BPOV

I had officially left everything behind me by the time my feet crossed the threshold of the Sea-Tac International Airport. There was no longer even a trace of unfinished business in my wake.

Well, almost… My mind tested the waters, trying to pull me down the forbidden avenue of thought. I quickly stifled any and all thoughts of him. It was strictly forbidden under the new set of stringent rules I was implementing. He was dead to me – they were alldead to me. Truly dead, rather than being heinously undead. I shuddered involuntarily.

Inside Sea-Tac there was an intricate little golden detail woven into the otherwise industrial green carpet that paved the way throughout the airport. I kept my eyes glued to it as I walked, watching the pattern repeat itself every four feet. In my peripheral vision I saw a row of aisle dividers leading the way to a ticket counter. I turned on my heel to follow them.

As I approached the counter, I lifted my gaze for the first time since entering the building. I dreaded having to hear my own strained vocal chords and the pain that coated them every time I spoke. The last time I had spoken was to Jake – it had been several weeks. Haunting the coasts of the Pacific Northwest since then, I had no reason to speak to the woodland creatures that ran from me. I could not even bring myself to hunt them… pathetic and helpless as they were. They held no appeal to me. Sustaining myself had decreasingly less appeal as well. So I paced the coasts aimlessly like a ghost, touching nothing, yet affecting everything around me. If I had my way I would have disintegrated into the Earth, never to be seen or heard from again. Instead, I somehow found myself at the airport, glowering at a woman in a blue polyester United Airlines uniform and a ridiculous grin.

Unfortunately, I did need to communicate with her somehow. This point was further illustrated when her overly cheerful Southern drawl assaulted my sensitive ears.

"Checking in?" she asked. I nodded. I willed my voice to cooperate, praying it could be the last time.

"Yes," I whispered through clenched teeth. Whispering has a peculiar way of both muting emotion and laying every ache out naked before the world. I cringed, but if I had any hope of getting out of there I had to continue. I cleared my burning throat. "I need a ticket on the first available flight going anywhere, please." I blinked and looked away; the confusion and pity that played on her face as she took in my damaged appearance was too much to bear.

"Okay," she began slowly. "Well, I have a few seats left…" I brusquely waved my hand between us, indicating that I wanted her to stop speaking immediately. She did. She also took a small step backward in response to my abruptness. Not surprising. I am a monster after all,I reminded myself. As if I could forget.

"I don't care where it is headed. Just print it out and hand it to me. Please," I added. It was neither an apology nor an explanation. Please just don't grant me the dangerous luxury of knowing and deciding where I am headed,I begged silently. I dropped a small pile of hundreds on the counter and glowered at the woman.

"Okay. And do you have any baggage to check?" she asked. An angry hiss slid through my clenched teeth. Moments later, I was making my way through security and toward gate N-16.

As I boarded the plane I heard the stewardess at the podium announce the last call for boarding on flight 916 travelling to D.C. and on to Frankfurt. Perfect.

EPOV

I grew increasingly more resentful of the café with its grim lighting and uncomfortable wooden chairs every time I found myself there. Its mere existence seemed to serve as a constant reminder of my complete and utter failure. If the day ever came that I found Bella, I vowed to never set foot near the place ever again. As it was, Bella was still missing, we were still searching, and I was still seated in my chair staring numbly at the glowing golden stucco in front of me, awaiting Demetri's arrival. He was very late. He would no doubt bring with him yet another round of failure and explanation laced with promises to try harder and reconfigure our approach. It wouldn't matter; it was destined to amount to a lot of nothing. It always did.

Two hundred and sixteen days, eleven hours, eight minutes and thirty-two seconds… that was how long it had been since Demetri and I became a united search party after our brawl outside La Pace. That was how long we had been met with nothing but letdown after shattering letdown. It was demoralizing, and because of it I was now thoroughly convinced that I did in fact have a soul. I could feel it slipping away with every second spent separated from Bella. It was taking its toll on both me and Demetri.

