Nightmare (The Noctalis Chronicles 2)

“Watcha reading?” He's leaning against the ancient trunk that holds all his worldly goods. Flakes of rust and dirt fleck the floor, but I don't mind. I pull at the key around my neck. I was never going to take it off. It opened the most precious thing I had been entrusted with. Peter's human memories. He'd showed them to me once, but I hadn't touched them since. They were too private. Too intimate. His.

He holds up the cover of the book. It's a historical fiction featuring a woman from World War Two traveling back in time to Scotland. I wouldn't exactly say it's a bodice ripper, but there are quite a few steamy scenes in it. Good thing Peter doesn't blush, or get offended by that sort of thing. I doubt if a woman stripped completely naked in front of him, that he would even have a reaction. Not that I was going to test the theory. I didn't want to take the chance of getting that close to him. Although, one glance at me naked might squash any ideas about love.

“Have you gotten to the sexy parts yet?”

“No.” His eyes race over the page, and he turns one every few seconds. I have no idea how he can read that fast, but there are a lot of things Peter can do that I don't understand.

He puts in a bookmark and looks up at me.

“How was Jamie?” Of course he'd heard the whole conversation. But he was polite enough to pretend that he hadn't.

“He's good. I need to stop neglecting him. Any ideas?” He thinks for a moment before looking up at me. “You could make him earth-shattering cheesecake.” His suggestion makes me smile.

“There's an idea.” Actually, it's not too bad. I file it away for potential use.

He closes the book with a snap. “Ready to fly?” I toss on a coat and an extra pair of pants, gloves and a hat.

“Yes.” I almost throw myself into his arms. I absolutely love touching his skin and I'm bummed I have to wear so many layers. Peter's skin is sorta waxy. I like the feel of it warming under my hands. He scoops me up like he did my mother. No, I'm putting today to the back of my mind. I'm flying with Peter now. Nothing more, nothing less.

I keep my eyes open as he runs off the roof and takes to the air. It's just as much of a rush as the first time, and I wonder if I'll ever get used to it. I hope not. I really hope not.

We don't talk as he takes us higher, the air poking under my clothes, even through my layers. I learned the hard way the first time that I can never have too many layers.

“It wasn't your fault,” he says in my ear when we're at cruising altitude. I was now free to speak to the noctalis.

I rub my face into his shirt, trying to use his scent to burn everything else away. “Feels that way.”

“You cannot cure cancer, as much as you want to.” An idea strikes me, and I voice it before I can second guess it.

“You could.” It's the first time I'm saying it out loud. Pretty sure it's lingered in my subconscious since I met him and only now decided to sneak into the main part of my brain.

“No.” He knows what I'm thinking. He does most of the time. But not all of the time.

“You could, though.”

“I would not. This is not a life. It is an endless, soulless existence.” That's not the point.

“I know, but you could. I'm not asking you to. Just saying that it could happen.” I am not, I repeat, not saying that this should happen. I can't imagine a world where my mother was a noctalis. But the thing is, two months ago I never could have imagined noctali existing at all. So there.

“But it would not.”

“You're impossible.” He doesn't respond and I tighten my hold on him. He feels so solid and so right that I never want to let go. Even when he's arguing with me.

I haven't told him about the decision I'd made when his mother tried to kill me. When she'd said she would release him from his promise to not love anyone but her, and he'd chosen me instead.

I loved him, and I would never love anyone else. In every way you could love a person. Or non-person. I just hadn't told him. I didn't want to burden him any more than I already had with my stupid human weaknesses.

Peter was so hard to read, but I knew he was capable of feelings. Of love. I just didn't know if he'd give it to me. I wasn't sure if I wanted it, even if he could. What would Peter loving me be like? I didn't know. There were so many things I didn't know.

The house was dark and desolate when we returned. I was chilled to the bone, so I cranked the heat in my room. My teeth chattered as I tucked myself into bed. Peter kept his wings out and his shirt off. I liked staring at his wings. They were both pretty and majestic. I still couldn't get over the fact that they were real. That he was real.

“Peter?” I say, stroking one of the iridescent black feathers.

“Yes?”

“You're not falling in, you know...” I don't want to say the L word. Because I might jinx it. I don't want to think it because then he will think it and if he does, he's going to die. I have no idea how this works, or how it will happen, but I don't even want to take the chance.

“Do not worry, Ava-Claire. I keep my promises.” This is both relieving and heartbreaking at once.

I pull the covers up to my chin, pulling myself away from him. “Is there any way out of it, without having Di release you?”

“If she ended.” He leans back to see my face, looking like a god fallen to Earth. My vampire angel.

“So why don't you just kill her?”

There is a pause that feels like a sigh. “It is not as easy as that. She would have to break a promise she made.”

“Do you know if she's made any?” I think I already know the answer.

“No, I do not.”

“Is there any way to find out?”

“Not that I know of.” Geez, make a little less effort, Peter.

“So that's it, then?” She just gets to live forever and have him as her love slave? No flipping way.

“Yes.” Way to slam a door on my attempt to fix this, Peter.

“Well, that just sucks.” I'm starting to warm up and feel really sleepy, but my brain is wide awake. The stress of the day finally catches up with me and it's like being run over by a train. Only a train made of ugly, metal-clad thoughts.

“It does indeed,” he says, picking up a book and effectively ending the conversation.

I don't like sleeping with the light on, but I like it when I wake up and can see him sitting on my floor reading.

I am tired, but as I try to sleep, my thoughts keep whirling like a hurricane that howls and demands my attention. I try to ignore it, but eventually it takes over. I lay there listening to Peter turn the pages of one of my books and that's what finally does it. Better than counting sheep.