A/N: Thank you to everyone who's reviewed and rec'd this story. You guys totally rock!

RK is the 'New Fic of the Week' over at IndieFicPimp. A huge thank you for the pimping!

Edward licks to my awesome prereaders, Keye, Sandy, and Aleea, for their valuable feedback and cheerleading skills.

Thank God for my lovely betas, wmr1601 and Katmom, for wielding those Sparkly Reds. Mwah!

Chapter 5

~Saving Grace~

Living in a dream then I wake up
Wondering where I'm going to
But it's true
When I do
I see you
Loaded like a gun

~l~

Excerpt: Loaded ~ SEAL

The taste of delicious blood blooms on my tongue, sliding down my throat to soothe the burning dryness there. Slowly, it feels as though my body is reconnecting, coming back online.

Is this purgatory then? Am I about to be brought before judge and jury? Or do we dream of what we desperately hope once we float off into the hereafter?

More of the sweet, sweet taste trickles down my throat. The blood is too pure to belong to an adult. I never drank from a child, but I hear their blood is the ultimate honeyed nectar. Some members of the Volturi consider the blood of a child a rare delicacy—although even most of them think it profane to kill the young and innocent.

"Edward, can you hear me?" The breathy voice of an angel breaks in. "Please, God, let this work. I didn't mean for this to happen."

Warm hands caress me, touching me all over: my hair, face, arms, torso, legs. Soft lips kiss my cheek, my temple, and finally, my mouth.

"Please, Edward. I gave you all that I have . . . don't die."

My eyes open, and I see Isabella curled against my side with her head resting on my chest. Next to her are two empty bags of blood. Where did she get blood?

The sweetness courses through me: fixing, repairing, rebuilding. Layer by layer.

Isabella sobs on my chest, and the sound reaches inside me and twists. My arm lifts feebly, shaking like an elderly person with Parkinson's, but I manage to touch her silken hair, to stroke it.

Gasping, she raises her head, soft brown eyes full of tears and misery meeting mine.

"How?" I whisper.

"I gave you Hannah's blood. I only had two bags of it. When I ran from James, I brought it with me. I've always suspected Hannah's blood might be the cure, but I knew I couldn't let James figure that out, or he would have . . ." She slaps a hand over her mouth and whimpers. "I let him send her away to save her, so she would have a chance to live."

"Why . . . give it . . . to me?"

"You're not a bad guy. If you were, you never would have allowed me time to gain my strength before taking me in. You could have hurt me or forced me to leave, but you didn't. Besides, I just feel this . . . pull to you that I can't explain." Isabella looks away shyly, a deep blush rising to her cheeks

"Thank . . . you."

"Don't let my baby girl's blood go to waste. You have to get better," she whispers.

"How long . . . have . . . I been . . . like this?"

"Six days," she answers, trembling.

Six days? Vampires don't sleep and are impervious to sickness . . . the fact that I lost six days is astounding.

The smell of her fear assaults me, and I suspect she's afraid I'll retaliate in some way. Raising my arm again, I skim my fingers over her still-damp cheek. "I won't . . . hurt you. Promise."

Isabella brings her hand up to trap mine against her face, and she tilts her head, leaning into it. Her eyes flutter closed, a half-smile on her lips.

She's beautiful. Sick, weak, and dying, but she has a light about her, a vibrancy that can't be denied.

"Rest, Edward. I gave you the last of Hannah's blood a while ago. You're going to need all your strength to fight this."

Taking my hand in hers, she fits her body alongside mine, resting her head on my shoulder. I realize that I'm still on the kitchen floor, that she's ill herself and should be in a warm, comfortable bed.

"Go to . . . bed. Cold and un . . .comfortable . . . here." I'm amazed at the effort it takes me just to speak. My movements have been reduced to that of a geriatric patient, and I still can't move most of my body.

"No. I'm not leaving you. Don't bother trying to argue with me, either; I'm as stubborn as they come, and you need to conserve your energy."

"How's your health?" I ask, concerned.

"I'm not that bad. Really."

"How long?"

