Everything Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Everything Phantom of the Opera belongs to Andrew Lloyd Weber, Charles Hart and Gaston Leroux.
Thanks to antiaol, bmango and hunterhunting for their help, commas and kind words, and eternal gratitude to JAustenLover and Durameter for their generous donation to FGB:Eclipse.
Chapter 9: Stranger Than You Dream It
Bella Swan is ash. There can be nothing left of her, not with the way her every cell and fiber is burning. For hours - weeks - years, she burns. Incapable of remembering anything before the all-consuming flame, she wonders if the life she'd known had all been a mirage, a strange oasis in the desert of suffering to which she is now confined.
She wonders if there ever was a Bella Swan. A Mike Newton or a Matthew Clay.
An Edward Masen.
And it is at that thought that she screams.
"I'm here. I'm here." Dim, musical words pierce the red veil of fire, and she lunges for them, desperate for any solace but fearing that there is none.
That for all of eternity there will only be flame.
But then, there is stone.
And she clings to it.
Finally finding something with which to anchor herself, Bella tries to reach beyond the agony of her own dying, burning flesh, but finds she has barely enough strength to hold on. Her eyes refuse to open, the lids fused from the heat, and in her nose and mouth there is only ash and the acrid scent of the flame.
Yet still, there is also more.
There are voices and soft notes that she is sure she knows. There is warmth beneath her hands, shoulders that are firm within her grip and the sweetest kisses from perfect, full lips.
There is sweetness.
She knows that sweetness.
"Edward," she breathes, whimpering. Clinging.
"I'm here."
And that knowledge alone will have to sustain her.
…
Bella's first sign that something has changed is the delicious coolness of a lack of pain. For the first time since she made love with Edward, she feels something good spread through her body, the flames flickering, and she can only imagine that there is nothing left of her for them to consume.
So slowly, she becomes aware of the hard yet pliable nature of the flesh beneath her fingertips, the exact cadence of the soft melody playing soothingly in her ears.
She knows that melody.
She knows it.
At just the moment when she thinks she might grasp it, though, the inferno finally reaches its final, terrifying peak, the entirety of her attention claimed by the desperate flame inside her heart. Each beat is a struggle, and they are coming so quickly now. Too quickly.
On some level, she knows that she is dying.
But there are words.
Just beyond her consciousness she can hear them.
There is more than one way to die.
"Oh!" she gasps, and somehow she knows it is the very last gasp of her short, quiet life.
With her final exhale, she feels the tremulous, racing thudding of her heart pause. It beats again, the fire so hot she cannot imagine anything surviving it.
And then it beats no more.
And she has survived.
"Bella?"
Soft, warm fingers brush across her face, and she can now feel the whole length of her body pressed against another, her torso held in arms that are strong but which mold to her frame.
"Bella? Are you alright, love?" The voice is so beautiful it almost hurts her silent, still heart, and yet it is also so pained. She hears in it a rich multitude of tones and hues, restraint and grief.
And fear. There is fear there, too.
"Please, Bella. Please."
Finally, with more ease than she would have imagined just a few short moments earlier, Bella opens her eyes.
And as she does, she remembers ash. She remembers burning.
But she knows that she has never burned this way before.
Not when she saw him for the first time with human eyes. Not when she touched his naked flesh. Not when they sang.
Those experiences all pale in comparison - those previous emotions all coalescing into one brilliant, shimmering feeling so powerful she doesn't know how her body can stand its force.
Because in this moment, Bella Swan knows that she has never, ever felt so much love.
"Edward," she gasps. Her eyes, while open, are hot and dry, scorched with venomous tears she cannot shed, and yet she blinks them all the same, too stunned by the beauty of the man before her to believe it. In one rough gasp, she draws in the air she needs to speak, feeling a scorching pain tear through her throat, but she does not care.
She wants to kill. To find something hot and sweet to slake her thirst.
But she wants him more.
