All belongs to Stephenie Meyer: I own neither Twilight nor Carlisle, though apparently Edward thinks he does.

To all my faithful readers and reviewers: you are all so wonderful, and I cannot thank you enough for your continued encouragement. Sorry for the late update; my job sucks the life and inspiration from me.

A huge thanks to my beta, locqua, to whom I am quickly wracking up a pretty substantial eternal debt. Rawr!


Esme's eyes grew wide before she bolted, flying past both of us at full speed and ripping the front door off its hinges in her haste to escape. I turned to Edward, who was now sitting at the piano with his arms crossed, clearly pleased with himself.

A growl emitted unconsciously from deep within my chest as I scowled at my ostensible son. Edward's eyes grew wide in shock—I had never growled at him before, and he was quite unsettled at my requisite act of ferocity. He looked away in shame, staring at the wall to my right.

Honestly, I was just as surprised and ashamed at my unchecked reaction. I was so practiced in the habit of humanity that I had deemed such base, feral instincts to be all but completely suppressed. Regardless, I couldn't find enough warranted desire to rein in my fury as I let my reprimand loose.

"That was entirely out of line, Edward. You know better than I what Esme has been through, and yet you treated her like a common criminal. You may think you know everything because you can read her thoughts, but she has done nothing to deserve your petulant outburst."

I paused, daring him to argue. He kept his eyes averted.

"I am ashamed that you would go so far—to even suggest that you think of me as belonging to you. People are not possessions, Edward, and you know full well that I have never thought of you in that regard. You have no reason, whatsoever, to assume such a thing. Despite that, you have now put us in a very delicate position." Edward's eyes widened marginally as my words sunk in—Esme was far too young to be out on her own; she could very well run into town, drawn by the scent of humans. Being a young vampire himself, prone to the usual weakness, he ought to have known better. "I am extremely disappointed in you."

Edward nodded in understanding, his head hanging down on his chest.

I sighed, feeling my anger ebb slightly at his defeated expression; however, it was at that moment that his eyes flickered to mine, a pompous glint barely concealed beneath his façade of contrition. My temper flared anew.

"I'm going to find her, and you will apologize." I turned to leave the room immediately, unable to remember the last time I was this angry.

Picking up her trail outside, I was able to follow it easily—at least she had retreated into the woods instead of heading towards Ashland.

I ran as quickly as I could, putting five miles behind me before a minute had passed. And then I smelled it—human blood.

Dear God, no!

Her trail led in the same direction of the scent, driving me to push myself harder as I concurrently prayed that I wasn't too late. Breaking through the tree line, I found myself on the main road. Esme had been moving so quickly that she had barely left footprints in the fine sand that bordered the gravel pathway.

I ran another two miles before I came across a horse—still saddled—lying in the middle of the road, still alive, but missing its two forelimbs. I walked up to the thrashing beast, snapping its neck, effectively ending its pain, and threw it easily into the brush on the side of the road. Despair gripped me like a foreboding fetter, freezing me momentarily in my pursuit as I grasped the ramifications of her actions—her fresh trail led back into the woods on the other side, now resting lightly on top of another's: fearful, panicked, unmistakably human—and close.

I broke through my dread, forcing my limbs into action, leaping across the road and into the thick brush. But as soon as my feet touched the ground, I skidded to a halt, my heels digging into the forest floor.

Esme knelt with her back to me, no more than fifty feet from the road, in the process of draining the blood from a man. His eyes were wide in fear and staring straight into mine, pupils dilating as his life was sucked from him.

She stood after finishing, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, then gasped in surprise as she caught my scent. Slowly she turned to face me, her eyes darting between the corpse and my cautiously inert position. Esme reflexively brought her hand up to her mouth as sobs tore from her throat.

"Oh, Carlisle," she wailed, "What have I done?"

Resigned, I relaxed and walked to her, wrapping my arms around her petite frame and rubbing her back soothingly. Our consoling embrace was not so different than it had been ten years ago in Columbus, but I could detect the blood from her shirt soaking through mine as she pressed closer, effectively reminding me that we still needed to destroy the evidence.

My heart went out to Esme, compassion immediately dissolving any chastisement I may have had for her slip. She was only a newborn, after all, and it hadn't exactly been her fault that she left the sanctuary of our home, unsupervised and unchecked. She trembled as I held her, a whimper of an apology escaping with every breath, and I wondered if she feared my reaction to her attack. Slowly, I pulled away with every intention of telling her that I was here to bring her home.