While Demetri was professionally frustrated with his unaccustomed shortcomings, I was becoming more and more withdrawn from the failure. Determined that the answer lay somewhere inside myself, I scoured every crevicein search of a clue as to where Bella might hide. Unfortunately, the harder I searched, the more memories I forced to the surface and the thicker the pain was that I had to wade through. Inevitably, it was more devastating every time I came up short.

I was never going to find her. I had the best tracker in the world hunting her, an omniscient sister, and me—a goddamned mind reader. And still… two hundred and sixteen days, eleven hours, nine minutes and forty-one seconds.

Maybe it's time to throw in the towel,my mind sneered at me.Honestly, my wayward thoughts repulsed me. I had no way of controlling the twisted things that scampered through my head at times. Never mind the annoying fact that there was an obvious truth behind the idea. Clearly, Bella did not wish to be found, and the harder I searched for her the more guilty I felt. However, the thought of walking away caused my insides to heave. I was determined to prevail in the unfortunate misunderstanding. Thus, each time my mind submitted that particularly vile idea, I would stuff it back into its sinister cage in the far corner of my dark brain where it belonged.

I can't exist if I give up,I reminded myself. As if I needed the reminder.Knowing Bella was immortal somehow made her existence call to me more than ever. There was a tangible pull on everything inside of me that was real – that was her. Something concrete and visceral. It yanked and heaved until I was so dizzy I didn't know up from down, let alone which direction to search in. The only thing I didknow was that I had no idea how to be me without her beside me. And so I came and sat in that chair. Dizzy and impatient. Hopeful and desperate. Devastatingly optimistic or stubborn. Either way, I was determined that someday I would once again walk with Bella's small hand enclosed carefully and protectively inside mine. Happy.

Unfortunately, we had precious little in terms of leads. It turned out that the man Demetri found while I was in Brazil was an old acquaintance of my father's named Alistair. Alistair and Demetri had a lengthy and friendly history that dated all the way back to when my father was in the guard. They ran across each other one day recently, and while catching up, Alistair told Demetri of the rogue female he stumbled across by chance just the other night. It was the middle of the night just before I left for Brazil. She was running across the rooftops of a row of dilapidated shacks in Germany. She ran across the building in which Alistair had been holed up into the rafters, her scent and speed immediately piquing his interest. He leapt to his feet and ran after her. Somewhere on the clay rooftops of a decrepit building in the wee morning hours, Alistair met with what he described to Demetri as a "beautiful female who was clearly very damaged and reticent" – precisely the kind of company Alistair would prefer to keep.

She shied away from him at first and refused to speak, but at his pleading finally agreed to tag along with him for a few days. Later, while filling the ever present silence between them, Alistair quite unknowingly brought up his old friend Carlisle. The female quickly excused herself to go hunt and never returned. Admittedly, Alistair was not that put out. He was beginning to grow bored with her apathy and hungered for his customary solitude.

When Alistair noticed the way that Demetri's face flamed with the recognition his story carried, he grew noticeably wary. Being the misanthropic urchin that he was – he fled. Demetri ran after him, only to be hindered by the daylight. In an effort to dodge Demetri, Alistair ran through the middle of an open-air market and onto the other side of the piazza in broad daylight. He often demonstrated very little regard for policy or discretion given that he possessed an odd gift for evasiveness. If he was ever hunted for justice, Alistair would easily be able to shirk it. He could have been a very gifted tracker if he wasn't such a petrified recluse. It was probably one of the reasons he and Demetri were such good friends.

Once Alistair fled, Demetri was unable to nail him down. For the last seven months the pair had been engaged in a twisted waltz of the trackers, always on the outskirts of one another's location, always a half-step away. Always close enough to taste the other, yet never within reach. Demetri had many times appeared at our meetings with caustic thoughts about the annoying imp, thoughts I mirrored given that Alistair was our only link to Bella since she had arrived in Europe and he was being too self-absorbed to help us.

Demetri spread the word with every vampire he could think of to ensure Alistair understood that he had little interest in him personally and it was purely the girl from his story he was after. Unfortunately, both Demetri and Carlisle agreed that Alistair was far too cynical of authority to ever agree to meet with us. And so Demetri and I had written off that particular lead for the time being. As frustrating as that was, it seemed our efforts would be better spent elsewhere. Where, I was not sure. I just didn't understand - how could one little vampire be so perfectly hidden from sight?

