Forks, Book Two

by A. E. Davis

  “We’re going out.”

  “Out, as in a date, out?” His face hardened.

  “No.” As usual, my face betrayed my lie by turning redder.

  “God!” He leaned his head back and exhaled. “I’m so stupid.” He lowered his eyes back to mine.

  “It’s not what you think,” I said, trying somehow to soften the blow.

  “Oh, come on, Amber.” The pained look was back on his face and I was the one that had put it there. I felt like I was going to be sick.

  “Vincent…” I reached out to touch his arm.

  He jerked away.

  I lowered my hand and wrapped it around my stomach.

  Viktor stepped up to the bottom of the stairs and looked between me and Vincent. His expression unreadable. “You ready to go or did you change your mind?” He completely ignored Vincent.

  “Yep,” I croaked. “I just need to ah, grab my stuff and I’ll be ready to go.” I tried to sound breezy, upbeat even though I was feeling anything but. I glanced over to Vincent. The pained look was gone but what was in its place was so much worse—he looked like he hated me. My chest tightened more.

  “You want me to come inside?”

  “Um, no, you don’t have to. I’ll be right out.”

  “Okay.” His eyes flicked briefly over to Vincent. Then he turned and walked slowly back towards his SUV.

  “Vincent…”

  “Don’t,” he warned with a sharp edge to his voice.

  I flinched. “But…” I wanted to say something to make it better, to take that look away but I didn’t know what to say.

  He scrubbed his hands over his face and then dropped them back to his sides. “You know what?”

  “What?” I whispered, barely able to speak.

  “I don’t even care anymore. You two deserve each other.” And without another word, Vincent walked down the stairs and disappeared into the darkness.

  forty six

  Mechanically, I walked back into the house to get my things. I felt sick. Thankfully, Mom and Ken were M.I.A.

  I ran upstairs to use the bathroom. Once I was safely closed inside, I could finally breathe. Leaning on the sink, I tried to get my rampant emotions under control. “What am I doing?”

  I turned and looked at myself in the mirror. The face that stared back at me, I didn’t even recognize. My face was red—blotchy and my eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. I felt like I should cry, get it out, but I couldn’t. Viktor was waiting for me. And no matter how bad I felt about Vincent, somehow, someway, the prospect of spending time with Viktor overrode everything else, including my guilt.

  I splashed cold water on my face. Grabbing a towel, I dried off my hands. Knowing I couldn’t delay any longer, I left the bathroom.

  Once downstairs, I stopped off in the kitchen to grab a water from the fridge and then headed towards the door.

  The two pumpkins Vincent had brought were still on the floor where he left them. My chest tightened more and I felt like I was going to cry.

  “Take a deep breath,” I told myself. “It’s going to be okay.” I inhaled deeply and released a slow stream of air. My emotions were touch and go—one minute, I felt better and the next, I felt like crying. I grabbed my jacket off the hook, pulled it on; then lifted my bag. I opened the door, and stepped outside onto the porch.

  The air was so cold, it took my breath away. Shutting and locking the door, I turned and headed towards his SUV. Nerves rippled through me. The lights were shining and I knew he could see me perfectly, but I couldn’t see him. As soon as I got to the door, it opened up and a burst of heat hit me. Stepping up on the runner board, I climbed inside and set my bag on the floor. Warm air blew out of the vents and music played low on the stereo.

  “Hey,” I said, and shut the door. Situating myself on the soft leather seat, I hooked up my seatbelt.

  Viktor turned and gave me a cold look.

  A shiver of unease swept over me. Without saying a word, he turned and backed out of the driveway. Once the tires hit pavement, he threw his SUV into gear and stomped on the gas. My neck jerked back from the action.

  “Donkeyhole!” I glanced over at him expecting him to at least be cracking a smile, like he normally did when I said that but he wasn’t. “So,” I hedged. “Where are we off to?”

  “You’ll see.” His expression was grim.

  “All righty then,” I muttered, irritated. Leaning over, I grabbed my water out of my bag and then turned to look out of the passenger door window. The landscape blurred into a big black smear which gave me little to look at and no clue as to where we were going. It didn’t matter though. My mind was on other things, like how Vincent had looked at me before he left.

  Viktor turned on his blinker and slowed to a stop, then made a left on the main road. Gathering my nerve, I covertly took a few deep fire breaths.

  “Viktor…”

  “What?” His eyes locked with mine and suddenly I wished I didn’t bother.

  “Aren’t you going to talk to me?” I asked.

  “I am talking to you.” The streetlights slanted into the window illuminating his face. His jaw was tense—he seemed mad.

  “I wouldn’t necessarily call that talking,” I muttered.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine, what?”

  “You want me to talk, I’ll talk.”

  I gulped. “Oh—kay.” Now I kind of wished I kept my big mouth shut.

  “Why don’t you tell me why my brother was at your house?”

  And there it was.

  KABOOM! The very thing I didn’t want to talk about.

  “He brought me over a pumpkin because I didn’t think I was going to be able to get one.” I told him the truth, not seeing the point in lying at this juncture.

  “That was nice of him,” he said pleasantly which was in stark contrast to the expression on his face.

