Title: The Wayward Home
Summary: "And we will thirst no more."
Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable characters herein. No copyright infringement is intended.
Salem, Oregon
May, 1963
"The offering is here," Rose murmurs from the window as Waylon Forge's truck turns off the country road and sputters past the dented rusty mailbox bearing the faded Cullen Grove logo.
"You were an offering once too, you know?" Emmett slides behind her, slipping his hands on her hips and his lips along the silvery scar at her neck that made her his forever.
"I remember." She laughs softly, leaning into his touch.
"I took you to the garage to see my brand new 1954 Hornet."
Smirking, she turns to face him. "I showed you around your Twin H powered engine."
"And I showed you around the backseat."
"And I'm going to show myself out," I say, slapping my Life magazine on the table unable to take any more of their foreplay.
"Jealous?" Emmett teases.
"Hardly."
Rose rolls her eyes and goes back to staring at the truck rumbling down the tree-lined lane, kicking up gravel as it goes. "I wonder what Pastor Weber has for us this time."
"It's a young man and a young woman," Carlisle answers, sauntering into the room with his hands in his pockets. "Both just eighteen with nowhere to go and no one left to go to."
"So, they're orphans?" I ask almost hopefully.
My maker's lips turn up at the corner. "I didn't say that."
Esme strolls in behind Carlisle, putting in her earring and eyeing me warily. Even if I couldn't read her thoughts, the words are plain on her face. I know you don't agree, but it's tradition, Edward.
I sigh, pushing off the chair. "I'll be in the grove if you need me."
Shoving the screen door open, I let it slam back hard and stomp down the porch steps just as Waylon's car comes to a stop in front of the house.
"Here we are," he tells them.
A greasy-looking fella with a toothpick dangling out of his mouth is sitting shotgun. He's leaning out the window, taking in the large white house surrounded by peach trees. His thoughts are indifferent, noting that he's seen bigger and better houses in the city. Those thoughts turn ugly once Rose steps out onto the porch. Filthy and vile ideas flash through his mind, each one is more twisted and sicker than the last.
He's the kind of guy that the offering makes sense for. The kind who should be scrubbed from the face of the earth without a thought spared for his miserable soul.
But the brown-haired angel stuck between this animal and old man Forge … she deserves no such thing.
She slips out of the car behind the greaseball. Her big brown eyes go wide at the sight of the house and the land. I can't make out her thoughts, possibly due to Waylon loudly reciting The Lord's Prayer in his head.
Carlisle and Esme step out onto the porch, waving their hands in welcome while Waylon grabs some bags out of the back of the truck. A gust of wind blows through the grove, and I catch their scents for the first time. Waylon's is as putrid as I'd expect a man who ushers naïve teenagers to their deaths would be. And the vile excuse for a man he brought here is equally rancid.
But her scent is nothing like theirs. Sweet and fragrant, it calls to me and beckons the fiend inside.
Her eyes dart to mine and she watches me with a knowing expression on her face, as if she could see what she does to us. Tilting her head, she waves her fingers in my direction and offers a soft smile.
I nod curtly and trudge into the grove but not before hearing Waylon extend Pastor Weber's regards.
~TWH~
As I tend to my trees, I think back to when Carlisle turned me. I vaguely remember him calling it the healing and assuring me I was worthy.
I try to shake off the memory of myself limping down the same tree-lined lane in my soldier's uniform. World weary from my return from the war in France and haunted by the horrors I'd seen and the things I'd done. My left foot numb, infected, and practically immobile.
Closing my eyes, the memory becomes clearer of sitting on his porch, eating peach cobbler. Me offering to work off the food and his kindness. Him offering me the healing in return … and the promise of a new life free from pain.
I can't say I regret taking him up on his offer. After all, I'm one of the lucky ones.
I had a choice.
~TWH~
Hours later, I make my way back to the house. Emmett is sitting at the dining room table, pretending not to listen to Carlisle's discussion with the young man in his office. I catch the gist of his backstory from Em's thoughts.
Royce King, an eighteen-year-old punk from Rochester. He comes from money, but the kid's a troublemaker and his daddy doesn't want to foot the bill to cover up his mistakes anymore so he shipped him off to Pastor Weber's Wayward Home.
"Doesn't seem like a bad guy," Emmett says with a shrug as I take my seat across from him.