Come out here, kid. We're gonna take a walk tonight. Demetri's thoughts invaded my mind, thankfully dragging me from my endless circular rant.

I turned to see Demetri standing in the breezeway in front of the café with his back to the windows. He rocked back and forth on his heels uncomfortably with his hands in his pants pockets - pretending to people watch. It was his signature move when he was anxious. Great. Whatever it was he wanted to discuss with me, outside of the café no less, he was not looking forward to it. As usual, his thoughts were shallow and controlled, focusing only on the sights before him rather than whatever was weighing on his mind. I stood obediently and joined him.

The sun had long since set; Demetri left me in that atrocious chair with nothing but my own menacing thoughts for hours. His reasons were vaguely evident as they flitted through his mind while we left the café behind us. He was uneasy… convinced that whatever it was he had to tell me was going to be upsetting. I wracked his mind as we walked in relative silencedown the narrow, cobbled roadways.

If it was possible for my dead body to run any colder it would have, as dread washed over me in icy waves. My sensitive ears detected the accelerated pace of my shallow pants the more I worried. Still we walked. Demetri stared forward with a dead gaze. His fists curled into tight balls at his sides. Shit.Demetri was many things; egotistical, vulgar, ill-tempered. Hesitant and insecure was a side of him I had yet to experience. My apprehension was palpable.

The suspense finally got the better of me as we rounded a dark corner, leading down an even darker alley. I turned into him and pushed him hard against the brick wall. Demetri clenched his jaw and ground his teeth together before meeting my stare. I expected his eyes to hold hostility or excitement at the prospect of another fight. They were empty. It frightened me much more.

His nostrils flared, and he narrowed his eyes on mine, a steel resolve behind them, but also a touch of humour. I was more confused than ever.

"Look kid, before you go all huffy-irate teenager on me… can I explain one thing?" He smirked at me, his eyes dancing with the humour I had noticed. It made me feel a bit sheepish for always being so melodramatic. My nerves were just so thin these days, after so many months of disappointment, and my patience was even thinner. Demetri continued.

"I was going over everything in my mind the other night in preparation for this meeting. I have thought of your situation from a hundred different angles. I have tried to put myself in your position and in your girlfriend's… and every time I think about it I come up short. But I long to help you, Edward. You and I have much more in common than you know. For that reason, I think that maybe if I tell you my story you will benefit from the lesson embedded in there. Unfortunately, I think you need to hear it, and…" He trailed off and swallowed back the emotion that suddenly flooded to the surface of his eyes.

"I am probably the last man on the planet that should be allowed to offer any fatherly advice, given that I was never a father and I lost mine before I ever had the chance to know him. Not to mention that you have what is no doubt the best father figure the world has ever seen. I understand all of this. Yet still… here I am with you once a month, and I watch the frustration and the disappointment and the pain devour you. You are dissolving right before my eyes – your fight, your resolve, your fire – and it is upsetting me more than I care to try and explain. So tonight we take a different approach. Tonight… I am going to tell you my story. All right?"

I was no longer paying attention, my annoyance getting the better of me. I stopped mid-step, squeezing my eyes shut in annoyance. Why did he always have to be so vague and foreboding? I rubbed my fingertips roughly across the bridge of my nose. Leaving them there, I rested my heavy head against their support. Irritated, I demanded that Demetri cut the crap and tell me what the hell this was all about. This was the last thing I wanted to do tonight. I wanted to find Bella, I wanted himto help me find Bella. Not tell me a goddamn bedtime story.

"Did you just roll your eyes at me?" Demetri scoffed. He sounded amused. "Jesus Christ Edward, you certainly have perfected the role of petulant teenager over the last hundred and fifty years, haven't you?" Like this was news to me. I smiled a weak and silent apology and waved my hand indicating that he should continue.

I backed away, realising I was still glowering in his direction, and moved into the centre of the alley once again, indicating I was capable of continuing our walk in a civilized manner.

