Summary: There was a sea change in Edward's attitude toward Bella Swan between the time he'd left after that first disastrous Biology class and when he returned to Forks. It was on that dark highway to Alaska that Edward realized the girl was more than just a tempting fragrance. Incredibly, something dark and tender was awakened from a place he'd long thought dead.

Thanks to the lovely angels who helped with this piece: LJ Summers, Bookjunkie1975, Diana_Wolfskill and lisamichelle17

The headlights threw twin cones of light onto the dark grey ribbon of highway. He'd been driving, first through the deepening dusk and now through the still night for hours, racing north like a dark blur. The lights of the dashboard gave a greenish glow to his chiseled features; the stillness of his face belying the chaos of his thoughts. His mind was skipping all over the place and he hated it. He liked his existence orderly, logical, expected. To have been brought down by a human girl, of all things − it was embarrassing. Humiliating, even.

His lips twisted slightly as he remembered with shame what Carlisle had said. "Do what you must to resist, son. I will miss you. Here, take my car. It's faster." Carlisle had taken one look at him, and not even understanding what it was that Edward needed to run from, knew that Edward needed to run. He recognized what Edward could barely register at the time − Fate had grabbed Edward and was shaking the stuffing out of him.

So now, he was running.

It was during the first long stretch along Cariboo Highway in British Columbia that Edward was aware his feelings were beginning to change. Up to that point, he'd been concentrating on fighting the memory of her smell−that incredible, mind-altering smell. It lingered in his nostrils like an illness he couldn't shake. Just the thought of it was making his mouth fill with venom again. But something else was beginning to creep into his feelings, and at first he was unable to identify it.

He rolled down the window of the Mercedes. The car was purring like the well-tuned machine it was, the miles rolling past. The cool night air filled the vehicle, the damp, woodsy pine scent of the surrounding forests saturating the interior. He took a deep breath, inhaling through his nose, trying to clear it of the scent of that girl. It was early in the morning, traffic was light and the road dry, so he was speeding along at nearly a hundred twenty miles an hour. It wasn't fast enough, though, to leave behind the thoughts of that brunette.

That smell was unlike anything he'd ever smelled before. It was like some flower, freesia he decided, and fruity as well. But most of all, right now it smelt like shame. He was deeply ashamed at his lack of control; he'd almost killed the girl, not once but twice. It had only been the thought of how disappointed Carlisle would be that had stopped him. He'd disappointed Carlisle deeply once in the past, and although Carlisle had forgiven him, he'd never forgiven himself. That shame and guilt burned through him like a red-hot poker.

He shifted his hands on the steering wheel, aware he had to be careful of how much pressure he used, otherwise he'd be leaving his handprints in the molded plastic. It would have been so easy. Follow her home, wait until she was alone in the house, enter quietly. Maybe she'd be in the kitchen with the yellow cabinets, she'd turn when he entered the room, those big brown eyes widening when she saw him. But she wouldn't scream−no, not yet, because she'd recognize him from school and wonder why he was there. He'd step closer and that smell would grab him like a grappling hook and−

He shook his head, trying to clear it of the thoughts. This kind of fantasizing would get him nowhere. Where had his self-control gone? He'd been so arrogant about his superior discipline. He'd watched and pitied Jasper as he'd fought the bloodlust, secure in his own resistance and control. Now he was running like a scared rabbit. Yeah, great self-control.

He popped the console compartment open, looking for some music. Not much choice was in there; Carlisle's tastes were markedly different than his own. He slipped a recording of Cosi fan tutte on, punching the forward button a few times until he recognized an aria he favored. He shifted in the seat slightly, settling back into the leather and letting the music grab him.

On the other side of the highway, a single set of headlights zoomed past. Alaska, he was headed north to Alaska. Not that it particularly appealed to him, but where else could he go? He refused to become the monster again, no matter how tempting that was, and the Denali coven was as close as he had to family beyond his own. Eleazar might have some good words of advice for him, and the sisters were certainly nice enough, if a little…unconventional in their appetites.

Hedonists. That's what they were. He inherently disapproved of that kind of pleasure-seeking. When−if−he found someone special, he'd have kept himself for her. That was really the gift that one should give to one's spouse, and only to one's spouse. He hoped he'd find her soon. It was hard being the only unmated man in the house, even harder when he felt like the unwilling witness to his family's paired love trysts. They thought he was a devoted pianist and student. If they only realized how much of his "study" was an attempt to shut them out.

