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We either have you in our lives, or leave you to the life you have chosen.
Howard's End
twenty-four
The limbs of pine and fir sway, shifting with winds whipping high above, barely detectable here among the ferns and scrub close to the earth. The needles are dense at this time of year, black green and fragrant, the to and fro movement of heavy branches like a curtain caught in the breeze of an open window. Like a curtain, the limbs cloak and conceal, hiding things from view.
The highway is more than a hundred yards distant but the only thing to intimate its presence is the occasional hum of a passing engine; the grey of asphalt and streak of yellow paint is impossible to detect with normal vision, especially given the wall of dense forest inbetween. The forest also conceals from view the creature waiting at the county line, muscles loose beneath black fur, inky eyes periodically scanning the stretch of forest beyond which the road lies.
Impatience marks the wolf's stance, paw pads frequently stamping at the soft earth, head tossing as if trying to shake a mantle free. If only I hadn't fallen asleep, he thinks. I wouldn't be on this babysitting mission.
At that moment, a glimpse of silver streaks by, undetectable but for the acuity of his vision. The wolf is off in an instant, galloping through the verdant thicket, careful to keep his distance from the road as he knows the bloodsucker will be able to detect his presence if he draws too near. When he's certain of the silver car's destination, he turns away from the road and the thickening woods towards the unmistakable salt scent of sea and rich cedar, impatient to deliver his message.
The lull of wheels on pavement and the steady purr of the engine have seemingly soothed Bella into a calm silence. While she had awoken that morning filled with nerves and anxiety, after several hours of tedious travel it's difficult to feel anything other than weary and off-kilter. She can barely reconcile that only the night before she had been lying in bed with Edward in a sumptuous hotel room and now she's suddenly back on the peninsula, surrounded by the green forests that have become so familiar. And with Edward's hand on her knee, it's hard to feel truly worried.
The landscape is a passing blur of evergreen; it's a struggle not to close her eyes and drift off to sleep, to escape in slumber the meeting she's certain will be uncomfortable at best and loudly confrontational at worst. She shakes her head at the thought of Jake and Edward nose to nose, shouting at one another. Her lips tighten. She won't allow it to happen. The Quileutes will have to respect her wishes.
Her hand lifts, unconsciously covering Edward's own. "We're nearly there." His voice is quiet, too somber.
"It'll be fine," Bella reassures him, squeezing his hand. "I'll take a quick shower, you can feed, and we'll get in touch with the tribe."
Edward shakes his head, opening his mouth to speak but she interjects before he can form the words. "I don't want you to wait any longer." She lifts her hand, bringing her fingers to his face; her touch is tentative at first, seeing him frown, but his eyes briefly close as her palm draws flush against his cheek. There is part of him that is appalled she would so pointedly reference what he is, what he must do to function…and part of him that is awed at her apparent comfort with it, at the matter of fact tone to her words. Bella's voice is faint. "Your eyes have grown so black…"
Her hand falls away as a blush steals up her throat, her gaze dropping to her lap. She can barely admit to herself that part of the reason she wants him to feed is to allow him the self-control he was unable to demonstrate the night before. She only hopes he can't guess the reason for her embarrassment.
A sign flashes in her peripheral vision, a blur of letters declaring the city limits. A faint smile crosses her lips at the thought of this tiny burg in comparison to the metropolis from which she's just come. Edward's fingers tighten around her knee before dragging away to the gear shift, reluctant to break contact. "What are you thinking?" he asks, his eyes on the road, voice rough.
"How small Forks seems after Chicago," she admits, the words light. She can't help wishing he wouldn't be so tense, shoulders rigid beneath his white button up, knuckles pale where they wrap around the steering wheel.
Soon, they are at Charlie's little clapboard house. Bella somehow expects the residence to look different after the strange, emotional days she'd spent with Edward in Chicago but it is unchanged; the cracked drive running parallel to the front lawn is dark gray with damp, the porch slats warped and mossy, the branches of towering pines crowding close to the sloped roof.