"Edward," she moans again, and then she is upon him, her body suddenly moving through air to lie atop his, and there is only the warm relief of what she will later come to recall as her first immortal kiss.
She cannot get enough of his kiss.
Talking more quickly than she had ever known she could, she is a rush of words, a desire to know and to be known flooding her, love replacing every molecule of fire, and she is not ash.
She is a living, brilliant creature, born of love.
Made to love.
Made to love him.
"I was so scared," she breathes. "I was lost. Fire." And then, "I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you."
"Bella," he gasps, and she can feel his hands surround her wrists, stopping her.
Rejection is hot in her lungs, and she is about to spring back. To run. To flee.
But then his hands are on her face, the soft, full mouth that she was reborn solely to kiss spreading into the widest, most spectacular smile.
"Oh, Bella," he murmurs, lifting his neck to press his smiling, beautiful lips to hers. "Bella, I love you." There are more kisses, more soft touches of his hands on her shimmering skin. And then, "Forever," and, "I get to keep you. Forever and ever and ever."
…
"You don't have to breathe," Edward pants when she tries to pull away, pressing her body down into the bed and attacking her lips with a level of daring he has never approached before. "Not any more."
For hours now, they have been talking and kissing, feeling and moving, each coming to better know who and what Bella is now. The word 'vampire' has finally passed through Edward's soft, full lips, confirming what Bella knew without knowing it. He has spoken of venom and blood and of death - of her death.
She is dead.
But she has never felt more alive.
The feeling of his hand on her shoulder, pushing her down against the mattress, awakens instincts inside of Bella. Before she knows what she is doing, she is pushing back, flipping them and drawing out a moan from Edward's throat that is tortured and yet lustful.
"What else don't I have to do anymore?" she grunts, pinning him with her hips and feeling his desire flare harder beneath her. In all their talking, they have approached this sort of intimacy repeatedly, but each time they have lapsed back into conversation and explanation. So many explanations. Only now, she does not know how much more she can take, the new, low burn inside of her crying out for contact. The shock of pleasure rushing through her body takes her by surprise as she leans into him more fully, the intensity of the pressure against her sex overwhelming. The air blooms with a scent that is earthy and wild, and she watches, rapt, as Edward's nostrils flare, his body rolling hers once more to the side as he thrusts against her, gently at first and then more roughly as the most lustful noises escape his throat.
"Stop," he groans against her throat. "You don't have to ever, ever stop."
As if she could.
Desperate to feel him closer, wanting skin and flesh and sex in a way she has never known before, she wraps her hand around his neck until he grunts in pain and begs for more. "You're really real," he says, his voice broken, his fingers denting her skin but failing to tear it as he holds her so tightly. "My Bella. My mate."
The final word he says with such reverence, such finally fulfilled longing. It makes something inside of her ache, emotions too vivid and bright in the newness of everything.
"Is that what this is?" she breathes. "Is that why this feels … " She cannot continue, too desperate to be kissing him again, her hands frantic at his clothes, needing his body the way she used to need air.
"Like too much? And never enough?" he chokes out in response, his breath faltering as she rips his pants.
And his erection is no longer cold against her skin.
Tearing at her own clothes, Bella tries to find words for how it feels to need the way she does. "Like I could break you. Like my hands want inside your skin."
Edward winces hard at the word 'break,' his whole body going rigid. She is surprised by the sudden change and rolls him over without meaning to when the resistance in his arms evaporates.
"What - Edward - "
His hands are suddenly tender on her skin.
"I thought I broke you," he gasps, his amber eyes closing and his throat bobbing. "I thought - "
Her memories from before the fire are hazy, but there are impressions there. Images of his hands in fists and his pleasure restrained inside muscles coiled so tightly against any sort of satisfaction.
Memories of pain. Of dying.
But then of strong arms. Of her lover saving her.
"Never," she whispers against his ear.
His arms move so quickly to surround her, clasping her to his naked chest. "I can't ever hurt you again."
