Forks, Book Two

by A. E. Davis

  “With little else to do, it didn’t take long before Percy and Byron became fast friends.”

  “Yeah, I get that. But how did they both end up in the house together.”

  He chuckled lightly and shook his head. “I’m getting to that.

  “Okay.”

  “As I was saying, that summer was unseasonably dreary. It rained often and was colder than usual. Mary and Percy along with her stepsister, Claire, and John often found themselves gathered in Byron’s drawing room for entertainment. But as you can imagine, after doing that for a while, they became bored.”

  “I guess.” My mind wandered. If I was with Viktor for an entire summer, the last thing I would be was bored.

  “So, on one of those nights, they decided to read ghost stories to one another.” The sound of his melodic voice pulled me back from my wandering thoughts back to his story.

  “Why ghost stories?”

  He sighed. “They were all the rage.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Like I said, there wasn’t much to do so Byron suggested that they each try their hand at writing a ghost story of their own.”

  “Did they all write stories?”

  “I guess you’ll never know if you don’t let me finish,” he reprimanded, jokingly.

  “Fine,” I huffed, crossing my arms. “I won’t interrupt you again.”

  He shook his head and smiled. “As I was saying, Byron started a story but he didn’t finish it.” He paused for a moment as if remembering something. “I don’t think Percy or Claire wrote anything… I can’t seem to recall.”

  It was weird. The way he spoke was as though he had firsthand knowledge.

  “Mary, she was Percy’s lover…” he added and gave me one of his looks to see if I was following him still.

  “I know that.” I rolled my eyes.

  He chuckled.” Just checking.”

  “Go on!”

  “Mary retired to her room and using the thunderstorms and mountains as a backdrop, she gave life to her progeny: Frankenstein.”

  “What about John?”

  “He wrote a story that night as well but it wasn’t very good.”

  “How do you know that?” I couldn’t help but feel a bit unsettled with his seemingly firsthand accounting of things that happened so long ago by people he couldn’t possibly know.

  “Mary wrote about it in her diary.”

  “Do you have that too?” Thinking he probably did.

  “Perhaps.” He gave me another one of his sly looks.

  “Well…what happened?”

  “They all went back to their own lives and lived happily ever after.”

  “What? That’s it?”

  “No,” he laughed. “I’m kidding.”

  “Oh. I was going to say.”

  “Needless to say, the story John eventually wrote didn’t come from his imagination but rather from the story Byron had already partially written that night. However, in John’s version, which some speculate he based on Byron…”

  “Wait. Why did he base it on Byron?”

  “Jealousy, perhaps. Polidori was an irritatingly vain man. He had good reason, to an extent, since he was the youngest physician to ever graduate Edinburgh University but he wasn’t as socially elevated or connected as Byron and no matter how hard he tried he could never reach his elevated status and was instead, constantly in Byron’s shadow. But he didn’t let that stop him from trying. He even went as far as to ask Byron one day, ‘what besides scribble verses, could Byron do better than he’.

  Byron responded, ‘Three things. First, I can hit with a pistol the keyhole in that door. Secondly, I can swim across the river to yonder point. And, thirdly, I can give you a damn good thrashing.’

  “Well, he does sound pretty conceited, and rude.”

  “I thought so, too,” he agreed. “Polidori was constantly in Byron’s shadow and even though John thought to be his equal, Byron never considered him, thusly. You see, Byron did not treat him very well. He was the brunt of many jokes and played an active role in the summers tensions and rivalries. So in turn, Polidori created the undead villain, or the undead hero, depending on who is reading the story, as a proud, handsome, aristocrat who was also fatal to women, which in retrospect, described Byron’s clandestine affairs as well as his immoral character, perfectly.”

  I swallowed hard as fingers of dread clamped down on me. “But why is he fatal to women?”

  “Because the Vampyre is only interested in virgins…he sucks blood from their necks, bleeding them dry…they die…he lives on… and the modern day vampire is born.”