"You didn't hear the vile things he's planning to do to your wife."
Emmett's expression goes from indifference to murderous in an instant. "What?"
I pick up my Life magazine again and flip it open to an article about Richard Burton and Liz Taylor's upcoming feature. "You don't want to know."
His heavy hand slaps on the table, leaving small fissures in the wood grain. "I wanna know."
I meet his eyes. "You really want to hear all the sadistic ways he's imagined violating her?"
He stares at me hard, warring with wanting to know and tamping down his own inner fiend who has some vicious ideas of his own. Instead of answering, he pushes his seat back and moves to leave the room.
"Hey Em," I call before he reaches the hallway.
He stops, but he doesn't turn to face me.
"I wouldn't take a drop of that offering. Every ounce of him is rotten." I glance back at my magazine. "But boy oh boy does he deserve every bit of what you've got planned for him."
He chuckles darkly and walks out of the room without another word or thought.
Several minutes later, I hear a soft tinkling laugh coming from the back porch. I follow the sound to the open kitchen window and peek out the eyelet curtains. The young woman is there, leaning on the railing sipping on some peach tea. Her mind is silent to me, and for the first time in this new life, I'd give anything to hear her thoughts.
"So, where are you from, Bella?" Esme asks from the creaky old porch swing.
"A little town up in Washington called Forks." She fixes her eyes on her drink as she swirls her ice in her glass. "Most folks haven't heard of it. It's real small. Lived there all my life until I was sent to live with Pastor and Mrs. Weber."
"Do you miss it? Forks?"
"No, ma'am. I've been dying to get out of that town since I was born. My mom always said there was no grass growin' beneath my feet."
"Are your parents still there?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Are you still in touch?"
"No, ma'am." Her chin juts out, indignant. "They told me I was no daughter of theirs anymore. But I'm sure Pastor Weber told you the whole sordid story, didn't he?"
Smoothing down her dress, Esme smiles. "Pastor Weber's version was riddled with scripture and damnation. I'd much prefer to hear the truth from the source."
Her expression softens as she meets Esme's gaze. "When I turned seventeen, I got my first boyfriend. He was a year older than me, but he was from a good family, so my parents didn't think anything of it. It was all very innocent the first few months." Her finger goes to the small gold cross dangling from her necklace. "Ice cream socials, school dances, and such. But it wasn't long before he let me know he wanted … more."
She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. "At first, it was a kiss here and there. Necking under the bleachers."
The memory materializes in her mind and while I can't hear her thoughts, I can see them with perfect clarity. A blond-haired, blue-eyed boy coaxing her to climb in the backseat, promising no one would see.
"One night at the drive-in, he told me he wanted to go further."
"And you didn't want to?" Esme hedges.
She shakes her head. "I did."
The memory becomes clearer as her heartbeat picks up. His hands on her body. Her mouth on his. The foggy car windows around them as she rocked her center over his. Her victorious smile at his pleasure when he could take no more.
"For the first time in my life, I felt … powerful." She licks her lips. "And something else … something I wasn't sure how to sate."
Another memory emerges. She's climbing into bed in her threadbare nightgown. Gazing out the open moonlit window, her hand creeps between her legs.
"I figured it out pretty quick though," she says with a smirk. "Anyway, my father was the Chief of Police, and he'd just hired a new deputy."
An image of a dark-haired man appears at her window.
"He and his son were staying with us while he had some work done on their cabin. His son had just finished his first year of college. Late one night, the son happened to pass my window on his way into the house. He stopped and stared, and I know it was wrong, but ..."
The vision gets sharper. Her heated breaths coming faster as her hand explores. Him looking around to make sure the coast is clear before letting his gaze settle back on her. His hand dipping beneath his belt buckle. Her nightgown bunching up around her middle, and her fingertips skimming the smooth skin of her stomach.
"He came to my window for the next two nights, and I obliged. We never spoke of it, nor did he ever lay a finger on me. It was our little secret, but almost nothing stays secret in a small town for long."
