HUMONGOUS AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, peeps – long time no … well, anything! How are you all out there in fan fiction land? I seem to have survived the last 18 months relatively unscathed and am thankful to be double-vaxed. I do hope all you lovely people have also managed to come through the pandemic okay and are looking forward to better times.

Anyway, I'm here, after a mahoosive hiatus, with a little one-shot that I originally wrote for the Thirst VampFic Contest. Unfortunately, I withdrew my entry for reasons I won't go into, and it has languished on my hard drive for the last year. So, having got over myself, I decided to just stick it up to see if anyone is interested in reading it – it seems a shame to do nothing with it. Apologies to those who already managed to read it during the brief time it was listed anonymously under the contest heading.

I must, of course, say a huge thank you to lovely Sally, aka Alice's White Rabbit, who really helped to make my words better; I am so grateful for her input. Thanks, also, to the lovely ladies who organised the contest – I cannot tell you how much your support meant to me when I was at a very low point. You are good people.

Finally (with apologies for this ridiculously long A/N), please may I prevail on you just a little longer and ask you to join me for a moment below, when I lever in my ulterior motive.


Summary: There are many dangers in the big city, some greater than others ... and some that we may not at first recognize.

Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable characters herein. No copyright infringement is intended.


The girl frowned as the loud knocking noise coming from underneath the hood of her old truck grew louder. Glancing around at her location, she became uncomfortably aware of just how lost she was and, worse, just how ... insalubrious were her surroundings.

Just as that thought slithered unpleasantly into her mind, her truck discharged an explosive backfire and lurched to a grinding, rattling halt.

"No, no, no, no," she muttered. Whispering a soft prayer, she turned the key in the ignition. A flat, quiet click confirmed her worst fear—the engine was dead. Desperately, she tried again, hoping against all reasonable hope that the engine would at least turn over but, once again, there was only the hollow click of the starter.

A sharp, whooping cry rang out, followed by the loud clang of metal on metal from beside her as someone hit the truck, and wretched dread rose in the young woman's throat as she lifted her eyes to look through the windshield.

Ahead of her, three men stood around the hood and, as her gaze met that of the man in the middle, a slow, wide grin spread across his face.

So intent was she on the three men before her that she failed to notice a fourth man standing on the driver's side. It was only when her door was wrenched open and a strong hand encircled her upper arm that she truly understood the danger she was in.

Despite her best efforts, it took only moments to drag her struggling and screaming from her vehicle and she watched in horror as his three companions moved nonchalantly to join their friend as he held onto the squirming girl.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" It was the middle guy, the one who had smiled so creepily at her; he was clearly the leader. The fourth man had now moved behind her, restraining her arms, and the leader stopped just a couple of feet in front of her. His eyes raked slowly, salaciously, up and down her slender form, making her skin crawl and leaving no doubt as to his intentions.

"Please, I have a phone, a few dollars, you can take it ... just ... please, let me go."

"Oh, we're gonna take whatever you have, sweetlips", the man drawled, "and then, if you're very, very good, maybe we'll keep you alive for a repeat performance." He leered at her as he said this, and the girl thought she might well vomit.

Again, she struggled impotently, letting out a shocked scream as the man who held her captive whipped her around to face her truck's open door and pushed her forward, propelling her down over the bench seat. She tried to scream again, but the hard, brittle vinyl robbed her of her voice, and she knew then that the best she could hope for was to survive.

High above the dark street, the scene playing out below did not go unobserved. A man dressed all in black squatted on the parapet of the crumbling warehouse building overlooking the shabby, blighted neighborhood, his eyesight unimpeded by such human concerns as distance or darkness. He took in every detail of the vile act unfolding a hundred feet below and smiled. He would eat well tonight—as ever, these mean streets offered up a veritable feast. The girl might be a problem, though—she was, he thought, an innocent, but he couldn't afford to leave a witness to his activities. He could, of course, try elsewhere, but it was almost three weeks since he'd fed, and these were prime pieces of meat.

As he dithered, he heard a shout and the man who had pushed the girl into her wreck of a truck stumbled back, cradling his hand. The pungent, enticing aroma of his blood lit up the senses of the man in black, instantly aiding his decision. Without another thought, he vaulted over the parapet and leapt elegantly to the ground, landing silently on the balls of his feet and streaking, unseen, to the site of the young woman's torment.

The first to feel his deadly touch was the fourth man, who was still holding his injured hand where the girl's teeth had drawn blood. In an instant, the man in black had rendered him unconscious, leaving him to crumple to the ground. Next, he grabbed the second and third men and cracked their heads together. The last man—the leader, he thought—was still standing in place, trying to understand the whirlwind of activity that had left his three companions seemingly lifeless on the ground. Just as the back part of his brain engaged his fight or flight reflex and opted for the latter, a hand shot toward him at dizzying speed, steel fingers wrapped around his neck, and he found himself nose to nose with a stranger. Under the anemic sodium streetlight, he stared into the blackest, most depthless eyes he had ever encountered. Even as the gangbanger tried to make sense of what was happening, the stranger was pushing his head to one side, exposing his neck and sinking razor sharp teeth into his throat. With his heart beating a wild staccato rhythm, he tried to scream as searing heat raced through his veins, paralyzing him, and the man in black sucked his life from him. Within seconds, he was limp and lifeless, an empty husk, and the stranger discarded him like a used condom.

Moving more swiftly than the human eye could follow, he transferred his attention to the other three, draining them just as quickly. Fully sated, he then gathered up their bodies as if they were four rag dolls and ran over to the abandoned warehouse from where he had first observed his prey. The boarded-up door offered no resistance, and he tore up a rickety stairway to the next floor, where he dumped the bodies in a dark corner and covered them with some old pallets and a filthy, brittle tarp. They would probably remain undiscovered for weeks, maybe more, by which time the rats and decomposition would make it near impossible to pinpoint cause of death.

Returning to the street, he knew he needed to check on the girl. If she had seen what had just gone down, he would need to eliminate her. He balked at the thought of killing an innocent young girl with her whole life ahead of her, but needs must when the devil drives, as the saying went. With luck, the girl had locked herself in her truck and kept her head down. If so, he would tell her he was just passing and offer to call her a cab—because, clearly, her junk-heap of a vehicle was going nowhere. If it transpired that she had, in fact, seen her four attackers being taken out—and even if she denied it, he would see it in her thoughts—then he would do what had to be done ...

The stranger paused. He cocked his head to one side, as if listening for something. He stared intently at the truck. The girl was definitely inside; he could hear her too-rapid heartbeat. He moved closer and cocked his head the other way.

He could hear nothing other than the normal muted cacophony of human existence.