  “Wow. That’s ….um…” I couldn’t get the rest of the words past the lump that was now in my throat.

  “Pretty out there, huh?” His eyes glittered strangely, as he looked at me.

  I nodded. “Yep,” I croaked. “Sure is.” I fumbled with my lid on my bottle and took a hefty swallow of water. I didn’t know why that story bothered me so much…well, except for the fact that I was a girl, and a virgin to boot! “So are there any other books you like…besides dark ones with monsters?” I asked hopefully, trying to alleviate the uneasy feeling closing in on me..

  “Yes.” He chuckled. “I like other books too.”

  “Like?”

  “Tolkien is also a favorite of mine. Are you familiar with his work?”

  “Well, yeah.” Once again, I was relieved I knew who he was talking about. “But I couldn’t even get past the first few pages. It’s a hard read.”

  “He’s just descriptive. Once you get past all that the story is really good.”

  “Yeah, I guess. But I don’t have that much time to figure out what he’s saying. I’m planning on watching the movies sometime, instead.”

  “It took a while,” he admitted. “But after I reread it a few times, I really got into his world building. The way he uses words like brush strokes is extraordinary. It’s not just a book, it’s really a piece of art. Not many authors have that kind of discipline, or readers, that kind of patience.”

  “The way you describe it, makes me want to give it another try.”

  “You can borrow mine,” he said. “It’s a first edition, too.”

  “Thanks, but no. I wouldn’t want to chance messing it up.”

  “It’s just a book.”

  “Not just a book. You just described it as an extraordinary piece of art. Now, I’d be afraid to touch it.”

  “You can always get a copy from the Library or I could get you a copy from a second-hand bookstore in Port Angeles. I’m pretty sure they have a copy.”

  “Really? I love bookstores. Can I go with you sometime?” I blurted and then cringed at my presumptuousness.

  His lips tilted up. “Sure. If you want.”

  “Yeah, I would.” A shiver of excitement rushed through me at the prospect of going.

  “So it’s a date?” His brow quirked up.

  “Ah, yeah. Definitely.”

  “Would you like to go tomorrow?”

  “I would love to!”

  A strange, almost wistful look crossed his face that I didn’t understand.

  “I mean, ah, sure, that would be great.” I pulled back my enthusiasm a bit—I didn’t want him to think I was an idiot.

  He turned back around in his seat. “You ready?” He revved the engine and put the truck into gear. A wicked gleam entered his eyes.

  I was suddenly unaccountably nervous. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  forty eight

  Just as those seemingly innocent words tumbled from my mouth—he punched the gas. We flew down the road so fast the SUV bounced upward.

  Freaking out, I pressed my palms to the dash and looked over at him—I could swear his eyes were shut.

  It seemed like an eternity passed before he slammed on the brakes and the SUV skidded to a halt on the gravel.

  My body pitched forward and my water bottle flew to the floor.

  “We’re here!” he said cheerily, putting the SUV
into park and killing the engine.

  Chills ran up my spine—I was suddenly reminded of the little girl from the Poltergeist movie with her hands on the fuzzy screen of the television. “WH—at were you doing?” I stuttered, my heart pounding from my chest. I pried my fingers loose from the death grip I had on his dash. Frankly, I was surprised there weren’t dents in it when I lifted my hands.

  He shrugged, like it was no big deal. “It’s just something I do.

  Why?” He turned towards me with a clueless look on his face—like he had no idea he had just aged me fifty years—I bet I had some premature gray hair, now.

  “Are you okay.” His eyes glittered, like he wanted to laugh but was holding it back.

  “Yeah.” I frowned. “Just peachy.” I reached down and grabbed my bottle of water from the floor. Sitting back up, I pushed my hair back and turned back to Viktor, but he wasn’t looking at me any longer. Instead, he was staring out of the window with the strangest look on his face. Already on edge from his psychotic driving—a cold sweat broke out on my skin. I was afraid to look out the windshield. Afraid of what I might see: monsters, like Frankenstein and Dracula, were at the forefront of my mind.

