Insisting upon driving had been a very good idea.

There were all those things, of course, that would be out of the question if he needed to concentrate his human senses on the road—hand-holding, eye-gazing, general joy-radiating. But more than this, the feeling of being filled to the point of bursting with pure light hadn't dimmed at all. I knew how overwhelming it was for me; I wasn't sure how much it would compromise a human system. Much safer to let my inhuman system tend to the road.

The clouds were shifting as the sun set. Every now and then a lance of fading red sunlight would strike my face. I could imagine the terror I would have felt only yesterday to have been exposed in this way. Now it made me want to laugh. I felt filled with laughter, as if the light within me needed that escape.

Curious, I switched on his radio. I was surprised that it was tuned to nothing but static. Then, considering the volume of the engine, I deduced that he didn't bother much with driving music. I twisted the knob until I found a semi-audible station. It was playing Johnny Ace, and I smiled. "Pledging My Love." How apt.

I began to sing along, feeling a little cheesy, but also enjoying the chance to say these words to him. Always and forever, I'll love only you.

He never took his eyes off my face, smiling in what I could now accurately construe as wonder.

"You like fifties music?" he asked when the song ended.

"Music in the fifties was good. Much better than the sixties, or the seventies, ugh!" Though there were certainly excellent outliers, the artists that were played most often on the limited radio options then were not my favorites. I'd never warmed up to disco. "The eighties were bearable."

He pressed his lips together for a moment, his eyes tensing as if something worried him. Quietly, he asked, "Are you ever going to tell me how old you are?"

Ah, he was afraid to distress me. I smiled at him easily. "Does it matter very much?"

He seemed relieved by my light response. "No, but I want to know everything about you."

And then it was my turn to worry. "I wonder if it will upset you."

He hadn't been disgusted by my inhumanity, but would he have a different reaction to the years between us? In many very real ways, I was still seventeen. Would he see it that way?

What had he imagined already? Millennia behind me, gothic castles and Transylvanian accents? Well, none of that was impossible. Carine knew those types.

"Try me," he challenged.

I looked into his eyes, searching their depths for the answers. I sighed. Shouldn't I have developed some courage after the events behind us? But here I was again, terrified to frighten him. Of course, there was no way forward but total honesty.

"I was born in Chicago in 1901," I admitted. I turned my face toward the road ahead so he wouldn't feel scrutinized as he did the mental math, but I couldn't help stealing a look from the corner of my eye. He was artificially composed, and I realized that he was carefully modulating his reactions. He didn't want to appear frightened any more than I wanted to scare him. The more we came to know each other, the more we seemed to mirror each other's feelings. Harmonizing.

"Carine found me in a hospital in the summer of 1918," I continued. "I was seventeen, and I was dying of the Spanish influenza."

At this his control slipped, and he gasped in shock, his eyes huge.

"I don't remember it well," I assured him. "It was a very long time ago, and human memories fade."

He did not look entirely comforted, but he nodded. He said nothing, waiting for more.

I had just mentally committed to total honesty, but I realized now that there would have to be limits. There were things he should know... but also details that would not be wise to share. Maybe Archie was right. Maybe, if Beau was feeling anything close to the way I was feeling now, he would think it imperative to prolong this feeling. To stay with me, as he'd said in the meadow. I knew it would be no simple thing for me to deny Beau anything he wanted. I chose my words with care.

"I do remember how it felt, when Carine saved me. It's not an easy thing, not something you could forget."

"Your parents?" he asked in a timid voice, and I relaxed, glad he'd chosen not to fixate on that last part.

"They had already died from the disease. I was alone." These weren't hard words to say. This part of my history almost felt more like a story I'd been told than actual memories. "That's why she chose me. In all the chaos of the epidemic, no one would ever realize I was gone."

"How did she... save you?"

So much for avoiding the difficult questions. I thought about what was most important to keep from him.

My words danced around the edges of his question. "It was difficult. Not many of us have the restraint necessary to accomplish it. But Carine has always been the most humane, the most compassionate of all of us... I don't think you could find her equal anywhere in history." I considered my mother for a moment, and wondered if my words were adequate praise. Then I continued with the rest of what I thought it safe for him to know. "For me, it was merely very, very painful."

While the other memories that might have brought pain—the loss of my mother in particular—were confused and faded, the memory of this pain was exceptionally clear. I flinched slightly. If there ever came a time that Beau did ask again, with full knowledge of what it meant to stay with me, this memory would be all the aid I needed to say no. I recoiled from the idea of him facing such pain.

He absorbed my answer, lips pursed and eyes narrowed in thought. I wanted to know his reaction, but I knew that if I asked, I would face more pointed questions. I continued my history, hoping to distract him.

"She acted from loneliness. That's usually the reason behind the choice. I was the first in Carine's family, though she found Earnest soon after. He fell from a cliff. They brought his straight to the hospital morgue, though somehow, his heart was still beating."

"So you must be dying, then..."

Not distracted enough. Still trying to discern the mechanism. I hurried to redirect.

"No, that's just Carine. She would never do that to someone who had another choice. It is easier she says, though, if the heart is weak."

I shifted my gaze to the road again. I shouldn't have added that. I wondered if I was dancing closer to the answers he sought because part of me wanted him to know, wanted him to find a way to stay with me. I had to be better at controlling my tongue. To keep the selfish part of myself bridled.

"And Eleanor and Royal?"

I smiled at him. He probably realized I was being evasive, and yet he was willing to let it go to make me comfortable.

"Carine brought Royal to our family next. I didn't realize till much later that she was hoping he would be to me what Earnest was to her—she was careful with her thoughts around me."

I remembered my disgust when she'd finally slipped. Royal had not been a welcome addition in the beginning—in truth, life had been more complicated for all of us ever since his inclusion—and learning that Carine had envisioned an even closer relationship for him and me was horrifying. The extent of my aversion would be impolite to share.

"But he was never more than a brother." That was probably the kindest way to sum up that chapter. "It was only two years later that he found Eleanor. He was hunting—we were in Appalachia at the time—and found a bear about to finish her off. He carried her back to Carine, more than a hundred miles, afraid he wouldn't be able to do it himself."

We'd been outside Knoxville then—not an ideal place for us, weather-wise. We had to stay inside most days. It wasn't a long-term situation, though—Carine was researching some pathology studies at the University of Tennessee's medical school. A few weeks, a few months... it wasn't really a difficult ask. We had access to several libraries, and the nightlife in New Orleans wasn't inconveniently far, not for creatures as swift as we. However, Royal, out of his newborn stage but not yet comfortable with very close proximity to humans, refused to entertain himself. Instead, he moped and whined, finding fault with every suggestion for amusement or self-improvement. To be fair, perhaps he did not whine so much out loud. Earnest was not as irritated as I was.

Royal preferred to hunt by himself, and though I really should have watched after him, it was a relief to us both that I didn't object very strenuously. He knew how to be careful. We all were practiced at restraining our senses until we were in unpopulated areas. And though I was reluctant to attribute any virtue to this unwelcome interloper, even I had to admit that he was incredibly gifted at self-control. Mostly due to stubbornness and, in my opinion, a desire to best me.

So when the sound of Royal's footsteps, thudding faster and heavier than usual, broke the predawn calm of that Knoxville summer, his familiar scent preceded by the strong aroma of human blood and his thoughts wild and incoherent, my initial expectation was not that he had made a mistake.