The stranger was rarely confused—his brain worked at a speed that humans could not comprehend and he could access parts of his brain that, even in the 21st century, remained a mystery to the finest neuroscientists. But he was confused now. In almost two hundred years he had never met anyone whose thoughts weren't an open book to him. His ability to read minds was both a blessing and a curse—it had saved him from catastrophe once or twice, but he often longed for silence, longed for a respite from the constant noise in his head. He could, of course, retreat to his lakeside house in the mountains, but he was a city boy at heart and, even though his nature demanded that he live a somewhat reclusive lifestyle, he still enjoyed the sounds of a city, the buzz, the vibe, the culture—and the convenient access to his natural food source.

The sound of movement inside the ugly truck drew the stranger's attention, forcing him to focus once again on the matter of the girl. He must find out if she'd seen something she shouldn't have.

But what then? Her silence was too intriguing to ignore and required further investigation. But not here. He didn't want to hang around any longer than necessary, and he needed to take her with him. He would decide her fate when he had all the facts.

He heard the dull click of the ignition key being turned and smiled at this evidence of the girl's utterly misplaced optimism. He walked at a human pace to the driver's door. The girl had dropped her head to the steering wheel and her eyes were closed.

He knocked lightly on the glass.

Immediately, her heart went into overdrive. Her head shot up and swiveled so quickly he was worried she'd given herself a whiplash injury. Huge, fearful brown eyes, set in a pale, heart-shaped face, stared out at him.

He took a step back, raising his hands, palms out, to indicate he was not a threat.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

The girl continued to stare at him mutely, biting her lip.

"Um, my name's Edward. I was just passing and you seem to be having a spot of car trouble. This really isn't a good place to hang around. Do you need a ride?"

She blinked—at last—and shook her head a little, as if trying to clear her thoughts.

Her thoughts! What the hell was she thinking? He had to know.

"Go away, I've called the cops!" she shouted.

She said no more, and Edward could see her lip trembling. For the first time, he gave some thought to how she must be feeling. Before he had intervened, it was obvious she was about to be gang-raped and probably murdered, and now, despite the fact that her attackers had miraculously disappeared, she was alone in a broken-down vehicle, surely fearing that her attackers might return at any moment. It was a long time since Edward had felt vulnerable in any way, but he discovered, to his surprise, that he could still empathize with how terrifying this whole situation must be, and he felt a sudden and inexplicable wave of compassion.

Whether it had anything to do with the fact that she was quite the prettiest little thing he'd seen in a very long time was a question for another day.

Right now, he needed to get her out of there. And whether he could get her to trust him enough to open her door and let him take her to safety was a question that demanded an immediate response. If she had called the cops, their arrival would be a complication he could do without. Whether the local PD would rush to such a crime-infested locale was debatable, but he still didn't want to hang around to find out if this might be the exception.

His eyes were the main problem. They were scarlet with his victims' blood; not a good look. It was unlikely she'd noticed yet—humans were remarkably unobservant—but she soon would.

He debated with himself how best to approach the problem. The quickest and easiest thing to do would be to yank the door off the truck, pull her out and break her neck. Swift and efficient—merciful, too. She would hardly have time to register what was happening before she died, and she would feel no pain. If the police turned up, they would attribute it to a random robbery-murder, make cursory enquiries in the neighborhood and then file it away with all the other unsolved murders.

Yes, that was definitely the best way to deal with this situation.

But ...

Edward knew himself well. He'd lived a very long life and had spent much of it in self-imposed solitude. His was a personality that tended toward introspection—vague memories of his former life as a human confirmed that this was so. It was inevitable, therefore, that the curiosity he felt about this young woman would gnaw away at him, like a rat chewing a cable, and he would know no peace until he solved the riddle of her silent mind.

He nodded to himself, his mind made up. One way or another, the girl was coming with him, and he would have to make it quick. He could hear sirens, but they were still far away. They could, of course, be going anywhere and, certainly, it was a sound that provided a constant soundtrack to life in this city, especially at night.

He couldn't afford to take a chance, though.

He depressed the door handle and pulled. The ancient locking mechanism offered no resistance and a second later the door was wide open.

And that's when it hit him.

A scent so extraordinary, so delicious, so ... intoxicating, it overwhelmed him, befuddling his mind.

He gasped, taking an involuntary step back, even as the girl scooted furiously across the bench seat toward the opposite door. He could barely think straight, but his vampire brain operated on many levels, processing myriad thoughts and actions at inhuman speed, and the predator in him reacted instinctively to the fact that his prey was trying to escape. As she threw open the passenger door and practically fell out of the truck, Edward was waiting to catch her.

Wrapping steel arms around her, he held her close, all the while forcing himself to ignore both her delicious aroma and an almost primeval drive to bite, bite, bite.

Meanwhile, within Edward's iron embrace, the girl struggled weakly, ineffectually, her arms trapped and useless. She kicked at his shins as she dangled above the ground, but she may as well have used a feather duster. As she continued to wriggle, he couldn't help but grin at her feeble attempts to escape. She was a fighter; he'd give her that. An optimist and a fighter—quite the combination.

"Calm down, little girl. I don't want to hurt you."

She paused in her struggle, looking into his eyes for the first time. He knew the exact moment she registered the deep scarlet of his irises, and her thumping, overworked heart notched up to yet another level, pounding in her chest to such an extent he was sure he could actually feel it. It was an odd feeling, almost as if his own dead heart had started beating again.

He dismissed the thought immediately. He had no time to squander on such fanciful nonsense. It was time to go, and the best way to facilitate a quick, clean and, most importantly, unobserved exit was to render the girl unconscious. Carrying a terrified, screaming woman through city streets was just not an option.

Reaching behind her, Edward flicked shut the door of her truck before setting her on her feet and leaning her against it.

"Shh, everything's going to be okay," he murmured, leaning in and letting his lips brush her ear. Then, because he just couldn't resist, he slid his nose down her neck, inhaling her incredible fragrance, until his lips were over her wildly throbbing pulse.

Groaning softly, he imagined for a moment what it would be like to taste that thick, warm, ambrosial blood, to swirl it around his mouth and feel it slide down his throat. Then, because the thought was impossible to deny, he wondered what it would be like to experience that sweet, sweet pleasure at the moment of orgasm.

He felt her shiver, the tremor seeming to spread throughout her entire body, and he wondered if she could feel his arousal. It had been a while since he'd had sex and even longer since he'd had sex with a human. But that wasn't what this was about.

At least, that's what he told himself.

Sighing, he allowed himself to press his lips to her fluttering pulse, and then pulled back slightly. Her wide, frightened eyes were, he observed, the color of oak-aged cognac, which, even in her panicked state, spoke of warmth and kindness.

"P-please ... if-if you're gonna kill me, just do it quickly," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"Shh," he cooed, sliding a hand into her hair and cupping the back of her head. At the same time, he dipped his own head, and then, allowing his venom to flood his mouth, he pressed his cold lips to hers, a kiss she couldn't escape in his lethal embrace. Her lips parted in a futile attempt to draw much needed oxygen into her heaving lungs, but what she got was cold, venom-saturated air as he breathed directly into her mouth.