  “Yeah, it was.”

  “It seems you two are pretty close,” he said offhandedly.

  “Yeah, we are.”

  “Do you like him?”

  “Of course,” I said quickly—maybe too quickly by the look on his face. “I like you both,” I blurted stupidly and then cringed at how bad that must have sounded.

  He nodded, seemingly accepting my answer even though it wasn’t a very good one.

  A long silence followed.

  I couldn’t take it. “So…why didn’t you go to the Social?”

  He glanced over at me. “I’m not really into haunted houses.”

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “Me neither.”

  He cut me a curious look. “Did you go into the haunted house?”

  “Nope.” I shook my head back and forth.

  “What did you do, then?”

  “I looked at the costumes, watched some people scream like maniacs, and talked with some people.”

  His lips twitched. “Scream like maniacs?”

  “Yeah. I swear one of them peed their pants too.”

  He laughed. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. It was pretty creepy and I didn’t even go into the haunted house.”

  “Who was there? Anyone, I know?” His face was cloaked in shadows so I couldn’t see his expression.

  “Um, Glinda, Curtis, Cressida, and Vincent.”

  “Did you all go together?”

  “No. I met Glinda at the Visitor’s Center and we went together.”

  “Who did Vincent go with?”

  “Oh, he went with Curtis and Cressida.” I wasn’t sure why he was asking me. Didn’t he ever talk to his brother?

  “Cressida?” He gave me a questioning look. “What was she doing with them?”

  “They were on a date.”

  “Who?” His brows pulled together. “Curtis and Cressida?”

  “No. Vincent and Cressida.”

  “Vincent was on a date with Cressida?” His disbelief was apparent in his voice.

  “I guess.” Even as I admitted that, I felt a pang of something akin to jealousy bubble
back up inside of me even though I didn’t have any reason to feel that way since I was out with Viktor. Apparently, I was a hypocrite.

  “Who told you that? Cressida?”

  “Nope.” I took a breath. “Vincent told me.”

  Viktor laughed. Not a quiet chuckle either, but a loud hearty laugh from deep in his chest.

  “What’s so… funny?”

  “My brother,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Yeah, he’s something.”

  “Were there a lot of people there?” He seemed only too happy to continue the Q and A session, now. In fact, his good humor seemed to be at an all-time high with the news of Cressida and Vincent’s date.

  “It depends on what you consider a lot.”

  “I don’t know. Fifty people.”

  “Yeah, there were probably more than that.”

  “I guess it was a hit, then.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “So, what did you guys talk about?” he asked, all ears, now.

  “Who?” I totally spaced.

  “You, Vincent and Cressida.”

  “Oh right,” I said distractedly, looking out the window. “I didn’t really talk to them.”

  “So…” he hedged. “You just hung out with them while they were on their date?” Laughter lingered in his voice.

  My shoulders tensed. Seriously? It wasn’t that funny. “No. I talked to Lucky.”

  “I should have guessed.” His hands tightened around the steering wheel.

  forty seven

  At the mention of Lucky’s name, his good humor evaporated and the conversation once again, came to a squelching halt.

  While he tapped the steering wheel, I stared out of the window, wondering if we were ever going to get to our destination. Normally, I would have enjoyed the alone time with him but his entire demeanor had completely changed at the mention of Lucky’s name—it was like he hated him. I didn’t ask him about it, though, because I wasn’t really sure I even wanted to know the answer. Besides, our conversation was already stilted enough.

  Turning, I looked over at him. Even the profile of his face was beautiful—I felt a swell of warmth inside just from looking at him.

  He glanced over at me. Our eyes met and my heart did a little flutter thing.

  “Can we just talk about something else?” I asked hopefully.

  He sighed, a long drawn out one. “Sure.”

  “So, what have you been doing?”

  “Not much. Just reading.” Slowing considerably, he made another turn.

  “Oh.” I gleaned onto that topic. “What are you reading?”

  “Mrs. Shelley’s Frankenstein.”

  “Don’t you mean Mary Shelley?”

  “No. The book I have is Mrs. Shelley’s Frankenstein. It’s one of the first books released.”

  “Wow. That’s so cool.”

  “Have you read it?” He glanced over at me.

  “No. Not yet, but I have it on my TBR list.”

  His brow lifted in question. “What’s a TBR list?”

  “It just means, To Be Read”

  “You keep a list?”

  “Yeah, if I don’t I’ll forget.”

  “If you like…” He glanced at me. “I can lend it to you...”

  “Aren’t you still reading it?”

  “I’ve read it before, so I pretty much know the story by heart.” A slight smile played on his lips.

  “Thanks. I’d love that.” A feeling of relief washed over me. At least he didn’t seem mad anymore.

  “Are you reading anything good?” he asked conversationally.

  “Um…not really.” I made a face.

  “What’s with the face?”

  “I’m reading Twilight right now.”

  His brow lifted. “Interesting choice,” he said.

  “Well, I didn’t really pick it out for myself. Glinda bought it for me.”

  “Don’t you like it?”

  “I do, but….”

  “But?”