But as her eyes met mine, they were not the dark crimson I was expecting. They were now pitch black and heavy-lidded as she gave me a predatory appraisal. Her lips pulled up, curling back over her teeth in a snarl, as a low, yet undeniably feminine growl began to rise from deep within her chest.

I had little time to react before she pounced, her newborn strength knocking both of us to the ground, the sound of our collision echoing through the hills and forest around us. She quickly moved to straddle me, attempting to pin my arms to the ground as I struggled pointlessly against her. Her teeth began to rip at my shirt as I fought to free myself from her iron grip.

Esme was too strong for me to fight on my own. I was done for.

Edward—son, I need you!

I knew I was beyond the reach of his ability to hear my thoughts, but I called to him nonetheless. As Esme tore away the remaining fragments of my shirt, her fingernails gouging deep lacerations on my chest, my thoughts fought through the pain, turning to Edward—if I ceased to exist, would he be alone for eternity? Would he seek revenge on Esme for her actions? Would he have the strength to continue our lifestyle without my support and guidance?

The sensation of Esme's mouth at my throat dissolved every thought of my son from my mind. Her teeth scraped ruthlessly along my skin, and I shut my eyes tightly, every muscle in my body tensed and taut as I prepared myself for the inevitable beheading.

It never came.

Instead, my eyes snapped open as I felt her tongue licking a path up to my jaw, her hands caressing my chest and arms at a slow, deliberate pace, fingers tracing the already-healing cuts and scratches. I barely had time to consider her actions before her mouth was on mine, her soft lips nipping and stroking, begging mine to part. It was at that moment I realized that I had entirely misinterpreted her actions—

She was—kissing me?

For the first time in my long existence, my mind shut down, coherent thoughts refusing to form as she let out a strangled sound—did she just moan? My jaw unlocked beneath a feather-light touch of her fingers, her lips pressing harder as mine parted; my mind raced to keep up with her movements as her hands were everywhere at once, yet the rest of my body remained frozen. As my gaze wandered, fixed on the canopy above and focused on the dappling of blue sky beyond the softly swaying leaves, I was finally able to form a thought—was I in shock?

Esme's mouth had finally left mine, trailing down my neck to my shoulders and chest, leaving a thin layer of venom on nearly every inch of my skin. The combination of the moisture and soft breeze caused me to shiver, the pleasant, warm feeling spreading throughout me again, as it had during her transformation—only this time, it was much more intense, bringing a bit of fear with its unfamiliarity. I tried to ignore the sensation, willing my lungs to function once more, successfully sucking in a breath to speak some reason into the frantic newborn.

"Esme, I—" She cut me off as she slipped her tongue easily into my open mouth, moving it at a blinding speed—licking, sucking, and caressing my own. Her hands found their way from my shoulders to my hair, as she wove her fingers through it, roughly gripping and massaging while continuing her attack on my mouth. My head rose off the ground as she brutally pulled me upwards to effectively deepen her kiss, causing me to wince and groan at the sharp pain. She seemed to take my reactions as encouragement—she relaxed her legs, dropped her lower body and ground her hips roughly into mine.

I gasped in agony and Esme ended the kiss, raising herself up slightly. Her darkened eyes stared into mine as she rocked against me, throwing her head back and increasing her movements. My mind was a tangled web of indecision—if I acted quickly, I might catch her off-guard. Newborns were strong, yes, but inexperienced; if I didn't let her pin me again, I might have a fighting chance.

But did I want to fight her? Apart from the brutality of her actions, unknowingly caused by her unrealized strength, my body was responding to her, something that hadn't happened to me in over a century. A small part of me, long suppressed and all but forgotten, was enjoying her touch; the larger part, practiced and perfected over centuries of study, screamed for rational thought and action.

I had just begun to deliberate my course when I felt Esme's unrelenting fingers beneath the waistband of my trousers, causing my hands to unthinkingly grab her wrists in an effort to stop her. An over-zealous nurse had once tried the very same thing, but I feared this scenario would have a very different outcome—she was unyielding and immovable. Esme's eyes were locked on her hands, half-hidden beneath the heavy cotton, her fingertips just lightly stroking—

"Esme, no!" I finally managed to growl out, my jaw clenched in anxiety, grasping her wrists as tightly as I could, and struggling, ineffectually, to dislodge her hands. Her eyes flitted to mine for only a brief second before a sly smirk gradually spread across her face. Bringing her head down, she skimmed her nose along my jaw , inhaling deeply her lips traced up to my ear.

"Yes, Carlisle," she purred. With that, she tore her arms loose from my grasp and plunged them down the front of my pants, grabbing me fully and squeezing forcefully.