My question can encompass all manner of things, but she knows what I'm asking.

"A year . . . maybe two if I'm lucky."

A surge of regret flows through me. Really, she should mean nothing to me—she's a job, an assignment—but the thought of her perishing leaves me feeling despondent. And, on some level, I feel I will recover faster with her next to me, although there's absolutely nothing scientific about it.

For the next forty-eight hours, Isabella rarely leaves my side. She eats, showers, injects her Neupogen, and returns to me. She fashions a makeshift bed out of a comforter by folding it over a few times and sleeps snuggled against me. I know it's not good for her health to be down on the cold floor against my chilled body, but I can't deny how much I'm beginning to crave her presence or how much that scares me.

The lines have definitely blurred; it seems this is no longer a cut-and-dried assignment. If what she told me is true, James wants her for her blood, to run experiments as if she's a lab rat. I seriously doubt the attempted murder had anything to do with an illicit affair with his press secretary. In that case, there's no way Isabella is going back there—not if I have anything to say about it. If I survive, and there seems to be a good chance of that now, then I will do whatever I can to help her. Yes, even going so far as to contact my estranged family.

Isabella is sound asleep when my bodily functions finally return. Though they're still severely diminished by vampire standards, they're far superior to a human's. Sliding away from her carefully, I stand up, testing my strength. Glancing around, I note it's dark out, that there are some dishes piled in the sink, and her journal is now laying beside her. She's curled into a ball under the blanket, soft little snores escaping every so often.

When I'm sure of my strength, I lift her slight body into my arms. She's so soft and warm and feels so good cradled against my chest. Through my recovery, I've grown used to her warmth, and I avoid thinking about what that means. I walk carefully up the stairs to her bedroom and place her on the bed, pulling the covers up around her snugly.

"Edward . . ." she sighs in her sleep.

It's inappropriate, but I settle myself on the bed next to her, reasoning that I still need to rest. I also want to watch over her because I suspect she hasn't taken good care of herself over the past several days.

During the night, she has another nightmare, crying out for her child. I can't imagine how she feels, being separated from her little girl and living under the constant fear that her evil husband will figure out her secret.

"Hannah . . ." she whimpers, thrashing under the covers.

"Shh . . . Isabella. You're dreaming." I wrap my arms around her and run my fingers through her silken locks. She nuzzles her nose into my neck with a sigh, her arm snaking across my chest and her hand fisting my shirt.

I'm caught unawares by the feelings that bubble up inside me as this little waif of a woman leans into me with such trust. I want to protect her, to rip Senator Hunter limb from limb for taking her child away, for abusing her and causing her to go on the lam sick as she is. I'm not sure when I made the decision—when she cried for me, when she informed me that she sacrificed the last of her daughter's blood to try to save me, or when she called out my name in her sleep—but I'm not taking her back. If she tried to kill James Hunter, it was obviously well-justified. A low growl builds in my throat, and I think I might like to meet this James in a dark alley. I won't drink from him—that would be too good for the scoundrel—I might snap his fucking neck, though.

Isabella begins to stir, and I hope my growl didn't disturb her. Sighing and moving slowly, she surfaces. Lifting her head, she blinks sleepily, gasping when she notices me watching her intently. Looking around her, she realizes we're in her bed instead of on the kitchen floor and sits up quickly, putting a hand to her head.

"Whoa. Dizzy." Her eyes close for a moment before she opens them again. "Edward? How did we get up here?"

"I carried you."

"You carried me . . ." A smile spreads across her face, the first genuine one I've seen, and she lights up from within. So beautiful. "That means you're getting better!"

Isabella throws herself on top of me, hugging my body, and my arms close around her involuntarily. She feels so good here. So right.

And it suddenly slams home that I have feelings for her.

Is this what Alice saw? Is that why she insisted I take this job? If she thought Isabella was innocent, she could have found a way to save her without involving me. No, knowing Alice the way I do, she sent me for a much more important reason.

I'm distracted from my thoughts when Isabella squeals with delight and kisses my cheek. That brings to mind the soft kisses she placed over my face and lips when I was out of it and the way she worried for me and slept beside me on the floor.

