Penumbra

by Riniel o Imladris

Penumbra – A space of partial illumination as in an eclipse between the perfect shadow on all sides and the full light. "Eclipse" from Edward’s point of view.

4. Evasion

Chapter Notes: So…remember what I said before the previous chapter about having to break it into two updates because of a massive amount of content? This chapter is practically its own novella. As with everything I write from Edward's perspective, there seems to be so much more going on under the surface that I have to try and put it all into words.

I won't waste any more time with my babbling; Edward has a lot to say right now. Enjoy.

* * *

During the return trip into Forks, I wait for Bella to erupt into a slew of inquiries and demand to know why I am keeping Alice's vision a secret – but she holds onto the quiet almost as well as I do. However, she continues to throw frequent looks in my direction and her heart drums out a tense staccato pulse that she attempts to control by breathing slow and deep.

Speculations run wild in my head as to what reasons she may have for maintaining her silence, but for once I do not immediately succumb to the urge to ask the eternal question. The desire to know her thoughts would undoubtedly lead to many pointed questions, and then I might have no other alternative but to lie to her…something that I vowed I would never do again.

Perhaps I can manipulate our interaction in such a way that my suggestion to visit Renée in Florida is simply based on Bella's hidden wish to see her mother, which she has spoken of on and off in her sleep during the last few nights. If she never sees the correlation between our trip away from Forks and Alice's vision, I will not have to deceive her, though a cynical voice in the back of my mind whispers that Bella is far too perceptive for blind acceptance. She knows that I have been giving her the runaround all day, hoping to discourage her from asking about the vision, and that will not stand for much longer.

Her protection versus telling her the truth: which is more important?

While my conscience wars with my heart, I pull next to the curb in front of Charlie's house and turn off the engine, remarking lightly, "Light homework load tonight."

Bella hums in agreement, and I loop around the car to open her door, plucking her backpack from the floor after she steps onto the curb, a brief flash of relief crossing her face when she notices the empty spot that the police cruiser normally occupies in the driveway.

"Do you suppose I'm allowed inside again?" I gently tug the hood of her jacket over her head as we walk towards the house. The misty rain has created a sheen of moisture on her hair and skin that amplifies her scent pleasurably, but I do not want her to contract a cold just for the sake of my own gratification.

She snags her bag from my grasp – I let her remove it, of course – and digs around in the front pocket. Then she fits her key into the lock, shrugging. "Charlie didn't throw a fit when you picked me up for school." Her reflection in the windowpane suddenly frowns, uncertain.

I have to bite my tongue to stifle the burning curiosity as she opens the door and trudges inside, hanging her jacket on the banister before heading upstairs, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

On her heels, I move soundlessly into her room and laze about on the bed, hooking my fingers together behind my head. Staring absently out the window, I feel Bella's eyes land on me for a moment before she drops her backpack with a loud thump on the floor and flips on her absurdly outdated computer.

Tension seems to radiate from her entire body while she plops herself into the chair and waits for the computer to boot up. She flips her hair twice, huffs a little sigh in irritation, and then begins to tap her fingertips on the edge of the desk. The rhythm is completely random, but it tells me that she is more anxious about today's events than I had originally thought.

How I wish that I could take her back in time to our playful affections early this morning – her soft, warm body pressed against mine, her full lips teasing my mouth with feathery kisses…

Flickers of hunger awaken within me, propelling my body off the mattress to stand right behind her chair. Distraction. I have to distract her from thinking about Alice's vision, and this is definitely one of the more enjoyable means of doing so.

I place my hands over hers to halt the rapid motion of her fingers and bend down, my head next to hers as I murmur, my voice husky, "Are we a little impatient today?"

Bella spins around, face tilted upward at the perfect angle, and her mouth is halfway open to form some witty retort. Yet when she realizes how close I am, her brown eyes widen, a dreamy expression shaping her features as my breath caresses her skin. My hands come up to cradle her flushed cheeks, and I touch my lips to hers delicately, like the brush of a moth's wing. The supple give of her mouth under mine stokes the flames burning low in my belly, the scorch of thirst long forgotten, and my fingers slip into her silken hair, craving more of her warmth.

Bands of fire travel up my chest and encircle my neck as Bella loops her arms over my shoulders, arching her back to move even closer, and I have the fleeting notion of pulling her onto the bed – a repeat performance of our embrace just after dawn.

Caution dispels that thought a second later, but does not stop me from gliding a hand along her spine, each vertebrae as precious and fragile as crystal, to nestle into the small of her back. With the lightest pressure, I pull her closer still, the heat of her body melting the icy hardness of my chest.

A shiver ripples through her small frame. I curse my chilled flesh as I slowly loosen my hold around her, still savoring the taste of her kisses, but Bella has other plans. Using every ounce of her frail strength, she curls herself into my body, sending a shudder of desire through me.

Then a warm, moist sensation smoothes across my bottom lip, and my eyes snap open as an uncontrollable heat flares white-hot in my veins. I smother a wild-sounding noise trying to claw its way out of my throat as the tip of Bella's tongue lingers on the lowest curve of my mouth, and I escape from her arms with careful haste, though a part of me howls in protest at the absence of her tempting softness.

A low chuckle rumbles out of me when I reflect on how my desires have changed from just thirsting for Bella's blood to a barely reined-in need for all of her – not only her blood, but her body, her mind, and her soul. And as if she seeks to undermine my self-control, Bella offers herself to me freely whenever she has the opportunity, every kiss and tender caress nudging my moral compass further into the realms of unforgivable selfishness.

I want her in every possible way, and the concepts of right and wrong are rapidly shrinking with each passing day in light of my inexpressible addiction to her.

"Ah, Bella," I sigh, pushing my yearnings deep down as I drink in the sight of her gloriously rosy flush, her chocolate eyes shining with love and a hint of triumph.

A smile plays along the corners of her mouth. "I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not." She reaches out to straighten the collar of my shirt, her fingertips brushing the hollow of my throat, and tendrils of warmth dance across my stone skin. I cannot make myself withdraw, although common sense tells me that I should.

My thumb strokes the dimple beneath her lower lip and I grin crookedly. "And I should feel sorry that you're not sorry, but I don't." I am incapable of regretting the last few minutes, or any minute spent in the heaven of Bella's warm embrace.

Watching the progress of my thumb as I trace the shape of her mouth, I wonder how she would taste if I kissed her like she did me – and then I recognize the dangerous temptation of this particular whim. I reluctantly lower my hand and back away several inches, suggesting, "Maybe I should go sit on the bed."

She lets out a shaky breath, blinking quickly as she sinks into her chair. "If you think that's necessary…" she says, a bit dazed.

Grinning, I untangle myself from her arms and legs – she had locked her ankles around my calves in her attempt to hold me prisoner – and sidle over to the bed. Bella jerks her head from side to side to rid herself of the aftereffects of our distraction, and then she turns to face the computer, clicking open an e-mail from her mother. "Tell Renée I said hello," I remark lightly.

"Sure thing," she mumbles, scrolling through the rather lengthy message filling up the screen.

A comfortable silence flows between us as Bella reads, the occasional head shake and whispered laugh displaying her amused affection for the woman who is in many ways more of a child than her daughter, and after several minutes the sound of tapping fingers on the keyboard echoes within the tiny room.

Since Bella is thoroughly absorbed in typing a response, I cast my eyes about the cluttered space, suddenly unsure of what I am intending to do. My gaze settles on a thin rectangular shape just peeking out from beneath a pile of shoes at the bottom of her closet, a partially stripped wire winking with a coppery gleam in the fading light from the window.

I retrieve it before I have the chance to question myself and balance the flattened piece of circuitry in my hands, my brow furrowing as a stab of guilt punctures my chest like a knife. The stereo system was a gift from Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper for Bella's birthday, and Emmett had installed it in her truck that night so she couldn't refuse it.

I trace my fingertip along the gouges in the black casing, wincing. She must have torn this from the dashboard after we had left, using a screwdriver by the looks of it, and – a faint red smear on the sharp edge of the stereo captures my attention like a slap in the face. She had cut herself in the process, too.

I had caused her so much pain. What right did I have to open Pandora's box and remind her of what she had gone through?

Unconsciously, I had moved away from the closet during my examination of the destroyed stereo, and I glance sideways when a slight movement stirs the air on my right. Bella's dark hair glows with a soft auburn halo directly below me, her heartbeat thrumming with vibrant life and her scent billowing around her in a cloud of fiery sweetness, and resolve drowns out my guilt-stricken thoughts. Victoria is coming, and she will not rest until she accomplishes her goal – which is to snuff out the light of my existence. I must keep Bella safe, and the only way to guarantee that is by taking her to see Renée this weekend.

Keep it light, I tell myself – an old, old mantra I had repeated incessantly during the early days of our relationship.

I wait until Bella finishes composing her reply, watching the letters appear on the screen as she adds 'Edward says hello,' to the closing paragraph and then hits the send button.

While she flips off the computer, I hold up the irreparable electronic and make a show of turning it this way and that, appearing horrified by its sad condition. She spins to face me, and the faint catch in her breath a handful of seconds later signals her realization of what I am inspecting.

With feigned dismay, I exclaim, "What did you do to this?"

She gives me a negligent shrug. "It didn't want to come out of the dashboard."

I turn the stereo over to peer at the tangle of wires jutting out from the back and touch the ruined spray of copper on the end of a red one with the tip of my forefinger. "So you felt the need to torture it?" I murmur in a wounded voice.

"You know how I am with tools." Bella manages to sound both indignant and self-critical. "No pain was inflicted intentionally."

Shaking my head, I let my expression crumple into a tragic frown as I lament, "You killed it."

She shrugs again, folding her arms over her stomach. "Oh, well." Her whole attitude exudes indifference, but her brown eyes track my movements with watchful care, flicking upward to meet mine as I shift closer to the bed.

I lay the broken stereo to rest atop the bedspread, murmuring, "It would hurt their feelings if they saw this." Emmett would be beside himself if he ever saw the state of this high-tech piece of equipment; he had been so proud for having thought of the idea, and I know its destruction would bother him more than Rose or Jasper. "I guess it's a good thing that you've been on house arrest. I'll have to get another one in place before they notice."

"Thanks," she replies with the barest hint of sarcasm, "but I don't need a fancy stereo."

"It's not for your sake that I'm going to replace it," I tell her, which is mostly true. Alice is always eager for a little online shopping; she can help me locate a replacement in no time, and once it arrives, I will fit it into the hole in the truck's worn dashboard while Bella is sleeping.

