Twilight 2

We were in front of Charlie's house. The lights were on, my truck in its place, everything utterly normal. It was like waking from a dream. He stopped the car, but I didn't move. "Do you promise to be there tomorrow?" "I promise." I considered that for a moment, then nodded. I pulled his jacket off, taking one last whiff. "You can keep it — you don't have a jacket for tomorrow," he reminded me. I handed it back to him. "I don't want to have to explain to Charlie." "Oh, right." He grinned. I hesitated, my hand on the door handle, trying to prolong the moment. "Bella?" he asked in a different tone — serious, but hesitant. "Yes?" I turned back to him too eagerly. "Will you promise me something?" "Yes," I said, and instantly regretted my unconditional agreement. What if he asked me to stay away from him? I couldn't keep that promise. "Don't go into the woods alone." I stared at him in blank confusion. "Why?" He frowned, and his eyes were tight as he stared past me out the window. "I'm not always the most dangerous thing out there. Let's leave it at that." I shuddered slightly at the sudden bleakness in his voice, but I was relieved. This, at least, was an easy promise to honor. "Whatever you say." "I'll see you tomorrow," he sighed, and I knew he wanted me to leave now. "Tomorrow, then." I opened the door unwillingly. "Bella?" I turned and he was leaning toward me, his pale, glorious face just inches from mine. My heart stopped beating. "Sleep well," he said. His breath blew in my face, stunning me. It was the same exquisite scent that clung to his jacket, but in a more concentrated form. I blinked, thoroughly dazed. He leaned away. I was unable to move until my brain had somewhat unscrambled itself. Then I stepped out of the car awkwardly, having to use the frame for support. I thought I heard him chuckle, but the sound was too quiet for me to be certain. He waited till I had stumbled to the front door, and then I heard his engine quietly rev. I turned to watch the silver car disappear around the corner. I realized it was very cold. I reached for the key mechanically, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. Charlie called from the living room. "Bella?" "Yeah, Dad, it's me." I walked in to see him. He was watching a baseball game. "You're home early." "Am I?" I was surprised. "It's not even eight yet," he told me. "Did you girls have fun?" "Yeah — it was lots of fun." My head was spinning as I tried to remember all the way back to the girls' night out I had planned. "They both found dresses." "Are you all right?" "I'm just tired. I did a lot of walking." "Well, maybe you should go lie down." He sounded concerned. I wondered what my face looked like. "I'm just going to call Jessica first." "Weren't you just with her?" he asked, surprised. "Yes — but I left my jacket in her car. I want to make sure she brings it tomorrow." "Well, give her a chance to get home first." "Right," I agreed. I went to the kitchen and fell, exhausted, into a chair. I was really feeling dizzy now. I wondered if I was going to go into shock after all. Get a grip, I told myself. The phone rang suddenly, startling me. I yanked it off the hook. "Hello?" I asked breathlessly. "Bella?" "Hey, Jess, I was just going to call you." "You made it home?" Her voice was relieved… and surprised. "Yes. I left my jacket in your car — could you bring it to me tomorrow?" "Sure. But tell me what happened!" she demanded. "Um, tomorrow — in Trig, okay?" She caught on quickly. "Oh, is your dad there?" "Yes, that's right." "Okay, I'll talk to you tomorrow, then. Bye!" I could hear the impatience in her voice. "Bye, Jess." I walked up the stairs slowly, a heavy stupor clouding my mind. I went through the motions of getting ready for bed without paying any attention to what I was doing. It wasn't until I was in the shower — the water too hot, burning my skin — that I realized I was freezing. I shuddered violently for several minutes before the steaming spray could finally relax my rigid muscles. Then I stood in the shower, too tired to move, until the hot water began to run out. I stumbled out, wrapping myself securely in a towel, trying to hold the heat from the water in so the aching shivers wouldn't return. I dressed for bed swiftly and climbed under my quilt, curling into a ball, hugging myself to keep warm. A few small shudders trembled through me. My mind still swirled dizzily, full of images I couldn't understand, and some I fought to repress. Nothing seemed clear at first, but as I fell gradually closer to unconsciousness, a few certainties became evident. About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was part of him — and I didn't know how potent that part might be — that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him. 10. INTERROGATIONS It was very hard, in the morning, to argue with the part of me that was sure last night was a dream. Logic wasn't on my side, or common sense. I clung to the parts I couldn't have imagined — like his smell. I was sure I could never have dreamed that up on my own. It was foggy and dark outside my window, absolutely perfect. He had no reason not to be in school today. I dressed in my heavy clothes, remembering I didn't have a jacket. Further proof that my memory was real. When I got downstairs, Charlie was gone again — I was running later than I'd realized. I swallowed a granola bar in three bites, chased it down with milk straight from the carton, and then hurried out the door. Hopefully the rain would hold off until I could find Jessica. It was unusually foggy; the air was almost smoky with it. The mist was ice cold where it clung to the exposed skin on my face and neck. I couldn't wait to get the heat going in my truck. It was such a thick fog that I was a few feet down the driveway before I realized there was a car in it: a silver car. My heart thudded, stuttered, and then picked up again in double time. I didn't see where he came from, but suddenly he was there, pulling the door open for me. "Do you want to ride with me today?" he asked, amused by my expression as he caught me by surprise yet again. There was uncertainty in his voice. He was really giving me a choice — I was free to refuse, and part of him hoped for that. It was a vain hope. "Yes, thank you," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. As I stepped into the warm car, I noticed his tan jacket was slung over the headrest of the passenger seat. The door closed behind me, and, sooner than should be possible, he was sitting next to me, starting the car. "I brought the jacket for you. I didn't want you to get sick or something." His voice was guarded. I noticed that he wore no jacket himself, just a light gray knit V-neck shirt with long sleeves. Again, the fabric clung to his perfectly muscled chest. It was a colossal tribute to his face that it kept my eyes away from his body. "I'm not quite that delicate," I said, but I pulled the jacket onto my lap, pushing my arms through the too-long sleeves, curious to see if the scent could possibly be as good as I remembered. It was better. "Aren't you?" he contradicted in a voice so low I wasn't sure if he meant for me to hear. We drove through the fog-shrouded streets, always too fast, feeling awkward. I was, at least. Last night all the walls were down… almost all. I didn't know if we were still being as candid today. It left me tongue-tied. I waited for him to speak. He turned to smirk at me. "What, no twenty questions today?" "Do my questions bother you?" I asked, relieved. "Not as much as your reactions do." He looked like he was joking, but I couldn't be sure. I frowned. "Do I react badly?" "No, that's the problem. You take everything so coolly — it's unnatural. It makes me wonder what you're really thinking." "I always tell you what I'm really thinking." "You edit," he accused. "Not very much." "Enough to drive me insane." "You don't want to hear it," I mumbled, almost whispered. As soon as the words were out, I regretted them. The pain in my voice was very faint; I could only hope he hadn't noticed it. He didn't respond, and I wondered if I had ruined the mood. His face was unreadable as we drove into the school parking lot. Something occurred to me belatedly. "Where's the rest of your family?" I asked — more than glad to be alone with him, but remembering that his car was usually full. "They took Rosalie's car." He shrugged as he parked next to a glossy red convertible with the top up. "Ostentatious, isn't it?" "Um, wow," I breathed. "If she has that, why does she ride with you?" "Like I said, it's ostentatious. We try to blend in." "You don't succeed." I laughed and shook my head as we got out of the car. I wasn't late anymore; his lunatic driving had gotten me to school in plenty of time. "So why did Rosalie drive today if it's more conspicuous?" "Hadn't you noticed? I'm breaking all the rules now." He met me at the front of the car, staying very close to my side as we walked onto campus. I wanted to close that little distance, to reach out and touch him, but I was afraid he wouldn't like me to. "Why do you have cars like that at all?" I wondered aloud. "If you're looking for privacy?" "An indulgence," he admitted with an impish smile. "We all like to drive fast." "Figures," I muttered under my breath. Under the shelter of the cafeteria roof's overhang, Jessica was waiting, her eyes about to bug out of their sockets. Over her arm, bless her, was my jacket. "Hey, Jessica," I said when we were a few feet away. "Thanks for remembering." She handed me my jacket without speaking. "Good morning, Jessica," Edward said politely. It wasn't really his fault that his voice was so irresistible. Or what his eyes were capable of. "Er… hi." She shifted her wide eyes to me, trying to gather her jumbled thoughts. "I guess I'll see you in Trig." She gave me a meaningful look, and I suppressed a sigh. What on earth was I going to tell her? "Yeah, I'll see you then." She walked away, pausing twice to peek back over her shoulder at us. "What are you going to tell her?" Edward murmured. "Hey, I thought you couldn't read my mind!" I hissed. "I can't," he said, startled. Then understanding brightened his eyes. "However, I can read hers — she'll be waiting to ambush you in class." I groaned as I pulled off his jacket and handed it to him, replacing it with my own. He folded it over his arm. "So what are you going to tell her?" "A little help?" I pleaded. "What does she want to know?" He shook his head, grinning wickedly. "That's not fair." "No, you not sharing what you know — now that's not fair." He deliberated for a moment as we walked. We stopped outside the door to my first class. "She wants to know if we're secretly dating. And she wants to know how you feel about me," he finally said. "Yikes. What should I say?" I tried to keep my expression very innocent. People were passing us on their way to class, probably staring, but I was barely aware of them. "Hmmm." He paused to catch a stray lock of hair that was escaping the twist on my neck and wound it back into place. My heart spluttered hyperactively. "I suppose you could say yes to the first… if you don't mind — it's easier than any other explanation." "I don't mind," I said in a faint voice. "And as for her other question… well, I'll be listening to hear the answer to that one myself." One side of his mouth pulled up into my favorite uneven smile. I couldn't catch my breath soon enough to respond to that remark. He turned and walked away. "I'll see you at lunch," he called over his shoulder. Three people walking in the door stopped to stare at me. I hurried into class, flushed and irritated. He was such a cheater. Now I was even more worried about what I was going to say to Jessica. I sat in my usual seat, slamming my bag down in aggravation. "Morning, Bella," Mike said from the seat next to me. I looked up to see an odd, almost resigned look on his face. "How was Port Angeles?" "It was…" There was no honest way to sum it up. "Great," I finished lamely. "Jessica got a really cute dress." "Did she say anything about Monday night?" he asked, his eyes brightening. I smiled at the turn the conversation had taken. "She said she had a really good time," I assured him. "She did?" he said eagerly. "Most definitely." Mr. Mason called the class to order then, asking us to turn in our papers. English and then Government passed in a blur, while I worried about how to explain things to Jessica and agonized over whether Edward would really be listening to what I said through the medium of Jess's thoughts. How very inconvenient his little talent could be — when it wasn't saving my life. The fog had almost dissolved by the end of the second hour, but the day was still dark with low, oppressing clouds. I smiled up at the sky. Edward was right, of course. When I walked into Trig Jessica was sitting in the back row, nearly bouncing off her seat in agitation. I reluctantly went to sit by her, trying to convince myself it would be better to get it over with as soon as possible. "Tell me everything!" she commanded before I was in the seat. "What do you want to know?" I hedged. "What happened last night?" "He bought me dinner, and then he drove me home." She glared at me, her expression stiff with skepticism. "How did you get home so fast?" "He drives like a maniac. It was terrifying." I hoped he heard that. "Was it like a date — did you tell him to meet you there?" I hadn't thought of that. "No — I was very surprised to see him there." Her lips puckered in disappointment at the transparent honesty in my voice. "But he picked you up for school today?" she probed. "Yes — that was a surprise, too. He noticed I didn't have a jacket last night," I explained. "So are you going out again?" "He offered to drive me to Seattle Saturday because he thinks toy truck isn't up to it — does that count?" "Yes." She nodded. "Well, then, yes." "W-o-w." She exaggerated the word into three syllables. "Edward Cullen." "I know," I agreed. "Wow" didn't even cover it. "Wait!" Her hands flew up, palms toward me like she was stopping traffic. "Has he kissed you?" "No," I mumbled. "It's not like that." She looked disappointed. I'm sure I did, too. "Do you think Saturday… ?" She raised her eyebrows. "I really doubt it." The discontent in my voice was poorly disguised. "What did you talk about?" She pushed for more information in a whisper. Class had started but Mr. Varner wasn't paying close attention and we weren't the only ones still talking. "I don't know, Jess, lots of stuff," I whispered back. "We talked about the English essay a little." A very, very little. I think he mentioned it in passing. "Please, Bella," she begged. "Give me some details." "Well… okay, I've got one. You should have seen the waitress flirting with him — it was over the top. But he didn't pay any attention to her at all." Let him make what he could of that. "That's a good sign," she nodded. "Was she pretty?" "Very — and probably nineteen or twenty." "Even better. He must like you." "I think so, but it's hard to tell. He's always so cryptic," I threw in for his benefit, sighing. "I don't know how you're brave enough to be alone with him," she breathed. "Why?" I was shocked, but she didn't understand my reaction. "He's so… intimidating. I wouldn't know what to say to him." She made a face, probably remembering this morning or last night, when he'd turned the overwhelming force of his eyes on her. "I do have some trouble with incoherency when I'm around him," I admitted. "Oh well. He is unbelievably gorgeous." Jessica shrugged as if this excused any flaws. Which, in her book, it probably did. "There's a lot more to him than that." "Really? Like what?" I wished I had let it go. Almost as much as I was hoping he'd been kidding about listening in. "I can't explain it right… but he's even more unbelievable behind the face." The vampire who wanted to be good — who ran around saving people's lives so he wouldn't be a monster… I stared toward the front of the room. "Is that possible?" She giggled. I ignored her, trying to look like I was paying attention to Mr. Varner. "So you like him, then?" She wasn't about to give up. "Yes," I said curtly. "I mean, do you really like him?" she urged. "Yes," I said again, blushing. I hoped that detail wouldn't register in her thoughts. She'd had enough with the single syllable answers. "How much do you like him?" "Too much," I whispered back. "More than he likes me. But I don't see how I can help that." I sighed, one blush blending into the next. Then, thankfully, Mr. Varner called on Jessica for an answer. She didn't get a chance to start on the subject again during class, and as soon as the bell rang, I took evasive action. "In English, Mike asked me if you said anything about Monday night," I told her. "You're kidding! What did you say?!" she gasped, completely sidetracked. "I told him you said you had a lot of fun — he looked pleased." "Tell me exactly what he said, and your exact answer!" We spent the rest of the walk dissecting sentence structures and most of Spanish on a minute description of Mike's facial expressions. I wouldn't have helped draw it out for as long as I did if I wasn't worried about the subject returning to me. And then the bell rang for lunch. As I jumped up out of my seat, shoving my books roughly in my bag, my uplifted expression must have tipped Jessica off. "You're not sitting with us today, are you?" she guessed. "I don't think so." I couldn't be sure that he wouldn't disappear inconveniently again. But outside the door to our Spanish class, leaning against the wall — looking more like a Greek god than anyone had a right to — Edward was waiting for me. Jessica took one look, rolled her eyes, and departed. "See you later, Bella." Her voice was thick with implications. I might have to turn off the ringer on the phone. "Hello." His voice was amused and irritated at the same time. He had been listening, it was obvious. "Hi." I couldn't think of anything else to say, and he didn't speak — biding his time, I presumed — so it was a quiet walk to the cafeteria. Walking with Edward through the crowded lunchtime rush was a lot like my first day here; everyone stared. He led the way into the line, still not speaking, though his eyes returned to my face every few seconds, their expression speculative. It seemed to me that irritation was winning out over amusement as the dominant emotion in his face. I fidgeted nervously with the zipper on my jacket. He stepped up to the counter and filled a tray with food. "What are you doing?" I objected. "You're not getting all that for me?" He shook his head, stepping forward to buy the food. "Half is for me, of course." I raised one eyebrow. He led the way to the same place we'd sat that one time before. From the other end of the long table, a group of seniors gazed at us in amazement as we sat across from each other. Edward seemed oblivious. "Take whatever you want," he said, pushing the tray toward me. "I'm curious," I said as I picked up an apple, turning it around in my hands, "what would you do if someone dared you to eat food?" "You're always curious." He grimaced, shaking his head. He glared at me, holding my eyes as he lifted the slice of pizza off the tray, and deliberately bit off a mouthful, chewed quickly, and then swallowed. I watched, eyes wide. "If someone dared you to eat dirt, you could, couldn't you?" he asked condescendingly. I wrinkled my nose. "I did once… on a dare," I admitted. "It wasn't so bad." He laughed. "I suppose I'm not surprised." Something over my shoulder seemed to catch his attention. "Jessica's analyzing everything I do — she'll break it down for you later." He pushed the rest of the pizza toward me. The mention of Jessica brought a hint of his former irritation back to his features. I put down the apple and took a bite of the pizza, looking away, knowing he was about to start. "So the waitress was pretty, was she?" he asked casually. "You really didn't notice?" "No. I wasn't paying attention. I had a lot on my mind." "Poor girl." I could afford to be generous now. "Something you said to Jessica… well, it bothers me." He refused to be distracted. His voice was husky, and he glanced up from under his lashes with troubled eyes. "I'm not surprised you heard something you didn't like. You know what they say about eavesdropners," I reminded him. "I warned you I would be listening." "And I warned you that you didn't want to know everything I was thinking." "You did," he agreed, but his voice was still rough. "You aren't precisely right, though. I do want to know what you're thinking — everything. I just wish… that you wouldn't be thinking some things." I scowled. "That's quite a distinction." "But that's not really the point at the moment." "Then what is?" We were inclined toward each other across the table now. He had his large white hands folded under his chin; I leaned forward, my right hand cupped around my neck. I had to remind myself that we were in a crowded lunchroom, with probably many curious eyes on us. It was too easy to get wrapped up in our own private, tense little bubble. "Do you truly believe that you care more for me than I do for you?" he murmured, leaning closer to me as he spoke, his dark golden eyes piercing. I tried to remember how to exhale. I had to look away before it came back to me. "You're doing it again," I muttered. His eyes opened wide with surprise. "What?" "Dazzling me," I admitted, trying to concentrate as I looked back at him. "Oh." He frowned. "It's not your fault," I sighed. "You can't help it." "Are you going to answer the question?" I looked down. "Yes." "Yes, you are going to answer, or yes, you really think that?" He was irritated again. "Yes, I really think that." I kept my eyes down on the table, my eyes tracing the pattern of the faux wood grains printed on the laminate. The silence dragged on. I stubbornly refused to be the first to break it this time, fighting hard against the temptation to peek at his expression. Finally he spoke, voice velvet soft. "You're wrong." I glanced up to see that his eyes were gentle. "You can't know that," I disagreed in a whisper. I shook my head in doubt, though my heart throbbed at his words and I wanted so badly to believe them. "What makes you think so?" His liquid topaz eyes were penetrating — trying futilely, I assumed, to lift the truth straight from my mind. I stared back, struggling to think clearly in spite of his face, to find some way to explain. As I searched for the words, I could see him getting impatient; frustrated by my silence, he started to scowl. I lifted my hand from my neck, and held up one finger. "Let me think," I insisted. His expression cleared, now that he was satisfied that I was planning to answer. I dropped my hand to the table, moving my left hand so that my palms were pressed together. I stared at my hands, twisting and untwisting my fingers, as I finally spoke. "Well, aside from the obvious, sometimes…" I hesitated. "I can't be sure — I don't know how to read minds — but sometimes it seems like you're trying to say goodbye when you're saying something else." That was the best I could sum up the sensation of anguish that his words triggered in me at times. "Perceptive," he whispered. And there was the anguish again, surfacing as he confirmed my fear. "That's exactly why you're wrong, though," he began to explain, but then his eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'the obvious'?" "Well, look at me," I said, unnecessarily as he was already staring. "I'm absolutely ordinary — well, except for bad things like all the near-death experiences and being so clumsy that I'm almost disabled. And look at you." I waved my hand toward him and all his bewildering perfection. His brow creased angrily for a moment, then smoothed as his eyes took on a knowing look. "You don't see yourself very clearly, you know. I'll admit you're dead-on about the bad things," he chuckled blackly, "but you didn't hear what every human male in this school was thinking on your first day." I blinked, astonished. "I don't believe it…" I