A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.

This is a long chapter that was never supposed to happen. It's what took so long. Edward had a few things to say. :)

Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.

And despite this delay (and extra chapter, we are almost done). :)

Chapter 18 – The Predator's Redemption

In the Wilds of the Massachusetts Bay Colony – 01 November 1692

Edward

When we have finally left behind the comingled stench of spilt blood, charred flesh, and death, I use my free arm to urge the horse from its gallop to a slower canter. Atop her horse, Alice follows suit. Docilely, the horses obey, having come to accept in the past hours that, despite the nature of their riders, we mean them no harm. In this manner of riding rather than traveling on our speedier feet, 'twill take us longer, days rather than hours, to reach our destination. But, nothing last eve was as expected. There is, therefore naught to be done about the current necessity.

The surrounding somber woods are more uncommonly still than I have ever witnessed. No owls hoot in the distance. No rodents scurry. No snakes slither. A dense, forced inaction settles over the foggy land, save for the horses' trotting hooves displacing dry earth and cracking bracken while their taut frames push through foliage and offshoots. 'Tis as if nature itself is aware that the beast in its midst is at his most savage, at his breaking point. One unsteady move may again set him over the edge and on a rampage. Either way, the eerie silence enhances the sounds of Isabella's agony…and the witch's agony all the louder.

The child is silent.

The creatures which call these shadowy woods home undoubtedly prickled with an inbred warning as we approached, an awareness of our imminent presence amongst them. Even in my long-ago childhood, it has always been the norm to hear creatures, both of the two and four-legged sort, at a distance; to listen from afar as human and animal life rustles and carries on day-to-day in whatever endeavors instinct leads. Those same instincts usher them into silence when I near. Primordial urges compel the smallest to the mightiest to burrow, to seek shelter and concealment, at the very least, to stand in wary vigilance as the apex predator moves among them. Few individuals have ever looked upon me with anything other than barely-controlled fear. Only one has ever looked upon me with the complete opposite.

Until now.

At this moment, the one woman who has ever seen beyond the beast within me and thereby brought me, the apex predator, to my knees lies before me atop the pliant horse. She is bundled in blankets, situated lengthwise across the horse's broad back so that her head rests on my stomach, where she writhes and whimpers. Her dark, tangled hair conceals her features, which I continually brush back, attempting to keep her as comfortable as possible through the throes I cannot help. The burns, the twisted expressions of torture, I more than see them. I feel them deep within me, where I have never known whether a redeemable soul resides.

"Shh," I expel softly, cooing, offering reassurances I know not if my mate hears; neither do I know whether they be wholly true. Yet I offer them repeatedly, over and over. "'Twill be well, my love. All will be well, my Isabella. You are safe now. All will be well."

At the sound of my voice, a pair of round, emerald eyes, which had been quietly roaming, studying her surroundings from the secure perch of my arm, looks up and meets mine with probing inquisitiveness. 'Tis the most beautiful face I have ever seen in my long existence, already resembling her mother and with echoes of me as well. And those eyes. Those large, probing eyes.

I offer her a gentle smile, but she simply stares, slowly blinking through long, dark lashes.

'Twould be a blessing if at least she is unaware of what occurs around her. If she is unaware that her father went mad this eve.

If she is unaware that the beast I have kept tightly bound for decades, the one I tethered with chains constructed from past recklessness and lapses, unleashed himself with a vengeance. 'Twas in blind compensation for what was done to my mate – her mother, for what was almost done to her, for the condition in which I found her mother, for what I saw…for what I smelled…

The child is small, aye, yet perfectly formed. Born early, Alice tells me, even for our inhumanly accelerated gestation. I recall Isabella bled less than a month ago. I had thought I could not sire…

Yet, though the babe remains mostly still, when she wriggles in my arms, her movements are sure and strong. She survived because Alice acted quickly, bared her teeth, and unflinchingly tore through Isabella's abdomen; my mate was already so lost in agony that this new torture made little difference. She then fiercely bade me, "Bite! Do not allow thyself to taste her blood! Then pull away!" She kept me focused, for she held my daughter safely in her arms. The child survived because she is half what I am. Otherwise…

I swallow hard.

