My eyes would not work properly the next time I awoke. My thoughts felt disjointed and scattered, almost like physical scraps of paper inside my skull, all being tossed about in a relentless wind. I slowly became aware of my limbs again, my arms and legs like useless trunks, burdened with leaden weights, and my field of vision was blurry and unfocused. My body did not want to be awake. It wanted to shut itself down to the bare minimum again, to plunge me into deep, deep sleep, and continue in its futile bid to fight off this disease. I struggled to maintain sentience.
I had no way of knowing how much time had passed; in fact, I was scarcely aware of time at all. I was still burning with fever; my throat felt so parched that it seemed liable to crumble away.
I heard voices. Indistinct at first—I felt a vague annoyance with the strange buzzing in my ears that I couldn't dispel. But after a few moments I could make out two figures at the foot of my bed, and their voices became clearer, reached me, and I managed to sort out the meaning of their words from the windstorm in my head.
"She still has a fever," one was saying to the other. "It will probably break soon. Many patients go through several of these without any significant changes otherwise."
"You mean without dying," snapped the other. "Damn it, she is suffering. Is this virus so merciless that it doesn't even kill its victims quickly?"
"This virus is without conscience," answered the other figure, in a resolutely calm tone. "If that weren't the case, we would not be having this discussion."
"So she'll be going in and out of fever for days? Weeks?"
"I cannot say, Mr. Masen."
"Apparently, you cannot say much," fumed the one. "At least that other doctor had something to give her, something to do."
"If you would prefer treatment from Dr. Wisecollar, I can arrange for it at once."
There was a pause. "No. No, Dr. Cullen. Please… keep treating her."
"I will do everything I can."
Another hesitation. I blinked my eyes again, trying to force them to focus, but to no avail. I didn't have the strength to move or even make a sound, but only could lay limply like a rag doll.
"With this…fever. …Will I be able to…talk to her again?" The voice broke on this last phrase, and even with my numbed senses and perilously whirling consciousness, I could hear the pain there. Something in it snapped fibers in my heart.
"When it breaks, Edward, she will be aware once more," said the other, obviously trying to be soothing.
"Edward." My lips moved and my throat contracted, but I emitted not a single sound.
He had to stay away.
"You're certain that your father and mother won't mind?" Noah asked me for the third time. His velvety voice made even uncertainty sound alluring.
I rolled my eyes. "I'm very certain. In fact, father would probably thrilled to know I'm interested in the thing at all," I replied, grinning. Noah ducked his head slightly and looked at me through his long lashes.
"Listen to you call it a 'thing,'" Noah said, clicking his tongue. "I believe these 'things' are a testament to people's capacity for change."
"Listen to you talking about people's 'capacity for change,'" I repeated, teasing him. "I've seen the flag of the Confederacy flying in more than a few skies yet."
"Well, I cannot deny that some humans are just stubborn. But automobiles—those demonstrate ingenuity."
"I think you're only pretending to tolerate me so you can see one up close."
He flashed me a grin.
I had been unable to resist indulging the spark in Noah's eyes when I'd mentioned (in passing) my father's favored mode of transportation. The family automobile was still parked next to the cottage, where it had gathered a thick coating of pollen and bird droppings, taking up space and obstructing the view. Though I clearly recalled my tender backside and had less than affection for the thing, I'd offered to let Noah have a look. He'd never actually seen an automobile before and was exceptionally curious.
"It is…interesting," he said, a leap in his voice I'd never heard before. I giggled a little at his obvious fascination as he ran a hand gently over the black paint and tapped gently on the glass of the windshield. He peered in through the window; I opened the door and told him to sit in the driver's seat. He hesitated again.
"Noah, it's alright. Really."
He slid in and sat down, wrapping both of his exquisitely pale hands around the steering wheel and adjusting his posture gracefully. Much as I hated to admit it, the whole scene just…worked.
I suddenly found myself itching to be in the passenger seat of the automobile, driving down the streets of Charleston with Noah beside me.
"What do all of these dials mean?" Noah asked me, pointing to various things on the…was it the dashboard?
"One moment…it's hard to see."
