Edward could drive well when he kept the speed reasonable. He twined their hands together, eyes flickering between the setting sun and Beau, looking more relaxed than ever. The rays cast glimmers of ruby through the cab when they hit Edward's skin, and Beau couldn't help but stare, captivated by this magic.
To Beau's amazement, Edward sang along to a song on oldies station, his voice rich and heady. It bewitched him.
"You like fifties music?"
"Music in the fifties was good. Much better than the sixties or the seventies, ugh! The eighties were bearable."
"You're insane. You're writing off the Beatles! Led Zeppelin . . . The Rolling Stones? Hello?"
"Overrated, all of them."
Beau sputtered at this generalization, knowing Charlie would have done the same. The chief didn't listen to much else in the house. "Are you ever going to tell me how old you are?"
"Does it matter much?" Edward was smiling.
"No, but I still wonder . . . there's nothing like an unsolved mystery to keep you up at night."
"I wonder if it will upset you."
"Try me."
Edward sighed, letting his eyes meet Beau's, and whatever he saw there must have encouraged him.
"I was born in Chicago in 1901."
"White Sox fan," Beau murmured, remembering. Edward nodded in amusement.
"Carlisle found me in a hospital in the summer of 1918. I was seventeen and dying of the Spanish influenza. I don't remember it well—it was a very long time ago, and human memories fade. I do remember how it felt . . . when Carlisle saved me. It's not an easy thing to forget."
"What about your parents?"
"They had already died from the disease. I was alone. That's why he chose me. In all the chaos of the epidemic, no one would ever realize I was gone."
Beau felt a pang of sadness at his words. How dreadful it must have been, orphaned and sick, to go into that hospital and know he wasn't coming out.
"How did he . . . save you?"
"It was difficult," Edward said carefully. "Not many of us have the restraint necessary to accomplish it. But Carlisle has always been the most humane, the most compassionate of us . . . I don't think you could find his equal throughout all of history. For me, it was . . . very painful."
It was clear he would say no more on that subject. Beau had so many questions. But before he could ask the most pressing one, Edward spoke again, no doubt anticipating what he wanted to know.
"Carlisle acted from loneliness. That's usually the reason behind the choice. I was the first in his family. Then he found Esme." Edward's smile grew fond at the mention of his stepmother. "What they have together is marvelous."
Beau knew he was smiling, too. "How so?"
"They both love love," he explained, squeezing Beau's fingers as he spoke. "They take real pleasure in growth . . . light . . . happiness. Carlisle works like a dog to save his patients, and Esme, she takes on any project—an old, neglected house, a garden that's struggling—and she'll make it beautiful again."
"Soulmates," Beau murmured, and Edward nodded in agreement. "How did he find Esme?"
"She'd fallen from a cliff. They brought her straight to the hospital morgue, though, somehow, her heart was still beating."
"So you must be dying, then, to become . . . "
"No, that's just Carlisle. He would never do that to someone who had another choice." His respect for Carlisle was obvious. "He says it's easier when the blood is weak."
"What about Emmett? And Rosalie?"
"Carlisle brought Rosalie to our family next. I didn't realize till much later he was hoping she would be to me what Esme was to him." Edward rolled his eyes. "But she was never more than a sister, for now-obvious reasons. Two years later she found Emmett. She was hunting—we were in Appalachia at the time—and found a bear about to finish him off. She carried him back to Carlisle, more than a hundred miles, afraid she wouldn't be able to do it herself. I'm only beginning to understand how difficult that journey was for her."
"But she made it," Beau encouraged him.
"Yes. She saw something in his face that made her strong enough. And they've been together ever since. Sometimes they live separately from us as a married couple. But the younger we pretend to be, the longer we can stay in any given place. Forks seemed perfect, so we all enrolled in high school. I suppose we'll have to go to their wedding in a few years, again."
They laughed for a moment.
"Alice and Jasper?"
"Alice and Jasper are two very rare creatures. They both developed a conscience, as we refer to it, with no outside guidance. Jasper belonged to another . . . family, a very different kind of family. He became depressed and wandered on his own. Alice found him. Like me, she has certain gifts above and beyond the norm for our kind."