In the first year of Royal's second life, before he had disappeared on his several missions of revenge, his thoughts had given him away clearly and thoroughly. I knew what he was planning, and I'd informed Carine. The first time, she counseled him gently, urging him to let go of his past life, certain that if he did he would forget, and then his pain could lessen. Revenge could not bring back anything he had lost. But when her guidance met only the implacability of his fury, she gave him advice on how best to be discreet about his forays. Neither of us could argue that he didn't deserve vengeance. And we both couldn't help but believe that the world would be a better place without the murderers who had ended his life.

I'd believed he'd gotten them all. His thoughts had long since calmed, no longer obsessed with the desire to break and tear, maim and mutilate.

But as the smell of blood flooded the house like a tsunami, I immediately assumed that he'd discovered another accomplice to his death. Though I did not think very highly of him in general, my faith in his ability to do no harm was strong.

All my expectations were turned upside down as he cried out in panic, calling for Carine's help. And then, beneath the sound of his distress, I caught the sound of one very feeble heartbeat.

I raced from my room, finding him in the front parlor before he'd even finished his plea. Carine was already there. Royal, hair unusually disordered, his clothes stained with blood so heavily that the fabric was dyed deep crimson, carried in his arms a human woman. She was barely conscious, eyes wandering the room out of sync with each other. Her skin had been torn again and again by evenly spaced slashes, some of her bones clearly broken beneath.

"Save her!" Royal almost screamed at Carine. "Please!"

Please please please, his thoughts begged.

I saw what the words cost him. When he inhaled to replace the air he'd used, he flinched against the power of the fresh blood so close to his mouth. He held the woman farther from himself, turning his face away.

Carine understood his anguish. She swiftly removed the woman from his arms and laid her on the parlor rug with gentle hands. The woman was too far gone even to groan.

I watched, shocked by the strange tableau, automatically holding my breath. I should have already left the house. I could hear Earnest's thoughts, quickly retreating. Once he'd caught the scent of blood, he'd known to flee, though he was just as confused as I.

It's too late, Carine realized, examining the woman. She was loath to disappoint Royal; though he was clearly unhappy in this second life she'd given him, he rarely asked for anything from her. Certainly never with this level of agony. She must be family, Carine thought. How can I bear to hurt him again?

The tall woman—not that much older than I was, now that I really looked at her face—closed her eyes. Her shallow breathing stuttered.

"What are you waiting for?" Royal shouted. She's dying! She's dying!

"Royal, I..." Carine held out her bloodied hands helplessly.

Then an image surfaced in his mind, and I understood exactly what he was asking for.

"He doesn't mean for you to heal her," I translated quickly. "He means for you to save her."

Royal's eyes flashed to me, a look of intense gratitude altering his features in a way I'd never seen before. For one instant, I was able to recognize his angelic beauty.

We didn't have long to wait for Carine's decision.

Oh! Carine thought. And then I saw exactly how much she would do for Royal, how much she felt she owed him. There was barely any deliberation.

She was already kneeling beside the broken figure as she shooed us away. "It's not safe for you to stay," she said, her face inclining toward the woman's throat.

I grabbed Royal's bloodied arm as I rushed to the door. He didn't resist. We both escaped the house, not pausing till we'd reached the nearby Tennessee River and immersed ourselves.

There, lying in the cool mud at the river's edge, Royal letting the blood sluice from his clothes and his skin, we had our first real conversation.

He didn't speak often, just showed me in his mind how he'd found the woman, a total stranger, about to die, and how something in her face had made that future intolerable to him. He didn't have words for why. He didn't have words for how—how he'd managed to complete his harrowing journey without killing her himself. I saw him run for miles, faster than he'd ever moved before, aching to satisfy his thirst the entire way. While he relived it all, his mind was unguarded and vulnerable. He was trying to understand, too, almost as confused as I was.

I wasn't looking for yet another addition to my family. I'd never been particularly concerned about what Royal wanted or needed. But suddenly, seeing this all through his eyes, I could only root for his happiness. For the first time, we were on the same side.

We couldn't return for a while, though Royal was anxious in the extreme to know what was happening. I assured him that Carine would have come for us if she'd been unsuccessful. So for now we would just have to wait till it was safe.

Those hours changed us both. When Carine finally came to call us home, we returned as brother and sister.

The pause as I remembered how I'd come to love my brother was not very long. Beau was still waiting for the rest of the story. I thought of where I'd left off: Royal, dripping with blood, holding his face as far away from Eleanor as he could. His posture in the image reminded me of a more recent memory: me struggling to carry a lightheaded Beau to the nurse's office. It was an interesting juxtaposition.

"I'm only beginning to guess how difficult that journey was for him," I concluded. Our fingers were knotted together. I lifted our hands and, with the back of mine, stroked his cheek.

The last bit of red light in the sky faded to deep purple.

"But he made it," Beau said after a short silence, eager for me to continue.

"Yes. He saw something in her face that made his strong enough." Amazing that he'd been right. Astonishing that they'd matched up perfectly, like two halves of a whole. Fate or astronomical good luck? I'd never been able to decide. "And they've been together ever since. Sometimes they live separately from us, as a married couple." And oh, how I appreciated those times. I loved Eleanor and Royal separately, but Eleanor and Royal alone together, heard only by my inescapable mental reach, were a grueling ordeal. "But the younger we pretend to be, the longer we can stay in any given place. Forks is perfect in many ways, so we all enrolled in high school." I laughed. "I suppose we'll have to go to the wedding in a few years. Again."

Royal loved to get married. The chance to do it over and over was probably his favorite things about immortality. I think it was the one human experience he had been deprived of that he could reclaim.

"Archie and Jessamine?" Beau asked.

"Archie and Jessamine are two very rare creatures. They both developed a conscience, as we refer to it, with no outside guidance. Jessamine belonged to another... family." I avoided the correct word, controlling a shiver as I thought of her beginnings. "A very different kind of family. She became depressed, and she wandered on her own. Archie found her. Like me, he has certain gifts."

This surprised Beau enough to break through his calm façade. "Really? But you said you were the only one who could hear people's thoughts."

"That's true. He knows other things. He sees things—things that might happen, things that are coming." Things that now would never happen. I was past the worst of it. Though still... it bothered me how hazy the new vision had been, the one I could live with. The other—Archie and Beau both white and cold—had been so much clearer. That didn't matter. It couldn't. I'd subdued one impossible future and I would triumph over this one, too. "But it's very subjective," I continued, hearing the harder edge in my voice. "The future isn't set in stone. Things change."

I glanced at his cream and apricot skin, almost to reassure myself that he was as he should be, and then looked away when he caught my gaze. I could never be certain how much he was reading in my eyes.

"What kinds of things does he see?" Beau wanted to know.

I gave him the safe answers, the proven prophecies.

"He saw Jessamine and knew that she was looking for him before she knew it herself." Their union had been a magical thing. Whenever Jessamine thought of it, the entire household relaxed into dreamy contentment, so powerful were her communal emotions. "He saw Carine and our family, and they came together to find us."

I'd missed that first introduction, when Archie and Jessamine had presented themselves to an extremely wary Carine, a frightened Earnest, and a hostile Royal. It was Jessamine's warlike appearance that had them all so apprehensive, but Archie knew exactly what to say to ease their anxiety. Of course he knew exactly what to say. He'd envisioned every possible version of that momentous meeting, and then chosen the best. It was no accident that Eleanor and I had been away. He'd preferred the smoother scene without the family's primary defenders in residence.