I pray to gods in which I have never believed that the child is unaware of the violence to which she was born. Unaware that after my rampage, I was forced to tether the beast again, unwillingly, lest I tear out the throat of the one who betrayed my mate. Pulled him back before the beast could rip the witch to shreds with slow, deliberate satisfaction. With a relish I even now taste in my mind.

For we were warned against destroying her for the time being.

My mate is unaware that her betrayer rides beside us even now. Rather than tied to the back of the horse and dragged through the dirt as I ached to do, the witch be haphazardly strewn atop Alice's horse, piled with the two others from the village we have kept alive for feeding – men I saw jeering as she burned in the fraction of a moment before I freed Isabella from the pyre.

My clever aunt keeps the witch out of my range of vision lest I again lose the tenuous hold I have on the beast and throw caution to the four winds. Yet there she be, her miserable life spared and immortality bestowed upon her like a gift for her perfidy. For believing for a moment that I could ever want her. Yet I, apex predator, can do nothing about it.

"Are ye thirsty?" I murmur to the babe.

She stares back in reply.

Through it all, I know not if Isabella is even aware of the most salient of events, of the being that lies cradled in my arm, staring up at me through those eyes…her grandfather's eyes. Scrutinizing me. Perhaps seeing the beast.

"What shall we name ye?" I ask gently, offering her another smile.

She merely gazes at me. Instinctively brushing my lips against her forehead, I hold her tighter.

I know not what my mate shall say, how she shall react, what she shall see when she looks upon me once again, when she awakens to an eternity with me and with the beast within me, with an immortal child…and with an immortal enemy.

Fear of the unknown makes me, the apex predator, shudder.

My mate writhes through the transformation.

The witch weeps.

The child…my child silently absorbs it all as we ride on, and I recall the most vital lessons of my existence, which I have learned at the hands of the women in my life.

Firstly, from my mother, I learned 'tis indeed a perilous endeavor to love me.

OOOOO

I recall…I do recall watching her, Sokanon, take her last breath.

I recall Alice – my Aunt Aquinnah, holding me cradled in her arms while she wept and cursed, climbing higher, stumbling over rocks, then holding me out atop that cliff, with the black horizon before and below me. I did not cry, not even when she snatched me back and she wept harder.

"I cannot! For ye be part of my sister!"

She named me Soaring Eagle.

"For I am sure even had I dropped ye, you would have found a way to soar…"

Aye, I would have.

"But I also name ye Edward, as the damnable Captain once mentioned was his father's name, to always remind ye to fight against the evil inherent in ye."

I reached my physical maturity and ceased aging in the year 1622, long before my mate, Isabella's birth. I had, by then, counted eight human years of life. As a being more than mortal, I physically and mentally matured at approximately thrice the pace of the average human. Full grown, I had the appearance of a man in my mid-twenties.

For the most part, my childhood, which I considered the first half of those eight years, was peaceful. After my mother died in childbirth and my father slaughtered our entire tribe, my Aunt Aquinnah found a new tribe that welcomed us. From the beginning, my aunt disclosed to our new tribe the truth of what I was – or, as much as she herself knew of it – for 'twas nothing that could be kept secret from those who lived among us. Had they not seen it, their primal instincts would have sensed it.

From the beginning, I was treated differently. Rarely with outright acrimony, but always with a modicum of wariness.

From my earliest memories, I also knew what I was; or rather, I knew I was different from the rest. Not merely in physical appearance due to my English father, the Hobomock, as Alice called him, but I differed in that I did not sleep; in that I was stronger, much stronger than the other boys my age or who appeared my age. The most glaring difference was how, while the rest of the tribe feasted on that sustenance that grew bountiful on our lands and feasted on the scorched flesh of the beasts felled by our hunters, I fed on the beasts' warm blood.

After our meals, I never felt that sensation I observed in the rest of my tribe – that which caused them to smack their lips together and wrap their arms around their stomachs. Sated. Replete.

I always remained hungry.

As a child, with the sharp edge of hunger dulled, the ache of a half-full belly was not too difficult to distract from. In the early days of this century, Wampanoag boys had little responsibility beyond spending their days running through the lands, riding, swimming and playing games of skill and war. In that, I was no different – if much better than the rest.