Edward is already out of the car, retrieving her duffel from the trunk and opening the passenger side door. Bella steps out of the car slowly, stretching as she does so; it has already been a long day of sitting in airport terminals, on planes, and in the car. A small smile plays over Edward's lips as he waits for her to gather herself; she can't resist smiling back, a sudden burst of relief erupting inside at the thought that she's allowed to—that there is nothing to stop her from responding to him as she's drawn to do.
He insists on accompanying her inside, running her duffel up the narrow stairs before re-appearing in the living room. "If you're sure—" he begins.
"Yes," she insists. "You need to eat and I couldn't be bothered to shower this morning. It'll wake me up," she stretches again, arching her back as her lids tiredly sink shut. "Don't we have to wait for Alice to get back anyways?" she asks as she opens her eyes. But Edward's gaze is fixed lower and she belatedly realizes how the movement had drawn his attention to her breasts. A blush abruptly blooms across her cheeks.
As if sensing this profusion of blood, Edward's black eyes lift—but instead of the embarrassed, curt reaction she had experienced that first rainy night in Chicago, a wolfish grin slowly curves across his lips, his gaze glittering as he steps close. One pale hand lands on her hip, the other curling at her nape. "Is it your intention to hasten my leaving?" he asks, voice low.
Bella can feel her pulse racing and longs to drop her gaze—but she is irresistibly caught in his stare, lips breathlessly parted. "Of-of course not," she stutters. In a distant corner of her mind she notes his archaic wording, that, like his speed and strength, he is making no attempt to hide who he is. Her breath quickens.
Edward's lips lower until they are upon hers, tender, gentle, almost hesitant. Bella closes her eyes, savoring the sensation, his nearness. Without thinking, her tongue darts out to moisten her lips and encounters his; a low growl suddenly erupts from his throat before his mouth closes harshly over her own. His arms wrap around her figure, pulling her close, nearly bending her backwards with the force of his embrace. Bella can only pant against his mouth, too shocked at his response to resist, to worry at his strength, to question his motives.
Just as unexpectedly as the kiss began, it is abruptly over. Bella staggers at the sudden cessation of his embrace, a hand flying out to catch herself on the back of the couch. Her gaze swims around the room, trying to regain her bearings, and sees Edward is in the far corner, his hands over his face. Unsteadily, she crosses to his side, covering his hands with her own and slowly draws them away. "Go feed," she calmly commands.
Though his gaze is still cast shamefacedly to the floor, he silently nods. "Give me enough time to shower and unpack—and maybe eat something myself," she adds as an afterthought, her gaze drifting towards the kitchen as she wonders if Alice left anything she might be able to throw together. "Just call when you're on your way and we can head to your house to wait for Alice to get back."
He nods again, the shame slowly fading, transitioning to resolve. Cautiously, as if giving her time to flinch away, he lowers his lips to her cheek, a brief, fleeting kiss. He gazes into her eyes for a long moment before quietly speaking. "Thank you."
"For what?" she asks, a small smile flitting over her lips at what feels like such a normal demonstration of affection.
Edward is silent, as if unable to find the words. Finally, he replies, "For everything."
The bathroom mirror still shows roses in her cheeks when she finally undresses to shower. She turns away from the flushed reflection, somehow feeling that if she allows herself to glory in these giddy emotions, to examine the brightness in her eyes and the smile she can't repress, she will give them reason to stop. Beneath the spray of water, she scrubs at her skin, trying to wash away the day's worth of travel. She tries to put the meeting with the Quileutes out of her mind, uncertain of what she'll say, worried at the idea of trying to explain a situation she can barely define herself.
Though the attraction between her and Edward is now evident, she still has no sense of what the future holds for them. She is uncertain of what kind of future is even possible given his unchanging immortality and her fragile humanity. Bella shies away from this reality, shutting off the water as if she might shut off the worrying thoughts.
