“I'm sorry if this is super rude, but why are you here?” He looks at me without blinking for almost a minute. Then his eyes flick to Peter.
“My brother asked for my help. So I came.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. That's really nice.” I look down at my lap, embarrassed. “Has he told you about everything?”
“Yes.” I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. I look up to find him having a wordless, motionless conversation with Peter, like they're trading thoughts via telepathy. It's both really creepy and really cool at the same time.
“You know the promise you made,” Viktor says to Peter.
“Yes,” Peter says.
“She will destroy her before it happens. You know that.”
“It won't happen. I won't let it get that far.” They're talking in a code I don't understand, but the tension is so thick, I don't dare interrupt. The only sound is my own breathing and the rustling of the trees. I hear a squirrel digging around for food. My hearing is so much better, yet they are still so silent.
“It already has,” Viktor says, looking at me. I flinch. It is not a nice look.
“We should go,” Peter says, drifting to his feet. I scramble up beside him. Viktor remains sitting.
“Be careful, Ava,” Viktor says to me.
“With what?” I ask. He meets Peter's eyes.
“I hope she's worth it.” Without another word, he's around the other side of the tree and gone.
“What the hell was that?” I look to Peter for answers. Of course he doesn't give me any.
“Nothing.”
Twenty-Eight
There's a note on the kitchen table that Dad took my mother to a doctor's appointment. It makes my heart seize up for a second. No, I will not be negative. I shove it to the back of my mind and focus on something else. Food. I'm absolutely ravenous.
I make grilled cheese because it's the quickest. Peter watches me as if I'm doing something fascinating. When I finally flip the sandwich out of the pan and onto the plate, I'm hungry enough to eat the pan. I don't bother sitting down because I hate when he's the only one standing so I lean against the counter.
“I know you don't understand the power of melted cheese, but it's, like, really good.” I speak around a mouthful. I'd put three times as much cheese as I normally did. Heaven.
“I can imagine.”
“Can you?”
“Not really.” Blink.
“What does blood taste like? You don't have to answer if it's too personal a question.” I'm not going to ask how mine tastes.
“I did not think you would want to know.”
“Sure. Why not?” I shrug.
“I cannot really describe it, but it is like you would die if you didn't have more. Like you wish it would last forever so you could have one more taste.”
“I had cheesecake like that once. Earth-shattering cheesecake,” I say.
“You are not put off by this topic of conversation?”
“Not really. You are who you are, you know? Who am I to judge?” I lick my fingers to get the last of the butter. I'm sure he's grossed out, but I was starving.
“That is very understanding of you.”
“Thanks.”
I wash my plate and wonder what we're going to do with ourselves. The house is so quiet.
“What is it?” He catches me looking at him.
“Just thinking,” I say.
“I am not familiar with this look on your face.”
“It's my plotting face.”
“What are you plotting?” he asks.
“Wait here for a second.” I run upstairs. This is going to be fun.
***
“You look like a serial killer in a mugshot,” I say.
“How is this?”
“Now you look like you're trying to lure children into your van with promises of lollipops and puppies.” He holds the mirror up and tries again. His lips pull up in a weird way. I pushed his hair out of his face, and my fingers had a field day. I could have done that all day long, but we have important matters at hand.
“And now you look like you're in pain. It should be natural. It's easier if you just let it happen.” I'm trying to teach Peter how to smile. It is not going well. Smiling doesn't sit well on his face. It makes him look crazy. For some reason, he can't make the expression reach his eyes.
“You need to think about something happy. Close your eyes.” He obeys. “Okay, now think of the happiest thing you can. Are you doing that?” He opens his eyes.
“You're supposed to keep your eyes closed,” I say. I'm having a hard time talking because he's really close. There's a freckle on his nose that I don't remember noticing.
“Then I can't look at you,” he says.
“Why do you need to look at me?” God, he smells good. His clothes are much cleaner than when we first met, and he's wearing shoes. He's almost a proper human now.
“Because you're what makes me want to smile.”
“Oh.” Way to make my face go red. I bite my lip and look down to hide my smile. Nobody's ever talked to me like this. Somehow I feel like without saying it out loud, he is my boyfriend. Somehow.
“Look at me,” he says. I turn my eyes upward and there it is. It's small, barely a lift in the corners of his mouth, but it's there, and it's heartstopping. Damn, he's gorgeous. So freaking gorgeous.
I'm on those lips like white in rice.
For a second it's like kissing a tree or something, but then he gives and my brain's exploding and my mouth and nose are filled with wintergreen and heat and I want to be consumed by it and nothing else matters at this moment in time.
Peter, Peter, Peter.
“Ava.” He whispers my name, and it's suddenly the sexiest word in the English language. I open my eyes and I'm staring into his. He's smiling. Breathtaking.
“You're smiling.” I helpfully point out.
“I know.”
“It makes me really want to kiss you again.”
“I know.”
So we kiss again, and again. It's like being in the middle of a blizzard with fireworks thrown in. His lips have that slightly waxy texture, but they're soft and take on the heat of my own lips.
He pulls away. I open my eyes and wish his breathing were ragged, his body on fire. I know mine is.
I've kissed boys before, during Spin-the-Bottle sessions and once at a dance I'd been attack-kissed, but that is all washed away by Peter. Maybe he spent all those years of noctalis life practicing kissing. Wouldn't surprise me. I reach for him again.
“We should stop. You parents are just up the road.”