CHAPTER TWO
"Good morning, Edward."
He looked up at me from his book, smiling at the opaque barrier. "Is it morning?"
I returned the smile, even though he couldn't see me. "It is. Would you like a clock?"
He considered the question more carefully than it would seem to warrant.
"No," he finally answered. "It doesn't really matter, does it?"
"Do you mind if I interrupt your reading?"
"Do I have a choice?" His voice was gently chiding.
"Of course. I can come back later."
He closed his book and set it aside, draping a forearm across his knees. It was long, pale, and sprinkled with light golden hair.
"Do your worst," he said with a sardonic lift of his brow.
"I'd just like to talk—to ask you some questions."
The brow lifted higher.
"We don't have much information about you besides your name and where we found you."
"Where you took me," he corrected, his soft voice growing hard edges. "Where your soldiers snuck up on me and took me against my will, when I wasn't hurting anyone."
Hm. It seemed Edward did have a little temper, after all. "But you do hurt people, Edward. You kill humans. Are we, as a race, supposed to just sit back and allow it?"
That was a question I asked all my subjects. The answers I got were widely varied and always interesting. He stood, leonine, graceful, and yes. Predatory.
"It's how we survive. That's the age-old argument, isn't it? We must kill you to survive, and you must kill us to survive. Not a very good basis for future relations. Anyway." He sat back on the bed, leaning against the wall. Relaxed, amiable, and yes. Still predatory.
"Do you think it's possible for humans and vampires to co-exist? Peacefully? Is that something you'd want?"
"I don't know," he answered seriously. "I don't think it is possible. Not because we don't want it—although there are some who don't and never will. I just don't think it's possible to control our need for blood. It's a basic, primal instinct, one we can't fight. You don't understand the frenzy, the compulsion, the sheer necessity of it."
He shrugged elegantly. I scribbled notes.
"So you were…taken from the Olympic National Forest in Washington. Tell me about that."
"I was." He smiled, offering nothing more.
"Are those your grounds?" Vampires claimed territory and guarded it fiercely.
He just sat on the bed with his maddening smile.
"Have you been there long?"
Again, nothing but silence and that smile.
"We can just sit here and listen to music, if that's what you'd prefer," I offered. "Or I can just keep talking to myself."
"You don't answer my questions when I touch on things you can't talk about or that you want to protect. I'm just taking a page from your book, so to speak."
"What do you have that needs protecting, Edward?"
"Mm." He smiled. "The same thing you do."
"And what is that?"
He ducked his head, but I could see the smile still creasing his cheeks. "Your safety. The safety of those you love."
I sat back and turned his words over in my head. Those he loved? Vampires mated, and that was a kind of love, although not the same kind of devotion humans held for each other. It was more of a biological need, which made it different than humans. Vampire mating was more factual—it just was—rather than emotional. But it was also a commitment that lasted as long as the vampires existed, an eternity, much unlike humans.
"Do you have someone you love, Edward? Are you mated?"
He shook his head, keeping it lowered.
"No, not mated." he said softly. "Not yet. But I have those I love. My family."
His family? His family? I sat there, stunned.
"You have a family?" I finally asked, trying to keep the incredulity out of my voice.
"I do. I miss them." He finally raised his head, but for once, his face was blank. "But I won't talk about them."
I sat forward, eagerness making me forget my caution. A vampire family. Amazing. Groundbreaking. Vampires were solitary creatures. Covens were occasionally formed for mutual benefit but always for the short term, and the vampires were together out of necessity, not emotion. Not out of love, respect, and choice, like a human family. Not like what Edward described. They didn't miss each other.
"Vampires don't have familial ties," I said in wonder and excitement.
He made no reply, just turned his focus to the floor. Oh, the conniving little monster. He knew that tidbit was guaranteed to get my attention and his vow not to talk about it would garner my frustration. He thought it put him in a strong bargaining position, but I was smarter than that. I wanted the information, the details on an honest to God vampire family, but I would get the information from him eventually without giving up too much.
