A/N: This is the sequel to Cry Little Sister, so if you haven't read that yet, please do. Oh, just a reminder, if you've heard of it, I wasn't the one who thoguht of it first. (That would be Stephenie Meyer.)

Golden

Chapter One

Both Edward and Carlisle marveled at the self-control I had in that first year. Carlisle had thought Edward had done well as a newborn, having only slipped once two months after his transformation. But I surprised them both, appearing immune to the scent of human blood and hunting with a fervor neither of them knew I had.

But the self-control came at a price. I was always thirsty, my throat always burning dryly, the venom always flowing excessively in my mouth. Carlisle promised the constant thirst would fade by the end of the first year, when it would be easier to last for longer periods of time without feeding. I trusted him because I did not believe there was room in his silent heart for lies; I trusted him because although we would not have chosen this life for ourselves, he was determined to ensure we could maintain even a shred of the humanity we'd once had.

And as the blood of elk, moose, bears, even the occasional wolf ran through my veins, my eyes mellowed from bright scarlet to molten gold.

Carlisle had worried that we wouldn't be able to remain in Chicago without drawing suspicion. But after carefully monitoring my self-control for a time, he decided a new neighborhood in a different part of the city was all we needed. So we moved to an impressive townhouse in one of Chicago's lower-upper class neighbors, incredibly similar to the neighborhood Edward and I had grown up in.

There were advantages to this strange new life. Carlisle, having had plenty of time in two hundred and fifty years to earn it, was so wealthy that neither Edward nor I could comprehend it, even though our own family had been fairly well-off. And he was learned in a way no human could have been, for he'd spent almost a century studying in the famous universities of Europe.

So when the light of day forced the three of us inside, Carlisle became our teacher. He taught us all the languages he knew—French, Spanish, Italian, German, Latin, even Greek. He taught us everything he'd studied: philosophy, literature, religion, history, science, medicine. And when he ran out of things to teach us, he told us the stories of his past, of his painful transformation, of the birth of his philosophy, of his studies across the British Isles and Europe, of the coven of vampires he found in Italy.

But when night fell, he trusted us enough to leave us. He was dedicated to using what he'd been given to help others when someone else couldn't. He took the night shifts most doctors detested, covered the occasional day shift without resting in part because he didn't need to but mainly because he didn't want to.

And when Carlisle left us, Edward and I became the brother and sister we'd once been. We could have been silent, but still the voices babbling through my head upset me, so we talked aloud as a distraction. Our talent was our bond, each knowing the other's mood and thoughts in an instant, our minds intwined every moment of everyday. It brought us closer together than we could have hoped.

Most nights, when we were alone in the townhouse, he told me of how he'd spent the last year. Perhaps the most difficult and emotional story for both of us was of the night he'd found me dying.

We were sitting in the parlor, staring silently out the window. Then Edward said quietly, "I suppose you were lucky I made it to Carlisle." I asked him softly why; he sighed before answering. "After I passed the first year mark, I went to Aunt Sophia's every night, to make sure you were all right. I should have known what Aunt Sophia and Silas were planning; looking back on it now, though, I never once thought that either of them would go through with it."

"Go through with what?" I whispered. It hurt to think that Edward might have been able to stop Silas before he did what he did.

Edward's golden eyes were sad as he replied, "Aunt Sophia just wanted to fake your suicide; Silas, however, decided to take advantage of the fact that you'd be dead by morning." He paused to gauge my expression. A slight twinge of fear might have showed in my eyes, but my face was otherwise an emotionless mask of marble. Edward sighed again and continued, "I was still several streets away when I heard you cry out. You'd cried out in your sleep before, always for me, but this time was different."

His eyes grew even sadder through the dark, and he was watching my face carefully again. "This time, it was a different pain that made you cry out," Edward murmured. "And I knew exactly what he'd done to you, because I saw it all throguh your eyes."

That was when I dropped my eyes from his. If I could have cried, I might have. This was a painful turn our conversation had taken, but neither of us could go back now.

It was quiet between us for a moment. Then Edward took in a long, ragged, unnecessary breath and said, "I was pushing myself too far; I hadn't hunted in almost two weeks. But it was, and still is, my duty as your brother to protect you. Except you almost needed more protection from me than anyone else."

I still couldn't meet his eyes as I questioned, "Why?"

Edward sighed. "I was so close to taking you in the instant I found you. He'd made it so easy for me, slicing open two of the most vulnerable arteries in the body, leaving you so defenseless and broken."

I shuddered at his words. He'd known every thought I had as I lay dying, even the wish that everything would end. And he'd come so close to ending everything himself.

When I finally managed to look at him again, he had hidden his face behind one pale hand. His anguish and guilt were throbbing painfully in the back of my mind, and it hurt me to see him this way. I rose from my chair, crossed the room, and kissed him sweetly on the cheek.

"But instead you became my delivering angel," I told him softly. His hand slid from his face; his golden eyes were bright, and so was his smile.

He murmured just as quietly, "And so I did." I didn't need to thank him, for he already knew the gratitude I felt, saw it in my mind.