[Full Audiobook] Midnight Sun (The Twilight Saga, book 5) | Stephenie Meyer | Part 02 #twilight

Chapter 12: Complications

Bella and I walked silently to biology. We passed Angela Weber, lingering on the sidewalk, discussing an assignment with a boy from her trigonometry class. I scanned her thoughts, perfunctorily expecting more disappointment, only to be surprised by their wistful tenor. Ah, so there was something Angela wanted; unfortunately, it wasn't something that could be easily gift-wrapped. I felt strangely comforted for a moment, hearing Angela's hopeless yearning. A sense of kinship passed through me, and I was, in that second, at one with the kind human girl. It was oddly consoling to know that I wasn't the only one living out a tragic love story; heartbreak was everywhere.

In the next second, I was abruptly and thoroughly irritated because Angela's story didn't have to be tragic. She was human, and he was human, and the difference that seemed so insurmountable in her head was truly ridiculous compared to my own situation. There was no reason for her broken heart; what a wasteful sorrow. Why shouldn't this one story have a happy ending? I wanted to give her a gift—well, I would give her what she wanted, knowing what I did of human nature; it probably wouldn't even be very difficult. I sifted through the consciousness of the boy beside her, the object of her affections, and he did not seem unwilling; he was just stymied by the same difficulty she was. All I would have to do was plant the suggestion.

The plan formed easily; the script wrote itself without effort on my part. I would need Emmett's help; getting him to go along with this was the only real difficulty. Human nature was so much easier to manipulate than Immortal nature. I was pleased with my solution, with my gift for Angela. It was a nice diversion for my own problems; would that mine were as easily fixed. My mood was slightly improved as Bella and I took our seats. Maybe I should be more positive; maybe there was some solution out there for us that was escaping me, the way Angela's obvious solution was so invisible to her. Not likely, but why waste time with hopelessness? I didn't have time to waste when it came to Bella; each second mattered.

Mr. Banner entered, pulling an ancient TV and VCR. He was skipping through a section he wasn't particularly interested in—genetic disorders—by showing a movie for the next three days. Lorenzo's Oil was not a cheerful piece, but that didn't stop the excitement in the room. No notes, no testable material; the humans exalted. It didn't matter to me either way; I hadn't been planning on paying attention to anything but Bella. I did not pull my chair away from hers today to give myself space to breathe, and instead, I sat close beside her, like any normal human would—closer than we sat inside my car; close enough that the left side of my body felt submerged in the heat from her skin. It was a strange experience, both enjoyable and nerve-wracking, but I preferred this to sitting across the table from her. It was more than I was used to, and yet I quickly realized that it was not enough; I was not satisfied; being this close to her only made me want to be closer still. I had accused her of being a magnet for danger; right now, it felt as though that was the literal truth. I was danger, and with every inch I allowed myself nearer to her, her attraction grew in force.

Then Mr. Banner turned the lights out. It was odd how much of a difference this made, considering that the lack of light meant little to my eyes. I could still see just as perfectly as before; every detail of the room was clear. So why the sudden shock of electricity in the air? Was it because I knew that I was the only one who could see clearly that both Bella and I were invisible to the others, as though we were alone? Just the two of us, hidden in the dark room, sitting so close beside each other. My hand moved toward her without my permission, just to touch her hand, to hold it in the darkness. Would that be such a horrific mistake? If my skin bothered her, she only had to pull away. I yanked my hand back, folded my arms tightly across my chest, and clenched my hands closed. No mistakes. I'd promised myself; if I held her hand, I would only want more—another insignificant touch, another move closer to her. I could feel that a new kind of desire was growing in me, working to override my self-control. No mistakes.

Bella folded her arms securely across her own chest, and her hands balled up into fists, identical to mine. "What are you thinking?" I was dying to whisper the words to her, but the room was too quiet to get away with even a whispered conversation. The movie began, lightening the darkness just a bit. Bella glanced up at me; she noted the rigid way I held my body, just like hers, and smiled; her lips parted slightly, and her eyes seemed full of warm invitations—or perhaps I was seeing what I wanted to see. I smiled back. Her breathing caught with a low gasp, and she looked quickly away. That made it worse. I didn't know her thoughts, but I was suddenly positive that I had been right before, and that she wanted me to touch her; she felt this dangerous desire just as I did. Between her body and mine, the electricity hummed. She didn't move all through the hour, holding her stiff, controlled pose as I held mine. Occasionally, she would peek at me again, and the humming current would jolt through me with a sudden shock. The hour passed slowly, and yet not slowly enough. This was so new; I could have sat like this with her for days, just to experience the feeling fully. I had a dozen different arguments with myself while the minutes passed; rationality struggling with desire. Finally, Mr. Banner turned the lights on again.

Under the bright fluorescence, the atmosphere of the room returned to normal. Bella sighed and stretched, flexing her fingers in front of her. It must have been uncomfortable for her to hold that position for so long; it was easier for me. Stillness came naturally. I chuckled at the relieved expression on her face. "Well, that was interesting," she murmured, clearly understanding what I referred to but making no comment. What I wouldn't give to hear what she was thinking right now. I sighed. No amount of wishing was going to help with that. "Shall we?" I asked, standing. She made a face and got unsteadily to her feet; her hands splayed out as if she was afraid she was going to fall. I could offer her my hand, or I could place that hand underneath her elbow, just slightly, and steady her. Surely that wouldn't be such a horrible infraction. No mistakes.

She was very quiet as we walked toward the gym; the crease was in evidence between her eyes, a sign that she was deep in thought. I, too, was thinking deeply. "One touch of my skin wouldn't hurt her," my selfish side contended. I could easily moderate the pressure of my hand; it wasn't exactly difficult. My tactile sense was better developed than a human's; I could juggle a dozen crystal goblets without breaking any of them; I could stroke a soap bubble without popping it, as long as I was firmly in control of myself. Bella was like a soap bubble—fragile and ephemeral, temporary. How long would I be able to justify my presence in her life? How much time did I have? Would I have another chance like this? Chance like this moment, like this second? She would not always be within my arm's reach.

Bella turned to face me at the gym door, and her eyes widened at the expression on my face. She didn't speak. I looked at myself in the reflection of her eyes and saw the conflict raging in my own. I watched my face change as my better side lost the argument. My hand lifted without a conscious command for it to do so, as gently as if she were made of the thinnest glass, as if she were fragile as the bubble I'd imagined. My finger stroked the warm skin that covered her cheekbone; it heated under my touch, and I could feel the pulse of blood speed beneath her transparent skin. "Enough," I ordered, though my hand was aching to shape itself to the side of her face. Enough. It was difficult to pull my hand back, to stop myself from moving closer to her than I already was. A thousand different possibilities ran through my mind in an instant—a thousand different ways to touch her: the tip of my finger tracing the shape of her lips, my palm cupping her chin, pulling the clip from her hair and letting it spill out across my hand, my arm, arms winding around her waist, holding her against the length of my body. "Enough," I forced myself to say, to turn, to step away from her. My body moved stiffly, unwilling. I let my mind linger behind to watch her as I walked swiftly away, almost running from the temptation.

I caught Mike Newton's thoughts; they were the loudest while he watched Bella walk past him in oblivion, her eyes unfocused and her cheeks flushed. He glowed, and suddenly my name was mingled with curses in his head. I couldn't help grinning slightly in response. My hand was tingling; I flexed it and then curled it into a fist, but it continued to sting painlessly. No, I hadn't hurt her, but touching her had still been a mistake. It felt like simmering coals, as though a dull version of my thirsting burn had spread throughout my entire body. The next time I was close to her, would I be able to stop myself from touching her again? And if I touched her a second time, would I be able to stop at that? No more mistakes. That was it. "Savor the memory, Edward," I told myself grimly, "and keep your hands to yourself." That, or I would have to force myself to leave somehow, because I couldn't allow myself near her if I insisted on making errors.

I took a deep breath and tried to steady my thoughts. Emmett caught up to me outside the English building. "Hey, Edward," he said. "He's looking better. Weird, but better." "Happy," hey Em, did I look happy? I suppose, despite the chaos in my head, I felt something close to it. "Way to keep your mouth shut, kid. Rosalie is going to rip your tongue out." I sighed. "Sorry I left you to deal with that. Are you angry with me?" "Nah," Rose will get over it. It was bound to happen anyway, with what Alice sees coming. Alice's visions were not what I wanted to think about right now. I stared forward, my teeth locking together as I searched for a distraction. I caught sight of Ben Cheney entering the Spanish room ahead of us. Ah, here was my chance to give Angela Weber her gift. I stopped walking and caught Emmett's arm. "Hold on a second. What's up?" "I know I don't deserve it, but would you do me a favor anyway?" "What favor?" he asked, curious.

Under my breath and at a speed that would have made the words incomprehensible to a human, I explained to him what I wanted. He stared at me when I was done; his thoughts as blank as his face. So I prompted, "Will… will you help me do it?" It took him a minute to respond. "But why? Come on, Emmett, why not?" "Who are you and what have you done with my brother? Aren't you the one who complains that school is always the same? This is something a little different, isn't it? Consider it an experiment—an experiment in human nature." He stared at me for another moment before he caved. "Well, it is different, friend. I'll give you that. Okay, fine," Emmett snorted and then shrugged. "I'll help you." I grinned at him, feeling more enthusiastic about my plan now that he was on board. Rosalie was a pain, but I would always owe her one for choosing Emmett. No one had a better brother than mine.

Emmett didn't need to practice; I whispered his lines to him once under my breath as we walked into the classroom. Ben was already in his seat behind mine, assembling his homework to hand in. Emmett and I both sat and did the same thing. The classroom was not quiet yet; the murmur of subdued conversation would continue until Mrs. Goth called for attention. She was in no hurry, appraising the quizzes from the last class. So Emmett said, his voice louder than necessary, "Did you ask Angela Weber out yet?" The sound of papers rustling behind me came to an abrupt stop as Ben froze, his attention suddenly riveted on our conversation. "Angela? They're talking about Angela?" Good. I had his interest. "No," I said, shaking my head slowly to appear regretful. "Why not?" Emmett improvised. "Are we lacking in courage?" I frowned at him. "No," I heard she was interested in someone else. Edward Cullen was going to ask Angela out, but no, I don't like that. I don't want him near her. He's not right for her, not safe. I hadn't anticipated the chivalry, the protective instinct. I'd been aiming for jealousy, but whatever worked. "You're going to let that stop you?" Emmett asked scornfully, improvising again. "Not up for the competition?" I glared at him but made use of what he gave me. "Look, I guess she really likes this Ben person. I'm not going to try to convince her otherwise. There are other girls." The reaction in the chair behind me was electric. "Who?" Emmett asked, back to the script. "My lab partner said it was some kid named Cheney. I'm not sure I know who he is." I bit back my smile. Only the hottie Cullens could get away with pretending not to know every student at this tiny school. Ben's head was whirling with shock. Me over Edward Cullen? But why would she like me?

"Edward," Emmett muttered in a lower tone, rolling his eyes toward the boy. He's right behind you, he mouthed so obviously that the human could easily read the words. "Oh," I muttered back. I turned in my seat and glanced once at the boy behind me. For a second, the black eyes behind the glasses were frightened, but then he stiffened and squared his shoulders, affronted by my clearly disparaging evaluation. His chin shot out, and an angry flush darkened his golden-brown skin. "Huh?" I said arrogantly as I turned back to Emmett. "He thinks he's better than me, but Angela doesn't. I'll show him." "Perfect," didn't you say she was taking Yorkie to the dance though? Emmett asked, snorting as he said the name of the boy whom many scorned for his awkwardness. That was a group decision, apparently. I wanted to be sure that Ben was clear on this. "Angela's shy. If… well, if a guy doesn't have the nerve to ask her out, she'd never ask him." "Well, you like shy girls," Emmett said, back to improvisation. "Quiet girls… girls like… hm, I don't know… maybe Bella Swan?" I grinned at him. "Exactly." Then I returned to the performance. "Maybe Angela will get tired of waiting… maybe I'll ask her to the…" "No, you won't," Ben thought, straightening up in his chair. "So what if she's taller than me? If she doesn't care, then neither do I. She's the nicest, smartest, prettiest girl in this school, and she wants me." I liked this Ben; he seemed bright and well-meaning, maybe even worthy of a girl like Angela. I gave Emmett a thumbs-up under the desk as Mrs. Goth stood and greeted the class. "Okay, I'll admit it; that was sort of fun," Emmett thought. I smiled to myself, pleased that I'd been able to shape one love story's forward progress. I was positive that Ben would follow through, and Angela would receive my anonymous gift. My debt was repaid. How silly humans were to let a six-inch height difference confound their happiness. My success put me in a good mood. I smiled again as I settled into my chair and prepared to be entertained. After all, as Bella had pointed out at lunch, I'd never seen her in action in gym class before.

Mike's thoughts were the easiest to pinpoint in the babble of voices that swarmed through the gym; his mind had gotten far too familiar over the last few weeks. With a sigh, I resigned myself to listening through him; at least I could be sure that he would be paying attention to Bella. I was just in time to hear him offer to be her bad-mitt partner. As he made the suggestion, other partnering with Bella ran through his mind. My smile faded; my teeth clenched together, and I had to remind myself that murdering Mike Newton was still not permitted. "Thanks, Mike. You don't have to do this, you know." "Don't worry, I'll keep out of your way," she grinned at him, and flashes of numerous accidents, always in some way connected to Bella, flashed through Mike's head.

Mike played alone at first while Bella hesitated on the back half of the court, holding her racket gingerly as though it might explode if it moved too roughly. Then Coach Clapp ambled by and ordered Mike to let Bella play. "Uh-oh," Mike thought as Bella moved forward with a sigh, holding her racket at an awkward angle. Jennifer Ford served the birdie directly toward Bella with a smug twist to her thoughts. Mike saw Bella lurch toward it, swinging the racket yards wide of her target, and he rushed in to try to save the volley. I watched the path of Bella's racket with alarm; sure enough, it hit the top net and sprung back at her, clipping her forehead before it spun out to strike Mike's arm with a resounding flack. "Ow! Ow! Oh, that's going to leave a bruise," Bella was kneading her forehead. It was hard to stay in my seat where I belonged, knowing she was hurt, but what could I do? Even if I were there, and it didn't seem to be serious. I hesitated, watching the coach laugh. "Sorry, Newton, that girl's the worst jinx I've ever seen. Shouldn't inflict her on the others," he turned his back deliberately and moved to watch another game so that Bella could return to her former spectator's role. "Ow," Mike thought again, massaging his arm. He turned to Bella. "Are you okay?" "Yeah, are you?" she asked sheepishly. "I think I'll make it. Don't want to sound like a crybaby, but man, that hurts." Mike swung his arm in a circle, wincing. "I'll just stay back here," Bella said, embarrassment rather than pain on her face. Maybe Mike had gotten the worst of it; I certainly hoped that was the case; at least she wasn't playing anymore. She held her racket so carefully behind her back, her expression full of remorse. I had to disguise my laugh as coughing. "What's so funny?" Emmett wanted to know. "Tell you later," I muttered. Bella didn't venture into the game again; the coach ignored her and let Mike play alone. I breezed through the quiz at the end of the hour, and Mrs. Goff let me go early.

I was listening intently to Mike as I walked across the campus. He decided to confront Bella about me. "Jessica swears they're dating. Why… why did he have to pick her?" He didn't recognize the real phenomenon—that she'd picked me. "So… so what?" she wondered. "You and Cullen, huh? You and the freak? I guess if a rich guy is that important to you…" I gritted my teeth at his degrading assumption. "That's none of your business, Mike." "Defensive, so it's true. Crap, I don't like it." "You don't have to," she snapped. "Why can't she see what a circus sideshow he is? Like they all are. The way he stares at her… it gives me chills to watch. He looks at you like… like you're something to eat." I cringed, waiting for her response. Her face turned bright red, and her lips pressed together as though she was holding her breath. Then suddenly, a giggle burst through her lips. Now she's laughing at me. Great. Mike's thoughts turned sullen and wandered off to change. I leaned against the gym wall and tried to compose myself. How could she have laughed at Mike's accusation—so entirely on target that I began to worry that Forks was becoming too aware? Why would she laugh at the suggestion that I could kill her when she knew that it was entirely true? What was wrong with her? Did she have a morbid sense of humor that didn't fit with my idea of her character? But how could I be sure? Or maybe my notion of the foolish angel was true in one respect; she had no sense of fear at all. Brave—that was one word for it; others might say stupid, but I knew how bright she was. No matter what the reason was, it was this strange lack of fear that put her in danger so constantly. Maybe she would always need me here. Just like that, my mood was soaring. If I could discipline myself, make myself safe, then perhaps it would be right for me to stay close to her.

When she walked through the gym doors, her shoulders were stiff, and her lower lip was between her teeth again—a sure sign of anxiety. But as soon as her eyes met mine, her posture relaxed, and a wide smile spread across her face. It was an oddly peaceful expression. She walked right to my side without hesitation, only stopping when she was so close that her body heat crashed over me like a breaking wave. "Hi," she whispered. The happiness I felt in this moment was again without precedent. "Hello," I said, and then, because with my mood suddenly so light I couldn't resist teasing her, I added, "How was gym?" Her smile wavered. "Fine." She was a poor liar. "Really?" I asked, about to press the issue. I was still concerned about her head; was she in pain? But then Mike Newton's thoughts were so loud they broke my concentration. "I hate him! I wish he would die! I hope he drives that shiny car right off a cliff!" Why couldn't he just leave her alone? Stick to his own kind—to the freaks? What Bella demanded. My eyes refocused on her face. She looked at Mike's retreating back and then at me again. "Newton's getting on my nerves," I admitted. Her mouth fell open, and her smile disappeared. She must have forgotten that I'd had the power to watch through her calamitous last hour—or hoped that I hadn't used it. "You weren't listening again! How's your head? You're unbelievable," she said through her teeth, and then she turned away from me and stalked furiously toward the parking lot, her skin flushed dark red. She was embarrassed. I kept pace with her, hoping that her anger would pass soon; she was usually quick to forgive me. "You were the one who mentioned how I'd never seen you in gym," I explained. "It made me curious." She didn't answer; her eyebrows pulled together. She came to a sudden halt in the parking lot when she realized that the way to my car was blocked by a crowd of mostly male students. "I wonder how fast they've gone in this thing. Look at the SMG shift paddles. I've never seen those outside of a magazine. Nice side grills. Sure wish I had $60,000 lying around." This was exactly why it was better for Rosalie to only use her car out of town.

I wound through the throng of lustful boys to my own car. After a second of hesitation, Bella followed suit. "Ostentatious," I muttered as she climbed in. "What kind of car is that?" she wondered. "An M3," she frowned. "I don't speak Car and Driver." "It's a BMW," I rolled my eyes and then focused on backing out without running anyone down. I had to lock eyes with a few boys who didn't seem willing to move out of my way; a half-second meeting my gaze seemed to be enough to convince them. "Are you still angry?" I asked her; her frown had relaxed. "Definitely," she answered curtly. I sighed. Maybe I shouldn't have brought it up. Oh well, I could try to make amends, I supposed. "Will you forgive me if I apologize?" She thought about that for a moment. "Maybe… if you mean it," she decided, "and if you promised not to do it again." I wasn't going to lie to her, and there was no way I was agreeing to that. Perhaps if I offered her a different exchange. "How about if I mean it, and I agree to let you drive this Saturday?" I shuddered internally at the thought. The furrow popped into existence between her eyes as she considered the new bargain. "Deal," she said after a moment of thought. "Now for my apology…" I'd never tried to dazzle Bella on purpose before, but this seemed like a good moment. I stared deep into her eyes as I drove away from the school, wondering whether I was doing it right. I used my most persuasive tone. "Then I'm very sorry I upset you." Her heartbeat thudded louder than before, and the rhythm was abruptly staccato. Her eyes were huge; she looked stunned. I half-smiled; it seemed as though I'd succeeded. Of course, I was having a bit of difficulty looking away from her eyes, too—equally dazzled. It was a good thing I had this road memorized. "And… and I'll be on your doorstep bright and early Saturday morning," I added, finishing the agreement. She blinked swiftly, shaking her head as if to clear it. "Um," she said, "it doesn't help with the Charlie situation if an unexplained Volvo is left in the driveway." Ah, how little she still knew about me. I wasn't intending to bring a car. "How—" she started to ask. I interrupted her.

The answer would only bring on another round of questions. Don't worry about it. I'll be there. No car.

She put her head to one side and looked for a second, as though she was going to press for more, but then seemed to change her mind. "Is it later yet?" she asked, reminding me of our unfinished conversation in the cafeteria today. I should have just answered her other question; this one was much more unappealing.

"I suppose it is later," I agreed unwillingly. I parked in front of her house, tensing as I tried to think of how to explain without making my monstrous nature too evident, without frightening her again. Or was it wrong to minimize my darkness? She waited with the same politely interested mask she'd worn at lunch. If I'd been less anxious, her preposterous calm would have made me laugh.

"And you still want to know why you can't see me hunt?" I asked.

"Well, mostly I was wondering about your reaction," she said.

"Did I frighten you?" I asked, positive that she would deny it.

"No," It was such an obvious lie. I tried not to smile and failed. "I apologize for scaring you," and then my smile vanished with the momentary humor. "It was just the very thought of you being there while we hunted that would be bad. The mental picture was too much. Bella, so vulnerable in the empty darkness, myself out of control." I tried to banish it from my head, extremely because I took a deep breath, concentrating for one moment on the burning thirst, feeling it, managing it, proving my dominion over it. It would never control me again. I willed that to be true. I would be safe for her.

I stared toward the welcome clouds without really seeing them, wishing I could believe that my determination would make any difference. "If I were hunting, when I crossed her scent… when we hunt, we give ourselves over to our senses," I told her, thinking through each word before I spoke it. "We govern less with our minds, especially our sense of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way…" I shook my head in agony at the thought of what would—not what might, but what would—surely happen then. I listened to the spike in her heartbeat and then turned, restless, to read her eyes. Bella's face was composed, her eyes grave, her mouth pressed just slightly in what I guessed was concern. But concern for what? Her own safety? Was there any hope that I'd finally made the realities clear?

I continued to stare at her, trying, trying to translate her ambiguous expression into sure fact. She gazed back; her eyes grew round after a moment, and her pupils dilated though the light had not changed. My breathing accelerated, and suddenly the quiet in the car seemed to be humming, just as in the darkened biology room this afternoon. The electric current raced between us again, and my desire to touch her was briefly stronger even than the demands of my thirst. First, the throbbing electricity made it feel as if I had a pulse again; my body sang with it as though I were human. More than anything in the world, I wanted to feel the heat of her lips against mine for one second. I struggled desperately to find the strength, the control, to be able to put my mouth so close to her skin. She sucked in a ragged breath, and only then did I realize that when I had started breathing faster, she had stopped breathing altogether.

I closed my eyes, trying to break the connection between us. No more mistakes. Bella's existence was tied to a thousand delicately balanced chemical processes, all so easily disrupted. The rhythmic expansion of her lungs, that flow of oxygen, was life or death to her. The fluttering cadence of her fragile heart could be stopped by so many stupid accidents, or illnesses, or by me. I did not believe that any member of my family, except possibly Emmett, would hesitate if he or she were offered a chance back, if he or she could trade immortality for mortality again. Rosalie and I, Carlisle too, would stand and fight for it, burn for as many days or centuries as were necessary. Most of our kind prized immortality above all else. There were even humans who craved this, who searched in dark places for those who could give them the blackest of gifts. Not us, not my family. We would trade anything to be human. But none of us, not even Rosalie, had ever been as desperate for a way back as I was now.

I opened my eyes and stared at the microscopic pits and flaws in the windshield, as though there were some solution hidden in the imperfect glass. The electricity had not faded, and I had to concentrate to keep my hands on the wheel. My right hand began to sting, without pain again, from when I touched her before.

"Bella, I think you should go inside now."

She obeyed at once, without comment, getting out of the car and shutting the door behind herself. Did she feel the potential for disaster as clearly as I did? Did it hurt her to leave as it hurt me to see her go? The only solace was that I would see her soon, sooner than she would see me. I smiled at that, then rolled the window down and leaned across to speak to her one more time. It was safer now, with the heat of her body outside the car. She turned to see what I wanted, curious, always so curious. Though I'd answered almost all of her many questions, my own curiosity was entirely unsatisfied. That wasn't fair.

"Oh, Bella. Yes, tomorrow. It's my turn."

"Your turn to…?"

"Ask the questions. Tomorrow, when we were in a safer place, surrounded by witnesses, I would get my own answers." I grinned at the thought and then turned away because she made no move to leave. Even with her outside the car, the echo of the electricity zinged in the air. I wanted to get out too, to walk her to her door as an excuse to stay beside her. No more mistakes. I hit the gas and then sighed as she disappeared behind me. It seemed as though I was always running toward Bella or away from her, never staying in place. I would have to find some way to hold my ground if we were ever going to have any peace.

My house appeared calm and silent from the outside as I drove past, heading for the garage, but I could hear the turmoil, both spoken aloud and silently thought, inside. I threw one wistful glance in the direction of my favorite car, still pristine for now, before I headed out to face the beautiful ogre under the bridge. I couldn't even make the short walk from the garage to the house before being accosted. Rosalie shot out the front door as soon as my footsteps were audible. She planted herself at the base of the stairs, her lips pulled back over her teeth. I stopped twenty yards away, and there was no aggression in my stance.

"I know I deserve this. I'm so sorry, Rose," I told her before she had even gathered her thoughts to attack. I probably wouldn't get to say much more. Her shoulders squared; her chin jerked up.

"How could you have been so stupid?" Emmett came slowly down the stairs behind her. I knew that if Rosalie attacked me, Emmett would come between us, not to protect me, to keep her from provoking me enough that I would fight back.

"I'm sorry," I told her again. I could see that she was surprised by the lack of sarcasm in my voice, my quick capitulation, but she was too angry to accept apologies yet.

"Are you happy now?"

"No," I said, the ache in my voice giving proof to the denial.

"Why did you do it then? Why would you tell her, just because she asked?" The words themselves weren't so harsh; it was her mental tone that was edged with needle-sharp points. Also in her mind was Bella's face, just a caricature of the face I loved as much as Rosalie hated me. In this moment, it was nothing to the hate she felt for Bella. She wanted to believe this hate was justified, founded solely on my bad behavior, that Bella was only a problem because she was now a danger to us, a broken rule. Bella knew too much. But I could see how much her judgment was clouded by her jealousy of the girl. It was more now than the fact that I found Bella so much more compelling than I had Rosalie. Her jealousy had twisted and shifted focus. Bella had everything Rosalie wanted; she was human, she had choices. Rose was outraged that Bella would put this in jeopardy, that she would flirt with the darkness when she had other options. Rose thought she might even trade faces with the girl she thought of as homely if she could have her humanity in the bargain. Though Rosalie was trying not to think all these things while she waited for my answer, she couldn't keep them entirely out of her head.

"Why?" she demanded out loud when I still said nothing. She didn't want me to keep reading. "Why did you tell her?"

"I'm actually surprised you were able to," Emmett said before I could respond. "You rarely say the word, even with us. It's not your favorite." He was thinking how much Rose and I were alike in this, how we both avoided the title to the non-life we hated. Emmett had no such reservations. What would it be like to feel the way Emmett did, to be so practical, so free from regret, to be able to so easily accept and move forward? Rose and I would both be happier people if we could follow his example. Seeing this, our similarities so clearly made it even easier to excuse the venom-tipped needles that Rose was still thinking.

"My way. You're not wrong," I said to Emmett. "I doubt I would ever have been able to say it myself."

Emmett cocked his head to the side. Behind him, inside the house, I could feel the shock from the rest of our audience. Only Alice was unsurprised.

"Then how?" Rosalie hissed.

"Don't overreact," I said without much hope. Her eyebrows shot up. "It wasn't an intentional breach. It's probably something we should have foreseen."

"What are you talking about?" she demanded.

"Bella is friends with the great-grandson of Ephraim Black." Rosalie froze with surprise. Emmett too was taken off guard. They were no more prepared for this direction than I had been. Carlisle appeared in the doorway. This was more than just a fight between Rosalie and me now.

"Edward," he asked. "We should have known." Carlisle, of course. The elders would warn the next generation when we came back, and of course, the next generation wouldn't credit any of it. It's just a silly story to them. The boy who answered Bella's questions didn't believe anything he was telling her. I wasn't anxious about Carlisle's reaction; I knew how he would respond, but I was listening very intently to Alice's room now, to hear what Jasper would think.

"You're right," Carlisle said naturally. "It would play out that way." He sighed. "It's bad luck. Ephraim's progeny had such a knowledgeable audience." Jasper listened to Carlisle's response, and he was concerned, but his thoughts were more about leaving with Alice than silencing the quibble. Alice was already watching his ideas for the future and preparing to refute them. She had no intent of going anywhere.

"Hardly bad luck," Rosalie said through her teeth. "It's Edward's fault that the girl knows anything true."

"I agreed quickly. "This is my fault. I am sorry. Please…" Rosalie thought directly at me. "Enough with the rollover routine. Stop playing so penitent."

"I'm not playing," I said to her. "I know I'm to blame for all of this. I've made an enormous mess of everything."

"Alice told you I was thinking of burning your car, didn't she?" I smiled, sort of.

"She did. But I deserve that if it makes you feel better. Have at it." She looked at me for a long moment, thinking about going ahead with the destruction, testing me to see if I was bluffing. I shrugged at her. "It's just a toy, Rose."

"You've changed," she said from between her teeth again.

"I know." She whirled and stalked off toward the garage, but she was the one bluffing. If it wouldn't hurt me, there was no point to the exercise. Of all my family, she was the only one who loved cars the way I did. Mine was too beautiful to vandalize for no reason. Emmett looked after her.

"I don't suppose you'd give me the full story now."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said innocently. He rolled his eyes, then followed Rosalie. I looked at Carlisle and mouthed Jasper's name. He nodded.

"Yes, I can imagine. I'll speak with him." Alice appeared in the doorway. "He's waiting for you," she said to Carlisle. Carlisle smiled at her, a little wryly. Though we were as used to Alice as it was possible to be, she was often uncanny. Carlisle patted her short black hair as he passed her.

I sat at the top of the stairs, and Alice sat beside me, both of us listening to the conversation upstairs. There was no tension in Alice; she knew how it would end. She showed me, and my tension vanished as well. The conflict was over before it started. Jasper admired Carlisle as much as any of us did, and he was happy to follow his lead until he thought Alice might be in danger. I found that I understood Jasper's perspective more easily now. It was strange how much I hadn't understood before Bella. She had changed me more than I'd known it was possible for me to change and still remain myself.

Chapter 13: Another Complication

I did not feel the usual guilt when I returned to Bella's room that night, though I knew I should, but it felt like the correct course of action, the only right thing to be doing. I was there to burn my throat as much as possible. I would train myself to ignore her scent. It could be accomplished. I would not allow this to be a difficulty between us. Easier said than done, but I knew this helped. Practice. Embrace the pain. Let that be the strongest reaction. Beat the element of desire entirely out of myself.

There was no peace in Bella's dreams, and no peace for me watching her twitch restlessly and hearing her whisper my name over and over. The physical pull, that overwhelming chemistry from the darkened classroom, was even stronger here in her night-black bedroom. Though she was not aware of my presence, she seemed to feel it too. She woke herself more than once. The first time, she did not open her eyes; she merely buried her head under her pillow and groaned. That was good luck for me, a second chance I didn't deserve since I didn't put it to good use and leave as I should have. Instead, I sat on the floor in the farthest, dark-shadowed corner of the room and trusted that her human eyes would not spot me here. She didn't catch me, even the time that she got up and stalked to the bathroom for a glass of water. She moved angrily, perhaps frustrated that sleep still evaded her. I wish there was some action I could take, as before, with the warm blanket from the cupboard, but I could only watch as I burned, useless to her. It was a relief when she finally sank into a dreamless unconsciousness.

I was in the trees when the sky lightened from black to gray. I held my breath this time to keep the scent of her from escaping. I refused to let the pure morning air erase the ache in my throat. I listened to breakfast with Charlie, struggling again to find the words in his thoughts. It was fascinating. I could guess at the reasons behind the words he said aloud, almost feel his intentions, but they never resolved into full sentences the way everyone else's thoughts did. I found myself wishing that his parents were still alive; it would be interesting to trace this genetic trait further back. The combination of his inarticulate thoughts and his spoken words were enough for me to piece together his general mindset this morning. He was worried about Bella, physically and emotionally. He felt similarly concerned about the idea of Bella roaming Seattle alone, as I would, only not quite so maniacally. Then again, his information was not as up-to-date as mine; he had no idea about the number of close calls she'd lived through recently. She worded her reply to him very carefully, but it was only technically not a lie. She was obviously not planning to tell him about her change of plans or about me. Charlie was also worried about the fact that she wasn't going to the dance on Saturday. Was she disappointed about this? Was she feeling rejected? Were the boys at school cruel to her? He felt helpless. She didn't look depressed, but he suspected that she would hide anything negative from him. He resolved to call her mother during the day and ask for advice. At least, that was what I thought he was thinking. I might have misconstrued parts.

I retrieved my car while Charlie loaded his. As soon as he had driven around the corner, I pulled into the driveway to wait. I saw the curtain twitch in her window, then heard her stumbling footsteps race down the stairs. I stayed in my seat rather than get out to hold the door for her, as I perhaps should have, but I thought it was more important to watch. She never acted the way I expected, and I needed to be able to anticipate correctly. I needed to study her, to learn the ways she moved, moved when left to her own devices, to try to anticipate her motivations. She hesitated a moment outside the car, then let herself in with a small smile, a little shy, I thought. She wore a dark coffee-colored turtleneck today. It was not tight, but still fitted closely to her shape, and I missed the ugly sweater. It was safer. This was supposed to be about her reactions, but I was abruptly overwhelmed with my own. I didn't know how I could feel so peaceful with everything that was hanging over both our heads, but being with her was an antidote to pain and anxiety. I took a deep breath through my nose, not every kind of pain, and smiled.

"Good morning. How are you today?" The evidence of her restless night was obvious in her face; her translucent skin hid nothing, but I knew she wouldn't complain.

"Good, thank you," she said with another smile. "You look tired."

She ducked, shaking her hair around her face in a move that seemed habitual. It obscured part of her left cheek.

"I couldn't sleep." I grinned at her.

"Neither could I." She laughed, and I absorbed the sound of her happiness.

"I guess that's right," she said. "I suppose I slept just a little bit more than you did."

"I wager you did." She peered at me around her hair, eyes lit up in a way I recognized. Curious. "So what did you do last night?"

I laughed quietly, glad I had an excuse not to lie to her. "Not a chance. It's my day to ask questions."

The little frown mark appeared between her eyebrows. "Oh, that's right. What do you want to know?" Her tone was slightly skeptical, as though she couldn't believe I had any real interest. She seemed to have no idea how curious I was. There were so many things I didn't know. I decided to start slow.

"What's your favorite color?" She rolled her eyes, still doubting my interest level.

"It changes from day to day."

"What's your favorite color today?" She thought for just a second.

"Probably brown," I assumed. She was mocking me, and my tone shifted to match her sarcasm.

"Brown? Sure," she said, and then she was unexpectedly on the defensive. Perhaps I should have expected this; she never liked judgments. "Brown is warm. I miss brown. Everything that's supposed to be brown—tree trunks, rocks, dirt—is all covered up with squashy green stuff here." Her tone brought back the sound of her sleeping complaint the other night too. Green. Was this what she had meant? I stared at her, thinking how right she was, honestly looking into her eyes now. I realized that brown was my favorite too. I couldn't imagine any shade more beautiful.

"You're right," I told her. "Brown is warm." She started to blush a little and unconsciously retreated deeper into her hair. Carefully bracing myself for any unexpected reaction, I swept her hair behind her shoulder so that I could have full access to her face again. The only reaction was a sudden increase in her heart rate.

I turned into the school lot and parked in the spot next to my usual place. Rosalie had taken that. "What music is in your CD player right now?" I asked as I twisted the keys from the ignition. I'd never trusted myself that close to her while she slept, and the unknown teased me. Her head cocked to the side, and it seemed as though she was trying to remember.

"Oh, right," she said. "It's Linkin Park, Hybrid Theory." Not what I was expecting, as I pulled the identical CD from my car's music cache. I tried to imagine what this album meant to her. It didn't seem to match any of her moods that I'd seen. But then there was so much I didn't know.

"Deus ex machina to this, I wondered." She stared at the cover, and I could not understand her expression.

"Which is your favorite song?" she murmured, still looking at the cover art.

"With you, I think…" I thought through all the lyrics quickly. "Why that one?"

She smiled a little and shrugged. "I'm not sure." Well, that didn't help much.

"Your favorite movie?" She thought about her answer for a brief moment. "I'm not sure I can pick just one favorite movie," then she nodded as she climbed out of the car. "Hm, definitely Pride and Prejudice, the six-hour one with Colin Firth, Vertigo, and Monty Python and the Holy Grail. There are more, but I'm blanking."

"Tell me when you think of them," I suggested as we walked toward her English class. "While you consider that, tell me what your favorite scent is."

"Lavender, or maybe clean laundry." She'd been looking straight ahead, but suddenly her eyes cut over to me for a second, and a faint pink colored her cheek. Was there more? I prompted, wondering what that look meant.

"No, just those." I wasn't sure why she would omit part of her answer to such a simple query, but I rather thought she had.

"What candy do you like best?" On this, she was very decided. "Black licorice and Sour Patch Kids." I smiled at her enthusiasm. We were at her classroom now, but she hesitated at the door. I too was in no hurry to separate from her.

"Where would you like to travel to most?" I asked. I assumed she was not going to tell me.

"ComiCon?" She leaned her head to one side, her eyes narrowing in thought. Inside the classroom, Mr. Mason was clearing his throat to get the class's attention. She was about to be late.

"Think about it and give me your answer at lunch," I suggested. She grinned and reached for the door, then turned back to look at me. Her smile faded, and the V appeared between her eyes. I could have asked her what she was thinking, but that would have delayed her, possibly gotten her in trouble, and I thought I knew. At least I knew how I felt. Letting that door close between us, I forced myself to smile encouragingly. She darted inside as Mr. Mason started to lecture. I walked quickly to my own class, knowing I would spend the day ignoring everything around me again. I was disappointed, though, because no one spoke to her in any of her morning classes, so there was nothing new to learn, just glimpses of her staring into space, her expression abstracted. The time dragged while I waited to see her again with my own eyes. When she left her trigonometry class, I was already in place, waiting for her. The other students stared and speculated, but Bella just hurried toward me with a smile.

"Beauty and the Beast," she announced, "and The Empire Strikes Back."

"I know that's everyone's favorite," but she shrugged.

"Well, for good reason," I assured her. We fell into step; it already felt natural to shorten my stride, to lower my head so it was closer to hers.

"Did you think about my travel question?"

"Yes. I think Prince Edward Island, Anne of Green Gables, you know, but I'd also like to see New York. I've never been to a big city that was mostly vertical, just sprawled places like LA and Phoenix. I'd like to try hailing a cab." She laughed. "And if I can go anywhere, I'd want to go to England, see all the stuff I've been reading about." This led toward my next avenue of inquiry, but I wanted to be thorough before I moved on.

"Tell me your favorite places that you've already been."

"I liked the Santa Monica Pier. My mom said Monterey was better, but we never did get that far up the coast. We mostly stayed in Arizona. We didn't have a lot of time for travel, and she didn't want to waste all of it in the car. She liked to visit places that were supposed to be haunted—Jerome, the domes, pretty much any ghost town. We never saw any ghosts, but she said that was my fault. I was too skeptical; I scared them all away." She laughed again. "She loves the Ren Faire."

Go to the one in Gold Canyon every year. Well, I missed it this year. I guess once we saw the wild horses at the Salt River, that was cool.

Where's the farthest place from home you've ever been? I asked, starting to become a little concerned here.

I guess, she said, farthest north from Phoenix, anyway. Farthest east, Albuquerque, but I was so young then I don't remember. Farthest west would probably be the beach in La Push.

She went suddenly quiet. I wondered if she was thinking of her last visit to La Push and all that she had discovered there. We were in the cafeteria line at this point, and she quickly picked out what she wanted, rather than waiting for me to buy one of everything. She was also swift to pay for herself.

You've never left the country, I persisted, once we reached our empty table. Part of me wondered if my sitting here had made it off-limits forever.

Not yet, she said cheerfully, though she'd only had 17 years to explore. I still felt surprised and guilty. She'd seen so little, experienced such a meager amount of what life had to offer. It was impossible that she could truly know what she wanted now.

Gataka, she said, chewing a bite of apple with a thoughtful expression. She hadn't noticed my sudden mood shift. That was a good one. Have you seen it? Yes, I liked it too. What's your favorite movie?

I shook my head and smiled. It's not your turn.

Seriously, I'm so boring. You must be out of questions.

It's my day, I reminded her, and I am not at all bored.

She pursed her lips as though she wanted to argue some more about my interest level, but then she smiled. I guess she didn't really believe me but had decided she would be fair about it. This was my day to ask questions. Tell me about books.

You can't make me choose a favorite, she insisted, almost fiercely. I won't. Tell me everything you like.

Like, where do I start? Um, Little Women. That was the first big book I read. I still read it pretty much every year. Everything Austen, though I'm not a huge fan of Emma.

Austen, I already knew, having seen her battered anthology the day she read outside, but I wondered at the exclusion. Why not Emma? She's so full of herself.

I grinned, and she continued without prompting. Jane Eyre. I read that pretty often too. That's my idea of a heroine. Everything by any Brontë. To Kill a Mockingbird, obviously. Fahrenheit 451. All the Chronicles of Narnia, but especially The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Gone With the Wind. Douglas Adams and David Eddings and Orson Scott Card and Robin McKinley. Did I already say L.M. Montgomery?

I assumed as much from your travel hopes. She nodded, then looked conflicted. Do you want, want more? I'm going on too much.

Yes, I assured her. I want more.

These aren't in any kind of order, she cautioned me. My mom had a bunch of Zane Grey paperbacks; some of them were pretty good. Shakespeare, mostly the comedies. She grinned. See? Out of order. Um, everything by Agatha Christie. Anne McCaffrey's dragon books. And speaking of great dragons, Joe Walton's Tooth and Claw. The Princess Bride, much better than the movie.

She tapped her finger against her lips. There are a million more, but I'm blanking again. She looked a little stressed.

That's enough for now. She'd done more exploring in fiction than in reality, and I was surprised she listed a book I'd not yet read. I would have to find a copy of Tooth and Claw. I could see elements of the stories in her makeup, characters that had shaped the context of her world. There was a bit of Jane Eyre in her, a portion of Scout Finch and Jo March, a measure of Elinor Dashwood and Lucy Pevensie. I was sure I would find more connections as I learned more about her. It was like putting together a puzzle, one with hundreds of thousands of pieces and no depiction of the complete image to serve as a guide—time-consuming, with many false leads. But ultimately, I would be able to see the whole picture.

She interrupted my thoughts. Somewhere in Time. I love that movie. I can't believe I didn't think of it right away. It wasn't one of my favorites; the idea that the two lovers could only be together in heaven after their deaths rubbed me the wrong way.

I changed the subject. Tell me about the music you like.

She paused to swallow again, and then unexpectedly, she blushed. What's wrong? I asked.

Well, I'm not super musical, I guess. The Lincoln Park CD was a gift from Phil. He's trying to update my tastes. What were you into pre-Phil?

She sighed, lifting her hands helplessly. I just listened to what my mom had: classical music sometimes, and other times Simon & Garfunkel, Neil Diamond, Joni Mitchell, John Denver, that kind of thing. She's like me; she listens to what her mother listened to. She likes to do singalongs on our road trips.

Suddenly, the asymmetrical dimple appeared with her wide grin. Remember those definitions of scary we talked about before? She laughed. Until you've heard my mom and me trying to hit the high notes in the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack, you've never known true fear.

I laughed with her but wished I could see and hear that. I imagined her on a bright road winding through the desert with the windows down, the sun bringing out the red shine in her hair. I wished I knew what her mother looked like and even what kind of car it was, so my picture could be more precise. I wanted to be there with her, to listen to her sing badly, to watch her smile in the sun.

