Title: Gateway to Redemption
Summary: The night he first rebelled was a gateway to unimaginable darkness — and he couldn't find his way out. Decades later, a different kind of gateway beckons him. A mouthwateringly delicious one. Her heart draws him toward the light. Her irresistible blood...and flesh...tempt him deeper into darkness.
Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable characters herein. No copyright infringement is intended.
-XOXOXOXOXO-
The moment I chose her to rescue first— hitting new depths of violent rage in the process — I knew I had come to the door of a lifechanging gateway.
Whether this particular gateway led to redemption or straight to hell was far less clear.
But she would lead to change. Of that, there was no doubt. The thought was nearly as exhilarating as the delectable scent of her blood, the tantalizing curves of her body.
The last notable change in me occurred in 1927, when I rebelled against my creator, Carlisle. I have walked alone ever since, a scourge upon the night.
The monster that monsters fear.
My one-time father still believes I will come back to his way of life, eventually. I can read it in his thoughts, any time I get close enough to hear him. It is why I keep just enough distance, why I keep tabs on him and his new family, so that I can stay safely out of range.
I know Carlisle is wrong. I can never go back.
After you've killed enough men, felt their life-force soothe the burn in your throat as it spurts from their rapidly slowing hearts, there comes a point where you realize redemption isn't an option for you — even if the only men you kill are far, far past the point of redemption themselves.
One night of human blood turned into a month, and then a year.
A year turned into a decade.
And then the decades simply kept coming. Night after night, body after body, death after death.
Carlisle and Esme soon replaced me in the Cullen household, I learned later. By now, they have replaced me several times over.
The first came when Carlisle created himself a new, less disappointing child — a female, this time. They added to the family again in 1935, when the new female found a mate; and again when a bonded pair sought them out sometime in the early '50s.
I wasn't interested enough in the newcomers to learn more.
My estranged parents most recently moved to Forks, Washington. I cannot go home, but neither can I bring myself to venture too far from the only family I have in this life, to be well and truly alone for the rest of my existence. And so I stay as close as I dare, stalking the streets of Seattle, of Port Angeles, of Portland.
It's Port Angeles, on this Saturday night. There are human predators here tonight. None so powerful as me, of course. But I can hear them. I can sense their vile thoughts.
They stalk a trio of high school girls, visiting Port Angeles to shop for prom dresses, unaware of the lurking danger.
I briefly listen to one of the girls, the loudest of the three voices, both verbally and mentally. I eavesdrop just long enough to ascertain that the girls are from Forks — ironic, considering the melancholy of my thoughts regarding my family tonight.
The mind I tuned into, the blonde, is particularly vapid, concerned only with outshining one of the two "friends" shopping with her.
Her thoughts toward the third girl — a quiet-seeming young woman with a heart-shaped face, long dark hair, and brown eyes, who is apparently only tagging along — are maliciously jealous.
And inexplicably, I bristle.
I pop out of the blonde's mind as quickly as possible, before I rethink saving her. She is someone's daughter, I remind myself, but still briefly entertain the thought of ending her life myself — if only because her malice towards the pretty brunette girl irrationally infuriates me.
But that is a gateway I will not walk through, the murder of a human child. I have fallen farther and farther into darkness since 1927. I will not fall that far.
No, it is only the other predators who will die tonight — the lesser predators. All of them but one will quickly and near painlessly meet their makers tonight.
But do not make the mistake of believing me merciful. I am not of a mind to make death so swift for the ringleader.
Lonnie is his name. Such an unassuming moniker for a monster whose evil, dare I say, rivals my own.
He will have the dubious honor of visiting my home.
For the past decade, some of these predators — the ones who have wreaked the most havoc on the human world — are used for the purpose of slaking my considerable boredom in between hunts.
I keep them, is what I mean to say. At least for a while. Let their minds play back through their crimes, as they slowly realize they are soon to pay for them with their lives.
Not nearly so soon as they would like.
They suffer in equal measure to the terror they caused their victims. Of that you can be sure. And I enjoy it, paying back that terror.
As I said, I am likely beyond all redemption, at this point. Killing for survival or even justice is no longer enough for me, after close to a century.
My monster has turned it into a game.
-XOXOXOXOXO-
A couple of hours pass, as the girls finally make their dress selections and foolishly decide to walk to a restaurant nearly a mile away, a path which will lead them past more than one isolated alley.
They've no idea what will be waiting for them in the dark, on their return trip.
And those that followed them have no idea what, in turn, is waiting for them.
The girls linger over their meal, as my monster grows more impatient. My throat burns with anticipation of human blood.
But I have one rule. I will not kill based on my interpretation of the future. There have been those who changed their minds at the last moment, choosing not to act on their violent fantasies.
Lonnie will not be one of those. But some of his more nervous 'friends' might.
So I will wait, only until they make their move. And then I will make mine.
I am past ready when Lonnie and his five minions begin splitting into pairs and surrounding the three girls, starting to separate and herd them.
The heady smell of fear is thick in the air. It is only the girls' fear, for now. But that is very soon to change.
There is no question in my mind which is to die first. It is the one helping Lonnie herd the quiet brunette girl; the henchman who has just put his vile arm around her neck and begun to drag her backward.
I am unreasonably infuriated by the fact that Lonnie himself has chosen this one. Her, specifically, though the others are in equal danger.
I am further enraged by the sight of the henchman's filthy hands on her.
He thinks he's going to hold her for Lonnie. He can go straight to hell. Right now, in fact. I'll be arranging that for him personally.
"Let me go! Don't touch me!" the beautiful girl cries out, her legs kicking out toward Lonnie, who is still in front of her, enjoying her terror as he stalks toward her.
The sound of her voice — clear and near musical, to my ears — sends a jolt through me.
I cannot explain it. I only know that I've just been shaken to my very foundation.
I want their fucking hands off of her. I need their fucking hands off of her.
My normal M.O. would be to drag the predator out of sight, so quickly that he seems to his victim to have simply vanished.
That is not what I do tonight.
With a fierce snarl, I go on the attack, tearing off the offending arm that is wrapped around the brunette's soft, creamy throat.
Literally tearing it off.
The grotesquely severed limb is used to knock Lonnie unconscious, so that I can provide him with my full attention later. And then I hurl it away from me, with no care for where it lands.
The henchman's head takes flight next, landing somewhere near his arm. His now-headless corpse falls heavily to the ground.
I am satisfied. He will not be touching this girl again.
As I turn around at the sound of her shocked gasp, I meet her wide, deep brown eyes for the first time.
And I've just decided no one else will be touching her, either. Not ever.