As if he'd needed to study. He'd been to so many schools and colleges. Forks was just the latest and a dismal one at that. If he could have, he'd have slept through the classes, but that particular distraction was denied him. It was probably a good thing he hadn't been sleeping when that girl walked in. He'd been caught unaware as it was. How'd she ever come to smell like that? He could have searched for years and never found another human who smelled remotely as good as that. It was so good. It was so tantalizing, mouth-watering, even. The way she'd unconsciously flipped her hair, causing ripples of scent to wash over him, it had been almost more than he could resist.

He knew where she lived. It would have been so easy for him to enter her bedroom at night, to creep in silently through the window. She'd be asleep on the bed, her long hair fanned out on the pillow, dressed in something white and filmy and breathing slowly and evenly. The fragrance would be rising off her in waves, swirling around the room like unseen fog. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, just imagining how saturated the scent would be in the small, enclosed bedroom, like walking into a dream made of fragrance. The rise and fall of the swell of her breasts would be just below the pulse point of the artery, throbbing with the rush of blood. Maybe she'd toss lightly in her sleep, murmuring, before settling back into the steady rhythm of her breathing. He'd lean in above her−

Damn! He was doing it again. He shook his head before giving his hair a tug in frustration. This was getting out of hand. He'd practiced Eastern meditation techniques, for goodness sake. Surely, he could discipline his mind to ignore this Bella Swan and her personal aroma.

He punched on the radio, trying to find a frequency with decent reception. The only stations he could find were all-news formats out of Prince George that were droning on about lumber tariffs. He turned the radio off, disgusted. He opened the window wider, extended his arm and let his hand ride the wind. In his rear-view mirror he could discern the barely perceptible lightening of the eastern sky. Another hour and the sun would be rising.

The students of Forks would wake and go to school, never suspecting how close they'd come to being slaughtered. Mrs. Cope would get up, tug her girdle on and note that he was absent again. They never bothered Carlisle about it though, because his grades were spotless. As if they could challenge him. That girl would probably be there too, going through her day, wondering where her strange biology partner had gone.

She and her silent mind. What the hell was that about, anyway? He'd probably scared the crap out of her, but he couldn't be certain. He'd gotten good at recognizing body and facial clues because he'd always had the easy confirmation of checking people's thoughts. With her, he wasn't so sure. She was unpredictable and that was dangerous. Dangerous for her, dangerous for him and his equilibrium.

Her eyes, when he'd turned to see her while in Mrs. Cope's office, had been so wide, so full of fear, so hurt by the unreasonable hatred she felt pouring out of him. It had sickened him to see the monster he was in the mirror of her eyes. It wasn't fair to blame her, though. She'd done nothing to earn his hatred. He'd hated her because she'd forced him to face how weak he was, how easily the façade of his control could be ripped away.

None of that was her fault. How could she know that she smelled a thousand times better than fresh meat to a hungry dog and she'd sat beside the one vampire in the world who would be the biggest danger to her? The way she'd peeked at him from behind the curtain of her hair, so fearful and timid−surely, she must have been scared. Did she think he was some kind of brute?

Well, he was. She just didn't know what kind. She probably thought he was just rude, unreasonable, mean-spirited. When in truth, he was a vicious and bloodthirsty predator. She hadn't realized how much just smelling her tempted him, called to him, seduced him.

He could have easily escorted her out to the parking lot under the guise of helping her. Perhaps he might have brought her over to his car, saying he needed a book. She'd have waited by the car, as he reached into the open car door, and after checking to make sure they were unwatched, he'd have backed her against the car. Her body would be warm and soft under his, her eyes looking up at him trustingly. She'd have that lovely blush again, that rising of blood to her cheeks that was just enchanting, because she'd think he was after a kiss from those pouty lips. He'd run his nose along her hairline, drinking up that sublime aroma before he−

Argh! He was doing it again! This kind of fantasizing was exactly what he needed to avoid. He needed to just put the whole incident behind him. He heard his cell phone ring and, grateful for the distraction, dug it out of his pocket.

"Hello, Emmett."

"Hey, Edward. I thought I'd, uh, see how you were doing."

"I haven't killed anybody, if that's what you're asking."

Emmett chuckled. "Well, that's always good news."

"So what's up with you?" Edward was not a big fan of talking on the phone, but the drive was so long, and he needed something to take his mind off that girl. Small talk was okay.