"Just lean in and look."
I glanced at his face quickly, and then took a breath before leaning in across his chest to study the dials he had indicated. His proximity was electrifying, and I struggled to retain concentration.
"That one measures…speed, I think, see the increments? And I really don't know all of the others." I shook my head, noticing that some of my loosened hair fell across his arms and hand. "This one has to do with engine heat."
"May I see the engine?" Perhaps he thought he had to be extra-persuasive to wheedle this favor from me, for his voice seemed to be utterly alluring; soft, silky, and musical. His breath washed across my face; it was the sweetest scent I had ever smelled. It made my head spin.
"Of-of course," I stuttered, caught off guard. I pulled out of the automobile again and stood up, shaking my head to clear it. I lifted my hair from my neck; it was humid and sticky, despite the clouded sky.
"Elizabeth," Noah was saying calmly as he extricated himself from the vehicle. "You should know that I do not simply tolerate you. Nor do I feel like I would ever have to pretend to do anything around you."
I bit my lip; measured my breaths. "I-I'm glad." How eloquent.
"I hope you return the sentiments," Noah went on smoothly, smiling at me. I locked eyes with him again; his irises seemed to have returned to their usual, molten gold state. They melted me.
"Of course," I nearly whispered. "Of course I do. I love spending time with you, Noah." Was that too strong of a word? Certainly he could not…feel the same way?
There it was; the pained expression. I was so attuned to it now that it could not make its fleeting foray across his features without me seeing it. Was I somehow hurting him? It had to be me. I must have been doing something wrong, something that made him uncomfortable but that he was too polite—too well-paid—to point out.
Perhaps I be spending less time with him.
"You certainly can't get away from me around here," Noah said, with forced lightness to his tone.
I chuckled half-heartedly. Then, I turned to the hood of the automobile and studied it intently.
"I have no idea how to open it. I'm sorry."
"We're both intelligent people. I'm sure we can puzzle it out." He came to stand next to me, bringing a wave of his delicious scent. He reached under the eave of the hood and felt about; something snapped, and the hood flew upward. I flung myself out of the way, narrowly avoiding being smacked in the chin. Noah's hand caught it effortlessly, and carefully lifted it back.
"Are you alright, Elizabeth?"
"Fine," I said a little shakily. "Just startled."
He chuckled to himself. "Look at this. It's so intriguing…" he trailed off, gazing at the complicated tangle of machinery we had revealed within the automobile. I was far more intrigued by the beautiful line of his profile, and the flex and shift of his muscles underneath his shirt as he leaned over the engine. A strong smell of oil was wafting from it.
"Lubricant must travel through here…and here."
I grinned to see him so absorbed.
"And a coolant, possibly? So many things working together."
I bit my lip again. "When you think of it that way, it is interesting."
"But how does this make the wheels turn?" He had one pale finger hovering over the engine, moving it everywhere.
Suddenly, something flew back to me; words spoken by my father one day in spring. He had had the hood up like this, and was explaining the mechanisms of the engine to me with a relish. Bored, I had paid little attention. But now I recalled a few choice details.
"It's combustion," I said, trying to sound more confident than I was that that was the correct word. Noah turned to me, his expression rapt. "A sort of very small…explosion," I continued, my cheeks reddening. "When the automobile starts, a little spark ignites the fuel, which causes…combustion, which moves something, which moves something else, which turns the wheels." I wished heartily that I could remember more of the terminology.
Noah looked highly impressed; that softness stole into his eyes again. "Combustion, is the word?"
"I think so. There was something about…pistons, as well. I think those are what is moved by the combustion."
"Can you show me where those are?"
"I'm not sure. They should all look alike, very close to each other, I think…there! Those, maybe?" I gestured to three cylindrical objects nestled within the various other components. They, like everything else, were coated with grease.
"Elizabeth, I want to take this apart," Noah said very suddenly, sounding very passionate.
My heart leapt into my throat. "You can't, Noah, father would skin me alive."
He laughed. "Not this specific one. I want to take apart an engine like this and examine every part, figure it all out."
I let out my breath. "Are you getting bored of horses, then?" I joked in my relief.