Without thinking, I cup her face as she pulls back, lifting my head off the pillow. I move in slowly, in case she wants to stop me, until my lips brush hers. She grasps my wrists in her warm hands, but instead of pulling away, she draws closer, pressing me back as she straddles my body.

Our lips move together softly, and she opens her mouth, inviting my tongue inside. Her mouth is warmth and velvet, the taste sweet. We kiss for several long minutes without speaking. Without thinking.

Her hands slide down off my wrists, and she buries her fingers in my hair.

My hands smooth her silken tresses and wrap around her back, holding her to me.

Her plump lips kiss along my jaw, down my neck, and back up over my face. She kisses every inch, taking her time, her fingers massaging my scalp as she goes.

My cock grows hard beneath her, and I try to quell my urges. Isabella is not like the others. I can't imagine bedding her and tossing her away. She's too precious for that.

Oh, fuck. She's my mate, isn't she?

The irony of finding my mate this way is not lost on me. I've been a blood-drinking sexual Casanova, pleasuring various ladies as I take what I need.

Isabella is also human . . . and dying.

Pushing those thoughts away, I roll us over so I'm hovering above her. She gazes up at me with heavy-lidded eyes, a satisfied smile spreading across her face.

"Isabella . . . I don't know what's happening . . ."

"I don't either, Edward. Does it matter? Please just tell me you feel this deep inside you the way I do." Her eyes widen with the realization that she might be alone in her feelings.

"I feel it," I reassure her, caressing her cheek. "I don't know exactly what's happening, but I can't deny that it's there. I don't want you to worry about anything. I'll never let your husband near you again. Whatever happens, I'll protect you."

Her expressive brown eyes meet mine, and they speak the words that she doesn't. They say she trusts me completely; they speak of feelings that match the ones that now burn inside me.

"That's not what this is about. It has nothing to do with me convincing you not to bring me back for trial. I never expected to feel this way . . . about anyone. I'm so confused, Edward."

"Shh . . . I know that. You're not that kind of person. You could have just let me die here and gone on your way, but you took a risk trusting me." I kiss her softly, ghosting my lips along her jaw. "I won't let you down," I whisper against her ear. It takes a great deal of control not to grind my hips into her, let her feel how hard I am.

Tears leak from the corners of her eyes, sliding over her temples to wet her hair. Concerned I've hurt her fragile body, I roll away and sit up quickly. "Have I hurt you?"

"No, you didn't hurt me. I'm just overwhelmed by this and kind of sad that I found you now."

I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, my fingers tracing the delicate shell lightly. "Why sad?"

"I'm dying, Edward. My life is nearly over—so much time wasted because of James and his greed. I'll never see Hannah again."

I open my arms, and she crawls into my lap, resting her head against my shoulder. "How old is Hannah?"

"Three."

"Where is she?"

"I don't know. James has her hidden away somewhere. He said if I helped him become immortal, he would reunite me with her and let us go."

Obvious lies. If James became immortal, he'd spend his first year consumed by blood-lust; he probably wouldn't even remember that he's hidden his own child away from her mother. Anger surges through me, and I snarl. "James is a liar, but I promise you, we're going to find Hannah."

"But how?"

"I have a secret weapon: a psychic sister. I need to call Alice. She'll know what to do."

"You would do that for me?"

"I would do anything for you, Isabella."

She lifts her head, a question in her eyes even as her heart speeds. "Why?"

Slipping my hand beneath her hair, I kiss her deeply before I answer. "Because you're my mate."

When the words are out, I know them to be true, and something inside me changes forever.

~*RK*~

God, but you guys have lots of questions! I've tried to answer the ones I can. This story does unfold a little at a time. Next chapter you'll get a much better picture of Isabella's past, and farther into the story will be pieces of Edward's past with his estranged family. (There will be Cullens and Quileutes galore!)

Thank you all for reading! See you next Tuesday!

I Want It Painted Black should be out Wednesday, and I'm working on Broken Windows. I'm so sorry about the delays, and I appreciate your patience so very much.

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