  “It’s a little out there.” I didn’t want him to think I was a weirdo because of what I asked him the night we went to Clallam Bay.

  “How so?”

  Still feeling nervous, I cleared my throat. “Are you familiar with the book?”

  “It’s kind of hard not to be familiar with the book…books.” He qualified, “I live here.”

  “Yeah. I guess,” I said. “Have you read it?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “No.”

  “If you want, I can lend it to you when I’m finished.”

  “I think I’m good.”

  “Okay.” I rubbed my hands on my jeans. “What kind of books do you like?”

  “I have a penchant for all classics but my tastes do tend to bend towards Dark Romanticism.”

  I thought of his library and all the old books I had seen. “Such as?”

  “Byron, Poe, Hawthorne, Polidori, Stoker, and of course, Mrs. Shelley. What about you?” His eyes were alight as though he was amused with our conversation or…me.

  “I’m afraid my reading choices aren’t quite as dark or as elevated as yours.” I didn’t even know who some of them were but I didn’t want to admit that to him. “I have read Stoker,” I added quickly, glad that I had read at least one of the authors he indicated.

  “So you do like some classics as well.” His brow lifted.

  “I wouldn’t say that, but I am a sucker for a good Vampire story.”

  He laughed suddenly. The sound warmed me like it always did, even though I wasn’t sure what was so funny.

  “You know…” he said, sliding me a sly look that I didn’t quite understand. “It’s been bandied about that one of Byron’s earliest writings influenced Stoker’s Dracula.”

  “Really?” I turned towards him more. This, I could understand. “How so?”

  “Byron was the first one, I believe, that romanticized the Vampire, which in turn made it a desirable creature and is what Stoker ran with when he wrote Dracula.”

  “Wow.” Okay. So I didn’t know that. “Really?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s kind of crazy.”

  “It gets even better.” He slowed down and made another turn, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

  “I’m all ears,” I said, excitedly, preparing to be wrapped up in the story.

  His lips twitched.

  “What?”

  “I didn’t realize you were so interested in such…things.”

  “Oh. I am. I love hearing new things,” I said. Well, I amended to myself, things, that I was interested in, which pretty much covered anything that came out of Viktor’s mouth. “I research stuff all the time and am always amazed at the origin of some of the things I find out. It all seems to come full circle, you know.” I didn’t mention the research that I had recently done was on Vampires but that was one of those “need to know things” and I didn’t think he needed to know.

  He pulled into a driveway that I wasn’t even sure could be called a driveway. It was in dire condition, with trees closing in on us. A tufted line of grass jutted up from the center of pothole ridden tire tracks. Actually, it reminded me a lot of his driveway—well, the driveway before the gates to his house. He gave me a funny look and put the truck into park but kept it running.

  “Why are you stopping? Have we arrived at our destination?” I glanced back out the window hoping a bear wasn’t standing in it.

  “We are almost there, but I wanted to stop and tell you the story first and no, to answer your question, there aren’t any bears here.”

  I gaped at him.

  He tapped his head with his finger. “I can tell what you’re thinking—you have a very expressive face.”

  I swallowed hard. “Reeeally?” I wasn’t sure I believed him.

  His lip tilted up. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Really.”

  “Oh. Okay.” That should have made me feel better but it didn’t. I pulled my leg up on the seat, attempting to get comfortable or a
t the very least, look like I was—in reality, I was trying to cover my nervousness by giving my shaking hands something to do.

  He unhooked his seatbelt, and turned towards me, so we were now facing each other. “You ready?”

  “Yep.” I nodded.

  “Frankenstein and Dracula, or rather the romanticized version of the Vampyre with a Y and not an I, were both created in the same house or rather at a Villa at pretty much the same time.”

  “How’d you know that?” An uneasy feeling closed in on me and I wasn’t sure why.

  He shrugged. “It’s just something I read.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “There wasn’t much else to do,” he explained. “It was called a year without summer, or rather a “haunted summer, for a reason.”

  “What was the reason?”

  “It was a terribly dreary and it rained often…”

  “Are you sure they weren’t in Forks?” I joked.

  “No.” He gave me an exasperated look.

  “Sorry.” I shrugged my shoulders sheepishly.“ Go ahead.”

  “Byron, along with his companions grew bored one night….”

  “Wait. Who were his companions?”

  He exhaled audibly. “Percy Shelley, Mary Godwin, who later became Mary Shelley, her stepsister Claire, who was also Byron’s lover at the time, and Byron’s personal physician, John Polidori.”

  “Why were they all together. I mean, that seems like a lot of famous people in one place at the same time. Was it merely a coincidence or was there some other reason they were together?”

  “There were many reasons, but I believe the main ones consisted of Percy attempting to elude his wife so he could continue his affair with Mary and Byron, who was also fleeing a decomposing marriage along with some rather sordid and scandalous rumors.”

  “What were the sordid and scandalous rumors?”

  “He was accused of having incest with his stepsister.”

  “He what?”

  “They were only rumors,” he assured me.

  “If they were only rumors than why did he leave?”

  “Incest was considered a punishable offense so on the off chance he would be incarcerated unduly, he left England.”

  “I can see why.”