Something of great importance is happening to me, and I cannot understand it. As I stare into her eyes, momentarily frozen, I feel like I'm falling, hurtling ever closer toward the ground at terminal velocity. But there is no impact. Only gravity, binding me irrevocably to...something.
I cannot hear her thoughts, I abruptly realize. It is why she seemed to me to be so quiet. That awareness is more jarring than even the sound of her voice, the near palpable touch of her gaze to mine.
But the smell of her blood...dear God...the smell of her blood. It was created for me and me alone.
And I want it. Now.
For a dangerous split-second, I consider how quickly I could get her under me, pin her small body down with my own, her slim wrists held easily in my grasp beside her head, as my teeth pierce her throat and I drink every last sweet drop of her.
She's lucky I still have a job to do. As am I, because I'm uncannily certain that if I destroyed her, I would surely be destroying myself.
I'm also uncomfortably aware that this is the first time my feeding fantasies have ever held a sexual bent to them. It disturbs me greatly.
In my momentary fantasy, she wasn't fighting me. She was arching her hips up into me, moaning with pleasure as she willingly bared her throat to my razor-sharp teeth.
Her reactions in the cold darkness of reality are very nearly as odd.
I've just ripped the head off of a human being, two feet from her. She should be screaming, backing up, shaking. She should be doing anything besides standing her ground, staring steadily — almost calmly — into my thirsty, pitch-black eyes.
It is unnerving.
"Run," I growl directly into her face...and am beyond amazed that although she startles, she doesn't comply with my fierce command.
I must turn my attention to the remaining girls. But I feel more controlled now, having successfully resisted real temptation for the first time in 80 years.
Each assailant, in turn, disappears so quickly that the other girls have no clue what happened. They do not realize the men have been rapidly hauled into the nearby alley and had their necks efficiently snapped.
But I feel her eyes on me, watching, to the extent she can. She seems as fascinated by me as I, inexplicably, am by her.
The other girls saw nothing of what happened with my brunette. They only know they are suddenly free from the men dragging them toward the alley, and their adrenaline takes care of the rest. They run for their lives.
Soon it is just me and an unconscious Lonnie. And her. She stands completely still, watching me.
She has seen too much.
I realize, with a dark thrill running through me, that I cannot allow her to leave.
What I should do is either kill her or attempt to change her. If I do not, I risk both her neck and my own at the hands of the Volturi. But already, the thought of her death is so utterly abhorrent that I feel ill.
There are other considerations, as well.
My monster had wanted time with this Lonnie. I had wanted to take him home with me, take my time torturing him. I still do. Only now, I want to string him up in my basement and hurt him for days for even considering touching this dark-haired angel.
I want to inflict upon him the same level of terror I smelled on her — her fear that made his foul dick so hard. I doubt he will find my brand of terror so appealing. He will be too occupied with begging for death, at my hands.
Had it not been for her standing there, that would be his fate.
But I want her more. More than blood. More than vengeance. Just...her presence.
As I look at her, rage floods me again. I know what he would have done to her. He still must die, and gruesomely, even if it must take place too quickly.
But not with her watching. She's already seen me behead one of her attackers.
I had believed I was no longer capable of remorse.
I was wrong.
She will see no more such violence from me, I decide. But I still need to clean up after myself.
I return to her side at vampire speed. There's no need to hide it. I've already accepted — perhaps too hastily and eagerly — that I cannot let her go.
I watch in fascination the way she startles but does not flee as she registers my sudden presence. I hold out my keys in offering.
"The car on the corner is mine. The Aston Martin. Get in and wait for me."
Her wide, very dilated eyes blink as though breaking free of a trance. And then she nods once in agreement, delicately picking the keys from my palm.
Just the pad of her index finger brushes my skin, and it's nearly my undoing.
She looks away from me to find my car, taking the smallest step in that direction — and my monster finds the loss of even that fleeting contact unacceptable. With a growl, I reach out to grab her by the biceps, hauling her close to me.
I haven't touched a human in a nonviolent way in decades — quite possibly ever in this life, so far as I can recall — but somehow, I haven't hurt her. My fingers are surprisingly gentle on her arms.
My voice is less so.
"Tell me your name."
I don't mean to snarl it. But I have to know before she leaves my sight. It is the most important name on Earth.
Her lip trembles slightly, but there's no other sign of fear. That pleases me.
"Bella." She stares into my worshipful gaze and bites her lip, a move that stirs parts of me that have long gone unstirred. I'm fixated upon that mouth. "Bella Swan."
I've never heard a more beautiful name, nor known of one so fitting for any creature. It is a shame that the first time it leaves my lips, it does so on a growl.
"Do not even think about running from me, Bella Swan," I warn darkly. "I will only hunt you down and bring you back. You cannot get away from me, but I have no wish to unintentionally hurt you if you try. Do you understand?"
That clear, musical voice hits me with no less impact the third time. "Yes." She hesitates, and her eyes flicker down to her first attacker. The headless one. She shudders, seeking my eyes out again. And she calms when her gaze locks with mine. "And...thank you."
She's thanking me for ripping a man's head off in front of her?
My teeth bare, mostly in rejection of my next word.
"Go."
I watch her all the way to my car, ensuring that she makes it safely. I wish that I had remembered to instruct her to lock the doors. No matter. Anything that dares threaten her will swiftly die. Or perhaps not so swiftly.
It's gratifying to see that Lonnie is beginning to stir. If I cannot take my time with him, I at least want him to feel it when I end his wretched life.
I swiftly gather all of the bodies, stashing them well hidden in the alley until I can return to deal with them. Bella will need to sleep, at some point within the next 24 hours. I am not concerned they will be found before then.
I let Lonnie wake up on a stack of his dead friends. I give him time to realize this for himself.
And then, just before I rather slowly separate his neck from his shoulders, I voice a thought I had not been consciously aware of having.
It is, nonetheless, so very true.
"You chose the wrong one tonight, Lonnie. You touched the one that belongs to me."
-XOXOXOXOXO-
She's waiting for me in the passenger seat of my car, and it appears that shock is finally beginning to set in. She's trembling all over.
As I close my door, sealing myself into a very small, enclosed space with her overwhelming scent, I marvel at the relief I feel despite the burn in my throat. Just being near her has a profoundly calming effect on me.
And already, her trembling is beginning to subside.
Is it possible that it was my absence that caused her anxiety? An extraordinary thought. I wonder if it's possible that this tiny human creature feels even a tenth of the draw between us that I feel.
"Where did you go?" she asks softly.
That's her first question? The warmth that causes in my chest is enough to distract me from the overwhelming desire to...I'm not sure what. Some of the desires she has sparked within me are new to me.