Favorite TV show? I don't watch a lot of TV. I wondered if she was afraid to go into detail, worried again about me being bored. Maybe a few softball questions would relax her. Coke or Pepsi? Dr Pepper. Favorite ice cream? Cookie dough. Pizza? Cheese. Boring but true. Football team? Um, pass. Basketball? She shrugged. I'm not really a sports person. Ballet or opera? Ballet, I guess. I've never been to the opera.

I was not unaware that this list I was compiling had a use besides just learning—learning to understand as much as I could of her; I was also learning things that might please her, gifts I might give her, places I could take her, little things and bigger things. It was presumptuous in the extreme to imagine that I could ever have that kind of standing in her life, but how I wished.

What's your favorite gemstone? Topaz. She said this in a decided way, but then her eyes suddenly tightened, and red flushed across her cheekbones. She'd done this before when I asked about scents. I'd let it go then, but not this time. I was sure the other unmet curiosity would torment me enough. Why does that make you embarrassed? I wasn't sure I had the emotion right.

She shook her head quickly, staring down at her hands. It's nothing.

I'd like to understand. She shook her head again, still refusing to look at me. Please, Bella. Next question.

Now I was desperate to know, frustrated. Tell me, I insisted rudely. I felt ashamed at once. She didn't look up. She twisted a strand of her hair back and forth between her fingertips, but she finally answered. It's the color of your eyes today, she admitted. I suppose if you asked me in two weeks, I'd say onyx, just as my favorite color was now a deep chocolate brown.

Her shoulders had slumped, and suddenly I recognized her posture. It was just the same as yesterday when she'd hesitated to answer my question about whether she believed she cared more for me than I did for her. I'd put her in the same position again, of confirming her interest in me without receiving an assurance in return. Cursing my curiosity, I returned to my questions. Perhaps my obvious fascination with every detail of her personality would convince her of the obsessive level of my interest.

What kind of flowers do you prefer? Um, dahlias for looks, lavender and lilac for fragrance.

You don't like to watch sports, but did you ever play on a team? Just in school, when they made me. Your mother never put you on a soccer team? She shrugged. My mom liked to keep the weekends open for adventures. I did Girl Scouts for a while, and once she put me in a dance class, but that was a mistake. She raised her eyebrows as if daring me to doubt her. She thought it would be convenient because it was close enough for me to walk there after school, but no convenience was worth the mayhem.

Mayhem? Really? I asked skeptically. If I had Miss Cev's number, she would corroborate my story.

She looked up. Suddenly, all around us, the other students were gathering their things. How had the time passed so quickly? She stood in response to the commotion, and I rose with her, gathering her trash onto the tray while she slung on her backpack. She reached as if to take the tray from me.

I've got it, I said.

She huffed quietly, a little exasperated. She still didn't like being taken care of. I couldn't focus on my still unanswered questions as we walked to biology. I was remembering yesterday, wondering if that same tension, with the yearning and the electricity, would be present today, and sure enough, as soon as the lights went off, all the same overwhelming cravings returned. I had positioned my chair farther from hers today, but it didn't help. There was still that selfish part of me arguing that holding her hand would not be so wrong, even suggesting that this might be a good way to test her reactions, to prepare myself for being alone together. I tried to ignore the selfish voice and the temptation as best I could. Bella was trying too; I could tell. She leaned forward, chin propped against her arms, and I could see her fingers gripping under the edge of the desk so tightly that her knuckles were white. It made me wonder what precise temptation she was struggling against today. She didn't look at me, not once. There was so much I didn't understand about her, so much I couldn't ask. My body was ever so slightly leaning toward her now. I pulled myself back when the lights came back on. Bella sighed, and if I'd had to guess, I would have named her expression relief, but relief from what?

I walked beside her to her next class, fighting the same internal battle as the day before. She stopped at the door and looked up at me with her clear, deep eyes. Was that expectation or confusion? An invitation or a warning? What did she want? This is just a question, I told myself as my hand reached out to her of its own volition—another kind of question. Braced, not breathing, I let just the back of my hand graze the side of her face, from her temple to her narrow jaw, like yesterday. Her skin warmed to my touch, and her heart beat faster. Her head tilted just a fraction of a centimeter as she leaned into my caress. It was another kind of answer. I walked away from her quickly again, knowing that this one aspect of my self-control was compromised, my hand smarting in the same painless way.

EMT was already seated when I arrived at the Spanish classroom, so was Ben Cheney. They were not the only two to note my entrance. I could hear the other students' curiosity, Bella's name thought alongside mine, the speculation. Ben was the only human not thinking of Bella; my presence made him bristle a little, but he was not antagonistic. He'd already spoken to Angela and made a date for this weekend; her reception of his invitation had been warm, and he was still riding the high, though he was wary of my intentions. He was cognizant that I had acted as a catalyst for his current happiness. As long as I stayed away from Angela, he had no problem with me; there was even a hint of gratitude, though he had no idea this was exactly the outcome I desired too. He seemed a clever boy; he rose in my estimation.

Bella was in gym, but as in the second half of yesterday's class, she did not participate. Her eyes were far away. Whenever Mike Newton turned to look at her, she was obviously elsewhere in her head. Mike guessed that anything he had to say to her would be unwelcome. Guess I never really had a chance, he thought, half-resigned, half-sullen. How did it even happen? It was like overnight. Guess when Cullen wants something, it doesn't take him long to get it.

The images that followed his ideas of what I'd gotten were offensive. I stopped listening. I didn't like his perspective, as though Bella had no will of her own. Surely she'd been the one to choose, hadn't she? If she had ever asked me to leave her alone, I would have turned around and walked the other way, but she'd wanted me to stay then and now. My thoughts drifted back to check in on the Spanish classroom, and they naturally tuned in to the most familiar voice, but my mind was tangled around Bella as usual, so for a moment I didn't realize what I was hearing, and then my teeth clamped together so hard that even the humans near me heard. One boy looked around for the source of the cracking sound. Oops, EMT thought. I curled my hands into fists and concentrated on staying in my seat. Sorry, I was trying not to think about that. I glanced at the clock: 15 minutes before I could punch him in the face.

I didn't mean any harm. Hey, I took your side, right? Honestly, Jasper and Rose are just being silly, betting against Alice. It's the easiest wager I'll ever win—a wager about this weekend, whether Bella would live or die. 14 1/2 minutes. EMT squirmed in his seat, well aware what my total motionlessness indicated. Come on, Ed, you know it wasn't serious. Anyway, it's not even about the girl. You know better than I do whatever's going on with Rose, something between you two. I guess she's still mad, and she wouldn't admit for all the world that she's actually rooting for you. He always gave Rosalie the benefit of the doubt, and though I knew that I was just the opposite, I never gave her the benefit of the doubt. I didn't think he was right this time. Rosie would be pleased to see me fail in this; she would be happy to see Bella's poor choices receive what she considered their just reward, and then she'd still be jealous as Bella's soul escaped to whatever waited beyond. And Jazz, well, you know he's tired of being the weakest link. You're kind of too perfect with the self-control, and it gets annoying. Carlisle's different; admit it, you're a little smug. 13 minutes for EMT and Jasper. This was just some sticky pit of quicksand I'd created for myself. Fail or succeed, to them in the end it was nothing more than another anecdote about me. Bella wasn't part of the equation; her life was only a marker in the bet they'd made. Don't take it personally. There was another way. 12 1/2 minutes. You want me to back out of it? I will. I sighed and let the rigidity of my pose relax. What was the point of stoking my anger? Should I blame them for their inability to understand? How could they? How meaningless it all was—infuriating, yes, but would I have been any different if it hadn't been my life that had changed? If it hadn't been about Bella? Regardless, I didn't have time to fight with EMT now. I would be waiting for Bella when she was done with gym. So many more pieces to the puzzle I needed to discover.

I heard EMT's relief as I darted out the door at the first sound of the bell, ignoring him. When Bella walked through the gymnasium door and saw me, a smile spread across her face. I felt the same relief I had in the car this morning; all my doubts and torments seemed to lift from my shoulders. I knew that they were still very real, but the weight was so much easier to carry when I could see her.

Tell me about your home, I said as we walked to the car. What do you miss? Um, my house, or Phoenix, or do you mean here? All of those. She looked at me questioningly. Was I serious?

Please, I asked as I held her door for her. She raised one eyebrow as she climbed in, still doubting, but when I was inside and we were alone again, she seemed to relax. Have you never been to Phoenix?

I smiled. No, right? she said. Of course. The sun, she speculated about that silently for a moment. It creates some kind of a problem for you.

Indeed. I wasn't about to try to explain that answer; it was really something that had to be seen to be understood. Also, Phoenix was a little too close for comfort to the lands the aggressive Southern Clans claimed, but that wasn't a story I wanted to get into either. She waited, wondering if I would elaborate. So tell me about this place I've never seen, I prompted.

She considered for a moment. The city is mostly very flat, not much taller than one or two stories. There are a few baby skyscrapers downtown, but that was pretty far away from where I lived. Phoenix is huge; you can drive through suburbs all day. Lots of stucco and tile and gravel. It's not all soft and squishy like it is here; everything is hard, and most things have thorns.

But you like it? She nodded with a grin. It's so open, just all sky. The things we call mountains are really just hills—hard, thorny hills—but most of the valley is a big, shallow bowl, and it feels like it's filled with sunlight all the time. She illustrated the shape with her hands. The plants are like modern art compared to the stuff here—lots of angles and edges, mostly spiky. Another grin. But they're all open too, even if there are leaves, they're just feathery, sparse things; nothing can really hide there, nothing keeps the sun out.

I stopped the car in front of her house, my usual spot. Well, it does rain occasionally, she amended, but it's different there—more exciting, lots of thunder and lightning and flash floods, not just the nonstop drizzle thing, and it smells better there—that's the creosote.

I knew the evergreen desert shrub she referred to; I'd seen them through a car window in Southern California only at night; they weren't much to look at. I've never smelled the scent of creosote, I admitted. They only smell in the rain. What's it like?

She thought about that for a moment. Sweet and bitter at the same time, a little like resin, a little like medicine, but that sounds bad. It smells fresh, like clean desert. She chuckled. That's not helpful, is it?

On the contrary. What else have I missed? Not visiting Arizona sunsets, but I'm sure you've seen pictures.

I nodded. They're bigger than you'd expect when you see them in person; it takes all the newbies by surprise. Have you ever lived anywhere with cicadas?

Yes, I laughed. We were in New Orleans for a while.

Then you know, she said, I had a job last summer at a plant nursery. The screaming—it's like nails on a chalkboard—it drove me crazy. What else?

The colors are different; the mountains, hills, or whatever, are mostly volcanic—lots of purple rock. It's dark enough that it holds a lot of heat from the sun, so does the blacktop in the summer; it never cools off. Frying an egg on the sidewalk is not an urban myth, but there's lots of green from the golf courses; some people keep lawns too, though I think that's crazy. Anyway, the contrast in the colors is cool.

What's your favorite place to spend time? The library, she grinned. If I hadn't already outed myself as a huge nerd, I guess that makes it obvious. I feel like I've read every fiction book in the little branch near me. The first place I went when I got my license was the Central Library downtown. I could live there.

Where else? In the summer, we'd go to the pool at Cactus Park; my mom had me in swimming lessons there before I could walk. There was always some story in the news about a toddler drowning, and it freaked her out. In the winter, we'd go to Roadrunner Park; it's not huge, but it had a little lake; we'd sail paper boats when I was a kid. Nothing very exciting, like I've been trying to tell you.

I think it sounds lovely. I don't remember much about my childhood.

Her teasing smile faded, and her eyebrows pulled together. That must be difficult and strange.

It was my turn to shrug. It's all I know. Certainly nothing to worry about.

She was quiet for a long time, turning this over in her head. I waited out her silence for as long as I could stand it before I finally asked, What are you thinking?

Her smile was more subdued now. I have a lot of questions, but I know—we spoke the words simultaneously. Today is my day. Today is your day. Our laughs were synchronized now too, and I thought how strangely easy it was to be with her this way, just close enough; the danger felt far away. I was so entertained; I was nearly oblivious to the pain in my throat, though it was not dull, it just wasn't as interesting to think about as she was.

Have I sold you on Phoenix yet? she asked after another quiet moment.

Perhaps I need a bit more persuasion.

She considered. There's this one kind of acacia tree, I don't know what it's called; it looks like all the others—thorny, half-dead—her expression was suddenly full of longing—but in the springtime it has these yellow, fuzzy blossoms that look like pom-poms. She demonstrated the size, pretending to hold a blossom between her thumb and index finger. They smell amazing, like nothing else—really faint, delicate. You'll get a sudden hint of them in the breeze, and then it's gone. I should have included them with my favorite scents. I wish someone would make a candle or something. And then the sunsets are incredible, she continued, switching subjects abruptly. Seriously, you'll never see anything close here. She thought for another moment. Even in the middle of the day, though—the sky—that's the main thing; it's not blue like the sky here when you can see it. Here, it's brighter, paler; sometimes it's almost white, and it's everywhere. She emphasized her words with her hand, tracing an arc over her head. There's so much more sky there. If you get away from the lights of the city a little bit, you can see a million stars. She smiled, a wistful smile. You really ought to check it out some night. It's beautiful.

To you? she nodded. It's not for everybody, I guess. She paused, thoughtful, but I could see that there was more, so I let her think. I like the animalism, she decided. It's an honest sort of place; it doesn't hide anything.

I thought of everything that was hidden from her here, and I wondered if her words meant that she was aware of this, of the invisible darkness gathered around her, but she stared at me with no judgment in her eyes. She didn't add anything more, and I thought, by the way she was tucking her chin just slightly, she might again be feeling like she was talking too much.

You must miss it a great deal, I prompted.

Her expression didn't cloud over the way I half expected. I did at first, but now I guess I'm used to it here. She smiled as though she was more than simply resigned to the forest and the rain. Tell me about your home there.

She shrugged. It's nothing unusual—stucco and tile, like I said. One story, three bedrooms, two baths. I miss my little bathroom most; sharing with Charlie is stressful. Gravel and cactus outside; everything inside is vintage 70s—wood paneling, shag carpet, mustard-colored Formica counters, the works. My mom's not big on renovations; she claims that dated stuff has character.

What is your bedroom like? Her expression made me wonder if there was a joke I wasn't getting—now, or when I live there now, I think it's a yoga studio or something. My stuff's in the garage.

I stared, surprised. What will you do when you go back? She didn't seem concerned. We'll shove the bed back in somehow. Wasn't there a third bedroom? That's her craft room; it would take an act of God to make space for a bed in there. She laughed.

I would have thought she'd been planning to spend more time with her mother, but she spoke as though her time in Phoenix was past rather than future. I recognized the feeling of relief this engendered but tried to keep it off my face. What was your room like when you lived there?

A minor blush. Um, messy. I'm not the most organized.

Tell me about it again. She gave me the you-must-be-kidding look, but when I didn't react, she complied, miming the shapes with her hands. It's a narrow room—twin bed on the south wall and dresser on the north, under the window, with a pretty tight aisle in between. I did have a little walk-in closet, which would have been cool if I could have kept it tidy enough to be able to actually walk into it. My room here is bigger and less of a disaster.

But that's because I haven't been here long enough to make a serious mess. I made my face smooth, hiding the fact that I knew very well what her room was like here and also my surprise that her room in Phoenix had been more cluttered. Um, she looked to see if I wanted more, and I nodded to encourage her.

The ceiling fan is broken; just the light works. So I had a big, noisy fan on top of the dresser. It sounds like a wind tunnel in the summer, but it's a lot better for sleep than the rain here. The sound of the rain isn't consistent enough. The thought of rain had me glancing at the sky and then being shocked by the dimness of the light. I couldn't understand the way time bent and compressed when I was with her. How was our allotment up already? She misunderstood my preoccupation. "Are you finished?" she asked, sounding relieved. "Not even close," I told her. "But your father will be home soon, Charlie," she gasped, as though she'd forgotten that he existed. "How late is it?" she looked at the dashboard clock as she asked.

I stared at the clouds; though they were thick, it was obvious where the sun must be behind them. "It's twilight," I said, "the time when vampires came out to play; when we never had to fear that a shifting cloud might cause us trouble; when we could enjoy the last remnants of light in the sky without worrying that we would be exposed." I looked down to find her staring curiously at me, hearing more in my tone than just the words I'd spoken. "It's the safest time of day for us," I explained, "the easiest time, but also the saddest in a way; the end of another day, the return of the night; so many years of night." I tried to shake off the heaviness in my voice. "Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?" "I like the night," she said, contrary as usual. "Without the dark, we'd never see the stars." A frown rearranged her features. "Not that you see them here much." I laughed at her expression, so still, not entirely reconciled to Forks. I thought of the stars she described in Phoenix and wondered if they were like the stars in Alaska, so bright and clear and close. I wish that I could take her there tonight so we could make the comparison, but she had a normal life to lead. "Charlie will be here in a few minutes," I told her. I could just hear a hint of his mind, perhaps a mile out, driving slowly this way; his mind was on her.

So, unless you want to tell him that you'll be with me Saturday," I understood that there were many reasons Bella wouldn't want her father to know about our involvement, but I wished—not just because I needed that extra encouragement to keep her safe, not just because I thought the threat to my family would help control my monster—I wished she would want her father to know me, want me to be part of the normal life she led. "Thanks, but no thanks," she said quickly. Of course, it was an impossible wish, like so many others. She started to organize her things as she prepared to leave. "So is it my turn tomorrow then?" she asked. She glanced up at me with bright, curious eyes. "Certainly not. I told you I wasn't done, didn't I?" She frowned, confused. "What more is there? Everything. You'll find out tomorrow." Charlie was getting closer. I reached across her to open her door and heard her heart start thumping loudly and unevenly. Our eyes met, and it seemed like an invitation again. Could I be allowed to touch her face just one more time? And then I froze, my hand on her door handle. Another car was headed to the corner; it was not Charlie's; he was still two streets up. So I paid little attention to these unfamiliar thoughts, heading, I assumed, to one of the other houses on the street. But one word caught my attention: "vampires."

"Now vampires ought to be safe enough for the boy; no reason to run into any vampires here," the mind thought. "Even if this is neutral territory, I hope I was right to bring him into town. What were the aunts? Not good." I breathed, "What is it?" she asked, anxious as she processed the change in my face. There was nothing I could do now. "What rotten luck; another complication," I admitted. The car turned onto the short street, heading directly for Charlie's house. As the headlights lit up my car, I heard a young, enthusiastic reaction from the other mind inside the old Ford Tempo. "Wow, is that an S60R? I've never seen one in real life before. Cool. Wonder who drives one of those around here. Custom painted, aftermarket front splitter, semislicks—that thing must tear the road up. I need to get a look at the exhaust." I didn't concentrate on the boy, though I'm sure I would have enjoyed the knowledgeable interest another day. I opened her door, throwing it wider than necessary, then I jerked away, leaning forward toward the oncoming lights. "Charlie's around the corner," I warned her. She jumped quickly out into the rain, but there wasn't any time for her to get inside before they saw us together. She slammed the door, but then hesitated there, staring at the oncoming vehicle. The car parked facing mine, its headlight shining directly into my car, and suddenly the older man's thoughts were screaming with shock and fear. "Cold one! Vampire Cullen!"

I stared out the windshield, meeting his gaze. There was no way I would find any resemblance to his grandfather. I'd never seen Ephraim in his human form, but this would be Billy Black. No doubt, with his son Jacob. As if to confirm my assumption, the boy leaned forward with a smile. "Oh, it's Bella." A small part of me noted that, yes, she had definitely done some damage during her snooping in La Push, but I was mostly focused on the father, the one who knew he was correct. "Before this was neutral territory; I had as much right to be here as he did, and he knew that. I could see it in the tightening of his frightened, angry face, the clenching of his jaw. What is it doing here? What should I do?" We'd been in Forks for two years; no one had been harmed, but his horror couldn't have been stronger if we'd been slaughtering a new victim every day. I glared at him, my lips pulling back just slightly from my teeth in an automatic response to his hostility. It would not be helpful to antagonize him, though Carlisle would be displeased if I did something to worry the old man. I could only hope that he adhered to our treaty better than his son had. I peeled out, the boy appreciating the sound of my tires, only street legal by the smallest degree, as they squealed against the wet pavement. He turned to analyze the car's exhaust as I drove away. I passed Charlie as I went around the next corner, slowing automatically as he noted my speed with a businesslike frown. He continued home, and I could hear the muffled surprise in his thoughts, wordless but clear, as he took in the car waiting in front of his house. He forgot all about the silver Volvo that had been speeding. I stopped two streets up and left my car parked unobtrusively beside the forest, between two wide spaces. In seconds I was soaking wet, hidden in the thick branches of the spruce that overlooked her backyard, the same place I'd hidden on that first sunny day.

It was hard to follow Charlie; I didn't hear anything worried; some in his vague thoughts, just enthusiasm. He must have been happy to see his visitors; nothing had been said to upset him yet. Billy's head was a seething mass of questions as Charlie greeted him and ushered him inside. As far as I could tell, Billy hadn't made any decisions. I was glad to hear thoughts of the treaty mixed in with his agitation; hopefully that would tie his tongue. The boy followed Bella as he escaped to the kitchen. Ah, his infatuation was clear in every thought, but it wasn't hard to listen to his mind, the way it was with Mike Newton or her other admirers. There was something very engaging about Jacob Black's mind, pure and open; it reminded me a bit of Angela's, only not so demure. I felt suddenly sorry that this particular boy was born my enemy; his was the rare kind of mind that was easy to be inside, restful almost. In the front room, Charlie had noticed Billy's abstraction but didn't ask; there was some strain between them, an old disagreement from long ago. Jacob was asking Bella about me; once he heard my name, he laughed. "Guess that explains it then," he said. "I wondered why my dad was acting so strange." "That's right," Bella responded with overdone innocence. "He doesn't like the Cullens; superstitious old man," the boy muttered. "Yes, we should have foreseen that it would be this way, of course. The young members of the tribe would see their history as myth, embarrassing, humorous, even more so because the elder members took it so seriously." They rejoined their fathers in the front room. Bella's eyes were always on Billy while he and Charlie watched television; it looked as if, like me, she was waiting for a breach. None came. The Blacks left before it was very late; it was a school night, after all. I followed them on foot back to the boundary line between our territories, just to be sure that Billy didn't ask his son to turn around, but his thoughts were still confused. There were names I didn't know, people he would consult with tonight, even as he continued to panic. He knew what the other elders would say; seeing a vampire face to face had unsettled him, but it changed nothing. As they drove past the point where I could hear them, I felt fairly sure that there was no new danger; Billy would follow the rules. What choice did he have? If we broke the treaty, there was nothing the old men could actually do about it; they'd lost their teeth. If they broke the treaty, well, we were even stronger than before—seven instead of five; surely that would make them careful, though Carlisle would never allow us to enforce the treaty that way.

Instead of heading directly back to Bella's house, I decided to make a detour to the hospital. My father had a late shift tonight; I could hear his thoughts in the emergency ward; he was examining a delivery truck driver from Olympia with a deep puncture wound in his hand. I walked into the lobby, recognizing Jenny Austin at the desk. She was preoccupied with a call from her teenage daughter and barely acknowledged my wave as I passed her. I didn't want to interrupt, so I just walked past the curtain and Carlisle was hidden behind, and then continued on to his office. He would recognize the sound of my footsteps, unaccompanied by a heartbeat, and then my scent; he would know I wanted to see him and that it wasn't an emergency. He joined me in his office only moments later. "Edward, is everything all right?" "Yes, I just wanted you to know right away; Billy Black saw me at Bella's house tonight. He said nothing to Charlie, but—" "Hm," Carlisle said. "We've been here so long; it would be unfortunate if tensions arose again. It's probably nothing; he just wasn't prepared to be two yards away from a cold one. The others will talk him down; after all, what can they do about it?" Carlisle frowned. "You shouldn't think of it that way, though; they've lost their protectors; they are in no danger from us." "No, of course not," he shook his head slowly, puzzling about the best course of action; there didn't seem to be one other than ignoring this unlucky encounter. I'd already come to the same conclusion. "Will you be coming home soon?" Carlisle asked suddenly. I felt ashamed as soon as he voiced his question. "Is Esme very upset with me?" "Not upset with you; about you; yes. She worries; she misses you." I sighed and nodded. Bella would be safe enough inside her house for a few hours, probably. "I'll go home now; thank you, son."

I spent the evening with my mother, letting her fuss over me a bit. She made me change into dry clothes, more to protect the floor she'd spent so much time finishing than anything else. The others had cleared out, and I saw that this was her request; Carlisle had called ahead. I appreciated the quiet. We sat at the piano together, and I played as we talked. "How are you, Edward?" was her first question; it wasn't a casual query; she was anxious about my answer. "I'm not entirely sure," I told her honestly. "It's up and down." She listened to the notes for a moment, occasionally touching a key that would harmonize with the tune. "She causes you pain?" I shook my head. "I cause my own pain; it's not her fault." "It's not your fault either," I am what I am, and that's not your fault. I smiled humorlessly. "You blame Carlisle?" "No." "Do you?" "No. Then why blame yourself?" I didn't have a ready answer; truly, I did not resent Carlisle for what he had done, and yet, didn't someone have to be to blame? Wasn't that person me? "I hate to see you suffer." "It's not all suffering; not yet. This girl—she makes you happy." I sighed. "Yes, when I'm not getting in my own way; she does indeed." "Then that's all right." She seemed relieved. My mouth twisted. "Is it?" She was silent, her thoughts analyzing my answers, picturing Alice's face, thinking of her visions; she was aware of the wager and also that I knew about it. She was upset with Jasper and Rosalie. "What will it mean for him if she dies?" I cringed, yanking my fingers off the keys. "I'm sorry," she said swiftly. "I didn't mean to." I shook my head, and she fell silent. I stared at my hands, cold and sharp angled, inhuman. "I don't know how," I whispered, "how I move past that. I can't see anything; nothing past that." She put her arms around my shoulders, lacing her fingers together into a tight knot. "That's not going to happen." "I know it won't." "I wish I could be as sure." I stared at her hands, so much like mine, but not. I couldn't hate them the same way; they were stone too, but not—not a monster's hands; they were a mother's hands, kind and gentle. "I am sure you won't hurt her." "So you've placed your money with Alice and Emmett; I see." She unlaced her fingers to smack me lightly on the shoulder. "This is not a joking matter." "No, it isn't. But when Jasper and Rosalie lose, I won't be angry; Emmett rubs it in a bit. I doubt he'll disappoint you there, nor will you disappoint me, Edward. Oh, my son, how I do love you. When the hard part is over, I'm going to be very happy; you know I think I will love this girl." I looked at her with raised eyebrows. "You wouldn't be so cruel as to keep her from me, would you?" "Now you sound just like Alice. I don't know why you fight her on anything; easier to embrace the inevitable." I frowned but started playing again. "You're right," I said after a moment. "I won't hurt her." "Of course you won't." She kept her arms around me, and after a few moments, I laid my head against the top of hers. She sighed and hugged me tighter. It made me feel vaguely childlike. As I had told Bella, I didn't have memories of being a child; nothing concrete, but there was a—a kind of sense memory in the feeling of her arms around me. My first mother must have held me too; it must have comforted me in the same way. When the song was finished, I sighed and straightened up. "You'll go to her now?" "Yes." She frowned, confused. "What do you do all night?" I smiled. "Think and burn and listen." She touched my throat. "I don't like that this causes you pain." "That's the easiest part; it's nothing really. And the hardest part—" I thought about that for a minute; there were lots of answers that could be true, but one felt the most true. "I think that I can't be human with her; that the best version is the one that is impossible." Her eyebrows pulled together. "Everything will be all right, Esme." It was so easy for me to lie to her; I was the only one who could ever lie in this house. "Yes, it will be. She couldn't be in better hands." I laughed again, without humor, but I would try to prove my mother right.

Chapter 14 Closer

It was peaceful in Bella's room tonight; even the fitful rain, which usually made her uneasy, did not disturb her. Despite the pain, I was peaceful too, calmer than I'd been in my own home, with my mother's arms around me. Bella mumbled my name in her sleep, as she often did, and smiled as she said it.

In the morning, Charlie mentioned her cheerful mood over breakfast, and it was my turn to smile. At least, if nothing else, I made her happy too. She climbed into my car quickly today, with a wide, eager smile, seeming just as hungry to be together as I was. "How did you sleep?" I asked her. "Fine. How was your night?" I smiled. "Pleasant." She pursed her lips. "Can I ask what you did?" I could imagine what my level of interest would be if I had to spend eight hours unconscious, totally unaware of her, but I wasn't ready to answer that question now, or maybe ever. "No. Today is still mine." She sighed and rolled her eyes. "I don't think there's anything I haven't told you." "Tell me more about your mother." It was one of my favorite subjects because it was obviously one of hers. "Okay, um, my mom is kind of wild, I guess. Not like a tiger is wild; like a sparrow, like a deer. She just doesn't do well in cages. My granddad, who was totally normal, by the way, and had no idea where my mom came from, used to call her a will-o'-the-wisp. I got the feeling that raising my mom through her teenage years was no cakewalk. Anyway, it's pretty hard for her to stay in one place very long; getting to wander off with Phil, with no sure end destination in mind. Well, I think it's the happiest I've ever seen her. She tried really hard for me, though, made do with weekend adventures and constantly switching jobs. I did what I could to free her from all the mundane stuff. I imagined Phil will do the same. I feel like kind of a bad daughter because I'm a little relieved, you know," she made an apologetic face, turning her palms up. "She doesn't have to stay in place for me anymore; that's a weight off. And then Charlie—I never thought about him needing me, but he really does. That house is too empty for him." I nodded thoughtfully, sifting through this mine of information. I wished I could meet this woman who had shaped so much of Bella's character. Part of me would have preferred that Bella had an easier, more traditional childhood, that she could have gotten to be the child, but she wouldn't have been the same person, and truly, she didn't seem resentful in any way. She liked to be the caretaker, liked to be needed. Perhaps this was the real secret as to why she was drawn to me. Had anyone ever needed her more?

I left her at her classroom door, and the morning passed much as the day before. Alice and I sleepwalked our way through gym. I watched Bella's face through Jessica Stanley's eyes again, noting, as the human girl did, how very little of Bella seemed to be in the classroom at all. "I wonder why Bella doesn't want to talk about it," Jessica wondered, "keeping him to herself, I guess. Unless she was telling the truth before, and there's nothing actually happening." Her mind ran over Bella's denials on Wednesday morning. "It's not like that," when Jessica had asked about kissing, and her inference that Bella had looked disappointed. "That would be like torture," Jessica thought. "Now, look but don't touch." The word startled me—like torture; obviously an exaggeration, but would such a thing actually cause Bella pain, no matter how minor? Surely not, knowing, as she did, the realities of the situation. I frowned and caught Alice's questioning glance. I shook my head at her. "She looks happy enough," Jessica was thinking, watching Bella as she stared through the classroom windows with unfocused eyes. "She must have been lying to me, or there have been new developments." Oh, Alice's sudden stillness alerted me at the same time as her mental exclamation. The picture in her mind was of the cafeteria at some near future date, and "Well, it's about time," she thought, breaking into a huge grin. The pictures developed—Alice standing behind my shoulder in the cafeteria today, across the table from Bella, the very brief introduction. How it began was not yet fixed; it wavered, dependent on some other factor, but it would be soon, if not today. I sighed absently, swatting the birdie back across the net; it flew better than it would have had my attention been focused. I scored a point as the coach blew his whistle to end class. Alice was already moving toward the door, but "Don't be such a baby; it's not much, and I can already see that you won't stop me." I closed my eyes and shook my head. "No, it won't be very much," I agreed quietly as we walked together. "I can be patient; baby steps." I rolled my eyes. It was always a relief when I could leave the secondary vantage points behind and just see Bella for myself, but I was still thinking about Jessica's assumptions when Bella came through the classroom door. She smiled, a wide, warm smile, and it looked to me too like she was very happy. I shouldn't worry about impossibilities when they weren't bothering her. There was one line of questions that I had been reluctant to open thus far, but with Jessica's thoughts still in my head, I was suddenly more curious than I was averse.

We sat at what was now our usual table, and she picked at the food I'd gotten for her. I'd been quicker than her today. "Tell me about your first date," I said. Her eyes got bigger, and her cheeks flushed. She hesitated. "You're not going to tell me—" "I'm just not sure what actually counts; put the qualifications at their lowest setting," I suggested. She stared toward the ceiling, thinking, with her lips pursed. "Well, then I guess that would be Mike—a different Mike," she said quickly when my expression changed. "He was my square-dancing partner in the sixth grade. I was invited to his birthday party; it was a movie," she smiled. "The second Mighty Ducks. I was the only one who showed up. Later, people said it was a date; I don't know who started that rumor." I'd seen the school pictures in her father's house, so I had a mental reference for eleven-year-old Bella. It sounded like things weren't so different for her then. "That's perhaps setting the bar a little too low," she grinned. "You said the lowest setting; continue, then." Her lips twisted to the side as she considered. "A few friends were going to the ice rink with some boys; they needed me to even up the numbers. I wouldn't have gone if I'd realized that it meant I was matched up with Reed Merchant." She shuddered delicately. "And of course, I figured out pretty quickly that ice skating was a bad idea. My injuries were minor, but the plus side was that I got to sit by the snack bar and read for the rest of the night." She smiled almost triumphantly. "Shall we skip to an actual date?" "You mean like someone asked me out in advance, and then we went someplace alone together?" "That sounds like a workable definition," she smiled, the same triumphant smile. "Sorry, then; I've got nothing." I frowned. "No one ever asked you out on a date before you came here?" "Really? I'm not totally sure. Is it a date? Is it just friends hanging out?" She shrugged. "Not that it mattered much; I never had time for either after a while. The word gets around, and no one asks again." "Were you actually busy or making excuses like you do here?" "Actually busy," she insisted, a little offended. "Running a house is time-consuming, and I usually had a part-time job too, not to mention school. If I'm going to get to college, I'm going to need a full-ride scholarship." "Hold that thought," I interrupted. "Before we move on to the next subject, I'd like to finish this one. If you hadn't been so busy, were any of these invitations ones you would have liked to accept?" She tilted her head to the side. "Not really. I mean, other than just to have a night out, they weren't particularly interesting boys. And other boys who didn't ask—" she shook her head, her clear eyes appearing to hide nothing. "I wasn't paying that much attention." My eyes narrowed. "So you never met anyone you wanted—" She sighed again. "Not in Phoenix." We stared at each other for a moment while I processed the fact that, just as she was my first love, according to this, I was also her first infatuation, at the very least. This alignment pleased me in some strange way, but also troubled me. Surely this was a warped, unhealthy way for—

Her to begin her romantic life, but then there was the knowledge that she would be both first and last for me. It would not be the same for a human heart. I know it's not my day, but no, it's not. "Come on," she insisted. I just spilled my entire embarrassing lack of dating history.

I smiled. "Mine is quite similar, actually—minus the ice skating and trick birthday parties. I haven't been paying much attention either." She looked like she didn't quite believe me, but it was true. I'd also had a few offers I turned down—not quite the same kind of offers, I admitted to myself, picturing Tanya's pouting face.

"Which college would you like to go to?" I asked.

"Um," she shook her head just slightly, as if to adjust to the new subject. "Well, I used to think ASU was the most practical because I could live at home, but with Mom moving around now, I guess my field is more open. It will have to be a state school, something reasonable, even with a scholarship. When I first came here, well, I was glad that Charlie doesn't live close enough to Washington State to make that practical."

"Are you disparaging our fine State's cougars?"

"Nothing against the institution, just the weather. And if you could go anywhere, if the cost were no object, where would you go?"

While she considered my question about this hypothetical future, I tried to picture a future that I could live with. Bella at 20, at 22, 24—how long before she outgrew me, unchanging as I was? I would accept that time limit if it meant that she could be healthy and human and happy. If I could only make myself safe for her, right for her, make myself fit into that happy picture for every second of the time that she allowed me. I wondered again how I could make this happen: be with her without negatively impacting her life; stay in Forks; keep her safe from my Underworld. It was easy to see that she wouldn't be happy in my usual haunts, obviously, but as long as she wanted me, I would follow her. It would mean many slow days and doors, but that was such a negligible price, it was barely worth noting. I'd have to do some research; most of the fancy schools are in the snow zone.

She grinned. "I wonder what colleges in Hawaii are like."

"Lovely, I'm sure. And after school, what then?" I realized how important it was for me to know her plans for the future, so I didn't derail them, so I could shape this unlikely future into the best version to suit her.

"Something with books. I always thought I would teach—like, well, not exactly like my mom. If I could, I'd like to teach on a college level somewhere, probably a community college elective English classes, so that everyone who signed up is there because they want to be there."

"Is that what you've always wanted?"

She shrugged. "Mostly. I once thought of working for a public publisher as an editor or something." Her nose wrinkled. "I did some research; it's a lot easier to get a job as a teacher—much more practical." Her dreams all had clipped wings, not like those of the usual teenager off to conquer the world—obviously a product of facing realities long before she should have had to. She took a bite of her bagel, chewing thoughtfully. I wondered if she was still thinking of the future or something else. I wondered whether she saw any glimpse of me in that future.

My mind strayed to tomorrow. It should have thrilled me, the idea of a whole day with her, so much time, but I could only think of the moment when she would see what I really was, when I could no longer hide behind my human facade. I tried to imagine her response, and though I was so often wrong when trying to predict her feelings, I knew it could only go two ways: the only valid reaction besides revulsion would be terror. I wanted to believe that there was a third possibility, that she would forgive what I was, as she had done so often in the past, that she would accept me despite everything, but I couldn't picture it. Would I have the nerve to keep my promise? Could I live with myself if I hid this from her?

I thought of the first time I'd seen Carlisle in the sun. I was very young then, still obsessed with blood over anything else, but that sight had caught my attention the way little else had. Though I trusted Carlisle utterly, though I'd already begun to love him, I felt fear. It was all too impossible, too alien; the instinct to defend myself was triggered, and it was several long moments before his calm and reassuring thoughts could have any effect on me. If eventually he talked me into stepping forward myself to see that the phenomenon did no harm, and I remembered seeing myself in the brilliant morning light and realizing more profoundly than I ever had thus far that I had no relationship at all to my former self, that I was not human. But it wasn't fair to hide myself from her; it was a lie of omission. I tried to see her with me in the meadow, what the picture would look like if I weren't a monster. It was such a beautiful, peaceful place; how I wished she could enjoy it with me, still there.

"Edward," Alice thought urgently, a hint of panic in her tone that froze me in place. Suddenly I was caught up in one of Alice's visions, staring into a bright circle of sunlight, disorienting because I'd just been imagining myself and Bella there, the little meadow where no one ever went beside me, so I wasn't sure at first that I was seen inside Alice's mind and not my own. But it was different from my own picture—future, not past. Bella stared at me, rainbows dancing across her face, her eyes fathomless. So I was brave enough.

"It's the same place," Alice thought, her mind full of horror that did not match the vision—tension perhaps, but horror. What did she mean, the same place? And then I saw it.

"Edward," Alice protested shrilly. "I love her, Edward, but she did not love Bella the way I did. Her vision was preposterous, wrong. She was blinded somehow, seeing impossibilities, lies."

Not even a half a second had passed; Bella was still chewing, thinking about some mystery I would never know. She wouldn't have seen the quick flash of dread across my face. It was just an old vision, no longer valid; everything had changed since then.

"Edward, we have to talk."

There was nothing for Alice and me to talk about. I shook my head ever so slightly, just once. Bella didn't see. Alice's thoughts were a command now. She shoved the picture I couldn't bear back into the forefront of my mind.

"I love her, Edward. I won't let you just ignore this. We're leaving, and we're going to work this through. I'll give you to the end of the period; make your excuses." Oh, her totally benign vision from this morning in gym interrupted her string of orders; the brief introduction I saw exactly how it would happen now, down to the second. So this offensive, invalid, outdated vision was the catalyst missing before. My teeth clenched together. "Fine," we would talk. I would sacrifice my time with Bella this afternoon to show Alice how wrong she was. In truth, I knew I wouldn't be able to rest until I'd made her see that, made her admit she was off this time. She saw the future shift as my mind changed.

"Thank you," odd given the sudden life and death turned to my afternoon. How crushing it was to lose the time I'd counted on. It should be such a small thing, just a few minutes really. I tried to shake off the horror that Alice had inflicted on me so that I wouldn't ruin the minutes I had left.

"I should have let you drive yourself today," I said, working hard to keep the desperation out of my voice. Her eyes snapped up to mine. She swallowed. "Why?"

"I'm leaving with Alice after lunch." Oh, her face fell. "That's okay; it's not that far of a walk."

I frowned. "I'm not going to make you walk home." Did she really think I would leave her stranded? "We'll go get your truck and leave it here for you."

"I don't have my key with me," she said, and sighed. This was some huge, insurmountable obstacle to her.

"I really don't mind walking,"

"Your truck will be here, and the key will be in the ignition," I told her, "unless you're afraid someone might steal it." The sound of her engine was as good as a car alarm—possibly louder. I forced a laugh at the mental image, but the sound was off. Bella pursed her lips, and her eyes went opaque.

"All right," she said. Was she doubting my abilities? I tried to smile confidently. I was confident that I could not fail in such a simple task, but my muscles were too tight to manage it correctly. She didn't seem to notice; it looked like she was dealing with her own disappointment. So she said, "Where are you going?"

Alice showed me the answer to Bella's question: hunting. I could hear that my voice was suddenly darker. It was something I would have found time for regardless; the necessity of this excursion was as frustrating as it was shameful, but I wouldn't lie to her about it. "If I'm going to be alone with you tomorrow, I'm going to take whatever precautions I can." I stared into her eyes, wondering if she could see the fear in my own. Alice's vision was overpowering my composure.

"You can always cancel, you know. Please walk away; don't turn back." She looked down, her face blanching paler than before. Would she finally listen? Alice's vision would mean nothing if Bella told me now to leave her alone. I knew I could do it if it was what Bella asked for. My heart felt poised to rip in half.

"No," she whispered, and my heart twisted in another direction; a worse kind of breaking loomed. She stared up at me. "I can't."

"Perhaps you're right," I whispered. Maybe she was, after all, just as bound as I was. She leaned toward me, her eyes tightening with what looked like concern. "What time will I see you tomorrow?"

I took a deep breath, trying to settle myself, to shake off the sense of doom. I forced myself to speak in a lighter tone. "Well, that depends; it's a Saturday. Don't you want to sleep in?"

"No," she shot back immediately. It made me want to smile. "The same time as usual, then?"

"Will Charlie be there?"

She grinned. "No, he's fishing tomorrow." This obviously pleased her as much as her attitude about it angered me. Why was she determined to put herself so wholly at my mercy, at the mercy of the worst part of me?

"And if you don't come home," I asked through my teeth, "what will he think?"

Her face was smooth. "I have no idea. He knows I've been meaning to do laundry; maybe he'll think I fell in the washer."

I glared at her; I did not find her joke humorous in the slightest. She scowled back for a moment, and then her face relaxed. She changed the subject. "What are you hunting tonight?"

It was so strange: on the one hand, she didn't seem to take the danger seriously at all; on the other, she was so calm and accepting the ugliest facets of my life.

"Whatever we find in the park; we aren't going far. Why are you going with Alice?" Alice was listening intently now. I frowned. "Alice is the most supportive." There were other words I'd like to say for Alice's benefit, but they would only confuse Bella and the others.

Bella nearly whispered, her voice shifting from curious to anxious, "What are they?" She would be horrified if she knew how easily they could all hear that whisper. There were also many ways to answer this question; I chose the least frightening—incredulous, for the most part. "They were definitely that…" Her eyes darted to the back corner of the cafeteria where my family sat. Alice had warned them, and they were all looking elsewhere.

"They don't like me," she guessed.

"That's not it," I quickly countered. "Ha. Rosalie thought…"

"They don't understand why I can't leave you alone," I continued, trying to ignore Rose. "Well, that's true enough."

Bella made a face. "Neither do I, for that matter."

I shook my head, thinking of her ridiculous assumption before that I didn't care for her as much as she cared for me. I thought I'd explain this. "I told you, you don't see yourself clearly at all. You're not like anyone I've ever known; you fascinate me."

