Disclaimer: SM owns everything in the Twiverse, but please don't steal my plot.

****UPDATE: As of October 25, 2014, this story has been put ON HIATUS. I apologize to those who were eager to begin this sequel to "Black Ice," but I do have plans to finish this story eventually. Just not anytime soon.

Thank you SO MUCH for the support thus far, and I hope to see you again someday.

If you still care to continue now, the last posted chapter is Chapter 9.

Chapter 1: Adrift

Edward's POV

Time, I have found, is a cruel mistress.

It has no regard for my preference, no ability to heal or hasten.

Instead it mocks, holding my heart hostage beneath a thin veneer of chronological concern.

A heart I neither deserve nor need.

For of what use is a heart in the chest of the dead?

"Is he still out there?"

The female's cautious voice reaches me despite her attempts at a whisper. Her mind is equal parts alarmed and affectionate, flooding mine with thoughts of the caramel-haired creature I left behind.

I wonder for the first time how she is.

I wonder if she wonders about me.

I wonder if it matters.

"Yes." Her partner replies, his thoughts less benevolent. "And I am ready to confront him."

"Don't, dearest." She lays a comforting hand against his arm. "He must have come here for a reason."

"And as this is our land and our realm," he counters, "would it not behoove him to make those reasons known?"

"Perhaps he is unable." She is too close to the truth, and I contemplate leaving for the second time in as many days. "Perhaps silence is all he can offer, and we should accept it."

Her mate frowns, unhinged by her compassionate logic. Though a very different man than the one who recommended me, I see their similarities. They are well-matched, well-mated, and in possession of the very thing I covet and lack.

I hate them both.

"This will not stand when our family returns," he warns, his mind drifting toward a trio of blondes with exotic eyes. "They will demand answers."

"They will follow our lead," she replies gently. "And we must set a proper example. Starting with this." She tugs him away from the window. "No more staring."

He does not move, and she uses more force. "Eleazar?"

"In a moment." His thoughts are tender toward his bride though his voice is harsh. "I feel there is something about him I am missing."

"You think he might be gifted?"

He shakes his head. "I cannot tell at this distance. He is just out of range, as if intentionally holding himself aloft. That alone gives me pause."

"Did Carlisle's letter say anything of import?"

At the mention of his old friend's name, Eleazar smiles. "He would sooner resort of a life of human-guzzling than divulge more than is necessary. But from his tone, I suspect you are correct about the young man's need for silence."

"Then let us leave him be." She laces her fingers through his, squeezing lightly. He turns toward her, his heart melting at the sight, and smiles.

"As you wish, Carmenita." He cups her face and presses soft, meaningful kisses against her mouth.

My hand darts out to crush the first thing it touches.

I apologize to the broken tree, burying myself deeper in the snow-capped quiet, wishing I could catch my death.

—T—P—E—

I do not bother counting the days since I left.

Fed.

Moved.

Smiled.

Though the latter statistic needs no calculation.

I left my smiles with her.

A sharp pain strikes me in the heart, and I curse myself for remembering.

"It did not happen. She does not exist."

But the pronoun is enough to unravel the halting progress I have made over the past several weeks, and I press the heels of my hands into my eyes.

In vain do I struggle, for the images appear unbidden, stronger than I remember.

The luxurious gold of her hair.

The confident elegance of her walk.

The husky lilt of her laugh.

I try to drive the memories away, knowing their damning destination, but I cannot.

A hapless child playing a man's game.

The sloping curve of her bare shoulder.

The darkening of her eyes before a kiss.

The luscious heat of her mouth.

I tremble where I sit, folding in on myself as the end approaches.

The gentle strength of her touch.

The moist stroke of her tongue.

The wanting ache in her sigh.

And then…

Again…

Always…

"I can do this for him. I must. It is why I was created."

A corresponding roar escapes my chest before I can stop it, rattling the rocks around me. I will them to fall, wishing they could crush me and end my suffering.

But they break against me like petty waves on a jagged shore, and I thrust my hands in my hair.

When will the torture end?

"Ah, here you are."

At the vocal intrusion, my eyes snap open.

I relax, seeing only a solid wall of white before me.

My mind has finally lost its grip on reality, and the thought cheers me.

I may survive yet.

"Why are you hiding out here alone?"

The sultry sound seems to double in volume the second time, and I turn my aching head toward it.

And as its source comes into view, I am dumbfounded by the sight.

And so it begins. What do you think?