13.

Two and a half hours bent over his laptop only confirmed what Edward already knew: there were no known cases of telepathy.

Psychologists spoke of a human's ability to "read" emotions, to intuit what others thought or felt. But mind reading – hearing another's words, phrases, thoughts, and comments as though they were spoken aloud – was scientifically, physically, and humanly impossible.

His head still spun with the implication that the voices that had plagued him for months weren't hallucinations at all

It didn't make sense; it couldn't. But still, the explanation (impossible as it seemed) was surely better than the alternative.

He stretched and took a sip of now lukewarm beer before wiping his mouth with the back of a hand.

He knew the man was outside.

It wasn't that he could hear him. Edward couldn't distinguish Carlisle's thoughts from the half dozen others lurking in the background of his mind. Still, he was certain the man was there, and that…pleased him.

Edward wasn't sure when he'd stopped regarding the man's perpetual presence with annoyance and irritation. He chose not to think about it.

The voices were still there, but he was able to push them back into deeper, darker corners. Simply Carlisle's suggestion that there was an explanation, that he wasn't going mad, that the noise had some substance, some meaning (as unthinkable as it was) made the murmurs more tolerable.

He was able to make a distinction (slightly blurred along the edges) between his thoughts and those of others. His ideas were more clearly defined, and it was easier to untangle the undercurrents of sound now that he could accept that perhaps it was more than hallucination.

Edward didn't sleep well that night.

He had expected to see the man when he left for class the next morning, but he wasn't there. Edward ignored the twinge of disappointment he felt. It was absurd, of course.

But he had to admit that there was something about Carlisle's presence that was…tolerable. And although he was still very much afraid of what the man was, what the man was capable of, it was easier to see past the seeping fear in the bright sunlight.

And while Carlisle provided more questions than answers, he'd offered the first explanation too.

Now Edward wanted to hear more.

Bella wasn't waiting for him either. Their schedules differed that day. But for once he wasn't even sure he wanted to see her; he wasn't sure he would know what to say.

After all, she would want to know how his appointment went, and how could he even begin to explain something he didn't understand – something that was clearly impossible?

He slid into his usual seat (second row, right hand side) just as the professor entered the room. The buzz of voices died down, but when Edward listened carefully he could still hear soft thought words underlining the quiet.

Annoyance, interest, boredom…

He shook his head and took a deep breath.

Confusion, irritation, distraction…

Edward tried to focus on what the professor was saying, but it was difficult to distinguish the sound of the man's voice from the others slipping across his focus. The man's spoken words were interlaced with thoughts and ideas (before and after), as he planned ahead, revisited, reflected on what he was about to/had already said.

Edward closed his eyes, scrubbed a hand across his face, and tried to concentrate. But it was maddening, confusing, impossible. And even if he wasn't crazy, he knew he might still go mad.

Soon the voices murmuring at the back of his brain had increased to a dull roar. And even though he knew what they were – if he could accept that they were the unspoken thoughts of thirty classmates – he could do nothing to drown them out.

They pounded at the edges of his mind like a headache, distorted his field of vision, and made it hard to breathe.

The lecture dragged on and on.

Edward found that only when he was alone, did the noise completely stop. It made perfect sense, of course, and served to strengthen his understanding of what was happening to him (but did nothing to assuage the problem).

Even when he was at home, he was close enough to the other apartments in his building to hear things he didn't want to hear. But after class he found a secluded spot on the edge of campus and sat down on the grass (knees pulled to his chest). He closed his eyes, concentrated on nothing, and let the silence bleed over him.

He heard the crunch of gravel when the man came up behind him but did not turn around.

Edward was used to the soft push of his thoughts (muted and controlled). He opened his eyes, felt the slip of a shadow slide over his shoulder.

"You can't run from it forever, you know." Carlisle's voice (spoken aloud) was smooth and low.

Edward said nothing, dug his fingers into the ground and felt cool dirt under his nails.

"You must learn how to deal with it, Edward, learn to use it to your advantage."

He refused to look at the man. "I still feel like I'm going crazy."

"Yes," Carlisle said simply. "But you're not."

Edward bit back the anger that threatened to overwhelm. Of course the man didn't understand. He couldn't – he hadn't experienced the onslaught of irrationality and mental chaos Edward experienced whenever he couldn't help but listen.