mumbled to myself. "Trust me just this once — you are the opposite of ordinary." My embarrassment was much stronger than my pleasure at the look that came into his eyes when he said this. I quickly reminded him of my original argument. "But I'm not saying goodbye," I pointed out. "Don't you see? That's what proves me right. I care the most, because if I can do it" — he shook his head, seeming to struggle with the thought — "if leaving is the right thing to do, then I'll hurt myself to keep from hurting you, to keep you safe." I glared. "And you don't think I would do the same?" "You'd never have to make the choice." Abruptly, his unpredictable mood shifted again; a mischievous, devastating smile rearranged his features. "Of course, keeping you safe is beginning to feel like a full-time occupation that requires my constant presence." "No one has tried to do away with me today," I reminded him, grateful for the lighter subject. I didn't want him to talk about goodbyes anymore. If I had to, I supposed I could purposefully put myself in danger to keep him close… I banished that thought before his quick eyes read it on my face. That idea would definitely get me in trouble. "Yet," he added. "Yet," I agreed; I would have argued, but now I wanted him to be expecting disasters. "I have another question for you." His face was still casual. "Shoot." "Do you really need to go to Seattle this Saturday, or was that just an excuse to get out of saying no to all your admirers?" I made a face at the memory. "You know, I haven't forgiven you for the Tyler thing yet," I warned him. "It's your fault that he's deluded himself into thinking I'm going to prom with him." "Oh, he would have found a chance to ask you without me — I just really wanted to watch your face," he chuckled, I would have been angrier if his laughter wasn't so fascinating. "If I'd asked you, would you have turned me down?" he asked, still laughing to himself. "Probably not," I admitted. "But I would have canceled later — faked an illness or a sprained ankle." He was puzzled. "Why would you do that?" I shook my head sadly. "You've never seen me in Gym, I guess, but I would have thought you would understand." "Are you referring to the fact that you can't walk across a flat, stable surface without finding something to trip over?" "Obviously." "That wouldn't be a problem." He was very confident. "It's all in the leading." He could see that I was about to protest, and he cut me off. "But you never told me — are you resolved on going to Seattle, or do you mind if we do something different?" As long as the "we" part was in, I didn't care about anything else. "I'm open to alternatives," I allowed. "But I do have a favor to ask." He looked wary, as he always did when I asked an open-ended question. "What?" "Can I drive?" He frowned. "Why?" "Well, mostly because when I told Charlie I was going to Seattle, he specifically asked if I was going alone and, at the time, I was. If he asked again, I probably wouldn't lie, but I don't think he will ask again, and leaving my truck at home would just bring up the subject unnecessarily. And also, because your driving frightens me." He rolled his eyes. "Of all the things about me that could frighten you, you worry about my driving." He shook his head in disgust, but then his eyes were serious again. "Won't you want to tell your father that you're spending the day with me?" There was an undercurrent to his question that I didn't understand. "With Charlie, less is always more." I was definite about that. "Where are we going, anyway?" "The weather will be nice, so I'll be staying out of the public eye… and you can stay with me, if you'd like to." Again, he was leaving the choice up to me. "And you'll show me what you meant, about the sun?" I asked, excited by the idea of unraveling another of the unknowns. "Yes." He smiled, and then paused. "But if you don't want to be… alone with me, I'd still rather you didn't go to Seattle by yourself. I shudder to think of the trouble you could find in a city that size." I was miffed. "Phoenix is three times bigger than Seattle — just in population. In physical size —" "But apparently," he interrupted me, "your number wasn't up in Phoenix. So I'd rather you stayed near me." His eyes did that unfair smoldering thing again. I couldn't argue, with the eyes or the motivation, and it was a moot point anyway. "As it happens, I don't mind being alone with you." "I know," he sighed, brooding. "You should tell Charlie, though." "Why in the world would I do that?" His eyes were suddenly fierce. "To give me some small incentive to bring you back." I gulped. But, after a moment of thought, I was sure. "I think I'll take my chances." He exhaled angrily, and looked away. "Let's talk about something else," I suggested. "What do you want to talk about?" he asked. He was still annoyed. I glanced around us, making sure we were well out of anyone's hearing. As I cast my eyes around the room, I caught the eyes of his sister, Alice, staring at me. The others were looking at Edward. I looked away swiftly, back to him, and I. asked the first thing that came to mind. "Why did you go to that Goat Rocks place last weekend… to hunt? Charlie said it wasn't a good place to hike, because of bears." He stared at me as if I was missing something very obvious. "Bears?" I gasped, and he smirked. "You know, bears are not in season," I added sternly, to hide my shock. "If you read carefully, the laws only cover hunting with weapons," he informed me. He watched my face with enjoyment as that slowly sank in. "Bears?" I repeated with difficulty. "Grizzly is Emmett's favorite." His voice was still offhand, but his eyes were scrutinizing my reaction. I tried to pull myself together. "Hmmm," I said, taking another bite of pizza as an excuse to look down. I chewed slowly, and then took a long drink of Coke without looking up. "So," I said after a moment, finally meeting his now-anxious gaze. "What's your favorite?" He raised an eyebrow and the corners of his mouth turned down in disapproval. "Mountain lion." "Ah," I said in a politely disinterested tone, looking for my soda again. "Of course," he said, and his tone mirrored mine, "we have to be careful not to impact the environment with injudicious hunting. We try to focus on areas with an overpopulation of predators — ranging as far away as we need. There's always plenty of deer and elk here, and they'll do, but where's the fun in that?" He smiled teasingly. "Where indeed," I murmured around another bite of pizza. "Early spring is Emmett's favorite bear season — they're just coming out of hibernation, so they're more irritable." He smiled at some remembered joke. "Nothing more fun than an irritated grizzly bear," I agreed, nodding. He snickered, shaking his head. "Tell me what you're really thinking, please." "I'm trying to picture it — but I can't," I admitted. "How do you hunt a bear without weapons?" "Oh, we have weapons." He flashed his bright teeth in a brief, threatening smile. I fought back a shiver before it could expose me. "Just not the kind they consider when writing hunting laws. If you've ever seen a bear attack on television, you should be able to visualize Emmett hunting." I couldn't stop the next shiver that flashed down my spine. I peeked across the cafeteria toward Emmett, grateful that he wasn't looking my way. The thick bands of muscle that wrapped his arms and torso were somehow even more menacing now. Edward followed my gaze and chuckled. I stared at him, unnerved. "Are you like a bear, too?" I asked in a low voice. "More like the lion, or so they tell me," he said lightly. "Perhaps our preferences are indicative." I tried to smile. "Perhaps," I repeated. But my mind was filled with opposing images that I couldn't merge together. "Is that something I might get to see?" "Absolutely not!" His face turned even whiter than usual, and his eyes were suddenly furious. I leaned back, stunned and — though I'd never admit it to him — frightened by his reaction. He leaned back as well, folding his arms across his chest. "Too scary for me?" I asked when I could control my voice again. "If that were it, I would take you out tonight," he said, his voice cutting. "You need a healthy dose of fear. Nothing could be more beneficial for you." "Then why?" I pressed, trying to ignore his angry expression. He glared at me for a long minute. "Later," he finally said. He was on his feet in one lithe movement. "We're going to be late." I glanced around, startled to see that he was right and the cafeteria was nearly vacant. When I was with him, the time and the place were such a muddled blur that I completely lost track of both. I jumped up, grabbing my bag from the back of my chair. "Later, then," I agreed. I wouldn't forget. 11. COMPLICATIONS Everyone watched us as we walked together to our lab table. I noticed that he no longer angled the chair to sit as far from me as the desk would allow. Instead, he sat quite close beside me, our arms almost touching. Mr. Banner backed into the room then — what superb timing the man had — pulling a tall metal frame on wheels that held a heavy-looking, outdated TV and VCR. A movie day — the lift in the class atmosphere was almost tangible. Mr. Banner shoved the tape into the reluctant VCR and walked to the wall to turn off the lights. And then, as the room went black, I was suddenly hyperaware that Edward was sitting less than an inch from me. I was stunned by the unexpected electricity that flowed through me, amazed that it was possible to be more aware of him than I already was. A crazy impulse to reach over and touch him, to stroke his perfect face just once in the darkness, nearly overwhelmed me. I crossed my arms tightly across my chest, my hands balling into fists. I was losing my mind. The opening credits began, lighting the room by a token amount. My eyes, of their own accord, flickered to him. I smiled sheepishly as I realized his posture was identical to mine, fists clenched under his arms, right down to the eyes, peering sideways at me. He grinned back, his eyes somehow managing to smolder, even in the dark. I looked away before I could start hyperventilating. It was absolutely ridiculous that I should feel dizzy. The hour seemed very long. I couldn't concentrate on the movie — I didn't even know what subject it was on. I tried unsuccessfully to relax, but the electric current that seemed to be originating from somewhere in his body never slackened. Occasionally I would permit myself a quick glance in his direction, but he never seemed to relax, either. The overpowering craving to touch him also refused to fade, and I crushed my fists safely against my ribs until my fingers were aching with the effort. I breathed a sigh of relief when Mr. Banner flicked the lights back on at the end of class, and stretched my arms out in front of me, flexing my stiff fingers. Edward chuckled beside me. "Well, that was interesting," he murmured. His voice was dark and his eyes were cautious. "Umm," was all I was able to respond. "Shall we?" he asked, rising fluidly. I almost groaned. Time for Gym. I stood with care, worried my balance might have been affected by the strange new intensity between us. He walked me to my next class in silence and paused at the door; I turned to say goodbye. His face startled me — his expression was torn, almost pained, and so fiercely beautiful that the ache to touch him flared as strong as before. My goodbye stuck in my throat. He raised his hand, hesitant, conflict raging in his eyes, and then swiftly brushed the length of my cheekbone with his fingertips. His skin was as icy as ever, but the trail his fingers left on my skin was alarmingly warm — like I'd been burned, but didn't feel the pain of it yet. He turned without a word and strode quickly away from me. I walked into the gym, lightheaded and wobbly. I drifted to the locker room, changing in a trancelike state, only vaguely aware that there were other people surrounding me. Reality didn't fully set in until I was handed a racket. It wasn't heavy, yet it felt very unsafe in my hand. I could see a few of the other kids in class eyeing me furtively. Coach Clapp ordered us to pair up into teams. Mercifully, some vestiges of Mike's chivalry still survived; he came to stand beside me. "Do you want to be a team?" "Thanks, Mike — you don't have to do this, you know." I grimaced apologetically. "Don't worry, I'll keep out of your way." He grinned. Sometimes it was so easy to like Mike. It didn't go smoothly. I somehow managed to hit myself in the head with my racket and clip Mike's shoulder on the same swing. I spent the rest of the hour in the back corner of the court, the racket held safely behind my back. Despite being handicapped by me, Mike was pretty good; he won three games out of four singlehandedly. He gave me an unearned high five when the coach finally blew the whistle ending class. "So," he said as we walked off the court. "So what?" "You and Cullen, huh?" he asked, his tone rebellious. My previous feeling of affection disappeared. "That's none of your business, Mike," I warned, internally cursing Jessica straight to the fiery pits of Hades. "I don't like it," he muttered anyway. "You don't have to," I snapped. "He looks at you like… like you're something to eat," he continued, ignoring me. I choked back the hysteria that threatened to explode, but a small giggle managed to get out despite my efforts. He glowered at me. I waved and fled to the locker room. I dressed quickly, something stronger than butterflies battering recklessly against the walls of my stomach, my argument with Mike already a distant memory. I was wondering if Edward would be waiting, or if I should meet him at his car. What if his family was there? I felt a wave of real terror. Did they know that I knew? Was I supposed to know that they knew that I knew, or not? By the time I walked out of the gym, I had just about decided to walk straight home without even looking toward the parking lot. But my worries were unnecessary. Edward was waiting, leaning casually against the side of the gym, his breathtaking face untroubled now. As I walked to his side, I felt a peculiar sense of release. "Hi," I breathed, smiling hugely. "Hello." His answering smile was brilliant. "How was Gym?" My face fell a tiny bit. "Fine," I lied. "Really?" He was unconvinced. His eyes shifted their focus slightly, looking over my shoulder and narrowing. I glanced behind me to see Mike's back as he walked away. "What?" I demanded. His eyes slid back to mine, still tight. "Newton's getting on my nerves." "You weren't listening again?" I was horror-struck. All traces of my sudden good humor vanished. "How's your head?" he asked innocently. "You're unbelievable!" I turned, stomping away in the general direction of the parking lot, though I hadn't ruled out walking at this point. He kept up with me easily. "You were the one who mentioned how I'd never seen you in Gym — it made me curious." He didn't sound repentant, so I ignored him. We walked in silence — a furious, embarrassed silence on my part — to his car. But I had to stop a few steps away — a crowd of people, all boys, were surrounding it. Then I realized they weren't surrounding the Volvo, they were actually circled around Rosalie's red convertible, unmistakable lust in their eyes. None of them even looked up as Edward slid between them to open his door. I climbed quickly in the passenger side, also unnoticed. "Ostentatious," he muttered. "What kind of car is that?" I asked. "An M3." "I don't speak Car and Driver." "It's a BMW." He rolled his eyes, not looking at me, trying to back out without running over the car enthusiasts. I nodded — I'd heard of that one. "Are you still angry?" he asked as he carefully maneuvered his way out. "Definitely." He sighed. "Will you forgive me if I apologize?" "Maybe… if you mean it. And if you promise not to do it again," I insisted. His eyes were suddenly shrewd. "How about if I mean it, and I agree to let you drive Saturday?" he countered my conditions. I considered, and decided it was probably the best offer I would get. "Deal," I agreed. "Then I'm very sorry I upset you." His eyes burned with sincerity for a protracted moment — playing havoc with the rhythm of my heart — and then turned playful. "And I'll be on your doorstep bright and early Saturday morning." "Um, it doesn't help with the Charlie situation if an unexplained Volvo is left in the driveway." His smile was condescending now. "I wasn't intending to bring a car." "How —" He cut me off. "Don't worry about it. I'll be there, no car." I let it go. I had a more pressing question. "Is it later yet?" I asked significantly. He frowned. "I supposed it is later." I kept my expression polite as I waited. He stopped the car. I looked up, surprised — of course we were already at Charlie's house, parked behind the truck. It was easier to ride with him if I only looked when it was over. When I looked back at him, he was staring at me, measuring with his eyes. "And you still want to know why you can't see me hunt?" He seemed solemn, but I thought I saw a trace of humor deep in his eyes. "Well," I clarified, "I was mostly wondering about your reaction." "Did I frighten you?" Yes, there was definitely humor there. "No," I lied. He didn't buy it. "I apologize for scaring you," he persisted with a slight smile, but then all evidence of teasing disappeared. "It was just the very thought of you being there… while we hunted." His jaw tightened. "That would be bad?" He spoke from between clenched teeth. "Extremely." "Because… ?" He took a deep breath and stared through the windshield at the thick, rolling clouds that seemed to press down, almost within reach. "When we hunt," he spoke slowly, unwillingly, "we give ourselves over to our senses… govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way…" He shook his head, still gazing morosely at the heavy clouds. I kept my expression firmly under control, expecting the swift flash of his eyes to judge my reaction that soon followed. My face gave nothing away. But our eyes held, and the silence deepened — and changed. Flickers of the electricity I'd felt this afternoon began to charge the atmosphere as he gazed unrelentingly into my eyes. It wasn't until my head started to swim that I realized I wasn't breathing. When I drew in a jagged breath, breaking the stillness, he closed his eyes. "Bella, I think you should go inside now." His low voice was rough, his eyes on the clouds again. I opened the door, and the arctic draft that burst into the car helped clear my head. Afraid I might stumble in my woozy state, I stepped carefully out of the car and shut the door behind me without looking back. The whir of the automatic window unrolling made me turn. "Oh, Bella?" he called after me, his voice more even. He leaned toward the open window with a faint smile on his lips. "Yes?" "Tomorrow it's my turn." "Your turn to what?" He smiled wider, flashing his gleaming teeth. "Ask the questions." And then he was gone, the car speeding down the street and disappearing around the corner before I could even collect my thoughts. I smiled as I walked to the house. It was clear he was planning to see me tomorrow, if nothing else. That night Edward starred in my dreams, as usual. However, the climate of my unconsciousness had changed. It thrilled with the same electricity that had charged the afternoon, and I tossed and turned restlessly, waking often. It was only in the early hours of the morning that I finally sank into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. When I woke I was still tired, but edgy as well. I pulled on my brown turtleneck and the inescapable jeans, sighing as I daydreamed of spaghetti straps and shorts. Breakfast was the usual, quiet event I expected. Charlie fried eggs for himself; I had my bowl of cereal. I wondered if he had forgotten about this Saturday. He answered my unspoken question as he stood up to take his plate to the sink. "About this Saturday…" he began, walking across the kitchen and turning on the faucet. I cringed. "Yes, Dad?" "Are you still set on going to Seattle?" he asked. "That was the plan." I grimaced, wishing he hadn't brought it up so I wouldn't have to compose careful half-truths. He squeezed some dish soap onto his plate and swirled it around with the brush. "And you're sure you can't make it back in time for the dance?" "I'm not going to the dance, Dad." I glared. "Didn't anyone ask you?" he asked, trying to hide his concern by focusing on rinsing the plate. I sidestepped the minefield. "It's a girl's choice." "Oh." He frowned as he dried his plate. I sympathized with him. It must be a hard thing, to be a father; living in fear that your daughter would meet a boy she liked, but also having to worry if she didn't. How ghastly it would be, I thought, shuddering, if Charlie had even the slightest inkling of exactly what I did like. Charlie left then, with a goodbye wave, and I went upstairs to brush my teeth and gather my books. When I heard the cruiser pull away, I could only wait a few seconds before I had to peek out of my window. The silver car was already there, waiting in Charlie's spot on the driveway. I bounded down the stairs and out the front door, wondering how long this bizarre routine would continue. I never wanted it to end. He waited in the car, not appearing to watch as I shut the door behind me without bothering to lock the dead-bolt. I walked to the car, pausing shyly before opening the door and stepping in. He was smiling, relaxed — and, as usual, perfect and beautiful to an excruciating degree. "Good morning." His voice was silky. "How are you today?" His eyes roamed over my face, as if his question was something more than simple courtesy. "Good, thank you." I was always good — much more than good — when I was near him. His gaze lingered on the circles under my eyes. "You look tired." "I couldn't sleep," I confessed, automatically swinging my hair around my shoulder to provide some measure of cover. "Neither could I," he teased as he started the engine. I was becoming used to the quiet purr. I was sure the roar of my truck would scare me, whenever I got to drive it again. I laughed. "I guess that's right. I suppose I slept just a little bit more than you did." "I'd wager you did." "So what did you do last night?" I asked. He chuckled. "Not a chance. It's my day to ask questions." "Oh, that's right. What do you want to know?" My forehead creased. I couldn't imagine anything about me that could be in any way interesting to him. "What's your favorite color?" he asked, his face grave. I rolled my eyes. "It changes from day to day." "What's your favorite color today?" He was still solemn. "Probably brown." I tended to dress according to my mood. He snorted, dropping his serious expression. "Brown?" he asked skeptically. "Sure. 