For a moment, the girl felt a sort of swooning euphoria, and then everything went black as she slipped into unconsciousness.

Edward settled the comatose girl on the huge king-sized bed in his loft apartment, dropping to the floor the backpack and purse he had retrieved from her truck. Using a thumb to lift one eyelid, he estimated that she would be out for at least another hour. He had forced a considerable amount of his breath into her lungs, more, indeed, than he would normally administer. He had only ever used it sparingly in the past—a short puff during a light kiss would render human women oblivious to his more supernatural attributes, but he had seldom had cause to use the technique.

The situation was very different with this brown-eyed girl, however. Having left his car at home, he needed to carry her a considerable distance and he really needed her to be unaware and incapable of any kind of resistance. Her weight, of course, was of no concern, but to transport an unwilling woman on foot meant that Edward had to travel mostly via rooftops and dark side streets, away from the prying eyes of night-owls, so it was important the girl remain immobile and quiet. Slung over his shoulder, fireman's lift style, made for a much easier journey.

Now, in the privacy of his home, he was, at last, able to study her more closely. He opened her purse, deciding to use the time while she slept to learn a little more about her.

Sitting on the edge of the bed beside her, he went through her wallet. In it he found 42 dollars and change, a piss-poor amount to be carrying when she was clearly going on a long trip of some kind. Next was a photograph of a younger version of herself being hugged from behind by a brown-haired man with an impressive mustache who could only be a relative, judging by the family resemblance—her father, he suspected. She looked to be about 14 or 15—a skinny adolescent—and was grinning widely. Edward gazed long and hard at the picture, finding himself envying the ease and the obvious love between father and daughter. His human memories were vague and faded, like an old sepia photograph, but he recalled enough to know that he and his father had not been close—quite the opposite, in fact.

He shut off the memories and continued his search. Behind a clear plastic window was a driver's license. It displayed the girl's picture—a rather glum likeness—and identified her as Isabella Marie Swan, a resident of Washington State, just 19 years old.

Edward stared hard at the electronically generated photo. Long, dark hair framed a too pale face and, although applicants are told not to smile, he sensed that there was more going on in this image than just the need to project a poker face. The apparently blank look in her eyes seemed, on closer examination, to be imbued with sadness, and the tight line of her mouth told him that she was holding something in, something painful, although what that could be in one so young was impossible to surmise from a single snapshot.

He turned his attention from the picture to the real thing—a much more enjoyable activity. Deeply asleep as she was, her features had settled into a much more relaxed visage. Looking at her now, in the warm light of the bedside lamp and free of the fear she had been projecting since they first met, he could see that what he had originally considered to be a pretty face was, in fact, ethereally beautiful. Her pale skin was almost translucent, her mouth full and slightly pouting, and her eyes, which he knew to be a warm shade of brown, were fringed with long, luxuriant lashes.

As for her body, well, what he had at first considered to be thin and androgynous now proved to be slender but shapely. This was clearly a girl on the cusp of adulthood, her body changing from that of a coltish teenager to the curves of a lovely woman.

Edward was far from immune to her appeal, even without the enticing scent that emanated from her. But this was not why she was here, his attraction to her was not the reason he had risked so much to bring her to his home.

At least, that's what he told himself.

He needed her to wake up now. He needed to decode the mystery of her quiet mind. Once he'd solved that puzzle, he would let her go. As yet, she knew nothing of his secret. He had already put in the green contact lenses he wore when mingling with humans. He would tell her she fainted and that he carried her to his car a short distance away before driving her to his apartment to recover. He would insist she stay for a day or two to recuperate and would study her closely. He was sure an answer would present itself quickly, and he could then send her on her way, none the wiser, and forget about her.

His plan in place, he became impatient for her to awaken. He placed a cold hand to her cheek, bending over her to whisper in her ear.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, wake up."

He didn't actually expect an immediate response, so he was surprised when her heartbeat stuttered and then picked up its rhythm. As he drew away, he felt her eyelashes flutter softly against his cheek and he knew she was awake.

Faster than the eye could follow, Edward removed himself from the bed and settled into a large, wing-backed armchair by the window. It was where he liked to sit to read, and it was where Isabella's gaze found him a few seconds later. What she saw was a breath-takingly handsome man quietly turning the page of a thick volume and she frowned in confusion. She could have sworn someone was sitting close to her on the bed, leaning over her even, but she figured she had been dreaming as it was clearly impossible that the man could have removed himself so swiftly from her side to a chair 10 or 12 feet away with his nose in a book.

It was at this point that Edward looked up, as if only just realizing that the girl in his bed had regained consciousness. He smiled at her quizzical expression and closed his book, placing it on the small table next to his chair.

"Hello, Isabella. How are you feeling?"

Her frown deepening, she hauled herself into a sitting position, her back against the padded leather headboard.

She glanced around her before turning her head to meet his eye. With a remarkably steady voice and a somewhat defiant upward tilt of her chin, she finally spoke. "Where am I? And how do you know my name?"

Edward couldn't help his small smirk. She was brave; he would add that to the list of her qualities. He recalled now how she'd kept fighting her attackers even when it must have seemed hopeless, and now here she was, waking up in a stranger's apartment and demanding answers.

He chuckled to himself, which earned him a rather delightful scowl.

Isabella scooted around so she was sitting on the edge of the bed and looking straight at him.

"Don't laugh at me. I think I have a right to know what the hell is going on."

Damn, but he's good looking. The thought annoyed her.

With an effort, Edward composed his features and met her angry gaze.

"I apologize; that was rude of me. Please, let's start again. My name is Edward Masen. I know you are Isabella Swan and that you're from Washington because I took the liberty of checking your wallet for ID and to see if I could find a next of kin I should contact, as you had been unconscious for some time."

He paused, waiting to see if she would respond, but she was now looking away from him, out through the window where dawn's early light was just beginning to filter through. An odd, unfamiliar emotion caught him unawares. He'd felt a hint of it the night before—like an uninvited visitor turning up. But now it seemed the visitor might be angling for a prolonged stay.

Compassion.

It had snuck up on him again, and he found that disturbing.

"I'm not sure if you remember, but I found you last night in a very shaken state—"

Her moment of quiet introspection interrupted, she turned her head sharply.

"I do remember—I'm not likely ever to forget! What happened to those men? How were you able to fight them all off? I mean, I'm grateful ... really, really grateful, of course I am. But there were four of them. Where did they go?"

Edward shrugged. "I guess they ran off when they saw me approaching. I don't know where they went."

"Yeah, right, because four armed gangbangers were ... what? Intimidated by your good looks and sartorial flair?" Sarcasm dripped from her every word as she crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow at him.

"They were armed?" he asked disingenuously, choosing to ignore her remark about his looks.

Isabella rolled her eyes. "Of course they were armed—they were fucking gangbangers!" She shook her head in disbelief at his apparent naïveté.

