter says as I drive by.

  “My mom bought a car there once. The guy is really nice. I couldn't steal from him.”

  “We are not stealing. Simply borrowing.” Yeah, sure, it's just semantics.

  “Without permission.” I try to give him my best glare.

  He is undeterred. “They loan out their cars frequently, but they will not loan one without identification.” He's patched all the holes I have tried to make, and I am out of ideas.

  “You're right. You're right.” I know he's right and I know that he needs a car to pick me up in. Dad would never believe that he wouldn't with him going to a swanky school like Galdon. God, I hope he doesn't want to go to the BMW dealership.

  “What about there?” He points to another dealership. I've seen the owner on TV, jumping up and down wearing various ridiculous costumes. He seems too nice. I can't take from him, either.

  “Uh uh.” I keep driving until I get to the mega lot a half-hour away from Sussex. They've got everything from trucks to sedans to minivans. I pull in and go to the back of the lot. Bingo. There's a black Prius. Sure, it's not a very masculine car, but it's good for the environment. He wouldn't have to put gas in it.

  “That one,” I say, pointing.

  “What is it?”

  “A Toyota Prius. It's energy efficient.” I shut the car off, but I'm too scared to get out. My eyes travel to the lights, looking for the red flash of a camera.

  “I will find the keys.”

  “Wait a second,” I say, looking around. “There are probably cameras all over the place. They're going to catch you.” God, why does he have to do these things that stress me out?

  “I will disable the cameras. Viktor taught me how.” Well, he's just full of surprises.

  I really don't want to be around for that part. “I think I'm going to leave. I'll park over there.” I point to a church across the road. “When you get the car, meet me.” I'm freaking out and trying not to show it. I am not cut out for this life of crime. The sooner I get out of here the better. How do I get myself into these things?

  It was easy. I went to a cemetery, met a noctalis and hadn't run in the other direction, because I was an idiot.

  “You should probably wait a few minutes after I leave. So I should go now. I'm going to do that. Right now.” He blinks and I get in the car and drive to the church. The irony that I'm waiting in a church parking lot for my vampire angel boyfriend to steal a car so he can impress my father is not lost on me.

  A few lifetimes and gray hairs later, the Prius pulls up beside me. He looks pretty good in it.

  “All good?” I say, holding the steering wheel in a vise grip.

  “Yes,” says Mr. Cool-as-a-cucumber.

  “Here are your clothes,” I say, handing the bags out the window, including the underwear bag. “I guess I'll see you later, then?”

  “It will be fine. I have a car now.” He runs his hands down the steering wheel as if he really likes the feel of it. The black color doesn't hold a candle to the color of his wings.

  “How do you like it?”

  “I'd rather be riding in that passenger seat of yours.”

  “Yeah, me too.” With that I swing out of the parking lot of the church and head home. I don't see where Peter goes, but I'll see him later. He'll probably just drive the car around for fun. I'm sure he prefers flying. I would too, if I had wings.

  ~^*^~

  All I smell when I walk back into the house is blood. I thought my tolerance was getting better, but it slams me like a bolt of lightning. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Only that doesn't help.

  For some reason, it gets worse at night, or when I've been away from it and then come back, or I'm stressed, or all three in the present case.

  I start to panic, running up to my room and shutting the door. Of course Mom thinks something's wrong and I have to tell her that I'm just in a hurry to get ready for the date. I throw the window open and pace the room, gnawing at my thumbnail and praying Peter gets here fast.

  I'm tempted to send out an SOS using our connection, but I'm trying not to rely on him so much. It's selfish. But I must have called to him anyway, because he's in the window five minutes later. And less than two seconds after that he takes my hand and does the calming thing, stroking my hair and saying things I can't understand in my current state.

  And it stops. Peter is a balm to my burning body. Somehow the smell dissipates, fading until all I smell is the leftover pie, my mother's soap and Peter. All perfectly lovely non-blood scents. I want to kiss Peter to thank him, but hold back.

  Why does he always have to save me? Why can't I be the one doing the saving
?

  I want to be the hero. Just once.

  “Stop saving me,” I whisper.

  “I am not saving you. I am helping.” I'm not having another argument about definitions, so I let go of his hand.

  “You should go. You're supposed to pick me up in twenty minutes.” He stands behind me, putting his hands on my waist.