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," I complained. He seemed fascinated by my little rant. He considered for a moment, staring into my eyes. "You're right," he decided, serious again. "Brown is warm." He reached over, swiftly, but somehow still hesitantly, to sweep my hair back behind my shoulder. We were at the school by now. He turned back to me as he pulled into a parking space. "What music is in your CD player right now?" he asked, his face as somber as if he'd asked for a murder confession. I realized I'd never removed the CD Phil had given me. When I said the name of the band, he smiled crookedly, a peculiar expression in his eyes. He flipped open a compartment under his car's CD player, pulled out one of thirty or so CDs that were jammed into the small space, and handed it to me, "Debussy to this?" He raised an eyebrow. It was the same CD. I examined the familiar cover art, keeping my eyes down. It continued like that for the rest of the day. While he walked me to English, when he met me after Spanish, all through the lunch hour, he questioned me relentlessly about every insignificant detail of my existence. Movies I'd liked and hated, the few places I'd been and the many places I wanted to go, and books — endlessly books. I couldn't remember the last time I'd talked so much. More often than not, I felt self-conscious, certain I must be boring him. But the absolute absorption of his face, and his never-ending stream of questions, compelled me to continue. Mostly his questions were easy, only a very few triggering my easy blushes. But when I did flush, it brought on a whole new round of questions. Such as the time he asked my favorite gemstone, and I blurted out topaz before thinking. He'd been flinging questions at me with such speed that I felt like I was taking one of those psychiatric tests where you answer with the first word that comes to mind. I was sure he would have continued down whatever mental list he was following, except for the blush. My face reddened because, until very recently, my favorite gemstone was garnet. It was impossible, while staring back into his topaz eyes, not to remember the reason for the switch. And, naturally, he wouldn't rest until I'd admitted why I was embarrassed. "Tell me," he finally commanded after persuasion failed — failed only because I kept my eyes safely away from his face. "It's the color of your eyes today," I sighed, surrendering, staring down at my hands as I fiddled with a piece of my hair. "I suppose if you asked me in two weeks I'd say onyx." I'd given more information than necessary in my unwilling honesty, and I worried it would provoke the strange anger that flared whenever I slipped and revealed too clearly how obsessed I was. But his pause was very short. "What kinds of flowers do you prefer?" he fired off. I sighed in relief, and continued with the psychoanalysis. Biology was a complication again. Edward had continued with his quizzing up until Mr. Banner entered the room, dragging the audiovisual frame again. As the teacher approached the light switch, I noticed Edward slide his chair slightly farther away from mine. It didn't help. As soon as the room was dark, there was the same electric spark, the same restless craving to stretch my hand across the short space and touch his cold skin, as yesterday. I leaned forward on the table, resting my chin on my folded arms, my hidden fingers gripping the table's edge as I fought to ignore the irrational longing that unsettled me. I didn't look at him, afraid that if he was looking at me, it would only make self-control that much harder. I sincerely tried to watch the movie, but at the end of the hour I had no idea what I'd just seen. I sighed in relief again when Mr. Banner turned the lights on, finally glancing at Edward; he was looking at me, his eyes ambivalent. He rose in silence and then stood still, waiting for me. We walked toward the gym in silence, like yesterday. And, also like yesterday, he touched my face wordlessly — this time with the back of his cool hand, stroking once from my temple to my jaw — before he turned and walked away. Gym passed quickly as I watched Mike's one-man badminton show. He didn't speak to me today, either in response to my vacant expression or because he was still angry about our squabble yesterday. Somewhere, in a corner of my mind, I felt bad about that. But I couldn't concentrate on him. I hurried to change afterward, ill at ease, knowing the faster I moved, the sooner I would be with Edward. The pressure made me more clumsy than usual, but eventually I made it out the door, feeling the same release when I saw him standing there, a wide smile automatically spreading across my face. He smiled in reaction before launching into more cross-examination. His questions were different now, though, not as easily answered. He wanted to know what I missed about home, insisting on descriptions of anything he wasn't familiar with. We sat in front of Charlie's house for hours, as the sky darkened and rain plummeted around us in a sudden deluge. I tried to describe impossible things like the scent of creosote — bitter, slightly resinous, but still pleasant — the high, keening sound of the cicadas in July, the feathery barrenness of the trees, the very size of the sky, extending white-blue from horizon to horizon, barely interrupted by the low mountains covered with purple volcanic rock. The hardest thing to explain was why it was so beautiful to me — to justify a beauty that didn't depend on the sparse, spiny vegetation that often looked half dead, a beauty that had more to do with the exposed shape of the land, with the shallow bowls of valleys between the craggy hills, and the way they held on to the sun. I found myself using my hands as I tried to describe it to him. His quiet, probing questions kept me talking freely, forgetting, in the dim light of the storm, to be embarrassed for monopolizing the conversation. Finally, when I had finished detailing my cluttered room at home, he paused instead of responding with another question. "Are you finished?" I asked in relief. "Not even close — but your father will be home soon." "Charlie!" I suddenly recalled his existence, and sighed. I looked out at the rain-darkened sky, but it gave nothing away. "How late is it?" I wondered out loud as I glanced at the clock. I was surprised by the time — Charlie would be driving home now. "It's twilight," Edward murmured, looking at the western horizon, obscured as it was with clouds. His voice was thoughtful, as if his mind were somewhere far away. I stared at him as he gazed unseeingly out the windshield. I was still staring when his eyes suddenly shifted back to mine. "It's the safest time of day for us," he said, answering the unspoken question in my eyes. "The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way… the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?" He smiled wistfully. "I like the night. Without the dark, we'd never see the stars." I frowned. "Not that you see them here much." He laughed, and the mood abruptly lightened. "Charlie will be here in a few minutes. So, unless you want to tell him that you'll be with me Saturday…" He raised one eyebrow. "Thanks, but no thanks." I gathered my books, realizing I was stiff from sitting still so long. "So is it my turn tomorrow, then?" "Certainly not!" His face was teasingly outraged. "I told you I wasn't done, didn't I?" "What more is there?" "You'll find out tomorrow." He reached across to open my door for me, and his sudden proximity sent my heart into frenzied palpitations. But his hand froze on the handle. "Not good," he muttered. "What is it?" I was surprised to see that his jaw was clenched, his eyes disturbed. He glanced at me for a brief second. "Another complication," he said glumly. He flung the door open in one swift movement, and then moved, almost cringed, swiftly away from me. The flash of headlights through the rain caught my attention as a dark car pulled up to the curb just a few feet away, facing us. "Charlie's around the corner," he warned, staring through the downpour at the other vehicle. I hopped out at once, despite my confusion and curiosity. The rain was louder as it glanced off my jacket. I tried to make out the shapes in the front seat of the other car, but it was too dark. I could see Edward illuminated in the glare of the new car's headlights; he was still staring ahead, his gaze locked on something or someone I couldn't see. His expression was a strange mix of frustration and defiance. Then he revved the engine, and the tires squealed against the wet pavement. The Volvo was out of sight in seconds. "Hey, Bella," called a familiar, husky voice from the driver's side of the little black car. "Jacob?" I asked, squinting through the rain. Just then, Charlie's cruiser swung around the corner, his lights shining on the occupants of the car in front of me. Jacob was already climbing out, his wide grin visible even through the darkness. In the passenger seat was a much older man, a heavyset man with a memorable face — a face that overflowed, the cheeks resting against his shoulders, with creases running through the russet skin like an old leather jacket. And the surprisingly familiar eyes, black eyes that seemed at the same time both too young and too ancient for the broad face they were set in. Jacob's father, Billy Black. I knew him immediately, though in the more than five years since I'd seen him last I'd managed to forget his name when Charlie had spoken of him my first day here. He was staring at me, scrutinizing my face, so I smiled tentatively at him. His eyes were wide, as if in shock or fear, his nostrils flared. My smile faded. Another complication, Edward had said. Billy still stared at me with intense, anxious eyes. I groaned internally. Had Billy recognized Edward so easily? Could he really believe the impossible legends his son had scoffed at? The answer was clear in Billy's eyes. Yes. Yes, he could. 12. BALANCING "Billy!" Charlie called as soon as he got out of the car. I turned toward the house, beckoning to Jacob as I ducked under the porch. I heard Charlie greeting them loudly behind me. "I'm going to pretend I didn't see you behind the wheel, Jake," he said disapprovingly. "We get permits early on the rez," Jacob said while I unlocked the door and flicked on the porch light. "Sure you do," Charlie laughed. "I have to get around somehow." I recognized Billy's resonant voice easily, despite the years. The sound of it made me feel suddenly younger, a child. I went inside, leaving the door open behind me and turning on lights before I hung up my jacket. Then I stood in the door, watching anxiously as Charlie and Jacob helped Billy out of the car and into his wheelchair. I backed out of the way as the three of them hurried in, shaking off the rain. "This is a surprise," Charlie was saying. "It's been too long," Billy answered. "I hope it's not a bad time." His dark eyes flashed up to me again, their expression unreadable. "No, it's great. I hope you can stay for the game." Jacob grinned. "I think that's the plan — our TV broke last week." Billy made a face at his son. "And, of course, Jacob was anxious to see Bella again," he added. Jacob scowled and ducked his head while I fought back a surge of remorse. Maybe I'd been too convincing on the beach. "Are you hungry?" I asked, turning toward the kitchen. I was eager to escape Billy's searching gaze. "Naw, we ate just before we came," Jacob answered. "How about you, Charlie?" I called over my shoulder as I fled around the corner. "Sure," he replied, his voice moving in the direction of the front room and the TV. I could hear Billy's chair follow. The grilled cheese sandwiches were in the frying pan and I was slicing up a tomato when I sensed someone behind me. "So, how are things?" Jacob asked. "Pretty good." I smiled. His enthusiasm was hard to resist. "How about you? Did you finish your car?" "No." He frowned. "I still need parts. We borrowed that one." He pointed with his thumb in the direction of the front yard. "Sorry. I haven't seen any… what was it you were looking for?" "Master cylinder." He grinned. "Is something wrong with the truck?" he added suddenly. "No." "Oh. I just wondered because you weren't driving it." I stared down at the pan, pulling up the edge of a sandwich to check the bottom side. "I got a ride with a friend." "Nice ride." Jacob's voice was admiring. "I didn't recognize the driver, though. I thought I knew most of the kids around here." I nodded noncommittally, keeping my eyes down as I flipped sandwiches. "My dad seemed to know him from somewhere." "Jacob, could you hand me some plates? They're in the cupboard over the sink." "Sure." He got the plates in silence. I hoped he would let it drop now. "So who was it?" he asked, setting two plates on the counter next to me. I sighed in defeat. "Edward Cullen." To my surprise, he laughed. I glanced up at him. He looked a little embarrassed. "Guess that explains it, then," he said. "I wondered why my dad was acting so strange." "That's right." I faked an innocent expression. "He doesn't like the Cullens." "Superstitious old man," Jacob muttered under his breath. "You don't think he'd say anything to Charlie?" I couldn't help asking, the words coming out in a low rush. Jacob stared at me for a moment, and I couldn't read the expression in his dark eyes. "I doubt it," he finally answered. "I think Charlie chewed him out pretty good last time. They haven't spoken much since — tonight is sort of a reunion, I think. I don't think he'd bring it up again." "Oh," I said, trying to sound indifferent. I stayed in the front room after I carried the food out to Charlie, pretending to watch the game while Jacob chattered at me. I was really listening to the men's conversation, watching for any sign that Billy was about to rat me out, trying to think of ways to stop him if he began. It was a long night. I had a lot of homework that was going undone, but I was afraid to leave Billy alone with Charlie. Finally, the game ended. "Are you and your friends coming back to the beach soon?" Jacob asked as he pushed his father over the lip of the threshold. "I'm not sure," I hedged. "That was fun, Charlie," Billy said. "Come up for the next game," Charlie encouraged. "Sure, sure," Billy said. "We'll be here. Have a good night." His eyes shifted to mine, and his smile disappeared. "You take care, Bella," he added seriously. "Thanks," I muttered, looking away. I headed for the stairs while Charlie waved from the doorway. "Wait, Bella," he said. I cringed. Had Billy gotten something in before I'd joined them in the living room? But Charlie was relaxed, still grinning from the unexpected visit. "I didn't get a chance to talk to you tonight. How was your day?" "Good." I hesitated with one foot on the first stair, searching for details I could safely share. "My badminton team won all four games." "Wow, I didn't know you could play badminton." "Well, actually I can't, but my partner is really good," I admitted. "Who is it?" he asked with token interest. "Um… Mike Newton," I told him reluctantly. "Oh yeah — you said you were friends with the Newton kid." He perked up. "Nice family." He mused for a minute. "Why didn't you ask him to the dance this weekend?" "Dad!" I groaned. "He's kind of dating my friend Jessica. Besides, you know I can't dance." "Oh yeah," he muttered. Then he smiled at me apologetically. "So I guess it's good you'll be gone Saturday… I've made plans to go fishing with the guys from the station. The weather's supposed to be real warm. But if you wanted to put your trip off till someone could go with you, I'd stay home. I know I leave you here alone too much." "Dad, you're doing a great job." I smiled, hoping my relief didn't show. "I've never minded being alone — I'm too much like you." I winked at him, and he smiled his crinkly-eyed smile. I slept better that night, too tired to dream again. When I woke to the pearl gray morning, my mood was blissful. The tense evening with Billy and Jacob seemed harmless enough now; I decided to forget it completely. I caught myself whistling while I was pulling the front part of my hair back into a barrette, and later again as I skipped down the stairs. Charlie noticed. "You're cheerful this morning," he commented over breakfast. I shrugged. "It's Friday." I hurried so I would be ready to go the second Charlie left. I had my bag ready, shoes on, teeth brushed, but even though I rushed to the door as soon as I was sure Charlie would be out of sight, Edward was faster. He was waiting in his shiny car, windows down, engine off. I didn't hesitate this time, climbing in the passenger side quickly, the sooner to see his face. He grinned his crooked smile at me, stopping my breath and my heart. I couldn't imagine how an angel could be any more glorious. There was nothing about him that could be improved upon. "How did you sleep?" he asked. I wondered if he had any idea how appealing his voice was. "Fine. How was your night?" "Pleasant." His smile was amused; I felt like I was missing an inside joke. "Can I ask what you did?" I asked. "No." He grinned. "Today is still mine." He wanted to know about people today: more about Renée, her hobbies, what we'd done in our free time together. And then the one grandmother I'd known, my few school friends — embarrassing me when he asked about boys I'd dated. I was relieved that I'd never really dated anyone, so that particular conversation couldn't last long. He seemed as surprised as Jessica and Angela by my lack of romantic history. "So you never met anyone you wanted?" he asked in a serious tone that made me wonder what he was thinking about. I was grudgingly honest. "Not in Phoenix." His lips pressed together into a hard line. We were in the cafeteria at this point. The day had sped by in the blur that was rapidly becoming routine. I took advantage of his brief pause to take a bite of my bagel. "I should have let you drive yourself today," he announced, apropos of nothing, while I chewed. "Why?" I demanded. "I'm leaving with Alice after lunch." "Oh." I blinked, bewildered and disappointed. "That's okay, it's not that far of a walk." He frowned at me impatiently. "I'm not going to make you walk home. We'll go get your truck and leave it here for you." "I don't have my key with me," I sighed. "I really don't mind walking." What I minded was losing my time with him. He shook his head. "Your truck will be here, and the key will be in the ignition — unless you're afraid someone might steal it." He laughed at the thought. "All right," I agreed, pursing my lips. I was pretty sure my key was in the pocket of a pair of jeans I wore Wednesday, under a pile of clothes in the laundry room. Even if he broke into my house, or whatever he was planning, he'd never find it. He seemed to feel the challenge in my consent. He smirked, overconfident. "So where are you going?" I asked as casually as I could manage. "Hunting," he answered grimly. "If I'm going to be alone with you tomorrow, I'm going to take whatever precautions I can." His face grew morose… and pleading. "You can always cancel, you know." I looked down, afraid of the persuasive power of his eyes. I refused to be convinced to fear him, no matter how real the danger might be. It doesn't matter, I repeated in my head. "No," I whispered, glancing back at his face. "I can't." "Perhaps you're right," he murmured bleakly. His eyes seemed to darken in color as I watched. I changed the subject. "What time will I see you tomorrow?" I asked, already depressed by the thought of him leaving now. "That depends… it's a Saturday, don't you want to sleep in?" he offered. "No," I answered too fast. He restrained a smile. "The same time as usual, then," he decided. "Will Charlie be there?" "No, he's fishing tomorrow." I beamed at the memory of how conveniently things had worked out. His voice turned sharp. "And if you don't come home, what will he think?" "I have no idea," I answered coolly. "He knows I've been meaning to do the laundry. Maybe he'll think I fell in the washer." He scowled at me and I scowled back. His anger was much more impressive than mine. "What are you hunting tonight?" I asked when I was sure I had lost the glowering contest. "Whatever we find in the park. We aren't going far." He seemed bemused by my casual reference to his secret realities. "Why are you going with Alice?" I wondered. "Alice is the most… supportive." He frowned as he spoke. "And the others?" I asked timidly. "What are they?" His brow puckered for a brief moment. "Incredulous, for the most part." I peeked quickly behind me at his family. They sat staring off in different directions, exactly the same as the first time I'd seen them. Only now they were four; their beautiful, bronze-haired brother sat across from me, his golden eyes troubled. "They don't like me," I guessed. "That's not it," he disagreed, but his eyes were too innocent. "They don't understand why I can't leave you alone." I grimaced. "Neither do I, for that matter." Edward shook his head slowly, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling before he met my gaze again. "I told you — you don't see yourself clearly at all. You're not like anyone I've ever known. You fascinate me." I glared at him, sure he was teasing now. He smiled as he deciphered my expression. "Having the advantages I do," he murmured, touching his forehead discreetly, "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." I looked away, my eyes wandering back to his family, embarrassed and dissatisfied. His words made me feel like a science experiment. I wanted to laugh at myself for expecting anything else. "That part is easy enough to explain," he continued. I felt his eyes on my face but I couldn't look at him yet, afraid he might read the chagrin in my eyes. "But there's more… and it's not so easy to put into words —" I was still staring at the Cullens while he spoke. Suddenly Rosalie, his blond and breathtaking sister, turned to look at me. No, not to look — to glare, with dark, cold eyes. I wanted to look away, but her gaze held me until Edward broke off mid-sentence and made an angry noise under his breath. It was almost a hiss. Rosalie turned her head, and I was relieved to be free. I looked back at Edward — and I knew he could see the confusion and fear that widened my eyes. His face was tight as he explained. "I'm sorry about that. She's just worried. You see… it's dangerous for more than just me if, after spending so much time with you so publicly…" He looked down. "If?" "If this ends… badly." He dropped his head into his hands, as he had that night in Port Angeles. His anguish was plain; I yearned to comfort him, but I was at a loss to know how. My hand reached toward him involuntarily; quickly, though, I dropped it to the table, fearing that my touch would only make things worse. I realized slowly that his words should frighten me. I waited for that fear to come, but all I could seem to feel was an ache for his pain. And frustration — frustration that Rosalie had interrupted whatever he was about to say. I didn't know how to bring it up again. He still had his head in his hands. I tried to speak in a normal voice. "And you have to leave now?" "Yes." He raised his face; it was serious for a moment, and then his mood shifted and he smiled. "It's probably for the best. We still have fifteen minutes of that wretched movie left to endure in Biology — I don't think I could take any more." I started. Alice — her short, inky hair in a halo of spiky disarray around her exquisite, elfin face — was suddenly standing behind his shoulder. Her slight frame was willowy, graceful even in absolute stillness. He greeted her without looking away from me. "Alice." "Edward," she answered, her high soprano voice almost as attractive as his. "Alice, Bella — Bella, Alice," he introduced us, gesturing casually with his hand, a wry smile on his face. "Hello, Bella." Her brilliant obsidian eyes were unreadable, but her smile was friendly. "It's nice to finally meet you." Edward flashed a dark look at her. "Hi, Alice," I murmured shyly. "Are you ready?" she asked him. His voice was aloof. "Nearly. I'll meet you at the car." She left without another word; her walk was so fluid, so sinuous that I felt a sharp pang of jealousy. "Should I say 'have fun,' or is that the wrong sentiment?" I asked, turning back to him. "No, 'have fun' works as well as anything." He grinned. "Have fun, then." I worked to sound wholehearted. Of course I didn't fool him. "I'll try." He still grinned. "And you try to be safe, please." "Safe in Forks — what a challenge." "For you it is a challenge." His jaw hardened. "Promise." "I promise to try to be safe," I recited. "I'll do the laundry tonight — that ought to be fraught with peril." "Don't fall in," he mocked. "I'll do my best." He stood then, and I rose, too. "I'll see you tomorrow," I sighed. "It seems like a long time to you, doesn't it?" he mused. I nodded glumly. "I'll be there in the morning," he promised, smiling his crooked smile. He reached across the table to touch my face, lightly brushing along my cheekbone again. Then he turned and walked away. I stared after him until he was gone. I was sorely tempted to ditch the rest of the day, at the very least Gym, but a