She looked doubtful. Maybe I needed to be more specific. I smiled at her, despite everything on my mind; it was important for her to understand this. "Having the advantages I do," I brushed two of my fingers casually across my forehead, "I have a better than average grasp of human nature. People are predictable, but you—you never do what I expect; you always take me by surprise."

She glanced away from me, and there was something unsatisfied about her expression; the specific detail had obviously not convinced her. "That part is easy enough to explain," I continued quickly, waiting for her eyes to return to me. "But there's more—so much more—and it's not… not easy to put into words. Goggle at me, will you, you batac little nuisance?"

Bella's face went white. She looked frozen, as though she couldn't look away from the back corner of the room. I turned quickly and shot Rosalie a threatening glare, my lips pulling away from my teeth. I hissed quietly at her; she flashed a glance at me from the corner of her eye, then angled her head away from us both. I looked back to Bella just as she turned to stare at me. She started.

Rosalie thought sullenly, Bella's eyes were huge. "I'm sorry about that," I murmured quickly. "She's just worried." It irritated me to have to defend Rosalie's behavior, but I couldn't think of another way to explain it, and at the heart of Rosalie's hostility, this was the true issue. "You see, it's dangerous for more than just me. If, after spending so much time with you, so publicly…" I couldn't finish, filled with horror and shame. I stared down at my hands, the hands of a monster. If she prompted, how could I not answer her now? If this ends badly… my head fell into my palms. I didn't want to see her eyes as understanding dawned, as she realized what I was saying. For all this time I'd been trying to earn her trust, and now I had to tell her exactly how much I didn't deserve it. It was right to have her know; this would be the moment when she would walk away, and that was good. My first instinctive rejection of Alice's panic was wearing off. I couldn't honestly promise Bella that I was no danger to her.

"And you have to leave now."

I looked up at her slowly; her face was calm. There was a hint of sorrow in the pucker mark between her brows, but no fear at all. The perfect trust I'd seen when she jumped into my car in Port Angeles was evident again in her eyes. Though I didn't deserve it, she still trusted me.

"Yes," I told her. My answer made her frown. She should have been only relieved to see me go, but instead she was sad. I wished I could smooth away the little V between her eyebrows with my fingertip. I wanted her to smile again. I forced myself to grin at her. "It's probably for the best; we still have 15 minutes of that wretched movie left to endure in biology. I don't think I could take anymore." I guessed that this was true, that I would not have been able to endure, that I would have made more mistakes.

She smiled back, and it was obvious that she understood at least part of what I meant. Then she jumped slightly in her seat, startled. I heard Alice step up behind me. I was not surprised; I'd seen this part before.

"Alice," I greeted her; her excited smile was reflected in Bella's eyes.

"Edward," she responded, copying my tone. I followed my script. "Alice, Bella," I said, introducing them as concisely as possible. I kept my eyes on Bella and gestured halfheartedly with one hand.

"Bella, Alice. Hello, Bella. It's nice to finally meet you." The emphasis was subtle but annoying. I shot her a quick glare.

"Hi, Alice," Bella answered, her voice unsure.

"I won't push my luck," Alice promised. "Are you ready?" she asked me aloud, as if she didn't know my answer. "Nearly."

"I'll meet you at the car. I'll get out of your way now, thanks." Bella stared after Alice, a small frown curving her lips downward. When Alice disappeared through the doors, she turned slowly to face me. "Should I say 'have fun,' or is that the wrong sentiment?" she asked.

I smiled at her. "No, 'have fun' works as well as anything."

"Have fun, then," she said, a little forlorn. I'll try, but that wasn't true; I would only be missing her while I was away.

"And you try to be safe, please." It didn't matter how often I had to say goodbye; the same panic returned whenever I thought of her unprotected, safe in Forks.

"Safe in Forks," she mumbled. "What a challenge for you."

"It is a challenge," I pointed out.

"Promise," she sighed, but her smile was good-humored.

"I promise to try to be safe," she said. "I'll do the laundry tonight; that ought to be fraught with peril." I didn't enjoy the reminder of the earlier part of our conversation.

"Don't fall in," she tried to keep her face serious and failed.

"I'll do my best." It was so hard to leave. I made myself stand; she rose to her feet too.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she sighed. "It seems like a long time to you, doesn't it?"

Strange; what a long time it seemed to me too. She nodded dejectedly. "I'll be there in the morning," I promised. Alice was right about this much; I wasn't finished making mistakes. I couldn't stop myself again as I leaned across the table and brushed my fingers along her cheekbone. Before I could do any more harm, I turned and left her there. Alice was waiting in the car.

"Alice, first things first, we have an errand to run, don't we?" Pictures of Bella's house flashed through her mind: an empty set of hooks designed to hold keys on the kitchen wall; me and Bella's room; scanning her dresser top and desk; Alice literally following her nose through the front room; Alice again in a small laundry room, grinning with a key in her hand. I drove quickly to Bella's—I would have been able to find the key myself; the smell of metal was easy enough to trace, particularly metal painted with the oils from her fingers—but Alice's way was definitely faster; the images refined. Alice would go in alone. I saw through the front door; she decided a dozen different places to look for an extra house key, then located it when she resolved to check under the eaves over the front door. When we arrived at the house, it took Alice only seconds to follow the course she'd already set for herself. After locking the front door's handle but leaving the deadbolt unlatched as she found it, Alice climbed into Bella's truck. The engine grumbled to life with the volume of a thunderclap; there was no one home to notice it now. The trip back to school was slower, hampered by the maximum speed the old Chevy was able to produce. I wondered how Bella could stand it, but then she seemed to prefer driving slowly. Alice parked in the space my Volvo had left open and shut the noisy engine off. I looked at the rusty behemoth, imagining Bella in it; it had survived Tyler's van with barely a scratch, but obviously there were no airbags or crumple zones. I felt my eyebrows pull together. Alice climbed into my passenger seat.

"Here," she thought; she held out a piece of stationery and a pen. I took them from her. "I'll concede that you're useful; you couldn't survive without me." I wrote a brief note then darted out to leave it on the driver's seat of Bella's truck. I knew there was no real power to the action, but hopefully it would remind her of her promise; it did make me feel just a little bit less anxious.

Chapter 15. Probability.

"Now, Alice," I began as I shut my door.

She sighed. "I'm sorry; I wish I didn't have to."

"It's not real," I interrupted, accelerating away from the parking lot. I didn't have to think about the road; I knew it too well. "It's just an old vision—before everything, before I knew I loved her." In her head, it was there again, that worst of all visions, the agonizing potential that had tortured me for so many weeks: the future Alice had seen the day I'd pushed Bella out of the way of the van—Bella's body in my arms, twisted and white and lifeless, a ragged, blue-edged gash across her broken neck, her blood red on my lips and blazing crimson in my eyes. The vision in Alice's memory brought a furious snarl ripping up my throat, an involuntary response to the pain that lashed through me. Alice froze, her eyes anxious.

"It's the same place," Alice had realized today in the cafeteria, her thoughts tinged with a horror I hadn't understood at first. I'd never looked beyond the ghastly central image; I could barely stand to see that much, but Alice had been examining her visions for decades longer than I; she knew how to remove her feelings from the equation, how to be impartial, how to look at the picture without flinching away from it. Alice had been able to absorb details like the scenery; the gruesome tableau was set in the same meadow where I plan to take Bella tomorrow.

"It can't still be valid; you didn't see it again; you just remembered it."

Alice shook her head slowly. "It's not just a memory, Edward. I see it now."

"We'll go somewhere else." In her head, backgrounds to her vision spun like whirling kaleidoscopes, changing from bright to dark and back; the foreground remained the same. I cringed away from the pictures, trying to push them from my mental eye, wishing I could blind it.

"I'll cancel," I said through my teeth. "She's forgiven my broken promises before." The vision shimmered, wavered, and then returned to solidity with sharp, clear edges. "Her blood is so strong to you, Edward, as you get closer to her."

"I'll go back to keeping my distance."

"I don't think that will work; it didn't before."

"I'll leave." She flinched at the agony in my voice, and the picture in her head shivered again; the seasons changed, but the central figures remained.

"It's still there, Edward. How can that be?"

I snarled, "Because if you leave, you will come back," she said, her voice implacable.

"No," I said. "I can stay away; I know I can."

"You can't," she said calmly. "Maybe if it was just your own pain…" Her mind raced through a flipbook of futures: Bella's face from a thousand different angles, always tinted gray, sunless; she was thinner, unfamiliar hollows beneath her cheekbones, deep circles under her eyes, her expression empty—one could call it lifeless, but it would only be a metaphor, not like the other visions.

"What's wrong? Why is she like that?"

"Because you've left. She's not doing well." I hated it when Alice spoke like that, in her strange present-future tense, which made it sound like the tragedy was happening right now.

"Better than other options," I said. "Do you really think you could leave her like that? Do you think you wouldn't come back to check? Do you think when you saw her that way you wouldn't be able to keep from speaking?" As she asked her questions, I saw the answers in her head myself: in the shadows, watching, creeping back to Bella's room, seeing her suffer through a nightmare, curled into a ball, her arms tight around her chest, gasping for air even in her sleep. Alice curled in on herself too, wrapping her arms tensely around her knees in sympathy. Of course, Alice was right; I felt an echo of the emotions that I would feel then, in this version of the future, and I knew I would come back just to check, and then when I saw this, I would wake her; I would not be able to watch her suffer. The futures realigned into the same inevitable vision, only delayed a bit.

"I should never have come back," I whispered. "What if I'd never learned to love her? What if I hadn't known what I was missing?" Alice was shaking her head. "There were things I saw while you were away." I waited for her to show me, but she was focusing very hard on just looking at my face, trying not to show me what things.

"What did you see?" Her eyes were pained; they weren't pleasant things. "At some point, if you hadn't come back when you did, if you'd never loved her, you would have come back for her anyway—to hunt her." Still no pictures, but I didn't need them to understand. I reeled away from her, nearly losing control of the car. I stomped on the brake and pulled off the road; the tires tore into the ferns and threw patches of moss onto the pavement. The thought had been there in the very beginning, when the monster was nearly unbridled, that there was no guarantee that I wouldn't eventually follow her wherever she might…

Go, give me something that will work. I exploded. Alice cringed away from the volume. Tell me another path. Show me how to stay away, where to go.

In her thoughts, suddenly another vision replaced the first. A gasp of relief choked through my lips when the horror was removed, but this vision was not much better. Alice and Bella, arms around each other, both marble white and diamond hard. One too many pomegranate seeds, and she was bound to the underworld with me, no way back. Springtime sunlight, family, future, soul—all stolen from her.

"It's 60/40, is maybe even 65/35," there's still a good chance you won't kill her. Her tone was one of encouragement.

"She's dead either way," I whispered.

"I'll stop her heart."

"That's not exactly what I meant," I'm telling you that she has futures beyond the meadow, but first she has to go through the meadow—the metaphorical meadow, if you catch my meaning.

Her thoughts, it was difficult to describe, widened out as if she was thinking everything at the same time, and I could see a tangle of threads. Each thread, a line of frozen images; each thread, a future told in snapshots, all of them snared together in a messy knot.

"I don't understand," all her paths are leading to one point, all her paths are noded together. Whether that point is in the meadow or somewhere else, she's tied to that, that moment of decision—your decision, her decision. Some of the threads continue on the other side, some do not.

My voice faltered through my tight throat. "You can't avoid it, Edward. You're going to have to face it. Knowing it could easily go either way, you still have to face it."

"How do I save her? Tell me."

"I don't know. You'll have to find the answer yourself, in the knot. I can't see exactly what form it will take, but there will be a moment, I think—a test, a trial. I can see that, but I can't help you with it. Only the two of you can choose in that moment."

My teeth ground together. "You know that I love you, so listen to me now. Putting this off won't change anything. Take her to your meadow, Edward, and for me, and especially for you, bring her back again."

I let my head fall into my hands. I felt sick, like a damaged human, a victim of disease.

"How about some good news?" Alice asked gently.

I glared up at her. She smiled, a small smile.

"Seriously, tell me then."

"I've seen a third way, Edward," she said. "If you can get through the crisis, there's a new path out there."

"A new path," I echoed blankly.

"It's sketchy, but look." Another picture in her head, not as sharp as the others—a trio in the cramped front room of Bella's house. I was on the aged sofa, Bella beside me, my arm casually slung around her shoulders. Alice sat on the floor beside Bella, leaning against her leg in a familiar fashion. Alice and I were exactly the same as we always were, but this was a version of Bella I'd never seen before. Her skin was still soft and translucent pink across the cheeks, healthy. Her eyes were still warm and brown and human, but she was different. I analyzed the changes and realized what I was seeing. Bella was not a girl, but a woman. Her legs looked a little longer, as if she'd grown an inch or two, and her body had rounded subtly, giving a new curvature to her slender frame. Her hair was sable dark, as if she'd spent little time in the sun during the intervening years—not many years, maybe three or four—but she was still human. Joy and pain washed through me. She was still human. She was aging. This was the desperate, unlikely future that was the only one I could live with—the future that did not cheat her of either life or afterlife, the future that would take her away from me someday, as inevitably as day turned to night.

"It's still not very probable, but I thought you'd like to know it was there. If you two get through the crisis, this is out there."

"Thank you, Alice," I whispered.

I put the car into drive and pulled onto the road again, cutting off a minivan chugging along under the limit. I accelerated automatically, barely registering the process.

"Of course, this is all you," she thought. She was still picturing the unlikely trio on the sofa. "This doesn't take her wishes into account."

"What do you mean, her wishes? Did it never occur to you that Bella might not be willing to lose you, that one short mortal life might not be long enough for her?"

"That's insanity. No one would choose—"

"No need to argue about it now. Crisis first. Thanks, Alice," I said again, caustically this time.

She trilled a laugh. It was a nervous sound, birdlike. She was every bit as on edge as I was, almost as horrified by the tragic possibilities.

"I know you love her too," I muttered.

"It's not the same."

"No, it isn't. After all," Alice had Jasper; she had the center of her universe safely at her side, even more indestructible than most, and his soul was not on her conscience. She had brought Jasper nothing but happiness and peace.

"I love you. You can do this." I wanted to believe her, but I knew when her words were built on sure foundations and when they were no more than ordinary hope.

I drove in silence to the edge of the national park and found an inconspicuous place to leave the car. Alice didn't move when the car stopped. She could see that I would need a moment. I closed my eyes and tried not to hear her, not to hear anything, to really focus my thoughts toward a decision, a resolution. I pressed my fingertips hard against my temples. Alice said I would have to make a choice. I wanted to scream out loud that I'd already decided, that there was no decision, but even though it felt as though my whole being yearned for nothing but Bella's safety, I knew the monster was still alive. How did I kill it, silence it forever? Oh, he was quiet now, hiding, saving his strength for the fight that was coming.

For a few moments, I thought seriously about killing myself. It was the only way I knew to be sure that the monster didn't survive, but how? Carlile had exhausted most of the possibilities in the beginning of his new life and had never come close to ending his own story, despite his very real determination to do so. I would have no success acting alone. Any of my family would be capable of doing it for me, but I knew that none of them would, no matter how I begged. Even Rosalie, who I'm sure would claim to be angry enough to do it, who might bluster and threaten the next time I saw her, would not, because even though she sometimes hated me, she always loved me. And I knew if I could trade places with any of them, I would feel and act exactly the same way. I would not be able to harm any of my family, no matter how much pain were in, no matter how much they wanted out. There were others, but Carlile's friends wouldn't help me; they would never betray him. So I could think of one place I might go with the power to end the monster very quickly, but doing that would put Bella in danger. Though I'd not been the one to tell her the truth about myself, she knew things she was forbidden to know. It was nothing that would ever bring her the wrong kind of attention, unless I did something stupid like go to Italy. It was too bad the Quileute treaty was toothless these days. Three generations ago, all I would have to do was walk to La Push—a useless idea now. So those ways of killing the monster weren't possible.

Alice seemed so sure that I had to go forward, to meet this head-on, but how could that be the right thing to do when the possibility that I would kill Bella existed? I flinched; the idea was so painful. I couldn't imagine how the monster could get past my aversion, overcome me. He didn't give anything away, just silently bided his time.

I sighed. Was there any choice but to face this head-on? Did it count as courage if one was compelled? I was sure it did not. All I could do, it seemed, was cling to my decision with both hands, with all my strength. I would be stronger than my monster. I would not hurt Bella. I would do the most right thing that was left to me. I would be who she needed me to be. And then, suddenly, as I thought those words, it didn't feel so impossible. Of course I could do that. I could be the Edward that Bella wanted, that she needed. I could grasp hold of that one sketchy future I could live with and then will it into being for Bella. Of course, of course I could do that, if it was for her. It felt stronger, this decision, clearer.

I opened my eyes and looked at Alice.

"Ahuh, that looks better," she said in her head. The tangle of threads was still a hopelessly confusing maze to me, but she saw more in it than I did. 70/30. "Whatever you're thinking, keep thinking it. Perhaps just accepting the immediate future was the key, facing it—not understanding my own evil, bracing for it, preparing." I could do the most basic preparation now. This was why we were here.

Alice saw my action before I took it, and she was out her door and running before I had opened my own. I felt a shallow sensation of humor and almost smiled. She could never outrun me. She always tried to cheat. And then I was running too.

"This way," Alice thought, when I nearly caught up. Her mind was racing ahead, looking for quarry, but while I caught the scent of several nearby options, clearly they weren't what she wanted. She disregarded everything she saw. I wasn't exactly sure what she was searching so minutely for, but I followed her unhesitatingly. She ignored a few more flocks of deer, leading me deeper into the forest, angling south. I saw her searching ahead, seeing us in different corners of the park, all of them familiar. She drifted east, starting to curve north again. What was she looking for? And then her thoughts settled on a slinking movement in the brush, glimpses of tawny hide.

"Thanks, Alice, but shh, I'm hunting." I rolled my eyes but continued following her. She was trying to do something nice for me. There was no way for her to know how little it all mattered. I'd been force-feeding myself so much lately, I doubted I would notice the difference between a lion and a rabbit.

It didn't take us long to find her vision, now that she was focused on it. Once the movements of the animal were audible, Alice slowed to let me take the lead.

"I really shouldn't," the park lion population. Alice's mental tone was exasperated.

"Live a little." There never was much point in fighting with Alice. I shrugged and passed her. I'd caught the scent now; it was easy to shift into another mode, just to let the blood pull me forward as I stalked my prey. It was relaxing to stop thinking for a few minutes, just to be another predator, the apex predator. I heard Alice head east, searching for her own meal. The lion hadn't noticed me yet; he too was heading east on his own search, looking for something to hunt. Some other animal's day would end better thanks to me. I was on him in a second. Unlike Emmett, I saw no point in giving the beast a chance to fight back; it would make no difference, and wasn't it more humane to do it quickly? I snapped the lion's neck and then quickly drained the warm body. I wasn't that thirsty to begin with, so there wasn't any real relief tied to the action—force-feeding again. When I was done, I followed Alice's scent north. She'd found a sleeping doe bedded down in a nest of brambles. Alice's hunting style was more like mine than Emmett's; it didn't look like the creature had even woken up.

"Up," thank you, I told her, to be courteous.

"You're welcome. There's a bigger herd back to the west." She got to her feet and led the way again. I bit back my sigh. We were both done after one more. I was too full again, my insides feeling uncomfortably liquefied. I was surprised that she was ready to quit, though.

"I don't mind continuing," I told her, wondering if she'd seen that I would sit the next round out and was being polite.

"I'm going out tomorrow with Jasper," she told me.

"Didn't he just—"

"I've recently decided that more preparations are necessary," she said, smiling, a new possibility in her mind. I saw our home, Carlisle and Esme waiting expectantly in the front room, the door opening, myself walking through, and next to me, holding my hand, Alice. She laughed, and I tried to bring my face back under my control.

"How?" I asked.

"When? Soon, possibly Sunday."

"This Sunday? Yes, the one that comes after tomorrow." Bella was perfect in the vision, human and healthy, smiling at my parents. She wore the blue blouse that made her skin glow. As for how, I'm not entirely sure. This is just an outline, chance, but I wanted Jasper prepared. Jasper at the foot of the stairs now, nodding politely to Bella, his eyes light gold. This is through the knot, one of the threads. It spun out again in her mind, the long ropes of possibilities, so many converging on tomorrow, not enough emerging on the other side.

"Where am I at?" She pursed her lips. 75/25. She thought it like a question, and I could see she was being generous.

"Come on," she thought, as she saw me hunch in on myself. "You take that bet."

I did automatically; my lips pulled back over my teeth.

"Please," she said, like I was going to pass up such an opportunity. "This isn't just about Bella. I'm relatively confident that she'll be fine. This is about teaching Rosalie and Jasper some respect."

"You're not omniscient."

"I'm close enough." I could not match her joking mood.

"If you were omniscient, you'd be able to tell me what to do."

"You'll figure it out, Edward. I know you will."

If only I could know that too. No one but my mother and father were home when we returned. Emmett had no doubt warned the others to make themselves scarce. It didn't matter to me one way or another; I didn't have the energy to care about their stupid game. Alice too ran off in search of Jasper. I was grateful for the thinning of the mental conversations; it helped me a little as I tried to concentrate. Carlisle was waiting by the foot of the stairs, and his thoughts were hard to block, filled with all the same questions to which I just begged Alice for answers. I didn't want to admit to him all the weaknesses that kept me from running away before any more damage was done. I didn't want Carlisle to know the horror that would have come to pass if I hadn't come back to Forks when I did, the depths to which my monster would have sunk. I gave him one tight nod of acknowledgment as I passed him. He knew what it meant, that I was aware of all his fears and that I had no good answer. With a sigh, he nodded back. He followed up the stairs more slowly, and I heard him join Esme in her study. They didn't speak. I tried to ignore what she thought as she analyzed his expression, her alarm, her pain. Carlisle, of all the others, even Alice, understood best how it was for me—the never-ending chatter and babble and commotion that was inside of my head. He'd lived with me the longest, so without a word, he now led Esme to the large window we often used as an exit. Within seconds, they were far enough away that I could hear nothing—silence at last. The only commotion in my head now was of my own making.

At first, I moved slowly, at barely more than human speed, as I showered, cleaning the residue of the forest from my skin and hair. As before, in the car, I felt damaged, impaired, as if my strength had been drained away—all in my head, of course. It would be nothing but a miracle, a gift, if I could somehow truly lose my strength, if I could be weak, harmless, a danger to no one. I'd almost forgotten my earlier fear, such a conceited fear that Bella would find me repulsive when I revealed my true self in the sunlight. I was disgusted at myself for wasting even a moment over that selfish concern, but as I looked for fresh clothes, I had to think of it again—not because it mattered whether she was sickened by me, but because I had a promise to keep.

I rarely gave what I wore a first thought, let alone a second. Alice stocked my closet with a wide variety of items that all seemed to go together. The main, main point of clothing was to help us blend in, to embrace the current time period's fashion, to downplay our power and to cover as much of our skin as possible without looking shockingly out of season. Alice pushed the limits within those constraints, offended by the idea of trying to make us look unnoticeable. She chose her own clothing and dressed the rest of us as a form of artistic expression. Our skin was covered; its palette hue was never put in contrast with deeper tones, and we certainly were up to the minute with current style, but blend we did not. It seemed a harmless indulgence, like the cars we drove. Alice's forward-thinking taste aside, all my clothes were, if nothing else, designed for maximum coverage. If I were going to fulfill the spirit of my promise to Bella, I would need more than my hands exposed. The smaller my exposure, the easier it would be for her to compartmentalize my disease. She needed to see me for what I was, at that moment.

I remembered a shirt stuck in the back recesses of my closet that I'd never worn. The shirt was an anomaly; usually Alice wouldn't get us anything that she couldn't see us wearing. Typically, she was quite strict in following the letter of the law. I recalled the afternoon, two years ago, when I'd first seen the shirt hanging with a new lot of Alice's acquisitions, tacked on at the very back, as if she knew it was all wrong.

"What's this for?" I asked her.

She shrugged. "I don't know. It looked nice on the model." There hadn't been anything hidden in her thoughts; she seemed as confused as I was by the impulse purchase, and yet she hadn't let me throw the shirt away either.

"You never know," she insisted. "You might want it someday."

I pulled the shirt out now and felt a strange wave of awe, a chill almost, if I were capable of feeling such a thing. Her uncanny instincts reached so far, stretched their tentacles so deep into the future that even she didn't understand all the action she took. Somehow, she'd sensed, years before Bella had chosen to come to Forks, that at some point I would be facing this most bizarre trial. Perhaps she was omniscient after all.

I slipped into the white cotton shirt, unnerved by the look of my bare arms in the mirror inside the door. I buttoned it, then unbuttoned it again. Exposing my skin was the whole point, but I didn't have to be so conspicuous right from the start. I grabbed a pale beige sweater and pulled it over the top. I was much more comfortable that way, just the collar of the white shirt showing above the crew neckline, covered up as was normal. Maybe I would leave the sweater on; maybe full disclosure was the wrong path.

I wasn't moving as slowly anymore. It was almost comical, with all the dire fears and resolutions in my head, that the more familiar fear, the one that had recently dictated almost all my movements, should still be able to control me so easily. I hadn't seen Bella for hours. Was she safe now? Strange that I should even be able to worry about the millions of dangers that weren't me; none of them were close to as deadly, and yet, and yet, and yet—what if? Though I'd always planned to spend the night with Bella, her scent more important tonight than any night before, now I was in a hurry to be there.

I was early, and of course everything was fine. Bella was still doing laundry. I could hear the thumping and sloshing of the unbalanced washing machine and smell the scent of softener sheets blowing hot from the dryer exhaust. Part of me wanted to smile as I thought of her teasing at lunch, but the superficial humor was too weak to overcome my ongoing panic. I could hear Charlie watching a sports recap in the front room; his quiet thoughts seemed mellow, sleepy. I was sure that Bella hadn't changed her mind and told him of her real plans for tomorrow, despite everything. The easy, simple flow of the Swan's uneventful evening was calming. I perched in my usual tree and let it lull me. I found myself feeling jealous of Bella's father; his was a simple life; nothing serious weighed on his conscience. Tomorrow was just a normal day with familiar, pleasant hobbies to look forward to. But the next day—it wasn't in his power to guarantee what the next day would be for him, was it, in mine?

I was surprised to hear the sound of a hairdryer from the shared bathroom. Bella didn't usually bother; her hair was, as far as I had seen in my nights of protective, if inexcusable, surveillance, wet as she slept, drying over the course of the night. I wondered why the change. The only explanation I could think of was that she wanted her hair to look nice, and as the person she planned to see tomorrow was me, that meant she must have wanted it to look nice for me. Maybe I was wrong, but if I was right, how exasperating, how endearing. Her life had never been in deeper peril, but she still cared that I, the very menace threatening her life, liked her appearance.

It took longer than usual, even after the extra time with the dryer, for the lights to go out in her room, and I could hear some quiet commotion inside before that happened. Curious—always too curious. It felt like hours before I could be sure I'd waited long enough for her to be sleeping. Once inside, I could see I hadn't needed to wait quite so long. She slept more serenely than usual tonight, her hair fanned smoothly across the pillow over her head, her arms relaxed at her sides, deeply under. She did not so much as murmur. Her room immediately revealed the source of the tumult I'd heard. Piles of clothes were thrown over every surface, even a few across the foot of her bed, under her bare feet. I acknowledged again the pleasure and the pain of knowing that she wanted to be attractive for me. I compared the feelings, the ache and the soaring, to my life before Bella. I'd been so jaded, so world-weary, as if I'd experienced every emotion there was to be felt. What a fool I'd been. I'd barely sipped at the cup life had to offer. Only now was I aware of all I'd missed and how much more I had to learn—so much suffering ahead, more than the joy, certainly, but the joy was so sweet and so strong that I would never forgive myself for missing a second of it.

I thought of the emptiness of a life without Bella, and it brought to mind one night I'd not thought of for a very long time. It was December 1919. More than a year had passed since Carlisle had transformed me. My eyes had cooled from brilliant red to a mellow amber, though the stress of keeping them so was constant. Carlisle had kept me as isolated as possible while I worked through those unruly first months. After almost a year, I felt quite sure that the madness had passed, and Carlisle accepted my self-evaluation without question. He prepared to introduce me into human society. At first, it was only an evening here or there; as well-fed as possible, we would walk along a small town's main street after the sun was safely below the horizon. It surprised me then how we could blend in at all. The human faces were so completely different from ours—their dull, pitted skin, their poorly molded features, so rounded and lumpy, the mottled colors of their imperfect flesh, the clouded, roomy eyes—must be nearly blind, I thought, if they could really believe we belonged to their world. It was several years before I grew accustomed to human faces. I was so focused on controlling my instinct to kill during these excursions that I barely registered as language the cacophony of thought that assaulted me. It was just noise. As my ability to ignore my thirst grew stronger, so the thoughts in the crowd became clearer, harder to dismiss. The danger of the first challenge supplanted by the irritation of the second. I passed these early tests, if not with ease, then at least with perfect results. The next challenge was to live among them for a week. Carlisle chose the busy harbor in St. John, New Brunswick, booking us rooms in a small clapboard inn near the west-side docks. Besides our ancient—

Landlord. All the neighbors we encountered were sailors and dock hands. This was an arduous challenge. I was entirely surrounded; the scent of human blood was ever present. I could smell the touch of human hands on the fabrics in our room, catch the scent of human sweat wafting through our windows. It tainted every breath I took. But though I was young, I was also obstinate and determined to succeed. I knew that Carlile thought very highly of my rapid progress, and pleasing him had become my chief motivation.

Even in my relative quarantine, up to this point I had heard enough of human thought to know that my mentor was unique in this world; he was worthy of my idolization. I knew his plan for escape should the challenge prove too much for me, though he meant to hide it from me. It was nearly impossible for him to keep a secret. Despite the sense of being encompassed by human blood on every side, there existed a quick retreat through the frigid waters of the harbor. We were but a few streets away from the gray, opaque deaths. If temptation were close to triumph, he would urge me to run. But Carlile believed I was too gifted, too strong, too intelligent to fall victim to my baser desires. He must have seen how I responded to his internal praises. It made me arrogant, I think, but it also shaped me into the man I saw in his head.

So determined was I to earn the approval he'd already given. Carlile was shrewd like that; he was also very kind. It was my second Christmas holiday as an immortal, though it was the first year I appreciated the change of seasons. The year before I'd been too racked with the newborn frenzy to be aware of much else. I knew that Carlile worried privately about what I would miss—all the family and friends I'd known in my human years, all the traditions that had brightened the gloomy weather. He needn't have worried. The wreaths and the candles, the music and the gatherings—none of it seemed to apply to me. I looked at it from what seemed an impossible distance.

He sent me out one evening, about midway through our week, to take a stroll alone for the first time. I took my assignment very seriously and did all I could to appear as human as possible, bundling myself into thick layers of clothes, pretending I felt the cold. Once outside, I kept my body rigid against every temptation, my movement slow and deliberate. I passed a few, few men headed from the icy docks; no one addressed me, but I did not go out of my way to avoid contact. I thought of my future life, when I would be as controlled and at ease as Carlile, and imagined a million strolls like this one. Carlile had put his life on hold to deal with me, but I was determined that I would soon be an asset to him rather than a burden. I was quite proud of myself as I returned to our room, shaking the snow off my wool cap. Carlile would be anxious for my report, and I was keen to give it to him. It had not been so difficult after all, going out among them with only my own will for protection, and I pretended nonchalant as I strolled through the door, only belatedly noticing the strong scent of resin.

I'd been preparing to amaze Carlile with the ease of my success, but he was waiting to surprise me. The beds were carefully stacked in the corner; the wobbly desk shoved behind the door to make room for a fur tree tall enough to brush the ceiling with its highest branch. The needles were wet; dustings of snow still visible in places, so quickly had he melted the candle stubs to the ends of the branches. They were all aglow, reflecting warm and yellow against Carlile's smooth cheek. He smiled widely. "Merry Christmas, Edward," he said. I realized, with a bit of embarrassment, that my great accomplishment, my solo expedition, had been merely a ruse. And then I was glad again to think that Carlile trusted my control so much that he'd been willing to send me off on a sham trial in order to surprise me this way. "Thank you, Carlile," I responded quickly. "And a Merry Christmas to you."

Truthfully, I wasn't sure how I felt about the gesture. It seemed somehow juvenile, as if my human life were just a larval stage that I had left far behind, along with all its trappings, and now I was expected to return to inching along in the mud despite the existence of my wings. I felt too old for this display, but at the same time touched that Carlile would try to give me this, a momentary return to my former joys. "I've got popcorn," he told me. "I thought you might like to join in the trimming." In his mind, I saw what this meant to him. I heard, not for the first time, the depth of the guilt he felt for having drawn me into this life. He would give me whatever little pieces of human pleasure he thought possible, and I would not be so spoiled as to deny him his own pleasure in this. Of course, I agreed. "I imagine it will be quick work this year," he laughed, and went to coax the embers in the hearth to life.

It was not difficult to relax into his vision of a family holiday, albeit a very small and unusual family. Though I found my role easy to perform, the sense lingered of not belonging to this world I was playing at. I wondered if I would settle over time into the life Carlile had created, or if I would always feel like an alien creature. Was I more of a true vampire than he was, too much a creature of blood to embrace more human sensibilities? My questions were answered with time. I was still more a newborn than I realized in those days, and everything got easier as I aged. The sense of alienation faded, and I found I did belong in Carlile's world.

However, in that particular season, my concerns left me more vulnerable than I should have been to the thoughts of a stranger. The next night we met with friends—my very first social encounter. It was after midnight; we'd left the town and ventured into the hills to the north, searching for an area far enough from humankind to be safe for my hunt. I kept a tight rein on myself then, working to check the eager senses that yearned to be set free to lead me through the night to something that would satiate my thirst. "We must be sure we were far enough away from the populace," Carlile approved, and he slowed to let me lead the hunt. "Perhaps we would find some wolves also out hunting in the thick snow; more likely in this weather we'd have to dig the animals from their dens."

I let my senses range free. It was a distinct relief to do so, like relaxing a long constricted muscle. At first, all I could smell was the clean snow and the bare branches of the deciduous trees. I registered the relief of smelling no humans at all—no desire, no pain. We ran silently through the thick forest, and then I caught a new scent, both familiar and strange. It was sweeter and clearer, and purer than the fresh snow. There was a brightness to the fragrance that was only linked to two scents that I knew—Carlile's and my own—but it was otherwise unfamiliar. I jerked to a halt. Carlile caught the scent and froze beside me. For the tiniest part of a second, I listened to his anxiety, and then it turned to recognition. "Ah, Siobhan," he thought immediately, calm. "I didn't know she was on this side of the world."

I looked at him questioningly, not sure if it was right to speak aloud. I felt apprehensive despite his ease; the unfamiliar put me on my guard. "Old friends," he assured me. "I suppose it's time for you to meet more of our kind. Let's find them." He seemed serene, but I detected a hushed concern behind the thoughts he composed into words for me. I wondered, for the first time, why we'd never come in contact with another vampire thus far. From Carlile's lessons, I knew we were not that rare. He must have kept me from others deliberately, but why? He did not fear any physical danger now; what else would motivate him? The scent was quite fresh; I could distinguish two different trails. I looked at him questioningly. "Siobhan and Maggie," he thought. "I wonder where Liam is. That's their coven. The three of them; they usually travel together."

"Coven." I knew the word but had always thought of it in relation to larger, militarized groups that had dominated Carlile's history lessons—the Volturi coven, and before them the Romanians and the Egyptians. But if this Siobhan could have a coven of three, did the word then apply to us also? Were Carlile and I a coven? That didn't seem to fit us. It was too cold; perhaps my understanding of the word was imperfect. It took us a few hours to catch up with our quarry, for they were running too. The trail took us deeper and deeper into the snowy wasteland, which was fortunate. Had we come too close to human habitation, Carlile would have asked me to wait behind. Using my sense of smell to track was not much different from using it to hunt, and I knew I would be overwhelmed should I cross a human trail.

When we were close enough that I could just make out the sound of their running feet ahead of us, they were taking no pains to be noiseless and obviously not concerned about being followed. Carlile called loudly, "Siobhan!" The movement ahead ceased for a brief moment, and then they were bounding back toward us—an assertiveness to the sound that had me tensing in spite of Carlile's confidence. He halted, and I stopped close to his side. I'd never known him to be wrong, but still I found myself crouching almost automatically. "Easy, Edward," he thought. "It's a difficult thing at first, meeting an equal predator, but there is no reason for concern here. I trust her, of course." I whispered and straightened beside him, though I could not keep my posture from rigid tautness. Perhaps this is why he had kept his other acquaintances from me. Maybe the strange instinct to defend was too strong when one was already overwhelmed with newborn passion. I tightened my hold on my locked muscles. I would not disappoint him.

"Is that you, Carlile?" a voice rang out like the clear, deep tone of a church bell. At first, only one vampire emerged from the snow-dusted trees. She was the largest woman I had ever seen, taller than Carlile or me, with broader shoulders and thicker limbs. However, there was nothing masculine about her; she was profoundly female in shape, aggressively, forcefully female. It was clear she had no intention of passing for a human tonight. She wore only a simple sleeveless linen shift, with an intricately designed silver chain as a belt. It had been in another lifetime that I had last noticed a woman this way, and I found I was hard-pressed to know where to put my eyes. I centered them on her face, which, like her body, was intensely female. Her lips were full and curved; her deep crimson eyes enormous and fringed by lashes thicker than the needles on the pine boughs. Her glossy black hair was piled into a generous roll on top of her head, with two thin wooden rods carelessly stabbed through to hold it in place. I found it a strange relief to look on another face so like Carlile's—perfect, smooth, lacking the fleshy lumpiness of human faces. The symmetry was soothing.

A half second later, the other vampire appeared, leaning out from behind the larger female's side. This one was less remarkable—just a small girl, not much more than a child. Where the tall female seemed to have an excess of everything, this girl was the picture of lack. She looked all bones beneath her plain dark dress; her wary eyes too big for her face, though it, like her companions', was comfortingly flawless. Only the girl's hair existed in abundance—a wild thatch of bright red curls that appeared to be knotted beyond the possibility of recovery. The larger female leaped forward toward Carlile, and it took all my self-control not to jump between them to stop her. I realized in that instant, observing the musculature of her substantial limbs, that I would only be able to try. It was a humbling thought. Perhaps Carlile had been protecting my ego too, by keeping me isolated. She embraced him, enveloping him in her bare arms; her bright teeth were exposed, but only in what looked to be a friendly smile. Carlile clasped his arms around her waist and laughed. "Hello, Siobhan," he said. "It's been too long."

Siobhan released him but kept her hands on his shoulders. "Where have you been hiding, Carlile? I was beginning to worry something untoward happened to you." Her voice was nearly as low as his—a vibrant alto, with the lilt of the Irish dock workers transformed into something magical. Carlile's thoughts turned to me—a hundred lightning flashes of our last year. At the same time, Siobhan's eyes darted swiftly to my face and away. "It's been a busy time," Carlile said, but I was more focused on Siobhan's thoughts. "Practically a newborn, but his eyes are strange… but not the same strange as Carlile's—amber rather than gold. He's quite pretty. I wonder where Carlile found him." Siobhan took a step back. "I'm being rude. I've never met your companion. Allow me to introduce you, Siobhan. This is Edward, my son. Edward, this is, as I'm sure you've inferred, my friend of many years, Siobhan, and this is her Maggie."

The little girl cocked her head to the side, but not in acknowledgement. The thin lines of her eyebrows pushed together as if she was concentrating very hard on some puzzle. "Son," Siobhan thought at first, thrown by the word. "Ah, so he's chosen to create his companion after all this time. Interesting. I wonder why now. There must be something special about the boy." "What he says is true," Maggie thought simultaneously. "But there's something missing… something Carlile isn't speaking." She nodded once as if to herself and then glanced at Siobhan, who was still examining me. "Edward, how delightful to meet you," Siobhan said. She offered me her hand, her gaze lingering on my irises as if trying to quantify their exact shade. I knew only the human response for this kind of meeting. I took her hand and brushed my lips against the back of it, noting the glassy smoothness of her skin against mine. "A pleasure," I responded. "How charming." She let her hand drop, smiling widely at me. "So pretty. I wonder what his gift might be, and why it appealed to Carlile."

I was taken aback by her thought, only comprehending when she used the word "gift," exactly what she'd meant before when she presumed there must be something special about me. But I'd had enough practice by now to hide my reaction from her interested eyes. Of course, she was right; I did have a gift, but Carlile had been honestly surprised when he'd understood what I could do. I knew, thanks to my gift, that he was not pretending; there was no lie, no evasion in his thoughts when he'd answered my own. Wise. He was very lonely. My mother had pleaded for my life; my face had unconsciously promised some virtue that I wasn't entirely sure I embodied. I was still mulling over both the rightness and the wrongness of her assumptions as she turned back to Carlile. One final thought about me lingered as she moved. "Poor boy," she thought. "I suppose Carlile has imposed his odd habits on the lad. That's why his eyes are so strange. How tragic to be deprived of the greatest joy of this life." At the same time, this conclusion did not trouble me as much as her other speculation.

Later, their conversation lasted through the night and trapped us away from our rented rooms until the sun had set. When we were alone again, I spoke to him about it. Carlile told me Siobhan's history—her fascination with the truth, her curiosity about the world of mystic vampire talents, and finally her discovery of a strange child who seemed to know more than was humanly possible. Siobhan had changed Maggie, not because of any need for companionship or personal concern for the girl, who might, under other circumstances, have been dinner, but because she was eager to collect a talent for her own coven. It was a different way of viewing the world, a less human way than Carlile had managed to preserve. He'd withheld the information about my talent from Siobhan. This explained Maggie's strange response to my introduction; she knew Carlile was holding something back by virtue of her own gift, not certain how Siobhan would have reacted to his having acquired access to such a rare and powerful gift without even a search. Because it was no more than a strange coincidence that I should have turned out to be talented. My gift to read minds was part of me, so Carlile did not wish it away any more than he would have wanted to change the color of my hair or the timber of my voice. However, he never saw that gift as a commodity for his use or advantage.

I thought about these revelations every so often, less and less as time went on. I grew more comfortable in the human world, and Carlile returned to his previous work as a surgeon. I studied medicine, among many other subjects, while he was away, but always from books, never in the hospital. Only a few years later, Carlile found Esme, and we returned to a more reclusive life while she acclimated. It was a busy time, full of new knowledge and new friends, so it was several more years before Siobhan's pitying words began to trouble me. "Poor boy," she'd said. "How tragic to be deprived of the greatest joy of this life." Unlike her other conjecture, so easy to disprove when I had the transparent honesty of Carlile's thoughts to read, this idea began to fester. It was that phrase, "the greatest joy of this life," that eventually led to my separation from Carlile and Esme, in the pursuit of that promised joy. I took human life, over and over again, thinking that in the arrogant application of my gift I could do more good than harm.

The first, first time I tasted human blood, my body was overwhelmed. It felt totally filled and totally well—more alive than before, even though the blood was not of the greatest quality. My first prey's body was saturated with bitter-tasting drugs; it made my usual fare seem like ditchwater. And yet my mind remained slightly removed from my body's gratification. I couldn't keep from seeing the ugliness; I couldn't forget what Carlile must think of my choice. I assumed those qualms would fade. I found very bad men who had kept their bodies clean, if not their hands, and savored the better quality. Mentally, I tabulated the number of lives I might be saving with my judge, jury, and executioner operation. Even if I was just saving one per kill—just the next victim on the list—wasn't that better than if I'd let these human predators continue?

It was years before I gave up. I was never sure then why blood wasn't the existence-crowning ecstasy that Siobhan had believed it to be, why I continued to miss Carlile and Esme more than I enjoyed my freedom, why the weight of each kill seemed to accumulate until I was crippled under their combined load. Over the years after my return to Carlile and Esme, as I struggled to relearn all the discipline I'd abandoned, I came to the conclusion that Siobhan might not know anything greater than the call of blood, but I had been born to something better. And now the words that had once haunted me, once driven me, came back with surprising force: "the greatest joy of this life." I had no doubts; I now knew the meaning of the phrase. The greatest joy of my life was this fragile, brave, warm, insightful girl sleeping so peacefully nearby—Bella—the very greatest joy that life had to offer me, and the greatest pain when she was lost.