"Really?" Beau was fascinated. He recalled the slight girl and her shadow, Jasper. "But you said you were the only one who could hear people's thoughts."
"That's true. She knows other things. She sees things—things that might happen, things that are coming. But it's very subjective. The future isn't set in stone. Things change."
Beau didn't miss the way he tensed at the end and hurried to ask another question, before the good humor ran out.
"What kind of things does she see?"
"She saw Jasper and knew that he was looking for her before he knew it himself. She saw Carlisle and our family, and they came together to find us. She's most sensitive to non-humans. She always sees, for example, when another group of our kind is coming near. And any threat they may pose."
"Are there a lot of . . . your kind?" That surprised him. How many could walk among mankind undetected? How many blended into ordinary, human lives, when they were so extraordinary?
"No, not many. But most won't settle in any one place. Only those like us, who've given up hunting you people"—a sly glance toward Beau—"can live together with humans for any length of time. We've only found one other family like ours, in a small village in Alaska. We lived together for a time, but there were so many of us that we became too noticeable. Those of us who live . . . differently . . . tend to band together."
"And the others?"
"Nomads, for the most part. We've all lived that way at times. It gets tedious, like anything else. But we run across others from now and then, because most of us prefer the north."
"Why is that?"
They were parked in front of the house by now. It was quiet and dark, and there was no moon. The porch light was off so he knew Charlie wasn't home yet.
"Did you have your eyes open this afternoon?" Edward teased. "Do you think I could walk down the street in the sunlight without causing traffic accidents? There's a reason why we chose the Olympic Peninsula. It's one of the most sunless places in the world. We like being able to go outside during the day. You wouldn't believe how tired you can get of nighttime in eighty-odd years."
Beau laughed with him. "Oh, I know it's sunless, trust me. So that's where the legends came from? Avoiding the sun?"
"Probably."
"And Alice came from another family? Like Jasper?"
"No, and that is a mystery. Alice doesn't remember her human life at all. And she doesn't know who created her. She awoke alone. Whoever made her walked away, and none of us understand why, or how, he could. If she hadn't had that other sense, if she hadn't seen Jasper and Carlisle and known that she would someday become one of us, she probably would have turned into a total savage."
There was so much to think through. His head was spinning with questions. Questions and hunger. It had been hours since breakfast, and then the hunger made itself known in an embarrassing way, when his stomach growled.
"I'm sorry, I'm keeping you from dinner."
"I'm fine, really."
Edward shook his head. "I've seen you eat. I know that's a lie."
"I want to stay with you." It was easier to say in the darkness after a long day in the light. Beau thought he might be under a spell now. He was enchanted by Edward.
"Can I come in?" Edward asked.
"Would you like to?"
"Yes, if that's all right." Edward was on the other side of the truck in seconds. He opened the door, a gallant gentleman of his time. Beau laughed.
"Very human."
"It's definitely resurfacing."
Edward reached the front door ahead of him and held it open. Beau paused halfway through the frame.
"The door was unlocked?"
"No, I used the key from under the eave."
"You . . . you spied on me?"
"I was curious about you. What else is there to do at night?"
Beau didn't know how to respond to that. Shaking his head, he led the way to the kitchen while Edward made himself comfortable at the table, fluidly settling down in one of the mismatched chairs. Beau watched him out of the corner of his eye. Edward was studying the yellow cabinets with his head tilted to one side, almost like a tourist in an art museum.
Beau concentrated on preparing his dinner. There was still a decent amount of last night's lasagna in the fridge. But despite his hunger, their previous conversation was not so easily forgotten. Beau studied the revolving plate though the microwave door.
"How often?"
"Hmm?"
He didn't turn around. "How often do you come here?"
"I come here almost every night."
"What?"
"You're interesting when you sleep." Edward spoke matter-of-factly. "You talk."
"No!" Heat flooded his face. Beau knew he talked in his sleep; Renée teased him about it. He never thought it was something he needed to worry about here.