She sighs, tilting her face towards the window, and I see my chance to further my plan.

Quicker than the blink of an eye, I open the desk drawer inches from Bella's left elbow, snagging the airline vouchers hidden beneath an assortment of photographs and other keepsakes, and close it just as she turns her gaze back in my direction. The stiffened squares of paper feel ice-cold in my hand, but I ignore my misgivings and wave the vouchers lightly back and forth as though fanning myself. "You didn't get much good out of your birthday presents last year," I say in displeasure.

Bella sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes round in surprise, and I glimpse the ghost of the anguish she had suffered after that terrible night in the depths of her dark irises. I hold onto the lighthearted mask covering my features with every shred of willpower that I possess, even as her heartbeat trips over itself in an anxious cadence, her hands clenching the tops of her thighs so tightly that her fingers bite into the soft flesh.

I hold the vouchers out to her, nodding to the date listed beneath my thumb. "Do you realize these are about to expire?" My tone is mild and unassuming while I raise my eyebrows ever so slightly in question.

Inhaling slowly through her nose, she loosens her grip on her denim-covered legs and then answers in an emotionless voice that belies the discord raging within her steady gaze. "No, I'd forgotten all about them, actually."

"Well," I inject a small amount of optimism into my words without seeming excessive, "we still have a little time. You've been liberated…and we have no plans this weekend, as you refuse to go to the prom with me." I smile fondly, remembering her stubborn refusal to share that 'human experience' with me for a second time. Then my grin widens, and I nod towards the paper in my hand. "Why not celebrate your freedom this way?" I ask, holding her eyes with my own while hoping that my persuasiveness has not been too obvious.

She gasps, astonished. "By going to Florida?" For the tiniest portion of a second, an unguarded look of pure delight brightens her expression.

Encouraged, I remark teasingly, "You did say something about the continental U.S. being allowable."

As Bella studies my face, her eyes begin to narrow in suspicion. She glances back and forth between me and the vouchers, pursing her lips in a manner that I find highly fascinating while she thinks over my offer inside the walls of her impenetrable mind.

Soon the silence becomes too much for me to withstand. "Well? Are we going to see Renée or not?" The earnest appeal in my question is more noticeable than I would like; I carefully school my features into a look of anticipation and wait for her response.

With a timid burst of hope, I watch Bella slump a bit in her seat, crestfallen. "Charlie will never allow it," she mutters glumly.

I already have a logical argument prepared. "Charlie can't keep you from visiting your mother," I point out. "She still has primary custody."

Bella stiffens, predictably bristling at the notion that she is still a child being transferred from one parent to the other. I work hard to smother the smirk attempting to curve my mouth as she retorts, chin held high, "Nobody has custody of me. I'm an adult."

My smirk erupts in full force. "Exactly," I proclaim in triumph.

Folding her arms across her torso, she stares at the hardwood floor, lost in thought. I search her changing expressions intently, alert to every nuance. A faint V-shape mars the middle of her brow for the first twelve seconds, and then that same delight I had seen earlier smoothes her forehead, a tiny smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. Forty-two seconds later, she captures her bottom lip between her teeth and sighs, sounding disappointed. "Not this weekend," she says, giving me a rueful half smile.

"Why not?" I manage to ask as gently as possible, though my frustration is growing.

Her shoulders scrunch together. "I don't want to fight with Charlie. Not so soon after he's forgiven me."

She cares very deeply for her father, and I know that her unusually accepting attitude of the restrictions he has placed on her is due in part to the fact that she will not be present in his life for much longer. But I also know that she has a strong desire to see her mother again, and I consider it my responsibility to make certain that Bella receives anything she wants. That a trip to Florida just happens to coincide with my own wish to remove her from Forks is a fortunate side effect.

However, I have to convince her that she can put aside her selfless tendencies for once and go visit her mother simply because she wants to, not because she is trying to make everyone happy. "I think this weekend is perfect," I murmur in a low voice, a scowl beginning to form over my meticulously crafted expression.

Stubborn as ever, she shakes her head, replying, "Another time."

My level of frustration continues to climb, which prompts me to try a different approach without completely thinking it through. "You aren't the only one who's been trapped in this house, you know," I tell her, an annoyed frown twisting my mouth.

My goal is to incite Bella's automatic response to please everyone by giving of herself and thereby urge her to visit Renée this weekend…but I had not taken into account her incredible perceptiveness. Especially when it comes to me.

With laser-sharp focus, her chocolate-colored eyes pierce my own, suspicion hovering thickly within her stare as she no doubt ponders the change in my behavior.

I could kick myself for being so thoughtless; of course Bella would notice that my words were self-seeking, it is so unlike how I usually act around her. She has yet to realize that I am the most selfish creature in existence just by remaining where I am at this very moment. And that same selfishness is what drives me to persist in this campaign to keep her as far away from Victoria as possible.

Bella studies my face for another of her heartbeats, and then remarks in a very frank tone, "You can go anywhere you want."

There is no place else for me to be except with her. "The outside world holds no interest for me without you," I declare softly, experiencing the gravity of that truth in the core of my being.

Her eyes roll towards the ceiling. Perhaps she thinks that is an exaggeration.

"I'm serious," I counter, a twinge of hurt in my chest. I thought she understood now, after everything that had happened in Italy, that there is no world for me without her. I have no reason, no purpose, but to love her – for the rest of eternity, if that is what she truly desires. And I swore that I would never leave again unless she orders me away. Even then, I doubt that I could disappear from her life entirely; how can a planet escape its orbit around the sun? It is impossible.

She seems to recognize that her brush-off of my sincerity stung and her features soften, her dark eyes pulling me into their depths as she stands up, a breath of space separating us. "Let's take the outside world slowly, all right?" she says, and takes the vouchers from my hand, setting them on top of the desk. "For example, we could start with a movie in Port Angeles…" She is baiting me, trying to determine the reason why I am suddenly so interested in a trip to the other side of the continent if all I really want is to get out of this house and spend some time with her.

A groan slips out. This is more difficult than I had planned. "Never mind," I mutter hastily. "We'll talk about it later."

"There's nothing left to talk about." Bella sticks out her chin a fraction of an inch, refusing to give any ground, and I wonder fleetingly how much trouble it would cause if I were to cart her off to Florida whether she agrees to go or not.

I shrug, nearly succumbing to the impulse to pinch the bridge of my nose in exasperation. A kidnapping charge would not sit well with police chief Charlie Swan – especially if I intend to receive his blessing once Bella accepts my marriage proposal. I shall have to devise another means of getting her on a flight with me to Jacksonville by Friday evening. This battle of wills is far from over.

Sensing that we are once again at an impasse, Bella announces briskly, "Okay, then, new subject." Her hands perch themselves on her hips as she demands, "What did Alice see today at lunch?" An eyebrow quirks in challenge, but it cannot disguise the flicker of apprehension in her clear gaze.

The moment I had secretly been dreading has arrived. With no other way out of the corner she has backed me into, my only option is to lie, and my stone heart crumbles in grief. It takes a great deal of effort to maintain a semblance of composure, and Bella watches me intently, so I have no room for hesitation or regret. That will have to come later, when I apologize and inform her that Victoria will not bother us ever again.

"She's been seeing Jasper in a strange place," I begin with a sigh, "somewhere in the southwest, she thinks, near his former…family." Involving Jasper will help explain Alice's reaction to the vision; I will have to make sure she knows what story I've spun in case Bella questions her, as well. "But he has no conscious intentions to go back." I sigh again, drawing it out a bit longer. "It's got her worried," I conclude in a slightly indifferent tone, hoping to portray that Alice's supposed anxiety about Jasper is not cause for alarm.

Embarrassment colors Bella's ivory skin with a rosy glow, her mouth forming a small 'o' of surprise before she mumbles quietly, "Oh."

The light behind her warm brown eyes flickers like a candle flame as she processes the lie that I have succeeded in selling her so easily, and what is left of my soul cringes in pain that I can still deceive her with just a few well-rehearsed sentences.

In that instant, my belief that the end justifies the means is shaken to its very foundation. If all I can give her are evasive answers and half-truths whenever there is the slightest hint of danger, how can she possibly trust me with her hand, or her immortality?

She interrupts the torment in my mind as she asks in a timid voice, "Why didn't you tell me before?"

Because I hate having to lie to you again. Because I would sacrifice every scrap of integrity I own if it will keep you safe – even if you come to despise me for it. "I didn't realize you'd noticed," I tell her smoothly, another lie. I am more aware of her every breath and beat of her heart than anything else in the world. My whole existence hinges on her radiant life. "It's probably nothing important, in any case."

I tuck my hands into my pockets, my head tilting to the side while Bella makes a face that is a mixture of insecurity and chagrin, her hair hiding most of her face from my view a moment later while she edges past me.

Guessing at her destination, I swoop down a half second before her and retrieve her backpack from the floor. "Homework?" I say, smiling faintly.

"Charlie might get home early," she explains, her nose wrinkling with concern at the thought, "and the last thing he needs is to find me and you in my bedroom without any parental supervision. He'd probably have a heart attack." She sweeps out of the room and into the hallway, and I immediately follow.

Chuckling, I remark in wry humor, "You mean before or after he shot me?" Though a bullet would find it virtually impossible to penetrate my granite-like skin, Charlie has fantasized about turning his gun on me several times since my reentry into his daughter's life – the first of many imagined acts of retribution. It is my theory that I can glimpse these daydreams because of the sheer strength of emotion that fuels them.

In light of Bella's obvious joy whenever he sees us together, the violence in his fogged mind has waned, but I have no doubt that he is waiting for me to make a mistake. And if that mistake were to entail him discovering Bella and I in a improper situation…then I believe staring down the barrel of a .9mm would be the least of my worries.

She snorts at my supposed joke, and catches herself on the banister when the toe of her left shoe trips on the edge of the bottom step.

I loop my free arm around her waist, supporting her weight effortlessly, and shake my head in mock-distress. "I see that I must protect you from unsafe staircases, as well," I murmur over her thundering pulse, and cluck my tongue in her ear.

"Ha-ha." The sarcasm loses its effectiveness in her breathless reply.

I smile against her blush-warmed temple and savor the heat of her body for another second before depositing her gently in a chair at the kitchen table, setting her backpack in front of her. "Be right back," I promise, and then race outside to gather the menial collection of schoolwork from the Volvo's trunk.