Her mind conjures the memory of an older mustached man storming into the kitchen, screaming obscenities. Spit flies from his mouth as he berates and insults her, calling her unspeakable names in one breath and disowning her in the next. Crying and shaking, Bella cowers and looks to her mother to step in, but the woman turns back to the sink and busies herself with the dishes. He ignores her sobbed apologies and promises to keep her curtains closed from now on. Her father's eyes go wide, and she realizes her mistake. Plates and glasses go flying when he pushes the table out of the way to get to her. His words are more painful than his hands. When he's through, he tosses her coat at her and tells her to never return.
"My father heard about my night at the drive-in with Mike, but I mistakenly thought he'd found out about the deputy's son." She brings the glass of peach tea back to her lips and takes a sip before continuing. "Things went from bad to worse from there when he kicked me out. I had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Thankfully, a deacon's wife pulled over and picked me up when she saw me hitchhiking outside of Forks. She took me in for the night, then brought me to Pastor Weber the following day."
"Have you tried to get in contact with your parents?"
"I called them once a few months later. My father wouldn't get on the phone, and my mother whispered she'd pray for me before hanging up, so … that's that, I suppose."
"Do you feel as though your time with Pastor and Mrs. Weber was helpful?"
"In some ways, yes." She smiles fondly. "They were both very kind, even given my …"
"Your what, dear?"
"Mrs. Weber told me I had an affliction. My father called it promiscuity, but Pastor Weber had a different name for it." Her fingers go back to her necklace. "He called it the thirst."
"Edward, what're you doing?" Carlisle asks, startling me from my spying at the window.
"Nothing," I say too loudly. "Just, uh, trying to decide if the Red Havens are ripe enough yet."
His expression is amused. "She's interesting, isn't she?"
"I wouldn't know."
"I'll introduce you to her at dinner tonight."
"I'm not coming to dinner."
"Then you can meet her in the morning. She'll be shadowing you for the next few days in the grove."
"I've never known you to want to play with our food."
He chuckles. "Ah, Edward. Maybe this offering has something to offer us instead."
~TWH~
I spend hours in the grove, cracking open peach pits and removing the kernels for planting. Doing anything and everything to avoid the main house until our guests retire for the evening. It's after midnight when I head back. The house is quiet apart from Esme and Carlisle's laughter as they play Canasta in the living room.
"There you are," her voice calls from the porch swing. She's sitting there in her white sleeveless nightgown. Her hair is pulled back and her feet are bare. "You missed dinner."
The wood boards creak beneath my feet as I clomp up the stairs.
"I figured you'd be hungry." She holds up a slightly bruised peach. "So, I saved this for you."
"I, uh … I already ate."
"Oh." Her face falls.
"But thank you for thinking of me, miss."
She meets my gaze. "Bella."
"Miss Bella."
"Just Bella." She smiles. "You're Edward, right?"
I nod.
"You were by the window today." Her voice lowers. "You heard all my secrets."
Her nightgown sways higher up her leg with each swing of the bench, and I swallow back the venom pooling in my mouth. "Apologies, miss."
She grins. "Perhaps now you owe me a secret or two."
I huff out a laugh because God knows I'm full of them. "You want to know my secrets?"
"It's only fair."
"All right then. I've got a secret for you." I take a couple steps closer. "You see that peach in your hand?"
"Mm-hmm."
"That's a Veteran Peach. It's what we call a freestone because the fruit doesn't cling to the pit. It's easily the juiciest, most flavorful peach in the grove."
"Is that your secret?"
"No, that's just a fact." I turn the peach in her upturned palm to the damaged side. "The secret is that bruised peaches are the best."
"Is that so?" she asks in a murmur.
"It is. Peaches are softer than most fruit. Just 'cause they get a little touched up when they're plucked from the branch doesn't make them any less sweet." I dip my chin. "Go on now. Try it."
She slowly brings the fruit to her mouth and sinks her teeth into the delicate flesh. Her eyes fall closed as little flecks of juice spring from the peach. Her quickening pulse and the scent of her blood mixed with the sun-ripened sweetness overwhelms me, but it's the sight of her mind coming alive that nearly bowls me over.
Her conjured thoughts of us fill my mind. She's topless in the grove, spread out on the grass beneath me. Hovering above her, I rub the bitten fruit over her lips, then down her chin. Lower and lower until I reach her rosy tips. She sucks in a breath when the juice trickles over the sensitive flesh before panting out my name. My eyes are on hers as I bring my tongue to her glistening chest.