Her lips glide more slowly now but with no less intensity across his skin. "Just love me," she says. "Just let me - "
"Anything. Anything."
The need that has propelled them into this swirling sea of longing and touch swells higher. Wrestling and kissing and loving, two vampires learn their bodies together - one as a new creature, unsure of every move; the other as ancient, weathered stone that has somehow come to life again.
She whispers, "Harder," and he answers.
She digs too deeply, and he begs her to break him. To take him.
As it builds, the passion between them grows too great, and soon they are a tangled mess of naked limbs, frantic on the floor. With strength she still doesn't know to contain, Bella pushes to roll atop him, his body poised finally, finally to enter her, when her hand strikes the ground beside his bed, snapping a floorboard and sending a tremor through the room.
Behind them, there is a crash, and Bella instinctively whips around, but she is caught short by Edward's laugh and by the solid pressure of his hand on her cheek.
"Don't worry, love," he says, smiling again. And then, in the same motion that he pulls her body down to surround his needy flesh, he breathes, "Esme won't mind."
Bella's mind is too consumed, her body too warm and lustful and full to question.
She cannot question.
She can only feel.
"Never," she groans, lifting her hips to slam down onto him once more, making another set of floorboards crack. She has had sex and she has fucked and once - one time - she even made love.
But it has never, ever been like this.
"I know," Edward says, an answer to what she cannot say. From below her, he moves increasingly freely, his hips coming up to meet hers as he slides achingly from deep within her to hold, just barely consumed with his tip at her entrance, until it is too unbearable to be separated by even that much.
"Is this how it always is? For your kind?"
"For our kind," he corrects as he topples them once more, his knees bending until he kneels with her thighs atop his legs, and she feels so open . "For mates. For forever."
"Yes," she breathes, pulling him harder and deeper until she can truly take no more.
In an undulating, infinite wave of pleasure that makes any distant memories of sex seem like another act altogether, Bella's new, stone body shatters, her mouth and hands digging deeply into Edward's flesh until he, too, is crying out in release, pulsing within her for long enough that she wonders if they have ascended. If this solid world has liquified into their bodies' sacred kiss.
She doesn't care.
If they have, she will take it.
And she will hold onto it with everything she has.
Forever.
…
Bella loses track of how many times they make love or of how much time has gone by. They move fluidly, sinuously, as if they have been lovers all their lives, and she laughs the moment she realizes that, at least on some level, for her, that is true.
Finally, at a point when her human body would have long since succumbed to sleep or some other, milder form of physical exhaustion, she begins to feel the aching need for his body abate. It does not fully disappear, but there is now room for other sensations beneath the haze of desire.
Sensations like the burning in her throat.
She lifts her hand to touch the very center of the flame at just the moment Edward moves to take the tip of her breast between his teeth. A little grunt of discomfort passes through her lungs, immediately drawing his attention, a flash of understanding passing quickly through golden eyes. Slowly, he releases her flesh and kisses his way up her body, pressing his lips to the back of her palm before removing it to lick softly at the hollow of her throat.
"You haven't fed," he murmurs.
She shakes her head. "I'm not hungry, just - "
"Thirsty," he supplies. Continuing upward, he kisses all along her neck, almost as if in apology, sighing when he reaches her lips. "I've neglected you." There is no guilt to the statement, simply stated as it is. "Too busy ravaging you."
"No argument here," she gasps, reaching to close her hand around him once more.
His nose rubs hers as he shakes his head and laughs. "After," he breathes.
Across the room, there is a buzzing noise and a beep, and Bella twists too quickly to try to find the source. Edward chuckles and gives her one last kiss before rising and striding naked across the room, seeming more comfortable with his own nudity than he ever has before. Pressing a few buttons on the phone he finds atop the one dresser that's still standing, he smiles and rakes his fingers through his hair before returning to the side of the bed to offer Bella his hand.