"Never," he breathed, but he was still staring intently at the various components. I was vaguely surprised they all didn't melt under the scorching intensity of his eyes.
I straightened and craned my neck around, scanning the countryside around us. My mother and father had gone on a walk down the lane. The trees rippled overhead in the breeze; birds chirped pleasantly. The sky had been obscured for several days now, with occasional rain showers tickling the prairies, and I rather missed the sun. However, clouds notwithstanding, it was a lovely day; I'd found I was becoming fond of the South Carolina countryside, with its peaceful rhythms, wide open spaces, and leafy verdure…not to mention its breathtaking inhabitants.
It was a good day.
My fever broke in the night. Fortunate, because Dr. Carlisle Cullen was at my side immediately, fluffing my thin hospital pillow and holding a vial of clear liquid in one delicate hand.
"Mrs. Masen," he said, in that soothing voice, "you've been feverish for two days now." I remained silent for the moment, waking up, and turned my head to look at him, peer into his eyes. I felt a little stronger than I had before, but not much.
"I'm sorry to wake you now," he said, "but I needed to give you this." I narrowed my eyes; I thought I could hear the vaguest note of worry in his voice, something that had never showed before. That was cause for concern.
"What is it you're going to give me?" I asked in a rasping voice.
"A serum to clear your lungs. You haven't been able to cough while unconscious with fever. Bile will have accumulated." There was most definitely the tiniest crease of concern between his brows. I watched it suspiciously, but obediently held out my hand to receive the vial of liquid.
It was vile and bitter, but I swallowed it all, and immediately my chest began to heave seemingly of its own accord. Mucus spewed from my mouth into the cup that Dr. Cullen held ready.
When it was done, I groaned and leaned back again. "How lovely. All of that was in my lungs?" Admittedly, I felt considerably better.
"Yes," he answered rapidly.
He knew that I knew something was wrong. We locked eyes, and I tried to ignore the thrill that his golden gaze sent down my spine. "Doctor Cullen, what is the matter?"
Dr. Cullen's eyes left mine and flickered to something behind me. He opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing; he seemed to be deliberating.
So I gathered my meager strength and bunched my muscles, twisting and heaving in bed to look where his eyes had alighted.
My spinning head did nothing to mitigate the sheer horror that stole into my limbs. It was as if my very soul creaked to a halt.
"N-no…" I whispered. When I thought my body had been desiccated completely, scalding tears filled my eyes. "No, please…"
Edward lay in a cot just a few feet away, sleeping, his face devoid of all color. The profile, the edges and shape of him I loved so much twitched fitfully; I could see his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.
My son.
My son…
Edward. No, Edward…
I didn't stop to think; I screamed, tearing the blanket from me. I lurched from my bed, my feet hitting the floor for the first time in two weeks. My legs crumpled underneath me as my vision dissolved into yellow grains, and my knees slammed into the concrete. It took more strength than I knew I had to remain on all fours and battle the unconsciousness clawing at the edges of me.
"Mrs. Masen, no!" Dr. Cullen was around the bed in an instant, his arms locked around my torso. He heaved me upright in a stony, chilled embrace. "No! You're not well! You'll only hurt yourself!"
"Edward!"
"Stop it, Mrs. Masen!"
I flailed my limbs wildly. "Let go of me! Let me go to my son, you callous bastard!" My voice had found a renewed strength. I struggled tooth and nail. Carlisle Cullen's arms did not move.
I was a woman possessed. Edward, Edward…I could only see him sprawled out before me, his usually healthy, glowing form wracked with the cursed virus. Why, why had he kept coming here? My mind was paralyzed with fear.
Edward could… die.
The thought only mobilized my infirm, weak body into more action.
A burly nurse approached, ready to aid Dr. Cullen. He gestured for her to stay away.
"I can deal with this," he said. He reached out and pinned my arms to my sides, and bent to speak softly into my ear.
"Elizabeth," he said, and I was unsure of how he knew my first name. "Elizabeth, I'm so sorry. But please, consider yourself. You're incredibly ill. Outbursts like this will only quicken the virus' progress."