The vision is gone the moment a loud snapping and whimpering sound comes from the direction of the barn. Her head whips around. "What was that?"
"Probably coyotes. I'd better go check it out."
"Do you want me to come with you?" she asks, sounding almost hopeful.
"You'd better get to bed. We've got an early day tomorrow." And with that, I make my way to the barn.
"Wait," she calls, holding out the bitten fruit. "You sure you don't want something to eat?"
You have no idea, young lady. I shake my head. "I'll see you in the morning."
~TWH~
"Bella, have you seen Royce?" Carlisle asks, masterfully feigning concern.
"No, why?"
"His belongings are gone."
"Doesn't surprise me one bit," she says, stabbing her fork into her eggs. "Can't tell you the number of times he ran out on Pastor and Mrs. Weber."
"Emmett." Carlisle motions toward the door. "Why don't you head into town, see if you can find him?"
"Mr. Cullen, if it's all the same to you, it'd be better for Royce to stay gone. That boy is like a rain cloud, sprinkling all kinds of trouble wherever he goes."
"All the more reason to help him," Carlisle tells her, gesturing for Emmett to leave even though he knows full well that Royce's broken body is rotting out behind the barn with the rest of the compost.
"Suit yourself," she mutters before shoving her fork in her mouth while Emmett whistles happily as he heads out the door.
Her comment amuses Carlisle. He likes the sassy ones. It's what attracted him to Esme back when Pastor Weber's grandfather brought her and another wayward boy to the farm many years ago. That was when Carlisle's maker, Aro, was still with them. He'll return in a few years to take over the farm for several decades so the locals don't get too suspicious. I just hope he doesn't make a mess of my grove when he does.
"So," she says, tapping the corners of her lips with the napkin. "What're we doing today?"
I pull a broken peach pit from my pocket. "We're going to play in the dirt."
~TWH~
"Steady now," I tell her as she raises the hammer over the pit. "You want to split it, not break it."
Concentrating hard, her tongue peeks out of the corner of her mouth. I shut my eyes, trying to center myself from focusing on the heady scent of her blood and the way her soft, cotton dress clings to her figure. The hammer comes down just right and she's rewarded with a loud crack.
"I did it!" She beams, holding it up to me.
"You're a natural."
"Now what?"
"Now we fill this bag here with some soil and pop that kernel right there in the center of it."
"All right." She grabs a few handfuls of dirt and tosses them into the burlap.
"Not too full now. We need to wet it."
Tipping the watering can a bit, she moistens the soil.
"That's good. Now wrap it up and put it in that icebox over there."
"The icebox?"
I nod. "Gotta make it think it's winter. Helps it take root better once it's in the ground in a few months."
"How many more do we have to do?"
I gesture to a couple baskets of peach pits. "We've got a long way to go."
She runs her teeth over her bottom lip. "Good. Now you can tell me about yourself."
"I'll bore you to tears."
"I doubt that." Her questions come fast and furious. "Where are you from?"
"Chicago."
"How long have you worked at the grove?"
"A while."
"What's a while?"
"Long enough to know my way around a peach tree."
"Did Pastor Weber bring you here too?"
"Nope."
"So, you're not an orphan?"
"I suppose I am. My parents are both dead. I wandered out here, looking for work." I toss some dirt into a sack. "Got a good home with some great people out of the deal too."
She spins the hammer in her hand and pounds down on another peach pit, but her aim is slightly off and she catches her thumb.
"Damn it!" she yells, dropping the tool and bringing her hand to her chest.
"You okay?"
Her eyes water and her lips mash together in a hard line.
"Let me see it." I take her hand in mine, and I can see the blood rushing to the side of her thumb. Her heartbeat speeds up, and for a split second, her mind is open to me. She imagines me bringing her thumb to my lips and pressing a tender kiss there, so I do.
Soft and slow, I bring my mouth to the spot that's throbbing. Her pretty lips part as she watches the delicate way I tend to her wound.
"All better?" I whisper.
She nods slowly, never taking her eyes off mine.
"Good." I set her hand at her side and grab the hammer. "I think I'll hold on to this from now on."
~TWH~
The next couple of weeks, we work together in the grove. I show her how to care for all the different varieties of peaches while she shows me all the ways she can unknowingly tempt me.