My phone vibrated silently in my shirt pocket. I whipped it out, saw the number, and held it to my ear. "I see that you can't speak," Alice said quietly. "But I thought you would want to know. It's 8:20 now. Whatever you're doing, keep doing it." She hung up. Of course, I couldn't trust the confidence in her voice when I didn't have her thoughts to read, and she knew that she could lie to me over the phone, but I still felt encouraged. What I was doing was basking, drowning, wallowing in my love for Bella. I didn't think it would be difficult to keep doing that.

Chapter 16: The Knot

Bella slept so, so soundly through the night that it was unnerving. For what seemed a very long time now, from the first moment I'd caught her scent, I'd been powerless to keep my own state of mind from careening wildly from one extreme to the other, every minute of the day. Tonight was worse than usual; the burden of the hazard immediately ahead had pushed me to a peak of mental stress beyond anything I'd known in a hundred years, and Bella slept on—limbs relaxed, forehead smooth, lips turned up at the corners, her breath flowing softly in and out as evenly as a metronome. In all my nights with her, she'd never been so at peace. What did it mean? I could only think that it meant she did not understand. Despite all the warnings I'd given her, she still didn't believe the truth; she trusted me too much. She was wrong to do so.

She didn't stir when her father peeked into the room. It was still early; the sun had not yet risen. I held my place, certain I was invisible in my shadowed corner. Her father's shrouded thoughts were tinged with regret, with guilt—nothing too serious, I thought—simply an acknowledgement that he was leaving her alone again for a moment. He wavered, but a sense of obligation, plans, companions, promised rides pulled him away. That was my best guess. Charlie made a great deal of noise gathering his fishing things from the coat closet under the stairs. Bella had no reaction to the commotion; her lids never so much as fluttered once. Charlie was gone; it was my turn to exit, though I was loathed to leave the serenity of her room. Despite everything, her peaceful sleep had calmed my spirits. I took one final lungful of air and then held it inside my chest, cradling the pain close until it could be replenished.

The tumult resumed as soon as she was awake. Whatever calm she had found in her dreams seemed to have vanished in the light. The sound of her movements was hurried, and a few times she tweaked the curtains, looking for me. I thought it made me impatient to be with her again, but we had agreed on a time, and I didn't want to prematurely interrupt her preparations. Mine were made but felt incomplete. Could I ever be truly ready for a day such as this? I wished I could feel the joy of it—an entire day by her side, answers to every question I could ask her, warmth surrounding me. At the same time, I wished I could turn my back on her house this moment and run in the opposite direction—that I could be strong enough to run to the far side of the world and stay there, never to endanger her again. But I remembered Alice's vision of Bella's bleak, shadowed face and knew that I could never be that strong.

I'd worked myself into a fine, dark mood by the time I dropped from the shadows of the tree and crossed her front lawn. I tried to erase the evidence of my state of mind from my face, but I couldn't seem to remember how to shape my muscles the right way. I knocked quietly, knowing she was listening, then heard her feet stumble down the last few stairs to the hall. She ran to the door and fought with the bolt for a long moment, finally yanking the door open so forcefully that it smacked into the wall with a bang. She looked into my eyes and was abruptly still—the peace of the previous night evident in her smile. My mood, too, lightened. I drew in a breath, replacing the stale burn with fresh pain, but the pain was so much less than the joy of being with her. An errant curiosity drew my eyes to her clothes. Which outfit had she decided on? I remembered the ensemble at once, now that I thought about it. This sweater had been laid in the most prominent position, draped over her obsolete computer, with a white button-down underneath and blue jeans just to the side. Light tan, white collar, medium blue denim. I didn't have to look at myself to know the shades and styles were nearly identical. I chuckled once. "Something in common again," I said. "Good morning. What's wrong?" she responded. There were a thousand answers to that question, and I was taken aback for an instant, but then I saw her glance down at herself and inferred it was to search for the reason behind my laugh. "We match," I explained. I laughed again as she took this in, examining my clothes and then her own with a surprised look on her face. Suddenly, the surprise…

Shifted to a frown, why couldn't I think of a reason to find the coincidence anything more or less than mildly amusing? Was there something deeper? Reason she chosen these clothes? Some reason that made her angry when I laughed? How could I ask that without sounding strange? I could only be sure that her reason for choosing them had not been the same as mine. I shuddered internally at the thought of the purpose behind my wardrobe and what it pretended. But I shouldn't shy away from this; I shouldn't want to hide myself from her. She deserved to know everything.

Her smile returned as she walked with me to her truck, suddenly smug. I wasn't going to back out of the promise I'd made, but I didn't particularly like it. I knew it wasn't rational. She drove herself around in this antique monstrosity daily, and nothing bad ever happened to her. Of course, the bad things seemed to wait until I was there to be their horrified witness. My expression must have led her to believe I was upset about the arrangement.

"We made a deal," she gloated, leaning across the seat to unlock the passenger door. I could only wish my concerns were that trivial. The decrepit engine coughed its way to life; the metal frame vibrated so violently I worried something would shake loose.

"Where to?" she half shouted over the cacophony. She wrenched the gear shift into reverse and looked back over her shoulder.

"Put your seat belt on," I insisted. "I'm nervous already."

She threw a dark look at me, but snapped her buckle into place and then sighed.

"Where to?" she said again.

"Take the 101 North."

She kept her eyes on the road as she drove slowly through town. I wondered if she would accelerate when we were on the main road, but she continued at 3 mph below the posted speed limit. The sun was still low in the eastern horizon, shrouded in thin layers of cloud, but according to Alice, it would be sunny by midday. I wondered if, at this rate, we would be safely in the woods before the sunlight could touch me.

"Were you planning to make it out of Forks before nightfall?" I asked, knowing she would object to the defamation of her truck.

She reacted as expected.

"This truck is old enough to be your car's grandfather," she snapped. "Have some respect." But she coaxed the engine slightly faster—2 mph above the speed limit now. I felt a little relieved.

When we were finally free of downtown Forks, soon there was more forest than civilization outside the window. The engine droned on like a jackhammer biting into granite. Her eyes never strayed from the road for a second. I wanted to say something, to ask her what she was thinking about, but I didn't want to distract her. There was something almost fierce about her concentration.

"Turn right on the 101," I told her.

She nodded to herself, then slowed down to a crawl to take the turn.

"Now we drive till the pavement ends, and what's there?" she asked.

"At the pavement's end: an empty forest, a total lack of witnesses, a monster, a trail." Her voice was higher, tighter when she responded, still staring only at the road. "We're hiking."

The concern in her tone worried me. I hadn't considered the distance. It was very short, and the way was not difficult, not so different from the trail behind her house.

"Is that a problem? Was there somewhere else to take her?" I hadn't made any backup plans.

"No," she said quickly, but her voice was still a little strained.

"Don't worry," I assured her. "It's only 5 miles or so, and we're in no hurry," truly suddenly feeling a wave of panic as I realized how short the distance was indeed. I would love nothing more than a delay. The furrow was back. After a few empty seconds, she started to chew on her lower lip.

"What are you thinking?" Did she want to turn around? Had she changed her mind about all of it? Did she wish she'd never answered the door this morning?

"Just wondering where we're going," she replied, her tone aimed for casual but missed it by a few inches. "It's a place I like to go when the weather is nice."

I glanced through the window, and she did too. The clouds were no more than a thin veil now; they would burn off soon. What did she think she would see when the sun touched my skin? What mental image had she conjured to explain today's field trip to herself?

"Charlie said it would be warm today." I thought of her father, pictured him beside the river enjoying the pleasant day. He didn't know he was at a crossroads, a possible life-destroying nightmare waiting so close to engulf his entire world.

"And did you tell Charlie what you were up to?" I asked the question without hope.

She smiled, eyes straight ahead. "Nope." I wish she didn't sound so happy about it. Still, I knew there was one witness, one voice to speak for Bella if she didn't come home.

"But Jessica thinks we're going to Seattle together."

"No," she said complacently. "I told her you canceled on me," which is true. What I hadn't heard this; it must have happened while I was hunting with Alice. Bella had covered my tracks for me, as if she wanted me to get away with her murder. "No one knows you're with me."

She flinched slightly at my tone, but then her chin came up, and she forced a smile.

"That depends," she said. "I assume you told Alice."

I had to take a deep breath to keep my voice even.

"That's very helpful, Bella." Her smile disappeared, but she gave no other indication that she'd heard me. "Are you so depressed by Forks that it's made you suicidal?"

"You said it might cause trouble for you," she said quietly, all humor gone. "Us being together publicly." I remembered the exchange perfectly and wondered how she had gotten it so backward. I hadn't told her that so she would try to make herself more vulnerable to me; I told her so she would run away from me.

"So you're worried about the trouble it might cause me?" I asked through my teeth, trying to place the words in exactly the right order so that it would be impossible for her not to hear the inherent ridiculousness of her position.

"If you don't come home—" Eyes on the road, she nodded once.

"How can you not see how wrong I am?" I hissed, too angry to slow the words down into something comprehensible for her; telling her never worked. I would have to show her. She seemed nervous, but in a new way, her eyes almost shifting to look at me, yet never quite breaking away from the road—frightened by my anger, though not in the way she should be, just worried that she'd made me unhappy. I didn't have to read her mind to anticipate the established pattern. As usual, I wasn't truly angry with her, only myself. Yes, her responses toward me were always backward, but that was because, in another way, they were right. She was always too kind; she gave me credit I didn't deserve, worried over my feelings as if they mattered. Her very goodness was what put her in this danger, her virtue my vice, the two opposites binding us together.

We'd reached the end of the paved road. Bella pulled the truck onto the loamy shoulder and killed the engine. The sudden quiet was almost shocking after the long auditory assault. She disengaged her seat belt and slid quickly from the truck without looking at me; with her back to me, she pulled her sweater over her head. It took her a few seconds' struggle, and then she tied the sleeves around her waist. I was surprised to see that her shirt mirrored my own in more than color; it too left her arms bare to the shoulder. This was more of her than I was used to seeing, but despite the fascination that immediately sparked, what I felt most was concern. Anything that interrupted my constant concentration was a danger. I sighed. I didn't want to go through with this; there were many serious reasons, life and death reasons, but in this moment my greatest dread was the expression on her face, the revulsion in her eyes when she finally saw me. I would face it head-on, pretend to be brave, to be bigger than this selfish fear, even if it was no more than a charade.

I slipped my own sweater off, feeling glaringly conspicuous. I'd never uncovered so much of my skin around anyone but my family. Jaw clenched, I slid out of the truck, leaving the sweater so I wouldn't be tempted, and shut the door. I stared into the forest; maybe if I got off the road and into the trees I wouldn't feel so exposed. I felt her eyes on me, but I was too cowardly to turn. I looked over my shoulder instead.

"This way," the words came out clipped, too fast. I had to get my anxiety under control. I started to walk slowly forward.

"The trail—" Her voice was an octave higher than usual. I glanced at her again; she looked nervous as we walked around the front end of the truck to meet me. There were so many things that might be frightening her; I couldn't be sure which it was. I tried to sound like a normal person, light, funny; maybe I could ease her apprehension, if not my own.

"I said there was a trail at the end of the road," not that we were taking it.

"No trail," she said the word "trail" as if it were referring to the last life vest on a sinking ship. I squared my shoulders, formed my lips into a false smile, and turned to face her.

"I won't let you get lost," I promised. It was worse than I'd been braced for. Her mouth actually fell open like a character in the kind of sitcom that had a laugh track. She did a quick double take, her eyes running up and down my bared skin. And this was nothing—just pale skin, well, extremely pale skin, bent in a slightly inhuman way over the angularity of my inhuman musculature. If this was her response to no more than my skin in the shade, her face fell. It was as if my former despondency had transferred to her, had landed with the weight of all my hundred years. Perhaps this was all that was needed; maybe she'd seen enough.

"Do you want to go home?" If she wanted to leave me, if she wanted to walk away now, I would let her go. I would watch her disappear and endure it. I wasn't quite sure how, but I would find a way.

Her eyes flashed with some unfathomable reaction, and she said, "No," so quickly it was almost a retort. She hurried to my side, coming so close that I would only have to lean a few inches to brush my arm against hers. What did it mean?

"What's wrong?" I asked. There was still pain in her eyes, pain that made no sense combined with her reactions. Did she want to leave me or not?

Her voice was low and nearly inflectionless as she answered, "I'm not a good her; you'll have to be very patient." I didn't believe her entirely, but it was a kind lie. Obviously, she was concerned about the lack of a conventional trail to follow, but that was hardly enough to create the grief in her expression. I leaned closer and smiled as gently as I could, trying to coax a smile in return. I hated the shadow of misery lingering around the edges of her lips, her eyes.

"I can be patient," I assured her, lightening my tone. "If I make a great effort."

She half smiled at my words, but one side of her mouth refused to turn up.

"I'll take you home," I promised. Perhaps she felt she had no choice but to face this trial by fire, that she owed it to me in some way. She owed me nothing; she was free to walk away whenever she wished. I was taken aback by her response; rather than accept the out I was offering with relief, she quite distinctly snarled at me. When she spoke, her tone was caustic: "If you want me to hack 5 miles through the jungle before sundown, you'd better start leading the way."

I stared at her, dumbfounded, waiting for more, for something that would make it clear how I'd offended her, but she just lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes as if in challenge. Not knowing what else to do, I held my arm out to usher her forward, lifting a protruding branch higher with my other hand. She stomped underneath it, then swatted a smaller limb out of her way. It was easier in the forest, or maybe I had just needed a moment to process her first reaction. I led the way, holding the foliage to clear her path mostly. She kept her eyes down, not as if she were avoiding looking at me, but as if she didn't trust the ground. I saw her glare at a few roots as she stepped over them and made the connection; then surely a clumsy person would be nervous about the uneven terrain. However, that still didn't explain her earlier gloom or her following anger. Many things were easier in the forest than I'd expected them to be. Here we were, totally alone, no witnesses, and yet it didn't feel dangerous. Even the few times we reached an obstacle—a fallen log across the way, an outcropping of rocks too high to step over—and I instinctively reached out to help her, it was no more difficult to touch her than it had been at school. Not difficult was hardly the correct description; it was thrilling, pleasurable, just as it had been before when I lifted her gently. I heard her heart drum in double time. I imagined my heart would sound just the same if it could also beat. It probably felt safe, or safe enough, because I knew this wasn't the place Alice had never seen me killing Bella in the middle of the forest. If only I didn't have to hold Alice's vision inside my head. Of course, not knowing that possible future, not preparing for it, might have been the very ignorance that would lead to Bella's death. It was all so circular and impossible. Not for the first time in my life, I wish that I could make my brain slow down, force it to move at human speed, if only just for a day, an hour, so that I wouldn't have time to obsess over and over again about the same solution/problems.

"Which was your favorite birthday?" I asked her. I badly needed some distraction. Her mouth screwed up into something that was halfway between a wry smile and a scowl.

"What?" I asked. "Is it not my day to ask questions?"

She laughed, and her hand fluttered as though she was waving away that concern. "It's fine. I just don't know the answer. I'm not a big fan of birthdays."

"That's unusual," I couldn't think of another teenager I'd met who thought the same way.

"It's a lot of pressure," she said, shrugging. "Presents and stuff. What if you don't like them? You've got to get your game face on right away so you don't hurt anyone's feelings, and people look at you a lot."

"Your mother isn't an intuitive gift giver," I guessed. Her answering smile was cryptic. I could tell she would say nothing negative about her mother, though she'd obviously been scarred.

We walked for a half mile in silence. I was hoping she would volunteer more or ask a question that would tell me where her thoughts were, but she kept her eyes on the forest floor, concentrating. I tried again.

"Who was your favorite teacher in elementary school?"

"Mrs. Hetmanic," she responded without a pause. "Second grade. She let me read in class pretty much whenever I wanted."

I grinned at her. A paragon.

"Who was your favorite grade school teacher?" I don't remember. I reminded her.

She frowned. "Right. Sorry. I didn't think—"

"No need to apologize." It took me another quarter mile to think of a question she couldn't turn around on me too easily. "Dogs or cats?"

Her head tilted to one side. "I'm not really sure. I think maybe cats. Cuddly but independent, right?"

"Have you never had a dog?"

"I've never had either. Mom says she's allergic." Her response was oddly skeptical.

"You don't believe her?" She paused again, not wanting to be disloyal. "Well," she said slowly, "I caught her petting a lot of other people's dogs."

"I wonder why," I amused Bella. She laughed; it was a carefree sound, totally lacking any kind of bitterness. "It took me forever to talk her into letting me have a fish." I finally figured out that she was worried about being stuck at home. I've told you how she loved to take off every weekend; we could go visit some little town or minor historical monument she'd never seen before. I showed her those time-release food tablets that can feed the fish for over a week, and she relented. "Renee just can't stand an anchor. I mean, she already had me, right? One huge life-altering anchor was enough; she wasn't going to volunteer for more."

I kept my face very smooth. This insight of hers, which I didn't doubt she'd always seen through me so easily, put a darker spin on my interpretation of her past. Was Bella's need to be a caretaker based not on her mother's helplessness but on a feeling of needing to earn her place? It made me angry to think that Bella might have ever felt unwanted or that she needed to prove her worth. I had the oddest desire to wait on her hand and foot in some socially acceptable way, to show Bella that her merely existing was more than enough.

She didn't notice me trying to control my reaction. With another laugh, she continued, "It was probably for the best that we never tried anything bigger than a goldfish. I wasn't very good at pet ownership. I thought maybe I'd been overfeeding the first one, so I really cut back on the second one, but that was a mistake, and the third one—" She looked up at me, baffled. "I honestly don't know what his problem was; he kept jumping out of the bowl. Eventually, I didn't find him soon enough."

She frowned. "Three in a row. I guess that makes me a serial killer."

It was impossible not to laugh, but she didn't seem offended. She laughed with me. As our amusement subsided, the light changed. Alice's promised sunshine had arrived above the thick canopy, and immediately I felt jittery and anxious again. I knew that this emotion—stage fright was the closest term I could come up with—was truly ridiculous. So what if Bella found me repulsive? If she rejected me in disgust, that was fine, better than fine; that was literally the smallest, tiniest sort of misery that could hurt me. Today was vanity, the fragility of ego. Truly, that strong of a force? I'd never believed it had any kind of power over me, and I didn't think so now. Obsessing over this reveal kept me from obsessing over other things, like the rejection that would follow the disgust, Bella walking away from me, and knowing that I had to let her go. Would she be so frightened by me that she'd refuse to let me lead her back to the truck? Surely I would have to at least get her safely to the road; then she could drive away alone. Though my whole frame felt like it might crumple with the pain of that image, there was something much worse: the looming test Alice had seen. Failing that test—I couldn't imagine how. Would I live through that? How would I find a way to stop living?

We were so close. Bella noticed the change in light as we passed through a thinner patch of forest. She frowned teasingly.

"Are we there yet?"

I pretended to be equally light-hearted. "Nearly. Do you see the brightness ahead?"

She narrowed her eyes at the forest before us, the concentration line forming between her brows. "Um, should I? Maybe it's a bit too soon for your eyes."

I allowed a shrug. "Time to visit the optometrist."

The silence seemed heavier as we progressed. I could tell when Bella spotted the brightness of the meadow; she smiled almost unconsciously, and her stride lengthened. She wasn't watching the ground anymore; her eyes were locked on the filtered glow of sunshine. Her eagerness only made my reluctance heavier. More time? Just another hour or two? Could we stop here? Would she forgive me if I balked? But I knew there was no point in delay. Alice had seen that it would come to this sooner or later; avoidance would never make it easier.

Bella led the way now, no hesitation, as she pushed through the hedge of ferns and into the meadow. I wished I could see her face. I could imagine how lovely the place would be on a day like this. I could smell the wildflowers, sweeter in the warmth, and hear the low burble of the stream on the far side. The insects hummed, and far away birds trilled and chirped. There were no birds nearby now; my presence was enough to frighten all the larger life from this place. She walked almost reverently into the golden light; it gilded her hair and made her fair skin glow. Her fingers trailed over the taller flowers, and I was reminded again of prairie springtime personified. I could have watched her for a very long time, perhaps forever, but it was too much to hope that the beauty of the place could make her forget the monster and the shadows for long. She turned, eyes wide with amazement, a wondering smile on her lips, and looked back at me, expectant. When I didn't move, she began walking slowly in my direction. She lifted one arm, offering her hand in encouragement. I wanted to be human so badly in that moment that it nearly crippled me, but I was not human, and the time had come for perfect discipline. I held my palm up, a warning. She understood but was not afraid; her arm dropped, and she stayed where she was, waiting, curious.

I took a deep breath of the forest air, consciously registering her scorching scent for the first time in hours. Even trusting Alice's visions as much as I did, I wasn't sure how there could be any more to this story; it would have to end now, wouldn't it? Bella would see me and be all the things she should have been from the beginning: terrified, disgusted, appalled, repelled, and done with me. It felt as though I would never do anything more difficult than this, but I forced my foot to lift and shifted my weight forward. I would face this head-on, with all that I couldn't bear. The first reaction on her face—she would be kind, but it would be impossible for her to disguise that initial instant of shock and revulsion, so I would give her a moment to compose herself. I closed my eyes as I stepped into the sunlight.

Chapter 17: Confessions

I felt the sun warm against my skin, and I was glad I couldn't see that either. I didn't want to look at myself now. For the longest half-second I'd ever lived through, everything was silent, and then Bella screamed, "Edward!" My eyes flashed open, and I fully expected to see her running away from all I had just revealed myself to be, but she was running right at me, on a collision course, her mouth open in distress; her hands were half extended toward me, and she tripped and stumbled her way through the long grass. Her expression wasn't frightened, but it was desperate. I didn't understand what she was doing. I couldn't let her crash into me; whatever she was intending, I needed her to keep her distance. I raised my hand again, palm forward. She faltered, then wobbled in place for a moment, exuding anxiety as I stared into her eyes, saw my reflection there. I thought perhaps I understood; mirrored in her eyes, what I resembled most was a man on fire. Though I debunked her myths, she must have held on to them subconsciously because she was worried, frightened for the monster rather than of it. She took a step toward me and then hesitated when I moved a half step back.

"Does that hurt you?" she whispered.

"Yes." I'd been right; she wasn't afraid for herself, not even now.

"No," I whispered back. She stepped another foot closer. "Careful." Now I let my hand fall. She still wanted to be closer to me. Her expression shifted as she approached, her head cocked to the side, and her eyes first narrowed then grew huge. Even with this much space between us, I could see the effects of the light refracting off my skin, shining prism-like against her own. She moved another step and then another, keeping the same distance away as she slowly circled around me. I stayed completely motionless, feeling her eyes touch my skin as she moved out of my sight. Her breath came more quickly than usual; her heart pumped faster. She reappeared on my right, and now there was a tiny smile beginning to form around the edges of her lips as she completed her circle and faced me again. How could she smile? She walked closer, stopping when she was only 10 inches away; her hand was raised, curled close to her chest, as if she wanted to reach out and touch me but was afraid to. The sunlight shattered off my arm and whirled against her face.

"Edward," she breathed. There was wonder in her voice.

"Are you frightened now?" I asked quietly. It was as if my question was totally unexpected, as if it shocked her.

"No." I stared into her eyes, unable to stop myself from fruitlessly—

Trying again to hear her, she reached toward me very slowly, watching my face. I thought perhaps she was waiting for me to tell her to stop. I didn't. Her warm fingers grazed the back of my wrist. She stared intently at the light that danced from my skin to hers.

"What are you thinking?" I whispered. In this moment, the constant mystery was once again acutely painful. She shook her head slightly and seemed to struggle for the words. "I am," she stared up into my eyes. I didn't know. She took a deep breath. "I've never seen anything more beautiful, never imagined something so beautiful could exist."

I stared back at her in shock. My skin was blazing with the most flagrant symptom of my disease in the sun. I was less human than at any other time, and she thought I was beautiful. My hand lifted automatically, turning to take hers, but I forced myself to make it drop, not to touch her.

"It's very strange, though," I said. Surely she could understand that this was part of the horror.

"Amazing," she corrected. "You aren't repulsed by my flagrant lack of humanity." Though I was fairly sure now what her answer would be, it was still astonishing to me. She half smiled. "Not repulsed. You should be." Her smile widened. "I'm feeling like humanity is pretty overrated."

Carefully, I pulled my arm out from underneath her warm fingertips, hiding it behind my back. She valued humanity so lightly; she didn't realize the depths of what its loss would mean. Bella took another half step forward, her body so close that its warmth became more pronounced, more present than the sun's. She lifted her face toward mine, and the light gilded her throat, the play of shadows emphasizing the coursing of her blood through the artery just behind the corner of her jaw. My body reacted instinctively. Venom welling, muscles coiling, thoughts scattering—how quickly it surfaced. We'd been in this arena of visions mere seconds. I stopped breathing and took a long step away from her, raising my hand again and warning. She didn't try to follow.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, the sound of the words lilting up, turning them into a question. She didn't know what she was apologizing for. I carefully loosed my lungs and took a controlled breath. Her scent was no more painful than usual, not overwhelming the way I was half afraid I would suddenly find it.

"I need some time," I explained.

"Okay," still a whisper. I moved around her, slow, deliberate steps, and walked to the center of the meadow. I sat down in a patch of low grass and locked my muscles in place as I had done before. I breathed carefully in and out, listening as her hesitant footsteps crossed the same distance, tasting her fragrance as she sat down next to me.

"Is this all right?" she asked, uncertain.

I nodded. "Just let me concentrate." Her eyes were huge with confusion, with concern. I didn't want to explain. I closed my own—not in cowardice, I told myself, or not just in cowardice. I did need to concentrate. I focused on her scent, on the sound of the blood gushing through the chambers of her heart. Only my lungs were loud; motion every other part of me I imprisoned into rigid immobility. Bella's heart, I reminded myself as my involuntary systems reacted to the stimuli. Bella's life. I was always so careful not to think about her blood, the scent I couldn't avoid, but the fluid, the movement, the pulse, the hot liquidity of it—these were things I could not dwell on, but now I let it fill my mind, invade my system, attack my controls. The gushing and throbbing of it, the pounding and sloshing; the surge through the biggest arteries, the ripple through the smallest vein, the heat of it—heat that washed in waves across my exposed skin despite the distance between us, the taste of it burning on my tongue and aching in my throat. I held myself captive and observed. A small part of my brain was able to stay detached, to think through the onslaught. With that small bit of rationality, I examined my every reaction minutely. I calculated the amount of strength needed to curb each response and weighed the strength I possessed against that tally. It was a near calculation, but I believe that my will was stronger than my bestial nature—slightly. Was this Alice's knot? It didn't feel complete.

All the while, Bella sat almost as still as I was, thinking her private thoughts. Could she imagine any part of the turmoil inside my mind? How did she explain this strange, silent standoff to herself? Whatever she thought of it, her body was calm. Time seemed to slow with her pulse; the sound of the birds and distant trees turned sleepy; the cascade of the little stream grew somehow more languid. My body relaxed, and even my mouth stopped watering. Eventually, 2,364 of her heartbeats later, I felt more in control than I had in many days. Facing things was the key, as Alice had predicted. Was I ready? How could I be sure? How would I ever be sure? And how did I break this long hush I'd imposed? It was starting to feel awkward to me; it must have felt so to her for a while.

I unlocked my pose and lay back in the grass, one hand casually behind my head. Feigning the physical sign of relaxation was old habit; perhaps if I portrayed relaxation, she would believe it. She only sighed quietly. I waited to see if she would speak, but she sat silent as before, thinking—whatever it was she might be thinking—alone in this remote place with a monster who reflected the sun like a million prisms. I could feel her eyes on my skin, but I didn't imagine her revolted anymore. The imaginary weight of her gaze, now that I knew it was admiring, that she found me beautiful regardless of everything, brought back that electric current I'd felt with her in the dark—an imitation of life running through my veins. I let myself get lost in the rhythms of her body, let the sound and the warmth and the smell commingle, and I found that I could still master my inhuman desires even while the phantom current moved under my skin. This took most of my attention, though, and inevitably this quiet waiting period would end. She would have so many questions, much more pointed now, I imagined. I owed her a thousand different explanations. Could I handle everything at once? I decided to try to juggle a few more tasks while still tuning into the flow and ebb of her blood. I would see if the distraction was too much. First, I gathered information. I triangulated the exact location of the birds I could hear and then, by their calls, identified each one's genus and species. I analyzed the irregular splash that revealed life in the stream and, after equating the water displaced with the size of the fish, deduced the most likely variety, categorized the nearby insects. Unlike the more developed species, insects ignored my kind as they would a stone—by the speed of their wing movements and the elevation of their flight, or the tiny clicking sounds of their legs against the soil. As I continued to classify, I added calculation: if there were currently 4,913 insects in the area of the meadow, which was roughly 11,35 square ft, how many insects on average would exist in the 1,400 square miles of the Olympic National Park? What if insect populations dropped 1% for each 10 ft of elevation? I brought up in my head a topographic map of the park and started computing the numbers concurrently. I thought through the songs I'd heard most rarely in my century of life—nothing common that I'd heard played more than once—tunes I'd heard walking past the open door of a bar, peculiar family lullabies listed by children in their cradles as I ran by in the night, discarded attempts by the music students writing their theater projects in the buildings adjacent to my college classroom. I mouthed through the verses quickly, noting all the reasons each was doomed to fail. Her blood still pulsed, her heat still warmed, and I still burned, but I could keep my hold on myself; my grip did not loosen. I was in control—just enough.

"Did you say something?" she whispered.

"Just singing to myself," I admitted. I didn't know how to explain what I was doing more clearly, and she didn't pursue the question further. I could feel that the silence was coming to an end, and this did not frighten me. I was growing almost comfortable with the situation, feeling strong and in control. Perhaps I was through the knot after all; perhaps we were safe on the other side, and all of Alice's hopeful visions were now on their way to becoming real. When the change in her breathing telegraphed a new direction to her thoughts, I was intrigued rather than worried. I expected a question, but instead I heard the grass shift around her as she leaned toward me, and the sound of the pulse in her hand moved closer. One soft, warm fingertip traced slowly across the back of my hand. It was a very gentle touch, but the response in my skin was electric—a different kind of burning than that in my throat and even more distracting. My calculations and audio recall stuttered and stalled, and she had all my attention even as her heart throbbed wetly just a foot from my ear. I opened my eyes, eager to see her expression and guess at her thoughts. I was not disappointed. Her eyes were bright with wonder again; the corners of her lips turned up. She met my gaze, and her smile grew more pronounced. I echoed it.

"I don't scare you," I hadn't scared her away. She wanted to be here with me. Her tone was teasing when she answered, "No more than usual." She leaned closer and laid all of her hand against my forearm, slowly stroking down toward my wrist. Her skin felt fever hot against mine, and though a tremor quivered through her fingers, there was no fear in that touch. My eyelids slipped closed once again as I tried to contain my reaction. The electric current felt like an earthquake rocking through my core.

"Do you mind?" she asked, and her hand paused in its progress.

"No," I quickly responded, and then, because I wanted her to know some little bit of my experience, I continued, "You can't imagine how that feels." I couldn't have imagined it before this moment; it was beyond any pleasure I'd ever felt. Her fingers traced back up to the inside of my elbow, outlining patterns there. She shifted her weight, and her other hand reached for mine. I felt her tug lightly and realized she wished to turn my hand over. As soon as I complied, though, both her hands froze as she gasped quietly. I glanced up swiftly, realizing my mistake. I'd moved like a vampire rather than a human.

"Sorry," I muttered, but as our eyes met, I could already tell I'd done no real harm. She'd recovered from the surprise without the smile ever leaving her face.

"It's too easy to be myself with you," I explained, and then I let my eyelids close again so I could focus everything on the feel of her skin against mine. I felt the pressure as she started to try to lift my hand. I moved my hand in concert with her motion, knowing that it would take quite a bit of effort for her to heft even just my hand without my help. I was a little heavier than I looked. She held my hand close to her face; warm breath seared against my palm. I helped her angle my hand this way and that as the pressure of her fingers indicated. I opened my eyes to see her staring intently, rainbow sparks dancing across her face as the light moved back and forth across my skin. The furrow was there again between her eyes. What question troubled her now?

"Tell me what you're thinking," I said, said the words gently, but could she hear that I was begging?

"It's still so strange for me," not knowing. Her mouth pursed just a little, and her left eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch. "You know the rest of us feel that way all the time." The rest of us—the vast family of humanity that did not include me, her people, her kind. "It's a hard life." The words did not sound like the joke I meant them to be, but she didn't tell me. She answered slowly, "I was wishing I could know what you were thinking." There was obviously more, and her voice was low; a human would have a hard time hearing her. "I was wishing I could believe that you were real, and I was wishing that I wasn't afraid."

A flash of pain stabbed through me. I'd been wrong. I had frightened her after all, of course I had.

"I don't want you to be afraid," it was an apology and a lament. I was surprised when she grinned almost impishly. "Well, that's not exactly the fear I meant, though that's certainly something to think about." How was she joking now? What could she mean? I sat up halfway, too eager for answers to pretend nonchalant any longer.

"What are you afraid of then?" I realized how close our faces were, her lips closer than they had ever been to mine. No longer smiling, parted, she inhaled through her nose, and her eyelids half closed. She stretched closer as if to catch more of my scent, her chin angling up half an inch, her neck arching forward—forward, her jugular exposed, and I reacted. Venom flooded my mouth; my free hand moved of its own volition to seize her; my jaws wrenched open as she leaned in to meet me. I threw myself away from her; the madness hadn't reached my legs, and they launched me all the way back to the far edge of the meadow. I moved so quickly I didn't have time to gently release my hand from hers; I yanked it away. My first thought as I landed, crouched in the shadows of the trees, was her hands, and relief washed over me when I saw they were still attached to her wrists. Relief followed by disgust, loathing, revulsion—all the emotions I'd feared to see in her eyes today, multiplied by a hundred years, and the sure knowledge that I deserved them and more. Monster, nightmare, destroyer of lives, mutilator of dreams—hers and mine both. If I were something better, if I were somehow stronger, and instead of a brutal near-pass at death, that moment could have been our first kiss. Had I just failed the test, then was there no longer hope? Her eyes were glassy; the white showed all around her dark irises. I watched as she blinked and they refocused, fastening on my new position. We stared at each other for a long moment. Her lower lip trembled once, and then she opened her mouth. I waited, tensed for the recrimination, for her to scream at me, to tell me to never come near her again.

"I'm sorry, Edward," she whispered almost silently. Of course, I had to take a deep breath before I could respond. I calibrated the volume of my voice to be just loud enough for her to hear, trying to keep my tone gentle.

"Give me a moment." She sat back a few inches; her eyes were still mostly white. I took another breath. I could still taste her from here; it fed the constant burn, but no more than that. I felt the way I normally did around her; there was no hint in my mind or body now, no sense that the monster was lurking so near to the surface that I could snap so easily. It—it made me want to shriek and tear trees out by their roots. If I couldn't feel the edge, couldn't see the trigger, how could I ever protect her from myself? I could imagine Alice's encouragement. I had protected Bella; nothing had happened. But though Alice might have seen that much, watching when my break was still the future and not the past, she couldn't know how it had felt to lose control of myself, to be weaker than my worst impulse, not to be able to stop.

"But you did stop," that's what she would say. She couldn't know how—not enough. That was Bella. She never looked away from me; her heart was racing twice as fast as normal—too fast; it couldn't be healthy. I wanted to take her hand and tell her everything was fine, she was fine, she was safe; there was nothing to worry about, but these would be such obvious lies. I still felt normal—what normal had become in these last months—at least in control, just exactly the same as before, when my confidence had nearly killed her.

I walked back slowly, wondering if I should keep my distance, but it didn't seem right to shout my apology across the meadow at her. I didn't trust myself to be as close to her as before. I stopped a few paces away, at a conversational distance, and sat on the ground. I tried to put everything I felt into the words: "I am so very sorry."

Bella blinked, and then her eyes were too wide again; her heart hammered too fast; her expression was stuck in place. The words didn't seem to mean anything to her, to register in any way, and what I immediately knew was a bad idea. I fell back on my usual pattern of trying to keep things casual. I was desperate to remove the frozen shock from her face. "Would you understand what I meant if I said I was only human?"

A second too late, she nodded just once. She tried to smile at my tasteless attempt to make light of the situation, but that effort just marred her expression further. She looked pained and then, finally, afraid. I'd seen fear on her face before, but I'd always been quickly reassured every time. I half hoped she'd realized I wasn't worth the immense risk. She disproved my assumption; the fear in her eyes had never been fear of me until now. The scent of her fear saturated the air—tangy and metallic. This was exactly what I'd been waiting for, what I'd always told myself I wanted—for her to turn away, for her to save herself and leave me burning and alone. Her heart hammered on, and I wanted to laugh and cry. I was getting what I wanted, and all because she'd leaned in just one inch too close. She'd gotten near enough to smell my scent, and she'd found it pleasant, just as she found my face attractive and all my other snares compelling. Everything about me made her want to move closer to me, just exactly as it was designed to.

"I'm the world's best predator, aren't I?" I made no attempt to hide the bitterness in my voice now. "Everything about me invites you in—my voice, my face, even my smell. It was all so much overkill. What was the point of my charms and lures? I was no rooted flytrap waiting for prey to land inside my mouth. Why couldn't I have been as repulsive on the outside as I was on the inside?" As if I needed any of that now. I felt out of control, but not in the same way. All my love and yearning and hope were crumbling to dust; a thousand centuries of grief stretched out in front of me, and I didn't want to pretend anymore. If I could have no happiness because I was a monster, then let me be that monster.

I was on my feet, racing like her heart, in two tight circles around the edge of the clearing, wondering if she could even see what I was showing her. I jerked to a stop where I'd stood before. This was why I didn't need a pretty voice.

"As if you could outrun me," I laughed at the thought, the grotesque comedy of the image in my head. The sound of my laugh bounced in harsh echoes off the trees. And after the chase, there would be the capture. The lowest branch of the ancient spruce beside me was an easy reach. I ripped the limb from the body without any effort at all. The wood shrieked and protested; the bark and splinters exploded from the sight of the injury. I weighed the bow for a moment in my hand—roughly 863 lbs—not enough to win in a fight with the hemlock across the clearing to my right, but enough to do some damage. I flicked the branch at the hemlock tree, aiming for a knot about 30 ft from the ground. My projectile hit dead center, the thickest end of the bow smashing into a booming crunch and disintegrating into shards of shattered wood that rained down on the ferns below with a faint hissing. A fissure split through the center of the knot and snaked its way a few feet in either direction. The hemlock tree trembled once, the shock radiating through the roots and into the ground. I wondered if I'd killed it; I'd have to wait a few months to know. Hopefully it would recover. The meadow, as perfect as it was, so little effort on my part. I'd not needed to use more than a tiny fraction of my available strength, and still so much violence, so much harm.

In two strides I was standing over her, just an arm's length away. "As if you could fight me off." The bitterness disappeared from my voice; my little tantrum had cost me no energy, but it had drained some of my rage. Throughout it all, she'd never moved; she remained paralyzed now, her eyes frozen open. We stared at each other for what seemed like a long time. I was still so angry at myself, but there was no fire left in it; it all seemed pointless. I was what I was.

She moved first, just a little bit. Her hands had fallen limp in her lap after I'd wrenched away from her, but now one of them twitched open; her fingers stretched up slightly in my direction. It was probably an unconscious movement, but it was eerily similar to when she'd pleaded, "Come back," in her sleep and reached for something. I'd wish then that she could be dreaming of me. That was the night before Port Angeles, the night before I'd learned that she already knew what I was. If I'd been aware of what Jacob Black had told her, I never would have believed she could dream of me except in a nightmare, but none of it had mattered to her. There was still terror in her eyes, of course there was, but there seemed to be a plea in them too. Was there any chance she wanted me to come back to her now? Even if she did, should I? Her pain, my greatest weakness, as Alice had shown me it would be. I hated to see her frightened; it broke me to know how much I deserved that fear, but more than either of those burdens, I could not bear to see her grief. It stripped me of my ability to make anything close to a good decision.

"Don't be afraid," I begged in a whisper. "I promise—" No, that had become too casual a word. "I swear not to hurt you. Don't be afraid." I moved closer to her slowly, making no movement that she would not have time to anticipate. I sat gradually, in deliberate stages, so that I was once again where we'd begun. I slouched down a bit so that my face was level with hers. The pace of her heart eased; her lids relaxed back into their usual place. It was as if my proximity calmed her.

"Please forgive me," I pleaded. "I can control myself. You caught me off guard, but I'm on my best behavior now." What a pathetic apology. Still, it brought a hint of a smile to the corner of her lips, and like a fool, I fell back into my immature efforts to be amusing.

"I'm not thirsty today, honestly," I actually winked at her. One would think I was 13 instead of 104, but she laughed—a little out of breath, a little wobbly, but still a real laugh, with real mirth and relief. Her eyes warmed; her shoulders loosened; and her hands opened again. It felt so right to gently place my hand back inside hers; it shouldn't, but it did.

"Are you all right?" She stared at our hands, then glanced up to meet my gaze for a moment and finally looked down again. She started to trace the lines across my palm with the tip of her finger, just as she had been doing before my frenzy. Her eyes returned to mine, and a smile slowly spread across her face; the little dimple appeared in her chin. There was no judgment and no regret in that smile. I smiled back, feeling as though I could only just now appreciate the beauty of this place—the sun and the flowers and the gilded air. They were suddenly there for me, joyous and merciful. I felt the gift of her mercy, and my stone heart swelled with gratitude. The relief, the confusion of joy and guilt, suddenly reminded me of the day I'd come home so many decades ago. I hadn't been ready then either. I'd planned to wait; I wanted my eyes to be golden again before Carlisle saw me, but they were still a strange orange, an amber that tended more toward red. I was having difficulty adapting to my former diet; it had never been so hard before. I was afraid that if I didn't have Carlisle's help, I wouldn't be able to keep going, that I would fall back into my old ways. It worried me, having that evidence so clear in my eyes. I wondered what was the worst...

Reception I could expect? Would he just send me away? Would he find it difficult to look at me, to see what a disappointment I had become? Was there a penance he would demand? I would do it, whatever he asked. Would my efforts to improve move him at all, or would he just see my failure?

It was simple enough to find them; they hadn't moved far—far from the place I'd left them. Maybe to make it easier for me to return. Their house was the only one in this high, wild spot. The winter sun was glinting off the windows as I approached from below, so I couldn't tell if anyone was home. Rather than take the shorter route through the trees, I paced toward them through an empty field blanketed in snow, where, even bundled up against the sun's glare, I would be easy to spot. I moved slowly; I didn't want to run; it might alarm them.

It was Esme who saw me first. "Edward," I heard her cry, though I was still a mile out. In less than a second, I saw her figure dart through a side door, racing through the rocks surrounding the mountain ledge and stirring up a thick cloud of snow crystals behind her. "Edward, he's come home!"

It was not the mindset I'd been expecting, but then she hadn't seen my eyes clearly. "Edward, can it be?" My father was following close behind her now, catching up with his longer stride. There was nothing but a desperate hope in his thoughts, no judgment, not yet. "Edward!" Esme shouted, with an unmistakable ring of joy in her voice, and then she was upon me, her arms wrapped tight around my neck, her lips kissing my cheek over and over again. "Please don't go away again."

Only a second later, Carlisle's arms circled us both. "Thank you," he thought, his mind fervent with sincerity. "Thank you for coming back to us."

"Carlisle, Esme, I'm so sorry, I'm so—"

"Just now," Esme whispered, tucking her head against my neck and breathing in my scent. "My boy."

I looked up into Carlisle's face, leaving my eyes open wide, hiding nothing. "You're here." Carlisle stared back at my face with only happiness in his mind, though he had to know what the color of my eyes meant. There was no off note to his delight. "There's nothing to apologize for."

Slowly, hardly able to trust that it could be so simple, I raised my arms and returned my family's embrace. I felt that same undeserved acceptance now, and I could barely believe that all of it—my bad behavior, both voluntary and involuntary—was, was suddenly behind us. But her forgiveness seemed to wash the darkness away.