Just the memory of that afternoon in class made him nauseous. "It's impossible, you know. Mind reading is physically impossible."

"Perhaps. But sometimes the only explanation is the impossible."

"What do I need to do?" the boy asked softly, looking back over his shoulder for the first time.

Carlisle stood behind him, arms folded across his chest. He wore long-sleeves despite the heat. Edward wondered absently if he was always cold.

The man smiled, lips curving slightly. "Learn to listen."

14.

As they walked back towards Edward's apartment, their fingertips brushed. Edward gasped, jerked his hand away.

Carlisle tensed. "I'm sorry, I—"

"No…" Edward moved his hand back, tentatively sliding a finger over the man's knuckle. The skin was smooth and cold as ice.

He slipped his hand down, running his own calloused fingertips over the length of Carlisle's palm. The chill that seeped from the man's skin to his own was disquieting and addicting all at once.

Carlisle's thoughts shifted under the surface, confusion and curiosity flitting across his mind. What are you doing?

"I…I don't know," Edward finally said. "Are you cold?" His fingers slipped between Carlisle's; his thumb moved in small circles.

"No."

When they reached his building, Carlisle pulled his hand away, but his thoughts were quiet; Edward wondered if he was intentionally shielding his mind.

"Come up," he whispered before his brain has the chance to talk his mouth out of it.

The man stared at him intensely (eyes that could pin him to the wall, rip him open, slice his heart clean out).

But he said nothing.

Edward wasn't sure why he did it. It was quite certainly incredibly stupid, but he didn't care, didn't regret the invitation.

He couldn't explain it, but suddenly he felt a clear unraveling of all his previous apprehensions (the untying of knots, one by one).

He didn't want to think about the change, the disintegration of reservation. He simply wanted the man to come up to his apartment.

When Carlisle finally spoke, his voice was soft (a brush of sound against Edward's skin). "That would be unwise."

Edward shook his head, twisted his fingers in the strap of his messenger bag.

Carlisle watched him steadily. Even in the warm afternoon light, his eyes were dark (nearly black).

Edward frowned.

The man inhaled rather sharply and did not blink. "I need to feed."

At his words, an involuntary shudder shook Edward's thin frame.

The man closed his eyes.

"What do you eat?" he asked hesitantly, voice wavering slightly. He knew the answer (of course he knew). But the man had never spoken the words out loud, and he wanted…needed that confirmation.

Carlisle looked at him again, too dark eyes glittering strangely. "You already know."

"Tell me."

"Blood."

Edward's breath caught in his throat, sickly and warm, but he nodded and swallowed. "Do you want me?"

He could feel his pulse (a rush of blood) in his ears. He took a step forward.

The man tensed, went very still.

Edward wasn't what he was offering (body or blood), but it didn't matter.

"Do not tempt me." Carlisle's tone was harsh, nearly a hiss.

Edward jutted his chin out rather defiantly and refused to back down. "Come upstairs."

"You don't know what you're asking of me." Thoughts skirted across the man's mind, as Edward held his breath and listened.

Delicious, depraved, dangerous, delirious, desperate, and deadly.

He took another step forward.

Carlisle stood very still but did not recoil. "I could hurt you." Taste you, want you, touch you, kill you.

"Have you ever before?" the question came out as a breathless gasp; Edward was horrified and desperately intrigued at once.

The man waited before responding (a moment that stretched and stretched). "Yes. But not for a very long time."

"You won't hurt me."

Carlisle closed his eyes again. Edward knew his control was slipping.

"You do not know that. I will not risk it." He reached a hand out tentatively. The smooth coolness of his thumb brushed against a slightly stubbled cheek.

Edward felt the splash of heat spread down from his face to color his throat, slip under his collar. He leaned into the touch. His heart was pounding painfully against his ribs, and his head swum (fear and desire twining together, coiling around his spine and shortening his breath).

"I…I can't," the man finally said. "Go inside. Stay there tonight," and he was gone.

Edward could still feel the touch of cold fingers against his skin.

15.

When Edward closed his eyes that night, he imagined his hands mapping an endless expanse of white gold skin (fantasies smooth but bright like moonstone). And, when he dreamed, he awoke to the taste of that cool, pale skin branded hot across his tongue.

16.

He did not see the man before or after school the following day. And Edward couldn't but wonder, as he found a secluded corner in the library and pulled out his laptop, if he had pushed too hard.