"Beau, hold on—"
Beau held up a shaking hand to stop him. "Listening to my conversation with Jessica, I get it, you warned me. The Googling? Fine—you were curious. Following me to Port Angeles saved my life so you can get a pass on that, too. But breaking into my house? Watching me sleep? Not okay, Edward. Not okay at all."
Edward had the decency to look ashamed. "Are you very angry with me?"
"Well, yeah!" Beau sputtered. His face was burning; he was humiliated. This was a complete violation of his trust. There were many things to be embarrassed about—the sleep talking, the nightmares of Phoenix, the messy room—the messiness especially these days. Plus he was a guy . . . and . . . things happened in the morning. It was wrong.
Beau folded his arms and stared at the floor. He didn't know how to start on this issue. At once Edward was there, crowding him as he had done at the truck, but Beau stubbornly looked away.
"Don't be upset," Edward pleaded, taking Beau's chin in his hand, determined to be heard. "You miss your mother, and you worry about her. Sometimes you talk about your . . . injuries. You used to talk about home a lot, but it's less often now. And when it rains, the sound makes you restless. Once you said, 'It's too green.'"
"Anything else?"
Edward knew what he was really after. "You did say my name."
"A lot?"
"How much do you mean by 'a lot' exactly?"
"Oh no," Beau muttered. He wished he had the Mariners cap to pull over his eyes. This was all just too much to handle for one day. Too much vulnerability. But he didn't resist when Edward pulled him into his arms.
"Don't be self-conscious. If I could dream at all, it would be about you. And I'm not ashamed of it."
They were so close, there, in Charlie's little kitchen. Beau looked at Edward, his inexperienced, benevolent stalker. He tried to understand where Edward was coming from.
Beau sighed. While misguided, strange, and wildly inappropriate, for someone with his abilities, it kind of made sense. Somehow.
The other boy smiled back as if he heard those last few thoughts. Then the air between them grew thick. Beau bent until their foreheads pressed together, lifting one hand to cup the nape of Edward's neck. He watched the eyelids come down over those golden eyes, when, abruptly, headlights flashed through the windows.
"Should your father know I'm here?" They were so close that Beau felt the words on his own lips.
"I'm not sure . . . " He faltered. His thoughts returned to the inevitable conversation he was supposed to have with Charlie. But the words didn't want to come. Not yet.
Edward seemed to understand. "Another time then . . . "
And then Beau was alone. "Edward?"
A ghostly chuckle lingered in the shadows, then nothing.
The key turned in the lock. "Beau?"
"In here," Beau called back. His eyes scanned the room for anything that might give them away—a stray jacket, a wallet . . . nothing. He turned back to the microwave in relief.
"Can you get me some of that? I'm bushed."
Beau handed him the warm plate and went to the cupboard for a new one. He nuked a fresh piece of lasagna, poured them both a glass of milk, then joined his father at the table. Charlie thanked him and they dug in.
"How was your day?"
"Good. The fish were biting . . . how about you? Did you get everything done that you wanted to?"
"Not really—it was too nice out to say indoors."
"It was a nice day," Charlie agreed, watching his son chug what remained of the milk. "In a hurry?"
"Yeah, I'm tired. I'm going to bed early."
"You look kinda keyed up," his father noted. Beau flushed. He doubted Charlie performed any serious interrogations at work—small town crime after all—but he wasn't unobservant. He noticed things. He noticed him.
"Do I?"
Beau carried their plates to the sink. Neither of them spoke as he rinsed, scrubbed, then placed the dishes upside down to dry.
"It's Saturday. No plans tonight?"
"No, I just want to get some sleep."
"None of the girls in town your type, eh?" Charlie was trying to play it cool. Beau almost laughed. No, Dad, no girls . . .
"No one has caught my eye yet."
"Not even the ones who brought us food? I thought maybe that Jessica Stanley . . . the one you went to Port Angeles with?"
"She's just a friend, Dad."
"Well, you're too good for them, anyway. Wait till you get to college to start looking."
"Sounds like a good idea to me," Beau agreed, turning for the stairs.
"Good night," Charlie called after him. No doubt he would be listening carefully all evening, perhaps waiting for Beau to try to sneak out. He wondered if the gossip reached Charlie. A flicker of guilt went through his belly. The news should really come from him.