"I'd like to hear about them," I said, watching him closely.
He just smiled and kept his face averted.
-o-o-o-o-
Conversations with the Institute's most interesting subject became my favorite part of the day. When the time I'd allotted to speak with Edward approached, I grew restless with anticipation. He challenged my intellect and curiosity but never satisfied either. It took me longer than I wanted to admit before I came to the conclusion he did it on purpose. He knew full well what I wanted from him for my research, the notes I made behind by blacked-out screen, but he skillfully doled out bits and pieces to whet my interest while balancing my curiosity and compulsion to study him, to talk to him, on a sharp, eager edge, so I would keep coming back. I didn't flatter myself, aware I was the only contact he had, or that he allowed himself, as he still avoided the company of the other vampires. He had to be bored despite the distractions I allowed him in the form of his entertainments, the books, music, and movies.
We spoke of many things, and I often let him distract me from my work, my clinical interest and observation of cataloguing his behavior and plumbing his fascinating mind. I did those things, but he gave me less and less of what I could use for research and more that fed my personal curiosity and soul. He talked for hours about his interests, so closely mirroring my own that I couldn't resist engaging him in debate and discussion. His knowledge wasn't confined to only higher pursuits, but also those more common and less academic. I learned so much, not only about him, but about myself as well, and the subjects we covered. I let him fascinate me too much, too completely, but the less rational part of my mind decided I was allowed such indulgence, as it was so rare that someone challenged me on all levels—intellectually, spiritually, and physically.
Yes, the physical part worried me. I found him attractive—a human would, for that was his basic design. He was made to draw me in, but it was him, not just the pretty package. Even as I knew it was not a smart thing to do, finally having an interest in another being outside my very small personal circle allowed me to convince myself I could handle him. Nothing in my life had ever outwitted me, and I wasn't about to let him be the first.
Dangerous creature, indeed.
Eager to begin our session for the day, I gathered my copious files on the subject of one Cullen, Edward, vampire. In my haste, the top folders slipped off the pile. I bent to grab them, thankful I hadn't been holding my laptop, as well. Snatching the papers up and stacking them on the small computer, I managed to cut my finger on one edge and cursed. Folder paper cuts stung like hell, and I stuck the offended fingertip in my mouth as I clutched my laptop and files to my chest, hurrying down the corridor to Edward's observation room.
I was glad the space was soundproof and the dark barrier in place so he couldn't see my dishevelment. Letting him know he affected me on more than a professional level would be disastrous. He was too clever, and too dependent on his deadly hunting instincts, to let such weakness go unexploited. I took a few precious seconds to get my head in the game, to make sure the scientist was fully in control of all thoughts and actions and my professional defenses were securely in place. Only then did I allow myself to look at his splendid physical form and begin mining his even more attractive mental depths.
Edward wasn't in his usual spot on the bed with his music player or a book on his lap. My heart leapt and pulse thundered as I searched the small confines of the cell to find him in the corner to my right
"Are you okay?" He stood uncertainly, one hand on the back of his neck and appearing rattled for the first time since he'd been at the Institute.
"I'm fine, Edward." I studied him intently. "Why do you ask?"
"You're bleeding," he blurted, his face strained.
I froze, unbelieving, to stare at him. My gaze slowly slid away from his down to my finger, where a bead of bright red blood welled from the paper cut—the folder cut—I'd given myself just a few minutes before in my office. I'd forgotten it in the rush to talk to him, looking forward to our session more than I should. I held it up in front of my face, watching as the drop gathered, swelled, and then ran down the back of my hand. I saw a blur of movement, and then Edward was inches away from the barrier.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice almost harsh. Beautiful face tense, his eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, and broad shoulders heaved with agitated breaths.
I took a startled step back, my breathing rapid and unsteady as well. "Why do you… How did you know?"
"I can smell you," he gritted from between clenched teeth.