Edward suppressed a smile. Pretty feisty for a girl who'd woken from unexplained unconsciousness in a stranger's bed, with said stranger sitting watching her.

"Okay, fair point, well made. But what I was going to say is I don't want you to feel threatened or afraid—although it's rather obvious you feel neither." He gazed at her for a moment, wondering if she would disagree, but she just rolled her eyes again and looked away.

"Okay, then. So, I just wanted you to know that I brought you here for your own safety—"

"Did the cops show up?" she demanded.

He frowned. "Uh, no ... well, I don't know, to be honest. I just thought it was best to get out of there in case—"

"What were you doing there?"

He sighed at this further interruption. "Like I said, I was just passing. I was hungry and I'd heard there was a great fried chicken place in the area—"

"Fried chicken?"

"Jesus, woman, if you'd just let me finish a sentence—"

"I smell bullshit, Mr Masen, big rancid piles of it. You were there to score drugs, weren't you?"

His barked laugh made her jump, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"My dad was a cop, so don't think you can fool me."

Chuckling, he just shook his head at her.

"Oh, Isabella, if only you knew. I can tell you, hand on heart, that I was honestly there to get something to eat."

He couldn't help but smile to himself at the fact that, for once in his life, he was telling the absolute truth to a human.

"A fried chicken place ... there? That can't possibly be true."

He shrugged. "Clearly, I was misinformed. But none of that matters now. You're here, you're safe and I'd really like to understand how you came to be there, where you were going and what your story is."

"Why?"

He cocked his head to one side, not expecting such a direct and uncompromising response.

"Uh, well, if the address on your driver's license is current, then you're a long way from home. You were travelling in a clearly ancient and unreliable vehicle with a large bag of clothes and possessions—"

"Hey, where is my bag? Did you bring it?" she asked, looking around.

Clamping his jaw, Edward stood, crossed to the end of the bed and hoisted the large backpack up. He dumped it unceremoniously next to her, making her jump and giving him a slight and somewhat wicked sense of satisfaction.

Damn the girl, she was infuriating.

He returned to his chair and sat down, transferring his gaze to the ceiling in an attempt to calm his irritation. He was beginning to think it had been a stupid idea to bring her here. She was just going to drive him crazy, and he probably still wasn't going to find out what made her tick. He should cut her loose and put her out of his mind.

"Thanks, Edward," she said softly, biting her lip.

"You're welcome, Isa—"

"It's Bella, actually … I prefer Bella. No one has ever called me Isabella."

Edward fisted a hand in his thick hair and squeezed his eyes shut. It would do no good to get angry with her. She had obviously never been taught any manners and perhaps it wasn't her fault she was so fucking annoying!

"Sorry, I guess that was rude. I don't mean to keep interrupting, I just … I mean … look, I'm sorry, okay. I won't interrupt again. Please, carry on."

"Well, thank you, that's so kind of you," he snarked. "Anyway, as I was saying—"

At that moment, Bella's stomach made a loud churning noise, like water going down a plughole. It seemed to echo around the apartment, and she immediately wrapped her arms around her middle in a vain attempt to stifle it. Wide eyed, she stared in horror at Edward as color rushed to her cheeks, staining them a vivid red, and her teeth clamped down on her lower lip.

Seated opposite, Edward was equally horrified, but not because he was embarrassed. Bella's blush was like catnip ... and that lip! And it wasn't just the visual aspect that had him fighting to stay in his chair—her scent, which he had forced himself to get used to over the last hour or so, now assaulted his every sense. He may have satiated himself on the young hoodlums just a few hours earlier, a feast which would normally keep him satisfied for two or three weeks, but as he watched Bella's rich, intoxicating blood suffuse her entire upper body, he felt a hunger like nothing he'd ever known. His throat was on fire as venom pooled in his mouth, and he knew he must immediately leave the room, the apartment, the street even, or take everything from her. He'd fucked women in this place, both vampire and human, but he had never taken a life here, and he certainly didn't want to start with Bella Swan.

Without another word, Edward stopped breathing and stood up. He walked at human speed to the door and left the room.

Bella watched him leave and, a moment later, she heard the apartment door open and close.

She continued to look at the bedroom door for another five minutes, wondering what the hell had just happened and expecting him to walk back in, but all was quiet. She waited another minute or two, then stood up. She wandered into the main living room—a huge space with a large, modern open-plan kitchen. A long breakfast bar served as a divider, and she moved around it to the cupboards. She was thirsty, and hoped she could find some cookies or crackers, or maybe some cereal to eat. The first overhead cupboard she opened was empty, which was odd, so she opened the next one. That, too, was empty, and the next and the next. In fact, all the cupboards were empty; there wasn't a plate, a cup, a knife, fork or any cooking pans or utensils. There was a refrigerator, but it, too, was empty, and there was no microwave and no coffee maker. Nothing. She could understand a single guy not being able to cook—God knows, her dad had been hopeless in the kitchen—but this was nuts.

She looked around, confused. After a moment, she turned on the faucet and cupped her hands to drink. It took a few handfuls, but she was at least able to take the edge off her thirst. There was no hand towel or paper towels to dry herself, so she wiped her mouth on her sleeve and went in search of the bathroom, which was attached to the bedroom. Here, she found towels but, crucially, there was no toilet paper.

Who doesn't have toilet paper?

There was no glass for a toothbrush—in fact, there was no toothbrush at all. There was no razor nor shaving cream, despite the fact that Edward was clean-shaven, no toothpaste, nor much else of what you would normally find in a single man's bathroom—like condoms. Surely, a single man as attractive as Edward needed condoms. Unless, of course, he was a careless, selfish asshole. There was, however, shower gel and shampoo in a little nook in the large walk-in shower and there was a cupboard under the basin. Bella now fully expected this, too, to be empty, but it wasn't. On the top shelf was a silvery box marked TTDEYE. Picking it up, she saw that it contained colored contact lenses—Comet Green, to be precise.

Green? That was weird. Surely, someone with his russet coloring would already have green eyes ... wouldn't they?

She frowned, thinking back to the attack and the point when Edward pulled her into his arms. Her memory felt a little hazy, but she was sure he'd had ... no, wait, that couldn't be right ... his eyes were ... red?

She swung around, her urgent gaze alighting on each strange thing in that bathroom. She looked at the box in her hand again and threw it back in the cupboard, slamming the door shut.

Then she ran into the living room and looked around her. There were no family photos, no personal adornments of any kind.

Okay, that wasn't so odd in a single guy's apartment.

The walls were lined with bookshelves, which were jammed full. There was also a large shelf unit full of vinyl records—there must have been over a thousand albums. She looked longingly at the books for a moment, but then crossed the room quickly and started examining the record sleeves. There she discovered music from every decade, including this one, with some dating back to the early part of the 20th century; the earliest ones were brittle shellac 78s.