"That one," she tells me, pointing to a Red Haven near the top of the tree. "That one there is ready."
"It's way up there."
"It sure is," she says, grabbing a nearby ladder with a grin. "Hold this steady for me, will you?"
She scrambles up quickly but has to stretch once she gets to the top rung. Her skirt gets caught in the light breeze, giving me a view of her cotton-covered backside. The sight alone makes my mouth flood with venom, and my pants snug in the front.
"I've got it!" She glances down and catches me ogling her goodies.
"Uh, great." I clear my throat and tap the side of the ladder. "Careful on your way down."
"Want a bite?" she asks, when she reaches the ground.
"No, thanks."
"I'll bet it's delicious."
"I'm sure it is."
Her eyes drift lower and widen when she notices me adjusting my pants. Grabbing a nearby bushel, I use it to cover up and busy myself by plucking a few peaches from the branches within my reach.
I hear her footsteps in the grass before I feel her soft, warm hand on my bicep. "Don't be embarrassed," she murmurs, letting her fingers trace down my forearm. "Sometimes, we can't help the things we feel."
I close my eyes and suck in a breath when her fingertips creep across to my stomach.
"I like the way you look at me." Her hand slips down a bit before whispering. "I like you."
I meet her heated gaze. Those big brown eyes stare up at me as she tucks that bottom lip under her teeth. Her heart thrums, and that beautiful blush of hers blooms pink from the top of her chest to the apples of her cheeks.
Images of her thoughts of us come faster now. My mouth covering hers, kissing her long and hard against the tree. Her hands fisting my hair while mine disappear beneath her dress. Me whispering something in her ear that makes her moan low as she rocks her center over my palm.
"Edward." Her soft voice snaps me back to the present. "Edward, I …"
"I like you too." My words come out rushed, but given her answering smile, I believe they're exactly what she wanted to hear.
"Bella," Esme calls from across the grove, waving her over. "Come on. We've got canning to do."
"Be right there," she tells her before turning back to me. "Meet me on the porch swing tonight after the others hit the hay?"
"What for?" I tease, which earns me a playful poke in the rib.
"You owe me a secret still."
"All right, then."
"Tonight?"
I nod. "Tonight."
~TWH~
While she spends the afternoon canning and gossiping with the girls, I drive to the nearest wooded area and drain a cougar and a mule deer dry. Not that gorging myself with animal blood will ever curb my appetite for her blood.
Once I make it back to the grove, I park down the lane under the cover of the trees so I can watch her through the kitchen window from a comfortable distance. She dips a ladle in the stockpot, stirring as she sways her hips to the music on the radio.
"Roses are red, my love," she sings softly before sucking some excess sugar syrup from her finger. "Mmm." She taps the ladle on the lip of the pot and sets it down on the counter. "Violets are blue. Sugar is sweet my love, but not as sweet as you."
"Tempted?" Emmett asks, emerging from the trees with two bushels in his arms and a smirk on his face.
"Maybe."
His brow raises, and his dimpled grin widens. "You'd better make your move before she figures out you're a square." He tosses the buckets into the back of the truck and reaches for the handle of the passenger-side door, but I peel out before he can open it. "Dick!"
I flip him the bird and laugh as I watch the dust kick up in his face from my rearview mirror.
~TWH~
Over dinner, we exchange furtive glances, shy smiles, and often brush fingers when we pass the plates. It makes swallowing down the overcooked pot roast almost worth it. The family lingers in the living room afterward, chatting about this and that.
Standing and stretching, Bella yawns. "I'm beat. I think I'll call it a night."
She's a terrible actress, but I'm glad to see she's as eager as I am for our evening alone on the porch.
I watch her climb the stairs and wait until I hear the door click shut before whipping my head around at my family. "You guys need to scram."
"What?" Carlisle asks with a furrowed brow. "Why?"
Rosalie smirks. "Edward wants to be alone with the offering."
"Shut up, Rose."
Esme's face nearly splits from her smile. "You like her." She claps once and stands. "Let's go. Everybody out."
Leaning back in his seat, Emmett slides his hands behind his head. "I'm good."
Esme is beside him in an instant, pulling him up by the ear. "On your feet." He winces, but stands. "Move it."
Everyone but Carlisle leaves the room. He stands in the entryway, regarding me curiously. "Are you considering the healing for Bella?"