It was hard to believe how firmly entrenched they were by the time Eleanor and I arrived, just a few days later. We were both shocked, and Eleanor was ready for battle the second she laid eyes on Jessamine. But Archie ran forward to throw his arms around me before a word could be spoken.

I wasn't frightened by what might have been construed as an attack. His thoughts were so sure of me, so full of love for me, I thought I'd had the first memory loss of my second life. Because this tiny immortal knew me perfectly, better than anyone else in my current or former family. Who was he?

Oh, Edythe! At last! My sister! We're finally together!

And then, with his arms tight around my waist—and my own arms hesitantly coming to rest around his shoulders—he thought swiftly through his life from his first memory to that very moment, and then forward in time through the highlights of our next few years together. It felt very strange to realize in that instant that now I knew him, too.

"This is Archie, Eleanor," I told her, still embracing my new brother. Eleanor's aggressive pose changed to one of confusion. "He's part of our family. And that's Jessamine. You're going to love her."

There were so many stories about Archie, so many miracles and phenomena, paradoxes and enigmas, I could have spent the rest of the week just telling Beau the bullet-point version. Instead, I gave him a few of the simpler, more mechanical details.

"He's most sensitive to nonhumans. He always knows, for example, when another group of our kind is coming near. And any threat they may pose." Archie had become one of the family's defenders, too.

"Are there a lot of... your kind?" Beau asked, sounding a little shaken by the idea.

"No, not many," I assured him. "But most won't settle in any one place. Only those like us, who've given up hunting you people"—I raised an eyebrow at his and squeezed his hand—"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." Also Taran, the matriarch of that clan, was persistent to the point of harassment. "Those of us who live... differently tend to band together."

"And the others?"

We'd reached his home. It was empty, no lights in any windows. I parked in his usual spot and turned the engine off. The sudden quiet felt very intimate, there in the dark.

"Nomads, for the most part," I answered. "We've all lived that way at times. It gets tedious, like anything else. But we run across the others now and then, because most of us prefer the North."

"Why is that?"

I grinned and nudged him gently with my elbow. "Did you have your eyes open this afternoon? 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, one of the most sunless places in the world. It's nice to be able to go outside in the day. You wouldn't believe how tired you can get of nighttime in eighty-odd years."

"So that's where the legends came from?"

"Probably."

There was actually a precise source behind the legends, but that wasn't something I wanted to get into. The Volturi were very far away and very much absorbed in their mission to police the vampire world. They would never affect Beau's life beyond the lore they'd concocted to protect immortals' privacy.

"And Archie came from another family, like Jessamine?" he asked.

"No, and that is a mystery. Archie doesn't remember his human life at all."

I'd seen that first memory. Bright morning sunlight, a light mist hanging in the air. Tangled grass surrounding his, broad oak trees shading the hollow where he woke. Besides that, a blankness, no sense of identity or purpose. He'd looked at his pale skin, shimmering in the sun, and not known who or what he was. And then the first vision had taken him.

A woman's face, fierce but also broken, scarred but beautiful. Deep red eyes and a mane of golden hair. With this face came a profound conviction of belonging. And then he saw her speaking a name.

Archie.

His name, he realized.

The visions told him who he was, or shaped him into who he would become. These were the only help he would get.

"And he doesn't know who created him," I told Beau. "He awoke alone. Whoever made him walked away, and none of us understand why, or how, he could. If Archie hadn't had that other sense, if he hadn't seen Jessamine and Carine and known that he would someday become one of us, he probably would have turned into a total savage."

Beau pondered this in silence. I was sure it was difficult for him to comprehend. It had taken my family a while to adjust, as well. I wondered what his next question would be.

And then his stomach gurgled, and I realized that we'd been together all day and he'd eaten nothing in that time. Ah, I needed to keep better focused on his human needs!

"I'm sorry, I'm keeping you from dinner."

"I'm fine, really," he said too quickly.

"I don't spend a lot of time around people who eat food," I apologized. "I forget." It was a poor excuse.

His expression was totally open as he responded, vulnerable. "I want to stay with you."

Again, the word stay seemed to carry so much more weight than it usually did.

"Can't I come in?" I asked gently.

He blinked twice, clearly thrown by the idea. "Would you like to?"

"Yes, if you don't mind."

I wondered if he thought I had to have an explicit invitation in order to come inside. The thought made me smile, and then frown as I felt a spasm of guilt. I would need to come clean with him. Again. But how to broach such a shameful admission?

I stewed on that while I ran to the door.

I reached up and pulled the house key from its hiding place, then opened the door. I replaced the key in question and turned on the lights inside. When Beau got to the door, yellow light made harsh shadows across his face as he raised both eyebrows at me. I could see he meant the look to be stern, but the corners of his lips were puckered as though he was fighting a smile.

"Did I leave that unlocked?" he asked.

"No, I used the key from under the eave."

I moved past him down the hall, switching on lights as I went so he wouldn't have to stumble in the dark. I took a seat at his small kitchen table and looked around, examining the angles that were invisible from outside the window. The room was tidy and warm, bright with gaudy yellow paint that was somehow endearing in its failed attempt to mimic sunshine. Everything smelled like Beau, which should have been quite painful, but I found that I enjoyed it in a strange way. Masochistic, indeed.

"You're hungry, right?" I asked. He stared at me with a hard to read expression. A little confusion, I guessed, a little bit of wonder. As though he wasn't sure I was real. I smiled and pointed him toward the refrigerator. He whirled in that direction with an answering grin. I hoped he had some food easily accessible. Perhaps I should have taken his to dinner? But it felt wrong to think of subjecting ourselves to a crowd of strangers. Our new understanding was still too unique, too raw. Any obstacle that would force silence would be unendurable. I wanted his to myself.

"Eat something, Beau."

It only took him a minute to find an acceptable option. He cut out a square of casserole and heated it in the microwave. I could smell oregano, onions, garlic, and tomato sauce. Something Italian. He stared intently at the plate while it revolved.

Perhaps I would learn to cook food. Not being able to appreciate flavors the same way a human did would definitely be a hurdle, but there seemed to be quite a bit of math to the process, and I was sure I could teach myself to recognize the correct smells.

Because, suddenly, I felt sure that this was just the first of our quiet evenings in, rather than a singular event. We would have years of this. He and I together, just enjoying each other's company. So many hours... the light inside me seemed to stretch and grow, and I thought again that I might shatter.

"Hmm..."

He looked up. "What's that?"

"I'm going to have to do a better job in the future."

He laughed. "What could possibly do better than you already do?"

"Remember that you're human. I should have, I don't know, packed a picnic or something today."

He pulled the food from the microwave and sat it down on the table.

"Don't worry about it," he told me.

He seemed eager to start eating, not bothering to wait on the first bite to cool before he placed it in his mouth.

"Does that taste good?"

"I'm not sure. I think I just burned my tastebuds off. It tasted good yesterday."

I looked at the unappetizing glob of food on the plate. There was nothing appealing about it.

"Do you ever miss food?" he asked. "Ice cream? Peanut butter?"

I shook my head. "I hardly remember food. I couldn't even tell you what my favorites were. It doesn't smell... edible now."

