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
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