"So, where were we before I behaved so rudely?" I remembered where I had been: just inches from her parted lips, raptured by the mystery of her mind. She blinked twice. "I honestly can't remember."

"That was understandable," I breathed in fire and blew it back out, wishing it would do some actual damage to me. "I think we were talking about why you were afraid, besides the obvious reason."

The obvious fear had probably driven the other out of her mind completely, but she smiled and looked down at my hand again. "Oh, right. Nothing more."

"Well," I prompted. Rather than meet my gaze, she started tracing patterns across my palm. I tried to read their sequences, hoping for a picture or even letters—E D W A R D P L E A S E G O A W A Y—but I could find no meaning in them, just more mysteries—another question she would never answer. I didn't deserve answers. I sighed. "How easily frustrated I am."

She looked up then, her eyes probing mine. We stared at each other for a few seconds, and I was surprised at the intensity of her gaze. I felt that she was reading me more successfully than I was ever able to read her.

"I was afraid," she began, and I realized gratefully that she was answering my question after all, because, for well, obvious reasons, "I can't stay with you." Her eyes dropped again as she said the word "stay." I understood her clearly for once. I could hear that when she said "stay," she didn't mean for this moment, in this sunshine, for the afternoon or the week; she meant it in the way I wanted to say it to her: stay always, stay forever.

"And I'm—I'm afraid that I'd like to stay with you much more than I should." I thought of all that would entail if, after all, I forced her to do exactly as she described, if I made her stay forever: every sacrifice she would bear, every loss she would mourn, every stinging regret, every aching, tearless stare. Yes, it was hard to agree with her, even with all that pain—pain fresh in my imagination—I wanted it so much.

"That is something to be afraid of, indeed. Wanting to be with me—selfish me. That's really not in your best interest." She scowled at my hand as if she didn't like my acknowledgment any more than I did. This was a dangerous path to even hint at—Hades and his pomegranate. How many toxic seeds had I already infected her with? Enough that Alice had seen her pale and grieving in my absence, though it felt as though I also had been corrupted, hooked, addicted, with no hope of recovery. I couldn't fully form the picture in my head: leaving her—how would I survive? Alice had shown me Bella's anguish in my absence, but what would she see of me in that version of the future if she looked? I couldn't believe I would be anything more than a broken shadow, useless, crumpled, empty.

I spoke the thought aloud, but mostly to myself. "I should have left long ago. I should leave now, but I don't know if I can." She still stared at our hands, but her cheeks warmed. "I don't want you to leave," she mumbled.

She wanted me to stay with her. I tried to fight the happiness, the surrender it pulled me toward. Was the choice even mine, or was it hers alone now? Would I stay until she told me to go? Her words seemed to echo in the faint breeze: "I don't want you to leave," which is exactly why I should. Surely, the more time we were together, the harder it would grow to be apart.

"But don't worry, I'm essentially a selfish creature. I crave your company too much to do—do what I should." I'm glad she said the words simply, as if this was an obvious thing, as if every girl would be pleased that her favorite monster was too selfish to put her before himself. My temper flared; anger pointed only at myself. With rigid control, I removed my hand from hers. "Don't be—it's not only your company I crave. Never forget that. Never forget—I am more dangerous to you than I am to anyone else."

She looked at me quizzically. There was no fear anywhere in her eyes now; her head cocked slightly to the left. "I don't think I understand exactly what you mean by that last part," she said, her tone analytical. It reminded me of our conversation in the cafeteria when she had asked about hunting. She sounded as if she were gathering data for a report—one she was vitally interested in, but still no more than an academic inquiry. I couldn't help but smile at her expression; my anger vanished as quickly as it had come. Why waste time with ire when there were so many more pleasant emotions available?

"How do I explain?" I murmured. Naturally, she had no idea what I was talking about. I had not been terribly specific when it came to my reaction to her scent; of course, I hadn't. It was an ugly thing, something I was deeply ashamed of, not to mention the overt horror of the subject. How to explain, indeed, and without frightening you again? Her fingers uncurled, stretching toward my own, and I couldn't resist. I placed my hand gently back inside hers. The willingness of her touch, the eager way she wrapped her fingers tightly around mine, helped to calm my nerves. I knew I was about to tell her everything. I could feel the truth churning inside me, ready to erupt, but I had no idea how she would process it, even as generous as she always was toward me. I savored this moment of her acceptance, knowing it could end abruptly. I sighed.

"That's amazingly pleasant," the warmth. She smiled and looked down at our hands, too—fascination in her eyes. There was no help for it; I was going to have to be obscenely graphic. Dancing around the facts would only confuse her, and she needed to know this. I took a deep breath. "You know how everyone enjoys different flavors? Some people love chocolate ice cream; others prefer strawberry."

It sounded worse out loud than I would have thought, for such a weak beginning. Bella nodded in what looked like polite agreement, but otherwise her expression was smooth. Perhaps it would take a minute to sink in. "Sorry about the food analogy," I apologized. "I couldn't think of another way to explain."

She grinned—a smile with real humor and affinity. The dimple sprang into existence. Her grin made me feel as though we were in this ludicrous situation together, not as opponents, but as partners, working side by side to find a solution. I couldn't think of anything I would wish for more—besides, of course, the impossible: that I could be human, too. I grinned back at her, but I knew my smile was neither as genuine nor as guiltless as hers. Her hands tightened around mine, prompting me to continue. I spoke the words slowly, trying to use the best analogy possible, knowing, even as I did, that I was failing. "You see, every person smells different, has a different essence. If you locked an alcoholic in a room full of stale beer, he'd gladly drink it, but he could resist if he wished to—if he were a recovering alcoholic. Now, let's say you placed in that room a glass of a 100-year-old brandy, the rarest, finest cognac, and filled the room with its warm aroma. How do you think he would fare then?"

Was I painting too sympathetic a picture of myself, describing a tragic victim rather than a true villain? She stared into my eyes, and while I automatically tried to hear her internal reaction, I got the feeling that she was trying to read mine as well. I thought through my words and wondered whether the analogy was strong enough. "Maybe that's not the right comparison," I mused. "Maybe it would be too easy to turn down the brandy. Perhaps I should have made our alcoholic a heroin addict instead."

She smiled, not as widely as before, but with a cheeky twist to her pursed lips. "So, what you're saying is I'm your brand of heroin."

I almost laughed with surprise. She was doing what I was always trying to do: make a joke, lighten the mood, de-escalate—only she was successful. "Yes, you are exactly my brand of heroin." It was surely a horrific admission, and yet somehow I felt relief. It was all her doing—her support and understanding. It made my head spin that she could somehow forgive all of this. How? But she was back to researcher mode. "Does that happen often?" she asked, her head tilting curiously to one side.

Even with my unique ability to hear thought, it was hard to make exact comparisons. I didn't truly feel the sensations of the person I listened to; I only knew their thoughts about those feelings. How I interpreted thirst wasn't even exactly the way the rest of my family did. To me, the thirst was a fire burning. Jasper described it as a burning, too, but to him it was like acid rather than flame—chemical and saturating. Rosalie thought of it as profound dryness, a screaming lack rather than an outside force. Emmett tended to evaluate his thirst in the same way. I suppose that was natural, as Rosalie had been the first and most frequent influence in his second life. So I knew of the times the others had had difficulty resisting and when they had not been able to resist, but I couldn't know exactly how potent their temptation had been. I could make an educated guess, however, based on their standard level of control. It was an imperfect technique, but I thought it should answer her curiosity.

This was more horror. I couldn't look her in the eye while I answered; I stared at the sun instead, as it slipped closer to the edge of the trees. Every second gone hurt me more than they ever had—seconds I could never have with her again. I wished we didn't need to spend these precious seconds on something so distasteful. "I spoke to my brothers about—about it—to Jasper. Every one of you is much the same; he's the most recent to join our family. It's a struggle for him to abstain at all; he hasn't had time to grow sensitive to the differences in smell and flavor." I flinched, realizing too late where my rambling had taken me. "Sorry," I added quickly.

She gave an exasperated little huff. "I don't mind. Please don't worry about offending me or frightening me or whichever—that's the way you think I can understand, or I can try to, at least. Just explain however you can."

I tried to settle myself. I needed to accept that, through some miracle, Bella was able to know the darkest things about me and not be terror-stricken, able not to hate me for it. If she was strong enough to hear this, I needed to be strong enough to speak the words. I looked back at the sun, feeling the deadline in its slow descent, so I began again slowly. "Jasper wasn't sure if he'd ever come across someone who was as appealing as you are to me, which makes me think—not—Emmett has been on the wagon longer, so to speak, and he understood what I meant. He says twice for him—once stronger than the other."

I finally met her gaze; her eyes were narrow, just slightly, her focus intent. "And for you?" she asked. That was an easy answer, with no guesswork needed. "Never."

She seemed to consider that word for a long moment. I wished I knew what it meant to her. Then her face relaxed a bit. "What did Emmett do?" she asked, in a conversational tone, as if this were just some storybook fairy tale I was sharing with her, as if good always won the day, and though the road might get dark at points, nothing truly evil or permanently cruel was allowed to happen.

How could I tell her about these two innocent victims—humans with hopes and fears, people with families and friends who loved them, imperfect beings who deserve the chance to improve, to try—a man and a woman with names now inscribed on simple headstones in obscure graveyards? Would she think better or worse of us if she knew that Carlisle had required our attendance at their funerals? Not just these two, but every victim of our mistakes and lapses—were we a tiny bit less damned because we had listened to those who knew them best describe their shortened lives, because we bore witness to the tears and cries of pain? The monetary aid we'd anonymously provided to make sure there was no unnecessary physical suffering seemed, in retrospect, such a weak recompense.

She gave up waiting for an answer. "I guess I know." Her expression was mournful now. Did she condemn Emmett while she gave me so much mercy? His crimes, though much greater than two, were less in total than mine. It pained me that she would think badly of him. Was this the specificity of two victims—the offense she would balk at?

"Even the strongest of us fall off the wagon, don't we?" I asked weakly. "Could this be forgiven, too? Perhaps not?"

She winced, flinching away from me no more than an inch, but it felt like a yard. Her lips pulled into a frown. "What are you asking—my permission?" The hard edge in her voice sounded like sarcasm. So here was her limit. I'd thought she'd been extraordinarily kind and merciful, too forgiving, in truth, but actually she simply underestimated my depravity. She must have thought that, for all my warnings, I'd only ever been tempted, that I'd always made the better choice, as I had in Port Angeles, driving away from bloodshed. I told her that same night how, despite our best efforts, my family made mistakes. Had she not realized that I'd been confessing to murder? No wonder she accepted things so easily; she thought I was always strong, that I only had near misses on my conscience. Well, it wasn't her fault I'd never explicitly admitted to killing anyone; I'd never given her the body count.

Her expression softened while I spiraled. I tried to think of how to say goodbye in such a way that she would know how much I loved her but not feel threatened by that love.

"I mean," she explained suddenly, no edge in her tone, "is there no hope then?"

In a fraction of a second, I replayed our last exchange in my head and realized how I'd misinterpreted her reaction when I had begged pardon for past sins. She thought I was excusing a future, but imminent crime—that I meant to—

"No, no," I had to fight to slow my words down to human speed. I was in such a hurry to have her hear them. "Of course there's hope. I mean, of course I won't kill you." I couldn't finish the sentence; those words were agony to me, imagining her gone. My eyes bored into hers, trying to communicate everything I couldn't say. "It's different for us. I promised Emmett. These were strangers; he happened across it. It was a long time ago, and he wasn't as practiced, as careful as he is now."

She sifted through my words, heard the parts I hadn't said. "So, if we met—" she paused, searching for the right scenario—"oh, in a dark alley or something—"

Ah, here was a bitter truth. It took everything I had not to jump up in the middle of that class full of children and kill you. My eyes fell from hers—so much shame still. "I couldn't leave her any flattering illusions about me. When you walked past me," I admitted, "I could have ruined everything Carlisle has built for us right then and there. If I hadn't been denying my thirst for the last—well, too many years—I wouldn't have been able to stop myself."

I could see the classroom so clearly in my mind; perfect recall was more a curse than a gift. Did I need to remember with such precision every second of that hour—the fear that had dilated her eyes, the reflection of my monstrous countenance in them, the way her scent had destroyed every good thing about me?

Her expression was far away; maybe she was remembering, too. "You must have thought I was possessed."

She didn't deny it. "I couldn't understand," she said in a fragile voice, "how you could hate me so quickly."

She'd intuited the truth in that moment; she'd understood correctly that I had hated her almost as much as I desired her. "To me," I said, "it was like you were some kind of demon, summoned straight from my own personal hell to ruin me." It was painful to relive the emotion of it, to remember seeing her as prey—the fragrance coming off your skin. "I thought it would make me derange that first day, in that one hour. I thought of a hundred different ways to lure you from the room with me, to get you alone, and I fought them each back, thinking of my family, what I could do to them. I had to run out to get away before I could speak the words that would make you follow—you would have come."

What must it be like for her to know this? How did she align the opposing facts—me would-be murderer and me would-be lover? What did she think of my confidence, my certainty that she would have followed the murderer?

Her chin lifted a centimeter. Without a doubt, she agreed. Our hands were still carefully intertwined; hers were nearly as still as mine, aside from the blood pulsing through them. I wondered if she felt the same fear that I did—the fear that they might have to come apart, and she wouldn't be able to find the courage and forgiveness necessary to bring them together again. It was a little easier to confess when I wasn't looking into her eyes, and then I continued. "As I tried to rearrange my schedule, in a pointless attempt to avoid you, you were there, in that close, warm, little room. The scent was maddening; I very nearly took you then. There was only one other frail human there, so easily dealt with."

I felt the shiver move down her arms to her hands. With every new attempt to explain, I found myself using more and more distressing words. They were the right words, the truthful words, and they were also so ugly. There was no stopping them now, though, and she sat silent and nearly motionless as they gushed out of me—more confessions mixed up in explanations. I told her about my unsuccessful attempt to run away and the arrogance that brought me back, how that arrogance had shaped our interactions, and how the frustration of her hidden thoughts had tormented me, how her scent had never stopped being both torture and temptation. My family wove in and out of the story, and I wondered whether she could see how they influenced my actions at every turn. I told—told her how saving her from Tyler's van had changed my perspective, had forced me to see that she was more to me than just a risk and an irritant.

"In the hospital," she prompted when my words ran out. She studied my face with compassion, with eager, non-judgmental desire for the next chapter. I was no longer shocked by her benevolence, but it would always be miraculous to me. I explained my misgiving—not for saving her but for exposing myself and consequently my family—so that she would understand my harshness that day in the empty corridor. This led naturally into my family's varied reactions, and I wondered what she thought of the fact that some of them had wanted to silence her in the most permanent way possible. She didn't shiver now or betray any fear. How strange it must be for her to learn the whole story—the dark now woke through the light she'd known. I told her how I tried to feign total indifference to her after that, to protect us all, and how unsuccessful I'd been. I wondered privately, not for the first time, where I would be now if I had not acted so instinctively that day in the school parking lot—if, as I just grotesquely described to her, I had stood by and let her die in a car accident, then revealed myself to the human witnesses in the most monstrous way—way possible. My family would have had to flee Forks immediately. I imagined their reactions to that version of events would have been mostly the opposite. Rosalie and Jasper would not have been angry—a trifle smug, perhaps, but understanding. Carlisle would have been deeply disappointed, but still forgiving. Would Alice have mourned the friend she'd never gotten to meet? Only Esme and Emmett would have reacted in a manner nearly identical to their first reactions—Esme with concern for my well-being, Emmett with a shrug. I knew that I would have had some small inking of the disaster that had befallen me, even that early, after just a few words exchanged. My fascination with her was strong, but could I have guessed the vastness of the tragedy? I thought not. I would have ached, certainly, and then gone about my empty life, never realizing how very much I had lost, never knowing actual happiness. It would have been easier to lose her then, I knew, just as I would never have known joy; I wouldn't have suffered the depths of pain I now knew to exist.

I contemplated her kind, sweet face, so dear to me now, so much the center of my world, the only thing I wanted to look at for the rest of time. She gazed back, the same wonder in her eyes. And for all that, I concluded my long confession. "I'd have fared better if I had exposed us all at that first moment, then if now, here, with no witnesses and nothing to stop me, I were to hurt you."

Her eyes widened, not in fear or surprise—fascination. "Why?" she asked. This explanation would be as difficult as any of the others—with many words I hated to say, but there were also words I very much wanted to speak to her—Isabella. Bella. It was a pleasure just to say her name; it felt like a kind of avowal. "This is the name to which I belong." I carefully loosed one hand and stroked her soft hair, warm from the sun. The joy of the simple touch, the knowledge that I was free to reach out to her this way, was overwhelming. I grasped her hands again. "I couldn't live with myself if I ever hurt you. You don't know how it's tortured me." I hated to look away from her sympathetic expression, but it was too hard to see her other face—the one from Alice's vision—in the same frame. "The thought of you—still, white, cold—to never see you blush scarlet again, to never see that flash of intuition in your eyes when you see through my pretenses—it would be unendurable." That word did nothing to convey the anguish behind the thought, but I was through.

Ugly part now, and I could say the things I wanted to tell her for so long. I met her eyes again, rejoicing in this confession. "You are the most important thing to me now, the most important thing to me ever." Just as the word "unendurable" was not enough, so were these words weak echoes of the feelings they tried to describe. I hoped she could see in my eyes exactly how inadequate they were. She was always better at knowing my mind than I was at reading hers.

She held my exalted gaze for just a moment, pink creeping into her cheeks, but then her eyes fell to our hands. I thrilled to the beauty of her complexion, seeing only, only the loveliness and nothing else. "You already know how I feel, of course," she said, her voice not much louder than a whisper. "I'm here," which roughly translated means, "I would rather die than stay away from you." I wouldn't have thought it possible to feel such euphoria and such regret at the same time. She wanted me. Bliss. She was risking her very life for me. Unacceptable.

She scowled, her eyes still lowered. "I'm an idiot," I laughed at her conclusion. From a certain angle, she had a point. Any species that ran so headlong into the arms of its most dangerous predator wouldn't survive long. It was a good thing she wasn't an outlier. "You are an idiot," I teased gently, "and I would never stop being grateful for it." Bella glanced up with a puckish grin, and we both laughed together. It was such a relief to laugh after my grueling revelations that my laugh shifted from humor to sheer joy. I was sure she felt the same. We were utterly in sync for one perfect moment, though it was impossible. We belonged together. Everything was wrong with this picture: a killer and an innocent leaning close, each basking in the presence of the other, totally at peace. It was as if we'd somehow ascended to a better world where such impossibilities could exist.

I was suddenly reminded of a painting I'd seen many years ago. Whenever we canvassed the countryside for likely towns in which to settle, Carlile would frequently make side trips to duck into old parish churches. He seemed unable to stop himself. Something about the simple wooden structures, usually dark for lack of good windows, the floorboards and pews all worn smooth and smelling of layer upon layer of human touches, brought him a reflective kind of calm. Thoughts of his father and his childhood were brought to the fore, but the violent end seemed far away in those moments. He remembered only pleasant things. On one such diversion, we found an old Quaker Meeting House around 30 mi north north of Philadelphia. It was a small building, no bigger than a farmhouse, with a stone exterior and a very Spartan arrangement inside. So plain were the narrow floors and straight-backed pews that I was almost shocked to see an adornment on the far wall. Carlile's interest was piqued as well, and we both examined it. It was quite a small painting, no more than 15 in. square. I guessed that it was older than the stone church that housed it. The artist was clearly untrained, his style amateurish, and yet there was something in the simple, poorly wrought image that managed to convey an emotion. There was a warm vulnerability to the animals depicted, an aching kind of tenderness. I was strangely moved by this kinder universe the artist had envisioned—a better world, Carlile had thought to himself, the sort of world where this present moment could exist. I thought now and felt that aching tenderness again.

"And so the lion fell in love with the lamb," I whispered. Her eyes were so open and accessible for one second, and then she flushed again and looked down. She steadied her breath for a moment, and her impish smile returned. "What a stupid lamb," she teased, stretching out the joke. "What a sick masochistic lion," I countered. I wasn't sure that was a true statement, though. In one light, yes, I was deliberately causing myself unnecessary pain and enjoying it—the textbook definition of masochism. But the pain was the price, and the reward was so much more than the pain. Really, the price was negligible. I would pay it ten times over.

"Why?" she murmured, hesitant. I smiled at her, eager to know her mind. Yes, a hint of the forehead crease began to form. "Tell me why you ran from me before." Her words hit me physically, lodging in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't understand why she would want to rehash a moment so loathsome. "You know why," she shook her head, and her brows pulled down. "No, I mean exactly what did I do wrong?" she spoke intently, serious now. "I'll have to be on my guard, you see, so I better start learning what I shouldn't do. This, for example," she stroked her fingertips slowly up the back of my hand to my wrist, leaving a trail of painless fire. "Seems to be all right." How like her to take the responsibility on herself. "You didn't do anything wrong, Bella. It was my fault." Her chin lifted; it would have implied stubbornness if her eyes were not so pleading. "But I want to help, if I can, to not make this harder for you." My first instinct was to continue insisting that this was my problem and not something for her to worry about, yet I knew that she was simply trying to understand me, with all my strange and monstrous quirks. She would be happier if I just answered her question as clearly as possible. How to explain bloodlust, though? So shameful. "Well, it was just how close you were. Most humans instinctively shy away from us, are repelled by our alienness. I wasn't expecting you to come so close, and the smell of your throat—" I broke off, hoping I had not disgusted her. Her mouth was pursed as if fighting off a smile. "Okay then, no throat exposure," she made a show of tucking her chin against her right collarbone. It was clearly her intention to ease my anxiety, and it worked. I had to laugh at her expression. "No, really," I reassured her, "it was more the surprise than anything else." I lifted my hand again and rested it lightly against her neck, feeling the incredible softness of her skin, the warm give of it. My thumb grazed her jawline; the electric pulse that only she could awaken started to thrum through my body. "You see," I whispered, "perfectly fine." Her pulse began to race as well; I could feel it under my hand and hear her galloping heart. Pink flooded her face from her chin to her hairline. The sound and sight of her response, rather than awakening my thirst again, seemed only to speed the rush of my more human reactions. I couldn't remember ever feeling this alive. I doubted I ever had, even when I'd been alive. "The blush on your cheeks is lovely," I murmured. I gently extracted my left hand from hers and arranged it so that I was cradling her face between my palms. Her pupils dilated, and her heartbeat increased. I wanted so much to kiss her then. Her soft, curving lips, ever so slightly parted, mesmerized me, and, and drew me forward. But though these new human emotions now seemed so much stronger than anything else, I didn't fully trust myself. I knew I needed one more test. I thought I'd pass through Alice's knot but still felt something was lacking. I realized now what more I had to do. One thing I'd always avoided: never let my mind explore.

"Be very still," I warned her. Her breath hitched slowly. I leaned close, watching her expression for any hint that this was unwelcome to her. I found none. Finally, I let my head dip forward and turned it to lean my cheek against the base of her throat. The heat of her warm-blooded life pulsed through her fragile skin and into the cold stone of my body. That pulse leaped beneath my touch. I kept my breathing steady as a machine—in and out, controlled. I waited, judging every minuscule happening inside my body. Perhaps I waited longer than necessary, but it was a very pleasant place to linger. When I felt sure that no trap waited for me here, I proceeded cautiously. I readjusted, using slow, steady movements so that nothing would surprise or frighten her, as my hands drifted from her jaw to the points of her shoulders. She shivered, and for a moment I lost my careful hold on my breathing. I recovered, settling myself again, and then moved my head so that my ear was directly over her heart. The sound of it, loud before, seemed to surround me in stereo now. The earth beneath me didn't seem quite as steady, as if it rocked faintly to the beat of her heart. A sigh escaped against my will. I wished I could stay like this forever, immersed in the sound of her heart and warmed by her skin. It was time for the final test, though, and I wanted it behind me. For the first time, as I breathed in the sear of her scent, I let myself imagine it, rather than blocking my thoughts, cutting them off and forcing them deep down out of my conscious mind. I allowed them to range unfettered. They did not go willingly, not now, but I forced myself to go where I had always avoided. I imagined tasting her, draining her. I'd had enough experience to know what the relief would feel like if I were to utterly quench my most bestial need. Her blood had so much more pull for me than any other humans I'd encountered. I could only assume that the relief and pleasure would be that much more intense. Her blood would soothe my aching throat, erasing all the months of fire. It would feel as if I had never burned for her. The alleviation of pain would be total. The sweetness of her blood on my tongue was harder to imagine. I knew I had never experienced any blood so perfectly matched to my desire, but I was sure it would satisfy every craving I had ever known. For the first time in 3/4 of a century, the span I had survived without human blood, I would be totally sated. My body would feel strong and whole. It would be many weeks before I thirsted again. I played the sequence of events through to the end, surprised even as I let these taboo imaginings loose at how little they appealed to me now. Even withholding the inevitable sequel—the return of the thirst, the emptiness of the world without her—I felt no desire to act on my imaginings. I also saw very clearly in that moment that there was no separate monster and never had been. One eager to disconnect my mind from my desires, I had, as was my habit, personified that hated part of myself to distance it from the parts that I considered me, just as I had created the harpy to give myself someone to fight. He, it was a coping mechanism, and not a very good one. Better to see myself as the whole—bad and good—and work with the reality of it.

My breathing continued steadily, the bite of her scent a welcome counterpoint to the glut of other physical sensations that overwhelmed me as I held her. I thought I understood a little better what had happened to me before, in the violent reaction that had terrified us both. I had been so convinced that I might be overwhelmed that when I actually was overwhelmed, it was almost a self-fulfilling prophecy. My anxiety, the agonizing visions I'd obsessed over, plus the months of self-doubt that had shaken my former confidence, all combined to weaken the determination that I now knew was absolutely up to the job of protecting Bella. Even Alice's nightmare vision was suddenly less vibrant, the colors leeching away. Its power to shake me was ebbing because, and this was obvious now, that future was entirely impossible. Bella and I would leave this place hand in hand, and my life would finally begin. We were through the knot. I had no doubt that Alice saw this too, and that she was rejoicing. Though I was exceptionally comfortable in my current position, I was also eager for the rest of my life to unfold. I leaned away from her, letting my hands trace along the length of her arms as they dropped to my side, full of simple happiness to just see her face again. She looked at me curiously, unaware of the momentous occurrences inside my head. "It won't be so hard again," I promised, though I realized as I spoke that my words probably made little sense to her. "Was that very hard for you?" she asked, with sympathetic eyes. Her concern warmed me to the core. "Not nearly as bad as I imagined it would be. And you?" She gave me one disbelieving glance. "No, it wasn't bad for me." She made it look so easy, being embraced by a vampire, but it must take more courage than she let on. "You know what I mean?" She smiled, a wide, warm, lopsidedly dimpled grin. It was clear that if it did take any effort to bear my nearness, she would never admit to it. Giddy—that was the only word I could think of to describe the high I was experiencing. It wasn't a word I often thought of in relation to myself. Every thought in my head wanted to spill out through my lips. I wanted to hear every thought in hers. That, at least, was nothing new. Everything else was new. Everything had changed. I reached for her hand without first exhaustively debating the act in my mind, simply because I wanted to feel it against my skin. I felt free to be spontaneous for the first time. These new impulses were completely unrelated to the old. Here, I placed her palm against my cheek. "Do you feel how warm it is?" Her reaction to this first instinctive act of mine was more than I'd expected. Her fingers trembled against my cheekbone; her eyes grew round, and the smile slipped away. Her heartbeat and her breathing accelerated. Before I could regret the deed, she leaned closer and whispered, "Don't move." A thrill shivered through me. Her request was easily accomplished. I froze myself into the absolute stillness that humans were incapable of duplicating. I didn't know what she intended. Acclimating herself to my lack of a circulatory system seemed unlikely, but I was eager to find out. I closed my eyes. I wasn't sure whether I did this to free her from the self-consciousness of my scrutiny or because I wanted no distractions from this moment. Her hand began to move very slowly. First she stroked my cheek; her fingertips grazed across my closed eyelids and then brushed a half circle beneath them, where her skin met mine. It left a trail of tingling heat. She traced the length of my nose and then, with the trembling in her fingers more pronounced now, the shape of my lips. My frozen form melted. I let my mouth fall slightly open so that I could breathe in the nearness of her. One finger caressed my bottom lip again, and then her hand fell away. I felt the air cool between us as she leaned back. I opened my eyes and met her gaze. Her face was flushed; her heart still raced. I felt a phantom echo of the pace inside my own body, though no blood pushed it. I wanted so many things—things I had not felt any need for in my entire immortal life before I met her, things I was sure I had not wanted before I was immortal either—and I felt that some of them, things I'd always thought impossible, might in fact be very, very possible. But while I felt comfortable with her now, as far as my thirst was concerned, I was still too strong, so much stronger than she was. Every limb of my body, unyielding as steel. I must always think of her fragility. It would take time to learn exactly how to move around her. She stared at me, waiting, wondering what I thought of her touches.

"I wish, I wish you could feel, feel the complexity—" I fumbled to explain the confusion I felt, that you could understand. A tendril of her hair caught in the breeze danced in the sun, catching the light with a reddish shine. I reached out to feel the texture of that errant lock between my fingers, and then, because it was so close, I couldn't resist stroking her face. Her cheek felt like velvet left out in the sun. Her head tilted into my hand, but her eyes remained intent on my face. "Tell me," she breathed. I couldn't imagine where to even begin. "I don't think I can. I've told you, on the one hand, the hunger, the thirst," I gave her an apologetic half smile. "Deplorable creature I am. I feel for you, and I think you can understand that to an extent, though, as you are not addicted to any illegal substances, you probably can't empathize completely." But my fingers seemed to search out her lips of their own accord. I brushed them lightly. Finally, they were softer than I'd imagined, warmer. "There are other hungers," I continued, "hungers I don't even understand, that are foreign to me." She gave me that slightly skeptical look again. "I may understand that better than you think. I'm not used to feeling so human," I admitted. "Is it always like this? The wild current singing through my system, the magnetic pull drawing me forward, the feeling that there might never be a closeness that would be close enough for me?" She paused, considering. "No, never, never before this." I took both her hands between mine. "I don't know how to be close to you," I cautioned her. "I don't know if I can, where to set the limits to keep her safe, how to keep selfish desire from pushing those limits unwisely." She shifted closer to me. I held myself still and careful while she rested the side of her face against the bare skin of my chest. I'd never been more grateful for Alice's influence on my wardrobe than in this second. Her eyelids slid closed. She sighed contentedly. "This is enough." The invitation was not something I could resist. I knew I was capable of getting this much right, with meticulous care. I wrapped my arms lightly around her, truly holding her in my embrace for the first time. I pressed my lips against the crown of her head, breathing in her warm scent—a first kiss, though a stealthy one, unrequited. She chuckled once. "You're better at this than you give yourself credit for." "I have human instincts," I murmured into her hair. "They may be buried deep, but they're there." The passing of time was meaningless while I cradled her, my lips against her hair. Her heart moved languidly now; her breath was slow and even against my skin. I only noticed the change when the shadow of the trees fell over us. Without the reflection off my skin, the meadow seemed suddenly darker—evening rather than afternoon. Bella heaved a deep sigh, not contented this time, but regretful. "You have to go." "I guessed. I thought you couldn't read my mind," I grinned, and then pressed one last hidden kiss to the top of her head. "It's getting clearer." We'd been a long time here, though now it seemed like mere seconds. She would have human needs she was neglecting. I thought of the long, slow trek to get to the meadow, and I had an idea. I pulled away, reluctant to end our embrace, no matter what came next, and placed my hands lightly on her shoulders. "Can I show you something?" I asked. "Show me what?" she asked, a hint of suspicion in her voice. I realized my tone was more than a little enthusiastic. "I'll show you how I travel in the forest," I explained. Her lips pursed, doubtful, and the crease between her eyebrows appeared deeper than before, even when I'd nearly attacked her. It surprised me a little; she was usually so curious and fearless. "Don't worry," I reassured her, "you'll be safe, and we'll get to your truck much faster." I grinned encouragingly at her. She considered for a minute and then whispered, "Will you turn into a bat?" I couldn't suppress my laughter. I didn't really want to. I couldn't remember ever feeling so free to be myself. Of course, that wasn't exactly true; I was always free and open when it was just me and my family. However, I never felt like this with my family: ecstatic, wild, every cell of my body alive in a new, electric way. Being with Bella intensified all sensation. "Like I haven't heard that one before," I teased once I could speak again. She grinned. "Right. I'm sure you get that all the time." I was on my feet in an instant, holding out one hand to her. She eyed it doubtfully. "Come on, little coward," I coaxed, "climb on my back." She stared at me for a moment, hesitating. I wasn't sure whether she was wary of this idea of mine or just wasn't sure exactly how to approach me. We were very new to this physical closeness, and there was still plenty of shyness between us. Deciding that the ladder was the problem, I made it easier for her. I lifted her from the ground and gently arranged her limbs around me, as if for a piggyback ride. Her pulse quickened, and her breath caught, but once she was in place, her arms and legs constricted around me. I felt enveloped in the warmth of her body. "I'm a bit heavier than your average backpack," she sounded worried that I might not be able to bear her weight. I snorted. It struck me how easy it was not to carry her insignificant weight, but to have her literally wrapped around me. My thirst was so wholly overshadowed by my happiness that it barely caused me any conscious pain. I took her hand from where it was gripped around my neck and held her palm to my nose. I inhaled as deeply as I could. Yes, there the pain was, but unimpressive. What was a little fire to all this light? Easier all the time, I breathed. I took off at a relaxed lope, choosing the smoothest route back to our starting point. It would cost me a few extra seconds to go the long way, but we would still get to her truck in minutes rather than hours. It was better than to jostle her with a more vertical path. Another new, joyous experience. I'd always loved to run. For nearly a hundred years it had been my purest physical happiness, but now, sharing this with her, no distance between us bodily or psychically, I realized how much more pleasure there would be in simply running than I'd ever imagined. I wondered if it thrilled her as much as it did me. One qualm nagged at me. I'd been in a hurry to get her home as soon as that seemed to be her wish. However, surely we should have concluded that most momentous interlude with a proper finale, a sort of seal on our new understanding, a benediction. But I'd been too hasty to realize it was missing until we were already in motion. It wasn't too late. My system was electrified again as I thought of it—a true kiss. Once I'd assumed it impossible, once I'd mourned that this impossibility seemed to hurt her as well as me, now I was sure it was both possible and fast approaching. The electricity ricocheted around the inside of my stomach, and I wondered why humans had thought to name such a wild sensation butterflies. I slowed to a smooth stop just a few paces from where she'd parked. "Exhilarating, isn't it?" I asked, eager for her reaction. She didn't respond, and her limbs retained their taut grip around my waist and neck. A few quiet seconds passed with no answer. "What was wrong, Bella?" Her breath came in a gasp, and I realized that she'd been holding it. I should have noticed that. "I think I need to lie down," she said faintly. Oh, I was in dire need of practice with humans. I hadn't even thought of the possibility of motion sickness. "I'm sorry." I waited for her to release her hold, but she didn't relax one locked muscle. "I think I need help," she whispered. With slow, gentle movements, I freed first her legs, then her arms, and pulled her around so that I was holding her, cradled, head against my chest. The state of her complexion alarmed me at first, but I had seen the same chalky green before. I'd held her in my arms that day too, yet what a wholly different affair it was now. I knelt down and set her on a soft patch of ferns. "How do you feel? Di—I think, put your head between your knees," I advised. She complied automatically, as if this was a practiced response. I sat beside her, listening to her measured breathing. I found that I was more anxious than the situation merited. I knew this was nothing serious, just a bit of queasiness, and yet seeing her pale and ill bothered me more than was reasonable. A few moments later, she lifted her head experimentally. She was still pale, but not as green; a faint sheen of sweat covered her brow. "I guess that wasn't the best idea," I muttered, feeling like an ass. She smiled—a wan smile. "No, it was very interesting," she lied. "Huh," I huffed sourly, "you're as white as a ghost." "No, you're as white as me." She took a slow breath. "I think I should have closed my eyes," she said the words, her lids followed suit. "Remember that next time." Her color was improving, and my tension eased in direct correlation with the pink infusing her cheeks. "Next time," she groaned.

Theatrically, I laughed at her sham scowl. "Show off," she muttered. Her lower lip jutted out, rounded and full. It looked incredibly soft. I imagined how it would give, bringing us even closer.

I rolled to my knees, facing her. I felt nervous and restless and impatient and unsure. The yearning to be closer to her reminded me of The Thirst that used to control me. This, too, was demanding, impossible to ignore. Her breath was hot against my face. I leaned closer. "Open your eyes, Bella."

She complied slowly, looking up at me through her dense lashes for a moment before lifting her chin so that our faces were aligned. "I was thinking, while I was running," my voice trailed off. This was not the most romantic beginning. Her eyes narrowed. "About not hitting the trees, I hope."

I chuckled as she tried to hold back a grin. "Silly Bella, running is second nature to me. It's not something I have to think about."

"Show off," she repeated with more emphasis this time. We were off topic. It was surprising this was even possible, close as our faces were. I smiled and redirected. "No, I was thinking there was something I wanted to try."

I put my hands lightly on either side of her face, leaving her plenty of room to move away if this was unwelcome. Her breath caught, and she automatically angled her head closer to mine. I used an eighth of a second to recalibrate, testing every system in my body to be completely positive that nothing would take me off guard. My thirst was well under control, sublimated to the very bottom of my physical needs. I regulated the pressure in my hands, in my arms, the way my torso curved toward her so that my touch would be lighter against her skin than the breeze, though I was sure the precaution was unnecessary. I held my breath. There was no such thing as too careful, after all.

Her eyelids slid shut. I closed the tiny distance between us and pressed my lips softly against hers. Though I thought I was prepared, I was not entirely ready for the combustion. What strange Alchemy was this, that the touch of lips should be so much more than the touch of fingers? It made no logical sense that simple contact between this specific area of skin should be so much more powerful than anything I'd yet experienced. It felt as if a new sun was bursting into being where our mouths met, and my whole body was filled to a shatter point with the brilliant light of it.

I only had a fraction of a second to grapple with the potency of this kiss before the Alchemy impacted Bella. She gasped in reaction, her lips parting against mine, the fever of her breath burning my skin. Her arms wound around my neck, her fingers twisted into my hair. She used that leverage to crush her lips more tightly to mine. Her lips felt warmer than before, as fresh blood flowed into them. They opened wider, an invitation—an invitation it would not be safe for me to accept.

Gingerly, with the lightest force possible, I eased her face away from mine, leaving my fingertips in place against her skin to keep her at that distance, apart. From that small shift, I held myself motionless and tried, if not to ignore the Temptation, at least to separate myself from it. I noted the unpleasant return of a few predatory reactions: an excess of venom in my mouth, a tightening in my core. But these were superficial responses. While perhaps it would be unfair to say that rationality was in total control, at least it was not a feeding passion that made that statement untrue. A much more agreeable passion held me in its thrall; its nature, however, did not eliminate the need to moderate.

Bella's expression was both overwhelmed and apologetic. "Oops," she said. I couldn't help but think what her innocent actions might have precipitated just a few hours ago.

"That's an understatement," I agreed. She was unaware of the progress I'd made today, but she had always acted as if I were in perfect control of myself, even when it wasn't true. It was a relief to finally feel as if I deserved some of that trust.

She tried to move back, but my hands were locked around her face. "Should I—"

"No," I assured her. "It's tolerable. Wait for a moment, please." I wanted to be very careful that nothing was escaping me. Already my muscles had relaxed, and the influx of venom dissipated. The urge to wrap my arms around her and continue the Alchemy of kissing was a harder impulse to deny, but I used my decades of practicing self-control to make the right choice.

"There," I said when I was totally calm. She was fighting another smile.

"Tolerable?" she asked.

I laughed. "I'm stronger than I thought. I would have never believed how in control I was able to be now. This was very rapid progress indeed."

"It's nice to know," she said. "I wish I could say the same. I'm sorry. You are only Human After All." She rolled her eyes at my weak joke.

"Thanks so much." The light that had filled my body during our kiss lingered. I felt so much happiness, I wasn't sure how to contain it all. The overwhelming joy, in general bemusement, made me worry I wasn't being responsible enough. I should take her home. It wasn't so hard to think of ending this afternoon's Utopia because we would leave together.

I stood and offered her my hand. This time she took it quickly, and I pulled her to her feet. She wobbled there, looking unsteady. "Are you still faint from the run?" I asked, "or was it my kissing expertise?" I laughed out loud. She wrapped her free hand around my wrist to steady herself.

"I… I can't be sure," she teased. "I'm still woozy. I think it's some of both, though." Her body swayed closer to mine. It seemed intentional rather than vertiginous.

"Maybe you should let me drive." All disequilibrium seemed to vanish. Her shoulders squared. "Are you insane?" If she were driving, I would need her to keep both hands on the wheel, and I could do nothing to distract her. If I were driving, however, there would be much more leeway.

"I can drive better than you on your best day. You have much slower reflexes." I smiled so that she would know I was teasing, mostly. She didn't argue with the facts.

"I'm sure that's true, but I don't think my nerves or my truck could take it." I tried to do the dazzling thing she'd accused me of before. I still wasn't exactly sure what qualified.

"Some trust, please, Bella." It didn't work, perhaps because she was looking down. She patted her jeans pocket, then pulled out her key and wrapped her fingers into a fist around it. She looked up again and shook her head. "Nope," she told me. "Not a chance."

She started toward the road, stepping around me. Whether she was actually still dizzy or just moved clumsily, I didn't know, but she staggered on the second step, and I caught her before she could fall. I pulled her against my chest.

"Bella," I breathed. All the jocularity vanished from her eyes, and she leaned into me, her face tilted up toward mine. Kissing her immediately seemed like both a fantastic and a terrible idea. I forced myself to air on the side of caution.

"I've already expended a great deal of personal effort at this point to keep you alive," I reminded her in a playful tone. "I'm not about to let you behind the wheel of a vehicle when you can't even walk straight. Besides, friends don't let friends drive drunk," I concluded, quoting the Ad Council slogan. It was a dated reference for her; she'd been only three when the campaign was launched.

"Drunk?" she protested.

I grinned a crooked smile at her. "You're intoxicated by my very presence."

She sighed, accepting defeat. "I can't argue with that." Holding her fist up, she let the key drop from her hand and fall into mine. "Take it easy," she cautioned. "My truck is a senior citizen—very sensible." Her lips pursed into a frown. "And are you not affected at all by my presence?"

Affected? She'd utterly transformed every part of me. I barely recognized myself. For the first time in a hundred years, I was grateful to be what I was. Every aspect of being a vampire, all but the danger to her, was suddenly acceptable to me because it was what had let me live long enough to find Bella. The decades I had endured would not have been so difficult had I known what was waiting for me—that my existence was advancing toward something better than I could have imagined. It had not been years of killing time, as I had thought; it had been years of progress, refining, preparing, mastering myself so that I could have this now. I wasn't entirely sure of this new self yet; the violent ecstasy suffusing my every cell seemed unsustainable in the long term. Still, I never wanted to go back to the old me. That Edward seemed unfinished now, incomplete, as though half of him was missing. It would have been impossible for him to do this.

I leaned down and pressed my lips to the corner of her jaw, just above her pulsing artery. I let my lips brush softly along her jawline to her chin, and then kissed my way back to her ear, feeling the velvet give of her warm skin under the faint pressure. I returned slowly to her chin, so close to her lips. She shivered in my arms, reminding me that what was unprecedented warmth for me was icy winter to her. I loosed my hold regardless. I whispered in her ear, "I have better reflexes."

Chapter 18: Mind Over Matter

Insisting upon driving had been a very good idea. There were all those things, of course, that would be out of the question if she needed to concentrate her human senses on the road: handholding, eye gazing, general joy radiating. But more than this, the feeling of being filled to the point of bursting with pure light hadn't dimmed at all. I knew how overwhelming it was for me; I wasn't sure how much it would compromise a human system. Much safer to let my inhuman system tend to the road.

