Nightmare (The Noctalis Chronicles 2)

“He always wants something. That used to be my death, but now I am not so sure. There is only one other thing that he could want and that is to make me suffer as he has.”

“But he cannot touch Ava.”

“That doesn't matter. There is always a way.”

“You should change her.” It's the first time he's said it to me. I know he's thought it. I have thought it. Ava has obsessed over it.

“There has to be another way.” There must be another way. The way to save her life is not to end it.

“It is your choice.”

“What would you do? If it was Adele?” At the mention of her name, he freezes like a statue. His eyes focus on something far away. A girl that had ended many years ago. I need to know his answer.

“I would do it.”

“You would change her.”

“Yes.”

“Even with everything you know.”

“Yes.”

“No hesitation.” I need him to say it one more time.

“Yes.” He offers no explanation. I wait for one. “If she would have been human, I would have changed her. Then the bind wouldn't exist and I wouldn't have lost her. But it did not happen that way.” Only his lips move as he speaks. Even the air is still.

“You have also not considered something else.”

“What is that?”

“That if you do not change her, she might find someone who will. And they could... take advantage of her vulnerability.” Oh yes, I had thought about it. Many times. But there was a catch, which I had not told Ava. In order for another noctalis to touch her, she would need to be so near death that the chances of her being changed would be miniscule. It was not worth the risk. I had not told her that. Because I knew she might want to gamble.

“Think about it,” he says before departing.

I spend the rest of my time, without Ava, flying. Since I never get tired or need to rest, I don't have to stop. Before she came into my life, I would often spend days or weeks in the sky, only coming down long enough to feed. Sometimes, I would ride through a hurricane. Once I was swept inside a tornado and spit out several miles from where I started. That was nothing compared to flying with Ava in my arms.

My thoughts spin like a tornado, tossing out random bits and potentialities until I'm so wrapped in it, I take a breath to try and release myself. It seems to work well for humans, this breathing. It does little to calm my thoughts, but I do my best, trying not to telegraph them to Ava.

The rain tapers off and soon the wind has my pants and hair dry again. I dip down every now and then to check on Ava. I try to rationalize it as we both need the closeness. She and her mother are deep into the mysteries of pie crust. I hope Ava teaches me later. I enjoy her teaching me about food, even if I do not wish to eat it.

I push my hair back from my forehead before pulling myself through her window.

“Hey Peter,” she says when she opens the door. Her lovely cheeks flush and she pulls me into her with those eyes. No, I cannot crush this warmth and happiness from her with immortality.

Chapter Seventeen

Ava

Peter is acting a little weird, even for him. We're in the kitchen, basking in the smell of an apple pie and a blackberry pie that are cooling on the counter. They look freaking delicious. Earth-shattering, you might say. I've finally decided that Peter should come over when my dad is here. The sooner he gets used to Peter and the quicker we can integrate him into the family, the better. Because he is my family now. I'm still injured from what he said last night, but I'm doing my best not to let it show. Don't worry, be happy.

He came out earlier when Peter “happened to stop by” and gave his disapproval. Then Mom saves us by asking him to go and get her some more mulch and potting soil. Bless her. He'd be back soon and then Peter and I would have to keep at least five feet of distance between us. It was Mom's idea to make pie. It seemed like a normal Sunday thing to do, so I couldn't say no.

“How's Viktor? Still wolfy?” I joke, trying to get him to smile in the presence of my mother. It would be good to get him to do that so she'll stop being so wary around him. She's gotten much better, but we still have a long way to go.

If I'm being completely honest, I want her approval. I need it. I can't give my life to him unless she supports it. Kind of like asking your father's permission before you get engaged. Only, Peter and I weren't getting engaged. You can always break an engagement. You can't unbecome a noctalis.

“Wolfy?” My mother says. I look at Peter to ask if it's okay if I tell her about Viktor.

Blink.

“He kind of looks like a wolf when he wants to. Do you remember the guy in the third Harry Potter? He kind of looks a little like that. Only not so scary. And more human. Ish.” Of course I botch the explanation.

She stares at me like I've grown an extra head. “He's a werewolf?”

“The legends may very well be based on some of us,” Peter chimes in.

“Really? What other legends?”

“Angels, vampires, fey, both Greek and Roman gods. Most any culture with supernatural beings as legends has been based on my kind.” It's weird when he says 'my kind.'

I watched the cogs work in her brain, thinking of all the noctalis possibilities. I've already been there, done that.

“How interesting. Are there many of you?”

The fact that they're talking so easily warms the cockles of my heart.

What the hell are cockles?

Peter speaks again. This is the most he's ever talked to her. “Several hundred at most. It is difficult to tell. We do not tend to stay in groups.”

“Huh.” Mom looks like she's thinking real hard again. The timer dings, alerting us that the pies are cool enough to eat.

“What about your other brother, the one who came, ah, to visit?”

“We are not close,” Peter says, closing the subject.

“This is Ava's very first pie made from scratch,” she says, going with the flow.

“It looks wonderful.” Yeah, I should win a damn prize.

The reason I'm learning to make a pie isn't because my mother wants to teach me. Well, it is, but she needs me to know because she won't be around when I eventually want to learn. It's like trying to cram a lifetime of memories into a few months. It's impossible. There's always that ticking clock, telling me that this could be the last time we make pie. This could be the last time we laugh together. This time. This time.

“I must go,” Peter says before doing his disappearing act. Moments later Dad's car is back and guess who gets to help him unload a million bags of mulch and soil and drag them to the shed? Yeah, that's me.