AN: Thanks for everyone's great reviews on ch 9! I wish I could respond to all of them, but I just don't have the time. If you have a specific question and/or issue, please feel free to PM me, and I do try to respond to those. For anyone who is interested in reading my secondary Cullen blog article, I have a link on my profile.

Thanks to Trinity, who is a fantastic beta, and to Rach, who nominated Eve for an Indie!

Esme

In the moment after Edward's revelation, I found that I missed the steady, comfortable thrumming of my heart. As a human, you could count on the beat of your heart to steady you, to belie you in times such as these. A regular beating heart, stopped so easy, so effortlessly, was something that I found I missed. Not just the attached humanity, but the actual lulling sound. If I had been human at this very second, I would have tried to push past the massive lump in my throat by simply counting my heart's beats. But I couldn't because while my heart still existed inside my chest, it had been stilled forever.

I waited, knowing that the thought of my stilled heart would bring a sudden crashing hatred of Dr. Carlisle Cullen, my creator. And even though I felt agony and anguish at the memories that Edward's words had resurrected, there was no anger.

Instead, I felt merely resigned and I stood, absolutely still, as the memories unearthed by Edward's words crashed over me.

Edward watched me, waiting I was sure, for the moment when I'd lose control. He was waiting for the second his revelation hit home and I knew why I had thrown my human life away like it was paltry and meaningless.

Looking back with much more objectivity than I'd ever thought possible, I could now see why I'd felt the emptiness of my existence. The desolation I'd felt following my son's death had been acute and I had been so incredibly sure that I would never experience love again. Riding a high of decisiveness, I'd thrown myself off the cliff without any idea of what I was throwing away.

In a way, this life I'd been forced into by Carlisle's action was a form of retribution for my belief that my existence had held no worth.

The intensity of my grief for my son dulled, I now understood that I could have picked myself up and life could have been good again. And now there would never be an opportunity to do so.

I looked at Edward, who still watched me with wary eyes. "It's fine," I said to him with resignation, "I knew it had been something horrible. But it helps to know."

Edward looked rather dubious at this admission and I gave him a tiny rueful smile. "Perhaps nothing 'helps,' but I appreciate you telling me. It couldn't have been an easy decision."

His tense facial features relaxed, and just before he took the step forward towards me, I felt that sudden bizarre rush of fear, but this time I understood it.

My husband had not been a very nice man. I had left him, finally, when I'd found myself pregnant because I hadn't been able to bear the thought of exposing a child of mine to his murderous rages.

Edward hesitated right before his arms clasped around me. I desperately wanted Edward's comfort but I couldn't help the fear. It was ingrained in me, as much a part of me as my hair or my eyes or my skin. No doubt hearing the warring emotions in my head, Edward dropped his arms and stepped backwards, his eyes never leaving mine.

I had spent years hating my husband, but I had never hated him more than in this moment. This sweet boy wanted to give me comforting love and reassurance, and because of him I was unable to accept.

"Esme," a deeper voice said, and I turned, surprised to see Carlisle walking into the clearing, a look of relief on his face. It was then I knew that he had not gone far. He had stayed, out of sight, to make sure that my conversation with Edward went well. To support Edward, I supposed, as he resisted giving me the information on my history.

I stepped away from Edward and turned towards Carlisle's approaching form. "Don't be angry at him," I pleaded, worried that Carlisle had charged Edward with not telling me any of my missing memories, but he just looked at me thoughtfully, his closed expression preventing me from understanding what he was thinking.

"You're not angry, then?" I ventured again, when he stayed silent.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he spoke. "I suggested to Edward that we not tell you what you were missing, Esme, but it was Edward's decision, ultimately. I trusted him to make the right choice, and he has. I was wrong to ask him not to tell, and I apologize."

Of everything I was expecting from Carlisle, an apology was not even near the top of the list. "I understand," I said, not until that moment realizing that I did understand. I'd been suffering acutely before my death, and I had struggled with coming to terms with the vampire I had become. Carlisle and Edward had wished to spare me more of the same. They had acted with my best interests at heart.

In that moment, I was struck the realization that I had thrown my life away because of the certainty I'd felt that love was forever out of reach. But as I glanced from Edward to Carlisle, I knew that I had found it again. I had lost one family, only to gain another.

"Of course we love you, Esme," Edward said, kindly. "We want you to stay with us."

I tried to pretend that Carlisle was not standing there, silent as a tomb. Just a few days ago, he had been desperate to me to remain with him and Edward. Had he changed his mind?

Carlisle

It had been very easy to guess what Esme was so desperate to talk to Edward about, and I had waited out of sight, ready for any possible outcome. I was even prepared to stop her by force if need be. But what had transpired instead had shocked me to my core.

Esme was not angry. She was sad, still, at the loss of her son, and I knew that it would likely be a sorrow she carried with her forever, but she was not hateful or upset. I had seen Edward's embrace and how he had been forced to step away, and instead of Esme, it was me who felt the sudden surge of irrational anger seeping through me.