  Finally, I couldn’t take not looking. Bracing myself, I slowly turned, forcing myself to look out the windshield.

  I inhaled a sharp intake of air. “Wow.” It was the only word I could manage. The full moon looked like it was sitting on top of the ocean in a bright white glowing ball.

  “Do you like it?” In his voice was a vulnerability that I hadn’t heard before and my stomach involuntary fluttered.

  “It’s…it’s amazing.” Just like when we were in his house in his rooms—there really were no words to describe it.

  He smiled then. But it wasn’t a normal Viktor-smile. Instead, his smile reminded me of a kid on Christmas morning. Just as innocent and something else… something I couldn’t quite grasp onto.

  “I was hoping you would like it,” he said with such sincerity my heart lurched in my chest.

  “Like it…I love it.” I looked back out the windshield as my heart rate slowly returned to normal. It felt like we were floating amongst the clouds—like angels. Large stars dotted the bluish-black sky, twinkling above. It was a bit surreal.

  “I’ve never brought anyone anyone here before.” His voice was low…almost a whisper.

  I looked back over at him. His expression was so intense…so inexplicable…a sudden rush of emotion swirled inside of me and for a moment, I felt like I was going to cry. Not for me, but for him. I wasn’t sure where that came from. But that’s the way I felt.

  “After my accident, I came here…” His voice sounded distant but there was also a hard edge to it.

  My heart hurt for him; I suddenly wanted to do something to make it better. To take away the deep pain etched on his face. I wanted to hug him, tell him it was okay but he seemed like he was far away, lost in his thoughts, or a memory. “Once I got better, well…if you could call it that.” He let out a hollow sounding laugh.

  My brows creased and another surge of uneasiness closed in on me. “What do you mean?”

  “When I came here, no matter how bad I felt, it always helped me bring things back into perspective, to quiet some of the darker thoughts I battled with…back then.”

  “Darker thoughts?” My heart picked up pace.

  “Yeah, you know…”

  A sickening feeling twisted in my stomach. The thought of Viktor battling with something like that was inconceivable to me. No matter how bad things got with my mom and dad, I never entertained anything close to that, so I had nothing to compare his inner turmoil to.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter,” he said sadly. He exhaled heavily and scrubbed his hands over his face. “It’s a moot point, now.” He dropped his hands back to his sides.

  “You don’t still feel that way…do you?” A shiver of dread raced down my spine.

  “No,” he said almost inaudibly.

  I knew I should have felt relief from his admission but I didn’t.

  “Since I met you…” He turned towards me more in the closed space. “Things have changed.”

  “Changed… how?” If he said I made it worse—whatever he was going through—I was going to be sick.

  “You have made me see things…differently.”

  “In a good way or…?” I squeaked in a pitch too high.

  His brow hitched up a notch and his lips tugged up into a funny little grin—his dimple appeared. “What do you think?”

  I found it hard to take a breath. “I…”

  “Don’t you know how special you are…” his words slid over me like velvet—a caress.

  I shook my head adamantly back and forth. “Viktor, I’m no one special.”

  “You are… to me.” His voice was gruff…pained—tortured.

  Slowly…deliberately, he leaned closer, closing the space between us.

  I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. “What are you…”

  Viktor placed his finger on my lips, quieting me. “Don’t ask,” he said, his warm breath wafted out over my face, intoxicating me. “Give me your hand.”

  I did as he instructed, placing my hand in his cold one. Lifting his free hand, he tentatively brushed my hair back from my face. Shivers rushed over my body as a foreboding sense of dèjá’ vu assailed me. This reminded me too much of my dream…

  Gently—just like his voice, his lips were velvet—caressing mine. I couldn’t think or breathe. It didn’t matter though. The only thing that mattered was what was happening at this very moment—what I was feeling. My senses were in overload—every caress, every touch sent tingles of awareness shooting through my body. I scooted forward, trying to get closer. His arms wrapped around my back more securely, pulling me closer—it wasn’t close enough. On a soft moan, his lips left mine—to my jaw, my neck—lingering where my blood pulsed. I angled my head to the side as I tangled my hands in his hair, holding him. His breathing became ragged—just as his kisses became harried, urgent…hungry. Like the night at the lighthouse.

