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Tangle of Thorns
Prologue

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns."

She's pouting. "This is annoying. Do you really enjoy teasing me so?"

"You know I do."

Her lips are full and beautiful. Her hair is dark and thick and lustrous. She may not be the prettiest girl in the world, but to him she is brighter than the sun itself.

"So," he chuckles quietly, and he swipes his cold hands along her cheek, lips curving upwards as she's shivering not just from the ice in his touch, but from the shock of pleasure as well. She leans forward to kiss him, hitting his chin with her mouth as he turns his head slightly to the side. He smiles gently while she's making tiny noises of frustration.

He keeps on murmuring, "Your leg is all healed... planning to get more injuries any time soon?"

He's teasing her. They both know she's prepared to make a silly retort and to try and move the subject to nothing. To cut the words off and just to send her lips crashing into his. But suddenly the air is so still.

"Yes, actually." She's looking down at her hands, at the trees around that make the circular meadow, the waving grass, the sun above. His sparkling skin but never his eyes. "I am."

"Oh?" He arches a single, perfect eyebrow. "Where?"

And taking in a shaky breath she answers, "Wherever you plan to give it to me."

Life doesn't get anymore carefree than this. She wraps her arms around his waist and looks to him, eyes clear and full of love.

She says, "My three favorite words are beautiful, loving and loved. Because they describe..."

But his swooping, magical laugh cuts her off. It fills the air and sparkles around them. Just like he does. "How narcissist of you. They all describe yourself."

She knows she's flushing a little. "Do you think so?"

"You know I do."

But she quickly pushes herself on to the tips of her toes and kisses him.

"I was going to say that they all describe you, Edward."

"Bella, no."

They're in her bedroom. His face is a mask of command and depth. Eyes that bore through you. He's the most terrifying sight some people will ever see.

But she's known worse.

"Edward," she begins, and her voice is quiet, so quiet. This is happening too often. They both expect her to say one thing, but she changes her mind just as she's beginning. The words are not words either was prepared to hear. "Don't you want me?"

Crumpling face. Exhausted voice. "It hurts, Bella. And it's not as great as you think. Being a monster isn't fun."

"Don't you want me?"

"You know I do." Frustration is in his eyes as he kisses her forehead. "Goodnight."

"Aren't you staying?"

"Not tonight, Bella. Not tonight."

And he is gone faster than the wind blows past the trees outside. She stands quietly alone in her unlit bedroom for many minutes, and finally her feet pull her inexorably as near to him as they can, like they always do. She is standing at the window, where the light is as strong as it can be on a moonless night. Only the stars hear her whisper.

"Forgive me, Edward, if it's the most cliche thing I'll ever say. I want the world as you have it..." Tears slipping down flushed skin. Eyes that see the rain and the black sky but not the stars within it.

"I want to see what you see. I want to love what you love."

Moonlight tumbling through the leaves like the dripping, glowing claws of underwater beasts that live behind mermaid caves; moss and twisted limbs that reach forwards to grasp children from parents' arms. The night air is wet and the clouds above are dark. Every patter of rain against a soft rotting tree is footsteps approaching a quiet meeting, one that neither party could bear to be interrupted.

"It was instinct. You know I'd never hurt her on purpose. You understand, don't you? You must. It was instinct."

Three final words whispered so the human ear could never catch them amidst the noise. And pale faces, pale, pale faces, lighter than the moon and more beautiful than the stars.

"Of course I understand," a boy is saying. "Of course, Jasper. You know I do."

They both know perfectly well that he doesn't.

"I have a theory," she says. "About imprinting, and vampires."

She's the most beautiful woman in the world. Perhaps literally.

"Do you?" His voice is dry, sarcastic, and his fingers push lightly at the keys of the grand piano before him. Right now his mind has room only for a tiny, human girl and the music he never wants to stop.

"Don't be so rude, Edward. Listen to me."

He sighs. "Yes, your Majesty." And seeing the burning in her eyes, "Okay, okay. Sorry. What is it?"

"Well, remember... How Emmett said he had met two people who smelled to him like Bella does to you?" He nods and she continues. "I wonder... If he hadn't killed them. Do you think...?" She trails off with a question she needn't say aloud, because he hears it all anyways.

When he's silent, she prompts, "You care about Bella more than anything else in the world, don't you?"

"You know I do... It's true that Jake once described imprinting– to Bella, of course, he doesn't talk to me– as having 'gravity move.' Like the only thing important in the world is her after you see her." He smiles a little sadly. "Maybe you're right, Rose. Maybe la tua cantante is like imprinting for us. If that's the case, it seems that vampires are a lot less likely to be happy eternally." He shrugs.

"Werewolves... They could easily kill their soulmate, but it's not their first instinct to do so... They don't want to tear the one person who could make them happy into little pieces."

The air is cold. The night is still. The giant house is creaking, moaning, empty of inhabitants but for one, and the single girl he holds dear. Bella Swan is glowing.

She's no longer a virgin.

"Mm. Edward," she says suddenly, rolling over to press her skin to his, face hovering inches above his smooth chest.

And as soon as she does two strong, cold arms are encasing her like iron fetters.

She's on her back.

"So, Bella," he breathes. "Do you still want to get married?"

She squirms. "Do you still want to get married?"

"You know I do." He sighs and puts his hand beneath her chin, sitting up suddenly, knocking her off balance. "I just don't want you doing this if its only to make me happy."

"It's not. We've been over this. I... Do you want to know the honest truth?"

"You haven't been telling me the truth already?" he jokes in a light voice, but she sees something else flashing in his eyes.

"Promise me you won't laugh," she murmurs, wrapping her arms around his neck, snuggling as close to him as is physically possible. He's cold where she's warm, and her skin does some unpleasant prickling, but she doesn't mind. She knows her face is bright red.

"You're blushing," he says in an even voice, but she hears the deep amusement hidden in his tone. "So." His hand slips down from her face and snakes around her back. "What's the deep dark secret this time?"

And she murmurs, "I want you to see me in my wedding dress," still looking down. "I want to look pretty for you."

He had promised he wouldn't laugh, but he does. "You already do."

She's shouting, screaming at him to leave.

"Bella, please!–"

"No! Just go! How could you do that? You know I didn't want to send him an invitation. You knew it would hurt him. What on earth possessed you–"

But she falters and stops. The only thing she hears is her tears hitting the wood floor just below her, her knees shifting and knocking against the ground. He hears so much more. Her beating heart, her arteries straining to handle the pressure her anger is causing. He hears a crackling in her lungs that means she's having a hard time breathing.

"I thought he deserved the choice," he murmurs quietly, and she replies in a cold cold tone, "Of course you did."

"Edward," she says, "He's gone. He left. Do you even care?"

He flinches against the accusation. "You know I do, Bella. I–"

"No. I don't know. Leave. Now."

She hears nothing. She doesn't look at him after she's said it. But she knows that he leaves. Continuing to look anywhere but the place he stood, she sees a flash of metal, and her fingers worry at the tiny wolf charm on her bracelet. She thinks of a real wolf, a lonely one, somewhere out there and far away, and of the cold, stone heart that keeps her from going to him.