"Our stories, yours and mine," Demetri gestured between us as we walked side by side, "they have striking similarities that I could not ignore when you first came to Volterra to plead your case. I haven't always been a monster, Edward. I was once everything opposite. Warm and passionate. Young and very naive. I grew up on a small settlement just outside what eventually became St. Petersburg, Russia. At the time, it was just a very cold and very boring hilltop that struggled to be self-sufficient. My father died when I was only seven, leaving me, the only child of a woman who was strong enough to raise me yet too stubborn for her own good – something she transferred to me. My grandfather and grandmother came to live with us after my father died to help my mother with the land, but in all honesty they were far too old to be of any assistance, and my mother ended up caring for them instead. She did not need them anyway, she had me. I was strong for my age and eager to help. I was not schooled; the schools were for the children of the Tsars and other affluent families. Certainly not for peasant children that could not spell their own name nor tell you what country ruled their land.

"Eventually, my grandparents passed and it was just my mother and me. We were happy together and survived every winter despite the odds. Then my mother fell ill. It was the hardest thing I had ever experienced at the time, and when she died it devastated me. Legally, I owned the land our settlement was on, but I couldn't have cared less. I left it. I needed a change of scenery and a release. The sadness was quickly building into a temper that I was struggling to control. A neighbor who had known my family for decades and shared our land agreed to watch over it while I went out in search of something.

"I obviously had no idea what the world held outside of the hilltop I was raised on, and an even fainter idea of what it was that I was after. Either way - I found it all the same. It laid in the beautiful, innocent face of a rosy-cheeked young woman with curls the colour of corn silk. Maybe it is more accurate to say that she found me. I was wandering a market aimlessly one morning when she kindly asked if I needed any assistance. I think maybe I fell in love instantly. The way the sun sparkled off her hair and face as she waited for me to speak, I remember wondering if she was even real. Surely nothing in reality was that beautiful, at least nothing my young eyes had ever seen. Eventually, when it became embarrassingly obvious that I was not going to speak any time soon, she giggled at me, but remained patient. I eventually found the courage to speak to her. I didn't stop for hours. I followed her to a quiet place she liked to go, and the conversation and laughter flowed effortlessly for hours until it grew dark all around us.

"I returned to the shed I had been staying in and dreamed of her that night. The next day I returned to the market, equally terrified that she would be there again and also that she wouldn't. She was. And so I agreed to follow her again to her quiet place… I would have followed her anywhere. Her name was Mischa. And so I met with Mischa almost every day for months. We spent the days talking and laughing. Her laughter was quite possibly the most precious thing I had ever borne witness to. She would bring food wrapped up in a white cloth that we would spread beneath us while we lay languidly next to one another and ate and laughed, reveling in the company and innocent proximity.

"It wasn't long before just being near her began to drive me to the brink of insanity in ways I had never before experienced. She was so beautiful and so angelic. She was always happy and never said a single negative word in the months that I had spent with her. I found her calm contentment enchanting and inspiring.

"One afternoon, it was growing colder earlier in the day, and I suggested that the next day she bring with her thicker blanket, one that we could wrap around us to save us from the chill. It was an innocent suggestion - my mother had caught the chill and died from it. The thought of any harm coming to Mischa pained me. With my suggestion, her cheeks reddened more than normal, and quickly, I realised my mistake. She thought my intentions were much more salacious than they actually were. I quickly tried to recover, explaining to her that my desires were innocent and not at all romantic. I was only worried for her health. The more I rambled, the redder her cheeks grew and the faster I spoke - fearful she was not understanding me properly. Eventually, tears spilled over the faltering dams of her eyelids and ran quietly down her cheeks, leaving darkened blotches on the lovely blue dress she was wearing. I was horrified. I was also entirely bewildered, but mostly just upset that I had offended her so greatly. I ran my thumbs along her cheeks hoping to avoid any further marks on her dress, reminders of my ability to hurt her.