"Let me go to my son," I said in a voice thickened with grief.
"I cannot allow you to strain yourself."
"Let me go to Edward," I repeated. I pulled against his grip on my arms.
"No."
I whipped my head around and stared at him. And for the first time in my life, not a single shiver, not a single faltering thought passed through me as I locked gazes with a pair of molten ochre eyes. I was not fazed; I would not be intimidated or charmed by this damned vampire; I would not yield to some innate sense of danger. I felt no need to retreat, to shudder. I felt no desire to. I did not glare or sob; I just looked at him.
Let this vampire—let this man come between me and Edward, and I would not hold back.
He hesitated. I saw it pass through his eyes. He loosened his hold, and I staggered forward, nearly stumbling again.
"Go to him," I heard Dr. Cullen say softly behind me.
I fell to my knees next to my son's cot, my quavering breaths washing over his sleeping face. I placed a hand on his forehead; the other traveled down his side to grasp his hand.
"Edward," I whispered. My entire body ached. I felt unbelievably tired but I remained rigidly upright. "Edward…"
How had I let this happen? Why hadn't I forced him to stay away from me, away from the hospital? Why hadn't he seen sense? Why was this virus taking from me the people I loved most?
It was not supposed to end this way, I dying a slow death in a cramped hospital ward, awash in near-tangible misery, my son close behind me.
My son. My only son. My beloved son.
"Edward…" I stroked his hair. He did not wake. He continued to breathe quickly, perspiration beading on his brow. I pressed my lips to his cheek.
I felt Dr. Cullen's presence behind me.
"How long?" I said hoarsely. The tears came again and coursed freely down my cheeks.
"He was admitted yesterday, midday," was his quiet reply.
"Can he survive?" I asked rapidly, needing and dreading an answer.
"I don't know. He has a better chance than many. But he needs rest and fluids above everything else. …Mrs. Masen…"
"What?"
"Please, return to your bed now."
"No, thank you." I smoothed my thumb across Edward's cheekbone again and again.
"Elizabeth…"
"Don't call me that," I snapped angrily. Racing golden images scattered across my mind like broken glass, an insult to the situation. Pain I didn't need.
There was a pause.
"Very well." Quiet footsteps seemed to echo behind me.
And he left me with Edward.
Why am I awake?
I couldn't understand why the rough wooden beams of the attic ceiling suddenly filled my vision again, washed out in the seeping moonlight. I couldn't understand why I was once more aware of the blanket laying heavily on top of me; why I could hear the cottage creaking and the wind whispering through the trees outside. I had been sleeping a moment ago.
Why am I awake?
I fought to recall the dream that was slipping into the recesses of my mind. Visions, little vignettes steeped in emotion, flared to life like sparks behind my eyes. Gold-colored eyes, of course. Gold-colored eyes raking up and down my body; pale, unnaturally frigid hands on mine. A sweet smile on broad shoulders; rich blond hair brushing my cheek. Smooth, cold lips on my neck, shoulder, throat.
My face was on fire. My entire body was on fire. I sat up quickly, throwing the blanket off with a shaky breath.
My father and mother had never been terribly strict about my fraternizing with men, my social peers as they were. Eventually I had discovered that this was a rarity; they never insisted on constant chaperoning or awkward parlor teas or anything of the like. They had been through it twice with Marisol and Clare, and I think had found the whole business too exhausting to bother with a third time. Yes, my parents were not precisely insistent on societal propriety; that was why I had been so shocked when they took me from Charleston on account of my "wandering."
Propriety was never first and foremost in my mind, then. But sitting there in a puddle of moonlight, pressing heated fingers to my heated face, eyes wide, I understood immediately that this sort of dream was most certainly not proper, not at all.
I blinked several times, hugging my cotton nightdress to myself.
"Ah..." I let out a breath, less shaky than before. I straightened my cramped limbs and glanced out of the window at my shoulder, down to the grasses beside the cottage.
A pale streak. There and gone in an instant. I threw myself to my knees and snapped to the window, fingertips against the warped glass panes.
In the distance, down the road, the door to the barn was opened and shut so quickly that if it hadn't been for the faint light gleaming inside of it, I couldn't have made it out.