"That's kind of sad."

"It's not such a huge sacrifice."

"Do you miss other parts about being human?"

"I don't actually miss anything, because I'd have to remember it to be able to miss it, and like I said, my human life is hard to remember. But there are things I think I'd like. I suppose you could say things I was jealous of."

"Like what?"

"Sleep is one. Never-ending consciousness gets tedious. I think I'd enjoy temporary oblivion. It looks interesting."

He thought about that while he chewed. "Sounds hard. What do yo do all night?"

I hesitated, unsure how to proceed with the specifics. "Do you mean in general?"

"No, you don't have to be general. Like, what are you going to do tonight after you leave?"

Time to have courage. Time to be honest, no matter the consequences. Though after the day I'd had, I felt fairly sure that he would eventually forgive me. I hoped.

"What?" he asked, sensing my hesitation.

"Do you want a pleasant lie or a possibly disturbing truth?"

"The truth."

I sighed "I'll come back here after you and your father are asleep. It's sort of my routine lately."

He was silent for a second too long, and I started to worry I really had crossed a line after all.

"You come here?" he asked finally.

"Almost every night."

He looked at me with startled eyes. "Why?"

Honesty.

"You're interesting when you sleep. You talk."

Blood washed into his cheeks and didn't stop there, coloring even his forehead. The room grew infinitesimally warmer as his blush heated the air around him. He leaned against the counter behind him, gripping it so hard that his knuckles turned white. Shock was the only emotion I could see in his expression, but I was sure others would come soon.

"Are you very angry with me?"

"How do you... Where do you... What did I...?"

Would he believe me if I tried to explain my torment at being separated from him? Could anyone believe the kinds of catastrophes I'd imagined, thinking he might not be safe? They had all been so far-fetched. And yet, if I were separated from him now, I knew the same impossible dangers would begin to plague me again.

I put my hand on his cheek. "Don't be upset. I didn't mean any harm. I promise, I was very much in control of myself. If I'd thought there was any danger, I would have left immediately. I just... wanted to be where you were."

"I... That's not what I'm worried about."

"What are you worried about?"

"What did I say?"

I felt a rush of relief that he did not believe me capable of a viler kind of surveillance. His only worry was embarrassment at what I might have heard him say? Well, on that matter I could comfort him. He had nothing to be ashamed of.

"You miss your mother. When it rains, the sound makes you restless. You used to talk about home a lot, but it's less often now. Once you said, 'It's too green.'"

I laughed quietly, trying to coax a smile from him. Surely he could see there was no need for mortification.

"Anything else?" he demanded, raising one eyebrow. The way he half turned his face away, his eyes moving down and then darting back up again, helped me realize what he was worried about.

"You did say my name," I admitted.

He inhaled and then blew out a long sigh. "A lot?"

"Define 'a lot.'"

His eyes dropped to the floor. "Oh no..."

I reached out and wrapped my arms carefully around his shoulders. I leaned my head into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around me.

Did he think I had ever been anything but overjoyed to hear my name on his lips? It was one of my favorite sounds, along with the sound of his breath, the sound of his heart...

I whispered my response. "Don't be self-conscious. You already told me that you dream about me, remember?"

"That's different. I knew what I was saying."

"If I could dream at all, it would be about you. And I'm not ashamed of it."

How I had once wished to be able to dream of him! How I'd ached for that. And now, reality was better than dreams. I wouldn't want to miss one second of it for any kind of unconsciousness.

His body relaxed. A happy sound, almost a hum or a purr, sighed out of him.

Could this really be it? Was I to have no punishment at all for my outrageous behavior? This felt more like a reward. I knew I owed him a deeper penance.

"I'm not ashamed," he told me.

I became aware of another sound beyond his heart thrumming in my arms. A car was drawing closer and the thoughts of the driver were very quiet. Tired after a full day. Looking forward to the promise of food and comfort that the warm lights in the windows offered. But I couldn't be perfectly sure that was what he was thinking.

I didn't want to move from where I was. I pressed my cheek against Beau's chest and waited until he also heard his father's car. His body stiffened.

"Do you want your father to know I'm here?"

He hesitated. "Um..."

I released him with a sigh.

"Another time, then..."

I ducked out of the room and darted up the stairs into the darkness of the tiny hall between bedrooms. I'd been here once before, finding a blanket for Beau.

"Edythe?" he called in a stage whisper from the kitchen.

I laughed just loud enough for him to know that I was close.

His father stomped up to the front door, scraping each of his boots twice against the mat. He shoved his key into the lock, and then grunted when the handle turned with the key, already unlatched.

"Beau?" he called as he swung the door open. His thoughts registered the smell of the food, and his stomach grumbled.

But some small part of me was just a little... wistful. When I'd asked if he wanted his father to know I was here, that we were together, I'd hoped that the answer would be different. Of course, he had so much to consider before introducing me to him. Or he might never want him to know he had someone like me in love with him, and that was perfectly fair. More than fair.

And truly, it would have been inconvenient to meet his father officially in my current state of dress. Or undress. I supposed I should be grateful for his reticence.

"In here," Beau called to his father. I heard his soft grunt of acknowledgment as he locked the door, and then his boots stomping toward the kitchen.

"Did you take all the lasagna?" Charlie asked.

"Oh, sorry. Here, have some."

"No worries, Beau. I'll make myself a sandwich."

"Sorry."

It was easy to understand the sounds of Charlie moving around the kitchen. The refrigerator opening and closing. The microwave whirring. Liquid—too thick for water, I would guess milk—poured into glasses. A dish set gently on the wooden table. Chair legs scraping against the floor as he sat down.

Chalrie broke the companionable silence. "How was your day? Did you get everything done that you wanted to?"

"Um, not really. It was... too nice out to stay indoors." His casual answer wasn't as relaxed. He wasn't a natural at hiding things from his father. "Were the fish biting?"

"Yep. They like the good weather, too."

"Got plans for tonight?"

A chair moved again.

"You look kinda keyed up," Charlie continued. Not so oblivious as I'd thought. I wouldn't miss these things if his thoughts weren't so hard to get to. I tried to make sense of them. Beau's eyes flashing to the hall. The suddenly brighter color in his cheeks. This seemed to be all he was aware of. Then a sudden confusion of images, nebulous and without context. A 1971 mustard-yellow Impala. The Forks High School gym, decorated with crepe paper. A porch swing and a girl with bright green barrettes in her pale hair. Two red vinyl seats at a shiny chrome bar in a tacky diner. A girl with long, dark curls, walking along a beach under the moon.

"Really?" Beau asked with put-on innocence. Water ran in the sink, and I could hear the sound of bristles against melamine.

Charlie was still thinking about the moon. "It's Saturday," he announced randomly.

Beau didn't seem to know how to respond. I wasn't sure where he was going with this, either.

Finally, he continued. "I guess you're missing that dance tonight..."

I thought I understood the images now. Saturday nights from his youth? Maybe.

Was he worried that Beau wasn't having a normal teen experience? That he was missing out? For a second I felt a deep twinge of doubt. Should I be worried about the same? What I was keeping his from?

"As intended."

Charlie sniffed once. "Sure, dancing, I get it. But maybe next week—you could take that Newton girl out for dinner or something. Get out of the house. Socialize."

