Having just said his goodbye to Rachel, Peter had just settled on to the couch as soon as the knock came. That was weird, everybody he knew would have barged right in and not waited for Peter to answer the door. God, and he'd just sat down to enjoy reading the latest book he'd been involved in, too.
But, Peter was never one to ignore people, especially when they came knocking at his door. He heaved himself upright again, careful not to dislodge Charles Fluffers, the meerkat kit, who had taken up residence on his shoulder. "What do you think, Fluffs, door to door salesman?" Peter muttered, putting his book down.
Charles Fluffers squeaked and grabbed at his shirt with tiny claws. No help there.
He opened the door with a pleasant smile, and struggled not to look too surprised. Okay, someone he definitely didn't know - but meeting new people was always good! "Hi," he started, sounding a little confused. "Are you... lost?"
Oh. A fluffy animal. How cute. Repressing her urge to reach over and pull off the meerkat's head, the demon tilted her head to the side, brow furrowed prettily in worry, biting her lower lip in a way that somehow was both intensely innocent and brought up all kinds of mental pictures of smooth skin and sheets and panting breath. Oh, yes. The demon did remember all the delightful advantages to having a female body. "I...think I might be," she confessed in a voice that was a low, rich husky tone. Musical and light, and yet so easy to hear in another context. Sexy without trying. "I'm sorry to have bothered you. I thought this tent belonged to someone else. I was hoping she could help me but--"
Smiling a little in apology, she ducked her head. "Sorry," she repeated. "Have a nice day." Half-turning, she made as if to leave.
Oh, hell, this was going to be too easy. She had to stop a wicked smirk from crossing her face. Peter would be putty in her hands in ten minutes, tops.
The part of Peter's brain that was busy taking lots of notes on exactly how sexy this woman was got shoved aside to make room for the concern. She sounded like she was new here, and Hogwarts could be pretty confused - especially this tent village. It had to really be disorientating being thrown into this mess without warning.
"Hey, no, it's okay," Peter said hurriedly, trying to stop her from leaving. He shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled crookedly, stepping out from the tent and onto the path outside. "Are you new here? If you want, I can show you around, help you get settled in?"
She'd come to his door, and it wasn't like he had anything better to do today. Getting to know a new person would probably be a pleasant distraction.
A shy, hopeful smile crossed her face along with a becoming blush. "I...I think I'd like that. Very much. But, really, I was looking for someone in particular." There was a faint sound of disappointment in her voice, as if she really couldn't think of anything she would like more than to just spend some time with Peter. "I really should see her, first. Although..."
Fumbling in her handbag, the demon pulled out a business card, handing it to Peter with long, pale fingers. "Maybe you've heard of her? Or could point me in the right direction?" She laughed, a gentle sound, like bells in the rain, and smiled ruefully. "I'm afraid I'm hopeless at reading maps."
The card was for one Rachel Morgan, runner and professional witch. Dear, sweet Rachel really should get better locks on her doors.
Rachel couldn't be serious. He knew she already had a mark of her own, but there was no reason to take on another just for him. Just because of his... mistake? It wasn't a mistake. Sure, Peter had tricked into a deal, but he did the right thing. If protecting people from himself meant killing something of himself, then that was fine. It was just what he needed to do.
Destiny, evidently, was a bitch.
Going still, Peter just breathed for a moment. Claude would probably say that he needed to... clean his glass bowl, or something. After a moment, he slowly pulled away from Rachel, his expression blank.
"If you try take the mark off me, I'll just go to the demon and get it back," Peter promised, hardly recognizing his own voice. He sounded calm. How could he sound calm when he was feeling like this? "This is mine, Rachel." And he'd do whatever it took to keep it
( ... )
"Oh, God, Peter." My voice was lost and quiet and there was a curious brightness in my eyes. Huh. Dust or something. Scooting forward, I took his hand, the one with the mark, in both of mine. "People were always safe with you," I told him, eyes searching his face. "You're... You have no idea, do you?"
Closing my eyes for a second, I forced the words down. Then abruptly I stood. "Come on," I said, grimacing at the blood on the floor. "You need to not be in here. I'll put you to bed. You just need to rest. Trust me, you'll feel better after sleep." So I hoped.