When I return, Bella has her copy of the Calculus worksheet that was assigned in front of her, her fingertip prodding the keys on her calculator with painstaking slowness. The expression on her face is one I have deemed 'intense concentration', and have learned the hard way that she cannot stand being interrupted during these moments. So I sink into the chair directly across from her and take out the same worksheet. The problems are relatively standard given the course work, and I have no difficulty filling in the appropriate variables to complete the equations and then solve each without the use of a calculator.

However, I pretend to keep working a few minutes longer, because Bella tends to quit shortly after she realizes that I am finished with an assignment – and her single-minded attention grants me a unique opportunity to watch her while she thinks I am otherwise occupied.

Head bowed slightly over the tabletop, I glance up at her through my lashes, utterly fascinated as she taps the end of her chin with her pencil's eraser, her eyes fixed on the worksheet like she expects the answer to appear out of thin air. She then fills in a number, purses her lips, and scrubs it out a second later, writing in another solution.

A puff of breath shifts tiny, wayward strands of hair from her forehead while she moves on to the next problem, the line of her shoulders tensing as she frowns in confusion. Her mouth forms the word, "What?" but she does not speak. Instead, she peeks in my direction.

Staring openly now, I grin once she meets my eyes, my paper turned over beneath my folded hands so that she is not tempted to take the easy way out and copy my answers.

Rather than ask for my help – which I would gladly give in order that she may gain a better understanding of the material – Bella flattens her lips into a stubborn glower and looks back down at her worksheet, scribbling with renewed vigor.

The first problem she finishes is totally wrong; I will have to correct it before she hands it in tomorrow. She struggles through the second for five minutes, the heel of her right foot tapping ceaselessly on the floor – a visible by-product of her aggravation. Another minute passes, and then she glances at the clock mounted above the kitchen window.

I swallow my laughter as she sighs in loud relief and rams her homework into her backpack, zipping it closed. "I'd better get started on dinner," she announces, and swings around the corner to toss the bag onto the living room sofa.

Once she returns, Bella yanks open the refrigerator and scans its contents. Curious, I stay seated while she pulls out a bloody, plastic-wrapped chunk of raw meat, a package of pale gray-brown mushrooms, and a tub of yogurt. Setting these items on the counter, she heads over to the pantry and grabs a bag of flour, a red packet of some sort of dry mix, and noodles. "Could you get that big frying pan out for me, please?" she asks absently, dumping the armful of items onto the counter beside the others.

Right away, I dash for the large cupboard under the sink and remove the pan she requested, setting it on top of the stove. Meanwhile, she tugs off the plastic wrap covering the mushrooms and washes them in water from the tap, her eyebrows drawn together in what I would deem frustration.

"How else can I help?" I murmur softly, wondering at her expression and what I can do to alleviate it.

She hesitates for a moment, almost driving me to the brink of insanity, and then gestures with a wet hand to a little-used drawer at the far end. "In that drawer, there's a recipe box that belonged to my mom. Could you bring it here?"

It is in my hands before she finishes speaking.

After drying off with a dishtowel, Bella flips open the lid and sifts through the meager collection of cards, most of them covered by Renée's slanted handwriting and scratched out words or amounts. But at least a dozen of the recipes are carefully written in an unfamiliar, elegant cursive. Bella withdraws one of these cards and reads through it, nodding to herself.

I glance at the name squeezed into the top right corner, intrigued. "Your grandmother?"

"It's one of Charlie's favorites," she says in a preoccupied voice. She sets the card aside and moves to another drawer, pulling out a measuring spoon along with a few other utensils, clearly absorbed in her task.

Smiling to myself, I replace the recipe box in its drawer. Despite my revulsion for any and all types of human food, I truly enjoy assisting Bella with preparing meals. She has a distinct confidence when she cooks – something that is severely lacking in nearly every other activity in her life – and I must admit, being with her like this allows me to indulge a bit in an oft-used fantasy. I can pretend that I am mortal, just like her, and that I need and appreciate her skill in the kitchen as much as her father does.

I wish that I could give her the simple reassurance of a compliment on her cooking…but at least she seems to be fond of my reactions to the foulness that emanates from everything she uses to make the meals.

While I admire her quiet movements about the kitchen, I very nearly miss the fact that she now has a knife in her hand, its serrated edge gleaming in the yellow light, and is poised to cut the meat splayed on a wooden board in front of her.

Before she can draw another breath I am behind her, gently but firmly plucking the knife from her grasp. "Why don't you let me do that?" I have seen too many injuries to her tender flesh, her blood pooled beneath her delicate skin in a bruise or spilled upon the ground, filling the air with its intoxicating aroma. Though the flavor no longer holds any power over me, I still cannot bear the thought of her coming to harm, even from something as mundane as a kitchen utensil. Especially if I can prevent it.

Predictably, she becomes indignant, her head whipping sideways so as to fix me with a heated glare. "Edward, I am perfectly capable of –"

"Humor me," I breathe into her face, inches from my own. A sense of victory courses through me when her pupils dilate, the anger draining out of her eyes.

She ducks under my arm a couple seconds later, putting a pot of water on the stove. Once the meat is cut, she instructs me to put it into the frying pan and turn the burner on low. As she expertly turns the strips over with a spatula, she says, "Now bring over the mushrooms and the soup mix."

Mushrooms, I know, but I have to read the labels on the bags to determine which one is the soup mix. Presenting them to her, the earthy smell of fungus mingles with the odor of burning blood in my nose and I cringe in disgust. Bella smirks as she adds the ingredients to the pan with a cup of water, the sizzling sound echoing in the cramped room.

When the pan's contents are thoroughly browned and reduced to a syrupy gunk, Bella leaves it to simmer and gets out a mixing bowl. Using flour and yogurt, she whips up an unappealing whitish slime that reminds me of the stench of rotting vegetation. "Here:" She offers me the spoon. "Keep stirring. I have to put the noodles in." And she walks towards the stove, humming tunelessly.

I do as I am bid, swirling the spoon through the glutinous mass, my upper lip curling while I watch the glop drip from the end of the spoon and into the bowl.

Musical laughter dances across the kitchen to my ears. "Bring it over here, Edward," Bella tells me through her giggles.

"I'm so glad you find my torment amusing," I complain in a sour voice, carrying the bowl out in front of me as though it contains hazardous waste, which honestly would not surprise me at this point.

A mischievous twinkle lights up her brown eyes as she takes the bowl from my hands. "Put the noodles in the strainer?" she murmurs earnestly, gracing me with a soft-lipped smile that never fails to melt away every shred of resistance.

Heaving a theatrical sigh, I lift the steaming pot from the stove – not bothering to use the potholders – and pour its contents into the strainer in the sink.

A flash of movement catches my attention and I glance out the window as a police cruiser coasts into the driveway. "Charlie's here," I inform her, setting the emptied pot on the dish rack. From his barely discernible mind, I get the vague impression of relaxed cheerfulness, which not even the sight of my instantly recognizable car seems to dampen.

"Right on time," Bella mutters, mixing together a revolting-looking substance in the frying pan that is almost the same brown-gray-cream color of the thick mud at the bottom of the Sol Duc River.

I busy myself by arranging two place settings on the table, and the front door opens, followed by the jangling of keys and Charlie's customary clomping footsteps. "Hey, Bells. Something smells good."

"It's stroganoff." Bella plops a scoop of noodles on both plates, one considerably larger than the other, and ladles the mud-like concoction on top. "Come and eat before it gets cold."

Charlie enters from the living room and settles into his chair just as Bella sets his plate down. His eyes gleam with pleasure as he picks up his fork and promptly digs in, neither acknowledging nor shunning my presence, which is more civil than he has been as of late.

After Bella joins him at the table, I excuse myself from eating with them and stroll into the living room, clicking on the television to the six o'clock news. And as expected, they are airing a segment on the murders in Seattle.

I listen intently, noting that for the moment, speculations are wide-ranging and nowhere near the mark – except for one very perceptive reporter that wonders if this could be the work of a serial killer. It is a close enough comparison to a newborn vampire, although there is no way to predict whom its next target will be. A serial killer will usually have a pattern, a set victim preference. A newborn craves only blood, and that is the one basic element that all humans have in common.

More than half of the newscast has finished by the time Charlie eats his last bite. Bella had refilled his plate two more times since they had started eating. A chair scrapes across the floor, after which Charlie exhales in satisfaction, his weight shifting in such a way that I suspect he has his feet propped up on the spare seat. "That was great, Bells," he mumbles contentedly.

"I'm glad you liked it." A fork clatters lightly onto a plate, and then Bella says with genuine interest, "How was work?"

"Sort of slow." He chuckles under his breath. "Well, dead slow really. Mark and I played cards for a good part of the afternoon. I won," he declares proudly, "nineteen hands to seven." A fleeting burst of excitement changes the tone of his thoughts, and I gather that he is looking forward to some upcoming event based on whatever else occurred during his workday. "And then I was on the phone with Billy for a while," he adds in a casual manner.

Bella's pulse skitters at the mention of the Quileute patriarch, but she manages to ask in a relatively even voice, "How is he?" The undercurrent of concern in her words makes me wonder if it is really Billy she is asking about, or a younger, decidedly furrier Black. And judging from the half-heard question in Charlie's mind, he and I must be united in our speculations.

Nevertheless, he answers mildly, "Good, good. His joints are bothering him a little."

"Oh. That's too bad." The sympathy in her voice is heartfelt, yet I get the distinct impression that she is struggling to make small talk rather than asking her father outright if there had been any mention of the dog in his conversation with Billy.

Suddenly, the usually peaceful silence in my head is maddening, and my hand curls into a fist atop my leg. Just once, I wish that I could hear what she is thinking – particularly in regard to that infuriating mongrel.

From my memory, Bella's voice chides, "You know what they say about eavesdroppers."

Still, the warning does not completely dispel my longing to learn every corner of her mind – pure, unedited, glorious – if it were at all possible for me to do. But as such, I have to rely on more conventional means of discovering the flow of her thoughts, which includes paying careful attention to not only her words but also how she says them.

Focusing intently on Charlie's half-hidden mind, I try to glimpse her face through his eyes while he continues. "Yeah. He's invited us down to visit this weekend."

This is the obvious reason for his earlier excitement. The two men must have conspired together to hatch a scheme that would allow them to have a friendly visit and put Bella out of my reach for several hours.

Of course, Charlie has no idea that I physically cannot enter the reservation, but the elder Black is no doubt banking on that critical piece of the treaty. Needless to say, it is unlikely that either of them took into consideration the fact that I am not one to be so easily outmaneuvered.

"He was thinking of having the Clearwaters and the Uleys over too," Charlie goes on, eagerness building in his voice. "Sort of a playoff party…" He trails off, a shadow of uncertainty coloring his thoughts, and in a startling flash of clarity, I see Bella in her seat across from him at the kitchen table.