My heart thumped in my chest, making my blood course painfully underneath my skin. What was going on? No one should be stirring at this hour.
That couldn't have been a person; it moved too quickly. A coyote, then? Some other animal? My mind, wide awake now, spun through all the possibilities.
Then I froze, and I watched the mist of my last breath fade from the glass. Faintly, in the distance, I heard the scream of a terrified horse.
Oh, no. My muscles leadened. Mischa?
I stumbled from my cot and scrambled down the ladder from the attic, sprinting to the door to the room where my parents slept. A shriek built in my throat. Something was attacking the horses!
My hand was on the brass doorknob when something caught my eye from a window that faced the same direction as mine did above. Another pale shape, this one moving slowly enough that I could make out the human figure and the dark hair. Tobias. He ran to the barn, arms swinging, leaping lightly through the knee-high grass like a deer. Frightened as I was, I still found time to marvel at his grace.
But he was unarmed! What was he thinking, to approach a wild animal without any weapons?
Without thinking, I ripped my hand from the doorknob, leaving my parents asleep, and instead heaved my father's rifle from the shelf where it sat above the sink. I didn't know how to shoot it, but Tobias would, and he would need it to take down the wolf.
Or whatever it was.
I pulled open the cottage door and ran barefoot into the night, clutching the long rifle to my chest, stunned at its ungainly weight. The butt of it smacked into my knee repeatedly, slowing my progress.
Overhead, the moon was full and bright, illuminating the night so I had no need to regret not bringing a candle. I waded through the grasses at the fastest pace I could manage, not giving myself time to consider what I was doing. Plunging into the night in the general direction of a wild beast-certainly not the wisest of decisions. But I was terrified for Mischa and Tobias both, and somewhere, a part of my mind I did not acknowledge was afraid that Noah may have somehow run afoul of that pale beast.
"Tobias!" I called. The barn neared; I did not slow. I shifted the rifle into both hands, holding it at an angle. "Tobias!"
I had almost reached the barn door when it was thrown open and Tobias practically flew out, moving with a speed I had never encountered. I caught my breath and instinctively tightened my grip on the weapon.
Even that was not enough. Tobias launched himself at me, throwing his arms around me like an immovable vice. I screamed, but a cold hand plastered itself over my mouth, and the sound was cut short. One hand pressed me violently against his chest, so I was all but smothered against the marble-like hardness, the rifle pressed between the two of us. I felt the end of the barrel cutting into my neck so painfully I was sure my skin had been broken.
"You mustn't go in there, Miss Sussex," Tobias said to me, in a low voice that was astonishingly calm given the circumstances; as if he had not just tackled me and was not now trying to asphyxiate me.
I pulled my muscles in all directions, completely given in to instincts like a beast, trying desperately to break free.
"A wild animal broke in, Miss Sussex," Tobias was saying. I tried to ignore how good he smelled and instead focused on trying to free my fists, mashed between us. "The carnage...it is not a sight to be viewed by young ladies."
Finally he let me move back far enough to free my mouth; I fixed him with a vicious scowl. My fear was quickly dissolving into anger.
"Surely you need not have tackled me to keep me from viewing it, Mr. Tobias," I growled sharply. "Let me go."
He did so at once, something like abashment on his face. My heart thundered in my ears, matched only by my temper. The two of us faced each other in the little clearing before the barn, drenched in moonlight, the warm, sultry air heavy around us. My nightdress flapped about my ankles.
"Why are you carrying a rifle?" Tobias suddenly asked.
I ignored him.
"Has the animal gone?" I demanded.
Tobias sighed heavily; he glanced over his shoulder. "It left. I'm sorry to say, the horses are dead."
I felt sorrow settle on me; I stared at him. "Mischa?"
He nodded, eyes closed.
"What sort of animal...?" I trailed off heavily.
He didn't respond.
"I'm going in now," I told him.
"No!" In an instant, one of his hands locked around my wrist.
"Don't tell me what to do, sir."
"It-it's unsuitable-"
I glared icily at him. "With all due respect, Mr. Tobias, shut up."