And I would clean up the mess and be gone. Sounded like a plan.
No, they weren't. People hadn't been safe around him ever since he'd absorbed that power. That's why Peter had run away as soon as he'd found out he going to explode - nobody was safe. But now they were, and that was the only thing that mattered.
When Rachel stood, Peter didn't make a move to get up. He didn't want to sleep. "Can I just... stay here?" He asked quietly, reaching out to grab Rachel's leg. When he left a smear of drying blood on her leather pants, his breath hitched again, and he wiped at the mark. It wouldn't come off. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled, obsessively trying to get rid of the blood.
But every time he tried it just moved around and wouldn't go away. No use trying. Peter huddled back against the bathtub and brought his knees up to his chest. "I think I just... I want to stay here. Can I stay here?"
My breath hitched painfully. Oh, God. This was like Ivy coming back from Piscary. This was someone who'd been raped, somehow, violated and tossed aside. This was a hell and I didn't know how to fix it. Kneeling in front of him, I started to cry. I couldn't help it. "What did it do to you, sweetheart?" I whispered, my hands resting on his knees
( ... )
Comments 109
But, Peter was never one to ignore people, especially when they came knocking at his door. He heaved himself upright again, careful not to dislodge Charles Fluffers, the meerkat kit, who had taken up residence on his shoulder. "What do you think, Fluffs, door to door salesman?" Peter muttered, putting his book down.
Charles Fluffers squeaked and grabbed at his shirt with tiny claws. No help there.
He opened the door with a pleasant smile, and struggled not to look too surprised. Okay, someone he definitely didn't know - but meeting new people was always good! "Hi," he started, sounding a little confused. "Are you... lost?"
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Smiling a little in apology, she ducked her head. "Sorry," she repeated. "Have a nice day." Half-turning, she made as if to leave.
Oh, hell, this was going to be too easy. She had to stop a wicked smirk from crossing her face. Peter would be putty in her hands in ten minutes, tops.
Reply
"Hey, no, it's okay," Peter said hurriedly, trying to stop her from leaving. He shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled crookedly, stepping out from the tent and onto the path outside. "Are you new here? If you want, I can show you around, help you get settled in?"
She'd come to his door, and it wasn't like he had anything better to do today. Getting to know a new person would probably be a pleasant distraction.
Reply
Fumbling in her handbag, the demon pulled out a business card, handing it to Peter with long, pale fingers. "Maybe you've heard of her? Or could point me in the right direction?" She laughed, a gentle sound, like bells in the rain, and smiled ruefully. "I'm afraid I'm hopeless at reading maps."
The card was for one Rachel Morgan, runner and professional witch. Dear, sweet Rachel really should get better locks on her doors.
Reply
Destiny, evidently, was a bitch.
Going still, Peter just breathed for a moment. Claude would probably say that he needed to... clean his glass bowl, or something. After a moment, he slowly pulled away from Rachel, his expression blank.
"If you try take the mark off me, I'll just go to the demon and get it back," Peter promised, hardly recognizing his own voice. He sounded calm. How could he sound calm when he was feeling like this? "This is mine, Rachel." And he'd do whatever it took to keep it ( ... )
Reply
Closing my eyes for a second, I forced the words down. Then abruptly I stood. "Come on," I said, grimacing at the blood on the floor. "You need to not be in here. I'll put you to bed. You just need to rest. Trust me, you'll feel better after sleep." So I hoped.
And I would clean up the mess and be gone. Sounded like a plan.
Reply
When Rachel stood, Peter didn't make a move to get up. He didn't want to sleep. "Can I just... stay here?" He asked quietly, reaching out to grab Rachel's leg. When he left a smear of drying blood on her leather pants, his breath hitched again, and he wiped at the mark. It wouldn't come off. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled, obsessively trying to get rid of the blood.
But every time he tried it just moved around and wouldn't go away. No use trying. Peter huddled back against the bathtub and brought his knees up to his chest. "I think I just... I want to stay here. Can I stay here?"
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