Her dark eyes are round in panic, a rush of scarlet blooming on her cheeks, and her lips part to mumble the most obtuse, noncommittal response I have ever heard. "Huh."

Parent and child stare at one another for a handful of seconds, and then Bella abruptly jumps to her feet, gathering the dishes from the table. The motion surprises Charlie, and my clear perception of his point of view winks out, though it is of little consequence. I am already halfway to the kitchen, so that by the time Bella has plugged up the sink and started filling it with soapy water, I am at her side with a dishtowel in hand.

Thwarted for the moment, Charlie heaves a sigh, unwilling to discuss any weekend plans in my presence, and begins to stand, ready to head into the living room for his customary evening ritual of basketball and less than discreet surveillance of Bella and myself.

I glance swiftly at the precious woman beside me, her mahogany locks shielding her features from view except for a swatch of glowing pink skin above her cheekbone, and I realize that this may be my only chance to convince her to go to Florida with me this weekend. If I can get Charlie to play his role correctly – which shouldn't be too hard, given his intense dislike of all things relating to my relationship with his daughter – then this should work.

It is underhanded, to be sure, but I have run out of options. Bella must be kept safe.

Charlie has taken half a dozen steps towards the threshold while I have thought over how to proceed, so I pivot on heel to face his retreating back, rubbing the dishtowel over a glass as I call out casually, "Charlie."

Bella falters in her scrubbing when I speak her father's name, but otherwise does not react. Charlie, on the other hand, halts in mid-step and turns to look at me in surprise and suspicion. "Yeah?" His brown eyes narrow ever so slightly as he gauges my open expression.

Here goes nothing, I muse wryly. "Did Bella ever tell you that my parents gave her airplane tickets on her last birthday, so that she could visit Renée?" I ask in a mild tone, meeting Charlie's rapidly widening stare.

A soft squeak escapes from Bella. The foam-covered plate she had been washing slips from her fingers while she spins sideways, and it bounces off the edge of the counter before landing on the floor with a noisy clatter. A spray of sudsy water coats the worn linoleum and creates tiny droplets of moisture on my shoes, the hem of my pants, and Charlie has a few globs of soap clinging to the wrinkled fabric above his knees. Naturally, Bella received the worst: a long stream of water darkens the bottom of her shirt, and bubbles dot her jeans from hip to ankle, the toes of her socks drenched in the puddle directly below the sink.

I catch all of these details within a fraction of a second; Charlie hardly seems to notice the mess. His incredulous eyes leave mine to fix on his daughter, whose shocked embarrassment has ignited the tips of her ears to the base of her throat a blazing red. "Bella?" he chokes out, stunned.

She keeps her head lowered as she bends down to grab the fallen plate, her heartbeat thundering madly. "Yeah, they did." Her voice wobbles a little at the end with some repressed emotion. I apologize to her in my head, not trusting myself to look in her direction just yet, or I might forfeit the entire strategy.

The lump in Charlie's throat bobs very obviously as he swallows hard, watching Bella straighten and turn back to the sink, plunging the dish into the water. Afterward, he slowly shifts his gaze to me, his eyes glittering dangerously beneath thick, lowered brows. "No, she never mentioned it," he mutters, each word as sharp-edged as broken glass.

"Hmm." I smoothly reach behind me to take the rinsed off plate from Bella's quivering hand, drying it with the dishtowel.

When I do not offer anything further, a simmering burst of irritation flavors Charlie's obscured thoughts, and then he questions me crossly, "Was there a reason you brought it up?"

Shrugging, I stack the plate on top of the others in the cupboard. "They're about to expire," I remark, almost apologetic. "I think it might hurt Esme's feelings if Bella doesn't use her gift. Not that she'd say anything." I glance back at Charlie, a faint frown twisting my lips, and I can see from the way his head tips slightly to one side that he is beginning to consider the idea. Despite his intense aversion for me, Charlie holds both Carlisle and Esme in high regard and would hate to disrespect their gift, even though the purchase of two round-trip airfare tickets to Jacksonville is merely a trifle compared to what my parents could have given Bella for her birthday.

Meanwhile, from the corner of my eye, I watch Bella's dark head whip towards me, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. I half expect her to challenge my claim, but she remains quiet – save for the fluttering pulse behind her ribs, frantic as a caged bird.

Almost a full minute goes by before Charlie begrudgingly concedes to my statement. "It's probably a good idea for you to visit your mom, Bella. She'd love that." Satisfaction swells like a tiny bubble in his mind, and I would guess that he is thinking that his goal of separating Bella from me for a few days will still be accomplished when she goes to Florida to be with Renée. Then he studies his daughter curiously, his forehead wrinkling in puzzlement. "I'm surprised you didn't say anything about this, though," he says.

She moves her shoulders a little, mumbling, "I forgot."

Because of me. Because I had crushed her fragile, loving heart and left her alone in the woods, stealing away all reminders of my presence in her life in hopes of giving her the chance to experience her humanity to its fullest, without the taint of my unnatural world. And instead my reprehensible stupidity had almost killed us both.

Her eyes dart sideways, connecting with mine for a fleeting instant, and my hand twitches with the sudden craving to reach out and touch her – to seek some reassurance that we truly are together, that we will never again be apart.

I try to assuage the need by breathing in her scent, the familiar burn of thirst easily ignored as my lungs fill with the delectable aroma of freesia, my heart automatically singing in recognition, Bella.

Oblivious to our unspoken exchange, Charlie frowns, an eyebrow arched in skepticism. "You forgot that someone gave you plane tickets?" he comments in a flat voice, tinged with the faintest hint of irony.

"Mmm." Hiding from him, Bella turns back to the sink, the water sloshing quietly around her wrists as she begins to scrub another plate.

Wait a second… A rarely audible mental whisper rumbles through my head, and I scarcely recover from my surprise when Charlie's sharp gaze cuts to me, darkening with fresh distrust. "I noticed that you said they're about to expire, Edward," he says slowly. "How many tickets did your parents give her?" He crosses his arms over his chest as he waits for my answer, all but daring me to announce what he is starting to suspect.

"Just one for her…and one for me." The match is struck; the fuse is lit. Inwardly, I brace myself for the impending explosion.

Bella drops another plate – it falls into the sink with a muffled splash – and I can feel the heat of a renewed blush radiating off her skin as she wrings the washcloth between her hands, her heart accelerating to a wild, almost panicked tempo.

Charlie releases a quick, hissing breath, blinking once in astonishment…which immediately turns into furious denial. "That is out of the question!" he shouts, practically rattling the cupboards in the tiny kitchen. Through the haze shrouding his mind, a single outraged thought pierces the quiet: You are not taking her away from me again!

The predator in me bristles at the note of possessiveness in those words, since the darker side of my nature has laid claim on Bella from the first day we met, but I shove the feeling aside. As a father who loves his daughter dearly and has not been able to spend much time with her while she was growing up, Charlie is desperate to share some memories with Bella before she graduates and heads off to college.

More than that, however, he is terrified that he will lose her to something, someone, far more insidious.

Me.

Shame grapples with self-worth inside my frozen heart, yet I arrange my features into a look of innocent confusion, meeting Charlie's blazing eyes as I ask, "Why? You just said it was a good idea for her to see her mother."

It is as if I have not spoken. Worked up into a full-blown rage, he stabs a finger at Bella's turned back and bellows, "You're not going anywhere with him, young lady!"

She whirls to face him, fierce and indignant, her warm brown irises sparking with ire when she notices his pointed finger. Her chin goes up, and she retorts in an icy tone, "I'm not a child, Dad. And I'm not grounded anymore, remember?" Her damp palms sit above her hips as she stares her father down, knowing that she has caught him in a contradiction.

But Charlie impulsively decides to exercise his parental authority. "Oh yes, you are. Starting now." His chest swells like a bullfrog's, and he glares sternly at his only child while holding the intimidating pose of a police chief.

"For what?!" Bella shrieks, throwing out her arms. Like so many times before, her anger reminds me of an infuriated kitten puffing itself up to appear tough. It is endearingly adorable. I bite the inside of my cheek to hide a smile.

"Because I said so."

He leaves no room for debate, but I think he underestimates Bella's stubbornness. Which proves true as her small hands return to her waist and she takes a half step forward, bright spots of red coloring her pale cheeks. "Do I need to remind you that I'm a legal adult, Charlie?" she hisses in warning.

Her use of his first name adds fuel to the fire and his temper flares, twisted by a brief sting of hurt, so he lashes out, thundering, "This is my house – you follow my rules!"

The frosty, hostile expression that covers Bella's face would suit a vampire. "If that's how you want it," she snaps. "Do you want me to move out tonight? Or can I have a few days to pack?"

Blood darkens Charlie's ruddy complexion to a vivid scarlet, his deeper-sounding pulse thumping too fast to be healthy for a man of his age, and the anger in his eyes fades to agony as he is confronted with the possibility of another woman that he loves walking out of his life.

As soon as she takes in her father's reaction, Bella winces guiltily – just enough to crack the furious set of her mouth – and then she inhales a deep breath, assuming the role of negotiator. "I'll do my time without complaining when I've done something wrong, Dad," she tells him, a trickle of cool resolve weaving into her voice as she goes on, "but I'm not going to put up with your prejudices."

Unconsciously, she angles her body a half inch towards me, making it clear that she holds our relationship higher than the one she has with Charlie. The realization is both humbling and shamefully satisfying.

"But, you – he –" Charlie stammers, attempting to come up with a reasonable argument, but she talks over him before he can form a complete sentence.

"Now, I know that you know that I have every right to see Mom for the weekend." Bella lifts an eyebrow skeptically. "You can't honestly tell me you'd object to the plan if I was going with Alice or Angela," she points out like she does not expect a reply, because all three of us are well aware that Charlie's opposition is based solely on the idea of me spending a good deal of unsupervised time with his daughter.

His head jerks up and down in a curt nod. "Girls."

"Would it bother you if I took Jacob?" she asks, no doubt trying to be clever, but my jaw bunches in resentment at her mention of that dog's name. Her father has made his preference for which of us should be with Bella very plain over these last few weeks, and judging from the startled look he gives her, she obviously caught him off-guard. Most likely he would bid the two of them farewell with a smug grin and a cheery wave.

The scowl returns to his face after a moment, and then he answers with forced displeasure, "Yes. That would bother me."

Bella lets out a soft snort. "You're a rotten liar, Dad."

"Bella –" His index finger starts to move in her direction again.