"She doesn't need it like I did. Condemning someone like her to this life …" I trail off, shaking my head. "It would be selfish of me."
"Have you considered asking her?"
I huff out a laugh.
"Given how you struggle with this tradition, surely you'll give her a choice in the matter."
Tradition. Offering up the life of the wayward to spare a Weber is hardly what I'd call a tradition.
"Of course, she'd have a choice in the matter," I mutter, allowing myself to envision her choosing this life. Choosing me.
He dips his head once, fighting a smile. "If you have any questions on the healing …"
"I know where to find you."
~TWH~
Once the house is empty, I head up the stairs to freshen up. Her bedroom door is cracked open, and though I know I shouldn't, I sneak a peek. The lacy curtains blow in the breeze from the open window. She's kneeling beside her bed in the moonlight with her eyes closed and her hands folded in prayer.
"Lord, I am in need. I am parched and dry and thirsty for Your presence. You've made water flow from the rock and streams flow through the desert." She clasps her hands harder. "You are the living water, Lord. I come to You thirsty knowing that in You my soul will be refreshed." Her eyes open. "And I will thirst no more." She inhales deeply before breathing out a whispered, "Amen."
I walk back to my room discouraged. Here she is praying her thirst away while I contemplate asking her to choose a life where she'll be ruled by it.
For the first time in this new life, I feel like a monster.
~TWH~
"You keep all the girls waiting?" she asks when I open the creaky screen door.
"Sorry."
She slowly stands up from the porch swing with a blanket wrapped around her arms. "Wanna go for a walk?"
"Yeah, sure."
Looping her hand around my arm, she smiles up at me. "Are you going to tell me a secret?"
"What do you want to know?"
"Lots of things."
"Like?"
"Like …" She traces a finger over my forearm. "Why are you so cold?"
"Bad circulation."
"Are you related to Carlisle and Esme?"
"They're like family."
"You have their eyes."
I look away.
"But they change sometimes." Her finger creeps higher. "When I first met you, they were dark. But at dinner, I noticed they looked … different."
"Maybe it's the lighting."
"Maybe," she agrees skeptically. "Or maybe it's something else."
We're quiet as we walk through the grove until we reach the opening where our orchard meets a wooded area. The grass is green and high, and there are clusters of purple and white flowers scattered here and there.
"Gorgeous," she whispers, looking out over the meadow while I stare at her.
"Beautiful."
She glances up at me and beams. "Come on."
We lie on her blanket and stare up at the constellations in the night sky.
"I was hoping we'd see a shooting star," she tells me, propping herself up on her elbows.
"To make a wish on?"
"Mm hmm. What would you wish for?"
The word "you" is on the tip of my tongue, but instead I blurt, "Good weather and a plentiful harvest."
"Jesus, Edward. Do you think of anything other than your peach trees?"
"Of course, I do." I mimic her position. "What about you? What would you wish for?"
"I wish you'd tell me your secret," she answers without hesitation, scooting closer to me on the blanket. "The reason you shy away from the sunlight. Or why you wince when you taste the peaches you tend to so lovingly." Her fingertip brushes along my jaw. "Why you tense at my touch."
Closing my eyes, I try to focus on anything other than the steady pounding of her heart in my ears or the searing trail of heat her finger leaves in its wake on my face. The scent of her blood fills the air all around us, taunting me in every way.
"Tell me," she murmurs, closer now.
"You don't want to know."
"I do."
"You don't know what you're asking."
"Please," she begs in a whisper. I open my eyes and find hers boring into mine, shining bright and pleading. "Please, Edward."
My throat bobs as I swallow down my venom. "Many years ago, I was a soldier in the war. Caught a nasty case of trench foot while I was stationed in France. It got infected and spread up my leg. Military doesn't have much use for a soldier with one good leg on the front lines, so they shipped me back to the states."
A hazy memory of a nurse asking me where I was heading floats through my mind. "Didn't really have a home to go back to, so the nurse who was taking care of me pulled out a map and asked where I wanted to start over. I'd always liked the idea of living out west, so I closed my eyes and hit a spot on the map."
"You hit Salem?"