I hadn't expected that. A sharp blade of anger twisted in my chest. Not anger, I recognized. Jealousy. I wasn't sure if I'd ever disliked anyone quite so much as that pointless, insignificant girl.

"I told you, she's dating my friend."

I couldn't tell if Charlie was upset by his answer or relieved by it. Perhaps a mixture of both.

"Well, there're lots of other fish in the sea," he said.

"Not at the rate you're going."

Chairlie laughed. "I do my best... So you're not going out tonight?" he asked again.

"Nowhere to go," Beau told him. "Besides, I'm tired. I'm just going to go to bed early again."

I heard Beau walk to the sink.

"Uh-huh," Charlie said, chewing thoughtfully. "None of the girls in town are your type, eh?"

I heard no answer from Beau, only more scrubbing.

"Don't be too hard on a small town," he said. "I know we don't have the variety of a big city—"

"There's plenty of variety, Dad. Don't worry about me."

"Okay, okay. None of my business anyway."

"Well, I'm done. I'll see you in the morning," Beau said quickly. He turned the corner and started up the stairs. His footsteps were slow—probably to emphasize his assertion that he was sleepy—and I had plenty of time to beat him to his room. Just in case Charlie followed. It would hardly be in line with his wishes for him to find me here, half-dressed, eavesdropping.

"'Night, Beau," Charlie called after him.

It felt wrong to sit in the rocking chair as usual, invisible in the dark corner. It had been a hiding place when I hadn't wanted him to know I was here. When I was being deceitful.

I lay across his bed, the most obvious place in the room, where there could be no hint of trying to disguise my presence.

I knew that his scent would engulf me here. The smell of detergent was fresh enough to suggest he'd washed the sheets recently, but it didn't overpower his own fragrance. Overwhelming as it was, it was also painfully pleasant to be surrounded in such a sharp way by the evidence of his existence.

As soon as he entered the room, Beau stopped dragging his feet. He slammed the door shut behind him, then ran on his tiptoes to the window. Right past me without a glance. He shoved the window open and leaned outside, staring into the night.

"Edythe?" he stage-whispered.

I suppose my resting place was not that obvious after all. I laughed quietly at my failed attempt to be aboveboard, then answered him.

"Yes?"

He spun so fast that he nearly lost his balance. With one hand, he gripped his desk for stability.

"Oh!" he choked out.

Once again, it seemed as though everything I did was wrong. At least this time it was funny rather than terrifying.

"I'm sorry."

He nodded. "Just give me a minute to restart my heart." In reality, his heart was thrumming from the shock I'd just given him.

I sat up, all my movements deliberate and slow. Moving like a human. He watched, his eyes riveted to each motion, a smile starting to form at the corners of his lips.

Noticing his lips made me feel that he was much too far away. I patted the space beside me on the bed, and he obliged. Much better.

I placed my hand on top of his, welcoming the smolder of his skin with something like relief.

"How's your heart?" I asked, though it was beating so strongly I could feel the subtle vibrations dancing through the air around him.

"You tell me," he countered. "I'm sure you hear it better than I do."

Accurate. I laughed softly while his smile grew wider.

The pleasant weather wasn't quite over yet; the clouds parted and a silvery sheen of moonlight touched his skin, making his look like something entirely celestial. I wondered how I looked to him. His eyes seemed filled with wonder, much as mine must be.

Below us, the front door opened and closed. There were no other thoughts near the house besides Charlie's muffled narrative. I wondered where he was going. Not far... There was a creak of metal, a muted clank. Something almost like a schematic flashed through his head.

Ah. His truck. It surprised me a little that Charlie was going to this extreme to curb whatever he thought Beau was up to.

I was about to mention Charlie's odd behavior when his expression suddenly changed. His eyes slid to the bedroom door and then back to me.

"Can I have a minute to be human?" he asked.

"Certainly," I responded at once, amused by his phrasing.

Abruptly, his brows lowered and he frowned at me. "You'll be here when I get back, right?" he asked.

It was the easiest question anyone had ever asked me. Nothing I could imagine would compel me to leave this room now.

I made my voice serious to match his. "I won't move a muscle." I straightened up and conspicuously locked all my muscles into place. He smiled, pleased.

It took his a minute to gather his things, and then he left the room. He made no attempt to hide the sound of the door closing. Another door banged more loudly. The bathroom. I supposed part of this was convincing Charlie he wasn't up to anything nefarious. It was unlikely that he could imagine what exactly Beau was up to. But it was a wasted effort. Charlie came back inside just a moment later. The sound of the shower running upstairs did seem to confuse him, I thought.

While I waited for Beau, I finally took the opportunity to examine his small media collection beside the bed. There weren't many surprises, after all my interrogations. I found just one hardback in his library, too new to be in paperback yet. It was his copy of Tooth and Claw, the one of his favorites that I'd never read. I'd not yet taken time to catch up on this lack—I'd been too busy following Beau around like a demented bodyguard. I opened the novel now and began.

I was aware as I read that Beau was taking longer than usual. As ever, the constant anxiety that he would at last see something in me to avoid quickly reared its head. I tried to ignore it. There could be a million reasons why Beau dawdled. I focused on the book instead. I could see why it was one of his favorites—it was both strange and charming. Of course, any story of triumphant love would fit my humor today.

The bathroom door opened. I replaced the book—noting the page number, 166, so I could return to it later—and assumed my statue-like pose from before.

When Beau encountered Charlie at the top of the stairs, it startled him. "Huh!"

"Oh, sorry, Beau. Didn't mean to scare you."

He breathed deeply. "I'm good. You heading to bed, too?"

"Yeah, I guess. I've got an early one again tomorrow."

"Okay. 'Night."

"Yeah."

He hesitated for a second—his eyes flashing down to his well-worn pajamas—and then crossed his arms in an almost apologetic posture.

I thought perhaps I understood the earlier delay. Not a fear of monsters, rather a more common fear. Shyness. I could easily imagine how, away from the sun and magic of the meadow, he might feel unsure. I was on unfamiliar ground as well.

I fell back on old habits, trying to tease him out of his insecurity. I appraised his new ensemble with a smile and commented, "I'm not sure how I feel about that shirt."

It looked to be from a barbecue restaurant. It depicted a pig smiling between two buns.

He frowned, but his shoulders relaxed. "I can change."

"Not you wearing it—its entire existence," I insisted, reaching out to touch the happy pig. "Should he be so happy to be food?"

He smiled. "Well, we don't know his side of the story, do we? He might have a reason to smile."

He reached out to hold my hand.

"Your dad thinks you might be sneaking out."

He opened his eyes extra wide, feigning innocence. "Apparently, I look keyed up."

"Are you?"

"A little more than that, I think. Thank you. For staying."

"It's what I wanted, too."

I unfolded my legs and draped them across his, curling into his chest again so that I could place my ear over his heart. When his arms enveloped me and he pressed his lips to my hair, I felt the most ironic sense of safety. This fragile, human boy who'd had his fair share of near-death experiences made me—the one he needed protection from—feel safe in his arms.

I breathed in his scent. His skin blazed exquisitely against mine. "Mmm..."

"This...," he murmured into my hair, "... is much easier than I thought it would be."

His voice was husky when he spoke.

"Does it seem easy to you?"