  “I will be here in fifteen.”

  “Okay,” I say, trying not to let myself melt into him. I have been far too free with him this afternoon. It wouldn't lead to anything good. Whoever created that saying about temptation being fun, but giving in is better clearly had never been involved with a noctalis.

  I think he's going to say something else, but he must sense me pushing him away, even if I'm not doing it physically. He steps away and is out the window before I can breathe again.

  I shouldn't have done that. Today has been so much fun being with Peter and laughing and pretending to be human.

  My negativity has gotten us nowhere. I made a promise to myself to be less negative, and here I am, captain of the SS Negativity. Why do I always do that? Between the possibility of losing him and the things he said the night before, I'm drowning in a well of suckiness.

  I pace around the room, trying to get out of the deep hole I have sunk into again. A knock at my door startles me.

  “Hey, ma fleur, everything okay?” She has her apron on again. Pretty soon we're going to have to stockpile pies in the basement at the rate she's making them.

  “Yeah, fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “No, not really.” She comes in and closes the door. I want to run to her, to crush myself on her shoulder and cry and have her fix it. But I'm too old for that. Even my mother couldn't fix something supernatural.

  “Can I help?” I sigh.

  “I just can't seem to stop thinking that bad things are going to happen. That every time something good happens, that something else will come and take it away.”

  “You have to have the bad. If you didn't, you wouldn't see the good when it shows up. Just let the good happen.”

  It is so simple. Let it happen. Go with it. Ride the wave, go with the flow, etc. I can do that. Hell, if she can do it, then I can. All my negativity from seconds ago seems so childish. Immature. Useless. All it did was make me miserable. Then it transfers to Peter and we'd be the Debbie Downer couple. I don’t want that.

  I believe in our relationship, Peter and me. Somehow we were brought together. Before my mother got sick, I believed everything happened for a reason. After my mother's diagnosis, I knew that wasn't true. Still, I have to believe that Peter and I are meant to be. Or that I am meant to help him get free of his bind. Maybe that is it.

  It is enough for me.

  “See?” Mom smiles after watching my mental process. I'm sure it is written all over my face.

  “Yeah.”

  “You're my smart child.”

  “I'm your only child.”

  “Exactly.” I get a hug before she leaves me to get ready for my date.

  ~^*^~

  An hour later, Peter comes to pick me up in the Prius. I thought about putting on the new sparkly dress, but settled for jeans and a nice black v-neck shirt with embellishments around the neckline, and a pair of riding boots. I wait until the last possible second to go downstairs. I hold my breath all the way to the door.

  He rings the doorbell like a gentleman, and I let him in, taking in his new outfit: a button-up shirt in a blue that almost matches one of his eyes, black pants, a leather jacket and the dress shoes. Atop his head is the fedora, tilted jauntily to the side. He's perfect.

  I finally breathe and the scent of blood claws at me. Peter grabs my hands and yanks me toward him. I'm crushed to his chest as he says, “Fight it.”

  I try.

  Mom and Dad sit in the living room, waiting. Peter tows me in behind him like a puppy on a leash.

  I'm having flashbacks from when we did this last time. It didn't go well then, and this time we don't have Aj. At least we have somewhere to be, so there isn't a lot of time for awkward questions. Or is there?

  “Where are you going on your date?” is the first question. Please don't say flying or the cemetery; please don't say flying or the cemetery. Peter lets go of my hand and the loss of contact instantly freaks me out. I'm panicking about having the smell come back to me, and that, in turn, makes me panic more. And then it happens. Visions of how many ways I could kill my father chase each other through my head, one after the other. My pasted-on smile falls and it's all I can do to stay in the chair.

  Peter takes my hand again and sends me all he can, but I would need to practically lie on top of him to douse the flames of this attack. It's up to him to do all the talking. He's leaning on the chair I'm sitting in, so this helps a little.

  “I thought we could have desert at that diner Ava likes so much and then perhaps a walk on the beach.” I would snort with laughter at this, if I wasn't currently not in a laughing state. It sounds like something we'd do if he could, you know, actually eat. Something that a normal human couple would do.

  “Oh, that sounds so romantic.” Mom clutches onto Dad, distracting him for a second. I really need to learn how to do that. Then Peter pulls me onto his lap and I forget everything else. Oh thank God. He wraps me in him and only him, and I cannot be happier, or safer or anything other than blissfully happy.

