Again, thanks for the reviews! They make me really happy, obviously. This story has really got me now; I'm writing it at breakneck speed... In fact, I'm already three chapters ahead. Which is good news for you guys, eh? Feel free to leave a comment with hugs; it'll make me smile...

I woke up.

I woke up.

That was the second miracle of my life thus far. The first, of course, was—but I couldn't think about him now. I couldn't think about anything, really, but the steady throbbing ache that started at my palm and radiated up my forearm. Pushing myself up from my slumped position, I lifted my left hand and stared at the clean bandage that covered the palm, white and soft and supremely out of place.

"There's juice in the glove compartment," a voice came from my left. Dazedly, I turned my head. James was driving, eyes ahead, short ponytail curling at the nape of his neck. I wanted to touch it. He had soft hair, I recalled. Then, his words registered and I snapped myself truly awake.

"You didn't kill me," I said, fumbling with the glove compartment door. This seemed like something that needed to be pointed out, as if maybe once he heard it aloud, he'd realize his mistake.

"Too easy," he tossed back, every inch of him careless. Still, my eyes caught once more on my bandaged hand as I found a bottle of orange juice among a few CDs and a large packet of papers. He'd fixed me. He'd half-drained me, and then he'd fixed me, and now he'd bought me juice. Sugar, I remembered vaguely, was good after giving blood. Giving blood. The thought made me want to laugh and cry all at once.

"You didn't break my legs, either," I said, eying him carefully through my peripheral vision, untwisting the cap on the bottle to take a long sip. He gave a short laugh.

"Do you want me to?"

"No."

"Then shut up."

I shut up.

It was daylight. Early morning, but still day. I'd been out for several hours. The thought made my stomach clench. I'd been missing for over a day now, for at least thirty-six hours. Did they think I was dead? Why hadn't Alice seen something? Maybe she had, and they just couldn't get here. Or they couldn't tell where I was. I remembered the vagueness of her vision about where James would confront me, how I'd recognized it for what it was, but none of the vampires had. Maybe she just had an image, just James and I in some nonspecific place. I prayed she hadn't seen what he'd done to me behind the gas station, then quickly added that to the list of things I wasn't going to think about.

I checked the road signs we passed, running through my mental list of national landmarks as I did. When I saw the sign announcing our vague vicinity to Mount Rushmore, I breathed out shortly. South Dakota. Three states away from Forks. Not that knowing it helped anything. It wasn't like I could just jump out of the car and hitchhike, and I wasn't about to try escaping at a gas station again until I had a more solid plan. I did know, though, that I needed to get away. Now more than ever. If he could affect me like that… if James could make me feel that way… I had to get away.

Thinking about James was bad. I was uneasy for a whole new reason now. He had left me alive, had made a point of healing me. Why? I remembered his promise to "try new things", his few words about a "new kind of hunt", and felt cold. He was still hunting me. But in what way? Did he want me as a sort of human pet, someone he could feed off of without killing? Was it all an elaborate, sadistic game to hurt Edward? Would he feed from me again, use that slippery vampire seduction, not even bother with the seduction and just rape me, in more ways than one? Or maybe it was just like he'd said, too easy. Maybe he wanted more of a challenge. Sickness curled through my gut and I realized that I was staring at James, having subconsciously scooted as far away from him on the seat as I could. My elbow was pressed uncomfortably against the car door, but I couldn't force myself to relax.

"I'm not going to eat you in the middle of I-90," he said, sounding mildly disgusted.

"But you're going to sometime," I responded flatly, and he rolled his head towards me with that smooth, predatory shrug.

"Maybe if you ask really nicely," James said, half-purring, and I shivered again. There was that wicked, angled smile.

"I don't see the point," I began, folding my arms and ignoring the ripple of warmth that smile sent down my spine, "of any of this. You bite me, then you bandage me. You feed me, then you say you'll kill me. You hunt me down, then you just run away and drag me with you."

"I'm a study in contradictions. And I didn't bite you, you were just stupid." He didn't sound angry yet, and the disgust had been replaced by amusement. He thought this was funny, did he?