His hand did not move. I started walking anyway. I did not get far.
"I cannot let you, Miss Sussex," Tobias said, his own eyes flashing with anger now. I turned to stare him down again, and I started; his eyes were...even in the darkness, I could tell his eyes were not usual. They were pitch-black...pure black, no rings of gold. Nothing.
A sudden thrill of fear swept through me. I saw his nostrils flare, as if he could sense my horror. I felt...cornered. Vulnerable. Like I was staring into the eyes of a hawk. My anger extinguished itself as quickly as it had blazed.
The wrist Tobias was holding was attached to the hand that clung to the rifle. I eyed it briefly, and then swung my other hand around and snatched at it. Tobias beat me there; he moved so quickly it was as if he hadn't moved at all. The rifle was torn from my grasp and he held it away from me.
"Let go of me!" I yelled, pulling with all my strength. It was like struggling against iron. His grip did not lessen.
Thinking rapidly, I used that to my advantage. I spun three-hundred and sixty degrees, folding my arm around myself, throwing myself against his chest as if we were executing an elaborate dancing trick. I threw my bare heel down on the toe of his boot; at the same time, I snaked my hand up and tangled it in his long black hair, grabbing a handful and yanking with all my strength.
Surprise was my finest ally; his grip loosened enough that I freed my wrist and spun again. Both of my hands closed around the rifle, momentarily.
The shot shattered the night's peaceful silence, but it was nothing compared to the earsplitting metallic clang that instantly echoed it, as if the rifle had fired point-blank at a steel bar. I yelped and released the rifle instantly, my hands flying to cover my ringing ears. My head ached from the noise; my heart fluttered in my throat. Wh..how had the rifle gone off? Whose hand had nudged the trigger?
...It had fired directly into Tobias' chest.
Tobias, the same man who was still standing, fully upright and mobile, in front of me, holding the rifle in limp hands. I felt my lips part as I stared at him, clearly unhurt, no blood, not a scratch. There was a single hole singed into the front of his tunic, just underneath his right collarbone.
He should be gasping, prone on the ground. He should be dying.
Tobias grimaced. I could only ogle at him, uncomprehending, as my ears sang shrilly.
A light flickered in the cottage. I blinked, and stared over his shoulder at it. The shot had awoken father and mother.
I glanced again at Tobias. His grimace had deepened, brows locked together. In a sweeping motion, he bent to pick up the shotgun with one hand, and, pivoting on one heel, he threw it into the air, where it arced silently over the barn and into the forest beyond.
My father shouted in the distance.
Neither Tobias nor I had moved. "Noah?" I whispered, almost silently, trying to get him to meet my gaze.
Tobias did not reply, but his eyes flickered toward the barn before they returned to the cottage. I felt my heart fall into my feet. Had Noah been in the barn when the animal...? Was he...?
Without thinking, I tore my gaze from Tobias and threw myself toward the barn. Tobias made a move toward me, but paused, as if weighing options, and then did not pursue. I swung open the barn doors and pushed myself inside, grasping and scrambling to close them behind me.
Let Tobias deal with father. I needed to find Noah, I needed time to let my heart and breathing slow, I needed to make sure Noah was alright.
Time was what I needed. And time, of course, was what I did not get.
A snarl curled in the darkness.
I froze in place. In the absence of moonlight, my eyes needed to adjust to the dark in the barn. Blurry, indistinct shapes loomed around me. Stall walls, draped with tack. Stacks of hay. A bench.
Every single hair on my body rose as one. My heart flew to panicked life again with abandon.
Tobias had said...Tobias had said that the animal had moved on.
Another sound; a low growl.
I began to shake. It was still there. I was going to die.
I should have fled immediately from the barn. Why didn't I flee? Surely my father's wrath would have been preferable to death. Surely, I could have made it before the beast attacked. I was only a step from the door.
But I was afraid to go outside, too. Outside was where Tobias was, a man...a creature I did not understand. I was afraid of him, standing there with a bullet hole in his shirt, pale and calm and serene, as if he hadn't just been shot. He was frightening. Incomprehensible. Inhuman. The unknown. I closed my eyes as the memory of that metallic clashing sound rang again and again against the sides of my skull, reverberating.