  I clung to him, feeling so many things…I didn’t think I could put them into any semblance of order. Nor did I really want to. I only wanted to get closer, to feel more. To find the ever-elusive thing that was just out of my reach—that only Viktor could give me.

  “I need you,” he murmured as his lips found their way back to mine—searing me from the outside to the innermost parts of my body—branding me. His hand slid up into my hair, twisting into the length as his other hand slid down my shirt, his cold fingers toying with the bottom, lifting it. Cool air nipped at my exposed belly—like an icy wave my weird dream came crashing in, bringing the harsh reality of what was happening with it. I was in too far and I didn’t think I could get back out, and what was worse, I didn’t know if I even wanted to. My emotions were waging a war—against me—against him. I put my hand on his, stopping his progression, afraid of going any further before clearing the air between us.

  Tearing his mouth from mine, he leaned back and looked at me. His eyes haunted. “What’s wrong?” he asked gruffly.

  “I’m …I’m not sure…”

  “What aren’t you sure of…?” his voice was pained—but bitter too.

  “It’s not you. I swear. It’s just…I’m scared.” And I was. Not of him, but that he would hate me if he found out about Vincent—that we had kissed too, and even though I didn’t want to admit it to him or myself, my feelings for Vincent as well.

  “Don’t be,” he said with conviction. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Now I felt even worse. “But…you…don’t understand…”

  His body went rigid. He sat up, away from me and covered his face. He was breathing hard, like he couldn’t catch a breath. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “Viktor…it’s not that…” I reached out to touch his arm.

  He jerked away from me, just like Vincent had done.

  I pulled my hand back in my lap.
/>
  “Just give me a second, all right?”

  My conscience was tearing me up inside and the pain I heard in his voice made it so much worse. I couldn’t take it. I tugged my shirt down over my stomach and opened the door.

  “Nooo!”

  Hands grabbed onto my shoulders none to gently and jerked me back.

  I turned around—his eyes were…wild.

  “What are you doing?” I tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let go. “Viktor—you’re scaring me.”

  He loosened his grasp, but he still didn’t release his hold. “Amber,” he whispered my name almost inaudibly as his eyes slowly returned to normal.

  He took a deep breath but still didn’t release me. “Don’t freak out, okay?”

  “Oh—kay,” I said slowly, not sure what was going on.

  “Remember, when I turned out the lights?”

  “Um, yeah.” How could I forget, he almost gave me heart failure.

  “Did you wonder what I meant when I said it was something that I do?”

  “Well…not at the time…”

  He exhaled a long drawn out breath. “Look out your door.”

  My brows creased in confusion, not sure how that would explain anything but I leaned forward as much as I could with him still holding on to me and looked down.

  There was nothing there but blackness.

  “I don’t see anything.” Confused, I turned back towards him.

  “That’s the point I am trying to make.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “There is nothing there.”

  “What?” I jerked my feet back inside.

  “I stopped on the edge of the cliff.”

  It finally dawned on me what he had done and any rational thought I had flew out the window. “Are you out of your ever-loving mind?” I yelled, my fear making my voice harsher than I intended.

  He flinched away from me like I hit him.

  “Viktor,” I softened my voice. “I’m sorry…I was just freaked, I didn’t mean…” I stopped because it was already too late—the damage had already been done.

  forty nine

  An entire day had passed since I was with Viktor. He didn’t call me to go to the bookstore and I didn’t call him. Not because I didn’t want to but because I didn’t think he wanted to talk to me. Especially after the way I acted when I realized he could have killed us both with his crazy driving stunt. At the time, I was more angry then scared and I had taken it out on him by yelling, which was something I always did when I was freaked. His reaction however, was not something I was prepared for.