"Just finished my English homework. Of Mice and Men again, if you can believe it."

"Oh, I can believe it." It had been on the reading list of the last four out of five high schools they'd attended. "What allegory are we going with this time?"

"No allegory. Character symbolism."

"Ahh, Lennie as the wise fool."

"Yeah, something like that."

Edward smirked. Trust Emmett to go for the easy 'A.' He'd done something just like that back in Lincoln.

"So, this girl. She really bothered you, eh?" Emmett asked.

"You could say that," Edward answered cautiously.

"We've all been there."

"No, not like this, you haven't." He was sure of that. This was so much more than he'd seen in anyone's thoughts. "But you know, it was the strangest thing…"

"What?"

"I couldn't hear her."

"What does that mean?"

"Her thoughts. I couldn't hear her thoughts."

"Oh." Emmett paused, mulling over this information. "That is odd."

"I have no idea of what she thought of me or…anything."

Emmett snorted. "Yeah, welcome to our world."

"No, no. You don't get it. I don't know if she was scared of me or if she hated me or liked me, or what."

There was another pause. "Do you want her to like you?" Emmett asked.

"No. Yes. No." That was just ridiculous. Of course, he didn't want her to like him. However, it might be easier for everyone if she didn't hate him or go complaining to her father or the principal. "That would just be…," he wanted to say something else but settled on "wrong." The word tasted odd on his tongue.

"Right," Emmett answered.

Of course, there was something alluring about her looking at him with something other than fear in her eyes, he admitted to himself. He could imagine his hand drawing back the curtain of her hair to a shy smile and that beautiful blush. Perhaps getting another nose full of that intoxicating aroma. He thrust the image away from him. That could never happen, right?

"So, how long are you going to stay away?" Emmett asked.

"I don't know," Edward answered truthfully. "As long as it takes, I guess."

"Takes for what?"

"Jesus, Emmett! I don't know. Me to get over this whole thing."

"Well, good luck with that."

"Gee, thanks."

"Have fun with the Denali sisters," Emmett said. Edward could hear the grin on his face.

"Yeah, a ton of fun," Edward retorted. Emmett knew how he felt about being pursued by those women.

"I'll be right there," Emmett said faintly to someone before coming back to the phone. "I gotta go."

"Thanks for calling, Em."

"You bet. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Well, that leaves the field wide open."

"Of course." He suddenly chuckled. "Stop that," he admonished someone. Rosalie, Edward guessed. "Bye."

Edward snapped the cell phone shut. That was nice of Emmett to call. Already his head felt clearer. Now maybe he could stop obsessing about that girl.

Because that's what he was doing, wasn't it? Obsessing. He'd attempted to push thoughts of her away from him again and again and, so far, it wasn't working. Why couldn't he get her out of his mind? Well, it was the smell, obviously. And the silence pouring out of her mind. And the way she'd seemed so vulnerable; he'd wanted to protect her from the caustic remarks and thoughts of Jessica and Lauren. And then the fear and the hurt he'd seen in her eyes that he himself had put there. It wasn't her looks. There were many girls with more becoming faces, better figures. But there had been something in her face that held his gaze, something that made him want to lean closer−

Great! Now he was obsessing about obsessing about her. This was by far the most ridiculous thing he'd ever done. Over a silly human girl and the smell of her blood. There had to be some way to just get rid of this illogical, unwanted fixation.

All right then. Maybe if he just let himself go with it, let the scenario play to the end, he'd get it out of his system. He rolled the window back up, set the cruise control, and settled back into the seat. Let's see. He's sitting next to her in Biology. He's kind, courteous, playing the gentleman. He offers her an apology for his earlier rude behavior and she shyly accepts it, tucking her hair back behind her ear and smiling at him.

He takes her home after school and she invites him in. She gets a couple of Cokes from the refrigerator and he pretends to sip at one as they talk about school and she relaxes, maybe even giggles a bit. Her fragrance pervades the house, even the curtains and carpets billow with it. She talks about a book she's reading and he follows her up the stairs to her bedroom when she goes to get it. They're standing in the bedroom and when she hands him the book, their fingers brush. Instantly, that blush rises to her cheeks and that throws him over the edge. He turns her face gently with his fingers towards him, raising her chin and exposing her neck. Her brown eyes are large and liquid, looking up at him trustingly. Her lips part in anticipation as he raises her chin just an inch more. The blood is rushing through her carotid artery, throbbing like a bass drum. He bends down, and kisses her smooth lips. They're warm and silky like honey or liquid chocolate−