He worked steadily for over an hour, grateful for the silence. The stacks were practically deserted (after all, it was a Friday). He only saw one other person working. A small dark-haired girl with rather lovely yellow eyes. But her thoughts were quiet, as she sat in an overstuffed armchair, legs curled beneath her body, nose in a book.

Edward must have lost track of time because when he checked his watch it was nearly eight. He closed his computer and stretched, feeling a satisfying pop in his lower back, as he twisted in the chair.

The girl was watching him calmly as he stood. He smiled softly and headed for the stairs.

It was almost dark; he'd worked longer than he intended, but he refused to acknowledge the tendril of fear that unfurled in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't seen Aro since that first night, and Carlisle wasn't following him; there must not be reason to worry. He took a deep breath and headed for home.

But something wasn't right.

Edward's stomach twisted unpleasantly, as his fingers curled around his keys (cool metal biting into his palm).

He stopped when he reached the landing. The door to his apartment was open. He took a tentative step forward, listening, but all he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears. Someone (or something, his mind supplied helpfully) had forced its way inside.

He shoved his hand into his pocket, searching for the scrap of paper Carlisle had given him. He dialed the number with shaky fingers.

The man answered after one ring.

"Someone—"

"I know," Carlisle cut him off. "He's gone now, but he will be back. Go inside and pack some things. Meet me out front in ten minutes."

Edward did as he was told.

The man was waiting when Edward came downstairs, bag slung over his shoulder.

"Where are we going?" he asked, sliding into the front seat of Carlisle's black Mercedes.

"My home. You'll be safe there."

Edward nodded. "What was he looking for?"

"You."

They didn't speak as Carlisle drove. His thoughts shifted like gravel, flickered like flames across the surface of his mind.

The house was lovely, tucked nearly a mile off the main road up a tree-lined meandering drive.

A rather extensive array of expensive automobiles filled the driveway. Edward would have been quite impressed, had he not been discomfited by what the collection had to mean.

"You don't live alone."

"No." Carlisle turned the car off and regarded him steadily. "My family."

"And they're…" Edward could hear the fear that seeped into his voice; his throat was suddenly very dry.

"Like me. Yes." He put a hand on Edward's knee, and even through the denim of his jeans, he could feel the chill. "We won't hurt you."

"I…I know."

"Come on. We have a lot to do."

A young woman was waiting on the front porch. "Thank goodness," she said, kissing Carlisle on the cheek before turning to look at Edward. "You're safe."

Edward watched them curiously, trying to decipher their relationship, but the voices were quiet. The man leaned in to whisper something in the woman's ear, hand resting naturally on the small of her back. They looked strikingly familiar (pale beauty, porcelain skin), but the interaction spoke of an intimacy that went beyond familial affection.

"Edward, this is Esme," he said simply in introduction.

The woman took his hand in hers. Her skin was as cold as Carlisle's.

"I'm so glad you're here." Her smile was genuine. "Please. Come inside."

He felt the man's eyes on him, as he followed her through the door.

The rest of the Cullens were in the den, a large open room with floor length windows lining one wall. Watery moonlight spilled through the glass.

"Edward," Carlisle said, fingers brushing against the back of his hand. "This is Alice and Jasper, Rose and Emmett."

It was odd. He knew they would not hurt him, but still, Edward couldn't help the overwhelming sense of unease that came with standing in a room with six vampires. He took a deep breath, tried to calm the thud of his heart.

"Well, I can see why you're interested," the blonde said, standing. Her cold stare was appraising, but she turned without another word and headed for the stairs. The dark haired boy followed.

"Don't mind her," the smallest girl said with a toss of her head. "I never do."

He nodded rather dumbly before realizing something. "You…" he looked at her for a moment. "You were watching me earlier. At the library."

She shrugged unapologetically. "Somebody had to."

"Sit down, dear," Esme said, taking the seat opposite Alice and Jasper.

"I…okay." Edward perched on the very edge of the chaise Rose and Emmett had recently vacated.

Carlisle didn't sit, but moved to stand behind him, slender hand resting on the back of the upholstered loveseat. Edward turned his head. If he leaned back, his shoulder would touch that hand. He didn't.

He noticed Alice watching him, her expression a blend between curiosity and amusement. He looked away.

