Chapter Eight:

Montana, 1949

Edward Cullen had told me that it was an adjustment to get used to consuming animal blood, but I wasn't prepared for how much of an acquired taste it really was. The first deer I killed reminded me of how much I hated the flavorless bread the orphanage had served with every meal. Eugh.

But I had to do this. I couldn't walk amongst the humans anymore; it was too tempting, and too depressing.

Even from inside my rented room, I could smell them – and knowing that I couldn't have one the moment I was thirsty again – it was horrible. I could hear the rushing of blood every corner I turned. I could hear the pumping of hearts with every step I took. Warm and sweet and I couldn't have it. I would move and I'd picture a delicious massacre. I would breathe and think of all the different flavors; a buffet, right in front of me.

I had slipped up twice already; each time my reasons for the change in diet hit me swiftly in the chest. I had killed another one, and I didn't know if it deserved to be killed. I sank into myself, hid in my room, drawing to keep my mind away from thinking about them. Holding my breath to keep from smelling them. Biting my tongue, so that the hurt would overshadow my thirst for them.

It was the end of my second week of trying, when I realized exactly to what extent my monstrosity was. I was wandering in the night air – while the humans were safely ensconced in their beds – clearing my nose and my head. It was quiet, except for the shuffling of some street urchins, who I vowed to ignore.

"Miss?" The shuffling had become louder, and I assumed they were following me to pilfer something. If I walked fast enough, maybe they'd leave me alone. I didn't have any money on me anyway.

"I'm sorry," I said, turning slightly. "I have no money."

"No, Miss," the voice urged. It was a young boy, towheaded and dirty cheeked, no older than seven. He held up a picture. "Have you seen this man? My daddy?"

Even away from the lamplight I didn't have to strain to see the picture. I recognized the face of the homeless man I'd killed before my encounter with Edward. I turned from the little boy.

"I'm sorry." And then I ran.

The next day I paid my rent, sold most of my art, and headed for the hills. I stopped caring about the wind and the mud and the occasional rain – the clean air was so much better. No humans; just the animals and my drawings and me.

I had a map and a good sense of direction, enough to keep me away from towns and traveling to new parts. I couldn't stay in Southern California; it was too bright there. I was making my way north; how far, I wasn't sure. I was thinking Canada. Somewhere with lots of space - and few humans - would suit me well.

I was finishing up with a not-so-tasty mountain lion when I smelt it. There was another vampire – close by – the scent was strong. How did I never notice these things until it was too late? Maybe my nose was defective.

"Mountain lion is my favorite, you know."

It was Edward Cullen. The one that could hear what you were thinking. Was his family nearby, preparing an ambush? Stop it! I chided myself. I couldn't let stray thoughts like that go around people like him.

"Don't worry about it." I turned to look at the man that had just replied to my thoughts.

"Hello?" It came out less like the calm greeting I'd imagined, and more like the scared squeak of the animal I'd just killed.

"Welcome to Montana." He put out his hand for me to shake again. I looked at my bloody, dirty hands and looked back up at him.

"That's okay," he pulled his hand back.

"I'm just passing through," I said. I needed to make that clear.

"As am I," he spoke. "I was out hunting with my brother; I must have run further than I realized."

"Right," I found myself nodding and processing. He had a brother; brothers were bad. Brothers were more prone to violence than sisters would be. Unless he was as civil as this man was, but I wouldn't hold out hope. I remembered the three other vampires I'd met in my life. Definitely violent creatures… Stop thinking!

He was smirking, and I decided to extricate myself from this awkward situation. "I'll be going now."

"Wait – " I turned around, "did you ever draw your picture?"

"Oh," I opened my bag, "here." Thank goodness for the foresight to wrap the painting in wax paper; my hands were a mess.

"Wonderful," he took it, and handed me some bills in return.

"Oh, I couldn't," I didn't want to take the money – but a shower and some new clothes would be nice.

"Take it," he insisted. "And, if you want, my family and I are traveling up to Alaska soon – to visit some friends in Denali. They're like us, too. You could come. I'm sure they would be glad to take you in, help you with your new diet. I'm afraid you probably could not stay with us – there's too many of us already – but you are more than welcome to travel with us."

I hesitated; even if I wasn't terrified of this vampire, I wasn't sure about the rest of them. Even if I was, I was in a state; my dress was torn and muddied and bloodied, not to mention my hair.

"We have showers – and cars. No more running in the mud."

"Yes," my mouth answered before my brain could catch up. The offer of a shower was just too enticing.

He held up the painting. "Esme will love this; thank you."

I followed him out of the woods, unsure of what I had agreed to, or where on earth I was going.

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