And I needed to find Noah. Noah was in danger. Noah needed help.
When I opened my eyes again, I could see more clearly. No animals were in sight, not even the horses. Everything looked as it should, not a single thing upset or out of place. Even the smells were all proper and there, hay and leather and...
And an indescribable sweetness.
Something shifted in Mischa's stall. The faintest of sounds. Noah?
I took a few slow, careful footsteps toward the gray mare's stall. Then a few more. Possessed by a morbid curiosity, I crouched low at the gate, and, barely brushing my fingertips against the wood, I peered through a gap between two uneven boards, as if their scant width would defend me against whatever beast I saw within.
Noah was crouched low like I was. He had one leg extended, bracing himself against Mischa's neck. From my angle, I could see that he had sunk his teeth to the gum in her flesh, his hands grasping on either side of his head. The mare's body was limp and lifeless.
What was he doing? I couldn't take my eyes from him; he looked so glorious even through my horror, a vision of pale pearlescent skin, golden hair, and sleek, silhouetted body, his muscles all flexing. A god...a god of the hunt, a warrior god. Weak metaphors tumbled through my dazed mind.
His neck was pulsing, throbbing rhythmically-I leaned a little closer, trying to see exactly why. I was horrified with myself.
He was swallowing...sucking, and swallowing. A gross bastardization of infant nursing, the oldest of reflexes...suck, swallow. Suck, swallow. I could see Mischa's veins pulling in her neck, in rhythm with Noah's movements.
Noah was...Noah was drinking her blood.
I gasped and gagged simultaneously, and instantly his head snapped upward. Confirming my realizations, a single drop of dark, thick liquid pooled at the corner of his mouth. It was a bizarre tableau, however, for above that macabre sight, his eyes glinted the soft shade of gold I loved, so vividly that I could see their color clearly in the shadows. He met my gaze through the little gap and I sucked in my breath, fear and temptation colliding inside me.
I hadn't blinked before I felt my feet leave the ground. Noah flung himself against me, pressing one forearm against my collarbone and wedging a knee into my abdomen; the two of us careened backward away from Mischa's stall, and I was weightless against his impetus. Before I could utter a sound, Noah slammed me against the far wall of the barn, rattling the entire structure. My breath spilled from my mouth, and I gasped hoarsely as pain knifed through my entire body. Sparkling gold bloomed in my eyes.
"N-Noah," I gasped. His arm against my chest threatened to snap my collarbone.
Noah's arms were just as steely as Tobias' had been, and just as immobile. It was as if a rigid cage held me captive against the wooden planks. But he was closer to me than he had ever been, his entire body just an inch from mine; I could feel him panting, and the sweet smell intensified so that my overwhelmed senses quailed against a whirlwind of mingled pleasure and terror.
Noah's eyes met mine. I was trembling, unsteady. The golden irises were fierce and blank. I whimpered. His ivory throat contracted as he swallowed, again and again. Weakly, I tried to snare my gaze elsewhere.
"Elizabeth?" he said, suddenly, quietly. He swallowed again. "Elizabeth?" He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, shaking his head. The pressure of his arm eased against me, and I heaved a quavering breath.
"Noah?" I choked out, bewildered, afraid. "What..." How was I to put all my thoughts into one question?
Noah slowly, tentatively, lifted a hand and brushed a stray hair from my face, easing it gently behind my ear. He inhaled deeply, leaning closer.
Suddenly, my body felt paralyzed with something other than fear.
Noah's eyes seemed to melt, shifting from hard and possessed to soft and gleaming in an instant. He held my gaze for just a moment, and then his eyes skipped down to my neck. He sucked in another deep breath, and swallowed once more. Something came ablaze in his eyes; it was like reading his thoughts, watching all the emotions play across those shining ochre irises. His lips parted. Desire.
He continued staring at my neck, so intently that I lifted my own hand and gingerly pressed my fingers to the place upon which he was fixed. They met moisture; when I lifted my shaking hand to my face, I could see shining liquid on my fingertips.