"The moment I touched her, the electricity shocked us both. Our eyes met, and I forgot all about her tears as something much more primal brewed deep inside me. We both swallowed audibly, and I muttered an embarrassed apology, dropping my hands from her damp cheeks and backing away. Feeling like both a bastard and a scoundrel, I refused to meet her eyes again. How could I have possibly had it in me to hurt the most heavenly little thing I had ever known. I was disgusted with myself as I stared blindly at the hands that were clenched in my lap. After some time, I felt a small hand run down the length of my back. I looked up and was met by her glimmering, hesitant eyes. She left her fingers at the tail of my back and kept our gaze as she explained that I had not hurt her in the way I thought. She was not offended by my gaffe, she was upset because of how thoroughly I had explained that my intentions were not amorous. She was secretly hoping they were.

"By the end of the warm season, I had grown impossibly addicted to her presence. But I also knew that I had to be getting back to my land. It was left to me, and I had to do something about paying the fees on it, not to mention relieve my generous friend from the burden of its upkeep. Mischa was devastated that I would be leaving, as was I. We shared the most perfectly intimate night that my young heart could have asked for. I was going to leave the next morning.

"Before dawn had fully developed and I could set out with my heavy heart back home, a place thatno longer held anything for me – Mischa showed up at the threshold of the shack I was hiding out in. One look at her and my stomach was in my throat. Her eye was blackened and her lip battered and swollen. She had blood on her beautiful silk dress and was not wearing any shoes, though there was already snow on the ground. Instantly, I ran to her, scooping her into my arms and lifting her red little feet off the frozen ground. I sat her on bale of hay and quickly took off my own socks and shoes and began warming her feet. She wept and begged me not to leave her. She explained that she loved me and wanted to be with me always. Of course, I felt the same way, but I knew the way the caste system worked. She was the only daughter of a much wealthier family, one with noble bloodlines and a far superior place in society. She was brilliantly educated and way too good for me. Her father agreed and when Mischa told him about how she had spent her summer and her last night with me - that she loved me and wanted to marry me - he beat her senseless and locked her in her bedroom. He vowed through her bedroom door that we was going to hunt me down and teach me a lesson that I would not soon forget. He called me a 'fiend and a worthless serf', threatening to bring the authorities to me.

"Mischa got to me first, and declared herself to me if I wanted her. Of course I wanted her--she was all I wanted. The thought of spending a single day without seeing her made the pit of my stomach burn. But how could I allow her to abandon everything - her life, her family, her home and the things she loved - just to be with me?

"I had next to nothing. The very little that I did have had always seemed enough for me, but the idea of forcing it onto something as magnificent as Mischa seemed blasphemous. I cried and pled for her to go back home, to lie to her father and tell him she had not spent the night with me and that she agreed I was unfit. I screamed my worthlessness at her, describing in detail the meager existence I was capable of offering her. She didn't care. She wanted me and could care less about her pretty silk dresses and fancy dinner parties. She only wanted me. And so she had me.

"Mischa came home with me and was my wife by the end of the season. My home, though small and plain, was truly a homeagain. The walls swelled with love and my heart was so full it was always on the brink of bursting in the most pleasant of ways. By the time the snow had begun to melt and summer was once again with us, Mischa was expecting a child. Not having any father of my own, the idea both terrified and delighted me. But she was radiant, and how could I deny the warmth the idea granted me that she was creating our child - a tangible symbol of the beauty we shared together.

"It was the beginning of the eighteenth century then, and Peter the Great had grown exasperated with Russia's never-ending battles over territory with the Swedish rulers. His army was pushing the geographic limits of their reign, claiming more and more land, all of which was vastly inconsequential to me until the day the foot soldiers showed up at my door. I had no concern over who ruled the land that I farmed, nor could I have cared less. But the soldiers had just claimed the Neva River and the Tsar founded St. Petersburg. They were on a mission to assemble every former serf and scanty peasant they could get their hands on to construct the bastions of the fortress around the newly formed city. Violently, I was dragged from my home and my pregnant wife, literally kicking and screaming, in order to work in the deplorable conditions that faced the manual labourers of the project. I spent every day craving Mischa and the warmth of her embrace. Silent tears streaked through the filth on my face as I worked and let my mind wander to how she was getting on in her advanced condition and praying for her safety, while the weaker men around me died faster than they could be replaced. Eventually, the walls were built, and I was released without compensation. I was elated to be freed and returning to Mischa.