"Alice was right," Carlisle said after a few moments. "He was in the boy's apartment."

Edward bristled slightly at his choice of word, but said nothing.

"He won't be able to return home," the man continued, speaking as though Edward weren't sitting right there.

The others nodded in agreement; Edward said nothing.

"What about the girl?" Esme asked.

"Alice?" Carlisle's tone was calm, but Edward could sense the worry there.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment before looking up again. "She's fine. He has not decided to go after her yet."

Edward glanced up at Carlisle, fear clenching at his chest. "Bella?"

Carlisle pressed his lips together but did not respond.

"It would be better if she left town, though."

The man nodded. "I know. We will talk to her tomorrow." He brushed his fingers against Edward's shoulder. The soft, cool touch made him shiver, even as something warm curled in his stomach.

"Your friend," Carlisle spoke again, addressing Edward this time; he did not move his hand. "She has family she can stay with?"

"Yes. Her mother in Florida."

"Good. You will encourage her to take a holiday."

Edward nodded. He knew Bella would listen if he asked her to go, but she would worry. She always worried.

"I still don't understand," he said after a few minutes. "I know this man is after me. That's fairly obvious now, but I still don't understand why."

Alice narrowed her eyes at Carlisle. "You haven't told him? Really?"

"No, I…"

Edward glanced up at Carlisle; the man looked rather contrite.

"We've talked about it," he finished, but Edward wasn't sure they had.

"Why does he want me?" he tried.

"Aro is a bit of a collector," Carlisle said carefully. "And you are…unique."

Edward frowned. "So he wants my ability to do what? Make inane comparison between Dante and Milton?"

Of course, even as he said it, he knew that wasn't the case. He didn't need the voice in his head to whisper what Aro wanted.

The girl snorted; he glared.

"Aro knew Dante," Carlisle supplied. "And, while useful, I'm not sure he has need of that particular talent."

"Then what?"

Alice rolled her eyes. "Your ability to read minds, of course."

Edward blanched. "I—"

"They know you hear voices," Carlisle added softly, sitting down beside him. "And they know you're not crazy. It's a gift. One Aro covets greatly."

"It's worthless," Edward said, chewing on a thumbnail. "I can't control it. I barely understand what I hearing half the time."

The man brought a hand to the back of Edward's neck to trace cool circles on warm skin. Edward turned to him, feeling the flush spread across his cheeks.

Carlisle smiled. "You will learn." Then: "I'm sure you're tired. Let me show you to your room."

He made to object, but the man cupped his cheek with his palm, tilted his face up to his. Edward sighed.

"We can talk in the morning."

Everyone was looking at him (concern layered with interest), and it was awkward, uncomfortable, unsettling.

"Okay."

Carlisle took his hand.

Edward hesitated for a moment (looked down at the man's fingers curled around his own) and followed his up the narrow staircase. He felt his cheeks burn a rosy pink.

"This is your room," Carlisle said, stopping outside a dark doorway. He flicked on the light.

Edward stepped inside. The room was small but comfortably furnished.

Cool fingers brushed against his back (a whisper of contact), and they were gone.

Beautiful.

Edward turned, startled by the touch (and what he wasn't sure he heard). The man's expression was calm, unreadable.

Carlisle didn't speak but reached out again, tentatively, to draw a finger along Edward's cheekbone, sweep his thumb across Edward's lip.

He gasped, tried to lean into the man's hand, but he'd already pulled away. It had all happened so quickly that he barely had time to register the twist in his stomach before Carlisle stepped back, smoothing his palms down the front of his trousers before disappearing down the hall.

Edward lifted a hand to his face, recalling how the man's fingertips had felt on his skin. Again, he experienced the same sharp twinge (deep and low) that tugged at his spine and tightened in his gut.

By then he recognized the temptation, the allure. The same desires colored with uncertainty…with a fear that kept him up at night. He sighed, eyes narrowing.

(He wanted to kiss him, but he was certain he wouldn't get away with it.)

17.

Edward awoke to slices of pale gray sunlight slanting through white shutters.

He stretched and rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of nightmare still clouding his mind. But the sheets (crisp and pristinely white) were unfamiliar; he sat up as the events of the previous night came flooding back.

His apartment. Carlisle. The beautiful home in the middle of nowhere.

He could hear voices from downstairs. The Cullens were awake.