Carlisle once expressed concerns he had changed me too young. I've simply never been a sexual being — not until tonight, apparently. It seems he needn't have worried. At the moment, I'm not certain if Bella's blood or her tantalizing flesh tempt me more.
Neither are mine for the taking. I kill men for that.
But were she to freely offer herself to me...God, the things I would do to her...
I cut my dark fantasies off ruthlessly, forcing myself to focus on her question.
"I was dealing with the ringleader," I say calmly, meeting her eyes and closely watching her reaction. "He won't bother you again."
Nor will any other who values his own life, but I don't tell her that.
She swallows hard, her eyes turning in the direction of the alley where I'd hidden the bodies. She strains futilely to see through the darkness.
"You mean you killed him."
It wasn't a question, so I don't bother answering, aside from a lifted eyebrow. She's still processing, and I'm willing, for now, to be patient. But not being able to hear her thoughts is...frustrating. Is she frightened? And of what?
I find that the idea of her being frightened of me is excruciatingly painful.
"I'm not going to hurt you," I add just in case, sincerely hoping that I'm telling her the truth. My tone is gentle. I've found no reason to use that tone of voice in close to a century.
"Who are you?" she asks, still shaky but at least meeting my unwavering gaze once again.
An excellent question. One I'm not sure I have an answer for. Am I still a Cullen? I suppose the only one who could answer that question is Carlisle.
"My name is Edward," I answer simply, reaching over to carefully remove my keys from her clenched fist. I forestall further discussion on the topic by cranking the car.
I've only just realized that my focus had become so completely captivated by Bella that I hadn't consumed a drop of blood tonight.
Unfortunately, that means I'm ravenously thirsty in the presence of her mouthwatering blood. I crack the window just the tiniest bit.
I feel her studying me as I smoothly pull the powerful car out onto the road, accelerating quickly as I drive her away from Port Angeles.
I like it, this feeling of having her, of her being in my possession, taking her away with me. It causes a thrill in the lower section of my gut, one I've never experienced.
She is mine now.
"Where are you taking me?" she asks, almost as if she heard that thought.
Finally. A self-preservation question. It took her long enough, though she may not care for the answer. It matters not. I cannot just let her go, after what she has seen...not even if I wanted to, which I adamantly don't.
"You're coming home with me." My tone seeks to make it clear that there is no room for argument, but this is apparently not so transparent to Bella.
"No, I'm not!" she protests with alarm, sitting up straighter in her seat and sending a wave of her scent into my nostrils with her sudden movement. I hold my breath against the craving to sink my teeth into her slender neck...or better yet, to focus the attentions of my lips on the two points slightly lower, which have become hard and pebbled with her agitated state, I note with fascination. "I have to go home! My dad will be waiting for me!"
I reach into my pocket and remove a sleek, silver cell phone, which I extend in her direction.
"You're welcome to call him. Tell him you're staying over with one of your friends, or whatever you wish to tell him. Then call your friends and tell them you caught another ride home. Just bear in mind that if you say the wrong thing, they will know too much as well."
I stop short of threatening their lives, although it's certainly implied. I don't want to scare her unnecessarily. But her heartrate still increases wildly as she takes the phone from me, and I feel a stab of guilt at her unease.
Her voice trembles as she speaks first to her father and then her friend, watching me warily out of the corner of her eye, like she's terrified of setting me off.
I don't like it.
I'm greatly out of practice with humans. But I've quickly learned that upsetting this one is something I do not enjoy in the slightest.
-XOXOXOXOXO-
Of the new experiences I've had tonight, perhaps using a drive-through lane at a fast-food restaurant is the most unexpected.
But the girl under my care is human, and humans must eat. And when I inquire and learn that she ordered only a water when her friends had dinner, I'm even more concerned about her going into shock.
On the other hand, I'm not willing to let her out of my car just yet, even to enter a restaurant. I prefer to keep her in extremely close proximity to me, in a controlled situation — making drive-through my best option.
I listen to the two cars ahead of us, and I believe I've done a passable job with the ordering, paying, and food retrieval process.
But when I hand her the bag full of utterly revolting aromas and begin to pull away from the window, she doesn't open it. She sits staring at me, studying me even more closely than she had before.
Why can't I hear her thoughts? It would make this so much easier.
"What?" I ask, not liking the feeling of being off-balance. I'm a natural predator. I prefer to be in control, always. Something, I think to myself wryly, that would likely cause problems in the type of relationship I'm already struggling not to imagine with her. I've read enough minds to know that.
It's a moot point. She's an angel, and I'm a soulless monster. The idea that she could feel anything but loathing for me is laughable.
"You've never done that before," she observes about my first fast-food experience, with frightening accuracy.
That's when something happens that I truly cannot recall having happened in decades.
The corners of my mouth turn up slightly. I'm almost smiling.
"No," I admit, a little sheepishly, wondering exactly how much I've embarrassed myself. Perhaps it's good that I can't read her thoughts. "I haven't."
She's clearly waiting for more, for some type of explanation, but I don't give it to her.
Without touching her, I push the bag she's holding slightly closer to her. I'm still fighting that smile. "You should eat, Bella."
-XOXOXOXOXO-
It takes some coaxing, putting a damper on my finding out more about her, but she eventually eats a little more than half of the bag's contents. Anything that smells like that cannot be nutritious in any way. I'll have to do better the next time she requires feeding.
She starts losing her appetite the final few miles of our drive, and I'm not so naive as to misunderstand why.
I've turned off the main highway onto a dirt road, taking us deeper and deeper into the dark woods between Port Angeles and Forks.
Despite my clumsy reassurances, she's not entirely certain that I'm not driving her to some secluded location to murder her or worse — although why she thinks I would have bothered to feed her first, I can't imagine. I press the accelerator a little lower, intent on getting us to our destination quickly, so that she can stop worrying about what awaits her at the end of our drive.
Her nervousness is palpable, and I'm amazed to learn that my own body responds unfavorably to her distress. There has most certainly been some type of bond forged between us, at least on my end.
She is noticeably relieved when she sees the beautiful wood-and-glass home appear before her in the well-hidden clearing where we finally arrive — my place of solace and refuge from the noisy human world, with all of its constant and inescapable thoughts.
The lack of neighbors to hear screams, when I come across a predator so vile that I'm inspired to take my work home with me, is also a plus. I must remember to close off Bella's access to my basement. If the poor girl wandered down there and discovered my workshop, I would end up having to chase her through the woods when she fled for her life.
-XOXOXOXOXO-
Having a human in my home — one who's at least a somewhat willing guest — is a surreal experience.