I thought about this assumption as I let my nose skim along the edge of his jaw. The physical pain in my throat had never eased in the slightest, though it did nothing to take away from the pleasure of touching him. While parts of my mind were lost in the miracle of the moment, other parts had never stopped calibrating the actions of every muscle, monitoring every bodily reaction. It took up quite a bit of my mental capacity, in fact, but then, an immortal mind had a great deal of space to spare. This did not damage the moment, either.

He took a shaky breath. "Well, it seems to be easier than it was this morning, at least."

"Hmm," was my only comment. I was very much involved in the exploration of his moonlit throat.

His voice was higher and trembling as he asked, "Why is that, do you think?"

I chuckled. "Mind over matter."

A tremor ran down his body. Had I crossed a line? Been inappropriate? He stared back at me, seeming just as surprised as I was. I waited for him to say something, but he just gazed at me with ocean-deep eyes. I could feel the goosebumps rise under my fingertips.

"You're cold."

"I'm fine."

I eased myself back away from him. "Your whole body is shivering."

"I don't think that's from being cold. I'm not sure what I'm allowed to do. How careful do I need to be?"

Though we were more in sync than we'd ever been, I had to remember that his afternoon in the meadow and my afternoon in the meadow had been quite different experiences. How could he begin to understand the kinds of changes I'd gone through in those hours we'd been together in the sun? Despite the new intimacy, I knew I would never explain to him exactly how I'd gotten to this place. He would never know what I had allowed myself to imagine.

I sighed, choosing my words. I wanted him to understand as much as I could share. "It's not easier." It would never be easy. It would always be painful. None of that mattered. Possible was all I would ever ask for. "But this afternoon, I was still... undecided." Was that the best word to describe my sudden fit of violence? I couldn't think of another. "I'm sorry, it was unforgivable for me to behave so."

His smile became benevolent. "I forgive you."

"Thank you," I murmured before returning to the task of explaining. "You see... I wasn't sure if I was strong enough, and..." I took one of his hands and held it against my skin, smoldering embers against ice. It was an instinctive gesture, and I was surprised to find that it did somehow make it easier to speak. "While there was still that possibility that I might be"—I inhaled his scent from the most fragrant point inside his wrist, reveling in the fiery pain—"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..."

My sentence trailed off, unfinished, as I finally met his gaze. I took both his hands in mine.

"So there's no possibility now." I couldn't tell if he meant it as a statement or a question. If it was a question, he seemed very sure of the answer. And I wanted to sing with joy that he was right.

"Mind over matter," I said again.

"Sounds easy." He was laughing again.

I laughed, too, effortlessly falling into his exuberant mood.

"Rather than easy I would say... herculean, but possible. And so... in answer to your other question..."

"Sorry."

"Why do you apologize? It is not easy, and so, if it is acceptable to you, I would prefer if you would... follow my lead? Is that fair?"

"Of course. Whatever you want."

Abruptly, the jocularity felt off, somehow abrasive. All my anxieties swirled through my head like a whirlpool. My humor vanished and I found myself choking out another warning.

"If it gets to be... too much, I'm sure I will be able to make myself leave."

The frown that crossed his face featured an unexpected note of outrage. "I will make sure it's not too much."

"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."

"Never go away."

I took a steadying breath—a steadying, burning breath—and forced myself to stop panicking. Could he understand that the invitation in his words spoke to my greatest desire?

I smiled at him, wishing I could display a similar kindness on my face. It came so easily to him.

"That suits me. Bring on the shackles—I'm your prisoner." I wrapped my fingers around his wrist. "And now, if you don't mind, may I borrow a blanket?"

"Oh, um, sure. Here."

He reached behind me and grabbed a quilt from the foot of his bed. I took the folded blanket from him and shook it out. Then I handed it back to him.

"I'd be happier if I knew you were comfortable."

"I'm very comfortable," he argued.

"Please?"

He quickly threw the blanket over his shoulders like a cape.

I laughed quietly "Not exactly what I was thinking." I leapt to my feet and rearranged the quit around his body, pulling it up to his shoulders. I nestled up against him again in my former place, only now the fabric made a barrier that kept his warmth shielded from me.

"Better?" I asked.

"I'm not sure about that."

"Good enough?"

"Better than that."

I laughed as he stroked his hand through my hair.

"It's so strange... You read about something... you hear about it in other people's minds, you watch it happen to them... and it doesn't prepare you even in the slightest for experiencing it yourself. The glory of first love. It's more than I was expecting."

"Much more."

I contemplated the first time I'd really experienced the difference between first-and secondhand emotion. "And other emotions, too. Jealousy, for example," I said. "I've read about it a hundred thousand times, seen actors portray it in a thousand plays and movies, listened to it in the minds around me daily, even felt it myself in a shallow way, wishing I had what I didn't... But I was shocked... Do you remember the day that McKayla asked you to the dance?"

"The day you started talking to me again." He said this like a correction, as if I were prioritizing the wrong part of the memory.

But I was lost in what had happened just before that, reliving with perfect recall the first time I'd ever felt that specific passion.

"I was stunned" I mused, "by the flare of resentment, almost fury, that I felt—I didn't recognize what it was at first. I didn't know jealousy could be so powerful... so painful. And then you refused her, and I didn't know why. It was even more aggravating than usual that I couldn't just hear what you were thinking. Was there someone else? Was it simply for Jeremy's sake? I knew I had no right to care either way. I tried not to care..." My mood shifted as the story followed its path. I laughed once.

"And then the line started forming."

"I waited, more anxious than I should be to hear what you would say to them, to try to decipher your expressions. I couldn't deny the relief I felt, watching the annoyance on your face. But I couldn't be sure... I didn't know what your answer would have been, if I'd asked..."

A slow flush began in his cheeks, but he leaned closer, intense rather than embarrassed. The atmosphere transformed once more, and I found myself mid-confession for the hundredth time today. I whispered more softly now.

"That was the first night I came here. I wrestled all night, watching you sleep... with the chasm between what I knew was right, moral, ethical, honorable, 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 find someone you wanted, someone human like McKayla. It made me sad."

Angry, miserable, as if life were draining of all color and purpose.

In what seemed an unconscious movement, he shook his head, denying this vision of his future.

"And then, as you were sleeping, you said my name."

Looking back, it seemed as though those brief seconds were the turning point, the divide. Though I had doubted myself a million times in the interim, once I'd heard him call to me, I'd never had another choice.

"You spoke so clearly," I continued, my voice just a breath. "At first I thought you'd woken. But you rolled over restlessly and mumbled my name once more, and sighed. The emotion that coursed through me then was unnerving, staggering. And I knew I couldn't ignore you any longer."

His heart beat more quickly.

"But jealousy... it's so irrational. Just now, when Charlie asked you about that annoying girl..."

I didn't finish, remembering that I should probably not reveal exactly how strong my feelings about the hapless girl had become.

"That made you feel jealous. Really?" His tone changed from annoyance to disbelief.

"I'm new at this," I reminded him. "You're resurrecting the human in me, and everything feels stronger because it's fresh."

Unexpectedly, a smug little smile puckered his lips. "Honestly, though, for that to bother you, after I have to hear that Royal—male model of the year, Royal, Mr. Perfect, Royal—was meant for you. Eleanor or no Eleanor, how can I compete with that?"

He said the words as though he was playing his trump card. As if jealousy were rational enough to weigh out the physical attractiveness of the third parties, and then be felt in direct proportion.