She crosses the landing to her bedroom, checking to assure the curtains are closed after recalling Edward's sudden appearance—she can hardly believe it was only four days ago. Bella drags on jeans and a worn University of Washington sweatshirt; the logo is faded to a hazy violet, the ribbing at the neckline stretched and loose. Padding down the stairs on bare feet, she tries to remember if she'd bought soup the last time she'd gone to the grocery store—otherwise she may be stuck with crackers and peanut butter.
She has just begun peering into the cupboards when there is a knock at the door. A frown flits across her brow as she slowly turns, looking towards the front door with confusion. It can't have been more than thirty minutes since Edward left…which she confirms as she crosses the living room and glances towards the ancient stereo that largely functions as a clock. The knocking sounds again, more urgent this time.
Bella is cautious, straining up on tip toes to squint through the peephole. Abruptly, she steps back, throwing the door wide. "Sue!" she exclaims. "What are you doing here?"
The older woman is glancing around with obvious worry, her dark eyes full of concern. "I've stopped by nearly every day, Bella," she answers, her voice hushed. "And if I couldn't make it, I sent Harry or Jake over."
"Oh, Sue," Bella frowns, trying to refrain from sounding condescending to a woman she's often felt has acted like the mother figure Renee could never quite be. "There wasn't any need for that." She gestures down at herself. "As you can see, I'm perfectly fine."
Sue's lips twist before she glances over her shoulder, anxiety evident in the furtive movement. When she responds, her tone is almost desperate. "Bella, those people aren't safe."
Bella restrains a sigh of exasperation and gestures for Sue to come inside, hoping to allay her obvious fears. "If that were the case," she gently begins, closing the door behind her, "I wouldn't be here."
Sue shakes her head and reaches forward, grasping Bella's hands with fervent insistence. "That's exactly my fear, Bella." After experiencing only Edward's cool touch for the past few days, Sue's warmth is almost astonishing—as is the vehemence with which she speaks. "One slip—one false move—and what would become of you?" She shakes her head again, black strands peppered with gray shifting over her shoulders. "You must know of their strength—their speed. You wouldn't stand a chance."
Bella resists the urge to draw her hands away, lips pressed tight with the desire to disagree, to defend Edward and the Cullens to this woman she so respects. "I do know," she gently replies. "Which makes their restraint all the more admirable, don't you think?"
But she may as well be speaking to a brick wall. Sue is shaking her head again and Bella is surprised to see tears in her black eyes. "Will you at least let the others know you're okay?" Sue pleads. "We've all been so worried."
Bella longs to protest, to gesture again at her perfectly intact and uninjured figure. But Sue seems on the verge of hysteria, her expression distorted with worry and fear; it is a shocking contrast to the warmth and patience that usually paints her features. "I promise you," Bella tries again, imbuing her voice with conviction. "I really am fine—more than fine," she boldly adds.
But Sue won't hear it. "They won't believe me." She shakes her head. "I can barely believe it myself." A hesitant hand gently lands on Bella's arm. "Won't you just come back to the house? I know Harry will be so relieved." Bella suspects Sue is also hoping Harry can be more persuasive about the danger the Cullens represent, but she refrains from accusing the woman of having dubious motives; ultimately, she knows Sue is driven by concern for her safety.
Bella's head jerks up with a sudden thought, eyes blank and unfocused as if she is gazing at some distant, unseen point. A brief frown furrows her brow before her forehead smoothes, a decision quickly made. "Okay," Bella relents, a hesitant smile playing over her lips. Sue's relief is instantaneous, a teary smile transforming her expression before she is tugging on Bella's arm.
"My car is outside—Harry should be home."
"Let me just get my shoes on," Bella laughingly protests. She quickly hurries up the stairs before returning to the living room with canvas flats on her feet. She finds Sue shifting from foot to foot with a nervousness that only abates after they step through the front door and hurry down the steps to the curb.