However, these pastimes did have an aim beyond keeping me occupied, so that thoughts of my unabated craving were not at the forefront. The games were meant to test our endurance, dexterity, agility, strength, and stamina – all while ensuring that when the men of our tribe left to fight or hunt, there would be some form of protection remaining for the women and the ancient elders.

'Twas in the third year of my brisk childhood that such protection from boys not yet men first became necessary. Our warriors had left to hunt, and not long after, a dozen or so warriors from an invading tribe galloped in, bellowing war cries and promising a rampage. They sought to steal, to plunder supplies, food, and women.

Within the first handful of minutes, they had killed two of our young braves and injured a handful more. Within the next few minutes, all the invaders had taken their last breaths at my hands. Then, they met the sharp ends of my teeth as I fed. And fed.

And fed.

Instinct had guided me to the where and how. The rest was, until then, the most fulfilling pleasure of my life. Never had I known such sweetness. I never felt more connected to the earth, to who and what I was. A predator. A beast. At that moment, I was at the top of the earth's food chain, and I made no apology for it.

Nectar, as I had not dreamed, filled every corner of my mouth, then slacked down my throat, and I grunted greedily with every swallow, with every bob. I heard myself finally make the sounds my fellow tribesmen and women made as they enjoyed their meals. So consumed was I that I had merely vague awareness of what occurred around me: mothers crying over their dead sons; the whinnying and whining of the invaders' horses, and the clank of weapons as the elders gathered them all for the spoils of war were ours; all the eyes on me; and the lone pair which neared, with what was either courage or stupidity to dare approach me mid-feed.

Without looking up, I emitted a low warning growl.

"Soaring Eagle…nephew, 'tis I, thy Aunt Aquinnah."

My chest rumbled as I continued feasting. 'Twas not until I was done that Aquinnah dared sit beside me. Sated, I smacked my lips and drew in long, deep breaths of satisfaction. My arms wrapped around my stomach, and I smiled until my aunt's ensuing comment withered away the smile.

"Ye have left our people terrified, my nephew, for they have heard the stories of what thy father did."

"They invaded," hissed I, glaring at the strewn bodies. "They drew blood first. By our warriors' rules of war, their lives were forfeit."

"I do not rebuke ye for following our warriors' rules of war."

When I met her gaze, she reached for me slowly, skimming her fingers from underneath one eye to the other, murmuring,

"Scarlet, just as thy father's eyes were on that day." Drawing in a deep breath, she released it as a sigh. "Thy nature cannot and shall not be denied. Such strength…such might, aye, cannot be contained. Ye are the son of a military man and, on your maternal side, the grandson of a great warrior."

"Will my friends fear me now?"

Aquinnah nodded honestly, "For a while. Thy nature, nephew, be something betwixt a curse and a gift." When I cocked my head, she further explained. "If ye learn to control it, it shall be a gift. If ye cannot control it, it shall become thy father's legacy."

"Am I evil, Aunt? Like he, Captain Cullen?"

For a long moment, Aquinnah held my gaze steadily. She finally shook her head. The hand that had skimmed my eyes was now used to wipe around my mouth. She wiped off the dead warriors' blood on her soft-leather dress, then wiped my mouth again. She spoke serenely as she cleaned me.

"If I had believed ye truly evil, I would have found a way to end ye as a babe. Nay, I no longer even believe thy father was evil, for evil cannot create a creature even capable of goodness. Nay, thy father was frightened and undisciplined. The combination be the true evil, the peril, my nephew. For all individuals, be they ours our theirs, are capable of the most heinous acts when gripped by fear and abandoned of self-control. No one is above it."

"Is that what happened to my father?"

Aquinnah paused, met my gaze again, then resumed her scrubbing as if I were a young boy who had smeared himself with his morning meal.

"Thy father's people teach of the concepts of sin and hell. Sin is evil so unspeakable that upon death, a human soul spends its eternity burning in hell, which be some manner of a torturous afterlife. But…how does such a concept fit with a soul that is not human?"

Again, she looked up as if offering me an opportunity to reply. I stared silently, for I had no answer.

"I believe in wrong and right," said she, "aye, but I also believe in forgiveness when earned, in redemption when sought. I further believe that when forgiveness is not earned nor redemption sought, punishment be exacted here," she stressed, "not in some unseen, fiery plane. And so, 'tis not merely human souls answerable to wrongs, yet capable of redemption."

