Chapter 3: Apple Pie for the Neighbor

Aviana's Pov.

"Aviana, it's lunchtime already! Come down here!" My father's booming voice startled me so badly I nearly dropped my book, the sheer volume of it vibrating through the floorboards.

"Dad, I'm coming down!" I called back, quickly grabbing my glasses off the table and sliding them on. 

When I stepped into the kitchen, my father was already standing by the counter, eyeing me with a deep, critical frown. "How are you feeling?" he asked immediately. 

"Dad, I'm completely fine. Why do you look so worried?" I replied, offering a reassuring smile as I picked up the pitcher to pour us some juice. 

He opened his mouth to answer, then hesitated, closing it again without a word. 

We had already started eating before he remembered something.

"Oh, by the way, we have new neighbors," he said, pointing a fork at me with a quick grin before taking another hurried bite. "I want you to go over later, welcome them to Brookfield, and take them that apple pie.”

"Why do you seem to be in a hurry? You might choke," I said worriedly to him as I poured the juice into his empty glass.

"There were rumors going around town last night," my father said, his expression turning serious as he stood up and dropped his plate into the sink. "People are saying some kind of wild beast was roaming in our town, and it's got everyone on edge." 

I was stunned when I remembered the wild animal last night, and the fear returned to me. 

Those terrifying blue eyes and the massive, blood-dripping fangs flashed behind my eyelids, making my heart race all over again.

"What's wrong, Aviana?"

My father's voice snapped me back to the present. I blinked, shoving the haunting memory away, and offered him a quick, reassuring shake of my head.

"Nothing, Dad. Just lost in thought," I smiled, clearing my throat. "Be careful and take your partner on patrol," I instructed him.

"Yes, ma'am!" my father chuckled, saluting playfully before pressing a warm kiss to my forehead. He grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door. 

"Oh, and don't forget to take that apple pie over to our new neighbors later," he reminded me one last time before stepping out and heading to work. 

I sighed and tucked my meal away. Turning back to the kitchen, I quickly cleared the table and loaded our plates into the sink, rolling up my sleeves to wash them before I had to face the daunting task of meeting the people next door. 

As I turned to leave the kitchen, I glanced down and froze—I was still walking around in my oversized, worn-out pajamas.

I set the apple pie carefully back on the table and hurried up the stairs to my bedroom to change into something more presentable. To lift my mood, I tapped my phone to play some music, letting a lively playlist fill the room as I headed straight for the bathroom to take a quick shower.

Stepping under the warm spray, I finally caught a clear look at my reflection and winced at the angry, dark bruise and scrape on my leg.

"All that humiliation last night, and now I'm sporting battle scars," I grumbled to myself, gently washing around the tender skin. "The kids at school are going to be talking about this for a month." 

I quickly showered to avoid getting water on the wound on my leg.

One of my favorite songs, "Black Parade," by Beyoncé, started playing as soon as I exited the toilet, and as I put on my underwear I withdrew the covered towel from my body and wiped it through my damp hair.

I was in such a state when I saw that my window was open, and only then did I remember that we had a neighbor. I sped up and pulled the window curtain closed. I quickly exhaled in relief after peeking again and discovering that nobody was in the room next to mine.

I turned off the music and quickly got dressed.  I decided to dress in a pair of denim shorts and an extra-large T-shirt. I gasped when I saw the bandage on my leg, "How else can I be a cheerleader if my leg is already wounded?" I murmured  sadly before coming down.

I left the home holding with both hands the apple pie my father had given to our new neighbor.

I caught up with two men lifting boxes into the place.

"Good day, I'm Aviana Stone. I live in the other house," I greeted the two men with a smile.

Immediately, one of them approached me. "Hello, Aviana. I'm Dylan Mikaelson, and this is my brother, Zach. It looks like my brother made the right choice moving to this town—the neighbors are certainly friendly," he said with a grin.

I couldn't help blushing. "My father, Gilbert Stone, wanted you to have this. Welcome to the neighborhood," I stammered, then hurried away.

Zach yelled over to Dylan as he hoisted a heavy trunk. "We've barely even moved in, and you're already hitting on a girl! And she looks so young!"

Dylan walked over to help his brother with the trunk. Glancing up the stairs, he asked, "Where's Ethan? He was up earlier, but he still hasn't come down to help."

"If you must know, Ethan unloaded half the truck earlier while you've only carried a few boxes, and you're already complaining," Zach said, sitting down to catch his breath. He reached for a slice of the apple pie their new neighbor had brought over.

"How did I miss that?" Dylan muttered, grabbing a slice of pie before heading into the kitchen to pour them both a drink.

"How were you supposed to see anything when you woke up at noon? You should go call him for dinner," Zach remarked as he cracked open the cola Dylan had left on the table.

"My God, Zach, the things I experienced yesterday with you didn't exactly put me to sleep. I can still picture Harper's face right before he threw me!" Dylan protested, quickly devouring the rest of his pie.

"Dylan, you're a hunter, and an Alpha can't do much without a pack," Zach reminded him. "Now, go call Ethan."

——*——

Ethan hauled two boxes of his personal items into the living room and called out, "Dad, half the boxes are already in here. You handle the rest!"

"Okay, son, thanks for the help. Could you wake Dylan up so he can give me a hand with the heavy lifting?" Zach asked, busy organizing the contents of the refrigerator.

Ethan rolled his eyes and headed up to the second floor. Passing Dylan's room, he gave a quick knock before pushing the door open. "Dylan, Dad wants you down here," Ethan said, giving Dylan's foot—dangling off the edge of the bed—a sharp kick.

Dylan groaned, pulled a pillow over his face, and mumbled back to sleep, "Tell your dad I'm still exhausted. I almost died last night, so the least he can do is give me a break."

"You know how he is. If you're not downstairs in five minutes, he'll come up here himself, and you won't like his wake-up call," Ethan warned before turning to leave.

That threat alone made Dylan snap his eyes open. Knowing all too well what Zach's methods entailed, he scrambled out of bed, threw on some clothes, and bolted out of the room.

He skidded to a halt when he ran straight into Zach—who was casually holding a crossbow.

"Where on earth are you taking that?!" Dylan panicked, gently steering his brother back toward the living room.