“Are you going to kill me?” The words were out before I could stop them.
“No, I'm going to show you how to live forever,” he said as he sunk the knife into my arm.
Three
Ava
I wake a few hours later when a feather tickles my nose and I sneeze.
“Bless you,” Peter says, handing me a tissue. Oh thank God, he's still here. “I kept my promise.” He doesn't smile, but he doesn't have to. It's enough that he's here.
“I see that.” I also see that it's time for me to get up. My head is groggy and slow to work, as if it's been stuffed with something squishy.
“I can't believe I slept that long,” I say, yawning. My body feels heavy, but not as painful as it did last night. I do get a little twinge when I turn my head from the wound on my neck.
“You were tired,” Peter says.
“You're hiding something from me, which isn't unusual. You might as well tell me. You know I don't like secrets.” I feel the lie slip away. Or at least this one.
“I gave you sleeping medication instead of aspirin,” he said without hesitation. Wow, that was easy. Most of the time, it's like pulling teeth to get him to admit he's hiding something. That worries me because it means he's hiding something even bigger. God help us.
“You sneaky boy,” I say. I'm not mad about him drugging me. I probably should be, but it is such a small thing, and I do feel somewhat better. Less like I've been hit by a truck and more like I've had a rough weekend with lots of alcohol consumption, which I hadn't done in a while.
I'm surprised my mother hasn't already come up to see if I'm awake. It's pretty late.
“Your mother thought about knocking, but she went back downstairs. She is a very perceptive woman,” he says as if he read my mind. He probably did.
“Yeah, she is,” I say, turning my head. I have an awful crick in my neck, but I don't want to move from my present position.
“Your phone has been 'blowing up,' as Texas says.” Peter hands me my phone and I see that I have a bazillion messages from her. I hit call under her number.
“Oh my God, you're alive,” she says, picking up after one ring.
“So are you. What happened?”
“It was batshit crazy, Ava. Like, I don't even know. We need to meet so we can discuss this. Viktor's here. Don't worry; he's not going to do anything.” The last part she says a little breathless. Oh, dear. If it was anyone but Viktor, I wouldn't trust them, but Peter trusts him, and there seems to be some sort of master plan for all this crazy. I don't ask her about the new bind and the fact that now Viktor has to kill me. It might put a kink in our friendship.
“My parents are at the store today. Want to come over? I really, really need to talk to you,” she says.
“I really need to talk to you, too.” About Thing Three and potentially Four. God, this is getting complicated. How many Things could one person take? There is Thing One, my mother's terminal cancer diagnosis, Thing Two, which is Peter, and then the additional Thing Two-and-a-half, the Claiming. More than enough for one person.
“Come over as soon as you can. Bring your noctalis,” she says.
“Will do,” I say and hang up.
“Looks like we have a double date. I'm going to take a shower. You just... don't go anywhere.” I put my hands up as if he's a dog I'm asking to sit and stay.
“I would not,” he says, brushing my shoulder as I get up.
I so, so do not want to be away from him, even if I'm in the next room. I hold onto the key to the trunk that sits at the end of my bed. It’s the only thing of his I can hold onto right now.
I glance at my neck in the mirror, slowly peeling back the gauze. I have a Peter bite. Mom is definitely going to notice. I can't wear the scarf again or else cause everyone to be suspicious. I'd told her about Peter being a noctalis. She knew about the first time when he strangled me and she knew that he craved my blood, but the mark of his teeth on my neck is shocking, even to me. Did he really need to be that dramatic?
Surprisingly, it doesn't really hurt. I toss the gauze, which is stained a rusty red from my blood, and undress the rest of the way. My clothes are absolutely filthy. I'll have to sneak my laundry in when Mom isn't looking.
“Come talk to me through the door,” I say as I turn the shower on. Even a few seconds away from him is too much. He's going to be attached to my hip from now on.
“How are you feeling?” he says.
“I've been worse.” Yesterday was much worse, I think while shampooing my hair and trying to keep the bite away from the hot water and soap.
Images of last night run through my mind. The one that sticks out more than any other was Peter's face as he came toward me. In that second, I thought he was going to do it. To kill me. He didn't, but I thought he would. I'm never going to tell him about that. I don't want him to know I was scared of him that way. You couldn't be scared of someone you truly loved, could you?
The hot water does little to wash away my guilt. I can't believe I lost faith in him.
“Talk about something stupid,” I say.
He's been quiet. Probably listening to my thoughts or something.
“I am not sure what you consider stupid.”
“Oh come on, anything that doesn't have to do with blood or binds or promising things or your mother.” Anything other than that.
“How about we talk about books?” God, I love him.
“Did you ever finish 1984?” I meant to ask him that a long time ago. In addition to current bestsellers, I've been putting him through the classics, too. He'd gone through most of them in his existence, but that's one he missed somehow. I don't know how, but there you have it.
“Yes, it was beautiful and tragic all at once,” he says.
“Exactly.”
I finish my shower as we talk about the book. I knew it was one he would like. Dark and raw and real. To be honest, that book scares the bejeezus out of me because it seems like something that could actually happen. Hell, I'm in love with an angel vampire. Totalitarian governments aren’t that far-fetched.
Damn. I realize I forgot to grab some clothes before I stripped down. Well, there is no way I'm putting the dirty clothes back on. Weighing my options, I decide to just wear my towel. It's less embarrassing than Peter picking out my underwear. Not that I'm ashamed of it or anything... I just don't want to deal with things like that just yet. I just got him back. Putting the moves on him seems a little weird.
“I'm coming out in just a towel. Just to, you know, warn you.” I didn't know what he'd think, but I can feel something start to rage in him and in me as soon as I say it. There it is again, like a black satin ribbon that wraps around us, dancing and teasing.