"See you in the morning, Dad." See you creeping in my room tonight to check on me.
Beau dragged his feet up the stairs then shut the bedroom door loud enough for the chief to hear. From there he crept to the window, threw it open, and leaned out into the night. His eyes scanned the darkness.
"Edward?" He felt like an idiot.
The quiet, laughing response came from behind him. "Yes?"
Beau whirled around, pulse racing, and found a smiling Edward on the bed with his arms crossed. He was the picture of ease—and the complete opposite of Beau.
"Oh," Beau breathed as he sank unsteadily onto the windowsill. The sight of Edward Cullen in his bed was overwhelming.
"I'm sorry."
"Just give me a minute to restart my heart."
Edward joined him at the window. They sat, shoulder to shoulder, listening to his heartbeat slow down.
"How's the heart?"
"You tell me—I'm sure you hear it better than I do."
Beau spoke again when their soft laughter subsided. "Can I have a minute to be human?"
"Certainly."
He tried to look severe. "Stay."
"Yes, sir," Edward grinned as he returned to the bed. It took everything Beau had to keep walking past him.
Beau slammed the bathroom door as loud as he could. He closed his eyes at the rush of hot water and let it relax his muscles. The familiar smell of the Irish Spring soap made him feel like he was the same person who used it this morning. He tried not to think of Edward waiting in his room—that would only delay him more.
Beau pulled on a Sun Devils t-shirt and gray sweatpants. He brushed his teeth quickly then dashed down the stairs so Charlie could see him ready for bed.
"Night, Dad."
"Night, Beau," Charlie said, startled. No doubt he expected him to be gone already. Charlie had even redressed in his uniform, boots and all, the gun belt hanging by the door. Maybe this reappearance would keep him from checking in tonight.
Edward hadn't moved a fraction of an inch. He looked like a carving of Adonis, but when Beau closed the door, the statue came to life.
"Nice," he said, eyes taking in the damp hair and tattered ASU lettering across his chest. "It looks good on you."
Beau grimaced as he moved to join him on the bed. The boys propped themselves up on their elbows, going quiet for a few minutes. He couldn't imagine going to sleep now. There was still so much to learn. He decided to start with an easy one.
"You fixed that window, didn't you?"
Edward sighed. "I did. I'm sorry about that. And I'm sorry about the watching, er, the stalking."
Beau smiled. "Thanks. You're forgiven."
"So what was all that about?"
"Charlie thinks I'm sneaking out."
"Oh." Edward contemplated this information. "Why?"
"Apparently, I look a little overexcited."
He lifted Beau's chin to examine his face more closely. "You look very warm, actually."
It was very difficult, while they were touching, for Beau to form a coherent question. It took him a minute of scattered concentration to begin.
"It seems to be . . . much easier for you, now, to be close to me."
"Does it seem that way to you?" Edward murmured. His lips touched the hollow of Beau's throat. Gentle pressure on his shoulder pushed him back into the mattress. Beau took an uneasy breath, staring at the ceiling.
"Much, much easier."
"Hmm."
"So I was wondering . . . " He lost his train of thought as Edward traced his collarbone.
"Yes?"
"Why is that," his voice shook, embarrassing him, "do you think?"
Edward laughed. "Mind over matter."
Beau pulled back. As he moved, Edward froze, not breathing. They stared cautiously at each other until Edward relaxed. Then his expression—what Beau could see of it, anyway—became puzzled.
"Did I do something wrong?"
"No—the opposite. You're driving me crazy."
Edward sounded pleased. "Really?"
"Would you like a round of applause?"
"I'm just pleasantly surprised. In the last hundred years or so, I never imagined anything like this. I didn't believe I would ever find someone I wanted to be with . . . in another way than my brothers and sisters. And then to find, even though it's all new to me, that I'm good at it . . . at being with you . . . "
"But you're good at everything," Beau protested. "Except boundaries, I guess."
Edward shrugged, allowing that, and they both laughed quietly.
"But how can it be so easy now? This afternoon . . . "
"It's not easy," he sighed. "But this afternoon, I was still . . . undecided. I am sorry about that, it was unforgivable for me to behave so."