I had ordered Edward to stay away from her husband, but I was beginning to wonder I would have the same self-control to do so myself. Edward was, for all intents and purposes, Esme's son, and for her to have to turn him away from a comforting embrace because she was too afraid to let him touch her was abhorrent to me.

I struggled with the knowledge that I would have to kill him as Edward told Esme how much he would like her to stay with us, and it was only until her eyes shifted to me that I realized she was waiting for me to echo Edward's sentiments.

It was impossible for me to understand how Esme could not know how I felt about her. She was an angel—avenging at some points, perhaps, but her anger was justified, and I knew with an unshakeable belief, that Esme was truly one the kindest, truest creatures I had ever met in my long life. I would do anything to make her mine, though I had long accepted that she would never feel similarly about me. I would love nothing more than to keep her with me for eternity, even as just a friend and companion.

And so I told her, because with Esme, nothing but honesty could exist in the face of those unflinching, glowing amber eyes. Her beauty was absolute, but it was the soul shining through the exquisiteness lines of her face that I most loved. "Esme, it would be an honor for you to stay with me and Edward and become a Cullen."

Her answering smile was warm and she reached toward me with one arm, her fingers outstretched toward me, and I gave her a questioning look. She knew she could not touch me without fear. What was the dear girl trying to do?

But instead of pulling back, she smiled again, more encouragingly, and said, "Please. I want to try."

"You will learn to move past the fear, I promise, Esme. I swear that Edward and I will work with you until it is merely a shadow."

"Until it is gone," she corrected me sadly. "I don't ever want to feel it again."

I would do anything to take away the sadness in her voice, but I knew it was impossible, even for someone as strong and fast as a vampire. I could only do what I could to avenge her husband's actions.

"Please," she said again, stronger this time. "Please. I hate this weakness inside me."

Of course I was helpless in the face of her determination. Slowly, I reached my hand towards hers, and the tips of our fingers brushed. Esme's face was a study in concentration as she let her fingers intermingle with mine until finally, she pulled away. I tried to stem my disappointment. Touching Esme was everything I had ever wondered it would be, but I had to remind myself that she might be a friend, and only that. It was my responsibility to keep my feelings for her in check so that we could conquer her fear together.

I spent the next several days buried in my study, absorbed in the two tasks that I associated with Esme. First, the antique shops I had frequented in the past had begun to send in sketches and descriptions of available furnishings they had for purchase. I was compiling a list for Esme so she could select what she liked best. Now that she had finally agreed to stay and be part of my family, I wanted her to feel at home and comfortable in her living quarters.

The second task was much more delicate. I had a private investigator on retainer, and I had asked him to make inquiries about Esme's husband.

My man had found the husband still very much alive and living with another young woman, who was masquerading as his new wife. As far as I could tell, he had not been informed of Esme's death and so could not properly offer marriage to his new paramour.

Not that he would, I thought with disgust. Charles Evenson was more of a monster than I could ever be, and his heart was still beating strong and true in his chest. In reality, I found it horribly unfair that such a man could have a soul, and I could not. I was by no means a saint, but Esme's husband was truly evil and had no obvious qualms about his behavior.

I'd had to be extremely careful in my thoughts while Edward was around so that he would be unaware of the action I had decided to take. Edward would insist on accompanying me and he was still a newborn and too young for this particular task. He had excellent self-control, but he could still not be trusted. I would have to go alone.

I suggested to him that he take Esme hunting and they had assented readily, though I had a feeling Edward understood that I did not want him to be around when I made my final preparations to leave.

Glancing one last time at the information in the letter my investigator had sent, I committed it to my memory, and went to change. I dressed simply and much more casually than I normally did, in worn black pants and a simple black shirt, pulling a black cap over my blond hair.

A quick look in the mirror to confirm that I looked unobtrusive and would simply fade into the shadows, and I was gone, out the window in one single smooth leap.

Dusk was just falling as I ran swiftly and silently towards the state border. The investigator had learned that the man had moved to a community just outside Chicago after Esme left him, and I was determined to make it there before dawn.

I avoided all human contact by keeping off the roads and reached the outskirts of the town by just before 2AM. Instead of feeling exhausted, I felt exhilarated instead, and like I had just reconnected with the more primal, basic need of my true self. I'd spent years driving, trying to domesticate myself into a regular human. The only time I ever ran anymore was when I hunted, and I had not realized how much I missed the simple act of 'stretching my legs.'

I prowled down the empty, dark streets, looking for the correct one. It was not until I had found Oak Street and had located the house, that the significance of the act I was about to commit struck me. I had spent the last few days in a fever of activity, focusing only on deriving the information I would need, and the run here focusing only on avoiding every human I could smell. And now, as I stood outside Charles Evenson's tiny yellow house, the reality of the situation crushed me.