"How do I redeem myself, Aunt?"

"As I said, ye learn to control thy thirst."

"How? Now that I have tasted human blood, even as I sit here with thee, sated, I see thy blood pumping in thy throat. Thickly." I licked my lips and swallowed.

She merely raised her brows. She did not even back away. I know now that 'twas a moment of fear that caused her heart to beat louder, quicker. But, at that moment, she did not let it show.

"Shut thy eyes."

I did as she bid.

"Now, see me behind thy shuttered lids, as pale, broken, and dead as be the warriors laying at thy feet. With the taste of my blood thick and sweet on thy lips, see my body shrivel like overripe fruit, smell my flesh as it rots and becomes carrion to vultures or miry nutrients seeping into the earth for our people's harvest. Feel in thy breast what it would be to never have me beside ye again, to never have anyone love and care for ye again. To hide away from the world because ye cannot trust thyself to live among thy fellow men and women, human or other, and to only know fear forevermore, despite thy undeniable strength."

Like my father, thought I.

"Now, open thy eyes."

I obeyed.

"Wish ye still to feed on me?"

I swallowed hard against the terror, now wracking my frame. "Nay, Aunt," I replied shakily.

"Good. When ye are older, Soaring Eagle…Edward, ye shall become the greatest warrior, for thy gift shall be a weapon ye may unleash on all the truly evil upon this world," hissed she. "With those conditions, I shall never rebuke thy sated thirst. What is more, when ye are older…'tis a gift I would like ye to bestow on me."

"Ye wish to be like me, Aunt Aquinnah?"

"Aye," she nodded slowly, smiling. "And, if ye be fortunate, I shall not always be thy only companion."

"What dost thou mean?" I asked.

She ruffled my hair. "Ye are young still, and I cannot see what nature shall lay before thee."

OOOOO

Some hours later, Alice's voice breaks me out of my musings.

"We should stop and feed soon."

"Aye. I do not wish to encounter anyone on this path, however."

Alice does not reply immediately. Then, "We…shall not."

So that the horses may sate their thirst as well, we halt parallel to a burbling brook, where dark waters glisten under the pale moonlight. I dismount with the babe in my arms, mounds of wet leaves grinding into mulch underneath my feet. I take care not to jostle her too much, though her head pivots from side to side, slowly, quietly observing the obsidian waters. Observing everything.

Alice makes her way toward us. "She should not be able to support her head in such a manner."

I merely nod, stroking the child's soft, silky curls – hair the same shade as her mother's.

"Take her so that I may tend to my mate."

Cooing, Alice takes the babe. There is a brightness in my aunt's gaze, a fierce love, and loyalty already rooted deep. I will not say my aunt did not love me so soon after my birth, but there was an unease, a hesitance in our initial interactions that is nonexistent as Alice cradles my daughter and rocks her from side to side.

She did not know me, did not know what I might do to her. All she knew was that my father slaughtered her entire tribe.

I find myself exhaling through narrowed lips. Grateful. With the witch's presence in our midst, I know not what to expect. And I shall never allow anyone near Isabella's and my daughter whom I cannot trust to lay their lives down for her.

While Alice rocks the babe, I gently slip my arms under Isabella and ease her off the horse. Her frame feels frail in my arms, and 'tis all I can do to tamp down on a howl, for if the venom does not work… I care not for the scars. Knelt on the brook banks, I offer silent prayers to any and all native and white deities, for I care not for the scars. While the horses drink their fill, I rest my forehead on Isabella's. When I finally manage to speak, my voice breaks in a manner it has not done so since I was a youngling of six human years.

"My love. I am so sorry for my late return to ye. I am so sorry…"

For a long while, we remain that way, with my offering useless apologies as my mate lies quietly moaning in my arms. In the background, I hear Alice coo to the babe, offering our form of privacy.

"Feed your daughter, Edward. I shall sit with Isabella," Alice says eventually.

"Aye."

I do not move immediately, instead bestowing featherlike brushes of my lips across Isabella's forehead, her cheeks, and her mouth.

"Return to me soon, my love," I whisper against her neck.

I ease Isabella onto the mounds of earth softened by dampness. Alice sits beside her and rests my mate's head on her lap. All the while, Isabella moans and squirms but does not open her eyes.