"Not unforgivable."
"Thank you," Edward smiled. "You see . . . I wasn't sure if I was strong enough . . . and while there was still that possibility that I might be . . . overcome . . . I was susceptible. Until I made up my mind that I was strong enough, that there was no possibility at all that I would . . . that I ever could . . . "
Beau had never seen him struggle so hard for words. It was so . . . human. "So there's no possibility now?"
"Mind over matter," Edward repeated, smiling, his teeth bright in the darkness.
"Wow, that was easy."
"Easy for you!" he amended, touching Beau's nose with his fingertip. "I'm trying. If it gets to be . . . too much, I'm fairly sure I'll be able to leave."
Beau scowled. He didn't like the talk of leaving.
"And it will be harder tomorrow. I've had the scent of you in my head all day, and I've grown amazingly desensitized. If I'm away from you for any length of time, I'll have to start over again. Not quite from scratch, though, I think."
"Don't go away, then," Beau said, unable to hide the longing in his voice.
"This suits me. Bring on the shackles—I'm your prisoner."
His hands formed manacles around Beau's wrists as he spoke. He let him, surprisingly titillated by the sensation of being trapped this way. Edward was still laughing a quiet, musical laugh. He'd laughed more tonight than Beau heard in all the time they spent together.
"You seem more . . . optimistic than usual," Beau said conversationally, as if he wasn't pinned down in the dark by a supernatural being. "I haven't seen you like this before."
"Isn't it supposed to be like this?" It sounded like Edward was smiling. "The glory of first love, and all that. You said the other night you were beginning to know me, and I think I'm beginning to know you, too."
Beau nodded, recalling the way they opened up for the first time. "That feeling of . . . someone seeing you. Who you really are."
"It's incredible, isn't it, the difference between reading about something, seeing it in the pictures, and experiencing it?"
"Very different," Beau agreed. "More forceful than I'd imagined."
"For example, the emotion of jealousy. I've read about it a hundred thousand times, seen actors portray it in a thousand different plays and movies. I believed I understood that one pretty clearly. But it shocked me . . . do you remember the day Jessica asked you to the dance?"
Beau remembered it for a different reason. "That was the day you started talking to me again."
"I was surprised by the flare of resentment, almost fury I felt—I didn't recognize what it was at first. I was even more aggravated than usual that I couldn't know what you were thinking, why you refused her. Was it simply for your friend's sake? Was there someone else? I knew I had no right to care either way. I tried not to care. And then the line started forming."
Beau scowled.
"I waited, unreasonably anxious to hear what you would say to them, to watch your expressions. I couldn't deny the relief I felt, watching the annoyance on your face. But I couldn't be sure. That was the first night I came here. I wrestled all night, while watching you sleep, with the chasm between what I knew was right, moral, ethical, and what I wanted. I knew that if I continued to ignore you as I should, or if I left for a few years, till you were gone, that someday you would say yes to Jessica. It made me angry."
Beau wanted to laugh, but he heard the pain in Edward's voice, and tried a kinder approach. "But I wouldn't say yes to Jessica. Ever. You just couldn't be . . . sure. Not about me. Or yourself."
"Yes," Edward whispered. "But then, as you were sleeping, you said my name. You spoke so clearly, at first I thought you'd woken. But you rolled over restlessly and mumbled my name once more, and sighed. The feeling that coursed through me then was unnerving, staggering. And I knew I couldn't ignore you any longer. But jealousy . . . it's a strange thing. So much more powerful than I would have thought. And irrational! Just now, when Charlie asked you about Jessica . . . "
"I should have known you'd be listening."
"Of course."
"That made you jealous, though, really?"
"I'm new at this; you're resurrecting the human in me. Everything feels stronger because it's fresh."
"But honestly, for that to bother you, after I hear Carlisle was collecting companions . . . how can I compete with that? Someone like you?"
"There's no competition." Edward's teeth gleamed as he grinned. He drew Beau's trapped hands around his back, holding him close to his chest. Beau kept as still as he could, even breathing with caution.
"I know there's no competition. That's the problem."
