“You know I love you.” It is the first time she has said it out loud.
“Yes.” Yes, yes, yes. Always yes.
“Don't you care that I love you, but you can't love me back?” Always yes.
“I do, but it is not my biggest concern.”
“What is your biggest concern?” She pulls back so she can watch my face.
“Keeping you safe. That overwhelms any feeling I might want to have for you.” She wipes her eyes again.
“But I want to keep you safe,” she says.
“You cannot.”
“Yeah, that's right, because I'm a weak little human.” She tries to break away from the grasp of my arms, but I won't let her.
“No. Because if something will happen to me, then it will happen.”
“I don't want it to.” My stubborn Ava.
“I know.”
“I just love you and I don't want to lose you.” Her tears return.
“I know.”
“Would you stop saying that?” I know she is going to lunge at me and I let her. Her lips mash against mine and her smell floods my nose. I kiss her back, letting her emotions bolster my own, making us both want.
More, more, more.
I have to push her away so I don't bite her lips to get to her blood. Her skin is like paper, so easily torn. A membrane that impedes my access.
“Have some.” She holds out her wrist. Of course she can sense my need.
“No.”
“Goddammit, I know you need it because my stomach is killing me.” She tries to push me away. I let her. She's crying again. “Will you promise me something?”
I do not make promises lightly, but would make an exception for her. “That would depend on what it is.”
“I want you to promise me that you'll look for a way to break this curse. Because I swear, if I lose you, I'm never going to forgive you. I'll curse your name for the rest of my life.” It is the only threat she can make. She has little leverage and she knows it. But the threat that she would curse me is enough. The image of her miserable is enough.
“I can promise to try.”
“Not good enough.” I recognize that face. She is determined. As usual.
“Ava.”
“Don't even.” She puts her hand up as if trying to stop me. “You got me into this whole thing. You made me fall in love with you, and now I want you to fix this because I can't lose you. I won't let it happen. I want to be with you, as insane as that sounds. I know you're like, way older and it's creepy and illegal, if you were a human. I know I'm going to have to give you blood and that there will be times when you do things I can't be a part of. But I don't care. I want to be a part of it. I want to be a part of you.” She snags her hand in her hair in frustration.
I need a moment to think. Even though my thoughts move faster than hers, the rapid spray of her words leaves me silent.
“It's not happening, is it?” She takes my hands, turning them over.
“No. I was thinking.”
“Oh.” The blood rushes to her face, and I want to reach out and take it. I want it almost more than I want to promise her. Almost, but not quite.
“I never felt that way about anyone when I was alive. There was a girl in town that I used to walk home. She lived across the street and her laugh was so loud, I could hear it from my porch. I used to try and peek in her bedroom window, but I never got a glimpse of her. The legend of the vampire, such as it is, paints us as lascivious creatures with a lust for sex as much as a lust for blood. That is another myth. While there are some noctali, who, I am sure, take part in those activities, I am not one of them.” Her face flames with color at the mention of sex.
“Is this some sort of crazy way to tell me you're a virgin? Can you even, um, do that?” She's still holding my hands. Hers pulse with her heart. A ribbon of embarrassment runs from her to me. It takes me a while to understand that is the uncomfortable emotion she has quite frequently. It is not an emotion I can feel for myself.
“I am trying to tell you that I have never felt that way about anyone. But if there is anyone who could make me feel it, it would be you. You would be worth it. So yes, to everything you asked. I promise to find a solution.” While this is not a binding promise, since Ava is not a noctalis, I still feel the weight of it settling over my shoulder like a cape.
“Good.” She lets out a breath, expelling her scent all over me. I want to wrap myself in it and drown. She puts her hands around mine. They are so small that my fingers jut out above hers.
“Would you stay here with me?”
“I will always stay with you.”
“I mean here.” She motions to her bed.
“I don't know if that would be a good idea.”