"I ran. It was a journey that should have taken me more than a week on foot, yet after only three days I found myself eagerly climbing the hill to my settlement. That was when I saw the dark blur of movements atop the hill. At first, I thought my tired eyes were playing tricks on me. I stopped climbing and watched as it crossed back and forth several more times. Despite my natural instinct to be frightened and run, I found myself slowly clamouring to the top of the hill, determined to see the flushed cheeks and sweet corn silk curls that awaited me.

"Edward, if I live to be older than all of the brothers put together, I will never forget what I saw as my eyes rose above that frozen hilltop."

Demetri paused to steady his voice. I had been watching in rapt silence as he narrated the most beautiful love story I had ever heard, but he had suddenly grown quite solemn. His body stood inhumanly still and his head bowed forward mournfully, rocking back and forth almost imperceptibly as he fought to both recall and absolve the next images in his memory. I saw every last one of them as they rolled through his thoughts - I wish I hadn't. Now they are forever stuck in my own mind. At times my ability could be such a curse. Though Demetri, no doubt, saw it as a gift, because he was unable to continue his tale aloud. Instead, he settled for just showing me the events as he recalled them.

I saw the blurry streaks he referenced and immediately recognised the kind of monster that would make such marks. Dawning began to build slowly in the back of my mind as I stood, rendered completely immobile by the anguish of what he showed me next. He was right; the memory was etched with perfection into his mind, despite its human origin.

There were dozens of small wooden cabins flaming bright orange against the vibrant pinks of the setting sun on the far horizon. Smoke billowed up in tall stacks as cottages burned submissively against the unequal match of the flame's power. Across the hill, fences and barns were incinerated. Animals fled down the sides to the safety below. The stench of the entire settlement burning was putrid, and it overcame Demetri, who stood numb on the precipice of the hilltop absorbing everything he saw. One pinprick and he would have toppled the entire length back to the hill's foundation, he was so utterly stupefied.

The humble cabin that Demetri had been born in, that his child was supposed to be born in, grew larger in his vision as he ran in its direction. In the distant murk I heard his low, pleading wails. He reached what was once the front of the home, the surrounding porch completely ashen, while the left half of the house was completely engulfed in flames and spreading quickly.

He crossed the threshold with a blurred vision that had less to do with the shadow of human memory and more with the tears that washed over his face as he ran into the flaming cottage. He began calling out - screaming, begging, pleading - Mischa's name trembling on his lips. He looked into the flames toward the area that they had planned to use as a nursery, now completely destroyed. A word that I recognised as a plea in Russian repeated as he stood helplessly taking in the heat and the devastation. Please, please, please…,he was begging.

Demetri leaped over a wooden beam where it had fallen across the floorboards that were quickly beginning to ignite. He ran through the rest of the home and out the back exit into the yard. He jumped off the back step, dodging the remnants of the door frame as it caved in on itself. He turned back to face his home, the place that was once his solace - housing his sweat, his family, his love, his everything. He sunk to his knees and buried his face in his palms, crying and begging illogical prayers for Mischa's safety, as the entire hilltop burned around him.

That was when he heard her. A diminutive cry from somewhere behind him. He was on his feet in a lightning-fast second, tracing the small trail of moans until he rounded the back corner of what was once a barn. A crumpled figure, swathed in the heavy fabric of a cotton dress bathed in blood, lay on the earth with her back to Demetri. She was entirely curled into herself, pressed firmly against the wooden wall of the barn.

He ran to her. Dropping to his knees once more, he reached for her shoulder and slowly moved to lay her flat to the ground. Her hair was sticky with blood and clung to her face and neck; there was no sign of corn silk nor curl. Her cheeks, once the most beautiful blushing colour, were drained white. Demetri wept as he placed his large hand on her tiny broken shoulder and tugged her tenderly toward the grass, knowing that with such amounts of blood he would be fighting an impossible battle to try and salvage her life. But it was his love, his entire soul and his meaning. He had to try.