His jeans were in a crumpled pile on the floor. He pulled them on and took a clean tee shirt from his knapsack, hastily packed before fleeing his apartment.

He found the others seated around the dining room table, speaking in hushed whispers.

"Oh! You're awake," the girl called Alice exclaimed when she saw him standing in the doorway. "It's so wonderful that you sleep," she added, resting a pale cheek on her palm.

"I, um…pardon?"

"That you sleep, of course," she repeated as if Edward were a bit slow.

The man Edward believed to be the girl's husband elbowed her rather sharply in the ribs. She glared at him, and Carlisle laughed. (Edward found he quite liked the sound.)

"What Alice means," he said, glancing at the girl and then Edward, "is we hope you slept well."

"Oh. A bit," but he wasn't really paying attention. He was looking at the man's eyes. The day before, Edward would have sworn they were dark (nearly black). A startling contrast to his pale hair, pale skin. Now they were honey and warm.

They were lovely.

Carlisle smiled, lips curving just so. Edward blushed and looked away, but it was too late. The man had seen him staring. His cheeks warmed further.

Alice grinned. Rosalie rolled her eyes. The other two men looked rather uncomfortable. Edward didn't know what to say, so he stared down at his feet awkwardly.

Thankfully the girl spoke again: "Do you eat?"

"Do I what?" He looked up, too confused by her question to remember his embarrassment.

"He eats," Carlisle said, clearly holding back a laugh. He motioned to the empty chair beside him.

Edward sat. The man's fingers brushed against the small of his back.

"That's wonderful!" she beamed. "Esme remembers how to cook. I never learned. But she'll make eggs."

"Oh, er, just coffee please."

Alice looked disappointed. Carlisle smiled and left the room, returning a moment later with a pale blue mug. Edward nodded his thanks when the man set it down in front of him.

He sipped his coffee (it was strong and bitter and exactly the way he liked it), while the others talked in rushed, clipped whispers.

Edward watched as Alice's husband gestured rather emphatically with his hands. Carlisle nodded and calmly took notes, pencil moving smoothly over yellow legal paper. Every so often, Emmett would nod in agreement, but he said very little.

"No," Alice said after a few minutes. "I've already told you. That's not what I've seen. It has to be in Italy."

Carlisle shook his head. "No. That's where he's the most protected." Carlisle tapped the end of the pencil against the table, frowning. "Even without his guard, and they are always around him, he will be with Marcus and Caius."

Jasper jotted something down on his own notepad before speaking. "Carlisle is right. Even without the guard, I'm not certain we can take them on there. Not without risk." He looked up, eyes dark. "They are old and powerful and quite gifted. It's far too dangerous."

Alice shook her head. "No, no. I saw it. It has to be this way."

Carlisle laced his fingers his fingers together and regarded the girl for a few moments. Edward watched the man's hands, pale and graceful.

"Tell me again what you saw."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "We are in Italy – in Volterra, in the place where they meet."

The man nodded as if her words made perfect sense.

"Aro, Caius, and Marcus are there, but we catch them off guard. They hadn't realized we were coming…not then." She looked up, pale pink lips caught between too white teeth. "It seems odd, you know?"

Jasper nodded. "They can't be caught unaware. They always know what goes on in their city."

Alice cocked her head. "True. But not this time."

Jasper started to say something else, but Carlisle held up a hand, stopping him. "What else, Alice," he said softly. "I need to know everything."

She closed her eyes again.

"Where are the others?"

"I don't know."

"But they aren't in the room?"

"No."

"Impossible," Jasper interrupted. "They do not leave themselves that vulnerable."

Alice tapped a painted fingernail on the tabletop. "Perhaps. Unless they do not believe themselves vulnerable."

"Can you see the others now?" Carlisle asked.

She pursed her lips. "I can try."

"Do so."

Everyone sat quietly, watching the girl.

Edward looked at Carlisle, hoping for some hint as to what was going on, but the man only smiled and shifted infinitesimally closer to him. Edward tried to ignore the flutter and twist of his stomach, but he couldn't help the disquieting tendrils of warmth that twined round his limbs whenever the man was near him.

The man placed his hand on the small of Edward's back. Even through the cotton of his tee shirt, he could feel the coolness of his palm as it pressed against his spine, then slid up his back to rest on his shoulder. Carlisle had touched him before, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get used to the feel of his skin.

