Nightmare (The Noctalis Chronicles 2)

“That was gross,” Ava says, sounding more like herself. “It sounded like a rattlesnake.” She makes a face as I help her to her feet. Her legs wobble like a newborn calf, so I hold her elbows to make sure she doesn't fall.

Tex sighs. “Let's go in and sit down. Looks like I'm going to have to get ready not to freak out.”

“You did okay the last time,” Ava points out.

“True.” She rubs her arms and pulls her skirt down. A nervous habit.

“Come on kids, I'll get some cookies and milk.” Tex walks us to the front door, using her key to get inside. The house is clean and square and very human.

There are books, but none of them look like they've been read. You can tell when a book has been loved. The pages show crinkles and folds where a thumb has pressed against them. The covers have stains. A residue of human oils sticks to them where they've been held with living hands. None of these books have that.

Texas escorts us into a kitchen filled with white and stainless steel. It doesn't look as if it's been eaten in. The overwhelming scent is artificial lemon cleaner.

“Water. Shouldn't you have some water?” Texas asks Ava.

“Yeah, sure.” I put Ava into a stool, standing behind her so she doesn't fall off. She holds onto me as if she's never going to let go.

Ava

So here we are again. Different time, different location, but the same deal. Explaining the mistakes I'd made, yet again.

“So you're a vampire now?”

“No,” I say for the third time. She doesn't seem to understand that while, yes, I do think blood smells really freaking good, once I put it in my mouth, it's not so much. I know that taste is tied to scent, and that if you can't smell, you can't taste, but that doesn't seem to apply in this case. It's like the second the blood hits the air, it starts getting not so yummy.

Oh, who am I kidding? I've been living with this for a few weeks now and it hasn't gotten better. It's gotten worse. What worries me the most is that day when blood will taste good. Then things are going to get dicey.

“But you want blood.”

I squirm on the stool. “Uh, yeah.”

“So what is it that makes a vampire?”

I throw up my hands. “I don't know Tex, there isn't a manual with a specific definition.”

Peter senses my frustration. “We are in the dark on this, Texas.”

“I've told you, it's Tex.” She holds up her hand as if to get her point across. She's still being weird to him. That doesn't make me very happy. I want her to be nice to him because he's my boyfriend.

God, this is complicated.

“So what happens now?” Tex says. I'd asked Peter the exact same thing when he Claimed me.

I shrug. Peter blinks. I should probably explain that gesture to her. Eh, she's a smart girl, she'll figure it out.

“What is that blinking thing?” Maybe not.

“It's kind of like a shrug. Sometimes. Other times it's a yes. Sometimes it's an eh.” Peter looks at me. “What? I pay attention. It can mean about a thousand different things. I just figured out what some of them are.”

“You are correct.”

“Am I?” I'd never asked him about it. Seemed like something I'd be able to put together on my own.

Tex brings us back to the matter at hand. “Okay then. So you want blood, and you can't control yourself. Clearly. And apparently I have nice-smelling blood. And you're my best friend. This. Is a problem.” I'd go so far as to say crisis.

“It is time to see Cal.”

Tex pipes up. “Who's Cal?” Probably hoping for another attractive brother.

“You explain,” I say, leaning back into Peter's chest. I'm so very tired. And Tex's blood fills the room. Even though it still smells like lemon cleaner. The blood's there, too. It's always there. And it will be until Peter faces facts and turns me. But what will it be like then? Will it be worse? Somehow I think I know the answer to that question.

Peter gives her an even more abbreviated version than I got. It pisses me off when he keeps secrets, but he's never kept anything that I really needed to know. For the most part.

“So you really think he can help her?” Tex is doing her job being the skeptical best friend.

“He agreed to it. He has helped me before.”

“Oh, I bet there are some good stories there.” Tex leans on the counter and raises her eyebrows suggestively. Luckily, Peter is immune to that kind of thing.

“More or less.” Oh snap, Tex gets the more-or-less line. “Cal was the one who helped me stop killing.”

“How?”

He blinks. This time it stands in for a heavy sigh. “It is a long story.”

Tex looks at the clock. “My parents won't be home for at least two hours. But if we're telling a juicy story, I think I need some coffee. And chips. I need chips.”

Tex shoos us into the living room. I wait until she's out of earshot before I hiss at Peter, “so? Are you going to fill me in?”

“In a moment.” He's stalling. I can't imagine why.

“Peter,” I say, sitting down on the couch and pulling him with me, “nothing you could have done would bother me. Nothing.”

“I wish that were true.” No, no, no. This is Dark Peter. I don't like him. He takes Smiling Peter and puts him away for a while.

“I love you. Nothing changes that.” I grab his face, hard. My fingers want to melt against his skin. My lips crave his, but I resist. I need him to understand. He doesn't say anything.

Instead, he takes me into his chest and my arms go all the way around him. The muscles in his back are so lovely. They remind me of a study on the male form. Not that I'm partial or anything. But when it comes to backs, Peter's is the best.

“Okay, let's hear it,” Tex says, setting down the tray.

“It was a long time ago.” This sounds very much like, “once upon a time...”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Peter

The Carpathia, the ship that picked up survivors from the sinking, I'd boarded as only part human. Di had covered me with a tarp and an old coat to keep the sun off me. I was so pale, it was easy to convince the other passengers that I was ill.

I'd emerged from the haze of pain and bone-crushing transformation the day we reached New York. She took me to an alley while she went and found someone for me. A drunk, wallowing in the gutter. He didn't even open his eyes when I slashed his throat apart and lapped the blood from his wounds.

She brought me another. And another until there was a pile of bodies and we had to move on. Di stayed with me and I clung to her for a week. I had nothing else to hold onto. She took me to places where I could lie naked in the sun. Those days I needed as much as I could get or else I had trouble moving. My body was still adjusting to the change. Di rarely left my side, always stroking my face and calling me dear and saying she loved me. I barely heard any of it. I did almost nothing but feed and soak in sun.