She's quiet at first, overly polite and unsure, and it sets me on edge. After quickly excusing myself to key-lock the basement door and pocketing the key, I sit on the black leather couch in my living room and turn on the rarely used television, trying to appear nonthreatening.
Then I encourage her to explore.
It takes a few moments for her to realize I'm sincere about offering her such freedom, when I have for all intents and purposes abducted her, but she eventually takes me at my word.
I've no doubt she only took me up on my offer so that she could peruse escape routes. But even if she runs, it's not as though I can't catch her easily.
My ears carefully track her progress through the house. The occasional hesitation in her steps lets me know when she notices some things: the absence of a refrigerator or anything at all, really, in the kitchen; the absence of a bed in any of the bedrooms.
She asks me about both, when she returns to the living room and carefully lowers herself to sit on the opposite end of the couch.
My fingers ache to touch her. I want her closer — like maybe straddling my lap, ideally.
I also want her heart to keep beating, so she's better off where she is.
I shrug casually. "Simple," I say by way of reply. "I don't eat, at least not the way you do. And I don't sleep."
Her brows draw together. "Ever?" she squeaks.
My lips twitch, and I find myself fighting that smile again.
"No, not at all."
She opens and closes her mouth a couple times, then bites her lip as she rethinks what she wants to say. I watch those lips, mesmerized. I want to press my mouth against them, pry them open with my tongue, taste what lies beyond. I want her up against my wall when I do, or under me on this couch, or...
"What are...I mean, you're not...are you human?" And again, she pulls my focus from her body and blood back to her.
There's something very endearing about her sweet confusion, the way that she's careful not to be impolite or offensive in her questions. She doesn't want to come right out and say 'what are you' or question my humanity. It's...cute.
The corner of my lip pulls up again. It's official. She's made me smile more in the last hour than I have since 1927.
That does not exactly make me more inclined to let her go.
"I was human once," I reply carefully. "But that was long ago."
She fidgets in her seat, wringing her fingers together in her lap as she carefully considers her next question.
"How long ago?" she settles on.
"Roughly 90 years," I answer easily. "1918."
She nods, obviously processing, but doesn't react like I'm a delusional maniac. Her capacity for coping with the extraordinary is amazing. She should have run from me by now, several times over. But she seems very...accepting.
My long-dead heart seems to flicker with signs of life. Is it possible that she could ever accept me and all that I am, all that I've done? I scarcely dare to hope.
"So you haven't eaten or slept since 1918?" she verifies, incredulously.
"Slept, no." I hedge. "As far as eating...I have a different nutrition source."
She goes utterly still, and I know she's starting to put it together. Her lips part, her eyes widening. Her heart flutters like hummingbird wings.
"What do you eat?" she asks, her voice trembling.
There it is. The most basic question — and the one I dreaded most. But I've already decided to give her truth. If I've decided to keep her, I owe her that much.
"Blood," I admit quietly. "I drink human blood."
Her respiration increases. My muscles tense, preparing to catch her when she inevitably bolts. I must be unfailingly gentle, I remind myself. One slip of my strength, and I could easily hurt her without meaning to. I loathe myself more than usual, at that thought.
I'm completely attuned to her every movement, so I see the moment realization dawns.
"You're...a vampire," she breathes, her eyes widening even more. By answer, I only turn my lips up slightly, a tiny, confirming smile.
"I didn't even know..." she trails off, shaking her head.
"That vampires are real?" I finish for her. "That's by design. But yes. We are."
She looks so worried that I feel compelled to break the silence. "You must have questions."
She swallows, hard. I can sense her growing fear. And again, it disturbs me greatly.
"Only one. Are you going to...drink from me?"
Now, there's a thought.
"I hope not," I reply sincerely, "because I wouldn't be able to stop. But you can't imagine how your blood calls to me, Bella. Yours, specifically. I've never wanted someone so very badly."
That final sentence is true in a couple ways, but I've given her enough to process for one night. I've no intention of acting on any of my desires toward her, aside from the compulsion to keep her with me. That will have to be enough.
I want her to ask me more questions. I want her to answer mine. But I can see that she is beginning to crash from her earlier adrenaline rush. She will feel better — and, hopefully, be less fearful — when she's had a chance to rest.
"You must be exhausted," I say as gently as possible. "You may have the couch in my bedroom tonight. I'll remain here. Tomorrow, I'll take care of obtaining a bed for you, as well as whatever else you need...clothes, food, anything you wish."
Her heart pounds so fast I fear for her health. "How long are you planning to keep me here?" she pleads, and I find her fright no less painful the more often I cause it. "I can't just stay here!"
But my voice is firm. The sooner she accepts her fate, the sooner, hopefully, she can begin to adjust.
"Yes, you can. I can't risk releasing you, not after what you've seen. My only other options are to kill you or change you into a vampire, neither of which are acceptable to me. So here you will stay."
-XOXOXOXOXO-
I may be a rigid, unchanging vampire, not particularly prone to rethinking my decisions, once made. But it takes only one night of listening to Bella hopelessly cry herself to sleep as my prisoner to change my course of action drastically.
I listen from the living room, my fists clenched. I simply cannot bear it. I am inordinately relieved when she finally falls into a very deep sleep, her whimpers slowly ceasing.
I cannot continue this. I cannot ever again be responsible for making this girl cry.
Despite my better judgment, I creep in to check on her. I don't have blankets. But I find myself removing a long coat from my closet to tuck around her, fighting another smile as she murmurs something unintelligible and snuggles up more deeply beneath it.
I shouldn't touch her. I know this. But her hair is in her eyes, tickling her nose, and my fingers twitch to smooth it back from her delicate features.
So I do.
And she smiles in her sleep. She smiles. And my muscles clench with the need to protect her.
I want to kill Lonnie and his friends again. I wish that I could revive and murder them over and over for eternity.
I watch over her until I am relatively certain she will remain asleep while I make the trip I need to make — which takes just long enough for me to discover that when she whimpers in her sleep, becoming restless, my icy touch on her cheek calms her.
Shortly after that realization, I slip out of the house silently, choosing to run all the way back to Port Angeles to take care of the dead bodies. I need the physical release of tension that running will bring.
-XOXOXOXOXO-
Something momentous happens on that trip — something that hasn't occurred since 1927, just before I rebelled against Carlisle.
I need to feed. I'm thirsty, and being near Bella in that state is not just reckless and irresponsible. It's potentially lethal.
But it takes time to hunt humans, to track down a predator worthy of death and ascertain his patterns, set up the perfect kill while he chooses his own intended target. Because of this, I've become accustomed to feeding only once every few weeks.