warning instinct stopped me. I knew that if I disappeared now, Mike and others would assume I was with Edward. And Edward was worried about the time we'd spent together publicly… if things went wrong. I refused to dwell on the last thought, concentrating instead on making things safer for him. I intuitively knew — and sensed he did, too — that tomorrow would be pivotal. Our relationship couldn't continue to balance, as it did, on the point of a knife. We would fall off one edge or the other, depending entirely upon his decision, or his instincts. My decision was made, made before I'd ever consciously chosen, and I was committed to seeing it through. Because there was nothing more terrifying to me, more excruciating, than the thought of turning away from him. It was an impossibility. I went to class, feeling dutiful. I couldn't honestly say what happened in Biology; my mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of tomorrow. In Gym, Mike was speaking to me again; he wished me a good time in Seattle. I carefully explained that I'd canceled my trip, worried about my truck. "Are you going to the dance with Cullen?" he asked, suddenly sulky. "No, I'm not going to the dance at all." "What are you doing, then?" he asked, too interested. My natural urge was to tell him to butt out. Instead, I lied brightly. "Laundry, and then I have to study for the Trig test or I'm going to fail." "Is Cullen helping you study?" "Edward," I emphasized, "is not going to help me study. He's gone away somewhere for the weekend." The lies came more naturally than usual, I noted with surprise. "Oh." He perked up. "You know, you could come to the dance with our group anyway — that would be cool. We'd all dance with you," he promised. The mental image of Jessica's face made my tone sharper than necessary. "I'm not going to the dance, Mike, okay?" "Fine." He sulked again. "I was just offering." When the school day had finally ended, I walked to the parking lot without enthusiasm. I did not especially want to walk home, but I couldn't see how he would have retrieved my truck. Then again, I was starting to believe that nothing was impossible for him. The latter instinct proved correct — my truck sat in the same space he'd parked his Volvo in this morning. I shook my head, incredulous, as I opened the unlocked door and saw the key in the ignition. There was a piece of white paper folded on my seat. I got in and closed the door before I unfolded it. Two words were written in his elegant script. Be safe. The sound of the truck roaring to life frightened me. I laughed at myself. When I got home, the handle of the door was locked, the dead bolt unlocked, just as I'd left it this morning. Inside, I went straight to the laundry room. It looked just the same as I'd left it, too. I dug for my jeans and, after finding them, checked the pockets. Empty. Maybe I'd hung my key up after all, I thought, shaking my head. Following the same instinct that had prompted me to lie to Mike, I called Jessica on the pretense of wishing her luck at the dance. When she offered the same wish for my day with Edward, I told her about the cancellation. She was more disappointed than really necessary for a third-party observer to be. I said goodbye quickly after that. Charlie was absentminded at dinner, worried over something at work, I guessed, or maybe a basketball game, or maybe he was just really enjoying the lasagna — it was hard to tell with Charlie. "You know, Dad…" I began, breaking into his reverie. "What's that, Bell?" "I think you're right about Seattle. I think I'll wait until Jessica or someone else can go with me." "Oh," he said, surprised. "Oh, okay. So, do you want me to stay home?" "No, Dad, don't change your plans. I've got a million things to do… homework, laundry… I need to go to the library and the grocery store. I'll be in and out all day… you go and have fun." "Are you sure?" "Absolutely, Dad. Besides, the freezer is getting dangerously low on fish — we're down to a two, maybe three years' supply." "You're sure easy to live with, Bella." He smiled. "I could say the same thing about you," I said, laughing. The sound of my laughter was off, but he didn't seem to notice. I felt so guilty for deceiving him that I almost took Edward's advice and told him where I would be. Almost. After dinner, I folded clothes and moved another load through the dryer. Unfortunately it was the kind of job that only keeps hands busy. My mind definitely had too much free time, and it was getting out of control. I fluctuated between anticipation so intense that it was very nearly pain, and an insidious fear that picked at my resolve. I had to keep reminding myself that I'd made my choice, and I wasn't going back on it. I pulled his note out of my pocket much more often than necessary to absorb the two small words he'd written. He wants me to be safe, I told myself again and again. I would just hold on to the faith that, in the end, that desire would win out over the others. And what was my other choice — to cut him out of my life? Intolerable. Besides, since I'd come to Forks, it really seemed like my life was about him. But a tiny voice in the back of my mind worried, wondering if it would hurt very much… if it ended badly. I was relieved when it was late enough to be acceptable for bedtime. I knew I was far too stressed to sleep, so I did something I'd never done before. I deliberately took unnecessary cold medicine — the kind that knocked me out for a good eight hours. I normally wouldn't condone that type of behavior in myself, but tomorrow would be complicated enough without me being loopy from sleep deprivation on top of everything else. While I waited for the drugs to kick in, I dried my clean hair till it was impeccably straight, and fussed over what I would wear tomorrow. With everything ready for the morning, I finally lay in my bed. I felt hyper; I couldn't stop twitching. I got up and rifled through my shoebox of CDs until I found a collection of Chopin's nocturnes. I put that on very quietly and then lay down again, concentrating on relaxing individual parts of my body. Somewhere in the middle of that exercise, the cold pills took effect, and I gladly sank into unconsciousness. I woke early, having slept soundly and dreamlessly thanks to my gratuitous drug use. Though I was well rested, I slipped right back into the same hectic frenzy from the night before. I dressed in a rush, smoothing my collar against my neck, fidgeting with the tan sweater till it hung right over my jeans. I sneaked a swift look out the window to see that Charlie was already gone. A thin, cottony layer of clouds veiled the sky. They didn't look very lasting. I ate breakfast without tasting the food, hurrying to clean up when I was done. I peeked out the window again, but nothing had changed. I had just finished brushing my teeth and was heading back downstairs when a quiet knock sent my heart thudding against my rib cage. I flew to the door; I had a little trouble with the simple dead bolt, but I yanked the door open at last, and there he was. All the agitation dissolved as soon as I looked at his face, calm taking its place. I breathed a sigh of relief — yesterday's fears seemed very foolish with him here. He wasn't smiling at first — his face was somber. But then his expression lightened as he looked me over, and he laughed. "Good morning," he chuckled. "What's wrong?" I glanced down to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything important, like shoes, or pants. "We match." He laughed again. I realized he had a long, light tan sweater on, with a white collar showing underneath, and blue jeans. I laughed with him, hiding a secret twinge of regret — why did he have to look like a runway model when I couldn't? I locked the door behind me while he walked to the truck. He waited by the passenger door with a martyred expression that was easy to understand. "We made a deal," I reminded him smugly, climbing into the driver's seat, and reaching over to unlock his door. "Where to?" I asked. "Put your seat belt on — I'm nervous already." I gave him a dirty look as I complied. "Where to?" I repeated with a sigh. "Take the one-oh-one north," he ordered. It was surprisingly difficult to concentrate on the road while feeling his gaze on my face. I compensated by driving more carefully than usual through the still-sleeping town. "Were you planning to make it out of Forks before nightfall?" "This truck is old enough to be your car's grandfather — have some respect," I retorted. We were soon out of the town limits, despite his negativity. Thick underbrush and green-swathed trunks replaced the lawns and houses. "Turn right on the one-ten," he instructed just as I was about to ask. I obeyed silently. "Now we drive until the pavement ends." I could hear a smile in his voice, but I was too afraid of driving off the road and proving him right to look over and be sure. "And what's there, at the pavement's end?" I wondered. "A trail." "We're hiking?" Thank goodness I'd worn tennis shoes. "Is that a problem?" He sounded as if he'd expected as much. "No." I tried to make the lie sound confident. But if he thought my truck was slow… "Don't worry, it's only five miles or so, and we're in no hurry." Five miles. I didn't answer, so that he wouldn't hear my voice crack in panic. Five miles of treacherous roots and loose stones, trying to twist my ankles or otherwise incapacitate me. This was going to be humiliating. We drove in silence for a while as I contemplated the coming horror. "What are you thinking?" he asked impatiently after a few moments. I lied again. "Just wondering where we're going." "It's a place I like to go when the weather is nice." We both glanced out the windows at the thinning clouds after he spoke. "Charlie said it would be warm today." "And did you tell Charlie what you were up to?" he asked. "Nope." "But Jessica thinks we're going to Seattle together?" He seemed cheered by the idea. "No, I told her you canceled on me — which is true." "No one knows you're with me?" Angrily, now. "That depends… I assume you told Alice?" "That's very helpful, Bella," he snapped. I pretended I didn't hear that. "Are you so depressed by Forks that it's made you suicidal?" he demanded when I ignored him. "You said it might cause trouble for you… us being together publicly," I reminded him. "So you're worried about the trouble it might cause me— if you don't come home?" His voice was still angry, and bitingly sarcastic. I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road. He muttered something under his breath, speaking so quickly that I couldn't understand. We were silent for the rest of the drive. I could feel the waves of infuriated disapproval rolling off of him, and I could think of nothing to say. And then the road ended, constricting to a thin foot trail with a small wooden marker. I parked on the narrow shoulder and stepped out, afraid because he was angry with me and I didn't have driving as an excuse not to look at him. It was warm now, warmer than it had been in Forks since the day I'd arrived, almost muggy under the clouds. I pulled off my sweater and knotted it around my waist, glad that I'd worn the light, sleeveless shirt — especially if I had five miles of hiking ahead of me. I heard his door slam, and looked over to see that he'd removed his sweater, too. He was facing away from me, into the unbroken forest beside my truck. "This way," he said, glancing over his shoulder at me, eyes still annoyed. He started into the dark forest. "The trail?" Panic was clear in my voice as I hurried around the truck to catch up to him. "I said there was a trail at the end of the road, not that we were taking it." "No trail?" I asked desperately. "I won't let you get lost." He turned then, with a mocking smile, and I stifled a gasp. His white shirt was sleeveless, and he wore it unbuttoned, so that the smooth white skin of his throat flowed uninterrupted over the marble contours of his chest, his perfect musculature no longer merely hinted at behind concealing clothes. He was too perfect, I realized with a piercing stab of despair. There was no way this godlike creature could be meant for me. He stared at me, bewildered by my tortured expression. "Do you want to go home?" he said quietly, a different pain than mine saturating his voice. "No." I walked forward till I was close beside him, anxious not to waste one second of whatever time I might have with him. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice gentle. "I'm not a good hiker," I answered dully. "You'll have to be very patient." "I can be patient — if I make a great effort." He smiled, holding my glance, trying to lift me out of my sudden, unexplained dejection. I tried to smile back, but the smile was unconvincing. He scrutinized my face. "I'll take you home," he promised. I couldn't tell if the promise was unconditional, or restricted to an immediate departure. I knew he thought it was fear that upset me, and I was grateful again that I was the one person whose mind he couldn't hear. "If you want me to hack five miles through the jungle before sundown, you'd better start leading the way," I said acidly. He frowned at me, struggling to understand my tone and expression. He gave up after a moment and led the way into the forest. It wasn't as hard as I had feared. The way was mostly flat, and he held the damp ferns and webs of moss aside for me. When his straight path took us over fallen trees or boulders, he would help me, lifting me by the elbow, and then releasing me instantly when I was clear. His cold touch on my skin never failed to make my heart thud erratically. Twice, when that happened, I caught a look on his face that made me sure he could somehow hear it. I tried to keep my eyes away from his perfection as much as possible, but I slipped often. Each time, his beauty pierced me through with sadness. For the most part, we walked in silence. Occasionally he would ask a random question that he hadn't gotten to in the past two days of interrogation. He asked about my birthdays, my grade school teachers, my childhood pets — and I had to admit that after killing three fish in a row, I'd given up on the whole institution. He laughed at that, louder than I was used to — bell-like echoes bouncing back to us from the empty woods. The hike took me most of the morning, but he never showed any sign of impatience. The forest spread out around us in a boundless labyrinth of ancient trees, and I began to be nervous that we would never find our way out again. He was perfectly at ease, comfortable in the green maze, never seeming to feel any doubt about our direction. After several hours, the light that filtered through the canopy transformed, the murky olive tone shifting to a brighter jade. The day had turned sunny, just as he'd foretold. For the first time since we'd entered the woods, I felt a thrill of excitement — which quickly turned to impatience. "Are we there yet?" I teased, pretending to scowl. "Nearly." He smiled at the change in my mood. "Do you see the brightness ahead?" I peered into the thick forest. "Um, should I?" He smirked. "Maybe it's a bit soon for your eyes." "Time to visit the optometrist," I muttered. His smirk grew more pronounced. But then, after another hundred yards, I could definitely see a lightening in the trees ahead, a glow that was yellow instead of green. I picked up the pace, my eagerness growing with every step. He let me lead now, following noiselessly. I reached the edge of the pool of light and stepped through the last fringe of ferns into the loveliest place I had ever seen. The meadow was small, perfectly round, and filled with wildflowers — violet, yellow, and soft white. Somewhere nearby, I could hear the bubbling music of a stream. The sun was directly overhead, filling the circle with a haze of buttery sunshine. I walked slowly, awestruck, through the soft grass, swaying flowers, and warm, gilded air. I halfway turned, wanting to share this with him, but he wasn't behind me where I thought he'd be. I spun around, searching for him with sudden alarm. Finally I spotted him, still under the dense shade of the canopy at the edge of the hollow, watching me with cautious eyes. Only then did I remember what the beauty of the meadow had driven from my mind — the enigma of Edward and the sun, which he'd promised to illustrate for me today. I took a step back toward him, my eyes alight with curiosity. His eyes were wary, reluctant. I smiled encouragingly and beckoned to him with my hand, taking another step back to him. He held up a hand in warning, and I hesitated, rocking back onto my heels. Edward seemed to take a deep breath, and then he stepped out into the bright glow of the midday sun. 13. CONFESSIONS Edward in the sunlight was shocking. I couldn't get used to it, though I'd been staring at him all afternoon. His skin, white despite the faint flush from yesterday's hunting trip, literally sparkled, like thousands of tiny diamonds were embedded in the surface. He lay perfectly still in the grass, his shirt open over his sculpted, incandescent chest, his scintillating arms bare. His glistening, pale lavender lids were shut, though of course he didn't sleep. A perfect statue, carved in some unknown stone, smooth like marble, glittering like crystal. Now and then, his lips would move, so fast it looked like they were trembling. But, when I asked, he told me he was singing to himself; it was too low for me to hear. I enjoyed the sun, too, though the air wasn't quite dry enough for my taste. I would have liked to lie back, as he did, and let the sun warm my face. But I stayed curled up, my chin resting on my knees, unwilling to take my eyes off him. The wind was gentle; it tangled my hair and ruffled the grass that swayed around his motionless form. The meadow, so spectacular to me at first, paled next to his magnificence. Hesitantly, always afraid, even now, that he would disappear like a mirage, too beautiful to be real… hesitantly, I reached out one finger and stroked the back of his shimmering hand, where it lay within my reach. I marveled again at the perfect texture, satin smooth, cool as stone. When I looked up again, his eyes were open, watching me. Butterscotch today, lighter, warmer after hunting. His quick smile turned up the corners of his flawless lips. "I don't scare you?" he asked playfully, but I could hear the real curiosity in his soft voice. "No more than usual." He smiled wider; his teeth flashed in the sun. I inched closer, stretched out my whole hand now to trace the contours of his forearm with my fingertips. I saw that my fingers trembled, and knew it wouldn't escape his notice. "Do you mind?" I asked, for he had closed his eyes again. "No," he said without opening his eyes. "You can't imagine how that feels." He sighed. I lightly trailed my hand over the perfect muscles of his arm, followed the faint pattern of bluish veins inside the crease at his elbow. With my other hand, I reached to turn his hand over. Realizing what I wished, he flipped his palm up in one of those blindingly fast, disconcerting movements of his. It startled me; my fingers froze on his arm for a brief second. "Sorry," he murmured. I looked up in time to see his golden eyes close again. "It's too easy to be myself with you." I lifted his hand, turning it this way and that as I watched the sun glitter on his palm. I held it closer to my face, trying to see the hidden facets in his skin. "Tell me what you're thinking," he whispered. I looked to see his eyes watching me, suddenly intent. "It's still so strange for me, not knowing." "You know, the rest of us feel that way all the time." "It's a hard life." Did I imagine the hint of regret in his tone? "But you didn't tell me." "I was wishing I could know what you were thinking…" I hesitated. "And?" "I was wishing that I could believe that you were real. And I was wishing that I wasn't afraid." "I don't want you to be afraid." His voice was just a soft murmur. I heard what he couldn't truthfully say, that I didn't need to be afraid, that there was nothing to fear. "Well, that's not exactly the fear I meant, though that's certainly something to think about." So quickly that I missed his movement, he was half sitting, propped up on his right arm, his left palm still in my hands. His angel's face was only a few inches from mine. I might have — should have — flinched away from his unexpected closeness, but I was unable to move. His golden eyes mesmerized me. "What are you afraid of, then?" he whispered intently. But I couldn't answer. As I had just that once before, I smelled his cool breath in my face. Sweet, delicious, the scent made my mouth water. It was unlike anything else. Instinctively, unthinkingly, I leaned closer, inhaling. And he was gone, his hand ripped from mine. In the time it took my eyes to focus, he was twenty feet away, standing at the edge of the small meadow, in the deep shade of a huge fir tree. He stared at me, his eyes dark in the shadows, his expression unreadable. I could feel the hurt and shock on my face. My empty hands stung. "I'm… sorry… Edward," I whispered. I knew he could hear. "Give me a moment," he called, just loud enough for my less sensitive ears. I sat very still. After ten incredibly long seconds, he walked back, slowly for him. He stopped, still several feet away, and sank gracefully to the ground, crossing his legs. His eyes never left mine. He took two deep breaths, and then smiled in apology. "I am so very sorry." He hesitated. "Would you understand what I meant if I said I was only human?" I nodded once, not quite able to smile at his joke. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins as the realization of danger slowly sank in. He could smell that from where he sat. His smile turned mocking. "I'm the world's best predator, aren't I? Everything about me invites you in — my voice, my face, even my smell. As if I need any of that!" Unexpectedly, he was on his feet, bounding away, instantly out of sight, only to appear beneath the same tree as before, having circled the meadow in half a second. "As if you could outrun me," he laughed bitterly. He reached up with one hand and, with a deafening crack, effortlessly ripped a two-foot-thick branch from the trunk of the spruce. He balanced it in that hand for a moment, and then threw it with blinding speed, shattering it against another huge tree, which shook and trembled at the blow. And he was in front of me again, standing two feet away, still as a stone. "As if you could fight me off," he said gently. I sat without moving, more frightened of him than I had ever been. I'd never seen him so completely freed of that carefully cultivated facade. He'd never been less human… or more beautiful. Face ashen, eyes wide, I sat like a bird locked in the eyes of a snake. His lovely eyes seem to glow with rash excitement. Then, as the seconds passed, they dimmed. His expression slowly folded into a mask of ancient sadness. "Don't be afraid," he murmured, his velvet voice unintentionally seductive. "I promise…" He hesitated. "I swear not to hurt you." He seemed more concerned with convincing himself than me. "Don't be afraid," he whispered again as he stepped closer, with exaggerated slowness. He sat sinuously, with deliberately unhurried movements, till our faces were on the same level, just a foot apart. "Please forgive me," he said formally. "I can control myself. You caught me off guard. But I'm on my best behavior now." He waited, but I still couldn't speak. "I'm not thirsty today, honestly." He winked. At that I had to laugh, though the sound was shaky and breathless. "Are you all right?" he asked tenderly, reaching out slowly, carefully, to place his marble hand back in mine. I looked at his smooth, cold hand, and then at his eyes. They were soft, repentant. I looked back at his hand, and then deliberately returned to tracing the lines in his hand with my fingertip. I looked up and smiled timidly. His answering smile was dazzling. "So where were we, before I behaved so rudely?" he asked in the gentle cadences of an earlier century. "I honestly can't remember." He smiled, but his face was ashamed. "I think we were talking about why you were afraid, besides the obvious reason." "Oh, right." "Well?" I looked down at his hand and doodled aimlessly across his smooth, iridescent palm. The seconds ticked by. "How easily frustrated I am," he sighed. I looked into his eyes, abruptly grasping that this was every bit as new to him as it was to me. As many years of unfathomable experience as he had, this was hard for him, too. I took courage from that thought. "I was afraid… because, for, well, obvious reasons, I can't stay with you. And I'm afraid that I'd like to stay with you, much more than I should." I looked down at his hands as I spoke. It was difficult for me to say this aloud. "Yes," he agreed slowly. "That is something to be afraid of, indeed. Wanting to be with me. That's really not in your best interest." I frowned. "I should have left long ago," he sighed. "I should leave now. But I don't know if I can." "I don't want you to leave," I mumbled pathetically, staring down again. "Which is exactly why I should. But don't worry. I'm essentially a selfish creature. I crave your company too much to do what I should." "I'm glad." "Don't be!" He withdrew his hand, more gently this time; his voice was harsher than usual. Harsh for him, still more beautiful than any human voice. It was hard to keep up — his sudden mood changes left me always a step behind, dazed. "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." He stopped, and I looked to see him gazing unseeingly into the forest. I thought for a moment. "I don't think I understand exactly what you mean — by that last part anyway," I said. He looked back at me and smiled, his mood shifting yet again. "How do I explain?" he mused. "And without frightening you again… hmmmm." Without seeming to think about it, he placed his hand back in mine; I held it tightly in both of mine. He looked at our hands. "That's amazingly pleasant, the warmth." He sighed. A moment passed as he assembled his thoughts. "You know how everyone enjoys different flavors?" he began. "Some people love chocolate ice cream, others prefer strawberry?" I nodded. "Sorry about the food analogy — I couldn't think of another way to explain." I smiled. He smiled ruefully back. "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 hundred-year-old brandy, the rarest, finest cognac — and filled the room with its warm aroma — how do you think he would fare then?" We sat silently, looking into each other's eyes — trying to read each other's thoughts. He broke the silence first. "Maybe that's not the right comparison. Maybe it would be too easy to turn down the brandy. Perhaps I should have made our alcoholic a heroin addict instead." "So what you're saying is, I'm your brand of heroin?" I teased, trying to lighten the mood. He smiled swiftly, seeming to appreciate my effort. "Yes, you are exactly my brand of heroin." "Does that happen often?" I asked. He looked across the treetops, thinking through his response. "I spoke to my brothers about it." He still stared into the distance. "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, in flavor." He glanced swiftly at me, his expression apologetic. "Sorry," he said. "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." He took a deep breath and gazed at the sky again. "So Jasper wasn't sure if he'd ever come across someone who was as" — he hesitated, looking for the right word — "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." "And for you?" "Never." The word hung there for a moment in the warm breeze. "What did Emmett do?" I asked to break the silence. It was the wrong question to ask. His face grew dark, his hand clenched into a fist inside mine. He looked away. I waited, but he wasn't going to answer. "I guess I know," I finally said. He lifted his eyes; his expression was wistful, pleading. "Even the strongest of us fall off the wagon, don't we?" "What are you asking? My permission?" My voice was sharper than I'd intended. I tried to make my tone kinder — I could guess what his honesty must cost him. "I mean, is there no hope, then?" How calmly I could discuss my own death! "No, no!" He was instantly contrite. "Of course there's hope! I mean, of course I won't…" He left the sentence hanging. His eyes burned into mine. "It's different for us. Emmett… these were strangers he happened across. It was a long time ago, and he wasn't as… practiced, as careful, as he is now." He fell silent and watched me intently as I thought it through. "So if we'd met… oh, in a dark alley or something…" I trailed off. "It took everything I had not to jump up in the middle of that class full of children and —" He stopped abruptly, looking away. "When you walked past me, 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." He paused, scowling at the trees. He glanced at me grimly, both of us remembering. "You must have thought I was possessed." "I couldn't understand why. How you could hate me so quickly…" "To me, it was like you were some kind of demon, summoned straight from my own personal hell to ruin me. The fragrance coming off your skin… I thought it would make me deranged 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…" He looked up then at my staggered expression as I tried to absorb his bitter memories. His golden eyes scorched from under his lashes, hypnotic and deadly. "You would have come," he promised. I tried to speak calmly. "Without a doubt." He frowned down at my hands, releasing me from the force of his stare. "And then, 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 so very nearly took you then. There was only one other frail human there — so easily dealt with." I shivered in the warm sun, seeing my memories anew through his eyes, only now grasping the danger. Poor Ms. Cope; I shivered again at how close I'd come to being inadvertently responsible for her death. "But I resisted. I don't know how. I forced myself not to wait for you, not to follow you from the school. It was easier outside, when I couldn't smell you anymore, to think clearly, to make the right decision. I left the others near home — I was too ashamed to tell them how weak I was, they only knew something was very wrong — and then I went straight to Carlisle, at the hospital, to tell him I was leaving." I stared in surprise. "I traded cars with him — he had a full tank of gas and I didn't want to stop. I didn't dare to go home, to face Esme. She wouldn't have let me go without a scene. She would have tried to convince me that it wasn't necessary… "By the next morning I was in Alaska." He sounded ashamed, as if admitting a great cowardice. "I spent two days there, with some old acquaintances… but I was homesick. I hated knowing I'd upset Esme, and the rest of them, my adopted family. In the pure air of the mountains it was hard to believe you were so irresistible. I convinced myself it was weak to run away. I'd dealt with temptation before, not of this magnitude, not even close, but I was strong. Who were you, an insignificant little girl" — he grinned suddenly — "to chase me from the place I wanted to be? So I came back…" He stared off into space. I couldn't speak. "I took precautions, hunting, feeding more than usual before seeing you again. I was sure that I was strong enough to treat you like any other human. I was arrogant about it. "It was unquestionably a complication that I couldn't simply read your thoughts to know what your reaction was to me. I wasn't used to having to go to such circuitous measures, listening to your words in Jessica's mind… her mind isn't very original, and it was annoying to have to stoop to that. And then I couldn't know if you really meant what you said. It was all extremely irritating." He frowned at the memory. "I wanted you to forget my behavior that first day, if possible, so I tried to talk with you like I would with any person. I was eager actually, hoping to decipher some of your thoughts. But you were too interesting, I found myself caught up in your expressions… and every now and then you would stir the air with your hand or your hair, and the scent would stun me again… "Of course, then you were nearly crushed to death in front of my eyes. Later I thought of a perfectly good excuse for why I acted at that moment — because if I hadn't saved you, if your blood had been spilled there in front of me, I don't think I could have stopped myself from exposing us for what we are. But I only thought of that excuse later. At the time, all I could think was, 'Not her.'" He closed his eyes, lost in his agonized confession. I listened, more eager than rational. Common sense told me I should be terrified. Instead, I was relieved to finally understand. And I was filled with compassion for his suffering, even now, as he confessed his craving to take my life. I finally was able to speak, though my voice was faint. "In the hospital?" His eyes flashed up to mine. "I was appalled. I couldn't believe I had put us in danger after all, put myself in your power — you of all people. As if I needed another motive to kill you." We both flinched as that word slipped out. "But it had the opposite effect," he continued quickly. "I fought with Rosalie, Emmett, and Jasper when they suggested that now was the time… the worst fight we've ever had. Carlisle sided with me, and Alice." He grimaced when he said her name. I couldn't imagine why. "Esme told me to do whatever I had to in order to stay." He shook his head indulgently. "All that next day I eavesdropped on the minds of everyone you spoke to, shocked that you kept your word. I didn't understand you at all. But I knew that I couldn't become more involved with you. I did my very best to stay as far from you as possible. And every day the perfume of your skin, your breath, your hair… it hit me as hard as the very first day." He met my eyes again, and they were surprisingly tender. "And for all that," he continued, "I'd have fared better if I had exposed us all at that first moment, than if now, here — with no witnesses and nothing to stop me — I were to hurt you." I was human enough to have to ask. "Why?" "Isabella." He pronounced my full name carefully, then playfully ruffled my hair with his free hand. A shock ran through my body at his casual touch. "Bella, I couldn't live with myself if I ever hurt you. You don't know how it's tortured me." He looked down, ashamed again. "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." He lifted his glorious, agonized eyes to mine. "You are the most important thing to me now. The most important thing to me ever." My head was spinning at the rapid change in direction our conversation had taken. From the cheerful topic of my impending demise, we were suddenly declaring ourselves. He waited, and even though I looked down to study our hands between us, I knew his golden eyes were on me. "You already know how I feel, of course," I finally said. "I'm here… which, roughly translated, means I would rather die than stay away from you." I frowned. "I'm an idiot." "You are an idiot," he agreed with a laugh. Our eyes met, and I laughed, too. We laughed together at the idiocy and sheer impossibility of such a moment. "And so the lion fell in love with the lamb…" he murmured. I looked away, hiding my eyes as I thrilled to the word. "What a stupid lamb," I sighed. "What a sick, masochistic lion." He stared into the shadowy forest for a long moment, and I wondered where his thoughts had taken him. "Why… ?" I began, and then paused, not sure how to continue. He looked at me and smiled; sunlight glinted off his face, his teeth. "Yes?" "Tell me why you ran from me before." His smile faded. "You know why." "No, I mean, exactly what did I do wrong? I'll have to be on my guard, you see, so I better start learning what I shouldn't do. This, for example" — I stroked the back of his hand — "seems to be all right." He smiled again. "You didn't do anything wrong, Bella. It was my fault." "But I want to help, if I can, to not make this harder for you." "Well…" He contemplated for a moment. "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." He stopped short, looking to see if he'd upset me. "Okay, then," I said flippantly, trying to alleviate the suddenly tense atmosphere. I tucked my chin. "No throat exposure." It worked; he laughed. "No, really, it was more the surprise than anything else." He raised his free hand and placed it gently on the side of my neck. I sat very still, the chill of his touch a natural warning — a warning telling me to be terrified. But there was no feeling of fear in me. There were, however, other feelings… "You see," he said. "Perfectly fine." My blood was racing, and I wished I could slow it, sensing that this must make everything so much more difficult — the thudding of my pulse in my veins. Surely he could hear it. "The blush on your cheeks is lovely," he murmured. He gently freed his other hand. My hands fell limply into my lap. Softly he brushed my cheek, then held my face between his marble hands. "Be very still," he whispered, as if I wasn't already frozen. Slowly, never moving his eyes from mine, he leaned toward me. Then abruptly, but very gently, he rested his cold cheek against the hollow at the base of my throat. I was quite unable to move, even if I'd wanted to. I listened to the sound of his even breathing, watching the sun and wind play in his bronze hair, more human than any other part of him. With deliberate slowness, his hands slid down the sides of my neck. I shivered, and I heard him catch his breath. But his hands didn't pause as they softly moved to my shoulders, and then stopped. His face drifted to the side, his nose skimming across my collarbone. He came to rest with the side of his face pressed tenderly against my chest. Listening to my heart. "Ah," he sighed. I don't know how long we sat without moving. It could have been hours. Eventually the throb of my pulse quieted, but he didn't move or speak again as he held me. I knew at any moment it could be too much, and my life could end — so quickly that I might not even notice. And I couldn't make myself be afraid. I couldn't think of anything, except that he was touching me. And then, too soon, he released me. His eyes were peaceful. "It won't be so hard again," he said with satisfaction. "Was that very hard for you?" "Not nearly as bad as I imagined it would be. And you?" "No, it wasn't bad… for me." He smiled at my inflection. "You know what I mean." I smiled. "Here." He took my hand and placed it against his cheek. "Do you feel how warm it is?" And it was almost warm, his usually icy skin. But I barely noticed, for I was touching his face, something I'd dreamed of constantly since the first day I'd seen him. "Don't move," I whispered. No one could be still like Edward. He closed his eyes and became as immobile as stone, a carving under my hand. I moved even more slowly than he had, careful not to make one unexpected move. I caressed his cheek, delicately stroked his eyelid, the purple shadow in the hollow under his eye. I traced the shape of his perfect nose, and then, so carefully, his flawless lips. His lips parted under my hand, and I could feel his cool breath on my fingertips. I wanted to lean in, to inhale the scent of him. So I dropped my hand and leaned away, not wanting to push him too far. He opened his eyes, and they were hungry. Not in a way to make me fear, but rather to tighten the muscles in the pit of my stomach and send my pulse hammering through my veins again. "I wish," he whispered, "I wish you could feel the… complexity… the confusion… I feel. That you could understand." He raised his hand to my hair, then carefully brushed it across my face. "Tell me," I breathed. "I don't think I can. I've told you, on the one hand, the hunger — the thirst — that, deplorable creature that I am, I feel for you. And I think you can understand that, to an extent. Though" — he half-smiled — "as you are not addicted to any illegal substances, you probably can't empathize completely. "But…" His fingers touched my lips lightly, making me shiver again. "There are other hungers. Hungers I don't even understand, that are foreign to me." "I may understand that better than you think." "I'm not used to feeling so human. Is it always like this?" "For me?" I paused. "No, never. Never before this." He held my hands between his. They felt so feeble in his iron strength. "I don't know how to be close to you," he admitted. "I don't know if I can." I leaned forward very slowly, cautioning him with my eyes. I placed my cheek against his stone chest. I could hear his breath, and nothing else. "This is enough," I sighed, closing my eyes. In a very human gesture, he put his arms around me and pressed his face against my hair. "You're better at this than you give yourself credit for," I noted. "I have human instincts — they may be buried deep, but they're there." We sat like that for another immeasurable moment; I wondered if he could be as unwilling to move as I was. But I could see the light was fading, the shadows of the forest beginning to touch us, and I sighed. "You have to go." "I thought you couldn't read my mind." "It's getting clearer." I could hear a smile in his voice. He took my shoulders and I looked into his face. "Can I show you something?" he asked, sudden excitement flaring in his eyes. "Show me what?" "I'll show you how I travel in the forest." He saw my expression. "Don't worry, you'll be very safe, and we'll get to your truck much faster." His mouth twitched up into that crooked smile so beautiful my heart nearly stopped. "Will you turn into a bat?" I asked warily. He laughed, louder than I'd ever heard. "Like I haven't heard that one before!" "Right, I'm sure you get that all the time." "Come on, little coward, climb on my back." I waited to see if he was kidding, but, apparently, he meant it. He smiled as he read my hesitation, and reached for me. My heart reacted; even though he couldn't hear my thoughts, my pulse always gave me away. He then proceeded to sling me onto his back, with very little effort on my part, besides, when in place, clamping my legs and arms so tightly around him that it would choke a normal person. It was like clinging to a stone. "I'm a bit heavier than your average backpack," I warned. "Hah!" he snorted. I could almost hear his eyes rolling. I'd never seen him in such high spirits before. He startled me, suddenly grabbing my hand, pressing my palm to his face, and inhaling deeply. "Easier all the time," he muttered. And then he was running. If I'd ever feared death before in his presence, it was nothing compared to how I felt now. He streaked through the dark, thick underbrush of the forest like a bullet, like a ghost. There was no sound, no evidence that his feet touched the earth. His breathing never changed, never indicated any effort. But the trees flew by at deadly speeds, always missing us by inches. I was too terrified to close my eyes, though the cool forest air whipped against my face and burned them. I felt as if I were stupidly sticking my head out the window of an airplane in flight. And, for the first time in my life, I felt the dizzy faintness of motion sickness. Then it was over. We'd hiked hours this morning to reach Edward's meadow, and now, in a matter of minutes, we were back to the truck. "Exhilarating, isn't it?" His voice was high, excited. He stood motionless, waiting for me to climb down. I tried, but my muscles wouldn't respond. My arms and legs stayed locked around him while my head spun uncomfortably. "Bella?" he asked, anxious now. "I think I need to lie down," I gasped. "Oh, sorry." He waited for me, but I still couldn't move. "I think I need help," I admitted. He laughed quietly, and gently unloosened my stranglehold on his neck. There was no resisting the iron strength of his hands. Then he pulled me around to face him, cradling me in his arms like a small child. He held me for a moment, then carefully placed me on the springy ferns. "How do you feel?" he asked. I couldn't be sure how I felt when my head was spinning so crazily. "Dizzy, I think." "Put your head between your knees." I tried that, and it helped a little. I breathed in and out slowly, keeping my head very still. I felt him sitting beside me. The moments passed, and eventually I found that I could raise my head. There was a hollow ringing sound in my ears. "I guess that wasn't the best idea," he mused. I tried to be positive, but my voice was weak. "No, it was very interesting." "Hah! You're as white as a ghost — no, you're as white as me!" "I think I should have closed my eyes." "Remember that next time." "Next time!" I groaned. He laughed, his mood still radiant. "Show-off," I muttered. "Open your eyes, Bella," he said quietly. And he was right there, his face so close to mine. His beauty stunned my mind — it was too much, an excess I couldn't grow accustomed to. "I was thinking, while I was running…" He paused. "About not hitting the trees, I hope." "Silly Bella," he chuckled. "Running is second nature to me, it's not something I have to think about." "Show-off," I muttered again. He smiled. "No," he continued, "I was thinking there was something I wanted to try." And he took my face in his hands again. I couldn't breathe. He hesitated — not in the normal way, the human way. Not the way a man might hesitate before he kissed a woman, to gauge her reaction, to see how he would be received. Perhaps he would hesitate to prolong the moment, that ideal moment of anticipation, sometimes better than the kiss itself. Edward hesitated to test himself, to see if this was safe, to make sure he was still in control of his need. And then his cold, marble lips pressed very softly against mine. What neither of us was prepared for was my response. Blood boiled under my skin, burned in my lips. My breath came in a wild gasp. My fingers knotted in his hair, clutching him to me. My lips parted as I breathed in his heady scent. Immediately I felt him turn to unresponsive stone beneath my lips. His hands gently, but with irresistible force, pushed my face back. I opened my eyes and saw his guarded expression. "Oops," I breathed. "That's an understatement." His eyes were wild, his jaw clenched in acute restraint, yet he didn't lapse from his perfect articulation. He held my face just inches from his. He dazzled my eyes. "Should I… ?" I tried to disengage myself, to give him some room. His hands refused to let me move so much as an inch. "No, it's tolerable. Wait for a moment, please." His voice was polite, controlled. I kept my eyes on his, watched as the excitement in them faded and gentled. Then he smiled a surprisingly impish grin. "There," he said, obviously pleased with himself. "Tolerable?" I asked. He laughed aloud. "I'm stronger than I thought. It's nice to know." "I wish I could say the same. I'm sorry." "You are only human, after all." "Thanks so much," I said, my voice acerbic. He was on his feet in one of his lithe, almost invisibly quick movements. He held out his hand to me, an unexpected gesture. I was so used to our standard of careful non-contact. I took his icy hand, needing the support more than I thought. My balance had not yet returned. "Are you still faint from the run? Or was it my kissing expertise?" How lighthearted, how human he seemed as he laughed now, his seraphic face untroubled. He was a different Edward than the one I had known. And I felt all the more besotted by him. It would cause me physical pain to be separated from him now. "I can't be sure, I'm still woozy," I managed to respond. "I think it's some of both, though." "Maybe you should let me drive." "Are you insane?" I protested. "I can drive better than you on your best day," he teased. "You have much slower reflexes." "I'm sure that's true, but I don't think my nerves, or my truck, could take it." "Some trust, please, Bella." My hand was in my pocket, curled tightly around the key. I pursed my lips, deliberated, then shook my head with a tight grin. "Nope. Not a chance." He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. I started to step around him, heading for the driver's side. He might have let me pass if I hadn't wobbled slightly. Then again, he might not have. His arm created an inescapable snare around my waist. "Bella, I've already expended a great deal of personal effort at this point to keep you alive. 