"I'm sorry," Alice said after a few minutes, startling Edward out of his reverie. Carlisle's hand fell away.

"It's as though they're blocking me," she frowned. "I see nothing."

"Keep trying,' the man said, voice low but firm.

"I will."

He nodded curtly. "Is there anything else?"

Jasper looked down at his notes. "We will see if we can locate Aro. Determine his plans."

Carlisle nodded again. "Good. We will meet again later."

The rest of the Cullens drifted away, and, in a moment, they were alone. Though they weren't touching, Edward could still feel the coolness of the man's body beside him.

"I'll leave you," Carlisle began.

But Edward reached out and grabbed his hand, felt him tense, suck in a breath.

"No." He ran his thumb along the man's knuckles, let his fingers slip between Carlisle's. The man did not pull away. His palm was smooth and cold against his.

"I still don't understand," Edward began; he felt Carlisle's eyes on him but did not look up.

"What don't you understand?" he asked carefully.

"This man…"

"Vampire," Carlisle corrected.

"This…vampire wants me for my ability," he tried to keep his voice from shaking, but it was difficult. "But I don't understand how he even knows I exist."

"Telepathy is a rather rare gift," the man said.

Edward choked back a burst of nervous laughter.

"So rare, that Aro will do whatever necessary to find you." The man's fingers tightened against his.

Edward looked down at where their hands were laced together, pale skin against pale skin.

Carlisle continued, "telepathy is almost always inherited, passed down from parent to child."

A tendril of understanding unfurled in Edward's mind. "My mother?"

"Yes. That is why she was killed."

"But if Aro wants this…ability so desperately, why kill her?"

Carlisle sighed, thumb tracing small circles against the back of Edward's hand. "I don't know. But I imagine she would not…cooperate with his plans."

Edward nodded. "And she received the ability from her parents?"

"Your grandmother, most likely. Telepathy usually travels along a female line." He smiled then, a small twist of lips. "But you, of course, are special."

The man brought his other hand up to Edward's face, brushed his thumb against Edward's lip.

"Is this okay?"

He shivered but felt his cheeks warm. "Yes."

One cold fingertip ran along his jaw, slid down to his neck, and traced a line along his throat before pulling away.

Edward released the breath he was holding.

18.

Alice found him in the garden. The sun was high and bright. She sat down beside him, pulling her knees to her chest. A silver ballet flat dangled from one foot.

Edward looked up, squinting, then turned to the girl. Her white skin shone, pale and radiant, but she wasn't sweating.

"The sun doesn't bother you?" he asked.

"What? Oh, no." She smiled. "That's just a myth. But, it can be…a problem." She began rolling up her long sleeve.

Edward raised an eyebrow, but then she extended her forearm, exposing white skin to the sun's glare. It practically radiated light, refracting the brightness like drops of dew.

"I see," Edward said.

Alice laughed. "Carlisle hasn't shown you?"

"No. He always keeps his clothes on."

The girl snorted, stifling another laugh. "Well, good for him."

After a few minutes she spoke again: "Are you doing all right?"

"I…I don't know," he answered truthfully.

She nodded but said nothing.

"Do you hear things too?"

She turned to look at him, eyes sad. "No. Not like you."

He sighed and looked down. Of course not.

"But I see things."

He jerked his head up again. "You see things?"

She nodded, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

"What kind of things?"

She shrugged, pressing her lips together before responding. "Possibilities, predictions, potential futures."

"You can see the future?" Edward tried to tell himself that he shouldn't be surprised; still, the concept was truly remarkable.

And Alice shrugged again, as if dismissing the import of such an ability. "Potential futures," she stressed the word. "These things change, you know. I can never be sure."

He nodded. "Have you always been able to see things? Even before? I mean…" he paused.

"Even when I was human?"

"Yes."

Her eyes darkened slightly. "I've always been able to see things. But I can control it better now."

"Did you think you were crazy?"

She smiled, but it was filled with a sadness that made his chest ache. "Everyone thought I was crazy." She took a deep breath; it was clear she was remembering things she preferred not to remember. "They locked me up. Put me in an institution."

Edward frowned. He hadn't expected that.

She bit her lip (she wasn't looking at him anymore). "I probably was, you know."

"What?"

"Crazy."