Demetri's memories grew impossibly harder to stomach as my mind flooded with his wretched curses and sobs as he took in the sight of his dying wife. Mischa lay with her arms wrapped tightly across her abdomen, using her every last morsel of life to shield their unborn child from the horror that was taking place on the hilltop.

Demetri bowed his head and sobbed, his heart in anguish, as his forehead lay on Mischa's swollen belly, his hands cradling her, feeling the distinct movement of life inside of her. His mind reeled until he felt the faintest whisper of a touch slide down his back. He opened his eyes to see his wife's looking down at him. There was a flicker of recognition and love before her slow and final blink. Demetri lay weeping and sobbing into her cold body, longing for the warm embrace that kept him going through all the lonely and freezing nights in St. Petersburg.

After some time, he lifted his head and looked around at the destruction, never relinquishing his hold on Mischa. His confusion and fear were evident on his face. Then the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and a chill washed over him. Trembling, he spun his head around and found himself facing five pairs of fiery eyes. A faint "nyet" was audible as Demetri cursed under his breath and everything went black.

I hadn't realised it, but I had closed my eyes and shuffled closer to Demetri, fully immersing myself into his grisly memories. I fought to reopen my eyes, feeling like I hadn't done so in ages. Surrounded by the black of night, the small glow of the streetlight greatly offended my pupils as they adjusted and I regained my vision.

At my feet, in a position that exactly replicated the one from his memories, Demetri was crumpled on his knees with his face in hands. His forehead rested on the heels of his palms while his fingers gripped the roots of his hair. His present thoughts were agonizing. It was all I could do to not join him on my knees and weep silently beside him. For Demetri to demonstrate such emotion was beyond uncharacteristic. It was disarming. So instead, I stood there like a fool, awkward and useless, waiting for him to regain his composure.

Eventually, he rose, his back still toward me as he straightened out his posture, rolling his shoulders and reclaiming his usual air of indifference. His brashness was much less offensive than it had seemed in the past. He collected his thoughts and began speaking again with a firm but heavy voice.

"The coven fed off of and then set fire to everyone in my small settlement, masking the true origin of the destruction. I don't know what drove them to such extreme measures - denied thirst, rampant neophytes…who knows? I also don't know why I did not die. Why I was not drained entirely. I have no idea why God would hate me so much as to inflict such pain upon me - turning me into the same monster that stole everything from me. But I am what I am now. I can no longer fight it, and I certainly cannot change it."

He faced me then, with sorrowful eyes that I could barely find the strength to look into. "That's my story, kid. That's how I was turned. It's also the reason I wanted to help you. Now you can appreciate my sincerity when I say to you that I know what it feels like to lose everything you have ever loved. Mischa sacrificed everything she had to be with me, to love me. And in the end she gained nothing but death. I was her destruction. I abandoned her at a time when she needed me the most, and I was not there to fight for her, for us. I did not protect her - I failed her. So instead, she lay cold and scared on the ground outside while she drew in her last breaths of humanity. And then I returned, too late to make a difference.

"You can make a difference, Edward. I found honour and respect in your fervent efforts to keep your girlfriend human, to not inflict this existence onto her – to protect her. You are not at fault for Bella's immortality, and so I saw no reason why you should not benefit from it. And in so doing, I had hoped that maybe your story could have been one with a happy ending. Much like the one that I was robbed of."

His use of the past tense was not lost on me. The knot that had been building in my gut twisted and thrashed. Again, I found myself afraid of what more he had to say.

"The rest of the tale is easy enough to understand," Demetri continued. "I remembered the faces of the vampires who attacked me. I sought revenge, and I found it easily. It was messy and drew attention. I destroyed an entire coven… something Aro has done many times. Yet my reasons were unacceptable under traditional rule, as were my methods. So, I was hunted.