"She will heal, Edward," Alice assures me in a voice full of compassion. "I know…I know it does not seem that she will, but she will. I…I see it."

Again, I nod. My aunt's new gift bewilders me, and I know not how far we can trust it. Either way, Alice has unloaded the first vessel and deposited him carelessly on the ground. I reclaim my daughter and take her for her second feeding. Her first occurred moments after her birth.

"Are ye hungry now?" I ask with a smile.

Still, she stares.

She be like me - half human, half other. Like me, she can survive on the blood of animals. But human blood sates us longer. Satisfies us better. It makes us stronger. She is small, and I shall provide her any and all advantages I may. Unapologetically.

Again kneeling on the damp earth, I sink my teeth into the vessel's neck. He whimpers, but what he knows not is that he has been spared. He shall feed my daughter, my aunt, and then myself before he dies a painless death, drained. 'Tis a better death than he deserves for being part of the vile mob against my mate. Warm blood rises to the surface and coats my tongue.

My daughter whimpers. And chuckling for the first time in days, I pull away.

"Ye are hungry, are ye not?"

More whimpers are my only reply. Lifting the vessel's head with one hand, I hold it upright for my daughter's ease and comfort. Then, leaning in with her, I line up her small mouth against the punctures. Instinctively, she suckles.

"There you go."

For the next few minutes, the deep gurgles of a feeding child meld with the gurgling brook, with the soft moans of my mate, and with the moans of the one, the witch I mean to ignore until I no longer can.

OOOOO

Two years after my slaughter of the invading tribe marked five years I had lived.

Since that day, two years prior, our tribe had not been attacked again. And I had not again fed on human blood.

Amongst the neighboring tribes, rumors abounded of the young boy neither wholly native nor wholly English but something other. His strength wholly equaled that of a dozen stallions, they said. His might came from consuming blood, they whispered.

Those rumors, however, were kept among the tribes and never shared with the white man. Even among the tribes outside my own, there was confusion. The rumors held that the boy who had slaughtered the invading tribe had been no more than nine years of age.

But now, at five years, I was wholly unrecognizable to that boy. I stood taller than many of the men of our tribe, with shoulders that seemed to broaden with each rising sun. My frame was no longer that of a boy and no longer held the appearance of a lanky, long-limbed colt. More and more, I took after a sinewy stallion, my build powerful and strapping, limbs muscled and solid. I had the strength of an eagle's mighty wings. Aye, my body had been unyielding since birth, but now, that resilient flesh filled out with brawny tissue and tendons corded from my jaw to feet. Even my voice grew deeper and huskier by the day. And so, although my interest in females was still to take root, it became the norm to find the eyes of our tribe's young women upon me.

Thus, when in late winter, plans for the spring's First Hunt were announced by the tribal leaders, I informed Aquinnah I would take part with the rest of the young warrior initiates. 'Twas an event part ceremony, part marked transition from boyhood to manhood, and by aged five, I was the size and appearance of a young man of fifteen years. Fifteen years was also the average age at which most of the young men of our tribe – save for the sick or infirm – participated in the First Hunt.

"Ye are too young still, Soaring Eagle. Perhaps next year."

The following year found me aged six in human years and again with an appearance thrice that. That year, most of the young men who would participate in the First Hunt looked younger than I, yet none as mighty. I, therefore, raised the subject again, this time stating it as more of a request, clenching my teeth against spewing demands, yet certain that my aunt would now see the sense in my participation.

When my aunt offered me the same reply as she had the previous year, anger welled in my broadened chest. Resentment smoldered in the ropelike veins that carried a scarlet mixture of black venom and crimson blood throughout my body. The hands I had respectfully yet restlessly splayed on my thighs curled into fists so taut they resembled bison horns. Despite my attempt to remain calm, with every ensuing word, my voice rose in volume and pitch.

"Aquinnah, I be a man grown, with the appearance of one older, with higher mental faculties than the men participating in this year's First Hunt. What is more, my hunting and killing skills surpass those of any man or woman in this tribe. They surpass those of any mortal man or woman in this world!"

Within our tent and seated across from me with her legs crossed and an inscrutable expression writ upon her features, Aquinnah – still wholly human – had silently allowed me to voice my frustrations.

