Chapter 2: Penitent

Jared and Embry start to get twitchy as we run the last half mile, eager to greet their pack-brothers. I feel their excitement and it sparks the same feeling inside me, despite my anxieties. Sam phases back into human form before entering the house; Jacob goes next, squeezing past the kitchen table, holding his tail steady to avoid catching it on the dining chairs, and I follow into the short hallway. When Sam ducks into his and Emily's bedroom to throw on a pair of shorts, Jacob slows to make his alpha take the responsibility of leading us into the living room.

Everyone stares at the blindfold and my bound wrists, though Bella is all I see. She is staring at me with such shock that I can't see anything else in her face. My whole body feels charged with power at being so close to her. Her scent is dulled by the stench of the wolves around me, but I breathe as deeply as I can, as often as I can (without drawing attention to it), so as to capture as much of her precious scent as possible.

Jacob is annoyed that Bella doesn't even glance at him, even though he hadn't expected her to (and he is relieved to avoid her anger for a little longer). Though I am still grateful to him for protecting her, it appalls me that she has had to rely on such a thoughtless child—he knew even as he attacked me that she would be angry with him for doing it, and worse, devastated by my pain, yet he did it anyway.

The two wolves at my back herd me toward the crate; though I have accepted their makeshift restraints, they still wonder if I will resist this humiliation. The side of the crate is just high enough that I can't step inside easily, so I hesitate a moment, aware that they could turn on me if I move in a way they don't expect.

And then Sam steps up beside me and, to everyone's utter amazement—including mine (though his thoughts give me sufficient warning)—he grips my left shoulder in one hand and my thigh in the other and hoists me into the box. I am used to Emmett and Jasper manhandling me now and then, but this is the first time I have ever let anyone else move me around. It feels particularly odd that it is a wolf who thinks of me as his natural enemy—though his feelings are now considerably more ambiguous in my case (which is the only reason he can touch me without losing his temper).

His pack gives a collective shudder, and the others are just as uneasy, though Emily is surprisingly sure of my forbearance. Then I hear in her thoughts that she believes I came here for Bella because I love her. Perhaps her experience has given her unique insight into the powerful forces that can turn a genuinely good man into a dangerous monster and a dangerous monster into a good man.

When I am inside the crate, Sam gestures for the four wolves to position themselves on each side. The council sits a little over four yards away against one wall, with Bella, Emily, and Sue six yards away on a long couch against the opposite wall, where the television had been until a few minutes ago. Sam sets himself in the middle of the room, between me and Emily; though he doesn't expect trouble, he won't take any risks with her life. I know how he feels, and it gives me pause to experience the intensity of his guilt at disfiguring her—the scars James and I have made on Bella's fragile body seem no less earth-shattering, but they could have been so much worse.

Billy clears his throat, and anticipation fills the thoughts in the room. "Vampire Cullen," he says solemnly. "You have violated the terms of the peace treaty you and your clan first agreed to with Ephram Black and then renewed with this council. At Sam Uley's request, we have consented to hear your explanation before we determine our response to your trespass."

I nod to show I am willing to account for my actions. I know Bella will be upset by my explanation, but I have to answer—I owe the council a full explanation. I do regret violating the treaty, and I hope that they will at least come to believe that.

"I tracked the redhead to Seattle—" Bella gasps, and I pause a moment to let her come to terms with this news—"but it was too close to Forks, so I went there to sweep the outskirts. On the way, I caught the scent of an associate of hers, so I checked Bella's house, and when she wasn't there, I came here to look for her."

Bella listens with a kind of stunned disbelief—she believed my lie so completely that she can't understand my concern now. It is hard to watch her through Jacob's thoughts, with their constant tinge of only partially undeserved hatred against me, but with me in the room, he is by far the most dedicated observer.

"Why?" Billy challenges. "You could've gone to the police station, but instead you chose to break the treaty."

I can't help but flinch at that. "I couldn't face him," I admit; they all understand who he is. "And I couldn't… think straight—I feared that Bella was dead." I can only say the word because she isn't. Her heart thuds loudly, as though to prove it's still as strong as ever.