Her hand drops mine. “Oh, well. It was just an idea. You can go back to your book.” She turns her back, sliding back down under the blankets. The rejection stings her.
“A few feet closer shouldn't do too much damage.” Surprised, she turns over. I have been working on my sarcasm.
“Are you sure? You could have a little, if you wanted.” She pushes her arm toward me.
“That would only whet my appetite.” I would kill her if I took some now.
“Oh, right.” She watches as I lie next to her, pulling one pillow behind my back. I am never uncomfortable, but I want her to think that I am comfortable. Her scent wafts up from the sheets, surrounding me in a cloud. She turns on her side, looking up at me.
“Only if you're sure.”
“I am sure,” I say, picking up my book. She lies as far from me as she can get without falling off the bed. I will bring her closer when she falls asleep.
“Go to sleep. We will talk in the morning.”
“Okay. Goodnight, Peter.” She rolls onto her side, her back facing me.
“Goodnight, Ava-Claire.”
She falls asleep and I think about promises and how to keep them.
Six
Ava
Even with Peter next to me, I have a nightmare. It starts out as a nice dream. I'm walking in the woods, barefoot. As it goes in dreams, my feet feel nothing even though the ground is uneven and covered in rocks and sticks and such. I'm walking toward something bright-greenish that shines out of the trees. Actually, it's two somethings. I walk farther, and once again, it takes me forever.
I finally get to a clearing with grass so flat that I know it can't be real. Still, I want to know what's going on. Two fires flicker in the darkness. Not like normal fires with smoke and wood. These are more like giant columns of light that flicker and burn. But the fires, or whatever they are, aren't burning wood. They're burning people.
The light dims and I can make out my mother's face, and then the rest of her. The other is Peter. They're glowing like fireflies, which is totally weird, but I go with it. They both smile at me at the exact same second.
“I love you,” they both say in unison. I hear each of their distinct voices before they are both consumed by a burst of light and then darkness.
“Ava?”
Peter shakes my shoulder. Somehow I've migrated in my sleep so I'm practically on top of him. I want him even in my sleep. I shift over to my side of the bed, trying to be subtle about it. Hell, I'd just seen him in my dream going up in weird greenish flames. Part of me wants to touch him all over and make sure he's all in one piece. But that's silly. It was just a dream.
“Sorry. Bad dream.” My room is dark, but I feel safe with Peter next to me, his thumb stuck in his book to mark the place. I notice he's nearly done. The book is about four inches thick. Stupid speed reader.
“Do you wish to talk about it?”
“Not really.” I put my hand over my eyes, wishing I could block it out.
“It must have been frightening.” Thanks Peter, that's helpful.
“Just a dream.”
Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream. I'm going to keep saying it until I believe it.
“I could feel your distress.” Can't he see that I do
n't want to talk about it?
“What, I can't even dream now without you getting vibes?”
“I feel what you feel, asleep or awake.”
In turn, I feel his anxiety for me. Peter's emotions are easy to separate from my own. They're distant and foreign. Like having an invader in my brain. It didn't bother me as much as it should. Nothing about Peter bothers me as much as it should.
“It's nothing. Just go back to reading.” I turn my back to him and pull the covers up. He waits for a moment for me to speak or change my mind. When I don't, he goes back to reading; the swish of the pages turning lulls me back into a much better sleep.
I'm not big on dream interpretation, being as how sometimes dreams are just dreams and not a manifestation of your secret love for your English teacher. Before I finally decide to close my eyes and try to sleep again, I vow to do some research in the morning.
~^*^~
I think about the dream as I brush my teeth the next morning. It was so clear, and I remembered every detail when I woke up. I usually don’t remember my dreams, so this is new. I am not sure if I liked it or not. I certainly hated the dream. It was probably just a manifestation of my fear of losing Peter and my mother. But I want to know for sure.