"It's not like I'm headed off to Vegas to be a showgirl or anything," she says, her heartbeat trembling a little when she brings up the destination referenced in our talk of marriage the morning after my family voted to commit murder. "I'm going to see Mom. She's just as much my parental authority as you are." Her hands leave her hips to fold across her chest, mimicking Charlie's obstinate pose almost exactly, though she probably does not realize it.

He gives her a slanted look that clearly translates as you've got to be kidding.

Primed for a fight, she fixes him with a dark, meaningful glower. "Are you implying something about Mom's ability to look after me?"

He flinches, but tries to disguise it by frowning more severely. From what I can gather in his muffled thoughts, the issue of which parent can better provide for Bella's well-being is a sore subject.

"You'd better hope I don't mention this to her," Bella adds, a deliberate threat that she will not likely follow through with; she is much too gracious for that kind of behavior.

But apparently, Charlie elects to take her words at face value. "You'd better not," he warns in response. Heaving a sigh, he shakes his head, frustrated. "I'm not happy about this, Bella."

"There's no reason for you to be upset," she replies in a flippant tone, prompting him to roll his eyes. It seems the battle is over – for now, at least.

Spinning around, Bella yanks the plug from the sink and the cooled soapy water gurgles as it swirls into the drain. "So my homework is done, your dinner is done, the dishes are done, and I'm not grounded." Her voice is businesslike, resolute. "I'm going out," she declares in no uncertain terms, snagging the dishtowel from my grasp to dry her hands, and then drapes it across the countertop. "I'll be back before ten-thirty."

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, betraying my enthusiasm for the prospect of taking Bella away from this house for a few hours. I did promise Esme that we would try to stop by tonight…

Charlie notices the twitch in my polite expression and his eyes flick between Bella and I suspiciously, an angry flush creeping onto his face once again. "Where are you going?" he demands. I have no doubt that he will put an APB on my license plate if we are not back on time.

"I'm not sure. I'll keep it within a ten-mile radius, though. Okay?" Bella looks at him in expectation, waiting to see if he wants to go another round.

Grumbling under his breath that he doesn't really have a choice, Charlie turns and stomps out of the kitchen. The television in the next room hums to life seconds later, and he cranks up the volume so that the rowdy cheering of the crowd and the noises of the players running along the basketball court seems to fill the entire house.

A quiet sigh whispers beside me, and I glance sideways to watch Bella's shoulders slump, her bottom lip wedged between her teeth as she stares regretfully at the entrance to the living room.

I, too, cannot help but feel somewhat responsible for the creation of this rift in her relationship with her father. Although Bella is determined as ever to cut off all ties to her humanity and join me in this unending life, I also know that she wants to give those she is leaving behind some measure of peace before the final step is taken.

But guilt is an unnecessary weight for her to carry. That particular burden – being fully aware that I have seized the heart and soul of a perfect mortal girl, branded myself with her love and, realizing that I cannot survive eternity without her, am willing to condemn her to an existence of bloodlust and death – is mine, and mine alone.

Only a minute has passed since Charlie left; the drain in the sink lets out one last gulp as the water finally disappears. My earlier excitement resurfaces, and I incline my head towards Bella, murmuring with a slight smile, "We're going out?"

As soon as I finish, she releases her lip and whirls to face me, scowling with renewed ferocity. "Yes," she bites out in a low, acerbic tone. "I think I'd like to speak to you alone." Then she storms across the floor to the staircase and grabs her jacket, shoving her arms through the sleeves while her heated brown eyes study my expression.

I must appear more relaxed than she would like, for her frown deepens as she puts on her shoes, and I swear that the faintest growl rumbles in the back of her throat when she brushes past me as I hold the front door open for her.

The rain has ceased for the moment, though the air is heavy with moisture, and I easily reach the Volvo before Bella, pulling on the handle of the passenger door so that she can climb inside. I can feel her glare burning into my marble skin while I loop around the front of the car at human speed and sit down behind the wheel.

She turns her whole body towards me, her pulse jumping in irritation as I go about the motions of starting up the engine and adjusting the heat so that she will be warm enough, and then her patience wears out. "What was that?" she exclaims, her temper causing the already irresistible scent of her blood to spread more profusely within the confined space, mingling with the light fragrance of the rain to create a magnificent bouquet that makes my head swim…but not with thirst.

Memories of her warmth melting into my chest, her lips teasing mine, her fingers combing through the hair at the nape of my neck, even the dangerously erotic caress of her tongue floods my senses – each one as vivid as if I am experiencing it all over again.

And as such, I have to regain my focus before I can give her a coherent reply. Her heart throbs once, and I then have the presence of mind to say in a gentle voice, "I know you want to see your mother, Bella – you've been talking about her in your sleep. Worrying actually."

Thrown off balance, she jerks back in her seat, bewildered. "I have?"

I nod, and her gaze shifts a bit to the side, becoming distracted as she mulls over this new piece of information. Actually, Renée has frequented Bella's nighttime mumblings considerably less than the dog, or myself, but any time that her worries for her scatterbrained mother interrupted her pleas to Jake granted me a much-needed reprieve.

But that is beside the point. The fact that Bella rambles about Renée in her sleep is a legitimate reason to push for a visit this weekend – other than the homicidal vampire due to arrive in less than thirty-six hours, of course.

To quell the sudden rush of protective anxiety roiling in my hollow stomach, I goad her teasingly, "But, clearly, you were too much of a coward to deal with Charlie, so I interceded on your behalf." A lopsided smirk tugs at my mouth.

Her eyes return to mine, flaring wide open in disbelieving annoyance. "Interceded?" she quotes in a shrill voice. "You threw me to the sharks!"

My eyes roll towards the ceiling. Of course she would be more afraid of her father's wrath than of being in the company of vampires, a far more literal representation of her accusing metaphor. "I don't think you were in any danger," I remark dryly. The majority of his rage was centered on me – a richly deserved consequence of my actions seven months ago – and one that I am prepared to endure, since both of us believe that Bella forgave me much too easily.

She slumps against the leather seat with a huff, lips bowed into an unfairly enticing pout that I struggle to ignore as she clicks her seatbelt in place and I can at last put the Volvo in gear, devoting some of my attention to the road. "I told you I didn't want to fight with Charlie," she complains in a moody tone, looking out the windshield at the drenched twilit forest.

"Nobody said that you had to," I tell her, neglecting to mention that I had been counting on her willful self-reliance to bristle as soon as Charlie tried to exact some authority over her.

Frowning, her head snaps sideways so she can glare at me in exasperation. "I can't help myself when he gets all bossy like that – my natural teenage instincts overpower me." She says this in a sensible manner, as though their argument was simply an example of cause and effect, and then she gives a little shrug.

The way she reasons things out is the most fascinating, utterly absurd thinking I have ever encountered, and I cannot even hear her mind. What a curious, intriguing place it must be…

Rather than dwell on that particular frustration, I chuckle at Bella's endearingly naïve statement, murmuring, "Well, that's not my fault."

We lapse into silence, the quiet hum of the engine providing a perfect background to the symphony of her heartbeat, her soft inhalations and exhales – yet I am certain that Bella is not about to drop the subject; she is too persistent, and I can feel her scrutiny as I peer out the windshield, driving in slow, aimless loops around town.

Without warning she asks, her voice fraught with suspicion, "Does this sudden urge to see Florida have anything to do with the party at Billy's place?"

I clamp my teeth together to stifle a growl. I had quite honestly forgotten about that little scheme he and Charlie must have cooked up for this weekend. My fingers flex around the steering wheel as images of my Bella surrounded by immature, uncontrolled mongrels and their hardheaded kin flit across my mind's eye, ending with a searing picture that is part memory, part nightmare: Bella, reaching out to a pair of large red-brown hands – hands that belong to the filthy cur bent on claiming her as his own…

My jaw loosens just enough for me to answer tersely, "Nothing at all. It wouldn't matter if you were here or on the other side of the world, you still wouldn't be going."

It seems that my dominant nature has reared its ugly head once again, but I refuse to yield on this point. Since I am forbidden by the terms of the treaty to enter La Push, Bella will not be permitted to set one foot onto their lands, regardless of whether or not she believes that the pack means her no harm. It is too dangerous to entrust them – unstable, undisciplined, with temperaments as volatile as fire and tinder – with her safety.

And I will not hand her over to the dog, whose pretense of mere friendship has already worn thin, exposing his true intentions.

She is mine, the jealous monster hisses from the dark recesses of my mind.

Needless to say, Bella's reaction to my admittedly overbearing response is to angrily suck in a breath through her clenched teeth, blood pounding through her veins at a fierce rate, matching the fire in her eyes.

Just as I expect her to start shouting, her mouth flattens into a thin, determined line and she looks aside, taking slow breaths to calm her heartbeat.

I sigh very quietly. The last thing I want to do is get into another argument with her – especially over the dogs that she insists on calling 'friends'. Smothering my hair-trigger temper once more in layers of discipline and sheer force of will, I glance at her from the corner of my eye. "So what do you want to do tonight?" I murmur, pleased that my tone is again soft and affectionate.

Bella thinks for a moment, and then peers in my direction, the warmth of her chocolate eyes thawing what remains of my ill mood. "Can we go to your house?" She loops a strand of hair behind an ear shyly as she comments, "I haven't seen Esme in so long."

Grinning broadly, I steer the Volvo towards the highway. "She'll like that." Which is a vast understatement, given how thrilled she was when I suggested early this morning that maybe Bella would want to come by the house later. My smile tips to one side as I envision Esme's joy and relief when she finds out about the trip to Florida, so I add mischievously, "Especially when she hears what we're doing this weekend."

Her loud groan fills the car, and I laugh as we reach the highway, slipping my hand from the gearshift to rest atop her knee, though I am prepared to withdraw if she decides she is still too annoyed with me for physical contact. But to my everlasting delight, she promptly grasps my hand and flips it over, weaving her small fingers through mine.

When we reach the house, it is alight with a warm golden glow – Alice must have seen that Bella and I would be making an appearance and ensured that it would be comfortable for her – and I park a few feet away from the front porch beneath the sheltering branches of the ancient cedars.

Esme is waiting for us just inside the door. "Bella," she greets so warmly that I have to smile at her in gratitude. My mother's inherent desire to nurture has opened a whole new level of understanding in the parent-child bond for Bella, since she has spent most of her life as the caretaker with both Renée and Charlie.