The wolves hear her heart, too. It makes Jacob even angrier. In his opinion, I am hurting her all over again—he thinks I should have stayed away, because he is more than capable of taking care of her, of giving her the life, and the love, that she deserves. He will never hurt her, though that conviction is weakened by two thoughts—the constant threat of imprinting and Bella's penchant for injuring herself.

I catch the edge of a thought—of Jacob whipping off his t-shirt to use it as a temporary sponge to catch Bella's blood, and then I see the rest. Nothing else even registers as my rage overwhelms everything.

"Motorcycles!" I roar, ripping the blindfold off my head. "You didn't even think about a helmet?"

Jacob meets my glare with matching enmity, but he can't deny the truth of my accusation. When his thoughts reveal the extent of her injury—that he'd had to take her to the hospital to get seven stitches—I have to grip the wood in front of me lest all capacity for rational thought leave me and I throw him through the nearest wall.

Bella will be upset. I focus on that until I can think beyond such simple reasoning. Jacob and the other wolves are her friends; if I attack Jacob, the others will attack me, and that would upset her—and put her in danger.

And then, as I try to calm myself by focusing on the jumble of shocked and agitated thoughts around me, I realize I can see Bella with my own eyes now. I look at her and the moment our eyes meet, her brown eyes light up with warmth, giving her the loving expression I have pictured every second since I'd left her—and then they abruptly flash with fire.

"Why do you care?" she challenges.

It is easier to look at her when she's angry—the anger masks her disbelief—but answering her question will bring back the disbelief.

"I never stopped caring," I reply. "I lied when I said I did."

Her wide eyes widen further as she struggles with this truth. I can't completely mask the pain that her distrust causes me; her quick eyes zero in on my grimace, and she stares hard at me for a moment. The old curiosity flares inside me, a thousand times stronger than the burn of my thirst, as though it has never left me. What is she thinking?

"So it was about my soul?" she snaps, adding this second lie to my deceit.

"Of course," I agree, accepting this fresh disapproval. "Nothing is worth risking your soul."

"That's my choice."

Everyone in the room gasps. To have her so boldly state that she wants to become a vampire is appalling to them. Jacob's thoughts are loudest—condemning me, rightly, for making her wish for death—but Sam's compassion is strangely calming. He understands me now, and he truly believes that I love her: only the deepest love would have stopped me from turning such a willing victim.

Billy, of course, finds his voice first. "You would choose the cursed life of a vampire?" he asks her sharply.

She glances at him, then deliberately refocuses on me. "Not all vampires are cursed," she insists, before turning back to Billy. "I choose Edward's life—I won't become a murderer."

"You say that now," Harry Clearwater speaks up, "but you don't know what you will choose when you crave only blood and death."

She shakes her head. "I do know. Edward will keep me from killing anyone until I can control myself."

I shudder internally—she trusts me utterly in this regard, yet she doubts the immutability of my love for her? Maybe, despite everything, she doubts my ability to love, the same way the Quileutes do… That thought pains me even more than Jacob's memories, even though the boy is now showing me Charlie breaking down in tears, in despair over his catatonic daughter.

After a moment, I realize everyone is staring at me again. Their thoughts tell me what I've missed: Billy asked if I have ever killed anyone.

"Only murderers and rapists," I reply, wondering if they will believe me.

"You drank their blood?"

"That was the point," I answer dryly. Then I realize I'm being rude—and I'll never get a better chance to explain myself. "Several decades ago, I decided to sample the full experience—without becoming a murderer myself—so I used my mind-reading ability to hunt human monsters, until I decided that I believed in Carlisle's way of life. I haven't killed since."

"You never killed an innocent human?"

From their thoughts, it is clear a simple no will not suffice. "The closest I've ever come to killing an innocent human was the day I met Bella."

Sam is surprised by that. "The day you met," he blurts out, "not when you drank her blood?"

Neither the council nor the two women were aware of the true danger Bella had encountered last spring, so they are beyond stunned by this news. It is amusing that none of the wolves even twitch, while everyone else is on the cusp of outrage.