"Soaring Eagle…Edward…" said she with deliberate use of that name, "ye may resemble our Wampanoag warriors; indeed, ye may be physically and mentally superior to the young men to whom ye compare thyself, yet ye be wholly unlike them."

"I know this, Aquinnah," I seethed.

Her eyes flared, and she lifted a palm betwixt us. Along with the hardening of her already strong features, 'twas a clear warning. Wincing, I hung my head. Yet, indignation beat a furious rhythm in my breast, and though I kept my head respectfully bowed, I glared balefully at the animal skins beneath us.

"As I said, ye are unlike them, Edward. Ye be more than they – stronger, faster, with more cunning and intelligence, and 'tis why ye must master a skill that they need never master; at least, not as well as ye must."

My head shot up, and a low growl rumbled deep in my throat. I had recently fed from buffalo, one I had taken down myself. And although 'twas still not equal to human blood, 'twas a robust and proud beast, and its potency emboldened me, made me feel my strength, my superiority. I felt its flush in mine limbs and its heat in mine eyes, and so the intimation that there was something out there I had not yet conquered offended me greatly.

"What believe ye I have not yet mastered? I assure ye, Aunt," said I, smacking a palm against my jutted chest – "I excel in all manner of hunt and warfare."

Despite my impassioned declaration and the edge of fury marking it, my aunt held my gaze serenely. Unflinchingly.

"Aye," said she gravely, "that is my fear, nephew – thy command of all manner of hunt and war…thy fascination with all manner of death."

"I have abstained from human blood, Aunt, if that is of what ye speak, despite the scent of it everywhere – in ceremonies; in the death that occurs around us; in the births in which ye assist. And aye, 'tis an enticing and beguiling scent. It makes my mouth water in a manner no other creature can. But I have pressed mine lips together, clamped my teeth shut behind them, and denied myself the craving, as ye have taught me to."

"Ye have been…disciplined in thy hunting, aye."

Rather than appease me, the unsure manner in which she said it increased my indignation.

"But ye have hunted alone or in small groups of seasoned hunters and warriors. Never with a large group of fellow bloodthirsty, raucous young males at an age where they wish to examine just how reckless they may be."

"Aunt-"

"What is more, when the ceremonial part of First Hunt calls for the cleaving of your kill's heart, its consumption to mark thy connection to all beasts, while all the young men with ye do the same, all of them flush with excitement…" She met my gaze, "Edward, ye consume blood, not hearts."

"I can participate in the hunt and the ceremony without consuming the heart."

She cocked her head. "Believe ye that you can follow the scent of thy prey, join in the thrill and bluster of thy fellow initiates, corner thy prize, and…do nothing while death and blood bathe all around ye?"

I banged a fist against my thigh. "I know control!"

"I ask ye to wait."

"Wait for what?"

"For thy own welfare," said she, leaning closer to me. "As well as for the welfare of your fellow young warriors. In some ways, aye, ye be a man grown. In other ways, ye be still a fledgling."

"A fledgling?" I glowered. "Look at me!"

"'Tis not thy skill nor thy grown appearance of which I speak! I speak of thy ability to suppress urges no other boy or man in this tribe need suppress. Edward, ye have not yet been put to the test of true bloodlust, and I do…I do fear ye are still too young to control it, to control what would occur in the midst of a frenzied hunt should thy thirst…should the beast within ye overpower the man within ye."

I jumped to my feet, the force of it creating craters out of my footprints. "I AM NOT MY FATHER!"

Aquinnah remained seated, her gaze trained serenely ahead on the canvassed wall rather than acknowledging my outburst.

"Ye are powerful, my nephew, aye," she nodded. "Ye are mightier than the mightiest warrior I have ever beheld. And thy frame is indeed metamorphosing into the strongest of frames. Which is why ye must learn to master it. To master thyself." She stood. "My decision stands. Ye shall not join the First Hunt this year."

When First Hunt arrived a few weeks later, the young warriors of the tribe departed. They rode deep into the lands, not to return for some days. For the first time, they went unaccompanied by seasoned warriors.

I clandestinely followed.

When I met with them, my fellow warrior initiates and I tracked then felled a herd of bison. For every one they speared from atop their horses, I raced on my own two feet and broke the necks of ten. I did so quickly to spare the beasts fear and pain, aye, but I also did it to prove my superior might.

