Nightmare (The Noctalis Chronicles 2)

“Well, goodnight Peter.” Dad looks stunned when I say it so quickly. The thing that makes me want to laugh is that he'll be waiting up in my bedroom for me as soon as he goes out the door.

“Goodnight, Ava.” He takes the hand I'm holding and brings it to his lips, bowing over it to give me a kiss on my knuckles. My lips are totally jealous, but they'll get paid later. As far as I'm concerned, human night goes until the clock strikes twelve.

I do hate letting go of Peter's hand, but it has to be done. Before he goes, he pulls me to him for a kiss on my cheek.

“Fight it.” Before he lets go of my hands, I get one good breath in. Then the contact is gone. He tips the fedora at me and closes the door. I start for the stairs, but Dad's voice interrupts me.

“What does he drive, anyway?”

“A Prius. He's very into the environment.” Hell, he'd been camping in a cemetery when I first met him. That counted. I have to let out the air I'd been conserving to talk, and my knees were buckling. I had to go. Now.

“I'm going to take a shower,” I say, stumbling up the stairs. I throw myself at the window, shoving it up and gasping big lungfuls of cool air. Peter had told me to fight it, but how did you fight something like that? Was that what he had gone through? Was that what he went through?

Dear god, I'd never thought of that.

I stop at the top of the steps, realizing that I couldn't rely on him to save me. I had to save myself. And then I could save him. I was no good like this. To anyone. I turn around, purposely inhaling the air that floated up the stairs. It was diluted, but still strong.

I really couldn't put my finger on just what it was that made it so good. All I knew was that I wanted it. So much. But Peter told me to fight. So that's what I was going to do.

I was the reckless girl who had gone back to the cemetery, even after almost being killed. I was the girl who had danced with him that night. I was the girl who had let a noctalis have my blood.

Reckless. No reward without risk. Go big or go home. I said the phrases over and over as I stood at the top of the stairs. My plan was to dash downstairs, say goodnight and dash back up. It wasn't a terrible plan. Even though the pie was long gone and I was starving. In more ways than one.

I counted down, crouching like a distance runner. I finally get to one, and dash down the stairs.

“Goodnight!” I call to the living room.

“Goodnight, baby.” Mom turns and blows me a kiss, frowning a little. Wondering what's up with me. “I'm fine,” I mouth back. She nods. Dad turns and it takes hours for him to say, “Goodnight Ava-Claire Bear,” and give me a partial smile. I breathe in, taking in the scent and acknowledging that yes, it's delicious, and yes, I want it, and no, I can't have it.

I get out with just one vision of smashing my father's head against the coffee table.

Peter's perched on my bed with the fedora cocked over one eye when I slam the door shut.

“Very nice,” I say, pushing my back up against the door. I'm still panting from the run back up the stairs. Thankfully, my room smells like Peter.

“I thought you would like it. You did well.”

“Thanks,” I say, walking toward him. I'm not trying to be sexy, but I can't stop thinking about how the jeans hug him, how his eyes look at me from under the hat.

And I realize that I want to kiss him. I really want to kiss him. I want to lay on top of him and roll around and have him put his hands in my hair and on my skin and...

“I'm going to take a shower.” Probably a cold one. Where the hell did that come from?

“I will be waiting.” Peter doesn't seem to notice how I scurry out of the room after gathering some clothes. Or he's too polite to mortify me further by mentioning it.

The bathroom door closes behind me and I lock it. There won't be any conversation around the door tonight. I need some space. He must sense that, which is both nice and awful at the same time.

Get a grip, Ava.

I go from wanting my Dad's blood one second, to wanting Peter the next. It's like I have this intense need, and it transfers to whatever is right in front of me at the time. I close my eyes and dip my head under the water. Trying to wash my brain out.

It wasn't like I hadn't had thoughts like that about Peter before. How could I not? But this was different. The wanting was different. It had turned from something that flitted through my mind, gentle as a butterfly to something that took over. I could see myself going to him, putting my hands in his shirt. Taking it off. Burning his skin with kisses. And other things. I could see myself doing it.

Yet another problem to add to the list of things that had changed since the Claiming. Only this was one that didn't suck so much. Wanting Peter was...

It was like stepping outside during the first summer rain with bare feet. It was like spinning around in circles, arms out, in the middle of a field of wildflowers. But I had to control it. Just like everything else.

Chapter Twenty

Peter

As she watched me, something strong and hot and thick oozes through her. Desire. She imagines walking over to me, pressing her body against mine, kissing my lips until she can't breathe. And more.

Her own desire magnifies mine and it is all I can do not to break the bathroom door and pull her from the shower. The water turns on and I listen to it caress her skin. This want of hers is startling in its intensity. I have felt little drips of it before, especially when I say certain things to her. Definitely in the car that time when she leaped on me. But this is something different.

Strong, consuming. Like fire.

And I wanted her, too. I get up and change my clothes into the pajamas she'd bought for me, leaving the others folded on top of my trunk. I keep the hat on my head.

She starts to sing, to distract herself. Something by Taylor Swift. I listen, watching as the images of the two of us together flow through her mind.

The shower goes off and I can hear her getting dressed. She's still humming, only this time it's just random notes. She is doing whatever she can not to think about her desire. It still simmers under the surface. Always.

When she comes out, surrounded by steam, I have to stay still so I do no seize her. Her clean wet skin calls to me. I want to taste it, cherish it. Her hair tumbles in wet ropes all over her shoulders.

Timidly, she looks at me. I get up, moving as slow as I can. She takes her bottom lip between her teeth, and her cheeks flush with excitement. It surges within her. It surges within me.

I stand in font of her. “Peter?”

“Yes?” I wait for her to say something. She changes her mind, closing her lips over the words she intended to say. But I hear them anyway.