"Come," he says, helping her up. Though her legs, by all rights, should be jello, she finds them to be stable and strong, her knees only shaking slightly at the hungry look on her lover's face. He checks himself quickly after allowing but a moment to look her up and down. "Tragedy though it is, we should get you dressed."
"Why on earth would we do that?" Bella asks, pulling his mouth back down to hers.
But she knows.
She can tell in the way that the words tear and burn.
Edward kisses her back with fervor before pulling back breathlessly and shooting her a knowing smirk. "Because, love. Were I not already dead, I'd be dying to watch you hunt."
…
"Again?" Bella groans, but her hand is already coming up to wipe the blood from her lover's lips as he descends to her body, licking up what she has spilled. The original clothes that they had borrowed have been left in tatters elsewhere in the forest, discarded in haste after her first kill. Edward had attacked her with as much vigor as he had the other elk, slamming her against a tree that shuddered despite its size. Sucking red, hot life from each others' lips, they'd made love almost violently, blood flowing through crystalline veins, fueling a lust even more powerful than the one they had acted on just hours before.
The actual act of drinking blood had come more naturally to Bella than she would ever have imagined, and as Edward slides down her crimson-spattered body, she can feel the raw power now coiling so tightly in her arms and legs. Too enthusiastically, she reaches for him. It is not the first time she has heard the low crack of stone skin giving beneath her fingers, but it is still almost as painful for her as she imagines it must be for him.
"Sorry," she says, but he will have none of her efforts to withdraw her hands from his skin.
"Touch me," he begs before pressing his mouth to hers. "I'm fine."
"Don't want to hurt you."
"You can't. Touch me."
At the feeling of his arousal dragging, hard and heavy against her thigh, she loses the battle for restraint, rolling him to his back and mimicking his previous actions, licking the few stray drops of blood from his chin and chest, a fire blooming across her throat and through her sex. "How did you do this?" she murmurs. "When I was made of blood."
"By doing a lot of this." He gestures at the forest and at the fresh kills, drained and lying lifeless on the ground.
"When you could hurt me..." she whispers, caressing the closing crack at his shoulder.
With the utmost care, he slides his hands in whisper-soft motions across her chest, staring up at her with so much tenderness it makes her ache. "By touching like this." For another minute, he ghosts fingertips over sensitive flesh with reverence, but then he pauses, smiling brilliantly. "When really I wanted to touch like this." Finally, his hands catch her hips and bring them back up to his, pulling her down onto him in one swift stroke, filling her and making her cry out.
She bites down on his neck, pulling a rough, desirous grunt from him as she lets him guide her motions up and down, wet sliding and hard flesh and the ground tearing beneath them.
As she begins to circle higher and higher, she lets the question that has been at the back of her mind all day slip through.
"Would you change it?" she whispers quietly against his ear.
"Oh," he moans as she takes him in again, his unnecessary breaths growing ragged. "Changing you?"
"Yes."
"Only the how," he murmurs, gasping with pleasure, his back arching. "I would have asked you."
The heat coiling in her belly is becoming unbearable, and with her last breath, she groans, "I would have said yes."
His kiss feels bruising even to her immutable lips as he pulls her against him, thrusting hard before each calls out the other's name, her body clenching, and she can feel him spilling, warm and fluid inside her.
And she wouldn't change a thing.
Not a single thing.
…
The sun is rising by the time the two have sated their twin lusts. Water dripping from glistening skin, they bathe and kiss and love in a lake, finally pulling apart to step out into the sunlight. The warmth of the brilliant golden light has never felt so intense before, and Bella basks in it, closing her eyes and letting it wash over her.
Only Edward's quiet sigh of contentment brings her back to attention, and for the first time, she stares at his naked body in the light. She gasps to find the same brilliant gleam radiating from his body as from hers, his entire person eclipsed by such radiance that she can scarcely breathe.
"How?" she whispers, stepping forward just enough to be able to place her hand over his silent heart.