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," he quoted with a chuckle. I could smell the unbearably sweet fragrance coming off his chest. "Drunk?" I objected. "You're intoxicated by my very presence." He was grinning that playful smirk again. "I can't argue with that," I sighed. There was no way around it; I couldn't resist him in anything. I held the key high and dropped it, watching his hand flash like lightning to catch it soundlessly. "Take it easy — my truck is a senior citizen." "Very sensible," he approved. "And are you not affected at all?" I asked, irked. "By my presence?" Again his mobile features transformed, his expression became soft, warm. He didn't answer at first; he simply bent his face to mine, and brushed his lips slowly along my jaw, from my ear to my chin, back and forth. I trembled. "Regardless," he finally murmured, "I have better reflexes." 14. MIND OVER MATTER He could drive well, when he kept the speed reasonable, I had to admit. Like so many things, it seemed to be effortless to him. He barely looked at the road, yet the tires never deviated so much as a centimeter from the center of the lane. He drove one-handed, holding my hand on the seat. Sometimes he gazed into the setting sun, sometimes he glanced at me — my face, my hair blowing out the open window, our hands twined together. He had turned the radio to an oldies station, and he sang along with a song I'd never heard. He knew every line. "You like fifties music?" I asked. "Music in the fifties was good. Much better than the sixties, or the seventies, ugh!" He shuddered. "The eighties were bearable." "Are you ever going to tell me how old you are?" I asked, tentative, not wanting to upset his buoyant humor. "Does it matter much?" His smile, to my relief, remained unclouded. "No, but I still wonder…" I grimaced. "There's nothing like an unsolved mystery to keep you up at night." "I wonder if it will upset you," he reflected to himself. He gazed into the sun; the minutes passed. "Try me," I finally said. He sighed, and then looked into my eyes, seeming to forget the road completely for a time. Whatever he saw there must have encouraged him. He looked into the sun — the light of the setting orb glittered off his skin in ruby-tinged sparkles — and spoke. "I was born in Chicago in 1901." He paused and glanced at me from the corner of his eyes. My face was carefully unsurprised, patient for the rest. He smiled a tiny smile and continued. "Carlisle found me in a hospital in the summer of 1918. I was seventeen, and dying of the Spanish influenza." He heard my intake of breath, though it was barely audible to my own ears. He looked down into my eyes again. "I don't remember it well — it was a very long time ago, and human memories fade." He was lost in his thoughts for a short time before he went on. "I do remember how it felt, when Carlisle saved me. It's not an easy thing, not something you could forget." "Your parents?" "They had already died from the disease. I was alone. 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?" A few seconds passed before he answered. He seemed to choose his words carefully. "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." He paused. "For me, it was merely very, very painful." I could tell from the set of his lips, he would say no more on this subject. I suppressed my curiosity, though it was far from idle. There were many things I needed to think through on this particular issue, things that were only beginning to occur to me. No doubt his quick mind had already comprehended every aspect that eluded me. His soft voice interrupted my thoughts. "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…" We never said the word, and I couldn't frame it now. "No, that's just Carlisle. He would never do that to someone who had another choice." The respect in his voice was profound whenever he spoke of his father figure. "It is easier he says, though," he continued, "if the blood is weak." He looked at the now-dark road, and I could feel the subject closing again. "And Emmett and Rosalie?" "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." He rolled his eyes. "But she was never more than a sister. 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. I'm only beginning to guess how difficult that journey was for her." He threw a pointed glance in my direction, and raised our hands, still folded together, to brush my cheek with the back of his hand. "But she made it," I encouraged, looking away from the unbearable beauty of his eyes. "Yes," he murmured. "She saw something in his face that made her strong enough. And they've been together ever since. Sometimes they live separately from us, as a married couple. 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." He laughed. "I suppose we'll have to go to their wedding in a few years, again." "Alice and Jasper?" "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, 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." "Really?" I interrupted, fascinated. "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. But it's very subjective. The future isn't set in stone. Things change." His jaw set when he said that, and his eyes darted to my face and away so quickly that I wasn't sure if I only imagined it. "What kinds of things does she see?" "She saw Jasper and knew that he was looking for her before he knew it himself. She saw Carlisle and our family, and they came together to find us. 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." "Are there a lot of… your kind?" I was surprised. How many of them could walk among us undetected? "No, not many. But most won't settle in any one place. Only those like us, who've given up hunting you people" — a sly glance in my direction — "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. Those of us who live… differently tend to band together." "And the others?" "Nomads, for the most part. 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?" We were parked in front of my house now, and he'd turned off the truck. It was very quiet and dark; there was no moon. The porch light was off so I knew my father wasn't home yet. "Did you have your eyes open this afternoon?" he teased. "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?" "Probably." "And Alice came from another family, like Jasper?" "No, and that is a mystery. Alice doesn't remember her human life at all. And she doesn't know who created her. 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." There was so much to think through, so much I still wanted to ask. But, to my great embarrassment, my stomach growled. I'd been so intrigued, I hadn't even noticed I was hungry. I realized now that I was ravenous. "I'm sorry, I'm keeping you from dinner." "I'm fine, really." "I've never spent much time around anyone who eats food. I forget." "I want to stay with you." It was easier to say in the darkness, knowing as I spoke how my voice would betray me, my hopeless addiction to him. "Can't I come in?" he asked. "Would you like to?" I couldn't picture it, this godlike creature sitting in my father's shabby kitchen chair. "Yes, if it's all right." I heard the door close quietly, and almost simultaneously he was outside my door, opening it for me. "Very human," I complimented him. "It's definitely resurfacing." He walked beside me in the night, so quietly I had to peek at him constantly to be sure he was still there. In the darkness he looked much more normal. Still pale, still dreamlike in his beauty, but no longer the fantastic sparkling creature of our sunlit afternoon. He reached the door ahead of me and opened it for me. I paused halfway through the frame. "The door was unlocked?" "No, I used the key from under the eave." I stepped inside, flicked on the porch light, and turned to look at him with my eyebrows raised. I was sure I'd never used that key in front of him. "I was curious about you." "You spied on me?" But somehow I couldn't infuse my voice with the proper outrage. I was flattered. He was unrepentant. "What else is there to do at night?" I let it go for the moment and went down the hall to the kitchen. He was there before me, needing no guide. He sat in the very chair I'd tried to picture him in. His beauty lit up the kitchen. It was a moment before I could look away. I concentrated on getting my dinner, taking last night's lasagna from the fridge, placing a square on a plate, heating it in the microwave. It revolved, filling the kitchen with the smell of tomatoes and oregano. I didn't take my eyes from the plate of food as I spoke. "How often?" I asked casually. "Hmmm?" He sounded as if I had pulled him from some other train of thought. I still didn't turn around. "How often did you come here?" "I come here almost every night." I whirled, stunned. "Why?" "You're interesting when you sleep." He spoke matter-of-factly. "You talk." "No!" I gasped, heat flooding my face all the way to my hairline. I gripped the kitchen counter for support. I knew I talked in my sleep, of course; my mother teased me about it. I hadn't thought it was something I needed to worry about here, though. His expression shifted instantly to chagrin. "Are you very angry with me?" "That depends!" I felt and sounded like I'd had the breath knocked out of me. He waited. "On?" he urged. "What you heard!" I wailed. Instantly, silently, he was at my side, taking my hands carefully in his. "Don't be upset!" he pleaded. He dropped his face to the level of my eyes, holding my gaze. I was embarrassed. I tried to look away. "You miss your mother," he whispered. "You worry about her. And when it rains, 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.'" He laughed softly, hoping, I could see, not to offend me further. "Anything else?" I demanded. He knew what I was getting at. "You did say my name," he admitted. I sighed in defeat. "A lot?" "How much do you mean by 'a lot,' exactly?" "Oh no!" I hung my head. He pulled me against his chest, softly, naturally. "Don't be self-conscious," he whispered in my ear. "If I could dream at all, it would be about you. And I'm not ashamed of it." Then we both heard the sound of tires on the brick driveway, saw the headlights flash through the front windows, down the hall to us. I stiffened in his arms. "Should your father know I'm here?" he asked. "I'm not sure…" I tried to think it through quickly. "Another time then…" And I was alone. "Edward!" I hissed. I heard a ghostly chuckle, then nothing else. My father's key turned in the door. "Bella?" he called. It had bothered me before; who else would it be? Suddenly he didn't seem so far off base. "In here." I hoped he couldn't hear the hysterical edge to my voice. I grabbed my dinner from the microwave and sat at the table as he walked in. His footsteps sounded so noisy after my day with Edward. "Can you get me some of that? I'm bushed." He stepped on the heels of his boots to take them off, holding the back of Edward's chair for support. I took my food with me, scarfing it down as I got his dinner. It burned my tongue. I filled two glasses with milk while his lasagna was heating, and gulped mine to put out the fire. As I set the glass down, I noticed the milk trembling and realized my hand was shaking. Charlie sat in the chair, and the contrast between him and its former occupant was comical. "Thanks," he said as I placed his food on the table. "How was your day?" I asked. The words were rushed; I was dying to escape to my room. "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." I took another big bite. "It was a nice day," he agreed. What an understatement, I thought to myself. Finished with the last bite of lasagna, I lifted my glass and chugged the remains of my milk. Charlie surprised me by being observant. "In a hurry?" "Yeah, I'm tired. I'm going to bed early." "You look kinda keyed up," he noted. Why, oh why, did this have to be his night to pay attention? "Do I?" was all I could manage in response. I quickly scrubbed my dishes clean in the sink, and placed them upside down on a dish towel to dry. "It's Saturday," he mused. I didn't respond. "No plans tonight?" he asked suddenly. "No, Dad, I just want to get some sleep." "None of the boys in town your type, eh?" He was suspicious, but trying to play it cool. "No, none of the boys have caught my eye yet." I was careful not to over-emphasize the word boys in my quest to be truthful with Charlie. "I thought maybe that Mike Newton… you said he was friendly." "He's Just a friend, Dad." "Well, you're too good for them all, anyway. Wait till you get to college to start looking." Every father's dream, that his daughter will be out of the house before the hormones kick in. "Sounds like a good idea to me," I agreed as I headed up the stairs. "'Night, honey," he called after me. No doubt he would be listening carefully all evening, waiting for me to try to sneak out. "See you in the morning, Dad." See you creeping into my room tonight at midnight to check on me. I worked to make my tread sound slow and tired as I walked up the stairs to my room. I shut the door loud enough for him to hear, and then sprinted on my tiptoes to the window. I threw it open and leaned out into the night. My eyes scanned the darkness, the impenetrable shadows of the trees. "Edward?" I whispered, feeling completely idiotic. The quiet, laughing response came from behind me. "Yes?" I whirled, one hand flying to my throat in surprise. He lay, smiling hugely, across my bed, his hands behind his head, his feet dangling off the end, the picture of ease. "Oh!" I breathed, sinking unsteadily to the floor. "I'm sorry." He pressed his lips together, trying to hide his amusement. "Just give me a minute to restart my heart." He sat up slowly, so as not to startle me again. Then he leaned forward and reached out with his long arms to pick me up, gripping the tops of my arms like I was a toddler. He sat me on the bed beside him. "Why don't you sit with me," he suggested, putting a cold hand on mine. "How's the heart?" "You tell me — I'm sure you hear it better than I do." I felt his quiet laughter shake the bed. We sat there for a moment in silence, both listening to my heartbeat slow. I thought about having Edward in my room, with my father in the house. "Can I have a minute to be human?" I asked. "Certainly." He gestured with one hand that I should proceed. "Stay," I said, trying to look severe. "Yes, ma'am." And he made a show of becoming a statue on the edge of my bed. I hopped up, grabbing my pajamas from off the floor, my bag of toiletries off the desk. I left the light off and slipped out, closing the door. I could hear the sound from the TV rising up the stairs. I banged the bathroom door loudly, so Charlie wouldn't come up to bother me. I meant to hurry. I brushed my teeth fiercely, trying to be thorough and speedy, removing all traces of lasagna. But the hot water of the shower couldn't be rushed. It unknotted the muscles in my back, calmed my pulse. The familiar smell of my shampoo made me feel like I might be the same person I had been this morning. I tried not to think of Edward, sitting in my room, waiting, because then I had to start all over with the calming process. Finally, I couldn't delay anymore. I shut off the water, toweling hastily, rushing again. I pulled on my holey t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Too late to regret not packing the Victoria's Secret silk pajamas my mother got me two birthdays ago, which still had the tags on them in a drawer somewhere back home. I rubbed the towel through my hair again, and then yanked the brush through it quickly. I threw the towel in the hamper, flung my brush and toothpaste into my bag. Then I dashed down the stairs so Charlie could see that I was in my pajamas, with wet hair. "'Night, Dad." "'Night, Bella." He did look startled by my appearance. Maybe that would keep him from checking on me tonight. I took the stairs two at a time, trying to be quiet, and flew into my room, closing the door tightly behind me. Edward hadn't moved a fraction of an inch, a carving of Adonis perched on my faded quilt. I smiled, and his lips twitched, the statue coming to life. His eyes appraised me, taking in the damp hair, the tattered shirt. He raised one eyebrow. "Nice." I grimaced. "No, it looks good on you." "Thanks," I whispered. I went back to his side, sitting cross-legged beside him. I looked at the lines in the wooden floor. "What was all that for?" "Charlie thinks I'm sneaking out." "Oh." He contemplated that. "Why?" As if he couldn't know Charlie's mind much more clearly than I could guess. "Apparently, I look a little overexcited." He lifted my chin, examining my face. "You look very warm, actually." He bent his face slowly to mine, laying his cool cheek against my skin. I held perfectly still. "Mmmmmm…" he breathed. It was very difficult, while he was touching me, to frame a coherent question. It took me a minute of scattered concentration to begin. "It seems to be… much easier for you, now, to be close to me." "Does it seem that way to you?" he murmured, his nose gliding to the corner of my jaw. I felt his hand, lighter than a moth's wing, brushing my damp hair back, so that his lips could touch the hollow beneath my ear. "Much, much easier," I said, trying to exhale. "Hmm." "So I was wondering…" I began again, but his fingers were slowly tracing my collarbone, and I lost my train of thought. "Yes?" he breathed. "Why is that," my voice shook, embarrassing me, "do you think?" I felt the tremor of his breath on my neck as he laughed. "Mind over matter." I pulled back; as I moved, he froze — and I could no longer hear the sound of his breathing. We stared cautiously at each other for a moment, and then, as his clenched jaw gradually relaxed, his expression became puzzled. "Did I do something wrong?" "No — the opposite. You're driving me crazy," I explained. He considered that briefly, and when he spoke, he sounded pleased. "Really?" A triumphant smile slowly lit his face. "Would you like a round of applause?" I asked sarcastically. He grinned. "I'm just pleasantly surprised," he clarified. "In the last hundred years or so," his voice was teasing, "I never imagined anything like this. I didn't believe I would ever find someone I wanted to be with… in another way than my brothers and sisters. And then to find, even though it's all new to me, that I'm good at it… at being with you…" "You're good at everything," I pointed out. He shrugged, allowing that, and we both laughed in whispers. "But how can it be so easy now?" I pressed. "This afternoon…" "It's not easy," he sighed. "But this afternoon, I was still… undecided. I am sorry about that, it was unforgivable for me to behave so." "Not unforgivable," I disagreed. "Thank you." He smiled. "You see," he continued, looking down now, "I wasn't sure if I was strong enough…" He picked up one of my hands and pressed it lightly to his face. "And while there was still that possibility that I might be… overcome" — he breathed in the scent at my wrist — "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…" I'd never seen him struggle so hard for words. It was so… human. "So there's no possibility now?" "Mind over matter," he repeated, smiling, his teeth bright even in the darkness. "Wow, that was easy," I said. He threw back his head and laughed, quietly as a whisper, but still exuberantly. "Easy for you!" he amended, touching my nose with his fingertip. And then his face was abruptly serious. "I'm trying," he whispered, his voice pained. "If it gets to be… too much, I'm fairly sure I'll be able to leave." I scowled. I didn't like the talk of leaving. "And it will be harder tomorrow," he continued. "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 length of time, I'll have to start over again. Not quite from scratch, though, I think." "Don't go away, then," I responded, unable to hide the longing in my voice. "That suits me," he replied, his face relaxing into a gentle smile. "Bring on the shackles — I'm your prisoner." But his long hands formed manacles around my wrists as he spoke. He laughed his quiet, musical laugh. He'd laughed more tonight than I'd ever heard in all the time I'd spent with him. "You seem more… optimistic than usual," I observed. "I haven't seen you like this before." "Isn't it supposed to be like this?" He smiled. "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?" "Very different," I agreed. "More forceful than I'd imagined." "For example" — his words flowed swiftly now, I had to concentrate to catch it all — "the emotion of jealousy. I've read about it a hundred thousand times, seen actors portray it in a thousand different plays and movies. I believed I understood that one pretty clearly. But it shocked me…" He grimaced. "Do you remember the day that Mike asked you to the dance?" I nodded, though I remembered that day for a different reason. "The day you started talking to me again." "I was surprised 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. "And then the line started forming," he chuckled. I scowled in the darkness. "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. 