I have often wondered if her independent streak would cause her to balk at Esme's displays of affection, but once again those doubts are put to rest as Bella walks without hesitation into my mother's cool, gentle embrace. "I'm so glad you came to visit us tonight," Esme murmurs, pulling away to gesture towards the massive front room. "It's a little too quiet around here."

"Speak for yourself," Alice calls with a tinkling laugh.

I wind an arm around Bella's waist and guide her into the room, watching her expressions as she looks around at its occupants.

Carlisle and Jasper have set up a chessboard on the low coffee table in front of the sofa, and each of them is crouched down so that the game is at eye level, their stares locked on the black and white pieces.

Alice is sprawled sideways on the straight-backed chair near the window wall, flipping through a couture magazine that features a special section about wedding gowns, judging by the bold text on the cover. She waves in our direction without looking up, her thoughts a riot of dress designs, color schemes, and flower choices, along with the singsong phrase, It's only a matter of time…

"Emmett and Rosalie are out hunting?" Bella poses the question to no one in particular.

Alice hums in assent, though by now everyone in my family is aware of her vision of Victoria and my plans to keep Bella innocent of this weekend's proceedings, which is part of the reason why Em and Rose have gone in search of big game this evening. We all will take turns heading out during the night; I will have to glut myself as much as possible, given that the wildlife population in Jacksonville is practically nonexistent, and I do not know if I can stomach aquatic blood – but I will if there is no other option.

Leading Bella to the vacant sofa, I gently pull her down with me in the very center, unable to suppress a sigh of contentment when she folds her legs onto the cushion beside her and rests her feather-light weight trustingly against me, her head on the curve of my shoulder.

They are so lovely together. Esme curls onto the mate to my sister's chair directly across the room from the sofa, her sketchbook in her lap, and gazes fondly at Bella and I. A second later, her thin wedge of charcoal is whipping across the paper in sure, delicate strokes, her topaz eyes never once leaving us. She is purposefully averting her attention from the drawing to conceal it from me until it is finished.

After a few minutes, I turn to Bella, intent on asking her if she would like to go up to my room – but I notice that she is watching the chess game with unabashed fascination, her deep brown eyes riveted to the checkered board.

Carlisle and Jasper are a fairly even match when it comes to one-on-one competition; they are the closest out of the family in both age and experience, and each has a certain affinity for strategizing, though their styles are completely different. Jasper is better suited for more vicious, crafty campaigns, whereas Carlisle is able to identify several courses of action that will accomplish his goals – some of which involve little to no sacrifice at all.

Furthermore, my father has had centuries to practice holding his emotions in check in many situations, and that levelheaded calm is what keeps my brother on his toes instead of falling back on his talent to see where the next attack may arise.

A glossy black knight slides into an empty square a few spaces from the white king. "Check," Jasper declares quietly.

Carlisle strokes his chin thoughtfully, contemplating his answering move, and Bella leans forward slightly beside me. I move her dark hair behind her shoulder, remarking in a low undertone, "Do you remember how the game is played?"

"I think so," she whispers with a short nod. "But I wasn't very good at it. I kept forgetting which pieces can move diagonally, or in an 'L' shape, or in a straight line…" She blows out a quick breath, ruffling the tiny hairs on her forehead. "It's too confusing," she says, her nose wrinkling as she makes a face.

I chuckle softly and press a lingering kiss to her smooth, balmy cheek. "I could teach you, if you like."

"I don't think that's a good idea." Her voice is breathless, a shiver rippling through her fragile body as I move my mouth to the hollow beneath her ear, and then across the curve of her jaw.

"Why not?" I pause on the invitingly soft skin of her throat, her pulse trembling beneath my lips, and for a fraction of a second my mind is absent of everything but Bella – her scent, her warmth – in spite of the fact that my brother and father are absorbed in their game less than a foot from our location, my sister is studiously ignoring us, and my mother is still sketching on her paper, a tiny smile of approval pulling at the corners of her mouth.

She inhales a quivering breath, blushing a perfect dusky hue that would make any rose envious, and blurts out, "Conflict of interest."

Esme covers her mouth with her free hand to stifle a giggle.

You might want to work up a bit more to the whole lack of privacy thing, Alice advises, her grin hidden behind the pages of her magazine. Bella's not used to how we live with that yet.

I roll my eyes, but nevertheless straighten up, feeling a bit like a naughty teenager caught making out with his girlfriend, which is a surprisingly heady sensation. By my reckoning, I have endured at least half a century of listening to and experiencing secondhand the acts of affection exchanged between three couples, so it seems only fair that I return the favor as often as possible. Besides, our behavior is decidedly less indecorous than some of the things I have been unwillingly subjected to in the past.

The white bishop half a dozen spaces from the opposite end of the board glides three squares to the right and captures the only empty spot around Jasper's king. "Checkmate."

Golden eyes blink once in astonishment, and then Jasper shakes his head, smiling faintly. "Well played," he admits, and flicks his king over with a finger – a clear sign of defeat. I should've seen it coming, he berates himself mentally, but he is difficult to read sometimes. His emotions are so centered, so undisturbed… it's almost eerie.

Carlisle stands with fluid ease and brushes off his pants in a very human gesture. "You nearly had me with that last set of moves," he says in all honesty, not trying to placate him. "I would keep that strategy in mind; it could be very effective."

"But not against you." Jasper's smile widens, his teeth gleaming in his overhead light.

"No," my father chuckles. Then he glances over at me and Bella, his expression softening. "It's wonderful to have you here with us again, Bella," he murmurs fondly. "I think I speak for us all when I say that it hasn't been the same without you." He bends down and touches her shoulder, squeezing tenderly, and then turns to Esme, who is looking up at him with her heart in her eyes. "Shall we?" Carlisle whispers, extending a hand.

Esme clasps it at once, rising to her feet, and sets her sketchbook and charcoal on top of the piano as they walk towards the doorway. The two of them vanish a handful of seconds later into the shadowy dampness of the forest.

Suddenly Alice leaps from her seat, the magazine landing on the hardwood floor with a loud thud. Startled, Bella jumps against me, blinking away a sheen of moisture from her eyes, and she swipes at the skin under them quickly as my sister announces, "Edward, I want you to play chess with me." With her tiny hands balled into fists on her hips, a thin black eyebrow cocked in challenge above her twinkling ocher eyes, she reminds me of a temperamental sprite.

I look at her dubiously. "The last time we played you said that you would never submit to that kind of swindling humiliation ever again." She had also used several other choice words, but I do not wish to repeat those in Bella's presence.

"Yeah, well, I have it all figured out now." Her grin is fierce, competitive. "I know how to keep you out of my head."

Amused but willing, I agree. "All right." Reluctantly, I loosen my hold around Bella and come to my feet. Smirking to himself, Jasper moves away from the board and perches on the armrest of the sofa. "Black, I assume?" I ask Alice, but she surprises me by flitting to the side that Carlisle had just vacated.

"No, I want to go first." She collapses gracefully into a cross-legged position, arranging the white pieces into their starting places in a blur of motion.

So I walk around to the opposite side and kneel down, organizing the black pieces in the same manner. Bella leans forward to put her elbows on her knees, her stare round with keen interest as we prepare to begin.

Alice moves a pawn, and the whirlwind of Sanskrit poetry in her mind washes away like sand on the seashore, to be replaced by flashes of the immediate future. Like lightning, images of the game's progression across the board fill her thoughts, and I catalogue every one of them that I manage to catch, planning a countermove to whichever one she decides to pick. In that way, I am limiting my future to more of a reaction than actual choices, which forces Alice to direct the outcome on her own.

To give her a bit more of a fighting chance, I scoot a pawn two spaces forward. An entirely new series of images burst across her mind's eye, and I use the same process again.

"What are they doing?" I hear Bella whisper in a far corner of my awareness.

Jasper is struggling to control his mirth as he explains, "Playing chess. Most of the game is played in their minds. Alice foresees all the moves Edward will make, and he reads all of her responses to those moves in her thoughts." He pauses for a moment when Alice moves another pawn, and then remarks lightly, "Though she's getting more frustrated by the minute. Her plan to keep him in the dark must be a flop."

I slide a pawn towards the center of the board, intent on what Alice is predicting will happen within the next two dozen moves. If I am correct, there should be a checkmate materializing very soon.

Sure enough, a rock-solid vision of a white king surrounded by black enters Alice's mind. She growls under her breath, the floorboards vibrating underneath her tiny frame, and she knocks her king over with a flick of her thumb and forefinger, huffing in petulant surrender.

"Checkmate," I state unnecessarily. She gives me what Bella would call a basilisk glare.

Afterward, the most beautiful sound in the world dances into my ears. Bella is laughing with such carefree delight – more than I have seen in the last few weeks – that I cannot help but to join in, harmonizing with her amusement.

Jasper chortles quietly a few seconds later, and even Alice is compelled to giggle, as well; her high-pitched peals singing out above the chorus like wind chimes on a breeze.

"That –" Bella wheezes out through her laughter "– was one of the – funniest things I have – ever seen!" She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, her face flushed a deep crimson and her smile huge.

She's still intrigued by the game, Jasper thinks once the hilarity has calmed. I wonder… "Would you like to play me, Bella?" he inquires unexpectedly.

"Oh." Her expression switches from laughing to flustered in a millisecond as she stares slack-jawed at my brother. "Um, well… I mean, I'd like to give it a try, but…" She fidgets, twisting her hands nervously in her lap as she confesses softly, "I'm not very good."

He smiles at her in reassurance. "Then you'll learn as you go along. Okay?" Smoothly swapping places with Alice, he sits down on the floor, and then looks over at her in anticipation.

I move aside while Bella stumbles to her feet and takes my spot next to the table, eyeing the chessboard with a mixture of dread and excitement. She shifts the two pawns that I had moved back into position and glances up at Jasper, who can tell even without his talent that she is more than a little on edge.

"It's just a friendly game, Bella," Jasper tells her in a gentle voice. "Don't be afraid to ask questions if you're confused about anything."

She takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, and reaches for a pawn near the center of the line.

The match progresses at a slow pace, as Bella pipes up quite a few times to get clarification on certain rules and so forth, but eventually her pieces have been whittled down to three pawns, a rook, and her king. All of them are crammed into the back corner, awaiting their surrender. "I told you I wasn't very good," she mumbles, rolling her defeated queen between her palms.

"You're doing fine," my brother replies at once.

"I just can't understand most of it." Shrugging, she looks down at the piece in her hand, and then grumbles to herself, though all three of us can hear her clearly, "My stupid human brain can't keep up."