"For almost ninety years I've walked among my kind, and yours . . . all the time thinking I was complete in myself, not realizing what I was seeking. And not finding anything, because you weren't alive yet."
"It hardly seems fair," Beau whispered, his face still resting on Edward's chest, listening to their breathing. "I haven't had to wait at all. Why should I get off so easily?"
"You're right," Edward agreed with amusement. "I should make this harder for you, definitely. You've only experienced a great deal of trauma for one lifetime, risking your life every second you spend with me, that's surely not much. You only have to turn your back on nature, on humanity . . . what's that worth?"
"Very little—I don't feel deprived of anything yet."
"Not yet." His voice held ancient grief. Beau tried to pull away, to look at his eyes, but his wrists were still locked in an unbreakable hold.
"What—" Beau started to ask, but suddenly his hands were free, and Edward was gone.
"Lie down!" The order seemed to come from nowhere.
Beau rolled under the quilt and turned on his side, the way he normally slept. The door cracked open. A long minute passed, Charlie studying him, evidently deciding Beau really was where he was supposed to be.
Then Edward's cool arm was around him again. "You're a terrible actor—I'd say that career path is out for you."
"Damn."
Edward hummed a melody Beau didn't recognize; it sounded like a lullaby. Then he paused. "Should I sing you to sleep?"
"Right, like I could sleep with you here."
"You do it all the time," Edward reminded him.
"But I didn't know you were here."
"So if you don't want to sleep . . ."
Beau fought against the telltale surge of blood rushing past his waist. "If I don't want to sleep . . . ?"
That made Edward chuckle. "What do you want to do then?"
Beau couldn't answer at first. "I'm not sure."
"Tell me when you decide."
Beau felt the cool, intoxicating breath on his neck. "I thought you were desensitized."
"Just because I'm resisting the wine doesn't mean I can't appreciate the bouquet," Edward whispered. "You have a very floral smell, like lavender . . . or freesia. It's mouthwatering."
"Freesia?" he repeated. "Not that soap I like?"
"No."
"Well . . . it's an off day when I don't get somebody telling me how edible I smell."
Edward chuckled.
"I've decided what I want to do," Beau told him. "I want to hear more about you."
"Ask me anything."
"Why do you do it? I still don't understand how you can work so hard to resist what you . . . are. Please don't misunderstand, of course I'm glad you do. I just don't see why you would bother in the first place."
"That's a good question, and you're not the first to ask it. The others—the majority of our kind who are quite content with our lot—they, too, wonder at how we live. But you see, just because we've been . . . dealt a certain hand . . . it doesn't mean that we can't choose to rise above—to conquer the boundaries of a destiny that none of us wanted. To try to retain whatever essential humanity we can."
"Did you fall asleep?" Edward asked, when Beau didn't answer for some time.
"No."
"Is that all you were curious about?"
"Not quite."
"What else do you want to know?"
"Why can you read minds—why only you? And Alice, seeing the future . . . why does that happen?"
Beau felt him shrug. "We don't really know. Carlisle has a theory . . . he believes that we all bring something of our strongest human traits with us into the next life, where they are intensified—like our minds, and our senses. He thinks that I must have already been very sensitive to the thoughts of those around me. And that Alice had some precognition, wherever she was."
"What did he bring into the next life, and the others?"
"Carlisle brought his compassion. Esme brought her ability to love passionately. Emmett brought his strength, Rosalie her . . . tenacity. Or you could call it pigheadedness." Edward chuckled. "Jasper is very interesting. He was quite charismatic in his first life, able to influence those around him to see things his way. Now he is able to manipulate the emotions of those around him—calm down a room of angry people, for example, or excite a lethargic crowd, conversely. It's a very subtle gift."
Not only was it an adjustment to become supernatural, it definitely had to be an adjustment to start this new life with abilities. Abilities Beau couldn't begin to understand. Edward had said that he went through trauma, but seemed to not include himself as a victim of it, either.