The clouds were shifting as the sun set. Every now and then, a lance of fading red sunlight would strike my face. I could imagine the terror I would have felt only yesterday to have been exposed in this way. Now it made me want to laugh. I felt filled with laughter, as if the Light Within Me needed that escape. Curious, I switched on her radio. I was surprised that it was tuned to nothing but static. Then, considering the volume of the engine, I deduced that she didn't bother much with driving music. I twisted the knob until I found a semi-audible station. It was playing Johnny Ace, and I smiled. "Pledging my love," how apt. I began to sing along, feeling a little cheesy but also enjoying the chance to say these words to her: "Always and forever, I'll love only you." She never took her eyes off my face, smiling in what I could now accurately construe as wonder.

"You like 50s music?" she asked when the song ended.

"Music in the 50s was good—much better than the 60s or the 70s," though they were certainly excellent outliers. The artists that were played most often on the limited radio options then were not my favorites. I'd never warmed up to disco. The 80s were bearable.

She pressed her lips together for a moment, her eyes tensing as if something worried her. Quietly, she asked, "Are you ever going to tell me how old you are?" Ah, she was afraid to distress me. I smiled at her easily. "Does it matter much?"

She seemed relieved by my light response. "No, but I still wonder. There's nothing like an unsolved mystery to keep you up at night." And then it was my turn to worry. I wondered if it would upset her. She hadn't been disgusted by my inhumanity, but would she have a different reaction to the years between us? In many very real ways, I was still 17. Would she see it that way? What had she imagined already? Millennia behind me, gothic castles, and Transylvanian accents? Well, none of that was impossible. Carlisle knew those types.

"Try me," she challenged.

I looked into her eyes, searching their depths for answers. I sighed. Shouldn't I have developed some courage after the events behind us? But here I was again, terrified to frighten her. Of course, there was no way forward but total honesty.

"I was born in Chicago in 1901," I admitted. I turned my face toward the road ahead so she wouldn't feel scrutinized as she did the mental math, but I couldn't help stealing a look from the corner of my eye. She was artificially composed, and I realized that she was carefully modulating her reactions. She didn't want to appear frightened any more than I wanted to scare her. The more we came to know each other, the more we seemed to mirror each other's feelings, harmonizing. Carlisle found me in a hospital in the summer of 1918," I continued. "I was 17 and dying of the Spanish influenza."

At this, her control slipped, and she gasped in shock, her eyes huge.

"I don't remember it well," I assured her. "It was a very long time ago, and human memories fade." She did not look entirely comforted, but she nodded. She said nothing, waiting for more. I had just mentally committed to total honesty, but I realize now that there would have to be limits. There were things she should know, but also details that would not be wise to share. Maybe Alice was right. Maybe if Bella was feeling anything close to the way I was feeling now, she would think it imperative to prolong this feeling, to stay with me, as she'd said in the meow. I knew it would be no simple thing for me to deny Bella anything she wanted. I chose my words with care. "I do remember how it felt when Carlisle saved me. It's not an easy thing—not something you could forget."

"Your parents?" she asked in a timid voice, and I relaxed, glad she'd chosen not to fixate on that last part. They had already died from the disease. I was alone. These weren't hard words to say; this part of my history almost felt more like a story I'd been told than actual memories. That was why he chose me. In all the chaos of the epidemic, no one would ever realize I was gone.

"How did he save you?" So much for avoiding the difficult questions. I thought about what was most important to keep from her. My words danced around the edges of her question. "It was difficult. Not many of us have the restraint necessary to accomplish it, but Carlisle has always been the most humane, the most compassionate of us. I don't think you could find his equal throughout all of history." I considered my father for a moment and wondered if my words were adequate praise. Then I continued with the rest of what I thought it safe for her to know. "For me, it was merely very, very painful. While the other memories that might have brought pain—the loss of my mother in particular—were confused and faded, the memory of this pain was exceptionally clear." I flinched slightly. If there ever came a time that Bella did ask again, with full knowledge of what it meant to stay with me, this memory would be all the aid I needed to say no. I recoiled from the idea of her facing such pain.

She absorbed my answer, lips pursed and eyes narrowed in thought. I wanted to know her reaction, but I knew that if I asked, I would face more pointed questions. I continued my history, hoping to distract her. "He acted from loneliness. That's usually the reason behind the choice. I was the first in Carlisle's family, though he found Esme soon after she fell from a cliff. They brought her straight to the hospital morgue—though somehow her heart was still beating."

"So you must be dying then to become—" Not distracted enough, still trying to discern the mechanism. I hurried to redirect. "No, that's just Carlisle. He would never do that to someone who had another choice. 'It is easier,' he says, 'though if the blood is weak…'" I shifted my gaze to the road again. I shouldn't have added that. I wondered if I was dancing closer to the answers she sought because part of me wanted her to know, wanted her to find a way to stay with me. I had to be better at controlling my tongue, to keep the selfish part of myself bridled.

"EMT and Rosalie…" I smiled at her. She probably realized I was being evasive, and yet she was willing to let it go, to make me comfortable. "Carlisle brought Rosalie to our family next. I didn't realize till much later that he was hoping she would be to me what Esme was to him. He was careful with his thoughts around me." I remembered my disgust when he'd finally slipped. Rosalie had not been a welcome addition in the beginning. In truth, like life, it had been more complicated for all of us ever since her inclusion, and learning that Carlisle had envisioned an even closer relationship for her and me was horrifying. The extent of my aversion would be impolite to share, ungentlemanly. But she was never more than a sister. That was probably the kindest way to sum up that chapter.

"It was only two years later that she found Emmett. She was hunting. We were in Appalachia at the time and found a bear about to finish him off. She carried him back to Carlisle—more than a hundred miles—afraid she wouldn't be able to do it herself. We'd been outside Knoxville then, not an ideal place for us weatherwise. We had to stay inside most days. It wasn't a long-term situation, though. Carlisle was researching some pathology studies at the University of Tennessee's Medical School. A few weeks, a few months—it wasn't really a difficult ask. We had access to several libraries, and the nightlife in New Orleans wasn't inconveniently far—not for creatures as swift as we. However, Rosalie, out of her newborn stage but not yet quite comfortable with very close proximity to humans, refused to entertain herself. Instead, she moped and whined, finding fault with every suggestion for amusement or self-improvement. To be fair, perhaps she did not whine so much out loud. Esme was not as irritated as I was. Rosalie preferred to hunt by herself, and though I really should have watched after her, it was a relief to us both that I didn't object very strenuously. She knew how to be careful. We all were practiced at restraining our senses until we were in unpopulated areas. And though I was reluctant to attribute any virtue to this unwelcome interloper, even I had to admit that she was incredibly gifted at self-control, mostly due to stubbornness and, in my opinion, a desire to best me.

So when the sound of Rosalie's footsteps, thudding faster and heavier than usual, broke the pre-dawn calm of the Knoxville summer, her familiar scent, preceded by the strong aroma of human blood, and her thoughts, wild and incoherent, my initial expectation was not that she had made a mistake. In the first year of Rosalie's second life, before she had disappeared on her several missions of revenge, her thoughts had given her away clearly and thoroughly. I knew what she was planning, and I'd informed Carlisle. The first time, he'd counseled her gently, urging her to let go of her past life, certain that if she did, she would forget, and then her pain could lessen. Revenge could not bring back anything she had lost. But when his guidance met only the implacability of her fury, he gave her advice on how best to be discreet about her foray. Neither of us could argue that she didn't deserve vengeance, and we both couldn't help but believe that the world would be a better place without the rapists and murderers who had ended her life. I'd believed she'd gotten them all. Her thoughts had long since calmed, no longer obsessed with the desire to break and tear, maim and mutilate. But as the smell of blood flooded the house like a tsunami, I immediately assumed that she discovered another accomplice to her death. Though I did not think very highly of her in general, my faith in her ability to do no harm was strong.

All my expectations were turned upside down as she cried out in panic, calling for Carlisle's help. And then, beneath the shrill sound of her distress, I caught the sound of one very feeble heartbeat. I raced from my room, finding her in the front parlor before she'd even finished her cry. Carlisle was already there. Rosalie, hair unusually disordered, her favorite dress stained with blood so heavily that the skirt's hem was dyed deep crimson, carried in her arms a giant of a human man. He was barely conscious, eyes wandering the room, out of sink with each other, his skin had been torn again and again by evenly spaced slashes, some of his bones clearly broken beneath.

"Save him!" Rosalie almost screamed at Carlisle. "Please, please, please, please!" Her thoughts begged. I saw what the words cost her. When she inhaled to replace the air she'd used, she flinched against the power of the fresh blood so close to her mouth. She held the man farther from herself, turning her face away.

Carlisle understood her anguish. He swiftly removed the man from her arms and laid him on the parlor rug with gentle hands. The man was too far gone even to groan. I watched, shocked by the strange tableau, automatically holding my breath. I should have already left the house. I could hear Esme's thoughts quickly retreating once she'd caught the scent of blood. She'd known to flee, though she was just as confused as I.

"It's too late," Carlisle realized, examining the man. He was loath to disappoint Rosalie, though she was clearly unhappy in the second life he'd given her. She'd rarely asked for anything from him, certainly never with this level of agony. "He must be family," Carlisle thought. "How can I bear to hurt her again?" The big man, not much older than I was now that I really looked at his face, closed his eyes; his shallow breathing stuttered.

"What are you waiting for?" Rosalie shrieked. "He's dying! He's dying!"

"Rosalie," Carlisle held out his bloodied hands helplessly. Then an image surfaced in her mind, and I understood exactly what she was asking for.

"She doesn't mean for you to heal him," I translated quickly. "She means for you to save him."

Rosalie's eyes flashed to me, a look of intense gratitude altering her features in a way I'd never seen. For one instant, I remembered how very beautiful she was. We didn't have long to wait for Carlisle's decision. "Oh," Carlisle thought, and then I saw exactly how much he would do for Rosalie, how much he felt he owed her. There was barely any deliberation; he was already kneeling beside the broken figure as he shed us away.

"It's not safe for you to stay," he said, his face inclining toward the man's throat. I grabbed Rosalie's bloodied arm as I rushed to the door. She didn't resist. We both escaped the house, not pausing till we reached the nearby Tennessee River and immersed ourselves there, lying in the cool mud at the river's edge, Rosalie letting the blood loose from her dress and her skin.

We had our first real conversation. She didn't speak often, just showed me in her mind how she'd found the man, a total stranger, about to die, and how something in his face had made that future intolerable to her. She didn't have words for why; she didn't have words for how she managed to complete her heroic journey without killing him herself. I saw her run for miles, faster than she'd ever moved before, aching to satisfy her thirst the entire way while she relived it all. Her mind was unguarded and vulnerable. She was trying to understand, too—almost as confused as I was. I wasn't looking for yet another addition to my family. I'd never been particularly concerned about what Rosalie wanted or needed, but suddenly, seeing this all through her eyes, I could only root for her happiness. For the first time, we were on the same side.

We couldn't return for a while, though Rosalie was anxious in the extreme to know what was happening. I assured her that Carlisle would have come for us if he'd been unsuccessful, so for now we would just have to wait till it was safe. Those hours changed us both. When Carlisle finally came to call us home, we returned as brother and sister.

The pause, as I remembered how I'd come to love my sister, was not very long. Bella was still waiting for the rest of the story. I thought of where I'd left off: Rosalie, dripping with blood, holding her face as far away from Emmett as she could; her posture in the image reminded me of a more recent memory—me struggling to carry a light-headed Bella to the nurse's office. It was an interesting juxtaposition.

"I'm only beginning to guess how difficult that journey was for her," I concluded. Our fingers were knotted together. I lifted our hands and, with the back of mine, stroked her cheek. The last bit of red light in the sky faded to deep purple.

"But she made it," Bella said after a short silence, eager for me to continue.

"Yes," she saw something in his face that made her strong enough. Amazing that she'd been right; astonishing that they'd matched up perfectly, like two halves of a whole—fate, or astronomical good luck. I'd never been…

Able to decide, and they've been together ever since. Sometimes they live separately from us, as a married couple, and oh, how I appreciated those times. I loved Emmett and Rosalie separately, but Emmett and Rosalie, alone together—together heard only by my inescapable mental reach—were a grueling ordeal. But the younger we pretend to be, the longer we can stay in any given place. Forks seemed perfect, so we all enrolled in high school. I laughed. I suppose we'll have to go to their wedding in a few years—again. Rosalie loved to get married; the chance to do it over and over was probably her favorite thing about immortality.

Alice and Jasper, Bella asked. Alice and Jasper are two very rare creatures; they both developed a conscience, as we refer to it, with no outside guidance. Jasper belonged to another family. I avoided the correct word, controlling a shiver as I thought of his beginnings—a very different kind of family. He became depressed, and he wandered on his own. Alice found him, like me; she has certain gifts above and beyond the norm for our kind. This surprised Bella enough to break through her calm facade.

"Really? But you said you were the only one who could hear people's thoughts."

"That's true," she knows other things. She sees things—things that might happen, things that are coming, things that now would never happen. I was past the worst of it, though. Still, it bothered me how hazy the new vision had been, the one I could live with. The other—Alice and Bella, both white and cold—had been so much clearer. That didn't matter; it couldn't. I'd subdued one impossible future, and I would triumph over this one too.

"But it's very subjective," I continued, hearing the harder edge in my voice. "The future isn't set in stone; things change." I glanced at her cream and apricot skin, almost to reassure myself that she was as she should be, and then looked away when she caught my gaze. I could never be certain how much she was reading in my eyes.

"What kinds of things does she see?" Bella wanted to know. I gave her the safe answers—the proven prophecies. She saw Jasper and knew that he was looking for her before he knew it himself. Their union had been a magical thing; whenever Jasper thought of it, the entire household relaxed into a dreamy contentment, so powerful were his communal emotions. She saw Carlisle and our family, and they came together to find us.

I'd missed that first introduction when Alice and Jasper had presented themselves to an extremely wary Carlisle, a frightened Esme, and a hostile Rosalie. It was Jasper's warlike appearance that had them all so apprehensive, but Alice knew exactly what to say to ease their anxiety. Of course, she knew exactly what to say; she'd envisioned every possible version of that momentous meeting and then chosen the best. It was no accident that Emmett and I had been away; she'd preferred the smoother scene without the family's primary defenders and residents. It was hard to believe how firmly entrenched they were by the time Emmett and I arrived, just a few days later. We were both shocked, and Emmett was ready for battle the second he laid eyes on Jasper. But Alice ran forward to throw her arms around me before a word could be spoken. I was frightened by what might have been construed as an attack; her thoughts were so sure of me, so full of love for me. I thought I'd had the first memory loss of my second life because this tiny immortal knew me perfectly—better than anyone else in my current or former family.

"Who was she?"

"Oh, Edward," at last. "My brother. We're finally together." And then, with her arms tight around my waist and my own arms hesitantly coming to rest around her shoulder, she thought swiftly through her life, from her first memory to that very moment and then forward in time through the highlights of our next few years together. It felt very strange to realize in that instant that now I knew her too.

"This is Alice, Emmett," I told him, still embracing my new sister. Emmett's aggressive pose changed to one of confusion. "She's part of our family, and that's Jasper. You're going to love him." There were—were so many stories about Alice, so many miracles and phenomena, paradoxes and enigmas. I could have spent the rest of the week just telling Bella the bullet-point versions. Instead, I gave her a few of the simpler, more mechanical details. She's most sensitive to non-humans; she always sees, for example, when another group of our kind is coming near and any threat they may pose. Alice had become one of the family's defenders too.

"Are there a lot of your kind?" Bella asked, sounding a little shaken by the idea.

"No, not many," I assured her, "but most won't settle in any one place. Only those like us who've given up hunting you people." I raised an eyebrow at her and squeezed her hand. "Can live together with humans for any length of time. We've only found one other family like ours in a small village in Alaska. We lived together for a time, but there were so many of us that we became too noticeable. Also, Tanya, the matriarch of that clan, was persistent to the point of harassment. Those of us who live differently tend to band together."

And the others we'd reached her home; it was empty, no lights in any windows. I parked in her usual spot and turned the engine off; the sudden quiet felt very intimate there in the dark.

"Nomads, for the most part," I answered. "We've all lived that way at times. It gets tedious, like anything else, but we run across the others now and then because most of us prefer the north."

"Why is that?"

I grinned and nudged her gently with my elbow. "Did you have your eyes open this afternoon? Do you think I could walk down the street in the sunlight without causing traffic accidents?" There's a reason why we chose the Olympic Peninsula—one of the most sunless places in the world. It's nice to be able to go outside in the day. You wouldn't believe how tired you can get of nighttime in eighty-odd years.

"So that's where the legends came from," she said, nodding to herself. "Probably." There was actually a precise source behind the legends, but that wasn't something I wanted to get into. The Volturi were very far away and very much absorbed in their mission to police the vampire world; they would never affect Bella's life beyond the lore they had concocted to protect immortals' privacy.

"And Alice came from another family, like Jasper?" she asked.

"No," and that is a mystery. Alice doesn't remember her human life at all. I'd seen that first memory: bright morning sunlight, a light mist hanging in the air, tangled grass surrounding her, broad oak trees shading the hollow where she woke. Besides that, a blankness—no sense of identity or purpose. She'd looked at her pale skin shimmering in the sun and not known who or what she was. And then the first vision had taken her: a man's face, fierce but also broken, scarred but beautiful, deep red eyes and a mane of golden hair. With this face came a profound conviction of belonging, and then she saw him speaking a name—Alice—her name. She realized the visions told her who she was, or shaped her into who she was become. These were the only help she would get, and she doesn't know who created her. I told Bella she awoke alone; whoever made her walked away, and none of us understand why or how he could. If she hadn't had that other sense, if she hadn't seen Jasper and Carlisle and known that she would someday become one of us, she probably would have turned into a total savage.

Bella pondered this in silence. I was sure it was difficult for her to comprehend; it had taken my family a while to adjust as well. I wondered what her next question would be, and then her stomach gurgled, and I realized that we'd been together all day and she'd eaten nothing in that time. Ah, I needed to keep better focused on her human needs.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm keeping you from dinner."

"I'm fine, really," she said too quickly. "I've never spent much time around anyone who eats food."

I apologized. "I forget." It was a poor excuse. Her expression was totally open as she responded, vulnerable. "I want to stay with you," again. The word *stay* seemed to carry so much more weight than it usually did.

"Can't I come in?" I asked gently. She blinked twice, clearly thrown by the idea.

"Would you like to?"

"Yes, if it's all right." I wondered if she thought I had to have an explicit invitation in order to come inside. The thought made me smile and then frown as I felt a spasm of guilt. I would need to come clean with her again, but how to broach such a shameful admission? I stewed on that while I got out and opened the passenger door for her—very human.

"She commanded," it's definitely resurfacing. We walked together at human speed across her shadowed, silent yard, as if this were a normal thing. She flickered glances at me as we walked, smiling to herself. I reached up and pulled the house key from its hiding place as we passed, then opened the door for her. She hesitated, looking down the dark hallway.

"The door was unlocked?" she asked.

"No," I used the key from under the eve. I replaced the key in question while she moved to turn on the porch lamp. When she turned back, yellow light made harsh shadows across her face as she raised both eyebrows at me. I could see she meant the look to be stern, but the corners of her lips were puckered as though she were fighting a smile.

"I was curious about you," I confessed. "You spied on me." It didn't seem to be a joking matter, but she sounded as if she were about to laugh. I should have confessed all then, but I went along with her teasing tone.

"What else is there to do at night?" It was the wrong choice—a cowardly choice. She heard only a joke, not an admission—strange again to realize how, even with the huge potential nightmares resolved, there continued to be much to fear. Of course, this issue was nothing but my own fault—my own extremely poor behavior. She shook her head slightly, then gestured for me to enter. I moved past her down the hall, switching on lights as I went so she wouldn't have to stumble in the dark. I took a seat at her small kitchen table and looked around, examining the angles that were invisible from outside the window. The room was tidy and warm, bright with gaudy yellow paint that was somehow endearing in its failed attempt to mimic sunshine. Everything smelled like Bella, which should have been quite painful, but I found that I enjoyed it in a strange way—masochistic indeed. She stared at me with a hard expression—a little confusion, I guessed, a little bit of wonder, as though she wasn't sure I was real. I smiled and pointed her toward the refrigerator. She whirled in that direction with an answering grin. I hoped she had some food easily accessible. Perhaps I should have taken her to dinner, but it felt wrong to think of subjecting ourselves to a crowd of strangers; our new understanding was still too unique, too raw; any obstacle that would force silence would be unendurable. I wanted her to myself.

It only took her a minute to find an acceptable option; she cut out a square of casserole and heated it in the microwave. I could smell oregano, onions, garlic, and tomato sauce—something Italian. She stared intently at the plate while it revolved. Perhaps I would learn to cook; not being able to appreciate flavors the same way a human did would definitely be a hurdle, but there seemed to be quite a bit of math to the process, and I was sure I could teach myself to recognize the correct smells. Because suddenly I felt sure that this was just the first of our quiet evenings, in rather than a singular event; we would have years of this, she and I together, just enjoying each other's company—so many hours. The light inside me seemed to stretch and grow, and I thought again that I might shatter.

"How often?" Bella asked, without looking at me. My thoughts were so caught up in this tremendous image of the future that I didn't follow her at once. She still didn't turn. "How often did you come here?" Oh, right. Time to have courage; time to be honest, no matter the consequences. Though, after the day I'd had, I felt fairly sure she would eventually forgive me. I hoped.

"I come here almost every night."

She spun to look at me with startled eyes. "Why?"

"Honesty—you're interesting." When you sleep, you talk.

"No," she gasped. Blood washed into her cheeks and didn't stop there, coloring even her forehead. The room grew infinitesimally warmer as her blush heated the air around her. She leaned against the counter behind her, gripping it so hard that her knuckles turned white. Shock was the only emotion I could see in her expression, but I was sure others would come soon.

"Are you very angry with me?"

"That depends," she blurted out breathlessly. "That depends." I wondered what could possibly mitigate my crime; what could make it less or more horrible? I was disgusted by the thought that she was reserving judgment until she knew exactly how offside my lurking had been. Did she imagine that I was as depraved as any peeping Tom, that I'd leered at her from the shadows, hoping for her to expose herself? If my stomach could turn, it would have. Would she believe me if I tried to explain my torment at being separated from her? Could anyone believe the kinds of catastrophes I'd imagined, thinking she might not be safe? They—they had all been so far-fetched, and yet, if I were separated from her now, I knew the same impossible dangers would begin to plague me again.

Long seconds passed; the microwave shrilled out its announcement that its work was done, but Bella didn't speak again.

"On?" I prompted.

Bella groaned the words, "What you heard." I felt a rush of relief that she did not believe me capable of a vile kind of surveillance; her only worry was embarrassment at what I might have heard her say. Well, on that matter, I could comfort her; she had nothing to be ashamed of. I jumped up and rushed to take her hands; part of me thrilled to the fact that I could do this so easily.

"Don't be upset," I pleaded. Her eyes were downcast. I leaned in so that her faces would be on the same level and waited until she met my gaze. "You miss your mother; you worry about her; and when it rains," I murmured, "the sound makes you restless. You used to talk about home a lot, but it's less often now. Once you said it's too green."

I laughed quietly, trying to coax a smile from her; surely she could see there was no need for mortification.

"Anything else?" she demanded, raising one eyebrow. The way she half-turned her face away, her eyes moving down and then darting back up again, helped me realize what she was worried about.

"You did say my name," I admitted. She inhaled and then blew out a long sigh.

"A lot?"

"How much do you mean by a lot, exactly?" Her eyes dropped to the floor.

"Oh, no," I reached out and wrapped my arms carefully around her shoulders. She leaned into my chest, still hiding her face. Did she think I had ever been anything but overjoyed to hear my name on her lips? It was—was one of my favorite sounds, along with the sound of her breath, the sound of her heart. I whispered my response into her ear. "Don't be self-conscious. If I could dream at all, it would be about you, and I'm not ashamed of it." How I had once wished to be able to dream of her, how I'd ached for that, and now reality was better than dreams; I wouldn't want to miss one second of it for any kind of unconsciousness. Her body relaxed; a happy sound, almost a hum or a purr, sighed out of her. Could this really be it? Was I to have no punishment at all for my outrageous behavior? This felt more like a reward. I knew I owed her a deeper penance.

I became aware of another sound beyond her heart thrumming in my arms: a car was drawing closer, and the thoughts of the driver were very quiet, tired after a full day, looking forward to the promise of food and comfort that the warm lights in the windows offered. But I couldn't be perfectly sure that was what he was thinking. I didn't want to move from where I was. I pressed my cheek against Bella's hair and waited until she also heard her father's car. Her body stiffened.

"Should your father know I'm here?" she hesitated.

"I'm not sure." I brushed my lips quickly against her hair and then released her with a sigh. "Another time, then." I ducked out of the room and darted up the stairs into the darkness of the tiny hall between bedrooms. I'd been here once before, finding a blanket for Bella.

"Edward," she called in a stage whisper from the kitchen. I laughed just loud enough for her to know that I was close. Her father stomped up to the front door, scraping each of his boots twice against the mat. He shoved his key into the lock and then grunted when the handle turned with the key already unlatched.

"Bella," he called as he swung the door open. His thoughts registered the smell of the food in the microwave, and his stomach grumbled. I realized that Bella also had still not eaten. I supposed it was a good thing her father had interrupted us; I would starve her at this rate. But some small part of me was just a little wistful. When I'd asked if she wanted her father to know I was here, that we were together, I'd hoped that the answer would be different. Of course, she had so much to consider before introducing me to him, or she might never want him to know she had someone like me in love with her, and that was perfectly fair—more than fair—and truly it would have been inconvenient to meet her father officially in my current state of dress or undress. I suppose I should be grateful for her reticence.

"In here," Bella called to her father. I heard his soft grunt of acknowledgement as he locked the door and then his boot stomping toward the kitchen.

"Can you get me some of that?" Charlie asked. "I'm bushed." It was easy to understand the sounds of Bella moving around the kitchen while Charlie settled himself, even without a more convenient set of thoughts to watch through. Chewing. Bella was finally eating something—the refrigerator opening and closing, the microwave whirring, liquid too thick for water, I would guess milk poured into glasses, a dish set gently on the wooden table, chair leg scraping against the floor as Bella sat down.

"Thanks," Charlie said, and then they both were chewing for a long moment. Bella broke the companionable silence.

"How was your day?" Her inflections sounded off, as if her mind was elsewhere.

I smiled. "Good; the fish were biting."

"How about you? Did you get everything done that you wanted to?"

"Not really," it was too nice out to stay indoors. Her casual answer wasn't as relaxed as his; she wasn't unnatural at hiding things from her father.

"It was a nice day," he agreed, sounding oblivious to the edge in her voice. A chair moved again in a hurry.

"Charlie?"

Bella swallowed loudly. "Yeah, I'm tired. I'm going to bed early." Her footsteps moved to the sink, and the water began to run.

"Well, you look kind of keyed up," Charlie continued, not so oblivious as I'd thought. I wouldn't miss these things if his thoughts weren't so hard to get to. I tried to make sense of them—Bella's eyes flashing to the hall, the suddenly brighter color in her cheeks; this seemed to be all he was aware of—then a sudden confusion of images, nebulous and without context: a 1971 mustard yellow Impala, the Forks high school gym decorated with crepe paper, a porch swing and a girl with bright green barrettes in her pale hair, two red vinyl seats at a shiny chrome bar, and a tacky—er—a girl with long dark curls walking along a beach under the moon.

"Do I?" Bella asked, with put-on innocence. Water ran in the sink, and I could hear the sound of bristles against melamine. Charlie was still thinking about the moon.

"It's Saturday," he announced randomly. Bella didn't seem to know how to respond; I wasn't sure where he was going with this either. Finally, he continued, "No plans tonight?" I thought I understood the images now—Saturday nights from his youth, maybe.

"No, Dad," I just want to get some sleep. She sounded anything but tired.

Charlie sniffed once. "None of the boys in town your type, eh?" Was he worried that she wasn't having a normal teen experience, that she was missing out? For a second, I felt a deep twinge of doubt. Should I be worried about the same? What I was keeping her from? But then the sureness and sense of right from the meadow washed over me. We belong together.

"No, none of the boys have caught my eye yet." Bella's tone was slightly patronizing. I thought maybe that Mike Newton—you said he was friendly. I hadn't expected that. A sharp blade of anger twisted in my chest—not anger, I recognized jealousy. I wasn't sure if I'd ever disliked anyone quite so much as that pointless, insignificant boy.

"He's just a friend, Dad." I couldn't tell if Charlie was upset by her answer or relieved by it—perhaps a mixture of both.

"Well, you're too good for them all anyway," he said. "Wait till you get to college to start looking."

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Bella agreed quickly. She turned the corner and started up the stairs; her footsteps were slow, probably to emphasize her assertion that she was sleepy, and I had plenty of time to beat her to her room, just in case Charlie followed. It would hardly be in line with her wishes for him to find me here, half-dressed, eavesdropping.

I lay across her bed—the most obvious place in the room where there could be no hint of trying to disguise my presence. I knew that her scent would engulf me here; the smell of detergent was fresh enough to suggest she'd washed the sheets recently, but it didn't overpower her own fragrance. Overwhelming as it was, it was also painfully pleasant to be surrounded in such a sharp way by the evidence of her existence. As soon as she entered the room, Bella stopped dragging her feet; she slammed the door shut behind her, then ran on her tiptoes to the window, right past me without a glance. She shoved the window open and leaned outside, staring into the night.

"Edward," she stage-whispered. I suppose my resting place was not that obvious after all. I laughed quietly at my failed attempt to be above board, then answered her.

"Yes."

She spun so fast that she nearly lost her balance; with one hand she gripped the window ledge for stability; her other hand clutched at her throat.

"Oh," she choked out, almost in slow motion. She slid down the wall behind her until she was sitting on the wooden floor once again. It seemed as though everything I did was wrong; at least this time it was funny rather than terrifying.

"I'm sorry," she nodded. "Just give me a minute to restart my heart." In reality, her heart was thrumming from the shock I'd just given her. I sat up, all my movements deliberate and slow, moving like a human. She watched, her eyes riveted to each motion, a smile starting to form at the corners of her lips. Noticing her lips made me feel that she was much too far away. I leaned toward her and picked her up carefully, my hands wrapped around the tops of her arms, then set her down beside me, only an inch of space between us—much better. I placed my hand on top of hers, welcoming the smolder of her skin with something like relief.

"Why don't you sit with me?"

She grinned. "How's the heart?" I asked, though it was beating so strongly I could feel the subtle vibrations dancing through the air around her.

"You tell me," she countered. "I'm sure you hear it better than I do."

"Accurate," I laughed softly while her smile grew wider. The pleasant weather wasn't quite over yet; the clouds parted, and a silvery sheen of moonlight touched her skin, making her look like something entirely celestial. I wondered how I looked to her; her eyes seemed filled with wonder, much as mine must be. Below us, the front door opened and closed; there were no other thoughts near the house besides Charlie's muffled narrative. I wondered where he was going—not far. There was a creek of metal, a muted clank; something almost like a schematic flashed through his head. Ah, her truck. It surprised me a little that Charlie was—

Going to this extreme to curb whatever he thought Bella was up to. I was about to mention Charlie's odd behavior when her expression suddenly changed; her eyes slid to the bedroom door and then back to me.

"Can I have a minute to be human?" she asked.

"Certainly," I responded at once, amused by her phrasing. Abruptly her brows lowered, and she frowned at me. "Stay," she ordered in a stern tone. It was the easiest demand anyone had ever made of me; nothing I could imagine would compel me to leave this room now. I made my voice serious to match hers. "Yes, ma'am," I straightened up and conspicuously locked all my muscles into place. She smiled, pleased.

It took her a minute to gather her things, and then she left the room. She made no attempt to hide the sound of the door closing. Another door banged, more loudly—the bathroom, I suppose. Part of this was convincing Charlie she wasn't up to anything nefarious. It was unlikely that he could imagine what exactly she was up to, but it was a wasted effort. Charlie came back inside just a moment later. The sound of the shower running upstairs did seem to confuse him, I thought while I waited for Bella. I finally took the opportunity to examine her small media collection beside the bed. There weren't many surprises after all my interrogations; I found just one hardback in her library, too new to be in paperback, yet it was her copy of *Tooth and Claw*, one of her favorites that I never read. I'd not yet taken time to catch up on this lack; I'd been too busy following Bella around like a demented bodyguard. I opened the novel now and began.

I was aware as I read that Bella was taking longer than usual. As ever, the constant anxiety that she would at last see something in me to avoid quickly reared its head. I tried to ignore it; there could be a million reasons why Bella dallied. I focused on the book instead. I could see why it was one of her favorites; it was both strange and charming. Of course, any story of triumphant love would fit my humor today. The bathroom door opened. I replaced the book, noting the page number—166—so I could return to it later and assumed my statue-like pose from before. But I was disappointed; rather than return, she shuffled down the stairs. Her steps came to a stop at the bottom tread.

"Night, Dad," she called out. Charlie's thoughts felt slightly scrambled, but I couldn't make out anything else.

"Night, Bella," he mumbled back, and then she was dashing back up the stairs, skipping steps in apparent haste. She flung the door open; her eyes were searching the darkness for me before she was inside and then shut it firmly behind herself. When she found me, exactly as she expected, a wide grin spread across her face. I broke my perfect stillness to return it. She hesitated for a second, her eyes flashing down to her well-worn pajamas, and then crossed her arms in an almost apologetic posture. I thought perhaps I understood the earlier delay—not a fear of monsters, rather a more common fear: shyness. I could easily imagine how, away from the sun and magic of the meadow, she might feel unsure. I was on unfamiliar ground as well. I fell back on old habits, trying to tease her out of her insecurity. I appraised her new ensemble with a smile and commented, "Nice."

She frowned, but her shoulders relaxed.

"No," I insisted. "It looks good on you." Perhaps too casual a descriptor, with her wet hair looping and long, seaweed tangles around her shoulders and her face glowing in the moonlight, she looked more than good. The English language needed a word that meant something halfway between a goddess and a naad.

"Thanks," she murmured, and then she came to sit beside me, just as close as before. This time she sat cross-legged; her knee touched my leg, a bright point of heat. I gestured to the door and then the room beneath us where her father's thoughts were still in a snarl.

"What was all that for?" I asked.

She smiled, a tiny, smug smile. "Charlie thinks I'm sneaking out."

"Ah," I wondered how much my read of the evening with her father matched her own, why she opened her eyes extra wide, feigning innocence. Apparently, I looked a little overexcited, playing along with her joke. I placed my hand beneath her chin and gently lifted her face toward the moonlight, as if to better examine it. However, touching her face put all jokes far out of my head.

"You look very warm," I murmured, and without stopping to think of every possible consequence, I leaned in and pressed my cheek against hers, my eyes closed of their own volition. I breathed in her scent; her skin blazed exquisitely against mine. Her voice was husky when she spoke.

"It seems to be…" she lost her voice for a moment, then cleared her throat and continued, "…much easier for you now to be close to me."

"Does it seem that way to you?" I thought about this assumption as I let my nose skim along the edge of her jaw. The physical pain in my throat had never eased in the slightest, though it did nothing to take away from the pleasure of touching her. While parts of my mind were lost in the miracle of the moment, other parts had never stopped calibrating the actions of every muscle, monitoring every bodily reaction. It took up quite a bit of my mental capacity, in fact, but then an immortal mind had a great deal of space to spare. This did not damage the moment either. I lifted her curtain of damp hair and then pressed my lips lightly against the impossibly soft skin just beneath her ear. She took a shaky breath.

"Much, much easier," was my only comment.

"I was very much involved in the exploration of her moonlit throat, so I was wondering…" she began, but then fell silent when my fingers traced the fragile line of her collarbone. She took another unsteady breath.

"Yes," I encouraged, my fingertips dipping into the hollow above the bone. Her voice was higher and trembling as she asked, "Why is that, do you think?"

I chuckled. "Mind over matter."

She leaned away from me, and I froze, on guard at once. Had I crossed a line, been inappropriate? She stared back at me, seeming just as surprised as I was. I waited for her to say something, but she just gazed at me with ocean-deep eyes, all the while her heart fluttered so quickly that it sounded like she'd just run a marathon or was very frightened.

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked.

"No," her lips curled into a smile. "The opposite. You're driving me crazy."

A little shocked, I could only ask, "Really?" Her heart was still thrumming away, not in fear but in desire. Knowing this now sent the electric pulse in my own body into overdrive. My answering smile was probably too wide; her grin grew to match mine.

"Would you like a round of applause?" Did she think I was so sure of myself? Could she not guess how entirely out of my wheelhouse all this was? There were many things I excelled at, most of them due to my extra-human abilities. I knew, and I could be confident, this was not any of those times.

"I'm just pleasantly surprised," I paused and almost laughed at her somewhat smug reaction before I continued, "in the last 100 years or so…" She loved my honesty. I never imagined anything like this, nothing close. I didn't believe I would ever find someone I wanted to be with in another way than my brothers and sisters—perhaps romance always seemed a slightly foolish thing to everyone until one actually fell into it, and then to find, even though it's all new to me, that I'm good at it, at being with you. Words rarely failed me, but this was an emotion I'd never experienced, that I had no name for.

"You're good at everything," she said, her tone implying that this was so obvious she shouldn't have had to say it out loud. I shrugged back in mock acceptance and then laughed quietly with her, mostly with joy and wonder. Her laugh faded, and a hint of the worry line appeared between her brows.

"But how can it be so easy?" Now this afternoon, though we were more in sync than we'd ever been, I had to remember that her afternoon in the meadow and my afternoon in the meadow had been quite different experiences. How could she begin to understand the kinds of changes I'd gone through in those hours we'd been together in the sun? Despite the new intimacy, I knew I would never explain to her exactly how I'd gotten to this place. She would never know what I had allowed myself to imagine. I sighed, choosing my words. I wanted her to understand as much as I could share. "It's not easy. It would never be easy. It would always be painful. None of that mattered; possible was all I would ever ask for. But this afternoon, I was still undecided." Was that the best word to describe my sudden fit of violence? I couldn't think of another.

"I'm sorry about that. It was unforgivable for me to behave so…"

Her smile became benevolent. "Not unforgivable."

"Thank you," I murmured before returning to the task of explaining. "You see, I wasn't sure if I was strong enough." And I took one of her hands and held it against my skin—smoldering embers against ice. It was an instinctive gesture, and I was surprised to find that it did somehow make it easier to speak. While there was still that possibility that I might be… I inhaled her scent from the most fragrant point inside her wrist, revelling in the fiery pain. Overcome, I was susceptible until I made up my mind that I was strong enough, that there was no possibility at all that I would, that I ever could… My sentence trailed off unfinished as I finally met her gaze. I took both her hands in mine.

"So there's no possibility now?" I couldn't tell if she meant it as a statement or a question. If it was a question, she seemed very sure of the answer, and I wanted to sing with joy that she was right.

"Mind over matter," I said again.

"Wow, that was easy," she was laughing again. I laughed too, effortlessly falling into her exuberant mood.

"Easy for you," I teased. I freed one of my hands to touch the tip of her nose with my index finger. Abruptly the jocularity felt off, somehow abrasive. All my anxieties swirled through my head like a whirlpool; my humor vanished, and I found myself choking out another warning. "I'm trying. If it gets to be too much, I'm fairly sure I'll be able to leave."

The frown that crossed her face featured an unexpected note of outrage, but I wasn't finished cautioning. "And it will be harder tomorrow. I've had the scent of you in my head all day, and I've grown amazingly desensitized. If I'm away from you for any… any length of time, I'll have to start over again—not quite from scratch though, I think."

She leaned toward my chest, then swayed back again as if she were catching herself. It reminded me of how she'd tucked her chin before—no throat exposure.

"Don't go away, then." I took a steadying breath, a steadying, burning breath, and forced myself to stop panicking. Could she understand that the invitation in her words spoke to my greatest desire? I smiled at her, wishing I could display a similar kindness on my face. It came so easily to her.

"That suits me. Bring on the shackles. I'm your prisoner." I wrapped my hands around her delicate wrists as I spoke, laughing at the image in my mind. They could bind me in iron or steel or some stronger alloy yet to be discovered, and none of that would hold me the way one look from this fragile human girl could.

"You seem more optimistic than usual," she noted. "I haven't seen you like this before."

"Optimistic?" An astute observation. My cynical old self seemed an entirely different person. I leaned closer to her, her wrists still locked in my hands. "Isn't it supposed to be like this? The glory of first love and all that… It's incredible, isn't it? The difference between reading about something, seeing it in the pictures, and experiencing it."

She nodded, thoughtful. "Very different… more forceful than I'd imagined."

I contemplated the first time I'd really experienced the difference between first and secondhand emotion—for example, the emotion of jealousy.

"I've read about it a hundred times, seen actors portray it in a thousand different plays and movies," I said. "I believed I understood that one pretty clearly, but it shocked me…"

"Do you remember the day that Mike asked you to the dance? The day you started talking to me again?" she said this like a correction, as if I were prioritizing the wrong part of the memory, but I was lost in what had happened just before that, reliving with perfect recall the first time I'd ever felt that specific passion. I was surprised, amazed by the flare of resentment, almost fury that I felt. I didn't recognize what it was at first. I was even more aggravated than usual that I couldn't know what you were thinking, why you refused him. Was it simply for your friend's sake? Was there someone else? I knew I had no right to care either way; I tried not to care. My mood shifted as the story followed its path. I laughed once, and then the line started forming as I had expected; her answering scowl only made me want to laugh again. I waited, unreasonably anxious to hear what you would say to them, to watch your expressions. I couldn't deny the relief I felt watching the annoyance on your face, but I couldn't be sure… that was the first night I came here.

A slow flush began in her cheeks, but she leaned closer, intense rather than embarrassed. The atmosphere transformed once more, and I found myself mid-confession for the hundredth time today. I whispered, more softly now. "I wrestled all night while watching you sleep with the chasm between what I knew was right—moral, ethical—and what I wanted. I knew that if I continued to ignore you, as I should, or if I left for a few years till you were gone, that someday you would say yes to Mike or someone like him. It made me angry—angry, miserable, as if life were draining of all color and purpose…"

And what seemed an unconscious movement, she shook her head, denying this vision of her future. "And then, as you were sleeping, you said my name…" Looking back, it seemed as though those brief seconds were the turning point, the divide. Though I had doubted myself a million times in the interim, once I'd heard her call to me, I'd never had another choice.

"You spoke so clearly," I continued, my voice just a breath at first. "I thought you'd woken, but you rolled over restlessly and mumbled my name once more. The feeling that coursed through me then was unnerving, staggering, and I knew I couldn't ignore you any longer." Her heart beat more quickly. "But jealousy… it's a strange thing… so much more powerful than I would have thought, and irrational…" Just now, when Charlie asked you about that vile Mike Newton… I didn't finish, remembering that I should probably not reveal exactly how strong my feelings about the hapless boy had become.

"I should have known you'd be listening," she muttered. "It wasn't really an option to not… not hear anything that happened so close. Of course, that made you feel jealous, though… really…" Her tone changed from annoyance to disbelief.

"I'm new at this," I reminded her. "You're resurrecting the human me, and everything feels stronger because it's fresh." Unexpectedly, a smug little smile puckered her lips. "But honestly, for that to bother you after I have to hear that Rosalie… Rosy… the incarnation of pure beauty… Rosalie was meant for you, EMT or no EMT… how can I compete with that?" She said the words as though she was playing her trump card, as if jealousy were rational enough to weigh out the physical attractiveness of the third parties and then be felt in direct proportion.

"There's no competition," I promised her, gently and slowly. I used her imprisoned wrist to pull her closer to me until… until her head rested just under my chin, her cheeks seared against my skin.

"I know there's no competition; that's the problem," she grumbled. Of course, Rosalie is beautiful in her way. It wasn't as if I could deny Rosalie's exquisiteness, but it was an unnatural, heightened thing, something more disturbing than attracting. But even if she wasn't like a sister to me, even if EMT didn't belong along with her, she could never have one tenth—no, one hundredth—of the attraction you hold for me. "For almost 90 years I've walked among my kind, not yours, all the time thinking I was complete in myself, not realizing what I was seeking… and not finding anything because you weren't alive yet."