She turned away, examining the room again. There was a beautiful antique bureau under one of the windows which might yield something useful, so, with a nervous glance at the door, she went over and lifted the rolltop.

She knew she had no right to snoop, but something wasn't right here, and she needed to know how much danger she was in. She could leave, of course, but with nowhere to go, little money, no transportation, and a massively heavy bag, she didn't want to go off half-cocked. So far, Edward had been a perfect gentleman—well, apart from rushing off without a word. He had undoubtedly saved her from a fate worse than death, and possibly death itself. He had brought her to his home, put her in his bed, but clearly not laid a hand on her. If this was, indeed, a brief sanctuary of sorts she wanted to cling to it for as long as possible.

And maybe, despite her suspicions, she wasn't yet ready to leave Edward.

With another look toward the door, she turned back to the bureau and started rifling through the contents, opening the small drawers and searching for any clue to who her knight in shining armor might be.

Her search, at first, seemed fruitless. There were utility bills, maintenance invoices and other such mundane paperwork, but nothing out of the ordinary. She was about to give up when she remembered that her Grandma Marie had owned a similar piece of furniture—not as nice or, she suspected, as valuable, but much the same design nevertheless. And Grandma's desk had had a secret drawer behind the letter slots at the front. It had always intrigued and excited her as a child, and she loved to play with the hidden catch which released the fascia and revealed the secret compartment. Bella opened the drawer on the left and felt inside.

And there it was, a tiny lever. With her heart in her mouth, she hooked her finger around it and pulled. It gave a satisfying click, and the front portion of the desk sprang forward slightly, allowing her to pull it away. Behind it, just as she suspected, was a long, shallow drawer, which she pulled open.

Inside were several handwritten letters.

The paper was expensive vellum and was covered in old-fashioned, cursive script which looked like it had been written with a fountain pen. There were seven letters, the most recent one dated June 1997 and the oldest one dated October 1932.

Each of them began the same way: "Dear Edward".

"Well, aren't you the clever one, discovering my secret stash."

Bella screamed and dropped the letters.

How had she not heard him?

"I-I'm ... I'm so sor—"

Before she could even start to articulate an adequate apology, Edward was in front of her—she hadn't even seen him move—and his large hand was on her throat.

He wasn't squeezing and he wasn't hurting her, but she nevertheless knew she was trapped. She looked into his eyes, which were a muddy sort of green, and she knew there was something unnatural about them.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, knowing the words were wholly inadequate.

However, to her surprise, he sighed and dropped his hand, taking a step back. As she stood frozen, he stooped and picked up the letters. He gave them a cursory glance before shoving them back in the drawer, replacing the fascia and closing the rolltop.

Still glued to the spot, Bella watched in silence as he turned to her with a resigned look on his face.

"Did you read them?" he asked emotionlessly.

"I ... no, not really. I just saw the dates and who they were addressed to."

"I see. And what's your conclusion?"

He seemed genuinely curious, but Bella was wary.

"I don't know?" She couldn't help the rising inflection, turning it into a question.

Edward gave a wry smile and walked over to a wing-backed chair next to one of the bookcases, a twin to the one in the bedroom, and sat down to face her.

After a moment, Bella hesitantly pulled out the desk chair and lowered herself onto it.

"Come now, Bella, don't be coy. I think you're a very bright girl indeed, and I also think you have an opinion about me. I would very much like to hear it before I ask you to leave."

Edward wasn't sure why he was challenging her—did he really want her to give substance to any suspicions she might be harboring by discussing them? But, like picking at a scab, he needed to keep worrying at it until it bled.

Meanwhile, Bella's emotions were all over the place. She knew she had seriously overstepped and that Edward was absolutely entitled to feel angry, but she was afraid of what that might mean for her. He hadn't attacked her—not really—which gave her hope. But once she spoke of her suspicions—wildly speculative as they might be—would he be so sanguine?

Worst-case scenario—he would kill her.

Second worst-case scenario—he would throw her out on her ear, which she clearly deserved.

She stared at him as she warred with her internal dilemma.

Goddammit, why did he have to be so attractive, so off-the-scale sexy? It was distracting.

As for Edward, his was a very different thought process. He could not recall a time when he felt so frustrated, all because the girl's mind was apparently immune to his gift. Not a chink, not a snippet of her thoughts was available to him, and he was left feeling completely at sea. How could he make a decision if he had nothing on which to base it?

"You're throwing me out?"

The object of his ire finally spoke, her voice small.

He sighed, crossing his long legs and running a hand through his hair.

"Yes ... no ... I don't know. Bella, I ..." He paused, shaking his head. "Look, I need you to tell me what you're thinking. It's very ... difficult for me, not knowing. I don't want to hurt you, I really don't, but I'm concerned you may have become privy to matters you can't possibly understand. So, please, help me out here."

"And what if I confirm your worst fears? Are you going to kill me?" She bit her lip, bringing blood to just below the surface.

Edward turned his head away.

"Please don't bite your lip," he whispered.

Bella frowned, releasing her lip. "Sorry, I wasn't aware I was doing it."

"You do it a lot; please, desist," he growled through gritted teeth.

She cocked her head to one side. It was such an odd thing to say, and was one more piece of weirdness that, when taken as a whole, gave her a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Right on cue, said stomach let out its own growl and Edward buried his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I did look for something to eat while you were out, but ... well, you don't even have any plates, let alone food."

He looked up, regarding her evenly. He then took his phone out of his pocket and started tapping rapidly on the screen. After a moment, he put it to his ear.

"What sort of pizza do you like?" he asked sharply.

"Oh, uh, just cheese ... and mushrooms ... Oh, and a coke ... in a cup."

He rolled his eyes and relayed the order, giving his address and hanging up.

"Okay, food is on its way. Please rest assured that I wouldn't bother paying good money to feed you if I was then going to kill you."

Bella huffed. "I can pay for my own food, thanks!"

He waved a dismissive hand. "Hardly. Consider it my treat. Now, Isabella, I need you to talk to me. Why were you searching my home? What do you think you know?" He paused. "But first, tell me your story. What were you doing downtown?"

So, she told him.

First, about her mom running out on her when she was four years old, about her dad, Charlie, being a cop and dying of cancer six months earlier. She told him about the bank foreclosing on the house, which had been remortgaged to pay medical bills. About being taken in by her father's best friend, about his son, who turned out to want more than she was willing to give … and who wouldn't take no for an answer. About his threats, his looming presence, his demands. She told him how, in the dead of night, she had crept out of the house with a hastily packed bag, got in her truck and started driving.

"Where were you going?"

Bella looked up from the pizza that had arrived in the middle of her story. She noted that he hadn't taken any, despite having said he was hungry when he found her and obviously not having eaten since.