As she ducks into Sue's station wagon, Bella can't help thinking it's as if a weight has been lifted; she feels gratified by her realization and quick action—that she'd figured out a way around the confrontation she'd been dreading all day. After all, if she goes to the reservation now and assures the tribe of her well-being, she can then avoid any tense meeting between the Cullens and Quileutes later.
Inside the house, the cell phone she had not yet unpacked begins to ring.
Deep in the Olympic National Forest, a single doe gallops through the brush, heart straining, the whites of her eyes flashing with wild fear. She scrambles over bracken and tangled tree roots, sensing the presence of the predator immediately behind. A clearing appears through the dense trees and freedom appears imminent—before the sudden shock of cold water, a stream swollen with snow melt, sends her stumbling.
The predator is upon her, white arms around fawn throat, uncaring of the freezing water. Her narrow head twists in strong hands, a swift, merciful death. Edward quickly lowers his mouth, knowing her blood will cool doubly fast in the swift moving stream. The vibration of his phone in his pocket is a faint sensation in the rushing water; it is only after he has sated his thirst that he thinks to check the device. Now water-logged, the screen is blankly black.
At the Clearwaters, Bella is growing frustrated. Harry simply refuses to see reason. "But didn't he have dozens of chances to do me harm?"
"It's what they're built to do, Bella." She can tell Harry is equally frustrated, rising from the kitchen table where they've been sitting and crossing to the fridge. He pulls out a beer and cracks it open with a sigh. "While I'm sure you believe he has good intentions," his voice is grudging, "and there's even the possibility that he—or any of the others, don't intend to harm you," He shakes his head with another sigh. "It can't end well."
To her chagrin, Bella pales at his words. Though he doesn't realize it, Harry is voicing the concern that she carries in her heart—though for very different reasons. "You know it," Harry grimly continues, noting that her angry flush has subsided, cheeks ghostly white, lips parted with silent fear. "You know it even if you won't admit it."
"I know no such thing," Bella roughly replies, trying to restrain the annoyance in her voice. Harry was one of her father's best friends, his image smiling alongside Billy's in photographs over the years, his warmth and generosity after Charlie's death one of the few bright spots in her life after she'd returned to Forks. "I know he won't hurt me—none of them will."
The sudden slam of the screen door causes Bella to start, jumping to her feet. The clank of metal and the buzz of wheels against carpet precedes Billy's appearance in the doorway. "Bella," he exhales. "Thank God you're okay."
"Of course I'm okay!" she exclaims. "Why won't anyone believe me?"
"Because our kind have known of the Cold Ones for centuries," Billy flatly explains, his lined features solemn. "Our legends speak of their wrong-doings—"
It is only Bella's increasing desperation that could make her interrupt a man she so intrinsically respects. "Then why do you have a treaty?" The words are nearly a wail, hands thrown up in frustration.
"It was committed to by our ancestors," Billy answers uncomfortably, his hands shifting in his lap. "I cannot say that as the tribe now stands, we would agree to such a pact."
Bella can only exhale with increasing ire, dragging her hands over her face. The screen door slams again and her hands fall, a line forming between her brows. Sue had left Bella and Harry in the kitchen to discuss the Cullens; until this moment, she had not questioned where Sue had gone. She darts around Billy, his voice a distant protest to her ears. As she crosses the threshold into the living room, she freezes upon finding Jacob and Sam, their dark, glowering expressions mirrors of one another as they tensely stand near the door.
"What…" She can't form the words, the thoughts, shaking her head as they return her confused stare with ominous silence.
"Bella," Billy is behind her, his voice gentle. She turns on her heel, staring down at him with stunned disbelief. "It isn't safe for you to have anything to do with the Cullens. You must know that."
She shakes her head, her voice faint. "I don't know any such thing." She has been saying this all along and none of them will listen.
"I don't know what that leech has done to you," Jacob's voice is an angry mutter behind her. "That you don't see how crazy this is."