I smother a groan, raking my fingers through my hair in agitation. It makes me so frustrated when she treats her humanity like a disease, clinging to the illusion that becoming immortal will right all of the wrongs that she sees in herself, when in truth she will be losing much more than she hopes to gain. I wish that she could grasp the consequences of her choice before it is too late – that the potential death of her soul is only a facet of the many sacrifices that this life will force upon her.

Jasper sighs, almost weary. I swear…the two of you have angst down to a science. Using his ability to manipulate emotions, he levels off the depressing dips in the atmosphere and waits until the new climate takes effect before offering, "Tell you what: I'll make you a promise, Bella." She looks up, curious. "After you become one of us, I will teach you how to win at chess."

Her chocolate eyes light up, a hopeful smile timidly pulling at her mouth. "Really?"

"I give you my word," he says, and holds out his right hand.

Bella places her small palm in his and they shake on it, wearing identical grins of true camaraderie.

Alice beams as the flickering vision of a scarlet-eyed Bella staring intently at this same chessboard while Jasper points to certain pieces floats through her mind like mist, burning away an instant later as another more immediate outcome takes its place. "You should probably head back to Charlie's," Alice comments in that distant tone she uses whenever the future has seized control of her thoughts. "He's holding you to your promise to be home before ten-thirty, and I doubt you want to be grounded again." Her eyelids flutter as she returns to the present, and then smiles ruefully at her best friend.

Reluctant to leave, Bella accepts my hand to help her to her feet, murmuring a glum farewell to my siblings, though she manages to perk up a little when Alice tells her that she will be back again soon. I'll be watching you both carefully until you're in Florida, my sister adds for my benefit as I shepherd Bella to the front door. There are still some holes in my visions regarding Victoria that are making me antsy. I don't want anything to slip through the cracks.

"Thank you, Alice," I mumble swiftly over my shoulder just before the door swings shut.

Once Bella is safely tucked into the passenger seat, I start up the engine and drive along the twisting road to the highway, determined to have her at her father's several minutes before her self-imposed curfew.

The porch light is blazing in the darkness when we pull into the driveway – an obvious sign that Charlie is awaiting our arrival – and I concentrate for a moment on the half-heard whispers of thought inside the little house to see if he intends to stir up their earlier argument.

Not surprisingly, I can pick up my name as well as Bella's…but the direction of his musings startles me so that my foot slips and I nearly plow the Volvo into the living room. It is fortunate that I already put it in park. But the engine revs with a roar because of my blunder, and I chance a brief glance at Bella, expecting her to wonder what just happened – yet she does not appear to have noticed. She is glaring at the illuminated door and windows with a resigned frown.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek as a smattering of conversation starters that Charlie read in a parenting leaflet the school had mailed out a few months ago flits through his head. This is one human experience I am sure that Bella would be more than happy to live without, but it is simply too entertaining to forewarn her about the impending awkward father-daughter chat.

"You'd better not come inside," she says, breaking into my amused distraction. "It will only make things worse." She reaches for the latch of her seatbelt, her face tilted downward, so I allow my smirk to have full dominion for a half second.

When I have control over my mirth once again, I remark in a lighthearted voice, "His thoughts are relatively calm."

Something in my tone must tip her off, because she peers up at my expression with a puckered brow, questioning me with her eyes. My lips twitch as I struggle to restrain a smile, and eventually Bella heaves a deep sigh that sounds positively morose. "I'll see you later," she mumbles, despondent.

Chuckling at her melodrama, though I feel an echo of her gloom in my silent chest at the notion of being apart from her for a hour or so, I lean forward and kiss the top of her head, filling every inch of my lungs with her appealing scent. "I'll be back when Charlie's snoring," I vow softly. I have to hunt as much as possible before we leave for Florida, and although I would love the challenge of big game, I will have to sate my appetite with a nearby herd of deer while Bella readies for bed.

But I would enjoy listening in to the discussion that Charlie has planned…

Let it be, Edward, I command myself as I watch Bella march up the steps like a soldier entering battle, and I am halfway down the street by the time she closes the door behind her.

I return the Volvo to its customary spot in the enormous garage behind my family's home and, as an afterthought, tuck my cell phone in my jacket pocket before racing into the woods, my nostrils flared wide open to detect the scents of any prey in the vicinity.

A few miles in, I pick up the faint stirring of underbrush some yards to the east, and the earthy musk of a group of herbivores is carried towards me on the wind. At the base of a weathered fir, I peel off my jacket, then reach for my phone to ensure that it is on silent and will not disturb the hunt – when the device suddenly vibrates in my hand.

I barely register the name on the tiny screen before it is pressed to my ear. "Alice," I say, uncaring that my voice has frightened the herd into retreat, "what is it? Have you seen something else?"

"No, Edward, it's what I haven't seen!" she trills frantically. "Bella – she's just gone! I can't see her; everything disappeared!"

The world seems to tilt at a bizarre angle. I cannot seem to catch my breath, even though I have no real need of it. While my sister's panicked voice continues to shriek over the phone, the gnawing emptiness that had consumed me the second I heard the words, "He's at the funeral" weeks ago awakens like a voracious beast and begins to eat away at the soul I thought had been lost forever.

Alice can no longer see Bella's future. Which means either one of two possible scenarios, and both are utterly unacceptable.

The plastic shell of the cell phone creaks underneath my fingertips. "How much time?" I manage to ground out, my voice quivering with a brewing storm of emotion.

"Minutes," Alice responds, still upset. "I see her get in her truck and start driving, and then there's nothing else! Edward, what's –?"

I hang up on her. Snatching my jacket from the ground with my other hand, I launch full-tilt into the forest, instinctively heading in the direction of the town, and I try in vain to dismiss the enraged tinge of red coloring my vision.

Indifferent to my surroundings and needing something through which to channel my anger, I ram my body into the thick trunk of an old cedar, toppling the tree.

The two scenarios regarding the disappearance of Bella's future resurface in my mind, and I begin to calculate how to proceed as the ground blurs beneath my feet. In either case, my first priority is to guarantee Bella's safety, though the means may differ significantly depending on the circumstance.

I swerve around another broad, ancient tree instead of destroying it, reasoning that I will need my fury to help me stay focused if the first scenario is correct. But if the second … well, I shall have to trust that my innate desire to protect will prevent me from acting rashly.

My self-control is put to the test as soon as I burst through the foliage across the street from the house. The malice and bloodshed that would have accompanied the first scenario is nonexistent as I stealthily approach, my gaze riveted on the middle window of the second floor, propped halfway open at all times in silent invitation.

I watch Bella whirl away from the pane, a nervous but almost gleeful smile on her face as she yanks a flannel shirt from her closet and pulls it on, vanishing into the hallway. Her footsteps clatter down the stairs, the jangle of her keys causing a surge of suspicion to arise in Charlie's muted thoughts, and then she confirms what I have been unwilling to admit since the moment I received Alice's call. "You care if I go see Jake tonight? I won't stay long." Her voice is breathless with exertion, and perhaps a hint of thrill, as though she is taking pleasure in disregarding my pleas to stay safe by sneaking out to see the dog.

Pain spears my chest, but I cast it aside and dash across the yard to the rusted red monstrosity parked beside the police cruiser. The metal hinges whine sharply when I shove open the hood, but I remove the specific part and close it back up before Charlie answers in smug satisfaction, "Sure, kid. No problem. Stay as long as you like."

Climbing into the cab, I stare at the fairly decent-looking spark plug in my hands, clenching my teeth together so hard that I am vaguely impressed I haven't chipped one. My heart is in such a quandary that I can scarcely concentrate, though a small part of my awareness is always, always centered on the reason for my existence. Her heartbeat is racing at a frenzied tempo, her light steps ringing out as she skips down the front steps and heads for her truck, her head whipping from side to side like she is an escapee from the county jail.

The door creaks open, and a cloud of her sweet fragrance precedes her warmth, both sensations disrupting my already turbulent emotions.

I want to rail at her, to demand that she explain why – why she would even consider endangering herself after I had begged her not to, after describing as best I could using feeble words that she is my gravity, my life, and I will cease to be without her. I want to take her away from here – to run so far and so fast that no one will ever find us, no one will ever steal her from me. I want to make her mine in every possible way, to mark her both inside and out so that the world, the mutt and even God Himself will know that she belongs to me and no one else for eternity.

I want all these things and so much more – more than I could ever hope to express – but I do not say anything. I only sit in silence, my eyes trained on the lump of metal and wires between my fingers because I cannot trust myself to look at her exquisite face and not explode, and wait for her to notice me.

Bella jams the key into the ignition and twists, then purses her lips in confusion when the only sound is a loud click. Not to be deterred, she tries again…with no success.

The spark plug continues to rotate slowly in my hands, though I have half a mind to crush it like a tin can, and after another couple of seconds, she finally catches sight of my small movements in her peripheral vision. "Gah!" she squeaks, jumping sideways and nearly banging her head against the window, her pulse hammering wildly as she gapes at me in shock.

"Alice called," I tell her in a low, even voice, watching the faint light from the house glint dully across the worn surface of the metal.

A tiny gasp leaves her mouth; she must not have considered the idea that my sister is on the alert for the slightest change in every nuance of her life.

I go on, murmuring, "She got nervous when your future rather abruptly disappeared five minutes ago." Hysterical would be a better description of how she sounded on the phone, but the term I had used will suffice for now. I have yet to discover any words that could possibly encompass what I felt in that moment – what I am still feeling even as I speak.

In order to buy myself some time, I begin to dialogue about the reason why Alice could no longer see Bella's future. "Because she can't see the wolves, you know. Had you forgotten that? When you decide to mingle your fate with theirs, you disappear, too." Flames scorch down my throat when I pause to take a breath, but I am comforted by the ache, because it reminds my unsettled mind that she is here, safe with me. She has not disappeared.

"You couldn't know that part, I realize that," I say quietly, whether to console her or myself, I do not know. "But can you understand why that might make me a little…" terrified, distraught, insane "…anxious? Alice saw you disappear, and she couldn't even tell if you'd come home or not. Your future got lost, just like theirs."

Hazarding a brief glance to the side, I see that the expression on Bella's face has transformed from open-mouthed surprise to tight-lipped anger. Her arms are folded tensely over her chest, and the heat of her annoyed flush creeps through the cool air in the cab to warm my granite skin.

Selfishly craving a few more minutes in her presence before she storms back in the house, I resume my meaningless twaddle. "We're not sure why this is. Some natural defense they're born with? That doesn't seem entirely likely, since I haven't had any trouble reading their thoughts." Which the pack is well aware of, given that the wolf Emmett and I saw two days ago had switched to thinking strictly in their native tongue.