I snarled in immediate agony, somehow managing to throw her into a nearby tree, effectively breaking the good-sized pine in half. Crouching low, I found myself completely winded as the pain exploded, all sensation gone but for the sharp, stabbing agony between my legs, which was currently gnawing at the pit of my stomach as well. My head snapped in her direction, my instincts instantly seeking out the cause of my distress. She stood with her back to me, dazed, head wobbling on her neck a bit before she quickly regained her bearings.

Sensing my foreboding stare, she whipped around, and I hobbled backwards, still trying to maintain a self-protective crouch despite the hindering throb that dictated my slow pace. I couldn't think of anything but the pain, however, my defensive instincts gradually took over as she started walking toward me again, her expression now one of confusion and guilt.

"Carlisle, I'm so sor—" she began, but never finished. From nowhere, a blur of blue and bronze collided with her small frame, and my mind struggled to make sense of the hisses, snarls, and then the thunderous crack of marble bodies colliding. A familiar scent finally snapped me from my haze—Edward.

The two vampires were barely distinguishable, a tangle of limbs and brown hair, Esme's strength equaling Edward's ability to read her next moves. They paused only a few minutes after the fight began, crouched not ten feet apart, snarling at one another, seemingly at an impasse. I reacted instantly, leaping to stand between the two with my hands raised.

"That's enough, both of you," I commanded, wincing a bit as the pain worsened briefly with my quick motion. My reaction didn't escape Edward's notice, his eyes darting to the source of my discomfort before his face tightened in concern.

I'm all right Edward. He relaxed a bit, yet still gave Esme a scrutinizing glance as she, in turn, moved to stand more at ease. Finally bringing my hands down as the tension began to diffuse, I summarized my explanation silently to Edward as best I could, focusing on leaving out the majority of the details of our brief encounter.

She slipped when she came across a man riding on the road, which is completely understandable for a newborn. But her unexpected…assault was a bit unnerving. I am glad you came. She was a bit…too much for me to handle alone.

His eyes remained on Esme as he answered, "I know. I heard," he sneered.

"What did you hear, Edward?" Esme cocked her head slightly as she spoke, her eyes darting between the two of us, narrowing in suspicion.

Son, I think it would be best if we discussed this aloud.

He nodded almost imperceptibly, walking closer and standing with his right side in front of me. The movement was reminiscent of his earlier, territorial standoff with Esme, and I moved a few inches away from him in objection. Edward didn't look at me, but my silent statement seemed to deflate him a bit, his shoulders sinking a fraction of an inch.

Esme sighed loudly, the sound bringing my attention from Edward. Why was it so difficult to focus on both of them at the same time?

She stood with her arms crossed beneath her chest, her clothing still soaked with human and animal blood, making her breasts visible through the thin, wet fabric. Edward growled lightly, and, thinking he was upset by my unintentional observation, I averted my gaze, looking straight into her bright, red eyes. Her brows were drawn together as she started to speak.

"I'm not sure an apology will suffice, but it's all I have. I…really don't know what else to say." Her eyes were downcast and she stood as stone, the deception of human movement still unnecessary in these early hours of her new life.

Edward snorted. "Say what you mean," he snapped. "You're only sorry that you killed someone."

I stepped in front of him, standing sideways, again directly between the two of them as the tension grew, deciding to mediate.

"That's enough, Edward. You may not agree with everything Esme has to say, but you will address her with the same respect you afford me." My voice was stern, even to my own ears, and I expected Edward's remorseful, sheepish gaze. I was, however, entirely unprepared for Esme's reaction.

"No, Carlisle," she said resolutely, "he's right."

I automatically turned toward her upon hearing the bold resignation in her voice, my back now to Edward. She stood to her full height, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she looked at the young man standing stiffly behind me.

"But," she continued, "what's the point of voicing my thoughts if Edward will do it for me?"

I gasped, her statement drawing a low growl from Edward. Had our unspoken conversations been so obvious? Whereas Edward looked irate, Esme seemed calm and self-satisfied in their stare down, neither one blinking or moving. I was still shaken from before, the lingering symptoms of her assault adding to my apprehension with the situation, and I felt as though I might be ill.

Edward was the first to speak. "Well, since that's out in the open," he cast a quick glance at me before returning his unblinking glare to Esme, his expression darkly amused, "I'd like to tell you exactly what I think of your pathetic hopes and dreams—"

"No." Esme cut him off with a menacing word and look before I had enough time to open my mouth to utter a similar sentiment. I was growing weary of Edward's blatant, unwarranted animosity; whatever his problem was, he needed to deal with it, not take it out on the spirited woman currently beginning her own tirade. I considered interrupting and taking charge of the situation, but stayed silent, now curious as to what Esme had to say.