Bella spins on her heel, her heart pounding with a fear she is desperately trying to tamp down; it isn't as if they have threatened her or restrained her—she shouldn't have anything to be afraid of. "How would you know?" she asks him. She can hear the tears in her voice and roughly swallows, fighting for calm, for reason. "How would any of you know?" she turns, staring down at Billy. His dark eyes are unflinching and she struggles to maintain her gaze. "How would any of you know what I want? How I feel?" She turns again, facing Jake and Sam. "Why do you suddenly care?"
A part of her knows this is unfair, that she is equally at fault for never engaging—but as she hears the tramp of feet on the front porch and sees Paul and Embry's figures loom through the screen door, the feeling is subsumed by fury and fear.
It is Jake who replies, his tone filled with recriminating anger. "It's what Charlie would have wanted."
It takes all of Bella's restraint not to slap his face, hands clenching into fists at her sides. She distantly realizes she is shaking, the slam of the screen door faint to her ears as Embry and Paul join the others in the Clearwater's living room. She struggles to sound firm but can hear the quaver in her voice. "You can't keep me here against my will."
Though she is addressing them all, her eyes had remained trained on Jake as she'd spoken. He is the one who responds, his expression unmoved. "We can't let you walk into certain death."
Though she knows it is too late, that she is sorely outnumbered, this is the moment that Bella rushes forward, darting towards the door. She isn't certain if it's Sam or Jake she crashes against, breath burning in her lungs as she writhes in the strong arms wrapped like cables around her slight figure. As she feels her feet sliding backwards across the rough carpet and hears the cacophony of urgent voices around her, the desperation of her situation begins to sink in. She pounds her fists against the solid chest inches from her face with all of her might; it takes several seconds for the sensation to register, crying out as her hands pulse with sudden excruciating pain.
"Let her go!" It is Sue's voice, calling out above all the others, returned from wherever she had been rallying the clan. Bella can only gasp as she is released, crumpling to the floor as her hands pulse with white hot pain; her entire body shudders with shock, eyes squeezed shut in horror and disbelief. Uncaring of the gentle hands she feels upon her shoulders, she forces her eyes open to look down at her rapidly swelling fingers.
At her core, Bella knows that she is highly practical, even overly rational; it figures in the manner in which she pursues her goals, deciding on a course of study and the most appropriate school while most of her contemporaries were bouncing from major to major. Her practicality is the reason she has never been in debt, always living within her means, always able to rationalize away any passing desire as exactly that. In her heart, Bella knows that even her reserve, ever on the outside looking in, serves a practical purpose; she had swiftly learned the lesson as a child that if she made friends wherever she happened to be living, it would only be a matter of time before Renee was packing up the car, destined for somewhere new. Maintaining a certain distance was the safest course, the most reasonable way of assuring that she felt no sadness at leaving people behind.
It is likely this practicality, always so rational, that had prevented her from suspecting anything supernatural in Edward's behavior or actions during the weeks that she had seen him at the health center. Bella did not inhabit a world where such things were possible, where fairy tales had any basis in reality. But even without the knowledge of what he is, she would be hard-pressed to find a practical reason that beating against someone's chest would render her hands swollen and bruised. She raises her gaze, brown eyes wide as she looks up at Sam's looming figure, his features stony and unyielding. She finds herself repeating the question she had cried out from the closet of her father's bedroom—but now her voice is a whisper, full of fear and confusion—and the certainty that all is not what it seems. "What are you?"
But Sue is calling over her head, demanding bandages and splints, her arms insistently tugging at Bella's shoulders. "Come on, hon'," she murmurs. "Let's get you into Leah's room so you can lie down."
Bella is shaking her head, trying to protest. "I don't want to lie down. I want to go. I need to go." But it feels as if she is speaking the words underwater, the babble of other voices, plotting and planning, drowning her out. She is propelled upstairs and down a narrow hall before Sue guides her into a small bedroom at the back of the house. Bella is barely able to register lilac walls and white painted furniture before she is prone on a narrow twin bed, her protests ignored as Sue removes her shoes. Sue turns to the door, one hand braced against the frame as she calls out further requests. Bella has barely risen onto her elbows before Sue is back at her side with a large bowl of ice, tanned hands firm around Bella's wrists as she eases her bruised fingers into the bowl. Sue's expression is contrite as she sits on the edge of the bed cradling the bowl, her mouth a thin line.