They sat together silently after that. Edward did not know what to say, and Alice was clearly lost in her own thoughts. Finally she looked at him again. "It will get better. It always does."

He fumbled in his pocket for the crushed pack of Parliaments, shaking one cigarette out onto his palm. He held it out to the girl. She declined, a curious expression twisting her lips. He shrugged, holding it to his mouth, lighting it. The smoke was bitter and acrid as it rolled across his tongue. He blew a thin stream into the air.

"What happened?" he asked, watching as gray ash fluttered to the ground.

"I was changed." She cocked her head to the side. "It's quite painful."

"Who did it?"

Alice laughed, a quick burst of sound. "I honestly don't know." She frowned slightly. "But he loved me." She looked down at the ground, dropping her hands between her knees.

"Does Carlisle plan to change me?" he asked suddenly, not entirely sure where the question came from.

She looked up, clearly startled, honey eyes fixed on his. "What a funny thing to ask." She did not continue, and it was clear she would say nothing else on the topic.

"What did you do?" Edward took another drag off his cigarette, allowing the smoke to burn his throat, his lungs. "After you were changed."

"I left the institution." They couldn't keep me after that.

He nodded. That made sense, of course.

"I'm certain I was still quite mad." Her voice was tinged with something Edward couldn't understand. "But I knew…" she trailed off then, and Edward leaned forward, waiting.

"But she knew she would find me."

He jumped at the voice and looked over his shoulder. Jasper stood in the doorway, arms folded over his chest.

"Yes. I knew. I saw it." Alice smiled a bit wistfully.

"And you believed it?" Edward asked.

She nodded. "I had to."

That night, Edward sat in his bed in the Cullens' guest room. He considered reading but knew it would be pointless. His thoughts kept wandering back to the conversations he'd had that day. With Carlisle. With Alice. He sighed and closed his eyes.

He was startled by a knock at the door. It opened a moment later.

Carlisle moved to the edge fluidly of the bed and sat down, one ankle crossed over his knee. "The others are hunting. Are you all right?"

"Yes." Though Edward wasn't sure he believed it.

The man nodded.

"I will accompany you to campus tomorrow. You have one class. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And you can talk to Bella." The man took Edward's hand in his, cold fingers slipping over his knuckles.

"She's in danger, isn't she?"

Carlisle regarded him steadily for a few moments. "It is better to be cautious."

Edward swallowed thickly; the man's thumb continued to stroke along the back of his hand (small circles, smooth, deliberate and slow).

"She will be all right. I will not let anything happen."

"I believe you."

He nodded then and stood quickly. Edward's hand felt cold without his icy touch. But Carlisle didn't turn to go. Instead he stood at the foot of the bed, glanced to the door, and then looked down at his shoes.

Edward closed his eyes and tried to listen (scattered thoughts in bits and fragments).

Too soft skin flushed pink with warmth and blood.

Fingers clutching at his back, twisting in white sheets.

A mouth pressed to his throat, as one hand slips between the slice of his thighs.

When the man looked at him again, Edward felt something rise up in his throat. His heart stuttered obscenely, and his stomach fluttered and twisted in a way he was certain no grown man's should.

Then he found himself on his feet, moving forward (two small steps in the space of a heartbeat), and he kissed him (one impulsive foolish motion). It was over in an instant, the gentle rushed press pull of lips.

Edward jerked back with a gasp and clasped a hand to his mouth. Oh God…

He imagined the chills that would slide down his spine, if the man would only touch his skin. He wanted to feel Carlisle's tongue in his mouth (his own back bowed, feet pressed into the mattress). He wanted to kiss the man again, wanted to cling to him, take him to bed, beg him to touch him kiss him bite him fuck him. But all he could do was stand stock still and press his fingers to his lips.

"I can't. We shouldn't," the man said, after a moment that stretched and stretched.

Edward was sure his world was spinning wildly out of control.

"I never should have touched you."

Edward's face was hot; he wondered if it would burn the man's skin. "No. I, please…" he reached a hand out, as his tongue tripped over the words.

But Carlisle was shaking his head, recoiling from his touch. "It is wrong to want you."

"That's not true. It can't be," Edward tried, hating the desperate sound of his voice.

But the man only shook his head again and turned away. "No Edward. I can't. It is impossible for me to be with you."

He stood there for a long time after Carlisle was gone. The kiss pounded in his mind (white hot and painfully sharp).