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. "And then," he whispered, "as you were sleeping, you said my name. You spoke so clearly, at first I thought you'd woken. But you rolled over restlessly and mumbled my name once more, and sighed. The feeling that coursed through me then was unnerving, staggering. And I knew I couldn't ignore you any longer." He was silent for a moment, probably listening to the suddenly uneven pounding of my heart. "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…" He shook his head angrily. "I should have known you'd be listening," I groaned. "Of course." "That made you feel jealous, though, really?" "I'm new at this; you're resurrecting the human in me, and everything feels stronger because it's fresh." "But honestly," I teased, "for that to bother you, after I have to hear that Rosalie — Rosalie, the incarnation of pure beauty, Rosalie — was meant for you. Emmett or no Emmett, how can I compete with that?" "There's no competition." His teeth gleamed. He drew my trapped hands around his back, holding me to his chest. I kept as still as I could, even breathing with caution. "I know there's no competition," I mumbled into his cold skin. "That's the problem." "Of course Rosalie is beautiful in her way, but even if she wasn't like a sister to me, even if Emmett didn't belong with her, she could never have one tenth, no, one hundredth of the attraction you hold for me." He was serious now, thoughtful. "For almost ninety years I've walked among my kind, and 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." "It hardly seems fair," I whispered, my face still resting on his chest, listening to his breath come and go. "I haven't had to wait at all. Why should I get off so easily?" "You're right," he agreed with amusement. "I should make this harder for you, definitely." He freed one of his hands, released my wrist, only to gather it carefully into his other hand. He stroked my wet hair softly, from the top of my head to my waist. "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 — I don't feel deprived of anything." "Not yet." And his voice was abruptly full of ancient grief. I tried to pull back, to look in his face, but his hand locked my wrists in an unbreakable hold. "What —" I started to ask, when his body became alert. I froze, but he suddenly released my hands, and disappeared. I narrowly avoided falling on my face. "Lie down!" he hissed. I couldn't tell where he spoke from in the darkness. I rolled under my quilt, balling up on my side, the way I usually slept. I heard the door crack open, as Charlie peeked in to make sure I was where I was supposed to be. I breathed evenly, exaggerating the movement. A long minute passed. I listened, not sure if I'd heard the door close. Then Edward's cool arm was around me, under the covers, his lips at my ear. "You are a terrible actress — I'd say that career path is out for you." "Darn it," I muttered. My heart was crashing in my chest. He hummed a melody I didn't recognize; it sounded like a lullaby. He paused. "Should I sing you to sleep?" "Right," I laughed. "Like I could sleep with you here!" "You do it all the time," he reminded me. "But I didn't know you were here," I replied icily. "So if you don't want to sleep…" he suggested, ignoring my tone. My breath caught. "If I don't want to sleep… ?" He chuckled. "What do you want to do then?" I couldn't answer at first. "I'm not sure," I finally said. "Tell me when you decide." I could feel his cool breath on my neck, feel his nose sliding along my jaw, inhaling. "I thought you were desensitized." "Just because I'm resisting the wine doesn't mean I can't appreciate the bouquet," he whispered. "You have a very floral smell, like lavender… or freesia," he noted. "It's mouthwatering." "Yeah, it's an off day when I don't get somebody telling me how edible I smell." He chuckled, and then sighed. "I've decided what I want to do," I told him. "I want to hear more about you." "Ask me anything." I sifted through my questions for the most vital. "Why do you do it?" I said. "I still don't understand how you can work so hard to resist what you… are. Please don't misunderstand, of course I'm glad that you do. I just don't see why you would bother in the first place." He hesitated before answering. "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." I lay unmoving, locked in awed silence. "Did you fall asleep?" he whispered after a few minutes. "No." "Is that all you were curious about?" I rolled my eyes. "Not quite." "What else do you want to know?" "Why can you read minds — why only you? And Alice, seeing the future… why does that happen?" I felt him shrug in the darkness. "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?" "Carlisle brought his compassion. Esme brought her ability to love passionately. Emmett brought his strength, Rosalie her… tenacity. Or you could call it pigheadedness." he chuckled. "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." I considered the impossibilities he described, trying to take it in. He waited patiently while I thought. "So where did it all start? I mean, Carlisle changed you, and then someone must have changed him, and so on…" "Well, where did you come from? Evolution? Creation? Couldn't we have evolved in the same way as other species, predator and prey? Or, if you don't believe that all this 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 — I'm the baby seal, right?" "Right." He laughed, and something touched my hair — his lips? I wanted to turn toward him, to see if it was really his lips against my hair. But I had to be good; I didn't want to make this any harder for him than it already was. "Are you ready to sleep?" he asked, interrupting the short silence. "Or do you have any more questions?" "Only a million or two." "We have tomorrow, and the next day, and the next…" he reminded me. I smiled, euphoric at the thought. "Are you sure you won't vanish in the morning?" I wanted this to be certain. "You are mythical, after all." "I won't leave you." His voice had the seal of a promise in it. "One more, then, tonight…" And I blushed. The darkness was no help — I'm sure he could feel the sudden warmth under my skin. "What is it?" "No, forget it. I changed my mind." "Bella, you can ask me anything." I didn't answer, and he groaned. "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. It's bad enough that you eavesdrop on my sleep-talking." "Please?" His voice was so persuasive, so impossible to resist. I shook my head. "If you don't tell me, I'll just assume it's something much worse than it is," he threatened darkly. "Please?" Again, that pleading voice. "Well," I began, glad that he couldn't see my face. "Yes?" "You said that Rosalie and Emmett will get married soon… Is that… marriage… the same as it is for humans?" He laughed in earnest now, understanding. "Is that what you're getting at?" I fidgeted, unable to answer. "Yes, I suppose it is much the same," he said. "I told you, most of those human desires are there, just hidden behind more powerful desires." "Oh," was all I could say. "Was there a purpose behind your curiosity?" "Well, I did wonder… about you and me… someday…" He was instantly serious, I could tell by the sudden stillness of his body. I froze, too, reacting automatically. "I don't think that… that… would be possible for us." "Because it would be too hard for you, if I were that… close?" "That's certainly a problem. 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." His voice had become just a soft murmur. He moved his icy palm to rest it against my cheek. "If I was too hasty… if for one second I wasn't paying 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." He waited for me to respond, growing anxious when I didn't. "Are you scared?" he asked. I waited for a minute to answer, so the words would be true. "No. I'm fine." He seemed to deliberate for a moment. "I'm curious now, though," he said, his voice light again. "Have you ever… ?" He trailed off suggestively. "Of course not." I flushed. "I told you I've never felt like this about anyone before, not even close." "I know. 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," I sighed. "That's nice. We have that one thing in common, at least." He sounded satisfied. "Your human instincts…" I began. He waited. "Well, do you find me attractive, in that way, at all?" He laughed and lightly rumpled my nearly dry hair. "I may not be a human, but I am a man," he assured me. I yawned involuntarily. "I've answered your questions, now you should sleep," he insisted. "I'm not sure if I can." "Do you want me to leave?" "No!" I said too loudly. He laughed, and then began to hum that same, unfamiliar lullaby; the voice of an archangel, soft in my ear. More tired than I realized, exhausted from the long day of mental and emotional stress like I'd never felt before, I drifted to sleep in his cold arms. 15. THE CULLENS The muted light of yet another cloudy day eventually woke me. I lay with my arm across my eyes, groggy and dazed. Something, a dream trying to be remembered, struggled to break into my consciousness. I moaned and rolled on my side, hoping more sleep would come. And then the previous day flooded back into my awareness. "Oh!" I sat up so fast it made my head spin. "Your hair looks like a haystack… but I like it." His unruffled voice came from the rocking chair in the corner. "Edward! You stayed!" I rejoiced, and thoughtlessly threw myself across the room and into his lap. In the instant that my thoughts caught up with my actions, I froze, shocked by my own uncontrolled enthusiasm. I stared up at him, afraid that I had crossed the wrong line. But he laughed. "Of course," he answered, startled, but seeming pleased by my reaction. His hands rubbed my back. I laid my head cautiously against his shoulder, breathing in the smell of his skin. "I was sure it was a dream." "You're not that creative," he scoffed. "Charlie!" I remembered, thoughtlessly jumping up again and heading to the door. "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?" I deliberated where I stood, wanting to return to him badly, but afraid I might have morning breath. "You're not usually this confused in the morning," he noted. He held his arms open for me to return. A nearly irresistible invitation. "I need another human minute," I admitted. "I'll wait." I skipped to the bathroom, my emotions unrecognizable. I didn't know myself, inside or out. The face in the mirror was practically a stranger — eyes too bright, hectic spots of red across my cheekbones. After I brushed my teeth, I worked to straighten out the tangled chaos that was my hair. I splashed my face with cold water, and tried to breathe normally, with no noticeable success. I half-ran back to my room. It seemed like a miracle that he was there, his arms still waiting for me. He reached out to me, and my heart thumped unsteadily. "Welcome back," he murmured, taking me into his arms. He rocked me for a while in silence, until I noticed that his clothes were changed, his hair smooth. "You left?" I accused, touching the collar of his fresh shirt. "I could hardly leave in the clothes I came in — what would the neighbors think?" I pouted. "You were very deeply asleep; I didn't miss anything." His eyes gleamed. "The talking came earlier." I groaned. "What did you hear?" His gold eyes grew very soft. "You said you loved me." "You knew that already," I reminded him, ducking my head. "It was nice to hear, just the same." I hid my face against his shoulder. "I love you," I whispered. "You are my life now," he answered simply. There was nothing more to say for the moment. He rocked us back and forth as the room grew lighter. "Breakfast time," he said eventually, casually — to prove, I'm sure, that he remembered all my human frailties. So I clutched my throat with both hands and stared at him with wide eyes. Shock crossed his face. "Kidding!" I snickered. "And you said I couldn't act!" He frowned in disgust. "That wasn't funny." "It was very funny, and you know it." But I examined his gold eyes carefully, to make sure that I was forgiven. Apparently, I was. "Shall I rephrase?" he asked. "Breakfast time for the human." "Oh, okay." He threw me over his stone shoulder, gently, but with a swiftness that left me breathless. I protested as he carried me easily down the stairs, but he ignored me. He sat me right side up on a chair. The kitchen was bright, happy, seeming to absorb my mood. "What's for breakfast?" I asked pleasantly. That threw him for a minute. "Er, I'm not sure. What would you like?" His marble brow puckered. I grinned, hopping up. "That's all right, I fend for myself pretty well. Watch me hunt." I found a bowl and a box of cereal. I could feel his eyes on me as I poured the milk and grabbed a spoon. I sat my food on the table, and then paused. "Can I get you anything?" I asked, not wanting to be rude. He rolled his eyes. "Just eat, Bella." I sat at the table, watching him as I took a bite. He was gazing at me, studying my every movement. It made me self-conscious. I cleared my mouth to speak, to distract him. "What's on the agenda for today?" I asked. "Hmmm…" I watched him frame his answer carefully. "What would you say to meeting my family?" I gulped. "Are you afraid now?" He sounded hopeful. "Yes," I admitted; how could I deny it — he could see my eyes. "Don't worry." He smirked. "I'll protect you." "I'm not afraid of them," I explained. "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? Do they know that I know about them?" "Oh, they already know everything. They'd taken bets yesterday, you know" — he smiled, but his voice was harsh — "on whether I'd bring you back, though why anyone would bet against Alice, I can't imagine. At any rate, we don't have secrets in the family. It's not really feasible, what with my mind reading and Alice seeing the future and all that." "And Jasper making you feel all warm and fuzzy about spilling your guts, don't forget that." "You paid attention," he smiled approvingly. "I've been known to do that every now and then." I grimaced. "So did Alice see me coming?" His reaction was strange. "Something like that," he said uncomfortably, turning away so I couldn't see his eyes. I stared at him curiously. "Is that any good?" he asked, turning back to me abruptly and eyeing my breakfast with a teasing look on his face. "Honestly, it doesn't look very appetizing." "Well, it's no irritable grizzly…" I murmured, ignoring him when he glowered. I was still wondering why he responded that way when I mentioned Alice. I hurried through my cereal, speculating. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, the statue of Adonis again, staring abstractedly out the back windows. Then his eyes were back on me, and he smiled his heartbreaking smile. "And you should introduce me to your father, too, I think." "He already knows you," I reminded him. "As your boyfriend, I mean." I stared at him with suspicion. "Why?" "Isn't that customary?" he asked innocently. "I don't know," I admitted. My dating history gave me few reference points to work with. Not that any normal rules of dating applied here. "That's not necessary, you know. I don't expect you to… I mean, you don't have to pretend for me." His smile was patient. "I'm not pretending." I pushed the remains of my cereal around the edges of the bowl, biting my lip. "Are you going to tell Charlie I'm your boyfriend or not?" he demanded. "Is that what you are?" I suppressed my internal cringing at the thought of Edward and Charlie and the word boy friend all in the same room at the same time. "It's a loose interpretation of the word 'boy,' I'll admit." "I was under the impression that you were something more, actually," I confessed, looking at the table. "Well, I don't know if we need to give him all the gory details." He reached across the table to lift my chin with a cold, gentle finger. "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?" I asked, suddenly anxious. "Will you really be here?" "As long as you want me," he assured me. "I'll always want you," I warned him. "Forever." He walked slowly around the table, and, pausing a few feet away, he reached out to touch his fingertips to my cheek. His expression was unfathomable. "Does that make you sad?" I asked. He didn't answer. He stared into my eyes for an immeasurable period of time. "Are you finished?" he finally asked. I jumped up. "Yes." "Get dressed — I'll wait here." It was hard to decide what to wear. I doubted there were any etiquette books detailing how to dress when your vampire sweetheart takes you home to meet his vampire family. It was a relief to think the word to myself. I knew I shied away from it intentionally. I ended up in my only skirt — long, khaki-colored, still casual. I put on the dark blue blouse he'd once complimented. A quick glance in the mirror told me my hair was entirely impossible, so I pulled it back into a pony tail. "Okay." I bounced down the stairs. "I'm decent." He was waiting at the foot of the stairs, closer than I'd thought, and I bounded right into him. He steadied me, holding me a careful distance away for a few seconds before suddenly pulling me closer. "Wrong again," he murmured in my ear. "You are utterly indecent — no one should look so tempting, it's not fair." "Tempting how?" I asked. "I can change…" He sighed, shaking his head. "You are so absurd." He pressed his cool lips delicately to my forehead, and the room spun. The smell of his breath made it impossible to think. "Shall I explain how you are tempting me?" he said. It was clearly a rhetorical question. His fingers traced slowly down my spine, his breath coming more quickly against my skin. My hands were limp on his chest, and I felt lightheaded again. He tilted his head slowly and touched his cool lips to mine for the second time, very carefully, parting them slightly. And then I collapsed. "Bella?" His voice was alarmed as he caught me and held me up. "You… made… me… faint," I accused him dizzily. "What am I going to do with you?" he groaned in exasperation. "Yesterday I kiss you, and you attack me! Today you pass out on me!" I laughed weakly, letting his arms support me while my head spun. "So much for being good at everything," he sighed. "That's the problem." I was still dizzy. "You're too good. Far, far too good." "Do you feel sick?" he asked; he'd seen me like this before. "No — that wasn't the same kind of fainting at all. I don't know what happened." I shook my head apologeticallv, "I think I forgot to breathe." "I can't take you anywhere like this." "I'm fine," I insisted. "Your family is going to think I'm insane anyway, what's the difference?" He measured my expression for a moment. "I'm very partial to that color with your skin," he offered unexpectedly. I flushed with pleasure, and looked away. "Look, I'm trying really hard not to think about what I'm about to do, so can we go already?" I asked. "And you're worried, not because you're headed to meet a houseful of vampires, but because you think those vampires won't approve of you, correct?" "That's right," I answered immediately, hiding my surprise at his casual use of the word. He shook his head. "You're incredible." I realized, as he drove my truck out of the main part of town, that I had no idea where he lived. We passed over the bridge at the Calawah River, the road winding northward, the houses flashing past us growing farther apart, getting bigger. And then we were past the other houses altogether, driving through misty forest. I was trying to decide whether to ask or be patient, when he turned abruptly onto an unpaved road. It was unmarked, barely visible among the ferns. The forest encroached on both sides, leaving the road ahead only discernible for a few meters as it twisted, serpentlike, around the ancient trees. And then, after a few miles, there was some thinning of the woods, and we were suddenly in a small meadow, or was it actually a lawn? The gloom of the forest didn't relent, though, for there were six primordial cedars that shaded an entire acre with their vast sweep of branches. The trees held their protecting shadow right up to the walls of the house that rose among them, making obsolete the deep porch that wrapped around the first story. I don't know what I had expected, but it definitely wasn't this. The house was timeless, graceful, and probably a hundred years old. It was painted a soft, faded white, three stories tall, rectangular and well proportioned. The windows and doors were either part of the original structure or a perfect restoration. My truck was the only car in sight. I could hear the river close by, hidden in the obscurity of the forest. "Wow." "You like it?" He smiled. "It… has a certain charm." He pulled the end of my ponytail and chuckled. "Ready?" he asked, opening my door. "Not even a little bit — let's go." I tried to laugh, but it seemed to get stuck in my throat. I smoothed my hair nervously. "You look lovely." He took my hand easily, without thinking about it. We walked through the deep shade up to the porch. I knew he could feel my tension; his thumb rubbed soothing circles into the back of my hand. He opened the door for me. The inside was even more surprising, less predictable, than the exterior. It was very bright, very open, and very large. This must have originally been several rooms, but the walls had been removed from most of the first floor to create one wide space. The back, south-facing wall had been entirely replaced with glass, and, beyond the shade of the cedars, the lawn stretched bare to the wide river. A massive curving staircase dominated the west side of the room. The walls, the high-beamed ceiling, the wooden floors, and the thick carpets were all varying shades of white. Waiting to greet us, standing just to the left of the door, on a raised portion of the floor by a spectacular grand piano, were Edward's parents. I'd seen Dr. Cullen before, of course, yet I couldn't help but be struck again by his youth, his outrageous perfection. At his side was Esme, I assumed, the only one of the family I'd never seen before. She had the same pale, beautiful features as the rest of them. Something about her heart-shaped face, her billows of soft, caramel-colored hair, reminded me of the ingénues of the silent-movie era. She was small, slender, yet less angular, more rounded than the others. They were both dressed casually, in light colors that matched the inside of the house. They smiled in welcome, but made no move to approach us. Trying not to frighten me, I guessed. "Carlisle, Esme," Edward's voice broke the short silence, "this is Bella." "You're very welcome, Bella." Carlisle's step was measured, careful as he approached me. He raised his hand tentatively, and I stepped forward to shake hands with him. "It's nice to see you again, Dr. Cullen." "Please, call me Carlisle." "Carlisle." I grinned at him, my sudden confidence surprising me. I could feel Edward's relief at my side. Esme smiled and stepped forward as well, reaching for my hand. Her cold, stone grasp was just as I expected. "It's very nice to know you," she said sincerely. "Thank you. I'm glad to meet you, too." And I was. It was like meeting a fairy tale — Snow White, in the flesh. "Where are Alice and Jasper?" Edward asked, but no one answered, as they had just appeared at the top of the wide staircase. "Hey, Edward!" Alice called enthusiastically. She ran down the stairs, a streak of black hair and white skin, coming to a sudden and graceful stop in front of me. Carlisle and Esme shot warning glances at her, but I liked it. It was natural — for her, anyway. "Hi, Bella!" Alice said, and she bounced forward to kiss my cheek. If Carlisle and Esme had looked cautious before, they now looked staggered. There was shock in my eyes, too, but I was also very pleased that she seemed to approve of me so entirely. I was startled to feel Edward stiffen at my side. I glanced at his face, but his expression was unreadable. "You do smell nice, I never noticed before," she commented, to my extreme embarrassment. No one else seemed to know quite what to say, and then Jasper was there — tall and leonine. A feeling of ease spread through me, and I was suddenly comfortable despite where I was. Edward stared at Jasper, raising one eyebrow, and I remembered what Jasper could do. "Hello, Bella," Jasper said. He kept his distance, not offering to shake my hand. But it was impossible to feel awkward near him. "Hello, Jasper." I smiled at him shyly, and then at the others. "It's nice to meet you all — you have a very beautiful home," I added conventionally. "Thank you," Esme said. "We're so glad that you came." She spoke with feeling, and I realized that she thought I was brave. I also realized that Rosalie and Emmett were nowhere to be seen, and I remembered Edward's too-innocent denial when I'd asked him if the others didn't like me. Carlisle's expression distracted me from this train of thought; he was gazing meaningfully at Edward with an intense expression. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Edward nod once. I looked away, trying to be polite. My eyes wandered again to the beautiful instrument on the platform by the door. I suddenly remembered my childhood fantasy that, should I ever win a lottery, I would buy a grand piano for my mother. She wasn't really good — she only played for herself on our secondhand upright — but I loved to watch her play. She was happy, absorbed — she seemed like a new, mysterious being to me then, someone outside the "mom" persona I took for granted. She'd put me through lessons, of course, but like most kids, I whined until she let me quit. Esme noticed my preoccupation. "Do you play?" she asked, inclining her head toward the piano. I shook my head. "Not at all. But it's so beautiful. Is it yours?" "No," she laughed. "Edward didn't tell you he was musical?" "No." I glared at his suddenly innocent expression with narrowed eyes. "I should have known, I guess." Esme raised her delicate eyebrows in confusion. "Edward can do everything, right?" I explained. Jasper snickered and Esme gave Edward a reproving look. "I hope you haven't been showing off— it's rude," she scolded. "Just a bit," he laughed freely. Her face softened at the sound, and they shared a brief look that I didn't understand, though Esme's face seemed almost smug. "He's been too modest, actually," I corrected. "Well, play for her," Esme encouraged. "You just said showing off was rude," he objected. "There are exceptions to every rule," she replied. "I'd like to hear you play," I volunteered. "It's settled then." Esme pushed him toward the piano. He pulled me along, sitting me on the bench beside him. He gave me a long, exasperated look before he turned to the keys. And then his fingers flowed swiftly across the ivory, and the room was filled with a composition so complex, so luxuriant, it was impossible to believe only one set of hands played. I felt my chin drop, my mouth open in astonishment, and heard low chuckles behind me at my reaction. Edward looked at me casually, the music still surging around us without a break, and winked. "Do you like it?" "You wrote this?" I gasped, understanding. He nodded. "It's Esme's favorite." I closed my eyes, shaking my head. "What's wrong?" "I'm feeling extremely insignificant." The music slowed, transforming into something softer, and to my surprise I detected the melody of his lullaby weaving through the profusion of notes. "You inspired this one," he said softly. The music grew unbearably sweet. I couldn't speak. "They like you, you know," he said conversationally. "Esme especially." I glanced behind me, but the huge room was empty now. "Where did they go?" "Very subtly giving us some privacy, I suppose." I sighed. "They like me. But Rosalie and Emmett…" I trailed off, not sure how to express my doubts. He frowned. "Don't worry about Rosalie," he said, his eyes wide and persuasive. "She'll come around." I pursed my lips skeptically. "Emmett?" "Well, he thinks I'm a lunatic, it's true, but he doesn't have a problem with you. He's trying to reason with Rosalie." "What is it that upsets her?" I wasn't sure if I wanted to know the answer. He sighed deeply. "Rosalie struggles the most with… with what we are. 