It's been longer than that this time. My eyes are black as night.
And so when I catch the scent of a herd of deer, I don't think twice. I go on the hunt, savagely ripping my way through the herd and glutting myself on animal blood until I cannot consume another drop.
My first vegetarian meal in nearly 80 years. Ridiculously unsatisfying and unappetizing. It only makes me want Bella's blood all the more. And yet, it also provides her some protection, tamping my thirst down to tolerable levels.
I had sworn to myself, once, never to limit my bloodlust again in such a way...Carlisle's way.
But for Bella, to protect her and by extension myself — because I willingly accept I cannot now exist in a world without her — it is frighteningly easy to go back on that promise to myself.
There is no end, apparently, to this girl's effect on me.
Is it possible she is not a gateway to my destruction, as I had first believed, but rather to my redemption?
-XOXOXOXOXO-
As I return home, I become increasingly worried that when I arrive, she will simply have vanished.
I'm already thinking of exactly how I will track her, how I will get her back. I likely should have restrained her in some way, but I simply hadn't the heart for it after hearing her cry.
Still, my predatory senses are in overdrive by the time I arrive home, anticipating a need to chase her down.
So when I find her awake and sitting up on the couch in my bedroom, clutching the coat I wrapped around her during the night, it's all I can manage not to close the rest of the distance between us and seize her.
She's here. She stayed. Perhaps not completely of her own volition, but close enough.
She stands up quickly, registering my presence. Her heartrate increases, but not so fearfully as the night before. I start to feel a dangerous hope rising within me.
But then she stares at me more closely, leaning slightly toward me.
"Are those contact lenses?" she asks, and I struggle to catch up with the thread of the conversation, squirming under her scrutiny. She never says what I expect her to say. And after nearly a century of being able to read the thoughts of everyone I've come in contact with, mortal or immortal, that's disorienting.
"No." My voice is too gruff, too harsh with suppressed emotion. She'll think I'm angry if I'm not careful, and I want to encourage this new, non-fearful side of her. "Why do you ask?" I ask curiously, but more gently.
"Last night your eyes were pitch-black. Now they're — they're, like, a golden color."
How had I not thought of this? I rush to my dresser mirror, my fingers gripping the edges tightly as I see something staring back at me that I haven't seen in decades...
Golden eyes. Vegetarian eyes. Cullen eyes.
Carlisle's eyes.
I barely recognize myself. For decades, I've seen only satisfied blood-red or hungry pitch-black.
It feels deceitful. After so many years of human blood, for the evidence of my evil to be so quickly covered by a veneer of civility? I don't deserve such an instant fresh start.
"Come with me," I order harshly, not willing to meet her eyes with such blatant deception coloring mine. "I'm taking you home."
I walk away quickly, but I still see it in my peripheral vision when she recoils from my tone.
I shouldn't be disappointed. She fears me, and I hate it. But it's as it should be.
-XOXOXOXOXO-
I answer none of her questions as I drive her home. She volunteers her address almost immediately, so there's no reason to further engage her.
She grows increasingly anxious under my near-hostile silence, but still I remain quiet.
"Are you okay?" she asks at one point, and her tone is so gentle, so concerned, that I nearly break. She's so good, so warm and caring.
Then I catch another glimpse of my lying golden eyes in the rearview mirror, and the moment passes as I'm flooded with new disgust for myself. Had those eyes been golden for the past century, perhaps things would be different. But I know they'll be red again soon, and I also know the risk is far too great that that red might come from her.
She makes no move to exit the car when I put it into park in her driveway, my eyes scanning the two-story structure. She can't know I'm looking for all possible points of entrance, my various modes of access to her if she should need my protection.
Or when I give in to temptation.
I feel her eyes on me, but I continue my inspection of her home, tensely gripping the wheel. Does she not understand how difficult this is for me, keeping this promise that I silently made her last night, listening to her cry?
No, I suppose she doesn't.
"Thank you for bringing me home," she says quietly. "You saved my life, Edward. I'll never forget that."
And I nearly ended it multiple times thereafter, I know without question, all while fantasizing about making her scream my name in ecstasy as I drain her dry.
So I don't dignify that with a response.
With a resigned sigh at my unresponsiveness, she reaches her hand toward the door-handle. And finally, I can't take it anymore.
She gasps with surprise when my hand shoots out and grasps her arm just above the elbow, preventing her exit.
"This changes nothing," I grit out, rather harshly. "I'll be nearby. You have your freedom only so long as you keep your mouth shut. Anyone you tell the truth will be collateral damage. Am I clear?"
The feel of her shuddering under my grasp makes me feel like even more of a monster.
"Yes," she whispers, and I quickly release her arm. But still, she doesn't move.
"What?" I snap impatiently, because God, if she doesn't leave this vehicle soon, I'm going to change my mind and take her somewhere she'll never escape.
Or just take her, period.
She hesitates. "Did I do something wrong?" she asks, her eyes worried.
She's afraid I'm releasing her because she somehow offended me?
I can't help my bitter scoff, nor the frightening honesty that spills from my lips afterward.
"Yes. You're far too tempting in every way. From your blood to your body, Bella Swan, I want all of you. Which is why you need to get out of my car now."
Her mouth falls open softly, her cheeks staining pink.
And this time, when she goes to open the door, I let her.
-XOXOXOXOXO-
She doesn't see me again until the next morning.
But that doesn't mean I haven't seen her.
I only left her for a few hours, long enough to procure a few items for my house, should she break the rules and "force" me to bring her home with me permanently.
Items including one very large and sturdy four-poster bed.
The rest of the day I spend keeping an ear on her from outside her house, paying particular attention when she speaks to anyone on the phone.
I'm relieved — and perhaps disappointed — that she doesn't utter a single word about me. Not one.
Temptation gets the better of me when she falls asleep for the night, and I'm soon entering her bedroom window, assaulted by her lovely scent all over again.
I hold my breath and do a better job of keeping my hands to myself this time.
I do a worse job of keeping my thoughts even remotely pure.
It's not her blood I lust for, during those dark, quiet hours in her bedroom, despite the venom searing my throat. At least, not much. But I lose track of how many different ways I imagine having her if she were to open her eyes and reach for me.
And then there's the matter of the sensual way she murmurs my name in her sleep.
Repeatedly.
It's simultaneously the longest and shortest night of my existence.
My muscles remain tense when her father pokes his head in to check on her once, when he arrives home late that night. I hadn't made the connection before that her father was the Forks chief of police, Charlie Swan. His mind is a challenging one to read, but my determination is strong.
