XXXVI. What is this witchcraft?

Bella

Leah was right. Edward was still Edward inside. I hadn't been at my best when we'd first met either, and he'd been incredibly patient with me. It was my turn to do the same.

I touched his cheek. His skin was warm and I pressed a kiss to his forehead. I couldn't begin to imagine the confusion he must've felt.

"I promise I'll get your memories back," I murmured and then I slid the swiss knife against my palm, gently parting his lips so that the blood trickled down into his mouth.

Barely two drops later, his lids fluttered open, those beautiful emerald eyes staring unseeingly above. I braced myself but he remained unnaturally still, blinking, his gaze fixed on the white canopy of the four-poster bed. I caressed his cheek with the back my knuckles and his attention shifted to me, fast as a whip. His eyes were unfathomable and I held his gaze, barely daring to breathe.

"Am I dead?" he asked softly.

"No," I said, my chest squeezing. "No, you're not."

He seemed to deflate. "Of course not. I'd have been in hell otherwise." His gaze shifted to my bleeding palm and then to my venom-marked fingers. "Did I do this to you?" he asked flatly.

"No!" I said, shocked he'd think so.

His eyes began to burn with anger. "Did Andronikh—"

"No! No, Edward, the vampire who did this is dead. It was a long time ago. Just... just relax. No one here would do this to me, least of all you."

Edward had sat up halfway, making as though to reach for me but then he only let his hand drop, slumping back into the pillows without a word. I was relieved he was no longer angry but his listlessness worried me just as much. Then I remembered the last words he'd said before I'd put him to sleep.

I destroy everything I touch.

Slowly, I took his hand, lifting it up and pressing it against my cheek. He looked at me, his gaze softening, and in that precious moment, I saw a trace of the Edward I recognised.

He began to withdraw his hand. "I'm marring your skin with blood, mate," he murmured.

I tightened my hold. "I don't care."

"You are so defiant," he said.

As much as I loved him, I wasn't going to play a fifteenth-century woman. "Then you must like it that way because I was made for you."

Humour flashed across his eyes for the briefest moment before he quelled it. Without warning, his hand closed against my wrist and he yanked me roughly onto the bed, rolling me underneath him. With his weight still pressed against me, he turned my palm around, his tongue sweeping against my cut to close it.

"Don't bite me," I warned him, my heart rate picking up. "It's not going to work. I can't be turned."

He disregarded my words, choosing instead to cradle my skull between his warm hands. I could feel the hum of his strength even as he handled me like a glass doll. "You are so beautiful," he said, drinking in my features like a starving man. "So stubborn. What is your name?"

I'd forgotten that I'd never answered him. "Isabella. Bella."

"Isabella," he repeated, an accent creeping into his words. "It suits you." His eyes darkened and my heart began to hammer. The Edward I knew had always been far more restrained with his touch, far more patient and willing to wait. This Edward touched me with an urgency and abandon that I couldn't say I didn't like.

He leaned in, inhaling the scent from the spot between my neck and shoulder. "Why do you only wear a chemise?"

Before I could answer, he'd trailed kisses down my neck, sucking the flesh into his mouth, his scent making me heady. I had to focus. "You bought this dress for me," I gasped. "It's the twenty-first century, Edward. We're not—"

He captured my lips, cutting off my words as he deepened the kiss, invading my mouth with his tongue. I was drunk by the taste of him and it took me a while to remember I had something to say. "Don't speak," he murmured, as I tried to untangle the words in my mind. "Just feel."

His hands slid around my dress, his fingers finding the zip and I saw his eyes light up as he understood what to do. He pulled it down, deliberately slow, and suddenly, I remembered where we were; in Philippe's room, with Ariadnh and the other Guards about to return anytime. I jerked away and would've fallen off the bed if his arms hadn't shot out, catching me.

"We shouldn't be doing this now," I said, shaking my head.

My heart was racing and he only held me, his eyes still dark. "Why not? I have dealt with the threat." By threat, he meant his brother, whom we were probably going to have to dig up soon. I exhaled. How did I go about telling him this?

"You're not in your right mind," I said, touching his cheek gently. "My love."

"My mind is perfectly fine," he said, seeming offended. "If it is matrimony you wish for, I can give you that. But as my mate, you must know that our bond is permanent. Don't push me, Isabella. I have already been very patient with your unwillingness to turn."

I didn't know where to start. "Edward," I said carefully. "I want to be with you forever. But we have problems to deal with first."

"What problems?" he growled.

He'd have to have noticed something about the Guards' unusual clothing. Mine. His own. All of the unusual thoughts around him. There must've been so many clues and the only reason he hadn't noticed was because he hadn't wanted to. I didn't blame him. If someone had told me I'd forgotten five hundred years of my life, I wouldn't want to believe them either.

I pulled out the iPhone from my pocket. "Do you know what this is?"

He looked at me, unimpressed. "It is a black item."

I unlocked the screen and he stared at the lights. "It's a phone, Edward," I said. "You can use it to talk to people who are far away."

He reached out, touching the screen, seeming fascinated by the colours. "I have never seen such a thing."

"You have," I said patiently. "This is yours. Look." I opened the camera, switching it to selfie mode and snapped a photo of us.

Edward blinked at the photo of us in wonder. "What is this witchcraft?"

"It's a phone. A smartphone. It can take photographs. They're like paintings, but faster," I explained. "It's very common in the twenty-first century."

"Humans," he remarked, still staring at the photo. "Perhaps I should have paid more attention to them."

"Do you know what year it is?" I asked.

"1452," he said as though it were obvious.

"No," I said slowly. "It's 2019." Some quick math told me that he'd forgotten far more than five hundred years. My glamour didn't seem very precise.

Edward shook his head, frowning. "This is not amusing, Isabella."

"I'm telling you the truth," I said steadily. I held out my hand. "I can show you."

He glanced at my hand and then his eyes returned to my dress. "Fine. As long as you put on some proper clothes."