"It's for the best," she quietly states. Bella isn't sure whether she's referring to the numbing ice or the fact that they have all restrained her from leaving.
Bella refuses to meet her gaze, turning her face to the wall. She remains silent when Sue prompts her to take an ibuprofen, and barely flinches when Sue's tanned hands probe at her fingers, seeking any break in the bones. She does not respond when Sue murmurs, "I think there's only some bruising and spraining." And she does not protest when Sue splints two of her fingers to be on the safe side. Bella continues to hold her tongue when the older woman finally stands, uncertainty evident in her posture.
"Bella," Sue almost pleads. Bella again turns her face to the wall, her expression set. Sue's voice is soft as she repeats herself. "It's for the best."
It is only after the door has shut that Bella's emotions become evident, her expression one of focus and intensity as her gaze darts around the room. She sees that there is a single window next to the bed, the door to the hall directly across from it on the opposite wall. Tentatively, expecting someone to burst in at any moment, she swings her feet to the floor. She curses as she realizes Sue took her shoes when she left the room.
It takes all of Bella's willpower not to cry at this setback, appalled at the lengths the Quileutes have gone to in assuring she won't try to escape. Gritting her teeth, she stands, resolved that something as minor as bare feet won't keep her in the Clearwater's house.
She tiptoes to the door and presses her ear to the wood panels. She frowns as she hears a voice directly outside, one half of a conversation distinctly audible. "...patrolling the border…no sign yet…Billy said…yeah…even if they are faster, we got 'em outnumbered…"
Bella waits for a time but the voice never fades; she realizes they must have someone stationed outside her room—Quil by the sound of it, speaking into his cell. She briefly wonders if he is like Sam, if his strength is such that beating upon his chest would render her the injured one. She looks down at her bandaged hands and decides she can't risk it.
She pads across the room, sensitive to any squeaking floor boards that might indicate her less than compliant movements. A clock on the dresser indicates more than an hour has passed since she first arrived to the Clearwater's house. Edward must know by now that she is missing. She catches her lip between her teeth, worry washing over her features as weariness sinks into her bones.
The very thing she'd been trying to avoid is now guaranteed to happen. She inhales, pushing away the fear and anxiety. Perhaps she can still escape. Perhaps disaster can be averted just yet.
She crosses to the window, staying close to the wall so as to avoid notice by anyone outside. To her disappointment, she sees there is no roof or ledge she might have clambered onto; instead, it is a sheer drop to the ground below. Further, in the weakening light she can just glimpse two men outside, black hair and broad shoulders making it difficult to tell—is it Embry? Or Sam? Perhaps Jake? But it doesn't matter. Her efforts are useless. Even if she managed to survive the drop uninjured, they would be upon her in a moment. And whatever they are, she has no chance of fighting them.
She does not realize she is shaking and dashes away the tears that are seeping from her eyes with angry hands. Perhaps Carlisle will be able to reason with them. Perhaps Edward will wait out the Quileutes, allowing the tribe to come to their senses and eventually release her—at which point she can return to him. Or perhaps he will tire of these complicating factors that accompany having her in his life and will simply leave, forcing her to resume the dull existence she'd led before. At this thought, she curls against the door, vaguely comforted by the distraction of Quil's conversation, trying to force away the despairing thoughts.
Her mind drifts as the sky darkens beyond the window, fighting off sleep, straining to hear any news via Quil's sporadic calls. It is during a long patch of silence that she finds herself thinking of Alice, wondering if the fey seer had any warning of what would happen. And now that Bella is captive, can Alice tell what will become of her? Or is she simply a vague blur, surrounded by shadows, her future unknown?