"Aro's idea of fun is skewed. He is very old and very bored. He takes pleasure in collecting exotic creatures, such as a brilliant tracker with an uncanny ability for evasiveness. But still… the fact that after several millennia he is capable of finding pleasure in anything is remarkable. Thus, most of us find very little fault in his antics. Even I rarely hold him accountable for the things he would be quick to persecute any other for."

I was really trying to have patience. Deep breaths, silent reminders to remain calm… But there was a point to all of Demetri's storytelling, and I was desperate for him to get to it already.

"Aro reminisces fondly on the years he spent combing the world for me," Demetri continued. "He laughs at the sheer difficulty of tracking a tracker… despite my lack of training or refinement at the time. He recounts the story with humour, as if it was all fun and games. Perhaps…no, not perhaps. With certainty, I can say that Aro hunting me was his idea of good fun. I gave him such a great chase, that when decades later he found me, he wished less to persecute me and more to play with me. I was in no frame of mind to care either way. I was still overcome with grief and could not have cared less what became of me. I was almost hoping Aro wished to destroy me. Unfortunately for me, he did not. I have accepted my hand by now, Edward, and I have been both his employee and his prize ever since."

I had to admit, Demetri's story was incredibly sad, and the memories I now had in my mind were destined to haunt me later. Yet I was still struggling to understand exactly what he was trying to tell me.

"I'm sorry Demetri, for all the things you went through. I can relate to the feeling of the fates being continuously stacked against you. But why?" I whispered into the dark air, shaking my head back and forth in confusion. I watched Demetri's face as he fought to control his emotions and his thoughts.

"Why what?" He asked, looking for clarification I knew he did not need. He knew what I was asking and was buying himself more time. I played along.

"Why are you sharing this with me now?" I clarified, realising my inquiry was selfish given the pain he was still experiencing.

"Because," Demetri began, "when I made the decision to go with Aro, I also made the decision to let the go of all the bullshit. The pain and the memories were consuming me. They were devouring me from the inside, and I was unable to think clearly or even function. I was a mess - a devastated, impetuous and vengeful shell of a being. The revenge I found was hollow and did nothing to appease the heartache that ran deep in my bones. I had nothing to live for, and in truth, we are not really alive, so what was the point of clinging to the pain when all it did was beget more pain. I had to shed it.

"Edward…you are more noble than I ever was. You and your family, you live differently - admirably. You make the most of this damned existence. While my throat burns too fiercely to understand it, I certainly can applaud it.

"Believe me when I tell you that if you are not careful, your memories are going to be your demise, kid. Sometimes, we just have to… let go. Even if it is a façade and we can never truly forget. Or we choose not to." He looked up and met my gaze. An image of Lethia passed through his thoughts, the little jungle witch who held the power to make all of our suffering go away. But like me, Demetri had chosen not to allow her the pleasure. Or the pain…depending on your perspective.

"But why now," I snarled. "Why are you suddenly so convinced that I would be better off to just walk away? With all due respect Demetri, my love isn't dead and gone. So why should I just give up?" I combed every nook of his mind, every corner that held anything of value, searching for a reason why I should throw in the towel and sulk away, empty handed and heartbroken.

"Because Edward…" He focused his eyes on the cobblestones to avoid looking at me. In his thoughts were glimpses of a recent conversation with Alistair. So he had spoken with him. Despite my relief, I was overwhelmingly angry with them both. I was feeling irrational and impetuous, the way I always felt when it came to Bella. And Alistair was sitting in myfucking chair.

"Sometimes you just have to be content with what you have," Demetri said, his narrow eyes cautiously gauging my reactions. "And you have a mind full of beautiful, albeit slightly painful, memories. But at least you have them. And I know you blame yourself, Edward, in all the same ways that I do, for not being there for her. I just think it is time that you forgive yourself and forgive her. Remember her and cherish what you once had. But learn from it and move on. I'm sorry Edward…" As he trailed off I saw where the conversation was leading and my body turned to stone. No. Please no. Please, please…I slowly shook my head back and forth, willing it not to be so – imploring him not to say the words out loud and make it real. He did anyway.

"I think that she has… moved on," he whispered, summing up the whole point of the rotten fucking night.

No!

It was going to be my turn to beg.