The younglings glared at me, envy and spite alight in some of their eyes. But I laughed, for I was immeasurably stronger, and 'twas a fact they would need to accept. And aye, although I had disobeyed my aunt, I meant to keep my promise that I would not participate in the ceremonial cleaving. But there…with the rest, I saw no harm in participating up to the consumption.

And so, once the herd was felled, like the true hunters and warriors we now were, we painted ourselves with our kill's blood. We danced and offered prayers to the earth and words of gratitude to the beasts for what they would provide, as was their just due. We set to skinning and slicing, as I had done hundreds of times before.

By then, my fellow warriors had begun to move past their resentment of my performance. Adrenaline coursed through both their blood-infused human veins and my venom-infused ones. We felt equal to the gods, masters of the earth if not the heavens. The spring sun shone upon our muscular backs, sending the scent of sweat wafting as we taunted one another and laughed. Our sharp knives cleaved the animals' skins and then carved rich, crimson flesh.

The first few I skinned with little need for focus, for aye, I excelled in all. By the sixth, I swallowed the venom pooling in my mouth thickly, struggling to shut out the hearty laughter surrounding me, pumping blood into throats, the hearts beating with more vehemence than they ever had, the heat flushing human flesh, even the scent of the animals' blood. But it consumed my senses, danced upon my tongue, and invaded my nostrils. It all morphed into a feast.

I shut mine eyes and formed that mental image Aquinnah had given me a few years earlier. Instead of her, 'twas my fellow hunters and warriors laying pale, broken, and dead at my feet, their bodies smelling of vulture carrion, the hatred of their families marking their features. And aye, I felt fear despite my strength.

The silence was the first to hit me. I opened my eyes and found my arms wrapped around a thick neck while I gulped sweet blood by mouthfuls. Sweet…but not sweet enough. For large beasts were good, but not like human blood. And aye, my fellow hunters knew what I was, but few of them had ever seen me feed, and none had seen me feed in the gluttonous manner I did then. I drained all the beasts, and 'twas only by running…by running as fast as my inhuman legs could carry me, that I failed to drain my fellow warriors.

I ran all the way back to Aquinnah and fell to my knees before her, hanging my head in shame as I confessed all.

"I am gratified that ye did not slaughter thy fellow hunters." But she was angry. And disappointed.

"'Twas close. Aunt…" my voice broke, "shall I ever fully master the beast within me? Or am I doomed to my father's weakness? Shall I always have to run?"

For a long moment, she stood stoic and silent. Then, I felt her hand rake through my hair, and she murmured,

"I have faith in thee, nephew. I have faith."

'Twas soon after I made the decision to leave the tribe. Despite my aunt's pleas otherwise, I could tell even she feared what might soon happen if I did not learn control. Aye, she had forgiven my disobedience and offered encouragement, but she was wary.

A fear I knew not how to conquer, one I could not overpower with my physical strength, gnawed at my unyielding frame. More than anything, I feared becoming my father, the man who had slaughtered an entire village and ran off, never to look back.

So I crossed mountains and valleys, lakes and rivers. I sat before cliffs and looked out on land no man had ever looked out on before. Yet, for all the beauty, there was a loneliness in my breast, even when, to my surprise, during my travels, I came across more like me.

These others fed indiscriminately from humans. And so I fed indiscriminately from humans. Occasionally, I heard whispers of him, of the white man who had slaughtered an entire native village. But I never saw him. In truth, I never sought him out.

'Twas during this period that I found myself far, far inland and to the north, where no human could survive. Here, I met a group of immortal women. From them, I learned the pleasures of fornication. Aye, I had not been ignorant of how the act was performed. I had lived my entire life in close enough quarters with others, hearing it, espying it. The Wampanoag were not so fearful of the act as were the white settlers. It was an act like any other. It was only my true age, as opposed to the age I appeared, that had kept me from laying with women back home.

But now, with these northern women as sturdy as I, we joined with no fear. I buried myself deep within their cores, thrust hard and heartily. And although even that failed to fill the hole, the emptiness within me, it did distract from it for a while. And 'it satisfied another craving, that of lust.