"They're going to find you, you know," I replied coldly, finally saying what I'd waited until now for the courage for. "The Cullens. And then they're going to-"

"The Cullens," James interrupted, voice soft and smooth and deadly, "are going to find what I want them to find. And if you're lucky, it won't be your dead body." I swallowed, but pressed on. He was right, after all. He wouldn't kill me in the middle of the interstate.

"Why bother, though? Why kidnap me if you're not going to kill me right away? They'll just keep hunting you, and I thought you liked it the other way around." He laughed, startling me.

"What makes you so sure they'll keep coming for you?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious on top of the obvious cruelty. "We're not very good at love, you know. Not if there's an easier option."

"Edward loves me," I said sharply.

"You love him, maybe," James corrected, seeming to have forgotten about our original argument. "But believe me, given the choice between loving you and keeping himself all locked up nice and tight, and letting you go…" He trailed off. I frowned, unable to be furious at this line of reasoning. It was, after all, one I'd had myself. I clenched my jaw against the sadness that welled up at the thought.

"Maybe so, but no matter what he'd rather do about me, he'd never let you have me."

"But I do," James countered simply, and though my lips parted, I couldn't think of a single thing to say. There was a long, even silence. "And besides," James said then, eyes firmly back on the road, "this game is turning out to be far more fun than I thought." He smiled. "Especially if Edward does love you enough to follow."

"He does," I promised darkly, sitting back. "Why are you so cynical, anyway? What about your girlfriend?" It was another one of those questions I'd been too out of it to ask, but something about the strange banter we'd exchanged, along with the cloudy daylight, made the words come out. James glanced at me sharply, as if calculating my motives, then shook his head.

"Victoria," he said slowly, "is not my girlfriend."

"Sure looked like it," I muttered, and he grinned.

"Jealous again? My, my." But thankfully, he didn't give me a chance to come up with a not-so-witty retort. "We used each other," he explained, and I tried to pretend I wasn't interested. His voice, now that there were no undertones of threat or mockery, was… well, nice. Distressingly so. "She hunted with me, and I took her dancing." At that, I couldn't help a swift scoff.

"You took her dancing?" I repeated, disbelieving.

"Bought her clothes. Killed pretty things for her. She wanted me for sex and excitement, I wanted her for-"

"Ok," I broke in, feeling a blush start. I've never been good at hearing about other people's relationships casually, much less my own, and this was no different. James laughed.

"Anyway. We were… companions, partners. We understood each other." I frowned.

"If she was so great, why did you leave her?"

"I was with her for twelve years," he replied, as if that were obvious.

"So you got bored." He smirked.

"A better option presented itself." I shook my head.

"You think I'm a better option than her?" I couldn't tell if I was supposed to feel flattered or horrified.

"A less predictable one, sure. And you bring the chance to piss off the Cullens, which is always a good time." Everything in me wanted to make a dumb snap about how the Cullens would be really amusing angry, right up until they ripped his head off. But I knew that would only spiral back into him threatening and me cowering, so I held my tongue. For a minute.

"It seems weird," I began, examining my bandage, "you going out dancing."

"What, you can't see it?" He sounded almost playful, which was hard to compute after what I'd seen him do. I glanced at him, but he was watching the road.

"Well. No."

"When you live through two hundred years of ballroom dancing to Euro-disco, you pick things up." Euro-disco. Euro-disco? I had a flash image of James bobbing around to some sort of fast French techno beat, dressed in silver jeans and spandex, and had to hold back a snort of helpless laughter. He caught the mild convulsion and raised a brow at the highway, lips quirking.

"If I don't kill you before we get the chance, I'll take you dancing, too," he said, his tone so light that I almost missed the first bit. My smile, hesitant but real, faltered and died. I took a breath, turning to face the window. Get ahold of yourself, Bella, I told myself, gut twisting. Remember where you are. I'd forgotten, in those brief moments. He'd been charming, I'd been stupid, and I'd forgotten.

The silence, as it grew between us, was very cold and very still.

NEXT:

"I'm beginning to think," James remarked, as if he weren't gripping me by the throat, "that being nice to you is not the best way to get results..."