"Nope. My finger landed somewhere over the Pacific. But that nurse was from around here, told me stories of all the green and the mountains in the distance. She mentioned lots of work, so I told her to sign me up." I pluck a little grass from the ground, avoiding her gaze. "Took a long time to get to Salem, but once I made it, I realized what a dumb idea it was. I had no money and no family. I was a helpless and hopeless cripple just sitting there at the bus station, wallowing."
I toss the blades of grass and watch them get taken by the breeze.
"So, I started walking, lugging my leg and my duffle through the town until I reached a long country road surrounded by peach trees. I thought about pocketing a few peaches, but something about the look of Cullen Grove appealed to me."
"I know the feeling," she says quietly.
"I walked up to their porch and offered to work for some peaches. Carlisle did me one better. Gave me a job and a roof over my head. Never treated me like I was broken and for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel like half a man."
"Is your leg better now?"
"It is because Carlisle offered up something that the docs couldn't. He offered me the healing."
"Like Pastor Weber does when he prays over you and speaks in tongues?"
I shake my head. "A different kind of healing. The kind that's a blessing and a curse all at once."
"I don't understand."
"I'm not the man I once was all those years ago, Bella."
"Because you're healed?"
I take her hand in mine and place it over my silent heart. "What do you feel?"
Her brow furrows at my question, but then her breath hitches, and her eyes go wide.
"No heartbeat." I pull up my sleeve and skim a finger over my wrist. "No blood of my own pumping through my veins."
Tentatively, she sweeps her fingertip over the smooth skin at the edge of my palm. Her head snaps up. "Of your own?" I can hear her pulse pound as her heart rate rises. "What does that mean?"
I look away.
"Edward, what do you mean?"
I bring her hand to my other arm so she can feel the raised scar. "This is where he healed me." Her thumb traces the curved mark. "This is how he heals, but it's also how we feed."
Trembling slightly, her fear makes her scent all the more potent. I'm staring at her from several feet away before she even recognizes that I've moved.
"Y-y-ou … You feed on blood?"
I nod once. "I am ruled by my thirst."
She stands and takes a hesitant step toward me. "I know how that feels."
"Do you?" I tilt my head. "Do you have to glut yourself on the blood of animals so you can be around me? Hmm? Does the sound of blood pumping tempt you to give in to your baser instincts?"
"No," she whispers. "I don't have to feed, but I have to pray morning, noon, and night that I don't let my thirst consume me." Another step. "But every moment I'm with you, I'm tempted."
"You shouldn't be tempted. You should be afraid."
She inches closer. "Why?"
"Because you're here as an offering."
"What?"
"Aro, Carlisle's maker, made a pact with Pastor Weber's grandfather. In exchange for sparing his descendants, another life is given as an offering. Usually the offering is someone with no attachments to this life."
"A wayward," she murmurs.
I close the distance between us and hold her face in my hands. "Are you afraid?"
I fully expect to see fear in her eyes and hear the rush of blood and adrenaline, but instead, the heady scent of lust and desire saturates the air around us. Her mind unleashes her innermost thoughts of our naked bodies tangled among the wildflowers. Our kisses are passionate as our bodies move. Her eyes flutter when she brings my mouth to the supple skin where her neck meets her shoulder and panting out a "please."
Scrunching my eyes shut, I shake my head, no longer wanting to see her secret desires.
"Edward." I feel her warm breath against my lips. "I'm not afraid."
She shows me just how little she fears me, pressing that pretty mouth to mine. Soft and shy, she teases with gentle pecks before curling her hand around my neck. Her lips linger longer with each kiss, testing every ounce of restraint I possess.
Breathless, she pulls back, wearing a devil's smile on her angel face. She drops to her knees, running her fingers down my body as she goes, searing my icy skin with the warmth of her touch. "Come here," she whispers, holding out her hand to me.
I kneel, placing my palms against hers.
"Are you afraid?" she asks.
I nod. "I don't know if I can trust myself." My eyes drop to her heaving chest then back to her expectant gaze. "Not to give in."
"Give in?" She entwines her fingers with mine. "To what?"
"To my thirst."
Tilting her head, she brings my hand to her throat, and I feel her blood pulse beneath my fingertips. "For this?" Dragging my hand lower, she guides it over the swell of her breast. "Or this?"
"Bella …" Her name falls from my lips, somehow sounding both like a plea and a warning.
