The Noctalis Chronicles Complete Set

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  “I should hope not. By the way, that brings up an interesting question I've been thinking about. Are there any gay noctali?” I'd never thought to ask before now.

  “When we meet someone we are attracted to, gender is not so important. When you do not have to reproduce, something like that does not matter.” Well, what do you know about that?

  “Have you ever...” I really hope he can fill in the blanks.

  “No. You are the only person — noctalis or human — that I have ever wanted to be with in this existence.”

  “I guess that's good to know.” I think about that for a moment. I guess when you take making babies out of the equation, being gay or bisexual isn't so much of a big deal. Interesting. I wonder if noctali are as liberal with all their views.

  “Not that I wouldn't be okay with it, if you had been with someone else.” I might have been weirded out if he was with a guy, but if I love him, I have to love all of him, so I'd get over it. That doesn't mean I'm not relieved that I don't have to.

  “There has never been anyone but you.” My heart is melty-melty. I pull his arm over my shoulder and hug him around the waist.

  “There never will be anyone but you,” I say.

  I thought that when we he first Claimed me that he would simply pop up in my life every few weeks for his blood donation and then he'd be on his way. Just an inconvenience, like going to the DMV or getting a flu shot.

  I'd have to tell whoever I ended up being with about it and that would be awkward, but we'd get through it. I'd seen it all stretched out in front of me. This strange man that would visit me every two weeks like some kind of ghost. I'd have to live in an old house full of cobwebs and such. It would be all gothic and dark. Perhaps I'd write Poe or Dickinsonesque poetry.

  Now, I couldn't see that life where he was just there every now and then. Even if we broke the Claim or I turned into a noctalis, I'd still want him as much as I do now. That, at least, I am sure of.

  He kisses my forehead and I revel in the smooth brush of his skin.

  “We should get you home.”

  “I suppose.” He keeps his arm around me all the way to the car and it strikes me that to anyone, we look like a normal young couple. A human couple.

  “Good job, Mr. Human,” I say when we are almost back to my house.

  “Thank you. I tried my best.”

  “What you're forgetting about is that I like the things that make you not human. I love all of you, including the noctalis parts.” I stop and gaze at him.

  “I adore all of you, especially the human parts.” That's it. I'm complete mush. I end up gazing adoringly at him all the way home. It's sick, really.

  “When are you going to take the car back?”

  “Viktor will drive it for me so I will not have to leave you.”

  “Be sure you take the Prius back. Maybe he should leave them some money or something.”

  “No need. They will not notice the few extra miles.” I sigh, giving up.

  “Come on; let's see how Dad's tune has changed.” I lock my fingers with his. We're walking into the house together, whether Dad likes it or not. I push the door open, listening.

  “We're back.” I have to fight the eerie tone from creeping into my voice. I haul Peter in behind me. He comes willingly, though.

  “Did you have fun?” Mom's voice calls out. I hear a movie. Some romantic comedy. Mom's choice, I'd wager.

  “Of course we did; there was pie. Pie solves everything,” I add to Peter.

  “Everything?” He hasn't learned how to raise one eyebrow yet, but when he does it's going to be pretty awesome. Not that he isn't already.

  “Almost everything.” I'm thinking about the binding promise. I don't think pie would be much help in that situation. This time I tow Peter behind me.

  Dad looks at his watch.

  “You're early.”

  “By four minutes,” I say, beaming him a smile. He scowls for a second, but Mom pokes him and he nods his approval.

  “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 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 was 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 are 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 told me to fight it, but how did you fight something like that? Is 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 is diluted, but still strong.

  I really can’t put my finger on just what it is that makes it so good. All I know is that I want it. So much. But Peter told me to fight. So that's what I was going to do.

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

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

  I count 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 and 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 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 lie 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 Pet
er 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 isn’t like I hadn't had thoughts like that about Peter before. How could I not? But this is different. The wanting is 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 is one that didn't suck so much. Wanting Peter is...

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

  Twenty

  Peter

  As she watches me, something strong, 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 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 want her, too. I get up and change my clothes into the pajamas she 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.

  “That hat looks really good on you.” Her eyes drop to look at the floor. I take the hat off my head, placing it on hers.

  “It looks better on you.” That elicits a smile that is gone as soon as it appears. I put my finger under her chin, tipping her head up.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “You,” she whispers.

  “What about me?” I want to hear her say it out loud.

  She takes a breath and speaks in a rush. “Well, I had this crazy thought that I wanted to be with you. You know, like physically. Completely. And then I thought that I should just go for it, before I talk myself out of it. Because I want to and I have wanted to for a long time, and I thought that it would work, even if you couldn't feel the same, and I thought that I'd just go for it. But it was a bad idea, because you can't feel the same and it would all be on my side. And I don't even know if I can be with you like that, like humans. And maybe you wouldn't want to and then I'd feel like a moron because I'd just be throwing myself at you, and —”

  I stop the waterfall of words by putting my lips against hers. She steps toward me again, but doesn't put her arms on me.

  “What was that for?” she asks.

  “You were talking too much.” Her eyes narrow and I feel a bolt of anger.