I hated that I'd broken down in front of him last night. Generally, I try not to be too emotional and needy in front of Peter. I think it kind of freaks him out sometimes. When we first did the Claiming, he even had jitters. All that had calmed down, but I still try to hold it back a bit.
Not so much.
I don’t regret the promise I forced him to make about finding a way out of the curse. I'd decided to call it that, because it is a Curse. With a capital C. Promises are things that you make in wedding vows and to your children and to best friends. They are supposed to be good and make you better. This is a Curse.
I am not selfish enough to want Peter to break it just for me. I want him to be free, not chained to someone else.
Viktor is Cursed, too. He is forced to come to her whenever she calls. He is better than that. I don’t want them to be slaves to this woman who has made them out of her own selfish need not to be alone. I wouldn't make the same mistake.
Peter is unusually quiet, and that bothers me, but I am not getting any bad vibes from him, so I don’t say anything about it. Sometimes, Peter is just weird. I figure he is just thinking about who he could ask about breaking the curse. I hope.
I have to say good-bye to him in my room before I go downstairs to grab something to eat. Since my mother has gotten worse, she isn’t making pancakes every morning, I spend most of my time in my room with Peter, and I usually just grab a bowl of cereal or a protein bar.
“I'll see you after work, okay?” I give him the obligatory peck on the cheek, not letting my lips linger. “I know I made you promise to look for a solution, but you don't have to do it today.” I'm feeling guilty now about forcing him. It is a knee-jerk reaction to the dream, and I should have just calmed the heck down and thought about things.
“I will wait for you.” He's staring at his trunk. I automatically check to make sure the key is still firmly around my neck. It has become a nervous tick now.
“Do you ever get tired of waiting for me?”
“No.” He's so sure of things. So convinced that it will work out or it won't. That it is black or white. I'm not like that.
I want to really kiss him good-bye, but don't. I'm still not convinced that being close to him won't kill him. I'm such a hypocrite, because I made him sit next to me while I slept all night. What harm would a little kiss do?
Well, Peter's kisses could do a lot of harm, I knew that already. They are Weapons of Mass Destruction. So I just look at him without blinking for as long as I can. He touches my face and slides out the window. I feel the pull to go with him. It sucks so much that I can't. My poor neglected lips cry out as I drive myself to school, hoping today will be better. Better than the previous three.
~^*^~
Tex nearly runs me over, she's so eager to talk to me. It takes me a moment to focus. The smells almost swallow me up. It's like being in a huge bakery filled with the most delicious cookies and pies and cakes in the world, but you can't have any of them. Only blood doesn't smell like cake.
“Oh my God, where have you been? We need to talk date details. I need to know what Viktor's favorite color is so I can wear it.” Tex's blood smells sweet, like copper and salt and dark chocolate. Those don't sound like delicious things in combination, but somehow they are. My stomach grumbles, even though I just ate. This is a different kind of hunger. I rest my face on the brick of the main school building. The smell of the brick and the cool temperature helps me focus.
“Tex, I don't know what his favorite color is.”
“Then ask Peter.” She makes a pouty face and adjusts her purple glasses.
Give. It. A. Rest. “I can't, he doesn't have a phone.”
“Seriously? Vampires are always up on the new technology.” I don't know where she's heard this. Vampire chat rooms?
“He's not a vampire,” I say, lowering my voice. “He's a noctalis. There's a big difference.”
“Difference, schmifference.” She waves it off. I'm about to argue with her when Jamie walks by. I smile and he stops to talk.
“Well, hello, James, long time no see.” He looks like crap. Things must be bad at home. Still, seeing him is like seeing the sun come out from behind the clouds. He envelops me with warmth and comfort. Jamie is like apple pie.
“Hello, ladies.” A shadow of his smile comes out and is gone as quickly as we can blink. “How are you?” He leans against the wall in all his jock glory. His hair picks up all the spare sunlight and glimmers like gold. His blood is salty and... active. Bright, like him.