My blood. From where the rifle had cut into me.
Before I could really process this, before my proper, sensible self could make the connection and take action, Noah murmured my name.
"Elizabeth," he moaned softly, eyes upon my neck. My abdomen contracted; my heart skipped, hearing that single word in his voice. I couldn't move. Despite all my instincts screaming to the contrary, I didn't want to.
Hesitantly, Noah bent down, ducking his head under my chin. I felt his icy lips brush my throat, and, prone, a whispering murmur of my own escaped my mouth. His lips parted and his tongue caressed my broken skin, sweeping the blood away. He groaned, and I felt the reverberations across my skin.
Somewhere, somehow, a tattered thought stumbled across my mind. What is happening...doesn't matter...what is...who is...The feelings coursing through me were entirely foreign, and I did not want them to stop. My hands fell limply to my sides.
The barn door creaked open again, and Tobias stood for one instant framed in the doorway, silhouetted against the moonlight. He took in the sight of Noah and me, and a snarl ripped from him.
Moving soundlessly, impossibly fast, he sprinted and rammed into Noah, tearing him away from me. I found my voice again and gave a strangled, quiet sort of yell. Tobias and Noah rolled, struggling, onto the dirt floor between the rows of stalls, a tangle of arms and limbs. Violent growls echoed off the thin barn walls. I stared, petrified.
"Elizabeth!" my father shouted, from outside the barn. I whipped around, peering wildly into the darkness outside, but saw nothing. Abruptly the snarls and tearing sounds behind me stopped, and I spun again, only to see naught but an indistinct blur tearing off in the other direction. The back barn door was torn open, and Tobias and Noah were gone.
"Elizabeth!" called my father again. He appeared in the first doorway, panting and sweaty. "Good God, Elizabeth. Come here this instant."
Mind numb, body quaking, I could do nothing but heed him. When I was near enough, he seized both of my shoulders in rigid hands and bore his gaze into me.
"Tobias told me about the wolf," he said, so angry as to be breathless. Tears rose in my eyes-tears of fright, of anger, of confusion, and of utter, devastating loss.
"He told me about your scheme to steal my gun and shoot it yourself," my father continued. "What the devil were you thinking? For God's sake, Elizabeth."
I was heaving by then. "I-I'm s-sorry, father."
Suddenly, he brought me to him, clutching me to his chest as if afraid I might dissolve in his grasp. I buried my tear-wet face in his nightshirt.
"Tobias caught up to you just as I did. Did he...did he kill it?" asked my father.
I nodded. "Y-yes. Dragged...he dragged its body off."
"My child," breathed my father. "Elizabeth. I can scarcely comprehend...you have very nearly sent me to an early grave."
I could only nod again, still shaking. Hands burning, neck burning, eyes burning. A flickering reel of images passed underneath my lids: blood pooling, Mischa dead, the hole in Tobias' shirt, Noah...Noah's eyes, his breath, my name on his voice. His skin on my skin. So cold, so unnaturally frigid, and yet I ached for its loss. My entire body ached.
My father and I were still standing, locked together, in the empty barn. The night around us sang with a thousand crickets against the harmony of the breeze. The scent of hay wafted, and, with it, the faintest, lingering touch of that otherworldly sweetness. I shuddered.
"I have obviously made a mistake, bringing you here," said my father after a time.
I didn't respond.
"We will be leaving by midday tomorrow."
"What?" I pulled away from him, almost shocked at how weak his grip was compared to that of Tobias. "Father!"
"Do not speak to me that way, Elizabeth," snapped my father. "I brought you here to get you out of the city, to show you what more there is to life, in hopes that your restlessness would fade. Instead, it has only made things worse."
"No, father!"
"Stop it, Elizabeth," he said. "You behaved more rashly tonight than I would ever have thought you capable. And..."
I stared at him, my cheeks still traced with tears. If we left...I didn't know when, or if, I would ever see Noah again. But how could I want to?
"And I have exposed my child to danger-my family, to danger. This was foolish." My father heaved a sigh. "A foolish idea."
I pressed a palm to my neck. My blood was still flowing there.