Screeech! The sound of grinding metal filled the air, the brakes squealing as his foot jammed involuntarily on the brake pedal. The Mercedes skidded down the road before jolting to a stop across the lanes. He was astonished, overwhelmed, confused at the path his mind had shown him. That wasn't how this fantasy was supposed to unfurl. It's the bloodlust he's indulging, not the other kind. Kissing her? What the−

But then something else occurred. Something that completely altered his world. If the first blast of her smell in Biology had been a wrecking ball, violent and explosive, this was an earthquake. Something that shook the foundations of his world, something that challenged everything he thought he knew about his existence.

From between his legs, there was a faint stirring.

He sat in absolute astonishment, as still as only the dead can be, except for the growing heaviness in his groin. He waited, focusing on the subtle sensations, the tightening in his pelvis and the sudden sensitivity from an area of his body that he had not heeded in decades.

To his right, he saw the approaching headlights of a truck speeding toward him in the lane the Mercedes spanned. He kicked the car into gear and pulled off onto the shoulder, and a moment later the large tractor trailer blew by him, spewing dust and pebbles.

The faint sensations had stopped. He knew what it was, of course. He remembered having the involuntary reflex quite a bit as a human boy. He could faintly recall a conversation he and some other boys had had when they'd gone skinny-dipping at a swimming hole not far from where he'd lived. He'd even had an occasional reaction in the first decades of his new existence.

It had been sometime just after the second World War when he'd realized it had been years since he'd experienced that kind of reflex. He knew the others in his family were sexually active, yet the silence coming from that part of his body was deafening. He worried about it for a while before he finally worked up the nerve to consult Carlisle. He'd waited until it was just him and Carlisle in the house and then approached his father in the library.

He remembered the smell of musty leather and old paper under his hand as he brushed the spines of the books on Carlisle's shelves. "Carlisle, I, uh, need to speak with you about something."

"Of course. What's on your mind?" Carlisle put his book down, wondering why his son was having trouble meeting his eyes. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps Edward had 'slipped' again.

"No, it's nothing like that," Edward assured him. "It's something of a more personal nature."

"All right," Carlisle said, trying to still his mind so he could hear what his son was trying to say without overwhelming him with his own thoughts.

If Edward could have blushed, he would have then. This was an extremely hard conversation for him to have. "There are certain automatic reactions we have, as men. Reactions to, um, women."

"Tumescence. Sure." Carlisle suddenly recognized the source of Edward's discomfort. Perhaps by using the more clinical terms, Edward could better express himself.

"Yes. Thank you. Tumescence." Edward nodded and took a breath, steeling himself to continue. "Well, it seems it's been a while since I've, uh, experienced it."

"How long?" Carlisle asked cautiously.

Edward pulled a book from the shelf and pretended to flip through it. "Probably eight years or so."

Carlisle sat back in his chair, raising the fingertips of his steepled hands to his lips. "That worries you."

Edward placed the book back in its spot. "I guess so. Should it? I mean, I'm the only one…"

"Come, sit down," Carlisle gestured to the seat in front of him. "What you're describing is not that unusual among us. My own theory is that since we no longer procreate in that manner, the sex drive is diminished. The libido becomes dormant."

Edward sat down, his hands gripping the arm rests. Deliberately, he made himself let go. "Dormant?"

"The automatic reflex gets turned off when there's no available partner. Really, there were decades for me. Over a century at one point."

"And you never had an…?"

"No. Not a twitch," he said smiling. He sat back in his chair. "It takes the presence of an available and desired partner to re-assert itself."

Edward shifted in his chair. "And you can now, right?"

"I imagine you can probably answer that." Carlisle grinned. I know you hear much more than you let on.

"True," Edward admitted, his eyes on the floor. "When do, um, things get back to normal?"

"It's different with each partner. With some, it was a rush, an explosive re-awakening." In Carlisle's memories, there was a bewitching woman in a red velvet robe with long, black hair and glittering, almond-shaped eyes. "With others, it was more gradual. Like a flower opening, or a sunrise." Esme's smiling face filled his mind.

"So, I don't really need to be worried, then?"

"No. What you're going through is to be expected. When the time comes for you and your partner, you'll be ready."

That had been over sixty years ago and he'd never missed the periods of excitation. He'd been grateful, in fact, that it was one more human unpleasantry, like emptying one's bladder, that he didn't have to deal with.