"For years I followed my parents' advice, allowing the man I loved to hurt me, silently praying that if I took the anger from him, it wouldn't return." She took in a shaky breath, her hands balled into fists at her sides. "But no more, Edward. No more. I realize you dislike me—"

"Hate you," Edward interrupted. I resisted the urge to hiss at him, finding myself feeling an influx of sympathy as I regarded the pained expression on Esme's face.

"I realize you…hate me for loving Carlisle," she glanced at me softly, and I blinked in surprise, quickly looking at Edward to gauge his reaction. He was utterly still. "But we both know that's not the issue."

There was a pause as the two studied each other, stone-faced, nothing in either of their expressions to give away the purpose of the silence.

Edward finally quirked an eyebrow, cocking his head. "What does your dead child have to do with this?"

"You're not the only one who lost someone you loved dearly," Esme countered immediately, taking a few slow steps forward. Edward stood his ground, his countenance hardening by the second.

"You think you know me because Carlisle told you how I was changed?" Edward swallowed thickly, his voice dangerously low. I could tell that he was holding himself back.

Suddenly,I realized that Esme was at my side, and I tensed instinctually, though I was also quite surprised at how comfortable I felt with her close proximity. She made no move to touch me—not even sparing a glance in my direction as she remained intensely focused on Edward. I felt a bit lost in the conversation, as though the pair had forgotten my presence, neither one acknowledging me.

Her voice rose slightly. "I wouldn't dare assume to know you, Edward—as you seem so entirely opposed to the idea of letting me try. But that's not my point."

"Make it, then!" He took a few steps forward, his gaze shifting to me briefly, anxiously. What was he afraid of?

I glanced quickly at Esme, shocked to find her eyes on me as well. I was apparently not entirely forgotten, their sudden scrutiny a bit unnerving. Though I knew it was impossible, I felt as though I was missing something. Esme looked to Edward again, raising her chin a few inches.

"As I said, you are not the only one who lost someone. But you are the only one who won't let yourself hope that you might find them again."

Edward's upper lip twitched as he fought back a sneer, but he remained stoic. Esme continued to speak.

"You may hate me for my dreams, Edward, but I know you must have your own—and I would never dare ridicule them." She looked away, her prior confidence seeming to fade as her words hung heavily in the air.

"Yes," Edward spoke suddenly, "you're right."

"Right about what?" I demanded. I looked between Edward and Esme, tired of being lost in the middle of their debate, and determined not to be ignored any longer. They seemed to be waiting for the other to answer, neither one moving.

"She thinks it would be best if she left," Edward answered at last. My heart instantly sank—she wouldn't leave because of Edward, would she?

I looked to Esme quickly, but she spoke before I had the chance to comment.

"I can see that I have somewhat intruded on your…family," she said, her voice sorrowful as she looked up at me. "Perhaps it would be better if I sought company elsewhere…if you want me to."

I was taken aback. Of course I didn't want her to leave—I had created her, and she would not suffer solitude for my selfish actions. But was that the real reason behind my wanting her to stay?

No, something deep within me answered. Why were my motivations with Esme so clouded?

"It's your choice, Carlisle." Edward's voice was sharp, cutting through my reflections, the anger in his voice palpable. I was confused at his query. My choice?

"Who you want to stay—I will not live within a fifty mile radius of that." He gestured to Esme, who shifted an inch closer to me at his cruel statement.

I was shocked at his ultimatum. Edward, son—

"Don't call me that," he seethed, his face blank but for the inky hue of his narrowed eyes.

I felt as though he had slapped me, the pain from my earlier injury seeming insignificant compared to those four spiteful words. His unreadable expression didn't change, even as I allowed him to see how deeply his words had hurt me. Looking to Esme, I took in her blood-covered form, face drawn in anxiety, eyes hopeful.

I sighed, looking at the forest floor and running a hand through my hair in frustration. "Edward, you know I won't make that choice."

I heard him stiffen, and Esme shifted subtly closer to me, the torn sleeve of her shirt brushing my arm, and I found myself actually welcoming the contact.

"Well then," Edward replied curtly, "I think you just did."

And with that, he turned and ran in the direction of home, leaving us stunned in his wake.

My mind was reeling at the thought of him leaving me again. There had hardly been a day in the past three years when we had been apart—could I bear his absence? If he left, would he ever return?

The feel of Esme's warm hand on my arm brought me from my panic, but I could still think of only one thing as I looked into her worried scarlet eyes.

What had I done?