I was about to take a human life. I had never done so, in all my years as a vampire. I had done everything I could to assiduously avoid it, including denying my thirst until I was nearly mad during those first few hellish months after my change.

Silently, I leaned against the side of the house and tried to reason with myself. Surely such an action was not totally necessary? Surely the man could continue to exist. I did not need to throw away hundreds of years of restraint in a bid to redeem my soul just to kill one man.

The venom thrummed just under my rock hard skin, and there was no denying the urge and the need I had to terminate this man's life. This was more than blood lust. This was more than a vampiric urge to feed.

This was something I had to do for Esme, even if I could never tell her. To my own surprise, I found that my decision to kill Charles Evenson was more than just karmic vengeance—it was a driving absolute need to eradicate everything on this earth that had ever dared harm Esme Cullen.

Esme Cullen.

The caveman inside of me gloated that she was mine now, even in name, and that the rush of possession that I was glorying in. The need to defend her fulfilled.

But I knew it was more than that. It was infinitely more. I was in love with her.

The final puzzle piece fell into place and I stood up, my decision made.

Thanks to my information, I knew that Charles Evenson's lady love would be away this week, staying with her sister for the birth of her niece, and he would be alone in bed. I pried the window open silently and saw him lying on the bed alone, snoring. He was a great brute of a man, and even with the peace of sleep on his face, there was a sadistic twist to his lips that made me nearly shudder with loathing.

I landed on the floor of the bedroom with a small thud, and I cursed inwardly. I was inexperienced at this, and obviously not as stealthy as I needed to be. But Charles slept on, patently unaware that his worst nightmare had decided to come visit.

I walked over to the bed, and stood there, next to him, for a brief second. In that moment, I prayed for God's forgiveness for what I was about to do, and for Esme's as well. Her nature could understand hate but not murder.

His blood smelled like rusty nails, and even if I had not been so accustomed to the smell, I never would have been even the slightest bit tempted to drink from him. A person's evil did not live in their anatomy, but I wanted nothing to do with Charles Evenson after tonight. The idea of having a part of him inside me was abhorrent.

He deserved less, but I had resolved to do the act quickly, and without pain. The murder was enough; I did not need torture to be added to my conscience. So I leaned down, trying not to recoil at the fetid smell of his breath, and I placed my hands on his neck. I hated the idea of touching him, but I could not prevent it. His eyes jerked open and I shut my own as I cleanly, swiftly, snapped his neck in two. Instantly, he fell still and I let his body slip from my hands.

"Esme," I whispered aloud. "You are avenged."

I buried the act deep in my consciousness as I ran towards home. Although I was sure Edward would learn eventually of what I had done, I did not want him to know right away. I would pick the right time and place to reveal to him that Esme's husband was dead by my own hand and I would only do if I was sure he would never tell her.

I knew she could never know. I had spent the last six months trying to prove to her that I was something more than just a murderous monster. If she found out, then she would believe the worst of me.

I reached the house just as morning was beginning to dawn. I could smell Edward in his room, reading, and Esme was in hers as well, practicing her French. I smiled to myself at her pronunciation. Edward and I would have to work with her.

But right now, I needed to protect her from knowledge of the crime I'd just committed. Without a sound, I let myself in the front door and ran silently up the stairs to my room. I had no blood on me, but I was sure I smelled like Charles Evenson, and I couldn't let Esme catch me in these clothes.

My foot hit the last step before the landing and I froze. Esme stood by her bedroom door, her hand still gripping the brass handle, and our eyes locked.

Her face remained totally blank, and I wondered if she knew. Perhaps she had forgotten her husband's scent. Maybe she would not remember and I could simply offer some excuse . . .

"You killed Charles." The words were delivered without heat and without accusation. Silence stretched out between us. In my centuries as a vampire, I could not remember ever being rendered this mute.

She spoke again, and again there was no question in her voice. "You killed him."

I could no longer deny it, so I simply nodded, helpless and secretly, deeply, afraid of her reaction. I begged silently for Edward, but he did not appear.

Esme took a step forward, out of the shadows of the hallway, and her skin glittered dully in the dim morning sun.

"How did you know?" Esme's voice was still quiet, but it was filled with an undeniable questioning wonder.

"Know what?" I began to ask but instead, Esme cut me off.

"Know that I wanted him dead."

"I didn't," I confessed. "I was afraid you would hate me."

She said nothing and I automatically corrected myself. "That you would hate me even more, of course."

"I don't hate you," she murmured. "Not anymore. You did what I could not."

Then she walked towards me, the corner of her mouth tilted up and if I hadn't known better, I would have thought she was smiling. She should be furious, I thought to myself. She's walking over here so she can take me by surprise and kill me.

She stopped directly in front of me, and every muscle in my body coiled for her inevitable strike.

Except that her strike wasn't physical. There were no blows to my body; only to my heart.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you." And she lifted one hand and though it trembled slightly, her eyes were clearer than they had ever been toward me, and she brushed her fingertips lightly over my cheek. "Thank you."