Heaving a couple more breaths, he tried to calm himself. I watched in wonder and trepidation as his usual calm, composed demeanor reasserted itself.
"You can…what? You can smell me?" I looked frantically at the barrier, searching for a breach and backpedaling toward the door.
"Yes."
He walked over to the bed and took his customary seat on the bed with no trace of whatever had come over him—oh, God, had it been bloodlust? How the hell could he have known? How could he have smelled my blood through the impregnable barrier?
"How did you smell that?" I asked.
He did that one-shouldered shrug thing, easing back against the wall and bringing his legs up so that his knees were just below his chin.
"Edward. How could you smell that?"
"I don't know," he admitted evenly. "I've always been able to smell you."
My eyes went once again to the barrier, unconsciously searching for a crack, a chip, a break. Something.
"It doesn't do much, as far as blocking your scent," he admitted softly, as if he knew what I was doing, and I gasped.
"Can you—" I swallowed. "Can you see me?"
"No." His eyes searched the blank, glossy black surface of the barrier. I hadn't yet gotten to the point where I had cleared it and allowed him to see through, but could he anyway? "I can't."
"Can you hear me?"
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Of course I can." He rolled his eyes, and suddenly, he was the Edward I was used to. "All you do is talk, talk, talk."
I took a deep breath, realizing my not-bloody hand was clutching my throat. With an internal laugh, I lowered my arm and moved hesitantly back to the chair in front of the control panel. I reached for the canister of antibacterial wipes and cleaned the small wound.
"And here I prided myself on being a good listener," I told him, setting up my laptop. "A talent that seems to be wasted on you."
"I don't consider your talents wasted," Edward admitted in his indulgent voice. "I'm thinking they're quite considerable, from what I know through our talks."
I had the impression he stared at me through the blacked out glass, a sensation I experienced quite often during our time together. When I focused on his still form, his gaze was fixed on his hands. Wide palms, long fingers. A musician's hands, attached to a body that would make Michelangelo weep, a face that would make angels sing. I could forgive myself if my heart skipped a beat when I interacted with him, but his words reminded me I gave too much information by simply engaging him. He returned nothing while absorbing my words, thoughts, and desire to be with him. Learn from him. Be engaged in return. No one, not even William, had been able to challenge me intellectually and tap into the need I had in my soul to share, to be understood. Not to be lonely. And of course it would be a vampire that called out those basic desires, a kindred spirit. Only a few short months ago, I would have considered that highly unlikely, if not impossible. Vampires reverted to a primitive, animal form when they were changed. Edward was the first of his kind to show a higher purpose in his thoughts, feelings, and reasoning. No wonder he intrigued me. He was an amazing research subject, the culmination of my career. Or, he would be if I could maintain my professionalism and do my job.
"Do you have a special talent, Edward?"
Vampires occasionally showed supernatural abilities other than strength and senses. I'd had the opportunity to study some that showed telekinetic powers, also emotive, and on rare occasion, telepathic. The list of what the creatures could potentially be capable of never left my mind, but I hadn't noted any signs of those abilities with Edward. Just his unusual refinement and love of cerebral pursuits rather than any particular ability.
His head ducked, and I thought that if he had been capable of it, he would have blushed. Looked up at the glass through long auburn lashes, his smile was almost shy and definitely self-deprecating.
"Well…no. Not like you mean." He shrugged one shoulder, his eyes darting away and then back to the barrier. "I can play music and and write it. Compose it. Mostly the piano. I'm best on the piano. I can draw a little, too, although I'm not as good at that as I am with music."
He shrugged that shoulder again, and if I hadn't known better, I would have thought it was a nervous, uncomfortable twitch. He was either very good at mimicking humans, putting them at ease with familiar and expected mannerisms, or they were a holdover from his human life, like an ingrained habit. I realized I didn't know how old he was. His file held no information on his age, not how old he'd been when he was changed or how long ago that had happened.
"It's useless, I know," he continued when I didn't speak. "Nothing interesting, like super strength or extra sensory powers."