I felt her breath against my skin as she whispered her response. "It hardly seems fair. I haven't had to wait at all. Why should I get off so easily?" No one had ever had more sympathy for the Devil. Still, I wondered that she could count her own sacrifices so lightly.

"You're right," I said. "I should make this harder for you… definitely." I gathered both of her wrists into my left hand so that my right hand was free and then brushed lightly down the length of her dripping hair; its texture, slippery like this, wasn't so far from the seaweed I'd imagined before. I twisted a strand between my fingers as I listed her forfeitures. "You only have to risk your life every second you spend with me. That's surely not much… You only have to turn your back on nature… on humanity… what's that worth?"

"Very little," she breathed into my skin. "I don't feel deprived of anything." Perhaps it was not surprising that Rosalie's face flickered behind my eyelids. In the last seven decades, she had taught me a thousand different aspects of humanity to mourn—not yet… Something in my voice had her tugging against my hold, pulling back from my chest as she tried to see my face. I was about to free her when something outside our intense moment intruded—doubt, awkwardness, worry. The words were no clearer than usual, and there wasn't much time for conjecture.

"What…" she began, but before she could voice her question, I was on the move. She caught herself against the mattress as I darted to the dark corner where I habitually spent my nights.

"Lie down," I whispered, just loud enough for her to hear the urgency in my voice. I was surprised that she hadn't noticed Charlie's footsteps coming up the stairs. To be fair, it sounded like he was trying to be furtive. She reacted immediately, diving under her quilt and curling into a ball. Charlie's hand was already turning the knob as the door cracked open. Bella took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled; the motion was overdone, slightly theatrical.

"Huh," was the only reaction I could read from Charlie as Bella performed her next sleeping breath. Charlie eased the door closed. I waited until his own bedroom door was closed and I'd heard the creek of mattress springs before I returned to Bella. She must have been waiting for the all clear, still curled in a rigid ball, still amplified in her slow and even breathing. If Charlie had really watched her for a few seconds, he probably would have known she was pretending. Bella wasn't particularly good at deception. Following these strange new instincts, they'd yet to lead me astray. I lowered myself onto the bed beside her and then slid under her quilt and put my arm around her.

"You are a terrible actress," I said conversationally, as if it were a perfectly routine thing for me to lie with her this way. "I'd say that career path is out for you." Her heart drummed loudly again, but her voice was as casual as mine.

"Darn it," she nestled herself against me, closer than before, then lay still and sighed with contentment. I wondered if she would fall asleep like this in my arms; it seemed unlikely given the pace of her heart, but she didn't speak again. Unbidden, the notes of her song came into my head. I started to hum along, almost automatically; the music seemed to belong here, in the place where it had been inspired. Bella didn't comment, but her body tensed as if she were listening carefully. I paused to ask, "Should I sing you to sleep?" I was surprised when she laughed quietly.

"Right, like I could sleep with you here. You do it all the time." Her tone hardened. "But I didn't know you were here." I was glad that she still seemed upset by my transgressions. I knew I deserved some kind of punishment, that she should hold me accountable. However, she didn't move away from me. I couldn't imagine a punishment that would carry any weight while she allowed me to hold her.

"So if you don't want to sleep," I asked, "was this like food? Was I selfishly keeping her from something vital? But how could I leave when she wanted me to stay?"

"If I don't want to sleep…" she echoed. "What do you want to do then?" Would she tell me if she was exhausted, or would she pretend she was fine? It took her a long moment to answer.

"I'm not sure," she said at last, and I couldn't help but wonder what options she had run through in her deliberations. I'd been very forward in joining her like this, but it felt oddly natural. Did it feel that way to her, or… or just presumptuous? Did it make her like me, imagine more? Is that what she'd thought through for so long?

"Tell me when you decide," I would make no suggestions. I would let her lead. Easier said than done. In her silence, I found myself leaning closer to her, letting my face brush along the length of her jaw, breathing in both her scent and her warmth. The fire was such a part of me now that it was easy to notice other things. I'd always thought of her scent with fear and desire, but there were so many layers to its beauty that I hadn't been able to appreciate before.

"I thought you were desensitized," she murmured.

I returned to my earlier metaphor to explain. "Just because I'm resisting the wine doesn't mean I can't appreciate the bouquet. You have a very floral smell… like lavender or freesia."

I laughed once. "It's mouthwatering."

She swallowed loudly, then spoke with an assumed nonchalance. "Yeah, it's an off day when I don't get somebody telling me how edible I smell."

I laughed again and then sighed. I would always regret this part of my response to her, but it wasn't such a weighty thing anymore—one small thorn, so irrelevant in the face of the rose's beauty.

"I've decided what I want to do," she announced. I waited eagerly. "I want to hear more about you… well, not as interesting for me, but she could have whatever she wanted… Ask me anything."

"Why do you do it?" she breathed, quieter than before. "I still don't understand how you can work so hard to resist what you are… Please don't misunderstand… of… of course I'm glad that you do… I just don't see why you would bother in the first place."

I was glad she asked this; it was important. I tried to find the best way to explain, but my words faltered in a few places. "That's a good question, and you are not the first one to ask it. The others… the majority of our kind, who are quite content with our lot… they too wonder at how we live. But you see, just because we've been dealt a certain hand, it doesn't mean that we can't choose to rise above… to conquer the boundaries of a destiny that none of us wanted… to try to retain whatever essential humanity we can…" Was that clear? Would she understand what I meant? She didn't comment, and she didn't move.

"Did you fall asleep?" I whispered so quietly that it couldn't possibly wake her if that were the case.

"No," she said quickly and added nothing more. It was frustrating and hilarious how much nothing had changed despite everything changing. I would always be driven frantic by her silent thoughts.

"Is that all you were curious about?" I encouraged.

"Not quite," I couldn't see her face, but I knew she was smiling. "What else do you want to know? Why can you read minds? Why… only… only you?" she demanded. "And Alice… seen the future… why does that happen?"

I wished I had a better answer. I shrugged and admitted, "We don't really know. Carlisle has a theory… he believes that we all bring something of our strongest human traits with us into the next life, where they are intensified… like our minds and our senses. He thinks that I must have already been very sensitive to the thoughts of those around me, and that Alice had some precognition wherever she was…"

"What did he bring into the next life? And the others?" This was an easier answer; I'd considered it many times before. "Carlisle brought his compassion. Esme brought her ability to love passionately. Emmett brought his strength. Rosalie… well, Rose had brought her beauty…" but that seemed a less than tactful answer in light of our earlier discussion. If Bella's jealousy was even a tiny bit as painful as my own, I didn't want her to have a reason to feel it again. Her tenacity… or you could call it pigheadedness… surely this was true as well.

Laughed quietly, imagining how she must have been as a human girl.

Jasper is very interesting; he was quite charismatic in his first life, able to influence those around him to see things his way. Now he is able to manipulate the emotions of those around him—calm down a room of angry people, for example, or excite a lethargic crowd conversely. It's a very subtle gift.

She was quiet again. I wasn't surprised; it was a lot to process. "So where did it all start?" she asked at last. "I mean, Carlile changed you, and then someone must have changed him, and so on." Another answer that was only conjecture. "Well, where did you come from? Evolution? Creation? Couldn't we have evolved in the same way as other species—predator and prey?" Or, though I didn't always agree with Carlile's unshakable faith, his answers were just as likely as any others. Sometimes, perhaps because his mind was so firm, they felt most likely. "If you don't believe that all this—world, world—could have just happened on its own, which is hard for me to accept myself, is it so hard to believe that the same force that created the delicate angelfish with the shark, the baby seal and the killer whale, could create both our kinds together?"

"Let me get this straight," she was trying to sound as serious as before, but I could hear the joke coming. "I'm the baby seal, right?" "Right," I agreed, and then laughed. I closed my eyes and pressed my lips to the top of her head. She twitched, shifted her weight. Was she uncomfortable? I prepared to free her, but she settled again, snug against my chest. Her breath seemed just slightly deeper than before; her heart had relaxed into a steady rhythm.

"Are you ready to sleep?" I murmured. "Or do you have any more questions?"

"Only a million or two," she said. "We have tomorrow, and and the next day, and the next." It had been a powerful thought in the kitchen, the idea of many more evenings spent in her company. It was more powerful now, curled up together in the dark. If she wished it, there was actually very little time we needed to be separated—less time apart than together. Did she feel the shattering joy too?

"Are you sure you won't vanish in the morning? You are mythical, after all," she asked her question with no humor at all; it sounded like a serious concern.

"I won't leave you," I promised. It felt like a vow, a covenant. I hoped she could hear that.

"One more then tonight," I waited for her question, but she didn't continue. I was mystified when her heart started to move jaggedly again; the air around me heeded with the pulse of her blood.

"What is—is it—no, forget it," she said quickly. "I changed my mind, Bella. You can ask me anything."

She said nothing. I couldn't imagine anything she would be frightened to ask at this point. Her heart sped again, and I groaned aloud. "I keep thinking it will get less frustrating, not hearing your thoughts, but it just gets worse and worse."

"I'm glad you can't read my thoughts," she countered at once. "It's bad enough that you eavesdrop on my sleep-talking." Strange that this would be her one objection to my stalking, but I was too eager for her missing question, the one that made her heart race, to worry about that now.

"Please," I pleaded. Her hair brushed back and forth across my chest as she shook her head. "If you don't tell me, I'll just assume it's something much worse than it is." I waited, but that bluff didn't move her. In truth, I had no ideas, either trivial or dark. I tried begging again. "Please."

"Well," she hesitated, but at least she was talking—or not. Silence fell again.

"Yes," I prompted. "You said that Rosalie and Emmett will get married soon." She trailed off, leaving me baffled again at her train of thought. Did she want an invitation? Is that marriage the same as it is for humans? Even as quickly as my brain worked, it took me a second to follow. It should have been more obvious. I needed to keep firmly in mind that nine times out of 10, in my experience with her at least, whenever her heart started to race, it had nothing to do with fear; it was usually attraction. And should this train of thought be in any way shocking when I had just recently climbed into her bed with her? I laughed at my own obtuseness.

"Is that what you're getting at?" My question sounded light, but I could not help responding to the subject at hand. The electricity rioted through my body, and I had to resist the urge to reposition myself so that my lips could find hers. That wasn't the right answer; it couldn't be, because there was an obvious second question following the first.

"Yes, I suppose it is much the same," I answered. "I told you, most of those human desires are there, just hidden behind more powerful desires."

Oh. She didn't continue. Maybe I was wrong. Was there a purpose behind her curiosity?

"She sighed. "Well, I did wonder about you and me, someday."

No, not wrong. The sudden grief felt like a weight pressing against my chest. How I wished I had a different answer to give her.

"I don't think that—that—" I avoided the word 'sex' because she did. "—would be possible for us, because it would be too hard for you," she whispered. If I were that close, it was hard not to imagine. I refocused.

"That certain a problem," I said slowly. "But that's not what I was thinking of. It's just that you are so soft, so fragile. I have to mind my actions every moment that we're together so that I don't hurt you. I could kill you quite easily, Bella, simply by accident." I reached up carefully to lay my hand against her cheek. "If I was too hasty, if for one second I wasn't paying enough—enough attention, I could reach out, meaning to touch your face, and crush your skull by mistake. You don't realize how incredibly breakable you are. I can never—never afford to lose any kind of control when I'm with you." Admitting to this obstacle seemed less shameful than confessing my thirst. After all, my strength was simply part of what I was. Well, my thirst was too, but the intensity of it around her was unnatural; that aspect of myself felt indefensible, disgraceful, even now that it was under control. I was mortified it existed.

She thought over my answer for a long time. Perhaps my wording was more frightening than I'd intended, but how would she understand if I edited the truth too much?

"Are you scared?" I asked. Another pause.

"No," she said slowly. "I'm fine."

We were silent for another pensive moment. I wasn't thrilled with where my thoughts went in her silence. Even though she told me so much about her own past, that didn't align. Even though she'd introduce the topic with such bashfulness, I couldn't help but wonder. And I knew well enough by now that if I ignored my intrusive curiosity, it would only begin to fester. I tried to sound indifferent.

"I'm curious now, though. Have you ever—"

"Of course not," she answered at once, not angrily, but incredulously. "I told you, I've never felt like this about anyone before, not even close." Did she think I hadn't been paying attention?

"I know," I assured her. "It's just that I know other people's thoughts. I know love and lust don't always keep the same company they do for me now—anyway, that they exist for me at all." Her use of the plural was a kind of acknowledgment. I knew that she loved me; the fact that we both also lusted was definitely going to complicate matters. I decided to answer her question before she could ask it.

"That's nice. We have that one thing in common, at least."

She sighed, but it sounded like a pleased sigh.

"Your human instincts," she asked slowly. "Well, do you find me attractive in that way at all?"

I laughed out loud at that. Was there any way in which I did not want her—mind and soul and body—body no less than either of the others? I smoothed her hair against her neck.

"I may not be a human, but I am a man."

She yawned, and I suppressed another laugh. "I've answered your questions now. You should sleep."

"I'm not sure if I can," she said. "Do you want me to leave?" I suggested, though I was extremely loath to do so.

"No," in her outrage, her answer was much louder than the whispers we'd been using all night. "No harm done. Charlie snores didn't even stutter." I laughed again, then pulled myself closer to her, with my lips against her ear. I began humming her song again, so quietly it was little more than a breath. I could feel the difference when she crossed over into unconsciousness; all the alertness escaped her muscles until they were loose and languid; her breathing slowed, and her hands curled together against her chest, almost as if in prayer. I felt no desire to move ever again. In fact, I knew eventually she would begin to toss, and I would have to get out of her way so as not to wake her, but for now, nothing could be more perfect. I was still unused to this joy, and it didn't really feel like something a person could get used to. I would embrace it for as long as that was possible and know that no matter what happened in the future, just having this one paradisiacal day was worth any pain that might follow.

"Edward," Bella whispered in her sleep. "Edward, I love you."

Chapter 19: Home

I wondered if I would ever spend a night happier than this one. I doubted it. As she slept, Bella told me again and again that she loved me—more than the words themselves; the sound of perfect bliss in her tone was all I could ever want. I made her truly happy; did that not excuse everything else? Eventually, in the very early morning, she settled into deeper sleep. I knew she wouldn't speak again after finishing her book—one of my favorites now too. I thought mostly about the day ahead, about Alice's vision of Bella visiting my family. Though I'd seen it clearly in Alice's head, it was hard to believe. Would Bella want that? Did I? I considered Alice's fairly well-developed friendship with Bella, of which Bella was completely ignorant. Now that I felt assured about the future I was pursuing and the likelihood of it happening, it did feel a little cruel to keep Alice away from her. What would Bella think of Emmett? I wasn't 100% sure that he would behave himself; he would find it hilarious to say something off-putting or frightening. Maybe if I promised him something he wanted—a wrestling match, a football game—there had to be a price he'd accept. I had already seen how Jasper would keep his distance, but had Alice thought to tell him that, or was her vision contingent on my action? Of course, Bella had met Carlisle, but it would be something different now. I found that the idea of Bella spending time with Carlisle was appealing to me; he was the very best of us; it could only make her think more highly of us all to know him better. And then Esme would be ecstatic to meet Bella; the thought of Esme's pleasure almost had my mind made up. There was just the one obstacle, really—Rosalie. I realized there was prep work I absolutely had to accomplish before I could even think of bringing Bella home, and that meant leaving her.

I gazed at her now, deep in her dreams. I'd moved to the floor beside her bed when she'd begun her nightly gyration. I leaned against the edge of the mattress, one hand outstretched, a lock of her hair wrapped around my finger. I sighed and untangled myself. It had to be done. She would never know I'd left, but I would miss her for even the short interlude. I hurried home, hoping to conclude my tasks in the briefest time possible. Alice had done her part, as usual; most of the things I wanted to accomplish were just details. Alice knew which were most vital, and sure enough, Rosalie was waiting on the front porch, perched on the top step of the stairs as I ran up to the house. Alice had not told her much; Rosalie's face was a little confused when I first spotted her, as if she had no idea what she was waiting for. As soon as she caught sight of me, her confusion turned to a scowl.

"Oh, what now?"

"Rose, please," I called to her. "Can we talk?"

"I should have realized Alice was just helping you and herself a little," Rosalie stood up, brushing her jeans off. "Please, Rose, fine, fine. Say what you have to say."

I swept my arm out as an invitation. "Come for a walk with me."

She pursed her lips, but nodded. I led the way around the house to the edge of the night-black River. At first, we were silent as we paced north along the bank. There was no sound but the gush of the water. It was by design; I'd chosen this path. I hoped it would remind her of the day I'd been thinking of earlier, the day she'd brought Emmett home—the first time we'd found a common ground.

"Can we get on with this?" she complained, though she sounded only irritated. I could hear more in her head; she was nervous, still afraid that I was angry about her bet, a little ashamed of that, I thought.

"I want to ask you a favor," I told her. "It won't be easy for you. I know." This was not the direction she'd been expecting; my gentle tone only made her angrier.

"Though you want me to be nice to the human," she guessed.

"Yes. You don't have to like her, if you'd rather not, but she's part of my life, and that makes her part of your life too. I know you didn't ask for this, and you don't want it."

"No, I do not," she agreed.

"You didn't ask my permission to bring Emmett home," I reminded her.

She sniffed derisively. "That's different. More permanent, certainly." Rosalie stopped walking, and I paused with her. She stared at me, surprised and suspicious. "What do you mean by that? Aren't you talking about permanence?" Her thoughts were so caught up with these questions, it took me by surprise when she spoke to a different subject. "Did you feel harmed when I chose Emmett? Did that injure you in any way?"

"Of course not. You chose very well," I said. She sniffed again, unimpressed with my flattery. "Could you give me the chance to prove that I have—have too?"

Rosalie spun away from me, striding north again, breaking a path now through the untamed forest. "I can't look at her. When I look at her, I can't see her as a person; I just see a waste against my intentions." I felt my anger flare; I bit back a growl and tried to compose myself. Rosalie glanced over her shoulder and saw the change in my expression. She paused again, swinging around to face me; her features softened. "I am sorry. I don't mean that to sound so cruel. I just can't—I can't watch her do this. She's got a chance for everything, Edward," Rosalie whispered, her whole body rigid with intensity. "A whole life of possibilities ahead of her, and she's going to waste it all—everything I lost. I can't bear to watch it."

I stared back at her, shaking. I'd been annoyed by Rosalie's strange jealousy, which indeed had roots in my preference for Bella; that part was all so petty, but this was something different, so much deeper. I felt that I understood her now, for the first time since I'd saved Bella's life. I reached out carefully to place my hand on her arm, expecting she would shake it off, but she just stood very still.

"I'm not going to let that happen," I promised.

Matching her intensity, she examined my face for a long moment, then she pictured Bella in her mind. It wasn't the perfect representation of Alice's visions, more of a caricature really, but it was clear what she meant. Bella's skin was white, her eyes bright red; the image was flavored with heavy disgust.

"This is not your goal."

I shook my head, just as disgusted. "No, no. I want her to have everything. I won't take anything away from her, Rose. Do you understand? I won't hurt her that way."

She was unsettled now too. "But how do you see that working?"

I shrugged, feigning a nonchalance I didn't feel. "How long until she grows bored with a seventeen-year-old, do you think? I can keep her interested until she's twenty-three, maybe twenty-five. Eventually, she'll move on." I tried to control my face to hide what the words cost me, but she saw through me.

"This is a dangerous game you're playing, Edward."

"I'll find a way to survive after she goes." I flinched, my hand falling to my side.

"That's not what I meant," she said. "Look, you're not up to my personal standards, but there's not a human man alive who can compare with you, and you know it."

I shook my head. "Someday, she'll want more—more than I can give her. There was so much I couldn't give her. You would have wanted more, wouldn't you, if you were in her position and Emmett in mine?"

Rosalie took my question seriously, thinking it through. She imagined Emmett, just as he was now, his easy smile, his hands held out to her. She saw herself human again, still lovely, but less remarkable, reaching back to him. Then she imagined her human self turning away from him; neither image seemed to satisfy her.

"But I know what I lost," she thought; her tone subdued. "I don't think she'll see it that way."

"I'm going to sound like an octogenarian now," she continued aloud, the faintest hint of levity suddenly in her voice. "But you know kids these days," she smiled weakly. "All about the here and now; no thought for five years into the future, let alone fifty."

"What will you do when she asks you to change her?"

"I'll tell her why it's wrong. I'll tell her everything she'll lose," I hesitated, thinking of Alice's vision of a grieving Bella, her hollow cheeks, her body curled in on itself in agony. What if my presence, and not my absence, were the reason she felt that way? I imagined her full of Rosalie's bitterness. "I'll refuse."

Rose heard the iron in my tone, and I could see that she finally understood my resolve. She nodded to herself.

"I still think it's too dangerous. I'm not sure you're that strong." She turned around and started walking slowly back toward the house. I kept pace with her.

"Your life isn't what you wanted," I began quietly. "But in the last seventy years or so, would you say you've had at least five years of pure happiness?" Flashes of the best parts of her life, all of them revolving around Emmett, moved through her head, though I could see that, obstinate as ever, she didn't want to agree with me. I smiled half-heartedly.

"Ten years, even."

She wouldn't answer me. "Let me have my five years, Rosalie," I whispered. "I know it can't last. Let me be happy while happiness is possible. Be part of that happiness; be my sister. And if you can't love my choice the way I love yours, can you at least pretend to tolerate her?"

My words, gentle and quiet, seemed to hit her like bricks; her shoulders were suddenly stiff, brittle.

"I'm not sure what I can do. Seeing everything I want out of my reach, it's too painful."

It would be painful for her, I knew that, but I also knew that her regret and sorrow wouldn't equal even a fraction of the anguish that was waiting for me. Rosalie's life would go back to what it was now; Emmett would be there throughout to comfort her, but I—I would lose everything.

"Will you try?" I demanded, my voice sterner than before. Her walk slowed for a few seconds, and her eyes were on her feet. Finally, her shoulders slumped, and she nodded.

"Ed, I can try. There's a chance."

Alice saw Bella coming to the house in the morning; her eyes flashed up, angry again. "I need more time than that." I held my hands up, placating. "Take the time you need." It made me sad and tired to see that her eyes were suspicious again; maybe she wasn't strong enough. She seemed to feel the judgment in my gaze; she looked away, then suddenly ran for the house. I let her go. My other errands did not take so long, nor were they as difficult. Jasper agreed easily to my request; my mother was glowing with happy anticipation. What I'd wanted from Emmett no longer applied; it was clear he'd be with Rosalie, and she'd be somewhere far from here. Well, it was a start, at least. I'd gotten Rose to promise to try. I even took a second to put on fresh clothes, though the sleeveless shirt Alice had given me long ago had not brought about any of the miseries I'd feared and had brought some pleasures I hadn't anticipated. I still found it strangely distasteful; I was more comfortable in my usual clothes. I passed Alice on my way out, leaning up against the pillar at the edge of the porch steps, near where Rosalie had waited before. Her grin was smug.

"Everything looks perfect for Bella's visit, just as I envisioned."

I wanted to point out that what she saw now was still just a vision, changeable as the first, but why bother? "You're not taking Bella's desires into account," I reminded her.

She rolled her eyes. "When has Bella ever said no to you?"

It was an interesting point, Alice. "I—" she interrupted, already knowing my question. "See for yourself." She pictured the intertwined ribbons of Bella's future; some were solid, some were insubstantial, some disappearing into mist. They were more ordered now, no longer snarled into the messy knot. It was a relief that the most nightmarish of futures was entirely missing, but there, in the sturdiest thread, Bella of the blood-red eyes and diamond skin still held the most prominent place. The vision I was looking for was only part of the more nebulous lines, ribbons at the periphery—Bella at twenty, Bella at twenty-five—flimsy-seeming visions blurred around the edges. Alice wrapped her arms tight around her legs; she didn't need to read thoughts or the future to read the frustration in my eyes.

"That's never going to happen."

"When have you ever said no to Bella?" I snarled at her on my way down the steps, and then I was running. Only moments later, I was in Bella's room. I put Alice out of my mind and let the calm of her quiet sleep, slumber, wash over me. It looked as if she hadn't moved at all, and yet my being away, even briefly, had changed things. I felt unsure again. Rather than sitting beside her bed as I had before, I found myself back in the old rocking chair. I didn't want to be presumptuous.

Charlie rose not too long after I'd returned, before the first hints of dawn had even begun to light the sky. I felt confident, due to his usual patterns and also his murky but cheerful thoughts, that he was going fishing again. Sure enough, after a quick peek into Bella's room that found her more convincingly asleep than she'd been the night before, he tiptoed downstairs and started rummaging through his fishing gear under the stairs. He left the house just as the clouds outside took on a faint gray luminosity again. I heard the rusty creaking of Bella's truck's hood. I flitted to the window to watch. Charlie propped the hood on the strut and then replaced the battery cables that he'd left dangling to the sides. It wasn't a particularly difficult problem to solve, but maybe he'd assumed that Bella wouldn't even attempt to fix her truck in the dark. I wondered where he'd imagined she'd want to go. After a brief moment of loading rods and tackle into the back of his police cruiser, Charlie drove away. I returned to my former place and waited for Bella to wake. More than an hour later, when the sun was fully up behind the thick blanket of clouds, Bella finally stirred. She threw one of her arms across her face as if to block the light, then groaned quietly and rolled onto her side, pulling the pillow on top of her head. Abruptly, she gasped, oh, and lurched dizzily up into a sitting position. Her eyes struggled to focus, and it was obvious she was searching for something. I'd never seen her like this first thing in the morning. I wondered if her hair always looked like this, or if I'd been responsible for the extraordinary mussing.

"Your hair looks like a haystack, but I like it," I informed her, and her eyes snapped to my position; relief saturated her expression.

"Edward, you stayed?" Awkward from lying still for so long, she struggled to get to her feet and then bounded across the room directly toward me, flinging herself into my arms. Suddenly, my worries about presumption felt a little silly. I caught her easily, steadying her on my lap. She seemed shocked by her own impulsiveness, and I laughed at her apologetic expression.

"Of course," I told her. Her heart thudded, sounding confused; she'd given it very little time to adjust from sleep to sprint. I rubbed her shoulders, hoping to calm it.

"I was sure it was a dream," she whispered.

"You're not that creative," I teased her. I couldn't remember dreaming myself, but from what I'd heard in other human brains—

I rather thought it was not a very coherent or detailed thing. Suddenly, Bella bolted upright. I dropped my hands out of the way as she scrambled to her feet. "Charlie," she choked, "he left an hour ago, after reattaching your battery cables, I might add." I have to admit I was disappointed. "Is that really all it would take to stop you, if you were determined to go?"

She rocked indecisively from her toes to her heels, her eyes flicking from my face to the door and then back again. A few seconds passed while she seemed to struggle with some decision. "You're not usually this confused in the morning," I said, though it wasn't actually something I would know. I never saw her until she'd had plenty of time to wake up, but I hoped that, as she usually did when I assumed something, she would contradict me and then explain whatever.

D faced her. I held out my arms to let her know she was welcome—so extremely welcome—to return to me if she wished. She swayed toward me again and then frowned. "I need another human minute." Of course, I was sure I would get better at this. "I'll wait," I promised her.

She asked me to stay, and until she told me to go, I would be waiting for her. This time, there was no long delay. I could hear Bella banging cabinets and slamming doors; she was in a rush today. I heard the brush tearing through her hair, and it made me wise: it was only a few moments until she rejoined me. Two high spots of color marked her cheeks, and her eyes were bright and eager. Still, she moved more carefully as she approached me this time and paused, unsure. When her knees were an inch from mine, she seemed unconscious of the fact that she was wearily wringing her hands. I could only guess she was shy again, that she felt the same unease after being separated that I had felt returning to her room this morning, and, as I was sure was true for me as well, there was absolutely no need for it.

I gathered her carefully into my arms. She curled up willingly against my chest, her legs draped over mine. "Welcome back," I murmured. She sighed, contented. Her fingers traced down, down my right arm, slow and searching, and then back up again while I rocked lazily back and forth, moving to the rhythm of her breathing. Her fingertips wandered across my shoulder, then paused at my collar. She leaned back, staring up at my face with a dismayed expression. "You left." I grinned. "I could hardly leave in the clothes I came in; what would the neighbors think?"

Bella's dissatisfaction only intensified. I didn't want to explain the errands I'd had to run, so I said the one thing I was absolutely sure would distract her. "You were very deeply asleep; I didn't miss anything."

The talking came earlier, as anticipated. Bella groaned. "What did you hear?" she demanded. It was impossible to hold on to my jocular mood; it felt as though my insides were melting into liquid joy as I told her the truth. "You said you loved me." Her eyes dropped, and she pressed her face against my shoulder, hiding. "You knew that already," she whispered. The heat of her breath saturated the cotton of my shirt. "It was nice to hear, just the same," I murmured into her hair. "I love you." The words hadn't lost their ability to thrill me; on the contrary, they were more overpowering now. It meant much to have her choose to say them, knowing I was listening. I wanted even stronger words, words that could accurately describe what she had become to me. There was nothing left inside me that wasn't entirely about her. I remembered our first conversation, remembered thinking then that I did not truly have a life. That was no longer the case. "You are my life now," I whispered. Though the sky was still full of thick clouds, the sun buried deep behind them, the room somehow filled with golden light; the air turned clearer, purer than the normal atmosphere. We rocked slowly, my arms around her, savoring the perfection. As I thought so often in the past 24 hours, I knew I would be totally satisfied with every part of the universe if I never had to move again, the way her body was melted against mine. I thought she must feel the same.

Ah, but I had responsibility. I needed to keep my unruly joy in check and be practical. I held her just a little tighter for one second, then forced my arms to relax. "Breakfast time," I suggested.

Bella hesitated, perhaps as averse as I was to allowing any space to come between us. Then she twisted her torso away from me, leaning back so I could see her face. Her eyes were round with terror; her mouth fell open, and her hands flew up to protect her throat. I was so horrified by her obvious distress that I couldn't process what was happening; my senses flailed out wildly around us like tentacles, looking for whatever danger threatened. And then, before I could dive out the window with her in my arms and run for safety, her expression relaxed into a sly smile. I finally understood the connection between my words and her reaction, the joke she was making. She giggled. "K, k, and you said I couldn't act."

It took me a half a second to compose myself; relief made me feel weak, but the shock also left me agitated. "That wasn't funny." "It was very funny," she insisted, "and you know it." I couldn't help but smile at her. I supposed if vampire jokes were going to become a thing with us, I could bear it for her sake. "Shall I rephrase—breakfast time for the human?" She smiled slyly. "Oh, okay." While I was willing to accept a future of bad jokes, I wasn't entirely ready to let her off the hook for this one. I moved with extreme care, but I didn't move slowly. I hoped she would be as shocked as I'd been, though definitely not as frightened, as I folded her over my shoulder and darted from the room.

"Hey," she complained, her voice bouncing with my movement, and I slowed slightly on the way down the stairs. "Whoa," she gasped as I turned her upright and set her down gently on a kitchen chair. She looked up at me and smiled, clearly not shaken in the least. "What's for breakfast?"

I frowned. I'd not had time to figure out the human food thing. Well, I knew the basics of what it should look like, at least, so I could probably improvise. "Uh," I hesitated, "I'm not sure. What would you like? Hopefully something straightforward."

Bella laughed at my confusion and stood up, stretching her arms over her head. "That's all right," she assured me. "I fend for myself pretty well." She raised one eyebrow and added with an arch smile, "Watch me hunt."

It was enlightening and alluring to watch her in her element. I hadn't seen her this confident and at ease before. It was clear she could have located everything she was looking for while wearing a blindfold. First a bowl, and then, stretching up on her toes, a box of off-brand Cheerios from a high shelf; spinning to tug open the fridge while also pulling a spoon from a drawer she then nudged shut with her hip. It was only after she'd assembled everything on the table that she hesitated. "Can I get you anything?" I rolled my eyes. "Just eat, Bella."

She took one bite of the inedible-looking slush and chewed quickly, glancing up at me after she'd swallowed. She asked, "What's on the agenda for today?" I'd meant to work up to this, but I would be lying to her now if I said I had no ideas. "What would you say to meeting my family?"

Her face blanched. Well, if her answer was no, that was that. I wondered how Alice had gotten it wrong. "Are you afraid now?" My question sounded almost as if I wanted her to say yes. I supposed I had been waiting for something that would be too much. The answer was obvious in her eyes, but she said yes in a low, tremulous voice, which I hadn't expected. She never admitted when she was afraid, or at least she never admitted when she was afraid of me. "Don't worry, I'll protect you," I said, smiling half-heartedly. I wasn't trying to convince her; there were a million other things we could do together today that wouldn't make her feel as though her life was on the line, but I wanted her to know that I would always put myself between her and any danger, meteor or monster.

She shook her head. "I'm not afraid of them. I'm afraid they won't like me." "Won't they be...well, surprised that you would bring someone like me home to meet them?" She frowned. "Do they know that I know about them?"

A sudden pulse of unexpected anger rocked me. Maybe it was because she was right about Rosalie, at least. I hated that Bella referred to herself this way, as though there were something wrong with her and not the other way around. "Oh, they already know everything," I said, and the anger was clear in my voice. I tried to smile, but I could tell it didn't soften my tone. "They'd taken bets yesterday, you know, on whether I'd bring you back. Though why anyone would bet against Alice, I can't imagine." I realized I was prejudicing her against them, but it was fair; she should know. I tried to rein in my eye—at any rate, we don't have secrets in the family; it's not really feasible, what with my mind reading and Alice and the future and all that. She smiled weakly. "And Jasper making you feel all warm and fuzzy about spilling your guts. Don't forget that you paid attention." "I've been known to do that every now and then," she frowned, as if concentrating, and then nodded, almost as if she were accepting the invitation. "So did Alice see me coming?" Bella spoke in her matter-of-fact voice, as though our topic was quite mundane. I was surprised, though, because it sounded very much like she was agreeing to go to meet my family, as if Alice's vision meant there wasn't another choice. Her total acceptance of Alice's word as law touched my rawest nerve. I hated the possibility that even now I might be ruining Bella's life.

"Something like that," I admitted and turned my face as if I were looking out the windows into the backyard. I didn't want her to see how upset I was. I could feel her eyes on me and doubted I was fooling her. Forcing myself to fix the mood I'd created, I looked back to her and smiled as naturally as I could. "Is that any good?" I asked, gesturing to the cereal. "Honestly, it doesn't look very appetizing." "Well, it's no irritable grizzly," she trailed off when she processed my reaction, then focused on her food, eating quickly now. She was thinking hard about something, too, staring into a middle distance as she chewed, but I doubted our thoughts were in sync at this moment. I gazed out the windows again, letting her eat in peace. I looked at the small yard, remembering the sunny day I'd watched her there, remembering the darkness of the clouds overtaking her. It was too easy to slip back into that despair, to second-guess all my good intentions and see them as nothing but selfishness. I turned back to her in turmoil, only to find her watching me with fearless eyes. She trusted me, as she always had. I took a deep breath. I would live up to her trust; I knew I could when she looked at me that way; there was nothing I couldn't do. Well, so Alice would be proven right in this one minor, simple prophecy; that was no surprise. I wondered how much of Bella's acceptance was just to please me—probably the larger portion. There was something closely related that I very much wanted, but I worried that Bella would again agree just for my sake. Well, I could at least share my opinion and see how she reacted. "And you should introduce me to your father, too, I think," I said casually.

She was taken aback. "He already knows you—as your boyfriend, I mean." Her eyes narrowed. "Why isn't that customary?" I sounded at ease, but her resistance rattled me. "I don't know," she admitted; her voice was quieter, less sure when she continued, "That's not necessary, you know. I don't expect you to—I mean, you don't have to pretend for me." Did she think this was an unwelcome chore I was undertaking for her sake alone? "I'm not pretending," I promised. She looked down at her breakfast, stirring the remnants of her cereal listlessly. Perhaps it was better to just get to the no. "Are you going to tell Charlie I'm your boyfriend or not?" Still looking down, she asked softly, "Is that what you are?"

This was not the rejection I had feared; clearly, I was misunderstanding something. Was it because I wasn't human that she didn't think Charlie should know about me, or was it something else? "It's a loose interpretation of the word 'boy,' I'll admit. I was under the impression that you are something more, actually," she whispered, face still lowered as if she were talking to the table. Her expression reminded me again of that charged conversation at lunch, how she'd thought our feelings were unequal, that mine were lesser. I couldn't understand how asking to meet her father had led her to this train of thought. Unless—was it the impermanence of the word "boyfriend"? It was a very human, fleeting sort of concept; truly, the word didn't encompass even the smallest fraction of what I wanted to be to her, but it was the word Charlie would understand. "Well, I don't know if we need to give him all the gory details," I answered softly. I reached out with one finger to raise her face so that I could see her eyes. "But he will need some explanation for why I'm around here so much. I don't want Chief Swan getting a restraining order put on me."

"Will you be—" she asked anxiously, ignoring my mild joke—"will you really be here as long as you want me—until she asks me to leave?" I was hers. She almost glared at me, so intense was her gaze. "I'll always want you," I said. "Forever." I heard Alice's certainty again. "When have you ever said no to Bella?" I heard Rosalie's question. "What will you do when she asks you to change her? And when she begs—" Rosalie was right about one thing, though: when Bella said the word "forever," it didn't mean the same thing to her as it meant to me. For her, it meant merely a very long time; it meant she couldn't see the end yet. How could anyone who had lived only 17 years comprehend what 50 years meant, let alone eternity? She was human, not a frozen immortal. Within just a few years, she would reinvent herself many times over; her priorities would shift as her world grew wider; the things she wanted now wouldn't be the things she wanted then.

I walked slowly to her side, knowing my time was running out. I traced her face with my fingertips. She stared back at me, trying to understand. "Does that make you sad?" she asked. I didn't know how to answer her. I just watched her face, feeling as if I could see it changing infinitesimally with each passing beat of her heart. She never looked away. I wondered what she saw in my face, if she thought at all about how it would never change. The feeling of sand slipping through the neck of an hourglass only intensified. I sighed. There wasn't time to waste. I glanced at her nearly empty bowl. "Are you finished?" She stood up. "Yes." "Get dressed. I'll wait here."

Without a word, she complied. I needed that minute alone. I wasn't sure why I was lost in so many ominous thoughts. I needed to get myself in hand. I had to grasp every second of happiness I was allowed, all the more because those seconds were numbered. I knew I had a great capacity for ruining even the best moments with my wretched doubts and endless overthinking. What a waste if I were only to have a few years to spend—any of them. Walk Halloween through the ceiling. I listened to the sound of Bella wrestling with her wardrobe. There was not as much commotion as two nights ago when she was preparing for our trip to the meadow, but it was close. I hoped she wasn't too stressed about how she would appear to my family. Alice and Esme already loved her unconditionally; the others wouldn't notice her clothes; they would only see a human girl brave enough to visit a house full of vampires. Even Jasper would have to be impressed by that.

I'd pulled myself together by the time she ran back down the stairs. Just focus on the day ahead; focus on the next 12 hours at Bella's side; surely that was enough to keep me smiling. "Okay, I'm decent," she called as she took the stairs two at a time. I caught her as she nearly collided with me. She looked up with a wide grin, and all my lingering doubts crumpled away, as I'd known she would be. She was wearing the blue-black she'd worn in Port Angeles—my favorite. I supposed she looked so pretty, and I liked the way she pulled her hair back; there was no way for her to hide behind it now. Impulsively, I wrapped my arms around her and held her close. I breathed in her fragrance and smiled.

"Wrong again," I teased. "You are utterly indecent; no one should look so tempting. It's not fair." She pushed against my hold, and I loosened my arms. She leaned back just far enough to read my face. "Tempting—how?" she asked, cautious. "I can change—" Last night she'd asked me if I was attracted to her as a woman, though I felt it was so obvious as to be ridiculous. Maybe somehow she still didn't understand. "You are so absurd," I laughed and then kissed her forehead, letting the feel of her skin against my lips wash like a wave of electricity down the length of my body. "Shall I explain how you are tempting me?" Slowly, my fingers followed the length of her spine, discovering the curve at the small of her back, then resting atop the slope of her hip. Though I'd meant to tease her, I was soon lost in the moment as well. My lips brushed against her temple, and I heard my breath speeding to match her heart. Her fingers trembled against my chest. I only had to incline my head, and then her lips—so soft and warm—were just a hair's breadth away from my own. Carefully, wary of the power of the alchemy, I touched my lips to hers while my whole body again overflowed with light and electricity. I waited for her reaction, ready to disengage if things got out of hand. She was more careful this time, holding herself nearly motionless; even her trembling hand stilled. Moving with what caution I could muster in the face of what I was feeling, I pressed my lips more firmly against hers, savoring their soft yield. I was not as much in control of myself as I should have been. I let my lips fall open, wanting to feel her breath in my mouth. Just at that moment, her legs seemed to give out, and she slid through my arms toward the floor. I caught her at once, holding her upright. I held up her head with my left hand; it rocked loose on her neck; her eyes were closed, and her lips white. "Bella!" I shouted, panicking.

She gasped in a loud breath, and her eyelids fluttered. I realized that I hadn't heard the sound of her breathing in a while—longer than was right. Another ragged breath, and her feet struggled to find the floor. "You—" she sighed, with her eyes still half-closed—"made me faint." She had actually stopped breathing to kiss me, probably in a misguided attempt to make things less difficult for me. "What am I going to do with you?" I half growled. "Yesterday I kiss you, and you attack me; today you pass out on me." She giggled, choking on her own laughter as her lungs tried to pull in the necessary oxygen. I was still supporting most of her weight. "So much for being good at everything," I muttered. "That's the problem—you're too good," she took a deep breath, "far, far too good." "Do you feel sick?" At least her lips had not gone green; a delicate shade of pink was creeping into them as I watched. "No," she answered, her voice stronger. "That wasn't the same kind of fainting at all. I don't know what happened. I think I forgot to breathe."

I'd noticed. "I can't take you anywhere like this," I grumbled. She took another breath and then straightened in my arms. She blinked fast five times and lifted her chin into its most stubborn position. "I'm fine," her voice was stronger. I had to concede, and the color had already come back into her face. "Your family is going to think I'm insane anyway; what's the difference?" I examined her carefully; her breathing had evened out; her heart sounded stronger than it had a moment ago; she seemed to be supporting her own weight without difficulty; the roses in her cheeks were getting brighter with every passing second, set off by the vivid blue of her blouse. "I'm very partial to that color with your skin," I told her. That made her blush even more intensely. "Look," she said, interrupting my scrutiny, "I'm trying really hard not to think about what I'm about to do, so can we go already?" Her voice was back to normal strength as well. "And you're worried—not because you're headed to meet a house full of vampires, but because you think those vampires won't approve of you—correct?" She grinned. "That's right." I shook my head. "You're incredible." Her smile widened. She took my hand and pulled me to the door. I decided it was better to pretend that the driving arrangements were already settled than to ask her about them. I let her lead the way to her truck and then deftly open the passenger door for her. She didn't object in any way; she didn't even glare at me. I felt this was a promising sign. While I drove, she sat up alertly and stared out her window, watching the houses race past us. I could see that she was nervous, but I also guessed that she was curious. Once it was clear we were not going to stop at any given house, she lost all interest in it and looked to the next. I wondered how she pictured my home as we left the town behind us. She seemed to get more apprehensive; she glanced at me a few times as if she wanted to ask a question, but when she caught me looking at her, she turned back to the window quickly, her ponytail whipping out behind her. Her toes started tapping against the floor of the truck cab. Though I hadn't put the radio on, when I turned onto the drive, she sat up straighter, and then her knee was bouncing in time with her toes. Her fingers pressed so tightly against the window frame that their tips turned white. As the drive wound on and on, she started to frown, and truly it did look like we were headed somewhere just as remote and uninhabited as the meadow. The stress mark appeared between her brows. I reached out and brushed her shoulder, and she gave me a strained smile before turning to the window again. Finally, the drive broke through the last fringe of the forest and onto the lawn, still in the shade of the big cedars. It didn't feel like an abrupt change. It was odd to look at the familiar house and try to imagine how it would appear to new eyes. Esme had excellent taste, so I knew the house was objectively beautiful, but would Bella see a structure that was trapped in time, that belonged to another era, yet was clearly new and strong, as if we traveled backward in time to find it rather than aging forward to us?

