“Milo, I’m fine,” I said, and I let Peter hold me to him.

“What’s going on?” Milo growled. He stopped clawing his way towards us, but Mae kept her arm around his chest just to be safe.

“Peter fought another vampire. That’s his blood, not mine. I’m fine.” I held up my arms and turned my neck, trying to show him that nothing had happened.

“Is that… is that your brother?” Peter’s grip relaxed as he narrowed his eyes at Milo, trying to understand that situation. “Your brother’s a vampire?”

“Yeah.” I moved away from his arm, standing a little bit away from him.

Being so close to Peter had done that thing to me again. My mind got hazy and filled with him, the way a room is filled with a scent. I could smell him, too, hot and tangy, and my mouth began to water. Unnecessary goosebumps broke out on my skin, and I’m sure I was trembling.

Wrapping my arms tightly around myself, I tried to concentrate on the scene around me, like Milo’s wild eyes and the heavy sounds of his breath. Mae hadn’t spoken since we’d come in, but that was because she seemed to have her hands full keeping Milo contained.

“When did he turn?” Peter looked to me, but I wished that he would ask somebody else. I wanted a chance to clear my head of him.

“About a month ago.”

“Why did he turn?” Peter’s furrow deepened and his tone got even more confused. “Why haven’t you?”

“There was an accident, and Milo was going to die, so Jack turned him,” I said. “And I had been waiting to turn until Milo was a bit older.”

“Jack’s always so eager to turn everything,” Peter said more to himself than anyone else. Then he shook his head and looked past Milo at Mae. “You haven’t said hello.”

“I haven’t really had the chance.” Mae forced a smile and finally released Milo, but she made no movement towards Peter, no attempt to hug him the way she hugged everyone else. “Peter, maybe you should just go.”

“I know that you’re not happy to see me, but that’s not fair.” Peter was genuinely hurt by her reaction, and Mae’s eyes filled with soft tears. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Peter, you know that’s not exactly true,” Mae said quietly. She kept her gaze on him, but nodded her head slightly to me.

“I’m not trying to justify it, but if…” He bit his lip and shook his head. “Jack overstepped his bounds on every measure of this, yet you’re all continually on his side. She was meant for me, not him. And it shouldn’t have mattered to any of you if she had died.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, and I felt his eyes land apologetically on me.

“Alice, that’s not what I meant.” He made a move towards me, then dropped his hand.

“We’re not on anyone’s side,” Mae insisted, and she rested a hand on Milo’s arm, trying to keep him steady. Hearing Peter so casually talk about my death had him fuming. “Things are far more complicated than sides, and you know that.”

“But Jack is wrong!” Peter slammed his hand on the counter, and we all jumped. “What gives him the right?”

“He loves me, Peter,” I told him timidly.

He turned, his eyes burning on me, and I felt myself try to shrink away. Milo hissed and Mae stepped forward, blocking Milo from Peter. She knew, just as I did, that Peter had no intention of hurting me again.

“And you think I don’t?” he asked.

Peter moved so quickly, I almost didn’t see it happen. His face was directly in front of mine, and I was backed up against the wall, but he wasn’t touching me at all. Milo freaked out because of his sudden movement, and Mae pushed him into the other room so he could get a reign on his emotions.

“They’re fine! He’s just talking to her!” Mae kept insisting.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her finally wrangle Milo into another room, but all I could really see were Peter’s green eyes. He always looked at me is if he was trying to completely look through me and solve a great mystery.

Irrational tears welled in my eyes, and I fought to remember to breathe. He placed a hand on either side of me and lowered his face so it was directly in front of mine. All I could smell and see and feel was him. It was suffocating, and I didn’t know how to fight it.

The horrible truth was that I didn’t even really want to fight it. My body kept screaming that this was exactly what it needed, that this was how I was meant to feel. Always.

“How am I supposed to know how you feel about me?” I whispered hoarsely. “You were always pushing me away or running away. You’ve spent hardly a minute with me. All I know about you is that you’re repulsed and enraptured by me.”

“I’m sorry.” For the first time, Peter’s voice registered a strong emotion and not just restraint to mask something. He was deeply pained, but he went on, unabashed. “I have not been honest with you. There are a million excuses for the way that I’ve treated you, but none of them absolve me.”

He exhaled deeply, his breath warming my neck. He was hungry in a familiar way, one that I stupidly welcomed. Peter wanted me in the only way he could want me, the way flowers craved sunlight. Our bodies claimed that I was the means to his survival, in more ways than one, and Peter was giving in to it.

“Does it really matter anymore?” Peter continued huskily, and when he lowered his gaze to my throat, his eyelashes fell darkly on his cheeks. “It doesn’t really matter how much I love you, does it?” He moved in closer to me, breathing me in, and he sighed reproachfully. “You smell like him.”