Even so, Peter’s father, Peter Senior, held a grudge against my dad and spoke ill of him to anyone who would listen. Yes, as far as Peter Senior was concerned, my father was a power-hungry tyrant who took great satisfaction from the fact that everyone was too scared of him to question his authority. In reality, my dad worked hard to ensure all supernaturals were treated equally and fairly while being given a chance to live and prosper peacefully in this city.
I often wondered if Peter shared his father’s sentiments. We’d never spoken, so I suspected he might. Our families’ fraught history made my crush on him both inconvenient and hopeless. Why couldn’t I like someone less controversial? Like Nic, for instance. He was handsome and adorable, and our parents got along just fine. But no, I was pretty certain Nic would never be more than a friend to me.
I wasn’t sure why I was so drawn to Peter. Maybe it was a form of masochism that I was attracted to a boy who probably hated me. I watched him a lot. I sensed that he watched me, too, though probably out of resentment rather than attraction. It was almost pathetic how much I knew about him. He excelled at magic and received top grades in virtually all his classes. I once saw him wield a telekinesis spell when he was just thirteen, a spell that was incredibly difficult for even the oldest witches and warlocks to achieve.
His eyes landed on me, doing a quick perusal of my body as he inhaled a drag of his cigarette. Butterflies filled my stomach. His tousled brown hair shone in the moonlight, his dark, deepest brown eyes taking me in.
“Peter Girard, what are you doing lurking around out here in the dark?” Grace demanded.
Peter exhaled a plume of smoke, providing a sinister effect as it drifted away. “I could ask you lot the same question,” he shot back.
Grace lifted an eyebrow and motioned to the bag I held containing several cans of cider. “Darya and Nic are going to drink while I entertain them with my dazzling personality. Care to join us?” she asked in a sharp voice. It wasn’t a real invite. Grace would never genuinely invite Peter to hang out with us. What she was really saying was, Leave now so that we don’t have to endure your unsavoury presence. Unlike Grace, I didn’t find Peter unsavoury, but it was a secret I’d take to my grave.
“I think I’d rather join Belinda Williams and her cohort for their candlelight party on Sycamore Strand,” he replied derisively. Peter and Grace had always had something of an antagonistic thing going on. They bantered barbs back and forth whenever their paths crossed. Grace was frosty towards him because of the family history, but I wished she’d just be polite to him. Peter and his family were already given a hard enough time in this city, even if his father was an intolerable arsehole.
“Ha!” Grace belted a laugh. “Belinda would never invite the likes of you to her super exclusive party.”
“And that fact wounds me greatly,” Peter deadpanned, not moving from his spot by the boat.
Belinda Williams was one of the most popular witches at St. Bastian’s and was always surrounded by a bevy of admirers and sycophants. I was friends with her when I was little, but as we got older, we grew apart. I never understood why people were so obsessed with her. She was just a snob who liked to put people down and act superior to everyone else. She’d never tried that shit with me, probably because she was too scared. There was nothing more satisfying than hitting all the bullseyes with my throwing knives during Weapons and Self-Defence, then watching Belinda and her worshippers go pale as they watched.
Yes, I was woeful at spells, but when it came to fighting, my precision and skill were unmatched. I strongly took after my dad, favouring my vampire side rather than my witch side.
While Grace and Peter continued their verbal sparring, I approached the edge of the pier, then effortlessly jumped onto the fishing boat before motioning for Nic to follow my lead. He nervously chewed his lip then awkwardly jumped, but not without stumbling over the edge and hurting his ankle in the process.
“Are you okay?” I asked, bending to check the damage.
“Physically, I’m fine,” he replied with a sheepish grin. “My masculine pride is another matter.”
His statement surprised a laugh out of me. “Well, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”
His grin widened, two dimples deepening in either cheek. He should cut that fringe of his. He really was very handsome, and it was a shame to hide such features.
“It’s a deal.”
“You shouldn’t be on there,” Peter’s voice cut through my moment with Nic. “Someone might call the owner and tell them there’s a dhampir trespassing on their property.”