"There's no competition," I promised him.

"That's what I'm afraid of," he grumbled. He folded his arms around me. "Is this okay?"

"Very," I sighed happily. "Of course Royal is beautiful in his way..." It wasn't as if I could deny Royal's exquisiteness, but it was an unnatural, heightened thing—sometimes more disturbing than attracting. "But even if he wasn't like a brother to me, even if he didn't belong with Eleanor, he could never have one tenth, no, one hundredth of the attraction you hold for me. 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."

I felt his breath against my skin as he whispered his response. "It hardly seems fair. I haven't had to wait at all. Why should I get off so easily?"

No one had ever had more sympathy for the devil. Still, I wondered that he could count his own sacrifices so lightly.

"You're right. I should make this harder for you, definitely." I stroked his cheek again. "You only have to risk your life every second you spend with me, surely that's not much. You only have to turn your back on nature, on humanity... what's that worth?"

"I'm not feeling deprived."

Perhaps it was not surprising that Royal's face flickered behind my eyelids. In the last seven decades, he had taught me a thousand different aspects of humanity to mourn.

"Not yet."

Something outside our intense moment intruded. Doubt. Awkwardness. Worry. The words were no clearer than usual, and there wasn't much time for conjecture.

"What—?" he began, but before he could voice his question, I was on the move. I darted to the dark corner where I habitually spent my nights.

"Lie down," I whispered just loud enough for him to hear the urgency in my voice. I was surprised that he hadn't noticed Charlie's footsteps coming up the stairs. To be fair, it sounded like he was trying to be furtive.

He reacted immediately, diving under his quilt and curling into a ball. Charlie's hand was already turning the knob. As the door cracked open, Beau took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. The motion was overdone, slightly theatrical.

Huh, was the only reaction I could read from Charlie. As Beau performed his next sleeping breath, Charlie eased the door closed. I waited until his own bedroom door was closed and I'd heard the creak of mattress springs before I returned to Beau.

He must have been waiting for the all clear, still curled in a rigid ball, still amplifying his slow and even breathing. If Charlie had really watched him for a few seconds, he probably would have known he was pretending. Beau wasn't particularly good at deception.

Following these strange new instincts—they'd yet to lead me astray—I lowered myself onto the bed beside his and then slid under his quilt and put his arm around me.

"You're a terrible actor," I said conversationally, as if it were a perfectly routine thing for me to lie with his this way. "I'd say that career path is out for you."

His heart drummed loudly again, but his voice was as casual as mine. "There goes my ten-year plan."

I wondered if he would fall asleep like this. It seemed unlikely, given the pace of his heart, but he didn't speak again.

Unbidden, the notes of his song came into my head. I started to hum along almost automatically. The music seemed to belong here, in the place where it had been inspired. Beau didn't comment, but his body tensed, as if he were listening carefully.

I paused to ask, "Should I sing you to sleep?"

I was surprised when he laughed quietly. "Right, like I could sleep with you here!"

"You do it all the time."

His tone hardened. "Not with you here."

I was glad that he still seemed upset by my transgressions. I knew I deserved some kind of punishment, that he should hold me accountable. However, he didn't move away from me. I couldn't imagine a punishment that would carry any weight while he allowed me to lie with him.

"You have a point. So if you don't want to sleep...?" I asked. Was this like food? Was I selfishly keeping him from something vital? But how could I leave when he wanted me to stay? "What do you want to do, then?" Would he tell me if he was exhausted? Or would he pretend he was fine?

It took him a long moment to answer. "Honestly," he said at last, and I couldn't help but wonder what options he had run through in his deliberations. I'd been very forward in joining him like this, but it felt oddly natural. Did it feel that way to him? Or just presumptuous? Did it make him, like me, imagine more? Is that what he'd thought through for so long? "A lot of things. None of them careful."

"But since I promised to be careful," he went on. "What I'd like is... to know more about you."

Well, not as interesting for me, but he could have whatever he wanted. "Ask me anything."

"Why do you do it?" he breathed, quieter than before. "I still don't understand why you work so hard to resist what you... are. Don't misunderstand, of course I'm glad that you do—I've never been happier to be alive. I just don't see why you would bother in the first place."

I was glad he asked this. It was important. I tried to find the best way to explain, but my words faltered in a few places. "That's a good question, and you are not the first one 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."

Was that clear? Would he understand what I meant?

He didn't comment, and he didn't move.

"Did you fall asleep?" I whispered so quietly that it couldn't possibly wake him if that were the case.

"No," he said quickly. And added nothing more.

It was frustrating and hilarious how much nothing had changed despite everything changing. I would always be driven frantic by his silent thoughts.

"Is that all you were curious about?" I encouraged.

"Not quite." I couldn't see his face, but I knew he was smiling.

"What else do you want to know?"

"Why can you read minds—why only you?" he demanded. "And Archie, seeing the future and everything... why does that happen?"

I wished I had a better answer. I shrugged and admitted, "We don't really know. Carine has a theory—she 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. She thinks that I must have already been very sensitive to the thoughts of those around me. And that Archie had some precognition, wherever he was."

"What did she bring into the next life, and the others?"

This was an easier answer; I'd considered it many times before. "Carine brought her compassion. Earnest brought his ability to love passionately. Eleanor brought her strength, Royal..." Well, Roy had brought his godlike beauty. But that seemed a less than tactful answer in light of our earlier discussion. If Beau's jealousy was even a tiny bit as painful as my own, I didn't want him to have a reason to feel it again. "His... tenacity. Or you could call it pigheadedness." Surely this was true as well. I laughed quietly, imagining how he must have been as a human boy. "Jessamine is very interesting. She was quite charismatic in her first life, able to influence those around her to see things her way. Now she is able to manipulate the emotions of those around her—calm down a room of angry people, for example, or excite a lethargic crowd, conversely. It's a very subtle gift."

He was quiet again. I wasn't surprised; it was a lot to process.

"So where did it all start?" he asked at last. "I mean, Carine changed you, and then someone must have changed her, and so on..."

Another answer that was only conjecture. "Well, where did you come from? Evolution? Creation? Couldn't we have evolved in the same way as other species, predator and prey? Or..." Though I didn't always agree with Carine's unshakable faith, her answers were just as likely as any others. Sometimes, perhaps because her mind was so firm, they felt most likely. "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." He was trying to sound as serious as before, but I could hear the joke coming. "I'm the baby seal, right?"

"Correct," I agreed, and then laughed. I brushed my fingers across his soft lips.

He twitched, shifted his weight. Was he uncomfortable?

"Aren't you tired?" I murmured. "It's been a rather long day."

"I just have a few million more questions."

"We have tomorrow, and the next day, and the next..." It had been a powerful thought in the kitchen, the idea of many more evenings spent in his company. It was more powerful now, curled up together in the dark. If he wished it, there was actually very little time we needed to be separated. Less time apart than together. Did he feel the shattering joy, too?

"Are you sure you won't vanish in the morning? You are mythical, after all." He asked his question with no humor at all. It sounded like a serious concern.

"I won't leave you," I promised. It felt like a vow, a covenant. I hoped he could hear that.

"One more, then, tonight..."

I waited for his question, but he didn't continue. I was mystified when his heart started to move jaggedly again. The air around me heated with the pulse of his blood.

"What is it?"

"Um, nope, forget it," he said quickly. "I changed my mind."