He's lucky that he's a good and caring father. Had I read the slightest hint of abusiveness, his life would have ended quickly — and Bella would have had no more choice in coming to live with me.
But he loves his daughter. He wants the best for her.
That thought only reminds me, yet again, that I do not fit that description. Not by any means.
-XOXOXOXOXO-
Bella is startled to find me in the passenger seat of her ancient orange pickup truck when she leaves the house for school the next morning.
But to my surprise, it seems I'm not entirely unwelcome.
"Edward!" she gasps, sounding almost...delighted. "You're here!"
I already know she spent much of the previous day watching for me. She had gone to different windows in her house and peered out into the woods no fewer than 43 times. I had assumed she was just fearful of my threat to remain nearby, listening. Now I'm not as certain.
But I remain cautious, standoffish. Having had time to reflect upon exactly how unbefitting of a suitor I would make, I have no wish to invite rejection.
And I'm harsher than I should be.
"Did I not clearly explain that I would be nearby?"
Her face falls, and I feel instant remorse.
"You did. I just...I wasn't sure..." she trails off uncertainly, leaving me hanging on her every word.
Damn it. Damn it. Why the fuck can't I just read her thoughts? I had intended on taking the stoic route, engaging her as little as possible. A stone-faced, silent bodyguard...or prison guard, I suppose, depending upon your perspective.
But I cannot let that enticing opening fall by the wayside.
"You weren't sure of what?" I prompt, making an effort to sound more gentle. "Please. Tell me."
She worries her lip, and just as I had remembered, it does things to me. I can't bite it myself without hurting her, but at the very least, I'd certainly like to lick it, soothe away the teeth marks she's leaving.
"I wasn't sure if I would ever see you again," she almost whispers, timid now.
I stare at her, as dumfounded as I've been in my 108 years on this planet.
"You were hoping for that?" I press, feeling an entirely unfamiliar sensation low in my stomach. Sort of a fluttering, nervous tickle. "You wished to see me again?"
Now she's biting that lip so hard that I briefly hold my breath in fear she's going to puncture it. My hand closes around the door handle beside me, my escape route to keep from killing her if she does.
"Yes," she admits quietly. "I...I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."
It takes me a moment to identify it — the scent of her arousal on the air, that is.
When I do, my eyes snap shut of their own accord. I cannot allow this to sway me. It's hero worship, I conclude, plain and simple. She sees me as the white knight who swooped in at the last moment to save her, and she's infatuated with the romanticism of it. Nothing more.
The moment she understands that I'm not the hero she imagines — that I'm the bad guy — I'll fall hard from that pedestal. Better not to have handed her my cold, dead heart before that happens.
I fix my gaze out the window beside me, my voice hard again. "Drive, Bella. You'll be late."
I hear her little intake of breath, like I've just hurt her.
She cranks the engine, and neither of us says another word for the entire drive.
-XOXOXOXOXO-
I know he's there, waiting for me, long before Bella pulls into the school parking lot at an agonizingly slow rate of speed.
Carlisle.
He knows I'm coming here, although I have no idea how that can be. And he intends to confront me about my intentions with the human girl.
Bella pulls into a parking space only a few feet from where Carlisle stands leaning against his car. He's on her side of the truck.
My hackles go up, every protective instinct on alert.
He won't hurt her. This I know. But he has not ruled out taking the girl from me for her own protection, if necessary.
And that is not happening.
I don't envy Bella the mixed signals she's getting from me, but I'm swiftly out of the truck and around to her door, pulling her right out of the cab and up against my side. My arm is firmly around her waist, holding her to me as I angle my body between hers and Carlisle's.
I sense the surprise from both of them at my protective actions.
"So it's true, then," are the first words I hear my father say in nearly a century. "You've finally found her."
My teeth are partially bared, and I know he can hear the low growl emanating from my chest, whether Bella can or not. The signals I'm giving off now are crystal clear — at least to a vampire.
Don't touch. Mine.
Carlisle's hands immediately go out to his sides, placating. "Easy, Edward. I'm no threat to your mate."
Mate?
The word takes me aback, enough that I stop snarling. I hadn't considered that explanation for my fixation before, though I likely should have. She's human, and I've never known of a half-human bonded pair.
But the word sounds right to my ears, all the pieces clicking into place — much like they did when I first laid eyes on her.
My attention is quickly diverted back to Bella, who seems simultaneously alarmed by Carlisle's presence and intrigued by his statement. To my delight, when she recoils from him, it's deeper into my side. I tighten my hold.
"Edward?" she asks, sounding nervous. "What's going on? Who is this?"
Carlisle smiles easily. "Forgive me, Bella. My name is Carlisle Cullen. I'm Edward's father."
My arm around her waist tightens even more as I interrupt the surprised response she was about to give.
"How did you know I'd be here?" I demand. "And how do you know her name?"
The answer flits through his mind as the image of a short, dark-haired vampire, pixie-like in appearance. Alice, I catch the name. One of the children he replaced me with, half of the bonded pair who sought him out in the '50s.
She can see the future, apparently.
"I see," I state, without him having said a word, and I feel Bella look up at me sharply, her mouth turning into a surprised little O.
She's just ascertained that I can read minds, I take it. She looks away quickly when I glance down at her, meeting her eyes. And she blushes deeply.
I've just decided she will be telling me exactly what she fears I may have overheard in her thoughts — in great detail — just as soon as I get her alone.
If she is, indeed, my mate, it's entirely possible that she wants me just as intensely as I want her. If that's the case, it changes everything — and I will not waste time about staking my claim.
An impatient thrill shoots through my body.
"I only wanted to verify your intentions and Bella's safety," my father says, aloud this time. "But perhaps my concerns were unfounded. I was unaware you had returned to a vegetarian lifestyle."
That's when I remember my deceptively golden eyes.
"I haven't," I say through clenched teeth, and am annoyed by his uplifted eyebrow, highlighting the obvious. "Extenuating circumstances."
His lips turn up in a skeptical smile, his eyes darting approvingly across Bella, and I know what he's thinking.
He believes she is good for me; that she has already changed me, brought me to redemption, quite without my even being aware of it.
I grudgingly admit the possibility that he is correct. He must believe it strongly to make the offer he makes next.
"Alice tells me you intend to stand guard outside the school all day. If you'd prefer, I can go inside and register you as a student, a new foster child. I have all of the necessary documents already with me."
I don't want to accept anything from him, but the idea of protecting Bella from inside the building, as opposed to outside of it, is too tempting to turn down — as he knew it would be. And it would be much more difficult for me to make those arrangements alone, requiring effort that would pull me away from Bella.