"Nowhere, anywhere. Just away. Away from that shitty town that did nothing to help a man who spent his life serving and protecting it. Away from Billy's desperate hope that I'd marry his son just to maintain a connection to his dead friend, and away from Jake and his possessive fuckery. He wanted to control my life. He wanted a little housewife who would knock out a passel of fat babies, cook his meals, and spread her legs whenever the need—his need—arose. My dreams of college may have been dead in the water after the money ran out, but I wasn't ready to give up on living a life of my choosing—not for Jacob Black or for anyone. My dad would have hated that."

Getting up, she carried the box with the remaining pizza to the kitchen and dropped it on the breakfast bar. Behind her, Edward was silent, and she wondered if she'd bored him to death or whether he was just trying to work out the politest way to tell her to go.

Turning, she was a little surprised to see him regarding her contemplatively, a slightly quizzical look on his face.

"What?" she asked.

At first, she didn't think he was going to speak, but then it seemed like he'd made a decision.

"You are such an enigma to me, Bella Swan." He shook his head, smiling wryly.

"Hey, right back atcha, Edward Masen. Like, duh, why don't you have anything in your kitchen or your bathroom, why don't you eat, and why do you wear colored contact lenses? I'm no enigma; I'm like an open book. But you? Wow, you're ... you're like that saying of Winston Churchill's ... what was it? You know, the one he said about Russia or something ..."

"A riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma."

"That's the one. That is definitely you."

"Well, are you close to solving the mystery? You must have a theory."

She gazed speculatively at him for a moment, leaning forward to rest her forearms on the counter.

Edward winced as he watched her bite her lip, but then she spoke.

"Honestly? I don't know, but there's something ..." She shook her head and looked down at her hands where they were clasped in front of her.

Edward leaned forward. If only he could read her damned thoughts. "Tell me."

"It's dumb; you'll laugh at me."

"Bella, if there's one promise I can keep, it's that I won't laugh at you for voicing your theory."

She looked up, staring at him for what seemed like a very long time.

"Are you going to make me leave?" she demanded.

He wasn't expecting the question, and sat back in his chair, frustration once again gnawing at him.

"You don't want to leave? If your theory about me is so ... out there, then I imagine you'd want to get as far from me as possible."

"You'd think, wouldn't you." She smiled. "But it's bizarre. I mean, there is definitely major weirdness going on with you, but ... is it stupid that I don't feel afraid, that I actually feel safe here, with you?"

Edward was shocked. Humans were always afraid of him, even if they tried to hide it or didn't understand why they were scared. Human women were attracted to him, and he had brought one or two of them to his bed. But, regardless of their desire for him, and despite how good the sex was, he could always hear the fear in their thoughts. And no woman had ever captured his interest for longer than one night or two, be they human or vampire. He wanted to be intrigued, to be stimulated by the company of others, but their thoughts were so prosaic, so uninspiring. Or they were just mad, or bad—or both—and he couldn't imagine ever wanting to spend more than a few days with anyone, let alone an eternity. He had, of course, heard of vampires who mated for life, but it was such an alien concept to him, and he knew that, like the majority of his kind, he would almost certainly live out his existence alone. It was, as always, a somewhat depressing notion.

"Edward?"

He focused back on the girl and, as he did so, a sudden revelation hit him like a bolt out of the blue. This girl, this young runaway with a tragic past ... she, like no other woman, had captivated him. She intrigued him, and there was no way he could let her leave, not yet. Whether it was just her silent mind or something more, he had to find out.

"Edward, I know I have no right to ask, and I know you're really cross with me, but please don't make me go. I'll be really good ... I could keep your apartment clean, and I'll be quiet, and I won't snoop, I promise, and you'll hardly know I'm here. Oh, and I'm a pretty good cook ..." She trailed off. "But you don't eat, do you?"

Edward sat up again, eyeing her intently.

"No, Bella, I don't eat—at least, not in the conventional sense. And I don't need a housekeeper. And I would definitely know you're here. So, tell me what you're thinking."

Bella met his gaze, and a cold feeling once again settled in the pit of her stomach. His eyes, which had been green when she woke up, and a muddy hazel when he returned from his brief absence, were now a sort of reddish maroon, similar to her memory of them from before she passed out.

"Your eyes ..." she whispered.

Edward blinked—the lenses had almost dissolved.

"Yes." It was flat confirmation of what she could see. "And?"

Bella straightened and took a deep breath.

"Those men didn't run away, did they?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"No, Bella, they didn't."

"You killed them." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes."

There was no point in maintaining the subterfuge any longer. Let the chips fall where they may. If she ran, he would kill her, much as he would regret it.

Bella swallowed, suddenly regretting her final slice of pizza. She glanced around the room, but Edward fancied that she wasn't looking for an escape route—rather, she seemed to be trying to arrange the final pieces of the jigsaw. She was clever, he sensed that, and she was also a pragmatist.

"You ... you drank their blood?"

There it was.

"What am I, Bella?"

"It's crazy."

"Perhaps, but that doesn't make it any less true."

"It's all circumstantial," she insisted, a hint of desperation in her voice.

"History is littered with men and women who have been executed on such evidence. Just say it, Bella."

"Vampire," she whispered.

Edward sat back, feeling strangely satisfied. It occurred to him that if anyone else had ever articulated what Bella had just said he would have laughed in their face or killed them.

He had no desire to do either to Bella.

"Wh-what happens now?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly.

Although a big part of her thought she should try to escape, the pragmatist in her knew there was no point. He had killed four strong gangbangers on the street and disposed of their bodies in a matter of minutes; should Edward decide that Bella must share their fate, she had no chance. At the same time, she found herself so drawn to him that she realized she didn't care what he was. And, presumably, if he'd had evil intent, he would already have acted upon it.

"That's the conundrum, is it not? Well, I suppose the first and most important thing is that you can never tell anyone. Believe me, Bella, it is fatal knowledge, and I'm not the one you need to fear if any of my kind discover you know our secret."

Bella frowned. "Who would I tell? Everyone I love or ever cared about is dead or has betrayed me. And who would believe me, anyway? Besides, you saved my life; I owe you more than I can ever repay."

He stared at her, in awe of her strength and courage. This girl had been beset by some of the worst misfortunes that life could throw, but here she stood, resilient, determined, brave ... a survivor. He was full of admiration for her, which surprised him. Few had impressed him in his long existence, fewer still who had been human, but at just 19, Bella Swan had certainly joined that rare and exalted group.

He got up and walked slowly to where she stood on the other side of the breakfast bar, stopping just a foot in front of her.

She neither flinched nor moved away, but merely looked up to meet his gaze steadily.

"Perhaps a more pertinent question here is, what are you, Bella Swan?" He raised a hand and gently cupped her cheek, reveling in the heat and the silky smoothness of her skin.

"Me?" She barely breathed the word.

"Yes, you. Are you a witch? Or a Siren, perhaps. Whatever you are, you have cast a spell over me. Every moment with you has brought a new experience, a new revelation. So, what are you? Tell me your secret."

