Sam's out with the rest of the pack, and Emily thinks fleetingly in the back of her mind that he'll kill himself (or someone else) when he finds out that a vampire showed up on their doorstep when she was home alone. Little details, like the fact that it was a friendly visit rather than an attack, probably won't mean much.
Her cordiality is tense, forced. The vampire - Esme, she'd called herself - smiles at her, and Emily smiles back, not betraying the fact that she feels trapped in this kitchen, nowhere to flee and nothing to do but take the cookies out of the oven. (This vampire doesn't look at her face, only gives her warm, kind looks, but that's not enough for Emily to relax.)
"You're expecting." It's not a question, just an observation, and Emily's hand snakes to her barely-protruding abdomen as her breathing becomes shallow and her heart speeds up. A thousand friendly smiles couldn't dispel the fear she feels at the thought of this creature around her child.
Slowly, Esme steps closer, until her body is just barely pressed against Emily's. She is frozen in place, hardly breathing as the vampire leans in and nips lightly at her cheek. Her cold fingers ghost down Emily's sides.
"I was a mother once," she whispers in her ear. "Tell me, have you ever felt more alive?"
Emily doesn't tell her what she's thinking, doesn't share her fear in this moment or the irony of her question in the face of such terrifying danger, doesn't protest with even the smallest word or movement. Instead, she remains still as a column while the vampire's hands and lips roam as they please. Self-preservation is most important right now, and not only for her. Think of the baby, she tells herself. Think of the baby.