Raum

Carnelian and Ice

Whiskey and Rain

Happy Monday and thanks again for your continued support. Edward is back!

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On her way back home, Bella looks at the moon dancing on the water of the Chena River. She feels colder than she did on her way out, and knows that has nothing to do with the gusts of bitter wind that strike her.

Sleet has fallen and is turning to snow as the night wears on. The icy surface of the Peger Road bridge glistens in the light of the streetlamps. Bella walks slowly, lost in her thoughts. By now, the café where she was supposed to meet with Mike would be closed. Did Mike and Jessica leave together? Did he put his arm around her shoulders as they walked out the door? Did that make Jessica feel protected? Bella wonders how it would feel to be in the arms of someone stronger than she, without always needing to be careful with him.

She hears a bell tolling in the distance. Midnight.

"Fuck!"

A styrofoam cup and a yell hit her at the same time.

Bella looks down at her coat, where a dark brown stain is spreading through the fabric; the smell of coffee wafts up and assaults her senses. As she tilts her head up, she sees a man pulling at his hair and stuttering his apologies.

"Excuse me, Miss...what have I done?! F..."

He smells like whiskey and rain. His elegant coat and the trousers of his dark suit are wet and caked with dirty snow–-she wonders how long he must have been under the freezing rain and snow to ruin it this way.

Bella inhales a second time and shudders.

She has to hold on the bridge railing. If she doesn't calm down...she doesn't want to think about what will happen. She puts a hand on her mouth, covering her traitorous lips, which are already baring her teeth. She tries to focus on the river below her, but the man's blood is a mighty call. His heartbeat echoes in Bella's ears, tempting her to move closer. Bella tightens her grip on the rail; her fingers will probably leave a dent there, but that's the least of her worries.

She stares at the water, trying to distract herself from the delicious smell of the man's blood–it reminds her of hot, thick chocolate. She swallows the venom in her mouth, pushing away the image of her hands around the man's neck, of his nourishing blood going down her throat – it would be velvety and satiating, able to warm her inside, inebriating. She considers jumping off the bridge. The man would freak out seeing her falling, but he would be out of danger. Out of the danger she poses.

Bella balks when a hand touches her shoulder.

"Miss, I'm sorry. Are you okay?" he asks her, his concern making him frown.

No! she wants to scream. Yes, don't worry and go away, her rational side begs her to say. I don't know! would be the closest to the truth.

Unable to move, she looks at him. His eyes are roaming her face; they are captivating and make her think of green leaves fluttering in the wind.

She knows those eyes.

Bella tenses. The venom in her body has already disintegrated her contact lenses. She's expecting that the man will run away, frightened, as soon as the streetlamps allow him to see her inhuman irises.

But he stays.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, his voice soothing. He appears concerned, but not frightened. He's actually worried about her, and it's not something to which she's accustomed. "I don't know what happened to me," he mumbles, running a hand over his forehead. He isn't wearing a hat, and his hair is tousled. "I threw away that damn cup, without watching. I'm sorry it hit you, I'm sorry I swore, I'm sorry..."

Bella struggles to regain her composure. She takes a step back, still leaning against the bridge rail, but not gripping it anymore. The man's scent continues to envelope her, but its overwhelming force is less shocking now. She's touched that he apologized for swearing at her; who does that nowadays?

"It's okay," she mutters. She notices an unusual note of hesitation in her voice and clears her throat. She knows what she should do: put as much distance as possible between her teeth and his skin. But she can't.

Going away would mean having to leave behind the slow, fragrant waves of his scent. She swallows hard. Her throat burns, but she needs the ache, like a scorching shower after being outside too long on a winter day.

She stares at him, motionless. He looks apprehensively at her. Worried for her. Unbelievable. Were it not for the crease between his eyebrows or for his disheveled hair, she would wonder if he's a figment of her imagination.