"Wow," she breathed. I cut the engine, and the following silence strengthened the impression that we could be in another part of history. "You like it?" I asked. She glanced at me from the corner of her eye, then looked back to the house. "It has a certain charm." I laughed and tweaked her ponytail, then slid out of the car. Less than a second passed, and I was holding her door open for her. "Ready—not even a little bit?" she laughed, breathless. "Let's go." She ran a hand over her hair, searching for tangles. "You look lovely," I assured her and took her hand. Her palm was moist and not as warm as usual. I rubbed the back of her hand with my thumb, trying to communicate without words that she was perfectly safe and everything would be fine. She started to slow as we walked up the porch steps, and her hand was trembling. Hesitating would only prolong her agony. I opened the door, already knowing exactly what was on the other side. My parents were just where their thoughts had placed them in my mind's eye, and just as Alice had envisioned them. They stood back, half a dozen paces from the door, giving Bella some breathing space. Esme was as nervous as Bella seemed to be, though for her that meant perfect stillness rather than Bella's agitation. Carlisle's hand rested on the small of her back in a comforting fashion; he was used to interacting with humans casually, but

Esme was shy. It was rare that she ventured out alone to mix with the mortal world; a true homebody, she was quite happy to let the rest of us bring the world back to her as needed.

Bella's eyes darted around the room, taking it in. She was slightly behind me, as if using my body as a shield. I couldn't help but feel relaxed inside my home, though I knew it was the opposite for her. I squeezed her hand.

Carlisle smiled warmly at Bella, and Esme quickly followed suit. "Carlisle, Esme, this is Bella," I wondered whether Bella heard the note of pride in my voice as I introduced her. Carlisle moved forward with deliberate slowness; he held out his hand, a little tentative. "You're very welcome, Bella." Perhaps because she already knew Carlisle, Bella seemed suddenly more comfortable, looking confident. She stepped forward to meet his advance, while not untangling her fingers from mine, and shook his offered hand without even a wince at the chill. Of course, she was surely used to that by now. "It's nice to see you again, Dr. Cullen," she said, sounding like she really meant it.

"Such a brave girl," Esme thought. "Oh, she's darling."

"Please call me Carlisle," Bella beamed.

"Carlisle," she repeated. Esme joined Carlisle, then moving in the same slow, careful way, she placed one hand on Carlisle's arm and extended the other. Bella took it without hesitation, smiling at my mother.

"It's very nice to know you," Esme said, affection radiating from her smile.

"Thank you," Bella said. "I'm glad to meet you too." Though the words were conventional enough on both sides, they both spoke with such earnestness that the exchange carried a deep significance.

"I adore her, Edward. Thank you for bringing her to see me." I could only smile at Esme's enthusiasm.

"Where are Alice and Jasper?" I asked, but it was more of a prompt. I could hear them waiting at the top of the stairs. Alice, timing her perfect entrance; my question seemed to be what she was waiting for. "Hey, Edward," she called as she darted into view. Then she ran—really ran, not in a human way—down the steps and hurdled to a stop just inches from Bella, Carlisle, Esme, and I. All froze in surprise, but Bella didn't so much as flinch, even when Alice sprang forward to kiss her cheek. I shot her a warning look, but Alice wasn't paying any attention to me; she was living halfway between this moment and a thousand future moments, exalting in finally getting to begin her friendship. Her feelings were very sweet, but I couldn't enjoy them; more than half of her yet-to-be memories featured the white, lifeless Bella—so flawless and so cold. Alice was oblivious to my reaction, focused on Bella. "You do smell nice," she commented. "I never noticed before."

Bella blushed, and all three of them looked away. I tried to think of a way to ease the awkwardness, but then, like magic, there was no awkwardness. I was perfectly comfortable, and I could feel Bella's tension melt out of her body.

Jasper followed Alice down the stairs, not racing, but not moving cautiously like Carlisle and Esme either. There was no need for him to put on a show; everything he did seemed natural and right. In truth, he was laying it on a little thick. I gave him a sardonic look, and he grinned at me, then stopped by the newel post, leaving what might have felt like an odd distance between himself and the rest of us, but of course it couldn't feel odd if he didn't want it to. "Hello, Bella," "Hello, Jasper." She smiled easily, then looked at Esme and Carlisle. "It's nice to meet you all. You have a very beautiful home."

"Thank you," Esme answered. "We're so glad that you came."

"She's perfect," Bella glanced at the stairs again, expectant, but I knew there would not be any more introductions this morning. Esme understood the look as well. "I'm sorry," she said, "she wasn't ready. Emmett's trying to calm her down. Should I make excuses for Rosalie?"

Before I could decide what to say, Carlisle caught my attention. "Edward." I looked at him automatically; his intensity contrasted with the easy mood Jasper had created. "Alice saw some visitors—strangers. At the rate they're moving, they'll find us tomorrow night. I thought you should know immediately."

I nodded once, my lips pressing into a thin line. What miserable timing. Well, I suppose the silver lining was that I was now free to explain to Bella why I was kidnapping her. She would understand. Charlie wouldn't. I'd have to figure out the safest, least disruptive plan, or rather, we would; she would certainly have opinions. I looked to Alice for a visual clarification, but she was thinking about the weather.

"Do you play?" Esme asked, and I glanced over to see that Bella was eyeing the piano. Bella shook her head. "Not at all, but it's so beautiful. Is it yours?"

Esme laughed. "No," Edward didn't tell you he was musical?" Bella gave me the strangest look, as if this news was irritating. I wondered why; did she have a yet undiscovered prejudice against pianos?

"No," she answered Esme. "I should have known, I guess."

"What does she mean, Edward?" Esme wondered, as if I would know the answer. Luckily, her expression was confused enough to compel Bella to explain. "Edward can do everything," Bella clarified.

"Right," Carlisle repressed his amusement, but Jasper laughed out loud. Alice was watching the conversation that would happen 20 seconds from now; this was old news to her. Esme gave me her best disapproving mother look.

"I hope you haven't been showing off; it's rude,"

"Just a bit," I admitted, laughing too.

"He looks so happy," Esme thought. "I've never seen him this way. Thank goodness he found her at last. He's been too modest, actually."

"Bella disagreed; her eyes flickered to the piano again. "Well, play for her," Esme encouraged.

I shot my mother a betrayed look. "You just said showing off was rude."

Esme was holding back a laugh of her own. "There are exceptions to every rule. If she's not totally hooked yet, that should do it."

I stared back deadpan.

"I'd like to hear you play," Bella volunteered.

"It's settled then," Esme put her hand on my shoulder and nudged me toward the piano. "Fine," if that's what they wanted. I kept Bella's hand so she would have to join me; this was her idea after all. I'd never been self-conscious about my music before; there was never anybody but family or close friends around to hear me, and besides Esme, most of them barely seemed to notice I was playing, so this was a new feeling. Maybe if Esme hadn't mentioned showing off before, it wouldn't have felt so forced. I sat on the bench off-center, pulling Bella down to sit beside me. She smiled at me eagerly. I stared back at her, frowning, hoping she recognized that I was only doing this because she'd asked. I chose Esme's song; it was a joyful song, a triumphant song, suited to the day's mood. As I began, I watched Bella's reaction from the corner of my eye. I didn't need to look at the keys, but I didn't want to make her feel scrutinized. After just the first few measures, her mouth fell open. Jasper laughed again; this time Alice joined him. Bella stiffened but didn't turn; her eyes narrowed, her gaze never leaving my fingers, chasing them as they moved across the keys. I heard Alice skip to the stairs at the same time that Carlisle thought, "Well, that's probably enough of us for now; we don't want to overwhelm her." Esme was disappointed, but she followed Alice upstairs. They would all pretend that this was just a normal day, that it was nothing momentous to have a human inside our house. One by one, they flitted away to the tasks they would have been pursuing if I hadn't brought the mortal home. Bella was still entirely focused on the motion of my hands, but I thought she was not as eager as before, for her brows were pressing down over her eyes. I didn't understand her expression. I tried to cheer her, turning my head to catch her attention and winking once; that usually made her smile.

"Do you like it?" I asked.

Her head tilted to the side, and then something seemed to occur to her; her eyes grew huge again. "You wrote this," she said, her tone strangely accusatory.

I nodded and added, "It's Esme's favorite," like an apology, though I wasn't sure what I was trying to excuse. Bella stared at me strangely, forlorn; her eyes closed, and her head rocked slowly from side to side.

"What's wrong?" I implored.

She opened her eyes and finally smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. "I'm feeling extremely insignificant," she admitted.

I was stunned for a moment. I supposed Esme's earlier words about showing off were the crux of the matter; her idea that my music would win over whichever corners of Bella's heart remained ambivalent was obviously misguided. How to explain that all these things I could do, things that came with such ridiculous ease because of what I was, were entirely meaningless? They didn't make me special or superior. How to show her that everything I was had never been enough to make me worthy of her, that she was the lofty goal I'd been trying to reach for so long? I could only think of one way. I created a simple bridge and shifted into a new song. She watched my expression now, expecting me to respond. I waited until I was through the main structure of the melody, hoping she would recognize it.

"You inspired this one," I murmured. Could she feel how this music came from the very core of my being, and that my core, along with everything else I was, centered wholly on her? For a few moments, I let the notes of the song fill in the spaces that my words never quite could. The melody expanded as I played, drifting away from its former minor key, reaching now for a happier resolution. I thought I should allay her earlier fears. "They like you, you know. Esme especially." Bella had probably been able to see that herself. She twisted to peek over her shoulder. "Where did they go?" Very subtly giving us some privacy.

"I suppose they like me," she groaned. "But Rosalie and Emmett?"

I shook my head impatiently. "Don't worry about Rosalie; she'll come around."

She pursed her lips, unconvinced. "Emmett? Well, he thinks I'm a lunatic."

"It's true," I laughed once. "But he doesn't have a problem with you; he's trying to reason with Rosalie."

The corners of her lips pulled down. "What is it that upsets her?"

I took a breath and exhaled slowly, stalling. I wanted to say only the most necessary parts and say them in the least upsetting way. "Rosalie struggles the most with...with what we are," I explained. "It's hard for her to have someone on the outside know the truth, and she's a little jealous."

"Rosalie is jealous of me?" She looked as though she wasn't sure whether I was joking.

I shrugged. "You're human. She wishes that she were too."

Oh, that revelation stunned her for a moment, but then the frown returned. Even Jasper, though the sense that everything was perfectly natural and easy had faded as soon as Jasper had stopped concentrating on us. I imagined she was remembering his introduction without that influence and seeing, for the first time, the strangeness of the wide space he had left between them.

"That's really my fault," I told her. "He was the most recent to try our way of life. I warned him to keep his distance." I'd said the words lightly, but after a second, Bella shivered.

"Esme, Carlisle," she asked quickly, as if eager for a new subject. "Are they happy to see me?"

"Happy, actually," Esme wouldn't care if you had a third eye, high and webbed feet. All this time she'd been worried about me, afraid that there was something missing from my essential makeup, that I was too young when Carlisle changed me. She's ecstatic every time I touch you; she just about chokes with satisfaction."

She pursed her lips. "Alice seems very enthusiastic."

I tried to keep my composure, but I heard the edge of ice in my answer. "Alice has her own way of looking at things." Her aspect had been tense for most of our exchange, but suddenly she was grinning. "And you're not going to explain that, are you?" Of course, she noticed all my strange reactions to any mention of Alice; I'd not been very subtle. At least she was smiling now, pleased to catch me out. I was sure she had no idea why I was irritated with Alice; just letting me know that she knew that I was keeping something from her seemed to be enough for her now.

I didn't respond, but I didn't think she was expecting me to. "So what was Carlisle telling you before?" she asked.

I frowned. "You noticed that, did you?" Well, I knew I needed to tell her this, of course. I thought of that little shudder when I explained about Jasper. I hated to alarm her again, but she should be frightened. "He wanted to tell me some news," I admitted. "He...he didn't know if it was something I would share with you."

She sat up straighter, alert. "Will you?"

"I have to, because I'm going to be a little overbearingly protective over the next few days or weeks, and I wouldn't want you to think I'm naturally a tyrant." My trivializing did not put her at ease.

"What's wrong?" she demanded.

"Nothing's wrong, exactly. Alice just sees some visitors coming soon. They know we're here, and they're curious." She repeated my word in a whisper.

"Visitors?"

"Yes. Well, they aren't like us, of course. In their hunting habits, I mean. They probably won't come into town at all, but I'm certainly not going to let you out of my sight till they're gone."

She shuddered so hard I could feel the motion in the bench beneath us. Finally, a rational response, I muttered. I thought of all the horrifying things she'd accepted about me without a tremor; only other vampires were scary, apparently.

"I was beginning to think you had no sense of self-preservation at all."

She ignored that and started to watch my hands moving over the keys again. After a few seconds, she took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Had she processed another waking nightmare so easily? It seemed so. She examined the room now, her head turning slowly as she scrutinized my home. I could imagine what she was thinking. Not what you expected, is it? I guessed she was still cataloging with her eyes.

"No," I wondered what had surprised her most—the light colors, the vast openness of the space, the wall of windows. It was all very carefully designed by Esme, not to feel like some kind of fortress or asylum. I could hazard what a normal human would have predicted: no coffins, no piled skulls in the corners. I don't even think we have cobwebs.

"What a disappointment this must be for you."

She didn't react to my joke. "It's so light, so open. It's the one place we never have to hide."

While I'd been focused on her, the song I was playing had strayed back to its roots. I found myself in the middle of the bleakest moment, the moment when the obvious truth was unavoidable: Bella was perfect as she was; any interference from my world was a tragedy. It was too late to save the song; I let it end as it had before, with that heartbreak. Sometimes it was so easy to believe that Bella and I were right together, in the moment when impulsivity led and everything came so naturally, I could believe; but whenever I looked at it logically, without allowing emotion to trump reason, it was clear that I could only hurt her.

"Thank you," she whispered. Her eyes were swimming in tears. While I watched, she quickly wiped her fingers across her lower lids, rubbing the moisture away. This was the second time I'd seen Bella cry; the first time I'd hurt her, not intentionally, but still, by implying we could never be together; I'd caused her pain. Now she cried because the music I'd created for her had touched her; tears caused by pleasure. I wondered how much of this unspoken language she had understood. One tear still glistened in the corner of her left eye, shining in the brightness of the room—a tiny, clear piece of her, an ephemeral diamond. Acting on some strange instinct, I reached out to catch it with my fingertip. Round on my skin, it sparkled as my hand moved. I swiftly touched my finger to my tongue, tasting her tear, absorbing this minute particle of her.

Carlisle had spent many years attempting to understand our immortal anatomy; it was a difficult task, based mostly on assumption and observation. Vampire cadavers were not available for study. His best interpretation of our life systems was that our internal workings must be microscopically porous; though we could swallow anything, only blood was accepted by our bodies. That blood was absorbed into our muscles and provided fuel; when the fuel was depleted, our thirst intensified to encourage us to replenish our supply. Nothing besides blood seemed to move through us at all. I swallowed Bella's tear; perhaps it would never leave my body. After she left me, after all the lonely years had passed, maybe I would always have this piece of her inside me.

She stared at me curiously, but I had no sane way to explain. Instead, I returned to her earlier curiosity.

"Do you want to see the rest of the house?" I offered.

"No coffins?" she double-checked.

I laughed and stood, pulling her up from the piano bench. "No coffins." I led her upstairs to the second floor. She'd seen most of the first; all but the unused kitchen and the dining room were visible from the front door. As we climbed, her interest was evident; she studied everything—the railing, the pale wood floors, the picture-frame paneling that lined the hallway at the top. It was like she was preparing for an exam. I named the owner of each room we passed, and she nodded after each designation, ready for the quiz I was about to round the corner and follow the next flight of stairs up, but Bella stopped suddenly. I looked to see what she was staring at so bemusedly.

"Ah, you can laugh," I said. "It is sort of ironic."

She didn't laugh. She stretched out her hand as if she wished to touch the thick oak cross that hung there, dark and somber against the lighter wood behind it, but her fingertips didn't make contact.

"It must be very old," Bella murmured.

I shrugged. "Early 1630s, more or less."

She stared up at me, her head tilted to one side. "Why do you keep this here?"

"Nostalgia," it belonged to Carlisle's father; he collected antiques.

She suggested, sounding as if she already knew her guess was wrong.

"No," I answered. "He carved this himself. It hung on the wall above the pulpit in the vicarage where he preached."

Bella looked up at the cross, her stare intense. She didn't move for so long that I started to get anxious again.

"Are you all right?" I murmured.

"How old is Carlisle?" she shot back.

I sighed, trying to quell the old panic. Would this story be the one that would be too much? I scrutinized every minute muscle twitch in her face as I explained. "He just celebrated his 362nd birthday, or close enough. Carlisle had chosen a day for Esme's sake, but it was only his best guess. Carlisle was born in London in the 1640s. He believes time wasn't marked as accurately then for the common people, anyway. It was just before Cromwell's rule. Though he was the only son of an Anglican pastor, his mother died giving birth to him. His father was an intolerant man; as the Protestants came into power, he was enthusiastic in his persecution of Roman Catholics and other religions. He also believed very strongly in the reality of evil; he led hunts for witches, werewolves, and vampires." She'd been keeping up a good charade for the most part, almost as if she were disassociating from the facts, but when I spoke the word vampires, her shoulders stiffened, and she held her breath for an extra second. "They burned a lot of innocent people, of course. The real creatures that he sought were not so easy to catch." This still haunted Carlisle—the innocence his father had murdered, and even more, those murders Carlisle had been unwillingly involved in. I was glad for his sake that the memories were blurred and always fading more. I knew the stories of Carlisle's human years as well as I knew my own. As I described his ill-fated discovery of an ancient London coven, I wondered if this would sound real to her at all. This was irrelevant history, set in a country she'd never seen, separated from her own existence by so many years that she had no context for it. She seemed spellbound, though, as I described the attack that had infected Carlisle and killed his associates, carefully leaving out the details I'd rather she didn't dwell on. When the vampire, driven by thirst, had wheeled around and fallen on his pursuers, he'd only slashed Carlisle twice with his venom-covered teeth—once across the palm of his outstretched hand and once through his bicep. It had been a melee, the vampire struggling to quickly subdue four men before the rest of the mob got too close. After the fact, Carlisle had theorized that the vampire was hoping to drain them all, but he chose self-preservation over a more bounteous meal, grabbing the men he could carry and running. It was not self-preservation from the mob, of course; those 50 men with their crude weapons were no more dangerous to him than a kaleidoscope of butterflies. However, the Volturi were less than a thousand miles away; their laws had been established for a millennium by this point, and their demand that every immortal exercise discretion for the benefit of all was universally accepted. The story of a vampire sighting in London, attested to by 50 witnesses with drained corpses as proof, would not have gone over well in Volterra. The nature of Carlisle's wounds was unfortunate; the gash in his hand was far from any major vessels; the slash in his arm had missed both the brachial artery and the basilic vein. This meant a much slower spread of the venom and a longer transition period. As the conversion from mortal to immortal was the most painful thing any of us had ever experienced, an extended version was not ideal, to say the least. I'd known the pain of that same extended version. Carlisle had been unsure when he decided to change me into his first companion; he'd spent a great deal of time with other, more experienced vampires, the Volturi included, and he knew that a better-placed bite would result in a quicker conversion. However, he never found another vampire like himself; all the others were obsessed with blood and power; no one else craved a kinder, more familial life as he did. He wondered whether his slow conversion and the weak entry points of his infection had been somehow responsible for the difference. So when creating his first son, he chose to imitate his own wounds. He'd always felt bad about that, especially as he later found that the method of conversion actually had no bearing on the personality and desires of the new immortal. He hadn't had time to experiment when he found Esme; she was much closer to death than I had been. To save her, it had been imperative to get as much venom into her system, as close to her heart as possible; all in all, a much more frenzied effort than it had been with me. And yet Esme was the gentlest of us all, and Carlisle the strongest. I now told Bella what I could about his extraordinarily disciplined conversion. I found myself editing things that perhaps I shouldn't have, but I didn't want to dwell on Carlisle's excruciating pain. Maybe, given her obvious curiosity about the process, it would have been a good thing to describe; perhaps it would have deterred her from wanting to know more.

"It was over then," I explained, "and he realized what he had become."

All the while lost in my own thoughts as I told the familiar tale, I'd been observing her reactions. For the most part, she kept the same expression fixed on her face; I think she meant it to look like attentive interest, totally devoid of any unnecessary emotional recoils. However, she held herself too stiffly for her ploy to be believable; her curiosity was real, but I wanted to know what she really thought, not what she wanted me to think she thought.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

"I'm fine," she answered automatically, but her mask slipped a little bit. Still, all I could read on her face was a desire to know more; so the story hadn't been enough to frighten her away.

"I expect you have a few more questions for me," she grinned, totally self-possessed, seemingly fearless.

"A few," I smiled back. "Come on then; I'll show you Chapter 20."

"Carlisle," we walked back along the hall to Carlisle's office. I paused at the door, waiting for his invitation. "Come in," Carlisle said. I led her inside and watched her animatedly examine this new room; it was darker than the rest of the house; the deep mahogany wood reminded him of his earliest home. Her eyes ran across the rows and rows of books; I knew her well enough to see that the sight of so many books in one room was something of a dream to her. Carlisle marked the page in the one he was reading and then stood to welcome us. "What can I do for you?" he asked. Of course, he'd heard all our conversation in the hall.

And he knew we were here for the next installment. He wasn't bothered by my sharing his story; he didn't seem surprised that I would tell her everything. I wanted to show Bella some of our history—well, your history actually.

"We didn't mean to disturb you," Bella said quietly.

"Not at all," Carlisle assured her. "Where are you going to start?"

"The Wagoner," I said. I put one hand on her shoulder and turned her gently to face the wall behind us. I heard her heartbeat react to my touch, and then Carlisle's almost silent laugh at her reaction.

"Interesting," he thought.

I watched Bella's eyes widen as she took in the gallery wall of Carlisle's office. I could imagine the way it might disorient a person seeing it for the first time. There were 73 works, in all sizes, mediums, and colors, crammed together like a wall-sized puzzle with only rectangular pieces. Her gaze couldn't find anywhere to settle. I took her hand and led her to the beginning. Carlisle followed, as on the page of a book. The story began at the far left. It was not a showy piece—monochromatic and map-like—in fact, it was part of a map, hand-painted by an amateur cartographer, one of the very few originals that had survived the centuries.

Her brows furrowed.

"London in the 1650s," I explained.

"The London of my youth," Carlisle added from a few feet behind us.

Bella flinched, surprised by his closeness. Of course, she wouldn't have heard his movements. I squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her. This house was a strange place for her to be, but nothing here would hurt her.

"Will you tell the story?" I asked him. And Bella turned to see what he would say.

"I'm sorry, I wish I could," he smiled at Bella and spoke aloud to her. "I would, but I'm actually running a bit late. The hospital called this morning; Dr. Snow is taking a sick day. Besides," he looked at me, "you know the stories as well as I do."

Carlisle smiled warmly at Bella as he exited. Once he had gone, she turned back to examine the small painting again.

"What happened then?" she asked after a moment.

"When he realized what had happened to him," I said automatically. I looked to a larger painting, one column over and one row down. It wasn't a cheerful image—a gloomy, deserted landscape, a sky thick with oppressive clouds, colors that seemed to suggest the sun would never return. Carlisle had seen this piece through the window of a minor castle in Scotland. It so perfectly reminded him of his life at its darkest point that he wanted to keep it, though the old memory was painful to him. The existence of this devastated landscape meant that someone else had once understood. When he knew what he had become, he rebelled against it. He tried to destroy himself, but that's not easily done.

"How…" she gasped.

I kept my eyes on the evocative emptiness of the painting as I described Carlisle's suicide attempts. He jumped from great heights; he tried to drown himself in the ocean. But he was young to the new life, and very, very strong.

"It is amazing that he was able to resist feeding," she whispered.

I glanced quickly at her, but she was staring at the painting. "While he was still so new, the instinct is more powerful; then it takes over everything. But he was so repelled by himself that he had the strength to try to kill himself with starvation."

"Is that possible?" she whispered.

"No, there are very few ways we can be killed."

She opened her mouth to ask the most obvious follow-up, but I spoke quickly to distract her. "So he grew very hungry and eventually weak. He strayed as far as he could from the human populace, recognizing that his willpower was weakening, too. For months he wandered by night, seeking the loneliest places, loathing himself."

I described the night he found another way to live—the compromise of animal blood—and his recovery to a rational creature, then leaving for the continent.

"He swam to France?" she interrupted, disbelieving.

"People swim the Channel all the time," I pointed out.

"Bella," I said, "that's true. I guess it just sounded funny in that context. Go on."

"Swimming is easy for us," she complained. "Everything is easy for you."

I smiled at her, waiting to be sure she was done. She frowned.

"I won't interrupt again, I promise."

My smile widened, knowing what her reaction would be to the next bit. "Because, technically, we don't need to breathe."

"You…" I laughed and put one finger against her lips.

"No, no, you promised. Do you want to hear the story or not?"

Her lips moved against my touch. "You can't spring something like that on me and then expect me not to say anything."

I let my hand fall to rest against the side of her neck. "You don't have to breathe," I shrugged. "No, it's not necessary, just a habit."

"How long can you go without breathing?"

"Indefinitely, I suppose. I don't know. The longest I'd ever gone was a few days—all of it underwater. It gets a bit uncomfortable being without a sense of smell."

"A bit uncomfortable," she repeated in a fragile voice, barely over a whisper. Her eyebrows were drawn together, her eyes narrowed, her shoulders rigid. The exchange, which had been funny to me a moment before, was abruptly humorless. We were so different, though we'd once belonged to the same species; we shared only a few superficial traits now. She must finally feel the weight of the distortion, the distance between us. I lifted my hand from her skin and dropped it to my side; my alien touch would only make that gap more obvious. I stared at her troubled expression, waiting to see if this—this would be one truth too many. After a few long seconds, the stress in her features eased; her eyes focused on my face, and a different kind of unease marked hers. She reached up, with no hesitation, to press her fingers against my cheek.

"What is it?" Concern for me again. So apparently this wasn't the "too much" I'd been fearing.

"I keep waiting for it to happen," she was confused.

"For what to happen?"

I took a deep breath. "I know that at some point, something I tell you, or something you see, is going to be too much, and then you'll run away from me, screaming as you go."

I tried to smile at her, but I didn't do a very good job.

"I won't stop you," I said. "I want this to happen because I want you to be safe, and yet I want to be with you. The two desires are impossible to reconcile."

She squared her shoulders; her chin jetted out.

"I'm not running anywhere," she promised.

I had to smile at her brave facade.

"We'll see," I said. "So go on," she insisted, scowling a little at my doubtful response.

"Carlisle was swimming to France." I measured her mood for one more second, then turned back to the gallery. This time, I pointed her toward the most ostentatious of all the paintings—the brightest, the most garish. It was meant to be a portrayal of the Final Judgment, but half the thrashing figures seemed to be involved in some kind of orgy, the other half in a violent, bloody combat. Only the judges, suspended above the pandemonium on marble balustrades, were serene. This one had been a gift; it wasn't something Carlisle would have ever picked out for himself. But when the Volturi had pressed upon him the souvenir of their time together, it wasn't as if he could have said no. He had some affection for the gaudy piece and for the distant vampire overlords depicted in it, so he kept it with his other favorites. They had been very kind to him in many ways, after all, and Esme liked the small portrait of Carlisle hidden in the midst of the mayhem.

While I explained Carlisle's first few years in Europe, Bella stared at the painting, trying to make sense of all the figures and swirling colors. I found my voice becoming less casual. It was hard to think of Carlisle's quest to subdue his nature, to become a blessing to mankind rather than a parasite, without feeling again all the awe his journey deserved. I'd always envied Carlisle's perfect control, but at the same time believed it was impossible for me to duplicate. I realized now that I'd chosen the lazy way, the path of least resistance, admiring him greatly but never putting in the effort to become more like…like him. This crash course in restraint that Bella was teaching me might have been less fraught if I'd worked harder to improve in the last seven decades.

Bella was staring at me now. I tapped the relevant scene in front of us to refocus her attention on the story. "He was studying in Italy when he discovered the others there. They were much more civilized and educated than the wraiths of the London sewers."

She concentrated on the tableau I indicated and then laughed, suddenly, a little shocked. She'd recognized Carlisle despite the robe-like costume he was painted in. Solomina was greatly inspired by Carlisle's friends; he often painted them as gods—Aro, Marcus, Caius. I gestured to each as I said their names—nighttime patrons of the arts.

Her finger hesitated just above the canvas.

"What happened to them?"

"They're still there, as they have been for who knows how many millennia," I said. "Carlisle stayed with them only for a short time—just a few decades. He greatly admired their civility, their refinement, but they persisted in trying to cure his aversion to his natural food source, as they called it. They tried to persuade him, and he tried to persuade them, to no avail. At that point, Carlisle decided to try the New World. He dreamed of finding others like himself; he was very lonely, you see."

I touched only lightly on the following decades as Carlisle struggled with his own isolation and finally began to consider a course of action. The story turned more personal and also more repetitive; she'd heard some of this before—Carlisle finding me on my deathbed and making the decision that had changed my destiny, and now that decision was affecting Bella's destiny, too.

"And so we've come full circle," I concluded.

"Have you always stayed with Carlisle, then?" she asked. With unerring instinct, she'd found the one question I least wanted to answer.

"Almost always," I answered. I placed my hand on her waist to guide her out of Carlisle's office, wishing I could also guide her away from this train of thought, but I knew she was not going to let that stand.

"Sure enough," I sighed, unwilling, but honesty must take precedence over shame. "Well," I confessed, "I had a typical bout of rebellious adolescence—about 10 years after I was born—created whatever you want to call it. I wasn't sold on his life of abstinence, and I resented him for curbing my appetite, so I went off on my own for a time."

"Really?" Her intonation was not what I expected; rather than being disgusted, she sounded eager to hear more. This didn't match her reaction in the meadow when she'd seemed so surprised that I was guilty of murder, as though that truth had never occurred to her. Perhaps she'd grown used to the idea. We started up the stairs now; she seemed indifferent to her surroundings; she only watched me.

"That doesn't repulse you?" I asked.

She considered that for half a second.

"No."

I found her answer upsetting.

"Why not?" I nearly demanded.

"I guess it sounds reasonable," her explanation ended on a higher pitch, like a question.

"Reasonable?" I laughed, the sound too harsh. But instead of telling her all the ways it was neither reasonable nor forgivable, I found myself giving a defense. From the time of my new birth, I had the advantage of knowing what everyone around me was thinking—both human and nonhuman alike. That's why it took me 10 years to defy Carlisle. I could read his perfect sincerity, understand exactly why he lived the way he did. I wondered if I would ever have gone astray if I had not met Siobhan and others like her; if I hadn't been aware that every other creature like myself we'd not yet stumbled across—Tanya and her sisters—thought the way Carlisle lived was ludicrous. If I had only known Carlisle and never discovered another code of conduct, I think I would have stayed. It made me ashamed that I'd let myself be influenced by others who were never Carlisle's equals, but I'd envied their freedom, and I'd thought I would be able to live above the moral abyss they all sank to because I was special. I shook my head at the arrogance. It took me only a few years to return to Carlisle and recommit to his vision. I thought I would be exempt from the depression that accompanies a conscience because I knew the thoughts of my prey. I could pass over the innocent and pursue only the evil. If I followed a murderer down a dark alley where he stalked a young girl, if I saved her, then surely I wasn't so terrible. There were a great many humans I'd saved this way, and yet it never seemed to balance out the tally. So many faces flashed through my memories—the guilty I'd executed and the innocence I'd saved. One face lingered—both guilty and innocent—September 1930. It had been a very bad year everywhere; the human struggled to survive—bank failures, droughts, and dust storms displaced farmers and their families; flooded cities that had no room for them. At the time, I wondered whether the pervasive despair and dread in the minds around me were a contributing factor to the melancholy that was beginning to plague me, but I think even then I knew that my personal depression was wholly due to my own choices. I was passing through Milwaukee, as I'd passed through Chicago, Philadelphia, Detroit, Columbus, Indianapolis, Minneapolis, Montreal, Toronto—city after city—and then returned over and over again, truly nomadic for the first time in my life. I never strayed farther south; I knew better than to hunt near the hotbed of newborn nightmare armies, nor farther east, as I was also avoiding Carlisle—less for self-preservation and more out of shame. In that case, I never stayed more than a few days in any one place, never interacted with the humans I wasn't hunting. After more than 4 years, it had become a simple thing to locate the minds I sought. I knew where I was likely to find them and when they were usually active. It was disturbing how easy it was to pinpoint my ideal victims; there were so many of them. Perhaps that was part of the melancholy, too. The minds I hunted were usually hardened to all human pity and most other emotions besides greed and desire. There was a coldness and a focus that stood out from the normal, less dangerous minds around them. Of course, it had taken most of them some time to reach this point, where they saw themselves as predators first and anything else second, so there was always a line of victims I had been too late to save. I could only say I saved the next one. Scanning for such minds, I was able to tune out everything more human, for the most part. But that evening in Milwaukee, as I moved quietly through the darkness—strolling when there were witnesses, running when there were not—a different kind of mind caught my attention. He was a young man, poor, living in the slums on the outskirts of the industrial district. He was in a state of mental anguish that intruded upon my awareness, though anguish was not an uncommon emotion in those days. But unlike the others who feared hunger, eviction, cold, sickness, want in so many forms, this man feared himself.

"I can't…I can't…I can't do this…I can't…I can't…" It was like a mantra in his head, repeating endlessly. It never resolved into anything stronger, never became "I won't." He thought the negatives, but meanwhile he was planning. The man hadn't done anything yet; he had only dreamed of what he wanted; he had only watched the girl in the tenement up the alley, never spoken to her. I was a bit flummoxed; I had never condemned anyone to death whose hands were clean. But it seemed likely this man would not have clean hands for long, and the girl in his mind was just a young child. Unsure, I decided to wait; perhaps he would overcome the temptation. I doubted it; my recent study of the basest of human natures had left little room for optimism. Down the alley where he lived, where the buildings leaned precariously together, there was a narrow house with a recently collapsed roof. No one could get to the second floor safely, so that was where I hid, motionless, while I listened through the next several days, examining the thoughts of the people crowded into the sagging buildings. It didn't take me long to find the child's thin face in a different, healthier set of thoughts. I found the room where she lived with her mother and two older brothers and watched her through the day. This was easy; she was only five or six and so didn't wander far; her mother called her back when she rambled out of sight. Betty was her name. The man watched, too, when he wasn't scouring the streets for day labor, but he kept his distance from her in the daytime. It was at night that he paused outside the window, hiding in the shadows while a single candle burned in her family's room. He marked at what time the candle was blown out; he noted the location of the child's bed—just a newspaper-stuffed cushion under the open window. It was getting cool at night, but the smells in the overcrowded house were unpleasant; everyone kept their windows open.

"I can't do this…I can't…I can't…" His mantra continued, but he began to prepare—a piece of rope he found in a gutter, some rags he plucked off a clothesline during his nighttime surveillance that would work as a gag. Ironically, he chose the same dilapidated house where I hid to store his collection. There was a cave-like space under the collapsed stairs; this was where he would bring the child. Still, I waited, unwilling to punish before I was positive of the crime. The hardest part, the part he struggled with, was that he knew he would have to kill her afterward. This was distasteful, and he didn't like to consider the how of it, but this qualm, too, was overcome. It took another week. By this time, I was quite thirsty and bored with the repetition in his mind. However, I knew I could not justify my own murders unless I was acting within the rules I'd created for myself—punish only the guilty, only those who would grievously harm others if they were spared. I was oddly disappointed the night he came for his ropes and gags. Against reason, I'd hoped he would stay guiltless. I followed him to the open window where the child slept. He didn't hear me behind him, would not have seen me in the shadows if he had turned. The chanting in his head was over; he could…he had realized…realized he could do this. I waited until he reached through the window, until his fingers brushed her arm, looking for a good hold. I grabbed him by the neck and leaped to the roof—three stories up—where we landed with a low thud. Of course, he was terrified by the ice-cold fingers wrapped around his throat, bewildered by the sudden flight through the air, confused as to what was happening. But when I spun him to face me, somehow he understood. He didn't see a man when he looked at me; he saw my empty black eyes, my death-pale skin, and he saw judgment. Though he didn't come close to guessing what I actually was, he was absolutely correct about what was happening. He realized that I had saved the child from him, and he was relieved—not hardened like the others, not cold and sure. "I didn't…" he thought, as I lunged. The words were not a defense; he was glad he had been stopped. He had been my only technically innocent victim—the one who had not lived to become the monster. Ending his progression toward evil had been the right thing, the only thing to do. As I considered them all—every one of those I'd executed—I didn't regret any of their deaths individually. The world was a better place for each one of their absences, but somehow this didn't matter. And in the end, blood was just blood; it quenched my thirst for a few days or weeks, and that was all. Though there was physical pleasure, it was too marred by the pain of my mind. Stubborn as I was, I could not avoid the truth: I was happier without human blood. The total sum of death became too much for me. It was only a few months later that I gave up my selfish crusade, gave up trying to find something meaningful in the slaughter. But as time went on, I continued wondering how much she'd intended that I hadn't said. I began to see the monster in my eyes. I couldn't escape the debt of so much human life taken, no matter how justified, and I went back to Carlisle and Esme. They welcomed me back like the prodigal; it was more than I deserved. I remembered their arms around me, remembered the joy in their minds when I returned. The way she looked at me now was also more than I deserved. I supposed my defense had worked, no matter how weak it sounded to me, but Bella must have been used to making excuses for me by now. I couldn't imagine how she could bear to be around me. We'd reached the last door along the hallway—my room, I informed her as I held it open. I expected her reaction—the close scrutiny returned. She analyzed the view of the river, the abundance of shelving for my music, the stereo, the lack of traditional furniture, her eyes skipping from one detail to the next. I wondered if it was as interesting to her as her room had been to me. Her eyes lingered on the wall treatments.

"Good acoustics," I laughed and nodded, then turned on the sound system. Even as low as the volume was, the speakers hidden in the walls and ceiling made it sound like we were in a concert hall with the performers. She smiled, then wandered over to the closest shelf of CDs. It felt surreal to see her in the center of a space that was almost always an isolated retreat. We'd spent most of our time together in the human world—school, town, her home—and it had always made me feel the interloper, the one who didn't belong. Less than a week ago, I couldn't have believed she would ever be so relaxed and comfortable in the middle of my world. She was no interloper; she belonged perfectly. It was as if the room had never been complete till now, and she was here, under no pretext. I told no lies, revealed every one of my sins. She knew it all and still wanted to be in this room alone with me.

"How do you have these organized?" she wondered, trying to make sense of my collection. My mind was so caught up in the pleasure of having her here, it took me a second to respond.

"Um…by year, and then by personal preference within that frame."

Bella could hear the abstraction in my voice. She glanced up at me, trying to understand why I was staring at her so intently.

"What?" she asked; her hand strained self-consciously to her hair.

"I was prepared to feel relieved, having you know about everything, not needing to keep secrets from you, but I didn't expect to feel more than that," I said. "I like it; it makes me happy."

We smiled together.

"I'm glad," she said. It was easy to see she was telling nothing but the truth; there were no shadows in her eyes. It brought her as much pleasure to be in my world as being in hers brought me. A flicker of unease twisted my expression. I thought of pomegranate seeds for the first time in a while. It felt right to have her here, but was that just my selfishness blinding me? Nothing had scared her away from me, but that didn't mean that she shouldn't be frightened. She'd always been too brave for her own good. Bella watched my face change.

"You're still waiting for the running and the screaming, aren't you?"

"Close enough," I nodded.

"I hate to burst your bubble," she said, her voice blasé, "but you're really not as scary as you think you are. I don't find you scary at all, actually."

It was a well-performed lie, especially considering her usual lack of success with deception, but I knew she made the joke mostly to keep me from feeling dejected or worried. Though I sometimes regretted the depth of her leniency toward me, it did shift my mood; it was a funny joke, and I couldn't resist playing along. I smiled, showing too much of my teeth.

"You really shouldn't have said that."

She'd asked to see me hunt, after all. I coiled into a parody of my actual hunting stance—a loose, playful version, exposing even more of my teeth. I growled softly; it was almost a purr. She started to back away, though there was no real fear on her face—at least, no fear of physical harm. She did look a little afraid that she was about to become the butt of her own joke. She swallowed loudly.

"You wouldn't…"

I sprang. She wasn't able to see much of the action; I moved at immortal speed, launching myself across the room. I scooped her up into my arms as I flew.

By I shaped myself into a sort of defensive armor around her so that when we collided with the sofa she felt none of the impact. By design, I'd landed on my back. I held her against my chest, still curled within my arms. She seemed a little disoriented, as though she wasn't sure which way was up. She struggled to sit, but I wasn't finished making my point. She tried to glare at me, but her eyes were too wide to make the expression effective.

"You were saying," I asked, my voice a playful snarl. She tried to catch her breath. "That you are a very, very terrifying monster." I grinned at her. "Much better."

Alice and Jasper were bounding up the stairs. I could hear Alice's eagerness to offer an invitation. She was also very curious about the sounds of a struggle emanating from my room. She hadn't been watching me, so now she only saw what she would find when they arrived. The way we'd gotten so disarranged was already in the past. Bella was still trying to free herself.

"Um, can I get up now?"

I laughed at her continued breathlessness, despite her overconfidence. I'd still been able to truly startle her.

"Can we come in?" Alice asked from the hallway, aloud for Bella's sake. I sat up now, holding Bella on my lap. There was no need to pretend here, though I assumed a more respectful distance would be necessary in front of Charlie. Alice was already walking into the room as I answered, "Go ahead." While Jasper hesitated in the doorway, she settled herself in the middle of my rug, a wide grin on her face.

"It sounded like you were having Bella for lunch, and we came to see if you would share," she teased. Bella braced herself, her eyes flying to my face for reassurance. I smiled and pulled her tighter against my chest. "Sorry, I don't believe I have enough to spare."

Jasper followed her into the room, unable to help himself. The emotions inside were nearly intoxicating to him. In this moment, I knew Bella's feelings were just the same as mine, for there was no counterbalance to the atmosphere of bliss that Jasper was getting high on.

"Now, actually," he said, changing the subject. I could see that he wanted to control what he was feeling, to regulate it. The ambiance was overwhelming.

"Alice says there's going to be a real storm tonight, and EMT wants to play ball. Are you game?"

I paused, looking to Alice. Lightning fast, she ran through a few hundred images from that possible future. Rosy was absent, but EMT wouldn't miss a game. Sometimes his team won, sometimes mine did. Bella was there watching, her face delighted by the otherworldly display.

"Of course you should bring Bella," she encouraged, knowing me well enough to understand my hesitation.

Oh, Jasper was caught off guard internally. He readjusted his idea of what was to come. He would not be able to relax as he'd planned, but experiencing the emotions Bella and I made each other feel—that was a trade he could accept.

"Do you want to go?" I asked Bella.

"Sure," she answered quickly, and then after a tiny pause, "Um, where are we going?"

"We have to wait for Thunder to play ball," I explained. "You'll see why." Her concern was more obvious now.

"Will I need an umbrella?" I laughed that this was her worry, and Alice and Jasper joined in.

"Will she?" Jasper asked Alice. Another flash of images, this time tracking the course of the storm.

"No, the storm will hit over town. It should be dry enough in the clearing."

"Good," then Jasper said. He found that he was excited by the idea of spending more time with Bella and me. His enthusiasm spread out from his body, infecting the rest of us. Bella's expression changed from cautious to eager.

"Cool," Alice thought, glad that her plan was now certain. She wanted recreational time with Bella too. "I'll leave you to sort out the details. Let's go see if Carlile will come," she said, bouncing up from the floor. Jasper poked her in the ribs. "Like you don't already know." She was out the door in the same breath. Jasper followed more slowly, savoring each second near us. He paused to shut the door behind himself—an excuse to linger that much longer.

"What will we be playing?" Bella asked as soon as the door was closed.

"You will be watching. We will be playing baseball." She looked at me skeptically.

"Vampires like baseball?" I answered her with, "Put on gravit toss. It's the American Pastime."