I was holding my breath – but as the house finally came into sight, I had to breathe. Breathe so I could shout out, "Carlisle! Help!" The front door opened before I could literally burst through it, almost on autopilot, I launched myself up the stairs to Carlisle's office where we still had an ER worth of equipment - the set up from Bella's pregnancy. I laid the girl down gently on the hospital cot and instantly Carlisle was on her. I moved out of his way as he began setting up drips, monitors, and Esme tore away part of the girl's shirt as gently as she could and leaving the room quickly, realizing the blood was too much for her. Carlisle pressed a cloth to the wound on her side, staunching the bleeding with light pressure. "Can you hold this here, Emmett?"

I nodded, holding the cloth as he did, pulling back on my strength so I didn't crush her, my gaze turning to the rapid rise and fall of her ribs. "Carlisle, is she going to be okay?" I asked anxiously. I didn't want to interrupt, but I had to ask.

"The new born didn't have a chance to bite her – she's been lacerated, consistent with a nail wound. She's not turning. I need to stabilize her vitals, get this blood flow to stop. She can recover from this." Despite his flurry of activity, his voice was as calm as ever, as he brought over a suturing needle, and some alcohol. His eyes glanced up at me, "I need to remove the cloth now. She'll be bleeding. Perhaps you should let us handle this." His gaze travelled past my shoulder and I saw Edward was back now. I let my brother remove my hands from the cloth, and backed away, all the way out of the room.

Once I was in the hall I sank down right against the outside wall of the room. With her in Carlisle's hands and the taste of her blood still on my tongue, the hunger began burning in my throat, almost matched by the guilt burning in my mind. Looking up, I noticed Esme, her eyes widening. She joined me on the floor, laying her hand on my shoulder in a comforting manner.

After a couple of moments of silence, Esme stated, "You saved her."

As her arm went around me, I turned my face into her shoulder and shook my head. "I tasted her blood. I wanted to kill her. I can still feel it, I still want it, Esme."

Her hand tightened in its grasp on mine, and she shook her head back at me. "Even after tasting her blood, you pulled away. You're strong, Emmett. So strong. You brought her back."

I didn't say anything more. This was my problem to deal with. Esme shouldn't have to coddle me. Shifting away, I went up to my room and washed the blood off myself, scrubbing hard to try and get rid of the sweet metallic scent that seemed to have soaked into my skin, as below me, Edward and Carlisle stabilized the girl, setting up monitors, and cleaning out her wound before closing it up.

The next few days were terrible. I didn't drink, I didn't speak to anyone. I just sat outside of the room, by the door. I could hear her breathing, her heartbeat, the slight shuffling of her sheets under her faint movements. I couldn't bring myself to go into the room, to see her face, to remember how close I was to losing my control. I knew my family was concerned. The last time I had been this down was in 1937, and that time I had actually killed two people. Then the thought of that returning only made everything weigh on me more heavily. I sat, stone still, consumed in thoughts, as my family went in and out of the room – Carlisle especially. After a while they stopped attempting contact with me. My misery and thirst was setting Jasper and Edward on edge especially. Finally as the fourth day began to dawn, I heard Alice exclaim from the kitchen, "She's about to wake up. Carlisle!"

He was upstairs and in the room in a flash. I, however, was frozen with shock. I could hear the shuffling, the creak of the cot as she sat up, or turned, or something – I couldn't know. Then the shrieking began. I heard the crash of monitors, Carlisle trying to soothe the girl, trying to coax her back onto the bed and to the monitors but with little luck. Esme joined him and the presence of another person threw her off. I then heard the girl ask, "Where is he? The one who brought me here? Where is he!?"

She was talking about me. That broke through my thoughts. Her hysteria reached new levels and Jasper felt it enough that he had to come back into the house. He stood by the door, channeling calm over everyone in the near vicinity trying to bring some composure to everyone involved. Her terror came down a couple notches and it was clear Jasper didn't want to exert too much of his will on us. Edward came up too, speaking to me, "She wants to see you. You need to go in there, Emmett."

I shook my head wildly. I couldn't face her – the way her eyes had pierced through me in that state of desperation. No, I couldn't bear that again.

"Emmett, go!" Edward's eyes were harsh on mine, and as my thoughts began to overwhelm him and Jasper, Jasper finally snapped, "Either you go into the room, or get out so we can help her without you thirst here."

This spurred me to my feet. Fight or flight. I could run, run from this house, my feelings. Drink more bears than I could count and return and pretend this never happened. I wouldn't be a coward. I wouldn't run. I had to force myself into the room, step by step. I pushed open the door, took a deep breath – one lasting remnant of my human habits – and entered.

Her cries ceased and her eyes widened as she took me in, her form tense, back against the wall of the room, hands out in front of her defensively. We regarded each other carefully and I took in her state. Esme and Alice had cleaned her up as best they could, having washed most of the dirt and blood from her hair and skin. I could see small cuts, scrapes and bruises all over her.

Carlisle's soft voice then floated over us. "This is Emmett. He's my son. I'm Carlisle and this is my wife – Esme. No one here will hurt you. I promise you that."

I approached her slowly, shocked by her warmth – she blazed in the room. She had been cold with blood loss and fatigue from lying in the alley the other night. Now her heat was a steady flame.

"Can I help you back to the cot, please?" I asked, keeping my tone as gentle as I could, gingerly extending a hand to her, palm up and open, like I had in the alley. Her eyes flitted between the three of us, and after what seemed like ages, she nodded slightly, straightening up with a grimace, placing her hand in mine. My mouth watered, and I felt exhausted all of a sudden, the restraint weighing on me as I led her back to the cot. Her skin was dry and rough by human standards, felt like a thin sheet of paper between my hand and the top of a stove. When it came to getting her back on the cot, I placed one hand on her good side, and hooked the other one under her arm, lifting her up and onto the mattress. Then I stepped away, separating us by a good couple meters.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" Esme asked her, a soft look of motherly concern on her face.

"Chloe." She responded, not saying anything further than that.

We all stood in silence – well, she sat in silence – until a minute or so later, she said, "You're all… different. Than the one that attacked my – me." It felt like that wasn't what she had wanted to say – Esme, Carlisle and I shared a look. Carlisle shook his head in a manner that would be imperceptible to the gir- Chloe. If there was one thing we all could agree on it was that she could really do without an interrogation right now.

So, Esme suggested, "Well, dear, how about I take you to a shower? You must want to get cleaned up."

To my surprise, Chloe looked over to me. I gave her the best smile I could muster, with an encouraging nod. "You can trust us."

After a moment, she nodded too, she moved to stand up and as she swayed woozily on her feet, my reflexes kicked in and I reached out to steady her, her flame against my ice more fully this time. Her slender hands gripped my upper arms and a tingle ran through my body. She steadied herself and looked up at me. Hell, she's pretty! I thought when I got a good look at her face. Those same piercing eyes from the other night ran over my face again. Her features were angular – with shadows cast on her by dirt and hair, but I could tell that her lips, maybe a bit thin, were supple. Her lashes were long, and her cheekbones cut across her face in a way that matched the somewhat severe light of her eyes.

I realized my arms were around her waist even though she was fine and I let her go, handing her to Esme carefully. Chloe let Esme support her and they left the room together and soon, I heard the shower in Esme's room begin running.

When I came out of the room, Edward's brows were raised and he whispered in a shrill tone, "Ooh, ohmigosh, her eyes, her lips, wow!"

If I had been human, I might have blushed. This was confusing, and crazy and I was too emotionally worked over for this. "Okay, that's it!" I yelled and launched myself at him.