"Sshhh," she tells me, placing a finger over my lips before pushing me back until I'm resting on the blanket with her hovering above me. Eyes wild with lust, she straddles my waist and brings her mouth to my ear. "Let me help you." Her fingers rake down my chest before sliding up her torso to unfasten the button just above her breasts. "We could just pray the thirst away …"
She undoes the button and moves to the next one before grinding her heat against my throbbing erection. A low growl sounds from somewhere deep within me, and I still her hips.
Her answering smile is as sexy as it is sinful. "Or we could give in."
"Pray," I grit out through clenched teeth.
She loosens another button. "Lord, we are in need." Her thighs clench around my waist, looking for friction. "We are … parched and dry."
My hands slip higher when the last button is undone, pulling her dress from her shoulders and leaving her in nothing but a nearly sheer slip.
"And thirsty for Your presence."
Her nipples strain against the silk as if they're begging to be touched.
"You've made water flow from the rock."
I brush my thumbs over the hardened tips, circling them softly.
A small gasp escapes her lips. "Streams flow through the desert."
Tugging her straps down her arms, I lean up to taste and tease her breasts with my icy tongue.
Her fingers dig into my scalp, pulling me closer. "Ahh, You are the living water."
My throat flames as her heart pumps faster and faster. Her thoughts are no longer images, only sensations. Longing, desire, and lust consume her entire being, body and mind.
"We come to You thirsty."
Unable to hold back any longer, I pin her to the grass and fully give myself over to the fiend within. The one who seeks to corrupt and consume the beautiful young woman beneath me. The flimsy fabric tears easily, revealing nearly every inch of her creamy skin.
Her panted words come faster now. "Knowing that in You our souls will be refreshed."
The damned don't have souls, sweet girl. My eyes meet hers as I slide lower, bringing my mouth to the spot between her thighs where she's warm and aching.
Her breath catches. "Edward."
The scent of her arousal is as intoxicating as it is crippling. Nearly as potent and exquisite as her blood. I lose myself, inhaling her heat and greedily sucking her wetness into my mouth. The fiend within me revels in my abandon, growing more frenzied with every moan and gasp drawn from her lips.
"Edward," she repeats faintly.
"Pray!" I growl before plunging my tongue inside of her where her salty slickness is far sweeter.
"O-our souls will be refreshed …"
Unable to deny him any longer, I fully turn myself over to the fiend. He makes quick work of the barriers between us and the sound of tearing fabric echoes through the meadow. Bracing my weight on my palms on either side of her head, my fingers claw through the grass and soil when the tip of my cock slip-slides along her entrance.
With her chest heaving and her heart thrumming, she gazes up at me and I see the reflection of the fiend in her eyes. Where most might shrink back in fear, she encourages him with a lick of her lips and a smile before finishing her prayer. "And we'll thirst no more."
Pressing forward, I push inside of her, and the perfect, pink flesh molds itself around my length, coating it with her sticky, sweet warmth.
Heaven.
Pulse racing, her heart beats faster and the blood rushes to the surface, beautifully flushing her milky skin.
Hell.
I close my eyes, giving in to the sensation and the need to thrust faster and harder. The fiend is emboldened by her sounds and cries for more. She pulls us deeper inside of her, begging for every icy inch. Her fingernails dig into the back of my head, bringing my mouth to the pulsing artery at the base of her neck.
"Make me yours," she whispers hotly.
The vibration of her blood pumping against my lips sends me over the edge.
Her words come softer now. "Make me yours, Edward."
Instinct takes over as my teeth slice through her tender flesh. Her hot blood gushes into my mouth, coating my tongue and scalding my throat as I swallow it down. Gluttonous, I drink from her, and it's not until I hear her heartbeat slow that I'm able to wrench myself away from her to the shadowy edge of the grove.
Anguished, the fiend unleashes a savage growl that reverberates throughout the meadow when he realizes we're not going to drain her dry. Instead, we stalk and circle the perimeter of the flowered field, watching her lifeless body and waiting for her to come back to me … healed.
When she wakes, I will no longer be tormented by the call of her blood. I will devote my existence to loving and cherishing her. Worshiping her for all eternity. Sating and fulfilling her every want, whim, or desire.
Our days will be spent together. She'll be mine. I'll be hers.
And we'll thirst no more.