As he spoke, he brought his other hand up to frame her face and his eyes flicked to her mouth.

Bella could hardly breathe. She had been kissed before, and it had sometimes even been welcomed, although rarely enjoyed, but never had it been so ardently craved as it was in this moment.

All she could think was that she wanted this man to kiss her. She didn't care that he was a vampire, that he'd killed people. He couldn't be all bad, surely—hadn't he gone out of his way to rescue her, to keep her alive?

"I'm just a girl, Edward. There's nothing special about me," she responded softly.

He chuckled, a remarkably warm sound.

"Oh, Bella, you're wrong. You are so much more special than you can know. I have been assaulted by the thoughts of others for nearly two hundred years, but you—"

Bella lurched back, breaking their intimate contact, her eyes round with horror. For the first time since he'd pulled her from her truck on that dark, fetid street, Edward saw real, naked fear on her face.

"You can read minds? Ohmygod, ohmygod ..."

She turned away, genuinely seeking escape this time, but his hands on her shoulders pulled her back to him. He spun her around and bent his knees so he could look into her eyes, which were currently glued to the floor.

"Bella, listen to me—"

"Oh, my God, why would you let me believe you were so desperate to know what I was thinking when you already knew? That's so mean, you—"

"Bella, stop." He tipped her head up with a finger under her chin. "I kept asking for your thoughts precisely because I couldn't hear them. For the first time in my very long life, I have been unable to access a mind."

She finally met his gaze, looking uncertain. "You can't read my mind?"

"No, Bella, I can't. It's incredibly frustrating."

A small smile made her lips twitch. "Yeah, I can see how it might put a kink in that cocksure exterior."

Edward's mouth dropped open, and then he tossed his head back and laughed loudly. It was such a rare occurrence that it astonished him.

This girl ... this girl. Nothing in his life had prepared him for the tumult of emotions coursing through him.

Again, he took her face in his hands, but this time he didn't hesitate.

He kissed her. This was no chaste show of affection. Neither was it a venom-tainted means of rendering her unconscious. The moment his lips met hers, the torrent of feelings he had experienced the first time he had run his nose down her throat came flooding back, but this time he embraced them.

To his endless delight, Bella responded with passion, her hands sliding up over his chest and around his neck. As her fingers tangled in the thick hair at his nape, she pressed herself ever more urgently against him, clearly accepting of the evidence of his need.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to his bed, where he set her down with tender care.

Staightening, Edward looked down at the dazzling nymph before him.

"Do you want this, Bella?"

In answer, she held out a hand to him.

"I've never wanted anything more."

With that, he divested himself of his clothes in a heartbeat, making Bella catch her breath as he was suddenly revealed to her in all his glorious splendor.

Moments later, he had made equally short work of her clothes and had begun his long, intense worship of her body. She was a goddess and he her willing acolyte. Nothing existed outside this room; there was only a man and a woman in perfect accord.

As Edward's mouth and hands showed her the depth of his feelings, Bella felt beautiful for the first time in her life. Without words, he told her how precious she was to him, how captivated he was by her. And the pleasure he drew from her body was like being reborn, over and over.

For Edward, the moment he entered Bella's intense heat was no less a revelation, as he discovered, at long last, his reason for being. Here, after all, was why he'd lived so long. It was like coming home after a long sojourn in a dark, hostile country. Back to the embrace of a lover he hadn't realized he'd been missing until the moment her arms encircled him.

Moving inside her, Edward understood for the first time what writers meant when they told stories of the act of love being a religious experience. With every gasp and cry of pleasure he wrung from her, the intensity of their connection grew, and when she finally began to breathlessly chant his name over and over, like a litany, Edward knew that, no matter the brevity of the time since their first, auspicious meeting, he would love this woman until the end of his existence.

This epiphany presaged the most intense and satisfying orgasm of his life. Bella cried out, her body twitching and pulsing around him as she clung to him like a drowning victim to a life raft.

"Never let me go, Edward," she cried as tears coursed down her face.

Rolling onto his back with his arms around her, he stared up into her lovely smoky brown eyes, using his thumbs to wipe her tears away.

"Never leave me, Bella," he responded.

Satisfied, she let him wrap the comforter around them and fell asleep in his arms.

"Tell me about the letters," Bella said.

She was sitting across his lap, her legs dangling over the arm of the chair as he held her close. A week had passed, and they had rarely strayed more than a few feet from one another, their need to touch seeming to grow rather than diminish. Edward had been reading aloud from Sense and Sensibility and he paused to look at her. After a moment, he sighed and put the book down.

"They're from someone named Alice. She's been writing to me since the 1930s, spouting some nonsense about her 'seeing' me living with her and her coven—she calls it a family. There are six of them, which is almost unheard of among my kind outside of Italy. Most are solitary nomads, or maybe you get small covens of two or three. Anyway, she says I'm destined to be a part of their family. Every so often, she writes to let me know their new address and to renew her pleas for me to join them—God knows how she finds me each time. But she hasn't written in a while, so hopefully she's given up."

"And yet you keep her letters, hidden away in a secret drawer."

He arched an eyebrow at her but said nothing.

"So, why aren't you interested in joining them? I mean, don't you ever get lonely? Wouldn't it be nice to have friends, a family of sorts?"

Again, he sighed, tightening his hold on her.

"I'd be lying if I didn't say this hasn't been a lonely existence, but I get by. I go out and meet people; the city has a lot to offer. And who wants to be the seventh wheel in a houseful of couples? Besides, right now, I don't feel lonely at all."

He smiled, cupping her head and kissing her. He wanted very much to take her back to bed, but they had made love—and fucked wildly—pretty much non-stop for most of the week and she was sore and tired. He knew she would acquiesce if he initiated it, but it wasn't just about his pleasure and neither of them would enjoy it if she was in pain.

Not for the first time in the last seven days, he found himself thinking about changing Bella, how much better it would be if he didn't have to keep such a tight check on himself, but then immediately forced the thought from his mind.

He pulled back, gently stroking her cheek.

"That aside, they have some weird ideas about diet. They only drink the blood of animals, which sounds gross."

Bella sat up suddenly, wriggling to face him.

"That's an option? They don't kill people?"

"I guess. Alice said their 'father', a guy named Carlisle, was the one who discovered it. It's pretty much unknown in my world, although apparently, there's another small coven in Alaska—she calls them their cousins—who also drink animal blood. She says it means they can stay in one place for a while—Carlisle is a doctor, for fuck's sake. It's unnatural."

"Why is it unnatural? Do you actually like killing people?"

She looked away for a moment, shaking her head.

"I can't believe I'm sitting here, calmly talking to a ... a murderer about killing people."

Edward dropped his head back against the chair. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet and full of emotion.

"I try not to be a monster, Bella. I didn't ask for this life, but I try to live it as well as I can. I have a home, which is unusual for a vampire. I indulge a passion for music and literature, and I only kill those I know to be bad people, like those brutes who attacked you."

