Neither (The Noctalis Chronicles 3)

He started walking with me beside him. He bumped me with his hip, trying to throw me off balance. I laughed and bumped him back, causing him to take a dive into the ground. Sometimes I forget how strong I was.

“Ouch,” he said, picking himself up. I gave him a hand, but stopped when I saw that a branch had ripped through his palm and blood was dripping on the ground.

Precious, precious blood. Jamie's blood.

The smell hit me, and the next thing I knew, I grabbed his hand and stuck it in my mouth.

“Ow, Brooke, let go.” I sunk my teeth into his flesh, biting until I almost hit bone. I sucked hard, the blood filling my mouth and streaming down my throat, hot and wet and wonderful. I sucked harder, and something started hitting me in the head. A voice said my name over and over.

“Brooke! You have to stop. Look at me!” Something punched the side of my head and I went to glare at whatever it was that was interrupting my enjoyment of the best blood I'd ever had.

It was Jamie. The moment I met his blue eyes I choked, my jaw letting go of his hand.

“Oh, shit. Oh shitshitshit.” I stepped away from him, wiping the blood that dripped down my chin. I didn't want to waste it, but I couldn't have it. I wiped the rest of it on a wide leaf.

“Oh my God,” Jamie said, looking at his hand. It was pretty mangled, with a clear imprint of my teeth.

“I'm so sorry.”

“No, it was my fault,” he said in a shaky voice. He had lost enough blood that he was probably lightheaded. He stared at his hand as if it didn't belong to him. I saw him start to go over, and I caught him before he fell again.

He didn't regain consciousness until we were in the truck. I searched his glove box and found a small first aid kit. As fast and as gently as I could, I bandaged his arm, holding it above his head to stop the bleeding.

“Brooke?” His voice was weak and his eyelids fluttered.

“It's okay. It'll be okay.”

Twenty-One

Peter

I watch Ava and her family go through the house. She asked me if I think she is a burden. What she sees as a burden, I see as a gift. I am allowed to share in her most intimate moments. I adore watching her throw her head back in laughter when her mother pushes her on the swing. I adore seeing her take the house in, committing it to her memory and taking pictures when she thinks no one is watching. I adore her most when she thinks no one is watching. I run around the property, so as to give her some privacy. I do owe her that.

The land is newer here; it has been logged and the trees are younger. Not as closely packed. I climb a few, looking out over the land. I can nearly see Canada. I've always wanted to take Ava to Canada. Maybe in a few nights I can take her.

Ava's laugh pulls me back to the ground, and I drop from the tree.

We will have to deal with Brooke soon, and Di. Ava is impatient, but I am more cautious. Whatever we do cannot be undone. The key to Di's undoing is Helena. The source of Di's pain, of her anger, of all that she has done lies with Helena and the love that Di thought she lost.

Helena looks, acts and talks like a human girl, but she is not. Her years are many, and the things that she knows could fill hundreds upon hundreds of volumes. My years are only a drop in a bucket in comparison.

I am surprised Di has not used Cal to contact me. To talk some sense into me, as she sees it. I need to unravel more of Di's story, and to do that I need to talk to Helena, perhaps while Ava is asleep again. Humans waste so much time in sleep. Although, they do not have to find things to fill that time. Many times I have wished I could close my eyes and lose myself to exhaustion with her. So we could be the same, even in sleep.

Ava and her family get back in the car. She glances to the woods, looking for me. I move so she can see me.

“I love you,” she says, making a heart with her hands before getting in the car.

I feel so strongly about her, it is hard not to give in to it. To lose myself in that overwhelming feeling of her and only her.

It is an interesting conundrum. The one moment I want is the one that will end me. You can't always get what you want.

Ava

Mom falls asleep on the ride home. Dad turns down the road trip mix and puts his hand on Mom's arm.

“Do you think she liked it?”

“I don't think she would have been happier than if you bought it for her. How did you plan that out? It was very sneaky.”

“Well, back in the day I used to plan surprises all the time for her. Your mother is not an easy person to surprise, as you well know.” Yes, I do. She has eyes in the back of her head.

“You should do it more. She loves surprises.”

“I know. I've got a few more in the works.”

“You gonna tell me?”

“No way.”

“What, because I can't keep a secret?” Oh, if only he knew.

“No, because I know she'd read it on your face.” God, can everyone read my face? “I'm not as good at it as she is.”

“Neither am I.” I pull out a blanket I brought in case it got cold and spread it on top of the cooler. It's not as nice as a Peter chest, but it's more comfortable than leaning against the car window.

I close my eyes as the trees and cars flash by and wish I had my Peter with me.

***

I'm nearly late for school on Monday because I don't really sleep on Sunday night. Every time I close my eyes my mind starts running through a million thoughts about Jamie, Tex and Mom, and Brooke and Di, and all the crap I'm in. And Peter. Always Peter.

His silent chest has been my pillow for the last few weeks. I've stopped asking him if he'll stay in my bed with me, he just assumes, which makes me so happy I don't want to sleep. As he reads, I listen to the scrape of the pages as he turns them. Hypnotic and soothing, but I can't get my mind to shut off.

“Peter?”

“Yes, Ava.”

I peer up at him and he meets my eyes. “Why can't we just run away?”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes and no. I want to run away from all the crap with Di and all that. Sometimes I want to run away from all the stuff happening with Mom. Does that make me a horrible person?”

“No. It makes you human.”

“I hate being human sometimes.”

“I hate being a noctalis most of the time.”

“Really? You hate it?”

“I hate most of it. Still, if I were not immortal I would not have met you. I do not regret that.”

“Well thank goodness.”

“I only meant that I wish things were different. That maybe you could have lived in my time, or I in yours.” I thought of the same thing more times than I could count.