Then I am reminded of the delusional ramblings I had been forced to put up with the last time Bella had seen the dog, and I add, "The Blacks' at least. Carlisle theorizes that it's because their lives are so ruled by their transformations. It's more an involuntary reaction than a decision. Utterly unpredictable, and it changes everything about them."

That is why it is too dangerous for her to be around one of them. The slightest provocation could bring about the phase from human to wolf, and there is no defense for anyone who might be too close when that happens. "In that instant when they shift from one form to the other," I comment in an even quieter tone, "they don't really even exist. The future can't hold them…"

The silence is heavy, pressing down on us like the thick, charged air just before a thunderstorm. I wait almost a full minute for Bella to react, but she only glares at me with icy yet somehow burning dark eyes.

Twirling the spark plug in one last rotation, I realize that I still have the opportunity to reconcile this spat by behaving like a gentleman instead of an overprotective ass, although I make no excuses for my actions. So I promise her serenely, "I'll put your car back together in time for school, in case you'd like to drive yourself." While I will miss her every second, I do want Bella to understand that she has the freedom to express her frustration in any manner she chooses, and if that means I will have to survive this entire weekend without hearing her voice or touching her once, then so be it. No sacrifice compares to her safety.

Bella's lips have long since turned a sallow pinkish-white from being compressed together. She inhales deeply through her nose, grabs her keys and then throws open the door, her body rigid with fury as she clambers out of the truck.

Just as she starts to shove it closed with all of her frail strength, I make another sacrifice, whispering to disguise the hurt, "Shut your window if you want me to stay away tonight. I'll understand."

Slam!

The harsh noise is suddenly deafening in the cab that is permanently saturated with the fragrance of freesia. At length, I raise my eyes from the engine part balanced between my fingertips and watch Bella cross the yard, each step hitting the ground with exaggerated force, her loud breaths hissing through gritted teeth. Flinging open the front door, she stomps inside and yanks it shut behind her with a bang.

"What's wrong?" Charlie asks, puzzled by the change in her attitude.

Her tromping strides falter for a minute as she growls in reply, "Truck won't start."

"Want me to look at it?"

I slide out of the antiquated vehicle with the spark plug gripped tightly in one hand. Charlie has a limited understanding of automobiles, but even he would notice that something is missing from the truck's engine. At this point, however, I cannot muster the effort to care. I will dismantle the entire thing with my bare hands in a matter of minutes if it will prevent Bella from crossing the boundary line to La Push.

"No," she mutters bitterly. "I'll try it in the morning." The banister groans faintly under her palm, and the bottommost step lets out a soft creak as she starts to head upstairs.

But her father is almost as stubborn as she is, and unexpectedly suggests, "Want to use my car?"

There is a half second's hesitation. In that time, I rapidly reformulate my plan to ensure that she stays here tonight. The police cruiser is newer, though it would be easy to guarantee that it will not leave this driveway either. Crouching down, I am halfway underneath the vehicle when Bella says in sullen defeat, "No. I'm tired. 'Night."

I leap back onto my feet, mildly relieved that I do not have to vandalize the chief's car, and listen to Bella's surprisingly thunderous footfalls for one so small ascend the staircase and stamp down the hall to her bedroom.

In contrast, I move soundlessly to the cluster of shrubs near her window and conceal the spark plug within the moist earth around their tangled roots. Then I glance up as her light blares a shaft of yellow across the lawn.

With tense eyes and a heavy heart, I watch her approach the window, scowling into the darkness. Without the slightest flicker of reluctance, she grasps the metal frame and pulls down hard. I flinch at the resounding crash, the glass quivering in the wake of her violent effort.

The rattling pane starts to shake loose the once solid resolve I had felt earlier, when I had swore to myself that I would do whatever is necessary to keep her safe. Part of me yearns to cling to the tree branch just outside her window and beg for forgiveness, but it rings false as soon as I try to put together the words for an apology that would have no real meaning because I am not sorry for foiling her attempt to visit the dog.

Leaning against the side of the house, I realize bleakly that I now have plenty of time to hunt, and I sigh, the appeal of satiating my thirst a dim memory compared to the agonizing prospect of being barred from the only sanctuary I have ever known after weeks of staying as close as possible to assure both of our still healing hearts that we would never be separated again.

Is the mutt's friendship so valuable to her that she would use it as a barrier between us? Or…or are her feelings for him less platonic than even she seems to believe?

A final shiver passes through the windowpane above me. Resigned to my fate, I step away from the weathered siding, preparing to dart back into the woods – when a soft, muted sigh breaks the dismal stillness. Metal slides against wood, and a waft of warm, sweetly scented air drifts out of the open window.

Grinning, I quickly scale the tree to my usual perch. Partially hidden behind clumps of deep green leaves, I wait while Bella gathers her bag of toiletries and pajamas, a faint smile curving her full lips, and then she disappears into the bathroom.

In one effortless leap, I land with the barest thump beside her bed. On any other night, I would have occupied myself elsewhere until Charlie was fast asleep, but after facing the misery of potentially spending an evening alone, I simply cannot stay away.

I almost sit down on the far end of the mattress, but change my mind in mid-motion and walk over to the rocking chair instead. Bella may have reopened her window to me, but that does not imply that I will be afforded all of my previous privileges tonight.

When she reenters the room and closes the door, her eyes find me immediately, tracking the gentle motion of the chair for a moment before she purposely looks away. I drink in her every movement like a vagrant that has found water in the middle of a desert.

It does not escape my notice that the line of her shoulders is stretched taut, and the smile I had glimpsed before has not erased the angry shadows darkening her brow. However, I get the distinct impression that she is forcing herself to ignore me as her head jerks sideways, keeping the rocking chair out of sight while she climbs under the covers. Then she promptly rolls over to face the opposite side of the room – giving me the cold shoulder, so to speak – but her fluttering heartbeat tells me that despite her aloof performance, she is pleased to see me.

I cease from rocking back and forth and lean forward, resting my forearms on my thighs, my hands clasped between my knees as though in supplication. "I'm sorry that I made you angry," I murmur quietly, staring at the twisted mass of silky hair decorating her pillow. It is the only apology I can sincerely give, and the only one that truly matters now.

She exhales, and then wriggles around to look at me, her rosy cheek cradled inside a palm as she props herself up on an elbow. "I know," she says in a low voice, the fire in her chocolate irises waning to a softer glow. "I know you're only trying to keep me safe. But I really wish you would just trust me, Edward." She lowers her gaze, forlorn, and something inside of me breaks.

In less time than she has to blink, I am kneeling on the floor before her, clutching her free hand in both of mine. "I do trust you, Bella," I declare fervently. "With everything that I am."

"Then why don't you believe me when I say that I'll be safe at La Push?" she asks, point-blank.

I answer her with equal candor, "Because I don't trust them. I've told you – the wolves are unstable, unpredictable. And add that to the fact that Alice can't see you whenever you're around them…" Icy tendrils of dread slither along the curve of my spine, and I have to fight off a shudder. "It's just too much of a risk." I lift my hand to cup the side of her delicate neck, the heat chasing away the remnants of my fear, and I stroke the velvety skin beneath her jaw with my thumb. "I can't lose you again," I admit, no louder than a breath.

Pressing her small, warm palm to my cheek, she vows with tender yet unwavering conviction, "You won't lose me." An enormous, drawn-out yawn stops her from leaning in for a kiss, but I compensate her shortly after, capturing her mouth with mine until she pulls away to yawn again. "Ugh," she moans irritably.

"Go to sleep, love," I tell her, chuckling. "I'll be back in a few hours." With one last kiss, I straighten up and then head towards the window.

"You're not going to stay?"

I turn around, raising my eyebrows at her incredulous expression. "As immensely grateful as I am that you didn't leave the window closed," I reply in a teasing, affectionate tone, "I should get in another quick hunt before we leave for Florida tomorrow afternoon. So be sure to pack first thing in the morning," I smirk crookedly, "or I'll send Alice over to help."

She buries her face in her pillow with a groan.

Laughing, I launch myself into the cool night and spring silently onto the damp grass.

A petite silhouette emerges from the darkness behind the house a fraction of a second later, the golden light from Bella's room illuminating a pair of reproachful ocher eyes.

So you use me as a threat? Can't say I'm surprised. Alice crosses her arms and glares up at me.

My astonishment at her arrival must be obvious, for she rolls her eyes and nods towards the upstairs window. I saw that you would be nervous about leaving her alone while you hunt and were about to call, so I saved you the trouble. The scowl returns to her elfin face. And thanks so much for hanging up on me. I was freaking out for a whole thirty seconds before I could see her again. It was driving Jazz crazy.

"Sorry, sis," I whisper, unable to smother my grin.

She punches my arm playfully. "Just be glad that I like you," she chirps so high and fast that the wind nearly carries her words into the cloud-swathed sky. "Now get going." She makes a shooing motion with her hands. "I've got things to do, too, you know." There's a herd of black-tail grazing a few miles to the southeast, and if you hurry, you'll also catch the mountain lion stalking them. Smiling angelically, Alice jumps to grab hold of a low-hanging branch and then scrambles into the tree, making herself comfortable on a wider section just below the bedroom window.

I wave at her and race for the tree line, feeling somehow lighter now that I can be certain of Bella's safety while I am gone. Yet just before the undulating boughs and the pull of instinct consumes my senses, I catch a last wisp of thought from Alice, tinted with apprehension. I hate being the bearer of bad news…but I have a hunch that this thing with Bella and the mutt is far from over.

Little did I know that those words would turn out to be a portent of things to come.

* * *

Author's Notes: Portions of the dialogue are cited directly from Eclipse copyright ©2007 by Stephenie Meyer, pages 42-64.

Writing this chapter was like looking at an iceberg. At first I thought it would be relatively straightforward, but then I found all of this other material lingering just below the surface, waiting to be explored. For example, the scene with Bella and Edward cooking dinner, and all of the interaction that took place at the Cullen house.

And for those of you who have read my Breaking Dawn story "Metamorphosis", I'm sure you caught my reference to the chess game that takes place in Chapter 8. I have a love of continuity – and foreshadow. ;-)

In the next chapter, I think we'll delve into the mystery of what might have taken place in Florida on Edward and Bella's weekend getaway to visit her mom. It should be fun. And thank you to everyone who sends a review! I promise that I'll try to reply to each one as soon as I can. For those of you who just want to read, I love you all, too. Just remember: if you feel compelled to type a few words regarding the chapter, don't fight it. I would appreciate hearing from you, even if it's to tell me off for the long wait between updates.