But now, something had happened.

The countryside around him was still and dark. The sky was overcast and not even moonlight brightened the darkness of the trees on either side of the road. Just out of the reach of the cones of headlights, a fox's eyes watched the car from the underbrush.

The sensations he'd had were fading. He began to doubt whether they'd been what he'd thought. He had to try it again. He closed his eyes and let his mind loose, starting again.

He's standing in her room, and her eyes are large and liquid, looking up at him trustingly. Her lips part in anticipation as he raises her chin just an inch more. He bends down, and kisses her smooth lips. They're warm and silky like honey or liquid chocolate. He moves his hands along the open edges of her jacket, then pushes it off her shoulders as she lets it slip off her arms without breaking their kiss. He pulls her closer, the heat of her body against his so tender and yet, it some ways it feels like a blowtorch, it scorches him. Beneath the jacket, she's just in a tank top and he lets his hand brush her nearly naked shoulder. It's so alive and rounded under his palm, and he lets his finger stroke her collarbone. The bones feel as delicate as a bird's under his hand.

She steps back and, with trust and love in her eyes, her arms cross in front of her. She slowly pulls the hem of her top up and over her head. She's naked beneath it, and her breasts are beautiful, rounded but not ponderous, and the tips of them are pink and salmon, as translucent and ethereal as rose petals.

No, no mistake. It was an erection, all right. He shifted in the seat, adjusting his pants, before laying his head against the steering wheel and closing his eyes. Damned, that's what I am. Damned and forsaken. It wasn't enough that her aroma made him feral and out of control, now he'd added this inexcusable layer of sexuality to it. And this girl was as unavailable as a person could be. She was a human, after all.

Unwillingly, he watched as his mind kept the images going. She bows her head, her long brown hair covering her breasts, and he's grateful because her beauty is almost more than he can stand. Her fingers fumble at the top of her jeans and before he can stop her or help her, she undoes the button and the jeans slide down the rounded curves of her hips and the slender paleness of her legs.

She raises her head, and oh, god, he's grateful that he doesn't have to breathe because he wouldn't be able to catch his breath. The long expanse of her torso, with its feminine roundness and its mysterious dips and curves is more seductive than a trickle of blood across pale flesh. She clasps her hands in front of her, shy and timid of his gaze, shadowing the subtle vee at the apex of her leg. But when she raises her eyes to his, all he can see is that she wants him, too. He steps forward.

He threw his head back, his whole body tensing. He couldn't stop the landslide of sensation; the rush of heaviness to his groin or the heat that traveled along his skin, concentrating in his lap. Neither could he halt the spool of images unfurling in his mind.

Her skin is like living silk beneath his hands, and when they reach and cup her breasts, she closes her eyes, throws her head back and moans. Her long neck is exposed now, but he doesn't care because there is so much else of her that he wants to bury himself in. She gasps just slightly when his thumbs brush across her hardened nipples, and the sound of her passion raises fire in him like he's never felt. His arms reach around her and she lifts her face to his, and her eyes are golden.

The surprise made him lose the tentative grip he had on his control. He cried out and arched his back while his hands fisted at his sides. It was explosive, this climax, and he grimaced through it, unwilling and yet trapped by the pleasure. The binding fabric of his pants made him teeter along the fine line between pressure and pain. His teeth ground together, his thighs trembled. He gasped, and then finally collapsed back into the seat.

His head bowed, and his hands fell open at his sides. This was insanity. He felt trapped and hemmed in. Was there no free choice? He'd felt ashamed before, but it was nothing to the way he felt now. It burned in him deeper and hotter than ever before. The girl, the poor girl. Violated even in his dreams. What did this mean, that she'd re-awakened his sexuality? Wasn't it bad enough that he'd been obsessed by her blood? Now she was the unwitting recipient of another indignity.

The Mercedes rocked with the passage of another tractor trailer blowing past. Nearly retching with self-loathing, he opened the glove compartment to find a tissue. He cleaned himself up, determining that he'd need a change of clothes before he hit Denali.

He threw the Mercedes into gear and hit the accelerator. Kiss her or kill her; both or neither. The future lay open before him and, as he climbed back onto the roadway, he knew he'd never be able to explain or share what had just happened. Now, beneath all the anger, fear and bloodlust in him, something else was there as well: something faint and tender and intriguing. He sped off into the night, more confused than ever. Behind him, the faintest glimmer of dawn began to grow.

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