"Being creative isn't useless," I countered, and then snapped my mouth shut. I didn't know where that had come from. He'd just looked so sad. It was an instinctive urge to comfort him…and why? Where the hell had that come from?
He looked up with surprise and curiosity, and as the uncomfortable silence stretched out, a small smile curved his mouth. I tried to cover my lapse by clearing my throat, crossing my legs, and adopting my most professional manner.
"Did you have musical talent before you were turned?"
His eyes studied what he couldn't see for a few more seconds, and I began to worry I'd lost whatever detached, clinical impression I might have had. Eventually, he shrugged, his eyes never leaving mine. Discomfort and the first hint of uneasiness crawled up my spine. He always seemed to sense where I sat and when I studied his face.
"I don't know," he answered. "I don't have any memories of my human life."
"None at all?"
I made notes on my pad, breaking his intense perusal. I wasn't surprised he couldn't remember his human life. It was quite common when the turning had been sudden, unseen, or unexpected. Most vampires retained some memories, most dim and distant, but many did not. I made more notes before looking at him again.
His eyes were striking and a little unnerving, starting to turn gold from his forced diet of animal blood, but they still retained the last stubborn, brilliant ring of crimson around the edges. The effect made them glow and flash as he moved his head or looked around, and it drew my attention like a magnet. I tried to tell myself it was because they reminded me of what he was—a killer, a murderer, a beast—but only explained some of the thrill. Yes, wariness was a part of it, but intrigue and appreciation also factored in, and that scared me more than anything else.
"I miss it." His fingers flexed on his thigh, and again I wondered if it really was an unconscious gesture or if he was just trying to appear more human, more approachable, and draw me in. "Playing the piano, I mean."
He'd used those same words in relation to his family. Vampires were creatures used to instant gratification. They saw no problems in getting what they wanted, when they wanted, with no thought or care for consequences. It was just how they were programmed. No doubt he had the desire to play and was frustrated by not being able to indulge that desire.
"I could have a piano brought to you, Edward. Would you like that?"
His eyes widened in surprise before narrowing thoughtfully. He considered my words, perhaps looking for a trick or ulterior motive, even though he had the ability to analyze, understand, and make decisions in a fraction of a second like all vampires.
"So you can study me?" His voice was slightly bitter and faintly mocking. "So you can get reams of fascinating data about a vampire that can play the piano—that wants to play the piano?"
I tipped my head in acknowledgement. He'd discern the lie if I tried to deny it. "That's most of it. But you said you missed playing, and it's something I can give you."
We both knew it was only a faint concession to what he really wanted, what he said he'd missed in our previous session—his family. I couldn't bring them here, and I certainly couldn't let him go to them.
"Why would you want to do that?" He held my gaze with a serious, faintly quizzical look. Just as I became alarmed he really could see me, he sighed, blinking tiredly, and tipped his head back against the wall. "Why would you want to give me anything?"
I looked down at my pad, and it was my turn to shrug. I realized I lifted only one shoulder—it had been my mannerism he'd mimicked with the gesture earlier.
"It's something new," I said, meeting his eyes directly. The realization made me remember what he was, and who I was. Somehow, he could sense my physical responses, knew where to look to meet my eyes, even through the protection the best scientists and engineers in the world had developed. "Something we've not seen before. It would be new data, like you said, for my research."
"A civilized vampire," he murmured, and I wondered if we both recognized the lie I'd just told. "That's certainly one for the books, right?"
I already knew he was different, the way the other vampires treated him, acted around him, the way he lost himself in the books and music he was allowed. He was like no vampire the Institute had ever studied—an anomaly, an enigma—and that's why he fascinated me.
I wondered if I would allow myself to recognize that lie, as well.
3 Sarahsumbrella and SunKing (who has a new story posting right now - Geekward, yay!)
Thank you so very much for reading and the reviews and comments. Makes me smile to see so many old and new friends enjoying the story so far.