  It's always him. We fit together like two mismatched puzzle pieces that couldn't fit anywhere else. Clearly, Dad doesn't think so, based on his horrified face. Peter speaks, the sound reverberating through my eardrum.

  “Mr. Sullivan, I want you to know that I cherish your daughter and I would never do anything that she would not consent to. I would never hurt her intentionally and I will do my best to protect her heart.” Oh Jesus. I'm practically swooning. I feel like he should be on one knee or something and I should have a sword in my hand as he promises to serve me until his dying day. Sir Peter, my savior. If only I could be his, just for a moment.

  Dad's flabbergasted. He opens his mouth and closes it like a goldfish a few times before making a sputtering sound. Mom just cuddles closer to him, gazing at him with adoring eyes. Well played, Mother.

  “Peter, that is so sweet. Isn't that sweet, Sam?”

  “Uh, that's very, uh. Yes, it is.” He rubs his hands on his pants as if he's trying to clean Peter's germs off them, even though they shook hands ten minutes ago. I seize my moment of escape.

  “On that note, we should get going. Miller's lemon meringue is calling my name.” I stand up, taking Peter with me. No one else moves. I try to walk, but Peter holds me back as if he's waiting for something. Permission?

  “Once again, it was nice to see you, Mr. Sullivan.” Peter holds out his hand again, holding mine with the other. Dad shakes it like a robot. He's still stunned.

  “Well, uh, you kids have fun. Remember it's a school night.” He emerges from his shock.

  Peter squeezes my hand, probably telling me to shut my face without telling me to shut my face.

  “I will have her back by 9.” Oohh, a half-hour before my weeknight curfew. Very smooth, Peter.

  “Bye, Mom; bye, Dad.” I don't give them a kiss or anything, but Mom gives me a wink and an I'll-take-care-of-him look about Dad. He's still staring at Peter as if he's not sure he's human. He would be correct.

  “Have fun,” Mom calls as I shut the door. A second later I lean my back against it.

  “That,” I say, breathing out slowly, “was close.”

  Nineteen

  Peter

  “I'm sorry about that.” She has still not let go of my hand. The bones in her fingers creak as she grips as tightly as she can.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. You handled it.” She shakes her head as I open the car door for her. She sits in the seat sideways, not letting go.

  “No, you handled it. This is getting worse, Peter.”

  “We will have answers soon.” Her eyes plead with me. The moonlig
ht sparkles on her skin, catching all the little hairs that cover her body.

  “It might not be soon enough.”

  I lean down so my face is level with hers and take her other hand. Her skin is blazing hot with anxiety, fear and uncertainty. I cannot fight her demons for her, although I would slay them all if I could.

  “You are strong. You are mine. We are strong. We will be strong together.” Her hands pull me forward until our foreheads touch. I pull back, letting her emotions take me over. It is overwhelming. Like a crowd of angry bees, they swarm. I wait.

  Slowly, her breathing evens. Her hands stop holding mine so hard. She focuses on something. Whatever it is, it is working. I wait until the torrent of her emotions has slowed to a swirl, like water down a drain.

  She removes her forehead from mine, snapping her eyes open.

  “What would I do without you?”

  “Be human.” I wish to kiss her, but I pull back and get in the driver's seat instead.

  “Dad's face was kinda funny when I sat on your lap.”

  “He did not like it.”

  “Yeah, I got that. He just doesn't understand. I've never really dated before.”

  “I was not what he expected.” She laughs, and it flows from her to me like fire.

  “I don't know what he expected. Someone like him. Maybe a math geek who also was on the golf team or something. Mom would want someone who was into plants and maybe artsy. He'd probably play the guitar and make quiche.” She says it without much hesitation, as if she's thought about it. The examples are rather specific.

  She leans her head against the seat, turning to look at me. She's settled now. Relaxed. She hasn't asked where we are going yet, but I want to know what she thought of when she pictured who she would date.

  “I didn't really have anything in mind,” she continues. “I always thought having a specific type of person you would be attracted to was stupid. What if you meet someone who doesn't meet those specifications? Are you just not going to date them because they don't fit your ideal? So many people have unrealistic ideals anyway.” I think about that for a moment. “You're so much more than ideal. I never could have imagined someone like you. So anything I could have had before is irrelevant. I have you now.”