"So where did it all start? I mean, Carlisle changed you, and then someone must have changed him, and so on . . . "
"Well, where did you come from? Evolution? Creation? Couldn't we have evolved in the same way as other species, predator and prey? Or, if you don't believe that all this world could have just happened on its own, which is hard for me to accept myself, is it so hard to believe that the same force that created the delicate angelfish with the shark, the baby seal and the killer whale, could create both our kinds together?"
"Let me get this straight—I'm the baby seal, right?"
"Right."
Beau wanted to kiss him again, but he had to be good, not wanting to make it more difficult for Edward than it already was.
"Are you ready to sleep? Or do you have any more questions?"
"Only a million or two."
"We have tomorrow, and the next day, and the next . . . " Edward reminded him. Beau smiled, euphoric at the thought.
"Are you sure you won't vanish in the morning? You are mythical, after all."
"I won't leave you," he promised, then, when he felt the warmth on Beau's face, went on, "What is it—another question?"
"No, forget it. I changed my mind."
"Beau, you can ask me anything."
When he didn't reply, Edward groaned.
"I keep thinking it will get less frustrating, not hearing your thoughts. But it just gets worse and worse."
"I'm glad you can't hear my thoughts," Beau argued. "It's bad enough you've been stalking me."
"Please?" His voice was impossible to resist. "If you don't tell me, I'll just assume it's something worse than it is."
"Well . . . you said Rosalie and Emmett will get married soon . . . is that . . . marriage . . . the same as it is for humans?"
Edward laughed in earnest now, but it was soft, understanding. "Are you talking about sex, Beau? Don't you humans wait until the third date to broach this topic?"
"God, you make it sound so cavalier," Beau mumbled, mortified now. "I wouldn't know, anyway. And I thought you were trying to be the good doctor."
"Well, I do have two medical degrees, so I think I can discuss sex in some regard—"
"You're a double doctor?"
Edward shrugged. "Have to fill the nights somehow. Aside from watching humans sleep, I guess."
When Beau didn't answer, an icy hand skimmed along his cheek. "To answer your question, yes, I suppose it is much the same. I told you, most of those human desires are there, just hidden behind more powerful desires."
"Oh," was all Beau could say.
"Was there a purpose behind your curiosity?"
"Well," Beau hesitated. "I did wonder . . . about you and me . . . someday . . . "
"I don't think . . . that would be possible for us."
"Because it would be too hard for you, if I were that . . . close?"
"That's certainly a problem. But that's not what I was thinking of. It's just that you're so soft, so fragile. I have to mind my actions every moment that we're together so that I don't hurt you. I could kill you quite easily, Beau, simply by accident. If I was too hasty . . . if for one second I wasn't paying enough attention, I could reach out, meaning to touch your face, and crush your skull by mistake. You don't realize how incredibly breakable you are. I can never, never afford to lose any kind of control when I'm with you."
He waited for Beau to respond, growing anxious when he did not. "Are you scared?"
"No. I'm fine."
"I'm curious now, though," Edward said. "Have you ever…?"
"Of course not. I told you I've never felt like this about anyone before, not even close."
"I know, it's just that I hear other people's thoughts. I know love and lust don't always keep the same company."
"They do for me. Now, anyway, that they exist for me at all."
"That's nice." Edward sounded satisfied. "We have that one thing in common, at least."
"Your human instincts . . . " Beau began, blushing again. "Well, do you find me attractive, in that way? At all?"
"I may not be a human, but I am a man," Edward assured him. "I've answered your questions, now you should sleep."
"I'm not sure if I can."
"Do you want me to leave?"
"No!" Beau said too loudly.
He laughed, then shifted so they were more conventionally spooning. Beau relaxed at the weight of the marble arm over his hip. At the start of the day, Beau had no idea it would end with him cuddling against a vampire, but he was elated by this turn of events.
Edward began to hum the same, unfamiliar lullaby; the voice of an archangel, soft in his ear.
More tired than he realized, exhausted from the long day of mental and emotional stress, Beau drifted to sleep in his cold arms.
A/N: Saddened beyond words to report the loss of my grandmother due to COVID-19. Thank you all for your wonderful responses to this story; it's truly one of the only things making me happy these days.
Stay safe, everyone. Take it from me - this thing is shattering families around the world. Wash your hands, wear a mask, and look after one another.