By the time I returned to my tribe and to Aquinnah, I was truly a man grown. In my travels, I had learned something else: that I could satisfy my need for human blood - by feeding from murderers, thieves, rapists, and the like.

I had learned to master myself sufficiently so that I no longer feared myself.

When Aquinnah asked me to change her, I did so without apprehension. 'Twas my turn to be there for her when bloodlust struck, to teach her how to stave off the worst of it by feeding on those who did not ask for forgiveness, who did not earn redemption. When Aquinnah fell in love with a Mohawk, she changed him, and we taught him our ways.

All these women taught me valuable lessons. But…I will not say that from them, I learned to accept myself. Acceptance of what I was, of what I had inadvertently been born, did not happen until the year 1692 when I was seventy-eight human years, and I met a human woman who never, not once, looked upon me with fear. With a woman who set her head upon my chest and wholly trusted me, told me I was good. With a woman who was my mate and equal- nay, my superior in all the ways that mattered. A woman for whom I would happily spend my life striving to be what she saw in me.

And yet…yet there was a woman out there, a witch, who attempted to take my love from me.

OOOOO

'Tis as these thoughts rush through my mind, as I dig through dirt with my hands to bury the drained vessel, to provide the earth with nutrients rather than the vultures with carrion, I hear it.

"Edward…"

Sated and quiet again, the child is with my aunt. My mate lies still and quietly moaning, her head on Aquinnah's lap. We attempted to feed her, but she spat it out, and Alice assured me it means nothing. It will be well, says she. She will be well.

'Tis none of these females who call my name.

"Edward…"

I squeeze my eyes shut, and a low, guttural growl rumbles in my chest.

"Edward," she whimpers. Calling me as if she knows me. As if she knows not why I do not come to her aid, why we did not even offer to feed her.

If she survives, it shall be scarcely. Narrowly. On the fringe of life and death.

"Edward, please," she cries.

In the next moment, she gags as my hand encircles her throat.

"Do not call my name, witch," I seethe. "Hobomock."

She tries to pull my hand off of her, and aye, I feel her growing strength, and it fills me with more rage than I have felt since we left that town of the damned.

"Ye shall be immortal," I hiss while splayed atop the horse, she struggles against me, "but I shall keep ye on the borders of death and hell. I shall find some form of fetters that can keep ye shackled. I shall keep ye fed with carrion, and even that barely sufficient to slake thy hunger," I vow through clenched teeth. "I shall keep ye always thirsting for warm-"

The babe begins crying.

"Edward," Alice calls, and I believe it is a warning. A rebuke. Remonstration for frightening my newborn daughter, who has already seen too much, who knows more than a newborn should know.

"Edward!" my aunt says again, urgency in her tone.

Through the haze of fury, frenzy, and fear, I listen. I LISTEN more closely. And I hear.

"Edward…"

Before another drop of water trickles from the brook's miniature falls, I am on my knees before them – Alice, the babe, and my Isabella. My hands tenderly cradle Isabella's face – still scarred but healing. Healing.

"Isabella," I breathe. "My love."

"Edward…" My name 'tis almost just the movement of her mouth, for her eyes remain shut, and neither is she fully aware. Not truly. Delirium still holds her under. Yet, even in delirium, she calls my name. "Edward…"

"I am here, my love. I am here. I shall always be here. And our daughter is here. My aunt…now thy aunt, our family…we are all here."

The babe cries, and I lift one hand from my mate's face, cupping it around our daughter's smaller face. Her sobs are tearless, I note.

Other than now, have I ever cried?

"It will be well. Mama will be well, and Papa will protect ye both," I vow.

She holds my gaze silently, unflinchingly. And the tiny being – part human, part immortal – reaches up and covers my hand with her minuscule one.

"Mmm…Mama? Papa?"

'Tis at that moment, almost four score after my violent birth, that my eyes are finally opened to my true nature.

'…evil cannot create a creature even capable of goodness…'

Those had been Aquinnah's words long ago. But the belief of that, true redemption would not come…could not occur until now.

How could I continue doubting that good resides in me? For no man not at least partly good could have ever helped in the creation of such perfection.

"Mama and Papa are here, my sweet girl. Mama and Papa are here. No matter what happens. For always."

A/N: Thoughts?

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Almost, almost done. And "see" you soon.