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?" I asked incredulously. I tried to imagine a universe in which someone as breathtaking as Rosalie would have any possible reason to feel jealous of someone like me. "You're human." He shrugged. "She wishes that she were, too." "Oh," I muttered, still stunned. "Even Jasper, though…" "That's really my fault," he said. "I told you he was the most recent to try our way of life. I warned him to keep his distance." I thought about the reason for that, and shuddered. "Esme and Carlisle… ?" I continued quickly, to keep him from noticing. "Are happy to see me happy. Actually, Esme wouldn't care if you had a third eye and webbed feet. All this time she's 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." "Alice seems very… enthusiastic." "Alice has her own way of looking at things," he said through tight lips. "And you're not going to explain that, are you?" A moment of wordless communication passed between us. He realized that I knew he was keeping something from me. I realized that he wasn't going to give anything away. Not now. "So what was Carlisle telling you before?" His eyebrows pulled together. "You noticed that, did you?" I shrugged. "Of course." He looked at me thoughtfully for a few seconds before answering. "He wanted to tell me some news — he didn't know if it was something I would share with you." "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." "What's wrong?" "Nothing's wrong, exactly. Alice just sees some visitors coming soon. They know we're here, and they're curious." "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." I shivered. "Finally, a rational response!" he murmured. "I was beginning to think you had no sense of self-preservation at all." I let that one pass, looking away, my eyes wandering again around the spacious room. He followed my gaze. "Not what you expected, is it?" he asked, his voice smug. "No," I admitted. "No coffins, no piled skulls in the corners; I don't even think we have cobwebs… what a disappointment this must be for you," he continued slyly. I ignored his teasing. "It's so light… so open." He was more serious when he answered. "It's the one place we never have to hide." The song he was still playing, my song, drifted to an end, the final chords shifting to a more melancholy key. The last note hovered poignantly in the silence. "Thank you," I murmured. I realized there were tears in my eyes. I dabbed at them, embarrassed. He touched the corner of my eye, trapping one I missed. He lifted his finger, examining the drop of moisture broodingly. Then, so quickly I couldn't be positive that he really did, he put his finger to his mouth to taste it. I looked at him questioningly, and he gazed back for a long moment before he finally smiled. "Do you want to see the rest of the house?" "No coffins?" I verified, the sarcasm in my voice not entirely masking the slight but genuine anxiety I felt. He laughed, taking my hand, leading me away from the piano. "No coffins," he promised. We walked up the massive staircase, my hand trailing along the satin-smooth rail. The long hall at the top of the stairs was paneled with a honey-colored wood, the same as the floorboards. "Rosalie and Emmett's room… Carlisle's office… Alice's room…" He gestured as he led me past the doors. He would have continued, but I stopped dead at the end of the hall, staring incredulously at the ornament hanging on the wall above my head. Edward chuckled at my bewildered expression. "You can laugh," he said. "It is sort of ironic." I didn't laugh. My hand raised automatically, one finger extended as if to touch the large wooden cross, its dark patina contrasting with the lighter tone of the wall. I didn't touch it, though I was curious if the aged wood would feel as silky as it looked. "It must be very old," I guessed. He shrugged. "Early sixteen-thirties, more or less." I looked away from the cross to stare at him. "Why do you keep this here?" I wondered. "Nostalgia. It belonged to Carlisle's father." "He collected antiques?" I suggested doubtfully. "No. He carved this himself. It hung on the wall above the pulpit in the vicarage where he preached." I wasn't sure if my face betrayed my shock, but I returned to gazing at the simple, ancient cross, just in case. I quickly did the mental math; the cross was over three hundred and seventy years old. The silence stretched on as I struggled to wrap my mind around the concept of so many years. "Are you all right?" He sounded worried. "How old is Carlisle?" I asked quietly, ignoring his question, still staring up. "He just celebrated his three hundred and sixty-second birthday," Edward said. I looked back at him, a million questions in my eyes. He watched me carefully as he spoke. "Carlisle was born in London, in the sixteen-forties, he believes. Time wasn't marked as accurately then, for the common people anyway. It was just before Cromwell's rule, though." I kept my face composed, aware of his scrutiny as I listened. It was easier if I didn't try to believe. "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." I grew very still at the word. I'm sure he noticed, but he went on without pausing. "They burned a lot of innocent people — of course the real creatures that he sought were not so easy to catch. "When the pastor grew old, he placed his obedient son in charge of the raids. At first Carlisle was a disappointment; he was not quick to accuse, to see demons where they did not exist. But he was persistent, and more clever than his father. He actually discovered a coven of true vampires that lived hidden in the sewers of the city, only coming out by night to hunt. In those days, when monsters were not just myths and legends, that was the way many lived. "The people gathered their pitchforks and torches, of course" — his brief laugh was darker now — "and waited where Carlisle had seen the monsters exit into the street. Eventually one emerged." His voice was very quiet; I strained to catch the words. "He must have been ancient, and weak with hunger. Carlisle heard him call out in Latin to the others when he caught the scent of the mob. He ran through the streets, and Carlisle — he was twenty-three and very fast — was in the lead of the pursuit. The creature could have easily outrun them, but Carlisle thinks he was too hungry, so he turned and attacked. He fell on Carlisle first, but the others were close behind, and he turned to defend himself. He killed two men, and made off with a third, leaving Carlisle bleeding in the street." He paused. I could sense he was editing something, keeping something from me. "Carlisle knew what his father would do. The bodies would be burned — anything infected by the monster must be destroyed. Carlisle acted instinctively to save his own life. He crawled away from the alley while the mob followed the fiend and his victim. He hid in a cellar, buried himself in rotting potatoes for three days. It's a miracle he was able to keep silent, to stay undiscovered. "It was over then, and he realized what he had become." I'm not sure what my face was revealing, but he suddenly broke off. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "I'm fine," I assured him. And, though I bit my lip in hesitation, he must have seen the curiosity burning in my eyes. He smiled. "I expect you have a few more questions for me." "A few." His smile widened over his brilliant teeth. He started back down the hall, pulling me along by the hand. "Come on, then," he encouraged. "I'll show you." 16. CARLISLE He led me back to the room that he'd pointed out as Carlisle's office. He paused outside the door for an instant. "Come in," Carlisle's voice invited. Edward opened the door to a high-ceilinged room with tall, west-facing windows. The walls were paneled again, in a darker wood — where they were visible. Most of the wall space was taken up by towering bookshelves that reached high above my head and held more books than I'd ever seen outside a library. Carlisle sat behind a huge mahogany desk in a leather chair. He was just placing a bookmark in the pages of the thick volume he held. The room was how I'd always imagined a college dean's would look — only Carlisle looked too young to fit the part. "What can I do for you?" he asked us pleasantly, rising from his seat. "I wanted to show Bella some of our history," Edward said. "Well, your history, actually." "We didn't mean to disturb you," I apologized. "Not at all. Where are you going to start?" "The Waggoner," Edward replied, placing one hand lightly on my shoulder and spinning me around to look back toward the door we'd just come through. Every time he touched me, in even the most casual way, my heart had an audible reaction. It was more embarrassing with Carlisle there. The wall we faced now was different from the others. Instead of bookshelves, this wall was crowded with framed pictures of all sizes, some in vibrant colors, others dull monochromes. I searched for some logic, some binding motif the collection had in common, but I found nothing in my hasty examination. Edward pulled me toward the far left side, standing me in front of a small square oil painting in a plain wooden frame. This one did not stand out among the bigger and brighter pieces; painted in varying tones of sepia, it depicted a miniature city full of steeply slanted roofs, with thin spires atop a few scattered towers. A wide river filled the foreground, crossed by a bridge covered with structures that looked like tiny cathedrals. "London in the sixteen-fifties," Edward said. "The London of my youth," Carlisle added, from a few feet behind us. I flinched; I hadn't heard him approach. Edward squeezed my hand. "Will you tell the story?" Edward asked. I twisted a little to see Carlisle's reaction. He met my glance and smiled. "I would," he replied. "But I'm actually running a bit late. The hospital called this morning — Dr. Snow is taking a sick day. Besides, you know the stories as well as I do," he added, grinning at Edward now. It was a strange combination to absorb — the everyday concerns of the town doctor stuck in the middle of a discussion of his early days in seventeenth-century London. It was also unsettling to know that he spoke aloud only for my benefit. After another warm smile for me, Carlisle left the room. I stared at the little picture of Carlisle's hometown for a long moment. "What happened then?" I finally asked, staring up at Edward, who was watching me. "When he realized what had happened to him?" He glanced back to the paintings, and I looked to see which image caught his interest now. It was a larger landscape in dull fall colors — an empty, shadowed meadow in a forest, with a craggy peak in the distance. "When he knew what he had become," Edward said quietly, "he rebelled against it. He tried to destroy himself. But that's not easily done." "How?" I didn't mean to say it aloud, but the word broke through my shock. "He jumped from great heights," Edward told me, his voice impassive. "He tried to drown himself in the ocean… but he was young to the new life, and very strong. It is amazing that he was able to resist… feeding… 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?" My voice was faint. "No, there are very few ways we can be killed." I opened my mouth to ask, but he spoke before I could. "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. "One night, a herd of deer passed his hiding place. He was so wild with thirst that he attacked without a thought. His strength returned and he realized there was an alternative to being the vile monster he feared. Had he not eaten venison in his former life? Over the next months his new philosophy was born. He could exist without being a demon. He found himself again. "He began to make better use of his time. He'd always been intelligent, eager to learn. Now he had unlimited time before him. He studied by night, planned by day. He swam to France and —" "He swam to France?" "People swim the Channel all the time, Bella," he reminded me patiently. "That's true, I guess. It just sounded funny in that context. Go on." "Swimming is easy for us —" "Everything is easy for you," I griped. He waited, his expression amused. "I won't interrupt again, I promise." He chuckled darkly, and finished his sentence. "Because, technically, we don't need to breathe." "You —" "No, no, you promised." He laughed, putting his cold finger lightly to my lips. "Do you want to hear the story or not?" "You can't spring something like that on me, and then expect me not to say anything," I mumbled against his finger. He lifted his hand, moving it to rest against my neck. The speed of my heart reacted to that, but I persisted. "You don't have to breathe?" I demanded. "No, it's not necessary. Just a habit." He shrugged. "How long can you go… without breathing?" "Indefinitely, I suppose; I don't know. It gets a bit uncomfortable — being without a sense of smell." "A bit uncomfortable," I echoed. I wasn't paying attention to my own expression, but something in it made him grow somber. His hand dropped to his side and he stood very still, his eyes intent on my face. The silence lengthened. His features were immobile as stone. "What is it?" I whispered, touching his frozen face. His face softened under my hand, and he sighed. "I keep waiting for it to happen." "For what to happen?" "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." He smiled half a smile, but his eyes were serious. "I won't stop you. 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…" He trailed off, staring at my face. Waiting. "I'm not running anywhere," I promised. "We'll see," he said, smiling again. I frowned at him. "So, go on — Carlisle was swimming to France." He paused, getting back into his story. Reflexively, his eyes flickered to another picture — the most colorful of them all, the most ornately framed, and the largest; it was twice as wide as the door it hung next to. The canvas overflowed with bright figures in swirling robes, writhing around long pillars and off marbled balconies. I couldn't tell if it represented Greek mythology, or if the characters floating in the clouds above were meant to be biblical. "Carlisle swam to France, and continued on through Europe, to the universities there. By night he studied music, science, medicine — and found his calling, his penance, in that, in saving human lives." His expression became awed, almost reverent. "I can't adequately describe the struggle; it took Carlisle two centuries of torturous effort to perfect his self-control. Now he is all but immune to the scent of human blood, and he is able to do the work he loves without agony. He finds a great deal of peace there, at the hospital…" Edward stared off into space for a long moment. Suddenly he seemed to recall his purpose. He tapped his finger against the huge painting in front of us. "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." He touched a comparatively sedate quartet of figures painted on the highest balcony, looking down calmly on the mayhem below them. I examined the grouping carefully and realized, with a startled laugh, that I recognized the golden-haired man. "Solimena was greatly inspired by Carlisle's friends. He often painted them as gods," Edward chuckled. "Aro, Marcus, Caius," he said, indicating the other three, two black-haired, one snowy-white. "Nighttime patrons of the arts." "What happened to them?" I wondered aloud, my fingertip hovering a centimeter from the figures on the canvas. "They're still there." He shrugged. "As they have been for who knows how many millennia. 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. "He didn't find anyone for a long time. But, as monsters became the stuff of fairy tales, he found he could interact with unsuspecting humans as if he were one of them. He began practicing medicine. But the companionship he craved evaded him; he couldn't risk familiarity. "When the influenza epidemic hit, he was working nights in a hospital in Chicago. He'd been turning over an idea in his mind for several years, and he had almost decided to act — since he couldn't find a companion, he would create one. He wasn't absolutely sure how his own transformation had occurred, so he was hesitant. And he was loath to steal anyone's life the way his had been stolen. It was in that frame of mind that he found me. There was no hope for me; I was left in a ward with the dying. He had nursed my parents, and knew I was alone. He decided to try…" His voice, nearly a whisper now, trailed off. He stared unseeingly through the west windows. I wondered which images filled his mind now, Carlisle's memories or his own. I waited quietly. When he turned back to me, a gentle angel's smile lit his expression. "And so we've come full circle," he concluded. "Have you always stayed with Carlisle, then?" I wondered. "Almost always." He put his hand lightly on my waist and pulled me with him as he walked through the door. I stared back at the wall of pictures, wondering if I would ever get to hear the other stories. Edward didn't say any more as we walked down the hall, so I asked, "Almost?" He sighed, seeming reluctant to answer. "Well, I had a typical bout of rebellious adolescence — about ten 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?" I was intrigued, rather than frightened, as I perhaps should have been. He could tell. I vaguely realized that we were headed up the next flight of stairs, but I wasn't paying much attention to my surroundings. "That doesn't repulse you?" "No." "Why not?" "I guess… it sounds reasonable." He barked a laugh, more loudly than before. We were at the top of the stairs now, in another paneled hallway. "From the time of my new birth," he murmured, "I had the advantage of knowing what everyone around me was thinking, both human and non-human alike. That's why it took me ten years to defy Carlisle — I could read his perfect sincerity, understand exactly why he lived the way he did. "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." I shivered, imagining only too clearly what he described — the alley at night, the frightened girl, the dark man behind her. And Edward, Edward as he hunted, terrible and glorious as a young god, unstoppable. Would she have been grateful, that girl, or more frightened than before? "But as time went on, 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." We'd come to a stop in front of the last door in the hall. "My room," he informed me, opening it and pulling me through. His room faced south, with a wall-sized window like the great room below. The whole back side of the house must be glass. His view looked down on the winding Sol Duc River, across the untouched forest to the Olympic Mountain range. The mountains were much closer than I would have believed. The western wall was completely covered with shelf after shelf of CDs. His room was better stocked than a music store. In the corner was a sophisticated-looking sound system, the kind I was afraid to touch because I'd be sure to break something. There was no bed, only a wide and inviting black leather sofa. The floor was covered with a thick golden carpet, and the walls were hung with heavy fabric in a slightly darker shade. "Good acoustics?" I guessed. He chuckled and nodded. He picked up a remote and turned the stereo on. It was quiet, but the soft jazz number sounded like the band was in the room with us. I went to look at his mind-boggling music collection. "How do you have these organized?" I asked, unable to find any rhyme or reason to the titles. He wasn't paying attention. "Ummm, by year, and then by personal preference within that frame," he said absently. I turned, and he was looking at me with a peculiar expression in his eyes. "What?" "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 like it. It makes me… happy." He shrugged, smiling slightly. "I'm glad," I said, smiling back. I'd worried that he might regret telling me these things. It was good to know that wasn't the case. But then, as his eyes dissected my expression, his smile faded and his forehead creased. "You're still waiting for the running and the screaming, aren't you?" I guessed. A faint smile touched his lips, and he nodded. "I hate to burst your bubble, but you're really not as scary as you think you are. I don't find you scary at all, actually," I lied casually. He stopped, raising his eyebrows in blatant disbelief. Then he flashed a wide, wicked smile. "You really shouldn't have said that," he chuckled. He growled, a low sound in the back of his throat; his lips curled back over his perfect teeth. His body shifted suddenly, half-crouched, tensed like a lion about to pounce. I backed away from him, glaring. "You wouldn't." I didn't see him leap at me — it was much too fast. I only found myself suddenly airborne, and then we crashed onto the sofa, knocking it into the wall. All the while, his arms formed an iron cage of protection around me — I was barely jostled. But I still was gasping as I tried to right myself. He wasn't having that. He curled me into a ball against his chest, holding me more securely than iron chains. I glared at him in alarm, but he seemed well in control, his jaw relaxed as he grinned, his eyes bright only with humor. "You were saying?" he growled playfully. "That you are a very, very terrifying monster," I said, my sarcasm marred a bit by my breathless voice. "Much better," he approved. "Um." I struggled. "Can I get up now?" He just laughed. "Can we come in?" a soft voice sounded from the hall. I struggled to free myself, but Edward merely readjusted me so that I was somewhat more conventionally seated on his lap. I could see it was Alice, then, and Jasper behind her in the doorway. My cheeks burned, but Edward seemed at ease. "Go ahead." Edward was still chuckling quietly. Alice seemed to find nothing unusual in our embrace; she walked — almost danced, her movements were so graceful — to the center of the room, where she folded herself sinuously onto the floor. Jasper, however, paused at the door, his expression a trifle shocked. He stared at Edward's face, and I wondered if he was tasting the atmosphere with his unusual sensitivity. "It sounded like you were having Bella for lunch, and we came to see if you would share," Alice announced. I stiffened for an instant, until I realized Edward was grinning — whether at her comment or my response, I couldn't tell. "Sorry, I don't believe I have enough to spare," he replied, his arms holding me recklessly close. "Actually," Jasper said, smiling despite himself as he walked into the room, "Alice says there's going to be a real storm tonight, and Emmett wants to play ball. Are you game?"