Chapter twenty-one

Bella's POV:

Dylan was sitting stiffly on the bed as we entered, every line of her body strained as if she were about to explode. I was hesitant to approach her when she radiated such intensity, I didn't want to startle her, or set her off,

"Hello, Dylan," I said carefully, stepping away from Edward and Alice, a little closer to the bed.

She turned big dark eyes on me and said in a slightly hoarse voice, "Oh, hi Bella."

"Edward and Alice told me what was going on, and I thought you might like some moral support," I said, smiling slightly, trying to show that my intentions were good.

"I figured this is probably a lot to take, and I wanted to be here in case you needed anything."

She visibly relaxed as I stated the real reason I was here, unclenching her fists and even smiling- actually smiled, it was small and hesitant, but it was real.

"Thanks, I appreciate that."

When she smiled she looked much less heavy and weary. The strain was still there, lurking behind her eyes, but it was amazing how different she looked when her face wasn't twisted in pain or fear. When she smiled it was easy to see how young she was, that she really was sixteen. I hadn't thought she could look so youthful, or so pretty. But she was pretty, I realized as I focused on her appearance- even beautiful.

Her hair was as dark as Alice's, and almost as short, framing her slim face in gentle waves. Her skin was a few shades lighter than the Quileute brown, olive-toned and radiant now that it was clear of blood and dirt. She was an inch or two taller than I was, with narrow hips and long legs, her high cheekbones accented almond-shaped hazel eyes, more green than brown. I noted the thin gash that she had sported yesterday had vanished from her cheek, but Alice had warned me about that.

I also took into account her clothes, which were quite different from anything I had ever seen any of the Cullens wear; I wondered where she had gotten them. Dark blue jeans with deliberate tears in the knees, vintage motorcycle boots of black leather, and a corset-like black blouse trimmed in black lace, which somehow managed to look both gothic and fashionable.

As my eyes swept over her bare shoulders, catching on the slightly upraised scar, and the thin line of thread, I glimpsed a peculiarly shaped birthmark on her back, just below her neck, lighter than the rest of her complexion- almost white- shaped like a crescent moon. My gaze lingered on it for a moment, but then slid down to her hands, resting in her lap. I counted four thick silver bands on her fingers.

With her tan skin and dramatic dark clothing, Dylan certainly didn't fit into the miniature world of Forks. But then again, I got the feeling she didn't fit anywhere, she couldn't, not with the werewolf that hunted her where ever she went and who also, according to Edward, had at one point been in a romantic relationship with her. My head was still spinning from that one.

Alice came and sat on Dylan's other side, grabbing one of the hands resting on her knees and entwining it with her own without hesitation. Dylan looked at her as if she might protest for a moment, but closed her mouth.

Edward approached the three of us calmly, deliberately slowing to a more human pace so as to keep from alarming Dylan any more than she already was. He pulled a chair up in front of her and sat gracefully, catching her eyes with his beautiful golden gaze. I felt a small tremor of panic run through the body sitting beside me, she was breathing slowly, trying to calm herself. I thought she might bolt now at the last minute, but she didn't, she sat stock-still and did not break eye contact with the vampire sitting before her.

Edward's POV:

It was certainly a surprise to see Dylan looking so different. Gone was the bloody, mud-caked urchin, now she looked startlingly normal. Dressed in a lacy black top I'd never seen any of my family wear before and a pair of Rosalie's old leather biker boots, she looked more suited to hitting a rock concert than confessing her bizarre abilities to a mind-reading vampire.

But despite her new attire and her clean hair and skin, she still wore those thick silver rings, and the dipped collar of the blouse she wore did not wholly hide the thin tracery of stitches running along her shoulder. I stared at her shoulder- the wound was totally healed. My eyes moved to her face, the gash on her cheek had vanished, the cuts she had acquired last night on her forehead and neck were no where to be seen, the skin totally unblemished.

I'd known there was something strange about her, something more than human. And here was the proof. Except she was human, that was obvious, I could see the flush of her skin and the faint flutter of her pulse, could hear her heart beat and the blood flowing in her veins and the breath moving in and out of her lungs. Definitely human, but definitely not normal.

I listened for her distinct voice again and caught the misgivings and fears squirming in her thoughts like insects, she was dreading the transaction of allowing me full access to her mind. She met my eyes as I sat down and there was a challenge in them- daring me to think her too weak to go through with it, daring me to contradict her and tell her she had nothing to worry about.

I respected her defiant attitude. She wasn't deluding herself in any way, she knew where she stood, and where I stood, she didn't want to sugar coat, to dance around the point. It was refreshing to encounter a human who didn't try to be ambiguous or evasive, Dylan was a rare straightforward individual. I would do her the honor of acting likewise.

"Are you ready to begin?"

She nodded, I continued calmly,

"I am not entirely certain why you are able to protect certain sections of your mind from me, but I believe you can manipulate it if you choose. As you explain the way your wounds healed and how you came to be here, I'd like you to allow your mind complete freedom. Every thought and memory connected to your explanation, let it flow freely through your head, consciously unlock whatever barriers you have, don't let your thoughts close themselves off, however minute or uncomfortable they are, don't let them slip away from you, or from me. Keep them at the forefront of your mind at all times. Do you think you can do that?"

She nodded and pursed her lips in readiness. I blinked and focused on her, tuning out the sounds of Alice's thoughts and narrowing my range of conception solely to the human seated before me. "When ever you're ready," I said softly. She took a deep breath and began.