It also occurs to me that Carlisle had come today already prepared to make that exact offer.
This Alice might be handy to have around, after all.
"Very well," I agree. "But inform them I'll be starting tomorrow, not today."
Bella looks up at me quickly. And God help me, she looks stricken at the prospect of being away from me today.
With new confidence, I release my death grip on her waist and gently take her hand, never breaking eye contact with her. "I'm taking Bella home with me for the day, if she'll allow me. My mate and I have things to discuss."
-XOXOXOXOXO-
She's willing to allow me, it turns out. Very willing. Carlisle hides a smile, both at her immediate, eager yes and the scent of her arousal that comes with it. I dip out of his head quickly at the realization that he knows exactly what Bella and I will be 'discussing'. I do not require his memories of claiming Esme. I seem very capable of coming up with my own ideas — too many of them, in fact.
I've already had all I can take of Bella's ancient truck for one day, and I need this to be a swift trip. I also have no desire to have this 'discussion' with her until we are well and truly alone, preferably in my very secluded home.
I deposit her quickly onto my back, enjoying her shocked gasp into my neck and the way she clings tightly to me when I begin running, the moment we are out of sight of any potential human eyes.
Like the bursting of a dam, all of the desires and fantasies I've suppressed since the moment I met Bella break free as I run, suddenly brimming with the intoxicating flavor of possibility.
There are still doubts.
She's human. Fragile. Can I do this? Can I do it without killing her? Can I do it without hurting her in the slightest?
Bella must believe that I can. She had inferred my intentions for this day just as easily as Carlisle had, if the powerful scent of her arousal is anything to go by.
But what if she underestimates just how very much I am ruled by my vampiric nature? Is she expecting the hearts-and-flowers scene she might get with a human boyfriend?
Because while the human side of my nature most certainly wants to make love to Bella — and will, often — I have other, darker desires that won't be denied for long, once I've had her.
I don't just want to take her. I want to own her body, possess her fully.
Dominate her, at least in my bed.
I need it. I crave that power over her, the power to reduce my mate to a quivering mass of flesh that can only be satiated by my fingers, my tongue, my hard length buried deep inside her.
Would she be horrified if she knew the things I've imagined doing to her, if she knew that even as she clings to my back, I'm beating back the image of her spread out beneath me, blindfolded and with her wrists strapped to the bedposts of the bed I bought her? Writhing. Unable to decide whether to beg me to stop or beg me for more as I hold her squirming thighs wide open, not satisfied until I've lost count of how many times I've made her come on my tongue...
What if she knew that at least as appealing as the image of my tongue separating her silky folds, I'm imagining her impaled on my cock, my hands around her waist controlling her rise and fall as she sits astride my lap...with her hands tightly secured behind her back?
We're barely inside the door of my house before I have her back pressed up against it, my hands pressed flat to the wood on either side of her head. The weight of my body pins her securely to the door.
Without my even thinking about it, my nose goes to the junction of neck and shoulder, deeply inhaling the scent of her blood.
That's another danger, should I give myself over to my senses, allow myself to have my way with her body.
If I fall over the edge into climax inside her, I'm going to bite. Preferably, not her, but there's no question I'll seek to bite something. The two are inextricably tied together for me.
The aroma of her arousal is even heavier on the air now, as I cage her with my body — enough so that I can still scent it, even with the sweet distraction of my nose pressed to her jugular. Pulling back to look into her eyes, I find them dilated and heavy-lidded.
And more of my concerns dissipate.
She is my mate, made just for me. Doesn't it stand to reason that the things I want sexually might also be the things Bella will want me to do to her?
I know exactly how to find out.
It's a very simple matter to capture both of her wrists and transfer them to one hand, before I abruptly slam them up to the wall over her head with as much force as I dare, taking the impact against my own fingers.
She moans, her body arching toward me, seeking contact. Her eyes practically roll back in her head as my name comes out, almost begging. "Edward...oh, God..."
I barely hold myself in check. Fantasy is one thing. I'm going to make this perfectly clear to her. She needs to know what she's getting into.
I tighten my hold on her wrists as I insert my leg between her thighs and roughly shove them apart, pressing my knee to the door so she has no choice but to straddle me. Then I put my mouth close to her ear.
"Are you sure this is what you want? Because once I claim you, that's it. You'll be mine, Bella. I'll make love to you tonight. But I won't always be so gentle."
She whimpers and squirms, trying to break my iron grip, and gets nowhere. That fact only seems to fuel her fire.
"Yes. Yes. Edward..."
In my human life, I'd have insisted on her being married to me first. I crave something equally binding as a vampire — vows of commitment just between the two of us.
Vows I will hold her to.
"I will be yours for eternity, Bella. Do you agree to be mine?"
She nods frantically, whimpering with impatience.
I wrap my free hand gently around her throat to still her. And I feel the fresh flood of her arousal dampen my thigh.
"I need you to say it," I command. "Out loud."
Her eyes go wide, locked on mine. "I'm yours, Edward...for eternity."
I dip my mouth close to her ear again. "Not yet. But you're about to be."
My body demands that I claim her now, but there's something I want to do first. Some long-buried human instinct.
Releasing her wrists, I take her face gently between my hands to kiss my bride — our first kiss — until she's breathless in my arms. The feeling of her fingers in my hair is exquisite. My tongue in her mouth is even better.
Breaking the kiss before I decide to take her right there against my door, I lift her up into my arms. Her legs automatically wrap around my waist as I carry her to my bedroom.
Her eyes widen at the sight of the imposing black four-poster bed that is now the centerpiece of my room, replacing the couch she spent the night on.
She immediately finds herself on her back right in the middle of it, quickly peeled out of everything but her bra and panties — possibly before she even realizes what I'm doing. By the time she processes it, I'm hovering above her, already shirtless. My knees are planted wide on the mattress between her legs, and she's back just the way I want her — with her wrists easily pinned back over her head by one of my hands.
I need complete control over her, if I intend to keep myself under control.
My free hand slides along her nearly bare hip, making her shiver. I find the top edge of her panties and dip my fingers in.
She bucks against me as my icy fingers gently skim across her heated flesh, slowly exploring this new territory, slightly parting her as I slide along her seam. When I get down to her entrance, her soaked panties are becoming restrictive to my efforts.
I easily rip them apart, giving me full access, and she gasps.
Her wrists twist in my grip as I then insert a finger into her wetness and begin to slowly slide it deeper, caressing her tight insides and making her writhe under me.
"Look at me," I order harshly as I add a second finger, gently working deeper as I carefully begin to stretch her.