Not even his features can explain the effect he's having on her. Her shock can't be only on account of his attractive body—he's not the first tall and lean man she has met. She looks at his square jaw, tracing it with her gaze, and follows his tongue as it quickly moistens his full lips. His eyes keep her spellbound. Only in the gazes of children has she seen the same sincerity and purity. Only in old and wise people has she recognized the same acceptance.

She gives a glance at the street: they are alone in the night. The thought that she could take him and run away with her prey, unseen, creeps into her mind and makes her shudder.

Don't look at me, she silently pleads. Don't make me witness the moment when you realize that I'm a monster.

She feels his voice vibrating in his throat and can sense his breath even before catching his words. "May I help you?" he offers.

In the middle of a cold night, alone and messy on a bridge after throwing a cup of coffee at a stranger, it seems that he's the one who needs help, rather than being able to provide it.

He opens his coat, retrieves his wallet from his suit jacket, and takes out his business card.

"I'm Edward Masen." He looks at the card still in his hand. "I'll have to change the references on this, though," he mutters.

"Nice to meet you, Edward. I'm Isabella." She takes his card.

"I'm afraid I ruined your coat," he continues. "May I at least pay for the laundry service? You can call the number on the card and send me the bill."

She shakes her head. "There's no problem, really."

"I want to apologize for my outburst," he insists. "I feel like I lost my mind today."

"Any trouble?" Bella recognizes her voice now. She knows that he will find it seductive – humans are predictable, after all.

"It's been a hard day, to put it mildly," he sighs. He relaxes and leans with his elbows on the bridge rail, apparently welcoming the opportunity to get his worries off his chest. "I was fired today," he blurts. "I spent all evening wandering around the city and ended up missing the last bus to my hotel. I was trying to clear my mind before calling a taxi."

Bella scans his card: Edward Masen, D. Eng. Associate Engineer. She notices he holds a doctorate degree in engineering and seems to have lost quite a prestigious job.

Edward looks at his ruined suit and shoots another glance at her stained coat. "Just to go out with a bang, I made this mess too," he mutters, motioning at her and himself.

Bella can't bring herself to feel sorry that Edward hasn't caught his bus in time. She takes in every detail of his gorgeous features, glad that they'll be committed to her memory.

"They say that tomorrow is another day, don't they?" Bella asks him softly.

"I hope that's the case. After all, tomorrow could hardly be worse for me than today." He smiles at her, and Bella is spellbound. His smile deserves to be fixed in one of her paintings as soon as she goes home. It will be like drawing the best dawn she's ever admired. But going home would mean she'd have to leave Edward, and she can't resolve to do so.

"I live a couple of blocks from here," she tells him. "I'm afraid being outside in this weather waiting for a taxi might give you a cold." The irony isn't lost on her: a vampire is giving advice about health to a human, just after inviting him to her home.

Edward doesn't answer immediately. Bella can see that he's wavering; she isn't used to this kind of hesitation. She smiles at him and follows every second of his reaction: his heartbeat accelerates; his pupils widen slightly. She enjoys the way she's dazzling him.

"I don't want to bother you..." he mumbles.

"You won't." Her voice comes out velvety. His features are more relaxed, and she can tell he's fascinated by the idea of following her. Despite this, he doesn't seem quite ready to accept.

She plans her next step out to herself. "You had a hard day," she observes. She tilts her head at him. "Cheering you up would be my pleasure."

They walk together toward her house.

Thank you for reading! Reviewers get a poem.

And so it begins. Theories, anyone? Drop me a line telling me what you're expecting. The next chapter is due to be posted next Monday.

Thank you! to my friends SatinCoveredSteel, Marlena580, and Jmolly, and a special hug to Camilla10.

I'm on Twitter (RaumTweet).

Carnelian and Ice's extras (pics of the places mentioned in this story, as well as the story banner and blinkie) are posted on MyReadingLounge: h.t.t.p : / / myreadinglounge. blogspot. c.o.m/