"How what?"
"How did you ever think you were a monster?"
His eyes darken slightly, and he gives a pained smile as he looks away. In their conversations, he has already spoken of his years spent wandering, seeking satisfaction in murder and finding only pain. Bella knows the names of the shadows in his eyes, but she still does not understand.
"If I did that - if I tasted human blood - would you think the same of me?"
His brow crinkles in confusion. "I don't - "
"Would you think I was a monster?"
"I can't - I can't even imagine."
She slides her hand over his brilliant, beautiful skin to hold his neck, pulling him down into a soft kiss before staring into his eyes. "Neither can I, love." Their lips meet again. "Neither can I."
…
Some time later, clean and dry, they make their way back through the forest to the place where they first shed their clothes. At the base of a tree, Edward locates the small bag he'd carried with them as they'd left, smiling softly as he retrieves fresh garments for them to wear. Bella glances at him suspiciously, warmth blooming inside her chest at the sight of his sly, shy happiness.
"Alice," he offers by way of explanation as he draws fabric up her satiated limbs, pausing just for a moment to press a kiss to the top of her sex before finishing the strangely intimate act of dressing her. She returns the favor in a similar fashion, darting her eyes up to his burning ones as she presses her lips to the persistent stiffness of his erection, but his hand beneath her chin pulls her back up to her feet before she can taste him.
Hand in hand, they slowly make their way back to the house, and as they do, she asks him to tell her everything. About Alice. About everyone. In his careful words about a strange, pale woman with eyes full of futures and visions, Bella can hear his restraint. She does not understand it until he continues on, explaining about Alice's empathic mate.
About his own gifts.
His never-silent mind and the twisted web of thoughts that forces him to see everyone too plainly. Everyone but her.
"Are all vampires … gifted?" she asks, her mouth dry.
The question is there, but she does not give voice to it.
Not yet.
"Not all," Edward answers thoughtfully.
"Am I?"
He pauses, pulling her to him and stroking her hair. "We think so."
"You think?"
His eyes drift closed, and he takes in a handful of unnecessary breaths. There is something pained to his voice as he describes the edges of static he has seen in others' minds. The way her own solid, obvious body seemed to flicker throughout her change.
"But you see me?" The question is so quiet, just a thin movement of air through parted lips.
"Always," he breathes as he kisses her softly, staring into her eyes with a tenderness that still speaks to the silent pieces of her heart that had always ached for that kind of care. "But we won't know about everyone else until … until they see you."
"Or until they don't." The words hurt. They actually, physically hurt.
Bending to press his lips to her forehead, Edward grasps her and holds her tightly to his chest. And if she ever doubted that he was being truthful, the pained tremor to his throat dispels that fear. "Or until they don't," he echoes, swallowing hard, as if he needs to pause to find the strength to speak again. "But regardless, I promise we'll find a way."
For a little while longer, they hold each other, letting their fears be heard and soothed through the ghosting motions of hands and lips and through quiet, murmured words.
"Come," he finally says, kissing her one last time. "Let's get you home."
At the word 'home,' Bella feels something in her chest shift. For a moment, she thinks of the tiny apartment she inhabited before setting out on the road. Of the cold house she shared with her father. Of her mother's sunny rooms where Bella was always in the way.
There is a tiny shiver that shoots up from the base of her spine, thinking of the family she drifted away from so many years ago - some sliver of regret that she can't quite grasp or name.
Not with Edward so close.
He trails his fingers down her arm, and her mind snaps instantly from lonely rooms in sad houses to warmer ones full of laughter, to all the sterile, generic hotel rooms in which, quietly - too quietly for even her own beating heart to really process - she had fallen in love.
And then she thinks of a place. A single, steady place to call their own. And it makes her eyes burn.
"Home," she repeats, brushing a hand across her face, her eyes trained down.
Edward hesitates, but then just squeezes her hand.
There are no more words that need to be said.
