Nocturnal (The Noctalis Chronicles 1)

“It is more of a territorial thing. If there was someone desirable, then the strongest noctalis would claim them for a time.” I know what comes next.

“I'm guessing it ends badly for the human.” Otherwise known as me.

“More or less.”

“You are frustratingly opaque.” I have to throw up again and Peter holds my hair. How sweet.

“Ava?” Dad knocks on my door as I'm washing my mouth out again.

“Yeah?” My voice is weak. Why does he choose this exact moment to be parental? Seriously?

“Are you okay?” I'm just fantastic.

“Yeah. I just don't feel that great.” I look up and realize the sun is low in the sky. I must have passed out for several hours.

“Do you need anything?” Please don't come in.

“No, I'm just going to lie down. I've taken some Pepto so I should be good.” Peter seems completely un-alarmed that my father could walk in and find a strange guy in my bathroom.

“Are you sure?” Oh my God, will you just go away?

“Yeah. I'll let you know if I need anything.” I hear his footsteps as he walks back down the stairs.

“Why does he have to choose now to be all concerned?” I push my disgusting hair out of my face. “I need to take a shower,” I say, even though my hair is still wet from the last one. My clothes reek of sweat and I've got dried blood all over me. Come to think of it, so does he, but there's no visible wound. Great, he's also got magical healing powers he didn't tell me about.

“Are you sure you can stand?” I want to give him a withering look, but I refrain. There's no way he's watching me shower.

“Yeah,” I say although I'm pretty sure it's not going to happen. There's a handle, and I need a few moments alone to think. All my fury over what he's done sort of went out of me when I threw up.

“I will stay, in case you need me,” he says, getting up.

“Okay,” I say, because I'm glad he's going to be here, even though I haven't had the chance to figure out how I feel about what he's done to me. I just know that I don't want him to go anywhere. The minute he closes the door, I kind of want to call him back, but that's ridiculous. He's just in the next room, but I can't deny the uncomfortable feeling that I'm missing something important. That feeling you get when you realize there's a quiz in math and you've completely forgotten to study.

I don't bother to wash my hair. I just let the water pour down my skin, wishing it would wash everything way. I make sure I hold the bad arm outside of the curtain so it doesn't get wet. I have to use my other arm to hold onto the shower bar so I didn't fall. It is possibly the shortest shower of my life. So many thoughts war for control. I don't even understand some of them. I'm a swirling hurricane of sad, crazy, angry hurt feelings.

“I'm coming out, but I'm wearing a towel. You'd better turn your back,” I say as I crack the door open. Relief washes over me as soon as I see him. Even with the pain and how shitty I feel, my face breaks out into a goofy smile. What is wrong with me?

I still make sure he's turned around before I come out, holding onto various objects in the room to cruise over to my dresser to grab some clothes. Getting dressed is an ordeal that takes twelve times longer than usual, but once I'm decent, I get back into bed. He hasn't moved at all.

“Peter.” He turns. “What happens now?” I'm ready to hear the rest of it.

He sits on the edge of my bed. “I don't know. That is the truth, Ava. I have only heard about Claiming. I have never seen it done.” He won't really look at me, which makes me want to grab his chin and hold it so he'll look me in the eye with that unblinking gaze.

“How did you even know it would work?” There's a nasty pause.

“I didn't.” Getting up, he goes to the window, pressing his forehead against the glass as if he wishes he could escape. A pang of sadness and longing jolts through me. It feels foreign, like it doesn't belong to me.

I close my eyes and lay back on my bed. My emotions rage for control.

“How are you feeling?” He studies me as if he's never seen me before.

“Like there's something crawling under my skin,” I say. I'm full, too full. Any moment now I'm going to overflow all over everything. “It's not very nice.”

“Yes.” He closes his eyes as a shudder goes through him. Earth shifting at a fault line. I've never seen him do that. The simple movement sends a similar tremor through me. This exchange of blood has done more than either of us can fathom right now.

“You feel it too?”

“I feel different.” He sits down on the end of my bed.

“How?”

“I feel....” I've never seen him struggle for the right words. “I want to... Are you all right? How are you feeling?” His eyes frantically seek mine out. Reassurance.

“Am I going to become a noctalis?”

“No. You would need to ingest my blood for that to happen.” That's a relief.

“I feel like I should have asked you that first off.” My head starts to pound and I know I'm going to have a rager of a headache.

“Can you get me a glass of water?” He's back with it in two seconds. “Oh, and some aspirin?” He hands me two pills, our skin meeting. It's just a brief touch, but it makes my mouth dry and my stomach flutter. I want it to happen again.

I look up at his face, finding his eyes through his hair. They aren't blank like they usually are. My face blooms into a blush. Given the circumstances, it surprises me as much as anything else. Another shudder goes through him.

“Is something wrong?” His energy is frenetic. He vibrates with it, as if he's had far too much coffee. “You're not, um, hungry or whatever, are you?” Why am I bringing this up?

“No.” Quickly, he glances down at me. “I only need to eat every two weeks at the most. I can go for longer.” I am only momentarily relieved.

“How much do you need?”

“Not much.” How much is not much?

“What if I don't want to?”

“Then I will waste away.”

“Will you die?” I move closer to him. For some reason, the closer we are, the better I feel. Like we're magnets or something. What have we done?

“No.”

“So you'll just be in agony.” An image of myself reaching out and brushing his hair out of his face goes through me with such longing that my hand raises, as if of its own accord. I let it drop back down.

“More or less.”

“I hate it when you say that. Is it more or is it less?” He considers for a moment.