"Beau, you can ask me anything."

He said nothing. I couldn't imagine anything he would be frightened to ask at this point. His heart sped again, and I groaned aloud. "I keep thinking it will get less frustrating, not hearing your thoughts. But it just gets worse and worse."

"It's bad enough that you eavesdrop on my sleep-talking."

Strange that this would be his one objection to my stalking, but I was too eager for his missing question, the one that made his heart race, to worry about that now.

"Please tell me?" I pleaded.

His hair brushed back and forth against me as he shook his head.

"If you don't tell me, I'll just assume it's something much worse than it is." I waited, but that bluff didn't move him.

"I shouldn't have brought it up."

In truth, I had no ideas, either trivial or dark. I tried begging again. "Please?"

"You won't get... offended?"

"Of course not." I promised.

"Well... so, obviously, I don't know a lot that's true about vampires..."

He hesitated on the last word, as if he'd made a mistake.

"Yes?"

"Okay, I mean, I just know the things you've told me, and it seems like we're pretty... different. Physically. You look human—only better—but you don't eat or sleep, you know. You don't need the same things."

Even as quickly as my brain worked, it took me a second to follow. It should have been more obvious. I needed to keep firmly in mind that nine times out of ten—in my experience with him, at least—whenever his heart started to race, it had nothing to do with fear. It was usually attraction. And should this train of thought be in any way shocking when I had just recently climbed into his bed with him?

"Debatable on some levels, but there are definitely truths in what you're saying. What's your question?"

He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"Ask me."

The words all came rushing out. "So I'm just an ordinary human guy, and you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, and I am just... overwhelmed by you, and a part of that, naturally, is that I'm insanely attracted to you, which I'm sure you can't have helped but notice, what with your being, like, super aware of my circulatory system, but what I don't know is, if it's like that for you. Or is it like sleeping and eating, which you don't need and I do—though I don't want them nearly as much as I want you? You said that Eleanor and Royal go off and live like a married couple, but does that even mean the same thing for vampires? And this question is totally offside, completely not first date appropriate, and I'm sorry and you don't have to answer."

He held his breath as he awaited my response.

"Hmm... I would have said this was our second date."

"You're right."

I could not help responding to the subject at hand. The electricity rioted through my body, and I had to resist the urge to reposition myself so that my lips could find his. That wasn't the right answer. It couldn't be. Because there was an obvious second question following the first.

"I did climb into your bed, Beau. I believe that makes this line of inquiry quite understandable."

"You still don't have to answer."

"It told you that you could as me anything," I answered. "So... in the general sense—Sex and Vampires One-Oh-One. We all started out human, Beau, and most of those human desires are still there—just obscured behind more powerful desires. But we're not thirsty all the time, and we tend to form... very strong bonds. Physical as well as emotional. Royal and Eleanor are just like any human couple who are attracted to each other, by which I mean, very, very annoying for those of us who have to live with them, and even more so for the one who can hear their minds."

He laughed quietly. "Awkward..."

"You have no idea. And now in the specific sense... Sex and Vampires One-Oh-Two, Beau and Edythe..." I sighed reluctantly. "I don't think... that would be possible for us."

"Because I would have to get too... close?"

It was hard not to imagine... I refocused.

"That would be a problem, but that's not the main problem. Beau, you don't know how... well, fragile you are. I don't mean that as an insult to your manliness, anyone human is fragile to me. 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, simply by accident."

Admitting to this obstacle seemed less shameful than confessing my thirst. After all, my strength was simply part of what I was. Well, my thirst was, too, but the intensity of it around him was unnatural. That aspect of myself felt indefensible, disgraceful. Even now that it was under control, I was mortified it existed.

"If I were too hasty... if I were at all distracted, 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 thought over my answer for a long time. Perhaps my wording was more frightening than I'd intended. But how would he understand if I edited the truth too much?

"I think I could be very distracted by you," I added.

"I am never not distracted by you."

"Can I ask you something now?" I pressed. "Something potentially offensive?"

"It's your turn."

I tried to sound indifferent. "Do you have any experience with sex and humans?"

I wasn't thrilled with where my thoughts went in his silence. Even though he'd told me so much about his own past that didn't align... even though he'd introduced the topic with such bashfulness... I couldn't help but wonder. And I knew well enough by now that if I ignored my intrusive curiosity, it would only begin to fester.

"Not even a little bit. This is all firsts for me. I told you, I've never felt like this about anyone before, not even close."

Did he think I hadn't been paying attention?

"I know," I assured him. "It's just that I hear what other people think. I know love and lust don't always keep the same company."

"They do for me."

His use of the plural was a kind of acknowledgment. I knew that he loved me. The fact that we both also lusted was definitely going to complicate matters.

I decided to answer his next question before he could ask it. "That's nice. We have that one thing in common, at least."

He sighed, but it sounded like a pleased sigh.

"Oh...," he said slowly. "So you do find me distracting?"

I laughed out loud at that. Was there any way in which I did not want him? Mind and soul and body, body no less than either of the others. I smoothed his hair.

"Indeed. Would you like me to tell you the things I find distracting?"

"You don't have to."

"It was your eyes first. You have lovely eyes, Beau, like a sky without clouds. I've spent all my life in rainy climates and so I often miss the sky, but not when I'm with you."

"Er, thanks?"

I laughed again. "I'm not alone. Six of your ten admirers started with your eyes, too."

"Ten?"

"They're not all so forward as Taylor and McKayla. Do you want a list? You have options."

"I think you're making fun of me. And either way, there is no other option."

"Next it was your arms—I'm very fond of your arms, Beau—this includes your shoulders and hands." I ran my hand down hisarm, then back up to his shoulder, and back down to his hand again. "Or maybe it was your chin that was second..." I grabbed his chin between my thumb and index finger. "I'm not entirely sure. It all took me quite by surprise when I realized that not only did I find you delicious, but also beautiful."

Blood rushed to the surface of his skin, pulsing even hotter than before.

"Oh, and I didn't even mention your hair." I ran my fingers again through the warm softness.

"Okay, now I know you're making fun."

"I'm truly not. Did you know your hair is just precisely the same shade as a teak inlaid ceiling in a monastery I once stayed at in... I think it would be Cambodia now?"

"Um, no, I did not." He yawned.

I laughed. "Did I answer your question to your satisfaction?"

"Er, yes."

"Then you should sleep."

"I'm not sure if I can."

"Do you want me to leave?" I suggested, though I was extremely loath to do so.

"No!" In his outrage, his answer was much louder than the whispers we'd been using all night. No harm done; Charlie's snores didn't even stutter.

I laughed again, then pulled myself closer to him. With my lips against his ear, I began humming his song again, so quietly it was little more than a breath.

I could feel the difference when he crossed over into unconsciousness. All the alertness escaped his muscles, until they were loose and languid. His breathing slowed and his hands curled together against his chest, almost as if in prayer.

I felt no desire to move. Ever again, in fact. I knew eventually he would begin to toss, and I would have to get out of his way so as not to wake him, but for now, nothing could be more perfect. I was still unused to this joy, and it didn't really feel like something a person could get used to. I would embrace it for as long as that was possible, and know that no matter what happened in the future, just having this one paradisiacal day was worth any pain that might follow.

"Edythe," Beau whispered in his sleep. "Edythe... I love you."