But before I get as deep as I would like, her abrupt shriek, and the way her legs suddenly try to clamp shut — coming up against the solid resistance of my thighs between them — gives me pause.
I go still.
"If you want me to stop, Bella, I will," I manage to rasp. "But tell me now."
Her head falls back against the pillow with a thud, her back arching.
"Oh, God, don't stop," she groans, her eyes closing. "I've just never...I...ungh...Edward, please..."
She's a virgin, I make sense of that, with awe. In this day and time, I simply had assumed otherwise — and then declined to think about it, so that I didn't end up tracking down some human teenager and committing cold-blooded murder for having touched what's mine.
My already weeping cock strains hard against the pants I'd left on as a barrier intended to help me take things slowly — much like the bra she still wears, intended to conceal the likeliest targets for my desire to bite.
But I'll need to go even slower yet.
My Bella is a virgin. Truly mine for the taking in every way.
It's nearly my undoing. But fully claiming her will have to wait, for the moment.
I may crave control, and I may be rock-hard at the thought of being the one to deflower my own mate, but a sadist I am not — not where Bella's concerned, anyway. I've no desire to hurt her. I have a strong compulsion not to, in fact.
I don't want her first experience in my bed to involve pain of any kind — just more pleasure than she can handle.
And when the time comes, I want her to feel only the most minimal pain possible with first penetration. If it takes all night, I vow, I will ensure that she is very, very thoroughly prepared.
Her whimper is frustrated when I quickly withdraw my fingers and release her arms, but that frustration's not going to last long.
She jumps slightly when she feels my hands immediately wrap around her thighs, gently pulling them wide apart as I back up into the position required for what I have in mind. She brings her arms down and raises up on her elbows in alarm, to see what I'm doing.
"Relax, Bella," I soothe, as I press my lips to the inside of her thigh, just above where my hand grips it, holding her in place. My tongue can't resist taking a taste, too. "This won't hurt. I'm going to make you feel good."
I take it as proof of that fact when, upon the first slow swipe of my tongue from her entrance all the way to the top of her cleft, her elbows give out on her and she falls back to the bed, twisting the sheets up in her fists.
"Oh my God," she enthuses, her hips bucking up into my face. So I pin them down firmly and do it again...and again...and again. I flatten my tongue and let it separate her folds a little more firmly each time, lapping at her juices.
I lave her with my tongue until she's whimpering constantly, incoherently begging, fighting my hold. She's not even sure what she's asking me for.
I've not done this before either, but I'm a quick study. I angle my shoulders to keep her spread open so that I can have a free hand, very gently inserting just one finger into her sensitive opening up to my knuckle, pumping shallowly and slowly back and forth. My lips and tongue seek higher ground, kissing and exploring as I seek out the little nub of her clitoris.
There's little doubt when I've successfully located it and carefully wrapped my lips around it, flicking it with the tip of my tongue. She bucks so hard I nearly lose my slackened grip on her, a desperate cry escaping her lips. Her eyes have gone wide, unfocused, staring up at the ceiling. Her hands have long since found my hair, gripping and tugging in a way I find immensely pleasurable.
"Look at me," I order again, pulling my lips away from her tender flesh, but this time my tone is low, sensual. "I want you to look me in my eyes when I make you scream, Bella. I want you to know who did that to you."
Her lips part as she looks down her body and her eyes slowly focus on me, pupils completely blown, breath coming hard. Her hair is fanned out around her, wild and disheveled.
She looks like a well-fucked mess already, and I'm just getting started with her.
Her hips start to undulate as I slowly lower my mouth and wrap my lips around her clit again, never breaking eye contact with her as I speed up the motion of my finger.
I know she's on the edge when I begin to gently swirl my tongue and her thighs start to quiver. Her breathing changes, her eyes widening. Her heartrate speeds up, and I can feel her walls trying to suck my single finger deeper.
I oblige her, plunging that finger just deep enough that I don't think I'll hurt her. I curl it up inside her, at the same moment that I give her clit a long, gentle suck.
I promised she would scream, and I delivered. Her entire body starts to convulse on that scream, her eyes glassy but obediently locked on mine.
I need to see her face more closely. I need to watch. Replacing my tongue with my thumb to gently work her through her climax, I crawl further up her body to hover above her. Our breaths mingle as she's coming hard.
It's the most beautiful sight I've ever seen, but I'm to be denied the full view. Her arms immediately wrap around my neck as she pulls me down to her, desperately clinging to me and burying her face in my neck as she continues to buck her hips wildly. Her frantic whimpers and cries are expelled intimately against my neck. My fingers continue working her over and trying to extend her pleasure as long as possible, until I feel her go limp and I carefully remove my hand.
My lips find her forehead, and I press an adoring kiss there, just before rolling to my back and taking her with me to cradle her on my chest.
-XOXOXOXOXO-
I spend the day in bed with my mate, learning the secrets of her body — running my lips up and down her slender legs, exploring her beautiful breasts for the first time, and holding as perfectly still as I can manage when I let her explore me, too.
In between, I tell her every secret of my soul.
By late that evening, when I gently make her mine — slowly pushing inside her one inch at a time, with my lips pressed to her forehead, holding my breath as I desperately try not to hurt her more than necessary — she knows everything there is to know about me.
She knows about my human life, my desire to be a soldier. She knows about my changing, my family, and my rebellion.
She knows my fears and my doubts.
She knows the things I fantasize about doing to her body — in arousing detail.
She knows exactly how much I don't deserve her. And she welcomes me inside her anyway.
And for the first time in a century, I want a second chance to be that good man that Carlisle intended me to be — the one Bella believes I am.
I can walk through that gateway, if she'll hold my hand when I do.
-XOXOXOXOXO-
The next morning, I once again stand in the school parking lot, Bella at my side, with her hand clasped securely in mine.
I can hear the thoughts of them, inside the school — my siblings I'm about to meet. They are curious about me.
I already know the psychic one is bubbling with excitement to meet both of us, but that her mate struggles with his thirst. I will be keeping my Bella close.
I know that the blonde female, my original replacement, seems to resent both me and Bella as much as I've resented her for years, sight unseen. So it appears we're even. Her mate, on the other hand, seems happy-go-lucky and down to earth. He's just wondering if I like baseball.
I believe I could actually enjoy getting to know that one — Emmett.
Bella steps closer. "Are you ready for this?" she asks, squeezing my hand.
I smile down at her. She's already found me once, against all odds, and led me out of oblivion, right through a gateway of redemption I'd have never found alone. I'd gladly follow her anywhere.
Even high school.
With a deep breath, I start walking, pulling her along with me. "Yeah. I guess I am."
THE END