"So, you're judge, jury, and executioner." She tried not to make it an indictment, but knew it came out sounding accusatory.

Edward stood suddenly, setting Bella on her feet, and walked over to the breakfast bar. Leaning on it with his back to her, his voice was hollow when he spoke.

"What would you have me do, Bella? Starve? Feast on rats and family pets? I don't know how else to be, but at least I use my gift to try and rid the world of scum—those men who attacked you would have raped and killed you. Were their lives more valuable than yours or any of their other victims, past and future?"

He turned to face her. "Tell me, Bella, what should I do?"

She went to him, reaching up to touch his face.

"That's not what I'm saying, Edward, truly. I wouldn't be here if I thought you were a monster. I'm just trying to understand. You could make contact with this Alice person, maybe visit and try their lifestyle for a while—"

He snatched her to him, holding her close.

"Oh, Bella, no, please don't say that. I could never leave you now; I've only just found you."

She pulled back slightly, placing her hands on his chest.

"But I could come with you—"

"To a house full of vampires, smelling the way you do? Bella, talk sense."

She gazed up at him, an oddly determined look in her eyes.

"Then make me like you," she whispered.

Bella stood at the edge of the lake, gazing out over the still water. Behind her, she could hear Edward inside the cabin—well, he called it a cabin, but she called it a luxury chalet. He'd apparently bought it in the 1980s, and it was where he came when the noise and clamor of the city became too much.

There had been many arguments before he agreed to bring her here. And, truth be told, if she'd known just how painful the transformation would be, she might have thought twice. His main concern was that she was giving up everything and everyone she knew and loved to live a life in darkness and shadow, but she had countered that she had already lost all that she had once held dear, and he was the only thing she never wanted to let go of.

They had come to the lake house six months ago, and Edward had been astonished by Bella's control. He had warned her that it might be a year or more before she could be integrated back into human society without going berserk and revealing their secret, thus attracting the attention of some weird, murderous ruling body of vampire royalty in Italy.

However, when she woke up and he had presented her with a semi-comatose man in the basement, whom he had captured in the act of trying to abduct a little girl in a nearby town, she had gone rigid, seeming to call on some inner power, and had then run into the forest. Discarding the man, Edward had set off in pursuit, pushing hard to catch up with Bella's fleeter newborn speed.

A loud crash ahead told him he had found her, and he couldn't hide his shock when he exploded into a small clearing, finding the love of his existence sucking the blood from a large deer. Her eyes met his across the animal's shoulder and he fancied he saw a glint of amusement there.

Twenty minutes later, he found himself biting into the pulsing jugular of another deer, tasting animal blood for the first time. He grimaced a little at the gamey flavor, but he supposed it wasn't quite as bad as he'd imagined.

He still drank from the child molester in the basement later that evening—no way was he letting that piece of shit back on the street.

A month ago, Edward had risked all by taking Bella into town. At first, he had just driven through with the front windows cracked open a little to let in the air. Then he had parked up and they had walked along the boardwalk, his hand clutching hers tightly. He doubted he would be strong enough to hold onto her should she attempt to break away, but he hoped his grip would be enough to give her pause.

Miraculously, despite people walking within a few hundred feet of them, Bella remained calm. It was as though she had created an invisible bubble around herself, blocking their scent. It was extraordinary.

She was extraordinary.

If Edward had thought their lovemaking had been incredible when Bella was human, nothing had prepared him for the mind-blowing ecstasy of what he now had with this stunning woman.

As for Bella, Edward's love made her feel like a high priestess, a goddess, an all-conquering warrior queen. She felt as if their passion could move mountains, and she truly believed that an eternity would never be enough time to explore all the ways she could love him. They could have stayed in Edward's cabin for years. The vast forest offered plenty of food—Edward's diet was already getting close to fifty percent animal, not because he preferred it but because he couldn't bear to spend any more time away from Bella than was absolutely necessary.

However, they had both agreed it was time to leave.

A week earlier, a letter had arrived. It was from Alice. How she had found them, they had no idea, but she had. And she knew about Bella.

It was spooky.

Now, as she stood at the lake's edge, Bella lifted the letter she held in her hand, reading again the words of a woman she had never met, but who wrote as if to a long lost and much-missed friend. There was an address in Wisconsin.

Edward's strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind, pulling her back against his chest. Automatically, she tilted her head to the side, an invitation he would never refuse. His long fingers moved the veil of silky mahogany hair away and lips that had been so cool before her change were now warm as they trailed along the sweep of her neck.

She turned in his arms, looking up at him, meeting his smile with one of her own.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

She glanced over her shoulder at the lake and then to the cabin where so much had happened in such a short time.

A finger under her chin brought her attention back to Edward.

"We can come back any time we want, you know. It will always be here."

"I'd like that. I love this place, but I'm ready to see what else the world has to offer."

Edward nodded. For the first time, he felt optimistic and hopeful about the future, no longer stretched before him like an endless, tedious interstate. He had no idea what the future held, but as long as he had Bella, he felt ready for every twist and turn fate could throw at them.

The house was imposing despite being surround by a vast, towering forest. As the handsome couple exited their car, the front door was thrown open and a short, dark-haired girl practically danced onto the wide veranda, her smile wide and almost bright enough to light a city.

"You're here!" she cried.

Behind her, a tall man sporting a mop of shaggy blond hair emerged from the house and put a restraining hand on her shoulder, even as he smiled indulgently down at her. He was followed by another man, also blond, who slipped past them to greet the visitors with a welcoming smile.

"Hello, I'm Carlisle Cullen." He swept his arm back to indicate his companions. "This is Alice and her husband, Jasper Whitlock."

As he spoke, three more people crowded onto the veranda, all smiling widely, all equally and inhumanly beautiful, and all with matching topaz eyes.

"Ah, this is my wife, Esme, and these two are Emmett and his wife, Rosalie. You must be Edward and Bella. You are both so very welcome to our home. We've been expecting you."

THE END


END NOTE: As you know, there's no such thing as a free lunch (bear with me!) I know some of you read my last fic way back in early 2016 and it's a long time since I took it down. I wanted to try to find an agent, but after a number of rejections (albeit with some quite positive and encouraging feedback) I kind of put it on the back burner for a while, and a while turned into more than five years! So, prompted by a friend who recently asked me to help with his own book, I decided just to upload it to Amazon - life's too short to fanny about, which I think has been more than proved in recent times. If you have a mind to, you can find the Kindle ebook or paperback of 'Out of the Corner of My Eye' on whichever Amazon platform you use under author name Liz McLoughlin. And if you can spare the time to give it a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads, that would be absolutely splendid and I may throw off my British reserve and tell you I love you all (although maybe that's a step too far!) Anyway, even if you don't want to buy my book, I hope you enjoyed this tentative dip of my toe back in the fan fiction sea.

Stay safe, my friends.