“Never mind us, how are you?” He looks around, shifting his bag in his shoulder. Then he tugs his earlobe. That tells me everything I need to know. He's not doing well.
“Cassie and Dad are fighting a lot.”
“He hasn't, you know...” Tex trails off. She meant to say, he hasn't hit her, but she doesn't want to say it out loud.
“No, he's been good. Just a lot of yelling. I keep telling both of them it isn't good for the baby, but he doesn't care. He wants her to lose it so he doesn't have to worry about it anymore.”
Oh, God.
“Jamie,” I say as Tex and I hug him from both sides, wishing this hug could make it better.
Sometimes I get wrapped up in my head and think that I have it the worst off. Then I talk to Jamie and realize that both of my parents love me. I know they love me, even though my Dad and I don't get along that well sometimes. We used to. This whole cancer thing kind of screwed things up. But before that, there was no doubt in my mind that both of them would do anything for me.
“I'm thinking about getting a job at Santina's so I can give her some money to get her own place. I think, once the baby's born, she'll qualify for assistance, but I don't know if she'll be willing to take it.”
Tex and I look at each other, both thinking the same thing. That it isn't Jamie's responsibility to take care of his sister. He shouldn't have to. And if the choice is him taking a job when he's already busy with sports and a sucky home life or her going on assistance, we're picking the latter.
“It'll work out.” I try to channel some of that Peter confidence. He's close enough that I can still feel him.
“I hope so,” he says, sounding completely defeated.
I give him another squeeze as the bell rings. I haven't even gotten to my locker to get my books yet, so I'm going to be late. Doesn't matter. There are some things more important than punctuality.
“We should do something for him,” I say after he dashes off to class. Maybe I can rope Tex into pitching in. She definitely has more money than I do.
“We could throw Cassie a baby shower. She's going to need all sorts of baby stuff. And it would be fun.”
“You know there would be no boys or drinking, right?”
; “My dear, a party is a party as long as I'm there.” She does a little hip wiggle and Trevor Hyasin's eyes almost bug out of his head as he walks by.
“I was thinking about something for his truck.”
“That's lame. A party is a much better idea.”
“Thanks for stomping on my idea, Tex.”
“No stomping, just suggesting it's not a great idea.” Same thing.
Somehow I get through the rest of the day, even though I'm like a kid with ADD high on sugar. No focus. Too much blood. Too many people I picture killing. It's almost a relief my teachers sort of ignore me. They don't know about my mother's diagnosis, but just having a mother with cancer is enough of a free pass to slack off.
I call Mom several times to check in. Dad came home from work to watch her, so she's drowning in blankets and soup and TLC. Poor thing.
Jamie has practice, so I text him asking if he wants to do something on Tuesday night. It will mean a night away from Peter, but Jamie's important. He needs a friend right now. And I owe him. I've been a pretty crappy one.
Tex and I carpool to work, which is so close to school, we could walk if we wanted. I always mention this, but Tex is usually wearing impractical shoes and throws a hissy fit about ruining them. So we drive, increasing our carbon footprint. Peter lurks nearby, trying to send me happy vibes. A for effort.
After reprimanding us for being late, Tex's parents set us to making a display of the poetry books. April was National Poetry Month, and they were a little late getting a display up, so we pick out all the prettiest and most famous books and try to come up with an eye-catching way to showcase them. Usually Tex's mother doesn't let us do things like this, but she's so busy, since one of the workers quit, she doesn't have time to do it herself. Waves of scent caress me, and I can barely focus on anything but the blood smell. I focus on Tex's voice.
“We could use that old velvet cloth from Halloween and put some glitter on it.”
“What does glitter have to do with National Poetry Month?”
She shrugs. “Nothing. I just like glitter.” Glitter it is. We stack the books on top of boxes draped with the velvet to create a little dimension. And then Tex sprinkles gold glitter over everything. To give it pizzazz, she says.