  “So every time I'm chattering, you are just going to kiss me to shut me up?” Her anger flares like a bright light.

  “That was not my intention.”

  “Then what was your intention?” Her eyes narrow a fraction. I will have to pick the right words.

  “You seemed distressed about something that you need not worry about, so I decided to allay your anxiety.” Her anger dissipates a little. She tugs her hand through her wet hair in frustration before stepping away from me.

  “So you'd want to be with me? Like that? You can be with me like that?”

  “Yes.” Yes, yes, yes. A million times yes. I may not have a beating heart, but my parts do still function. It never seemed important to share with her, because I did not think she would want to be with me like that. Now things are different.

  Her blush is sweet as she peers up at me from under the brim of the hat. “You don't have to say that just to make me feel better.”

  “I am not.” I would never say that to her. I've told her I'd never lie to her. I have not always been able to be truthful, but I could never lie about this.

  “But we should have talked about it before I threw myself at you. I should have been more mature about it instead of just going with my feelings.”

  Water drips from the ends of her hair, making wet patches on the floor.

  “But your feelings are natural. You should trust them.”

  The happiness drops from her face like a curtain. “Not all of them.”

  “Yes. But they are a part of me. A part that I have learned to live with. I also have the instinct to fly and to lie in the sun and to kiss you, but I do not act on them all the time. As long as I give in sometimes, I have satisfied the urge.”

  “So that's how you control it? Giving in every now and then so you don't explode with the wanting?” I take a step away from her.

  “Precisely.”

  “So you're saying we should give in, just a little?” She tilts her head to the side and twists one foot shyly. Warily.

  “If you want.” I will never do anything she wouldn't want to do. I do that enough already with the Claiming. I feel her want nearly more than I feel my own. The two desires intertwine and dance around each other, twisting and twining.

  “I don't know.” Her desire has shifted into something else. It is a feeling I get from her quite frequently that is similar in feel to hesitancy or embarrassment. I do not have a word for it, but I don't like when Ava feels that way.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Why do you always want to know?” Her smile is reluctant.

  “Because I want to understand you.”

  Twisting the towel in her hands, she says, “I'm thinking that even if we were together, it wouldn't be as good as it could be, because you're missing out on something. It makes me so unhappy thinking about it.” Her anxiety knifes me and I seize her face.

  “I do not want you to be unhappy.”

  “Then fix it.” Her eyes reach into mine, begging and searching for a solution.

  “Cal will find a way. Only five days left.”

  Her eyes sear into mine. “What if there is no other way? What if you waste time looking for something that isn't there?” She grasps my hands, fingers clutching and digging.

  “Then we will find someone else.” Frustration finally seeps through her skin.

  “And then someone else, and someone else. Where will it end? You won't give me a timeline. That's not fair, Peter, and you know it.” I don't know what to say to her. She's right. “Never mind,” she says, waving her hands. “We'll just have to agree to disagree tonight. I don't want to go to bed fighting.”

  “We're not fighting.” I cannot exactly remember that we have ever fought. We have had disagreements, but many of those were resolved.

  “You're doing that thing again, but I'm going to let it go because my back is wet and I need to detangle my hair and I have to go to school tomorrow.”

  “I will do it,” I say, running my fingers across her cheek. She takes off the hat and puts it back on my head.r />
  “Thanks.” She turns her back and hands me a brush.

  Ava

  Waiting for Saturday night is complete and total torture. I'd take the Spanish Tickler over doing that ever again. I try to fill my time with homework, staring at Peter, e-mailing Aj massive e-mail sagas about anything and everything that I can tell her and hearing about her new boyfriend, and thinking about kissing Peter and trying to get whatever crazy plan he has cooked up out of him with no such luck.

  And Peter. And Peter. And Peter. I am not mad at him anymore.

  I'm so focused on the waiting that my blood want is not foremost in my mind. It's true, what Peter said. You can fight it. And I do.

  Finally, Saturday comes. Jamie has one of his last track meets of the season, so Tex and I go to support him. Both of us nearly fall over when we spot his mother, his father and a baby-bumped Cassie. She's just barely starting to show.

  Tex and I share a look before we all go over and say hello. Mrs. Barton gives us hugs, saying how much she's missed us. I missed her, too. It's easy to adore Jamie's mom. When we used to go to his house after school, she'd make us s'mores bars and pink lemonade. She was the kind of mom who would let us blow things up in the backyard and wouldn’t ask questions. That was when things were good. Before his dad started drinking and Cassie started getting into trouble. Before his family fell apart.

  Somehow, it looks like it is coming back together.

  Despite the anticipation for the coming night, I'm filled with light and happiness. A bright moment in my sometimes dark existence.

  The thing that makes it the best is that Peter is there, standing behind me. I told him there was no way I was going into a crush of sweaty people without him as my personal talisman. So he came. I definitely get some weird looks from a few of the girls in my class who are on the team. He even gets the once and sometimes the twice-over. Taylor Abbot looks like her eyes are going to fall out of her head. Ha.

  I twine my arms with his, showing them that he's with me. Hands off, ladies.

  Mine.

  When the meet is over, Jamie comes to give me a slightly sweaty hug, twirling me around before noticing Peter.