"Bella was bitten by the redhead's mate," Sam explains, realizing his tribe needs some context to understand his question, "and Edward drew the poison out of her system and saved her life."

I am not the only one surprised by Sam's use of my given name, but Bella's frown distracts me. Her frustration is backwards, and it would amuse me if she weren't so determined now. But if I am honest, there is a part of me that shares her frustration: if I had let the venom spread, she would be a vampire right now. And not because of me—not directly. I had effected her exposure to the sadistic vampire, but with her disastrous luck, who's to say James wouldn't have found her on his own? And if I had decided not to risk tasting her blood, no one would have known I was strong enough to stop.

I realize I haven't answered Sam's question. "When I drank her blood, killing her was the last thing I wanted."

Bella sighs, and the tinge of exasperation suggests her thoughts haven't deviated an inch. It's time to distract her—but then she distracts me first.

"Are you going to leave again?" she murmurs, and I realize that although, to me, it seems that everything I've said and done (or not done) proves that I am here for her, yet again she seems oblivious.

"I can't," I reply, wondering how I can make her believe it. "I'm not strong enough to stay away from you."

She glares at me, and I wonder if she's remembering the last time I said something along those lines—does she actually remember our conversation in the hospital, when her system had been awash with potent painkillers? "You managed it for six months."

"I didn't manage anything," I disagree. "Tracking Victoria was—" She winces again, so I stop. "I am as much yours now as I ever was and always will be," I say instead. "I love you." I feel guilty that I have let so many words spill out of my mouth before I said those ones—because the words I left her with 181 days ago were as hurtful as I could manage to utter.

The tense line of her shoulders doesn't change, but her eyes soften. "More than you love hating yourself?" she asks; I am surprised that she is making a joke—I can only hope it means she is starting to believe in my love again—but I don't find it amusing. And then I wonder if she isn't joking.

"You believed the lie so easily," I murmur. "Did you ever believe the truth?"

She sighs. "You loving me never made sense."

I frown, struggling to understand her meaning.

"I'm just ordinary," she explains, her wide eyes completely earnest.

I groan internally. The lie I'd told, hoping it would ease her pain, has only made it worse, cementing her bafflingly low opinion of herself—even though I'd tried to tell her that it was pretending to be human that I was really tired of, not her. "You are the only one here who thinks so."

She glances around, as though expecting everyone to disagree; when they all just stare at her, she seems bemused. But then I can almost see her shrug it off. "So you admit you were wrong?" she asks, returning to our previous topic.

"Only about leaving you," I reply, careful not to give her anything to use against me later.

"And you want to stay?"

I can't help rolling my eyes. "I never wanted to go."

She seems to be hearing me, but her manner is still guarded. "You'll stay as long as I want?"

"Unless you send me away, I will never leave your side," I vow.

She studies my face, and her expression shifts from pensive to resolute—before I can wonder what that means, she bounds toward me. She doesn't look remotely unstable now as she covers the short distance between us. Sam grabs Jacob to stop him interfering, and Paul shifts aside just enough to open a gap for her. I step up to the edge of the crate and lean forward, not the least bit concerned that she might trip (today, I am clumsy and she is strong).

Right now, I don't care about the wolves' unexpected generosity or the councilmembers who do not approve. She throws her arms around my neck and I wrap my arms around her. I can hardly believe that I am holding her again. It feels the same as the last time, as though no time at all has passed, except that now I know I'm treading on dangerous ground: Bella is more determined than ever to become a vampire.

Aware of our audience, I keep my mouth away from her neck and try not to breathe in her scent too deeply, no matter what I want to do. And then what Bella wants overrides all of that. She pulls my lips down to hers and although everyone around us reacts with disgust or horror, or both, I feel only the greatest joy I have ever felt.

Bella ends the kiss quickly, though we're both already breathless, overwhelmed with emotion. Her eyes do that familiar scan of my face and then she gives me a tentative smile. "You okay?" she murmurs.

"No," I reply, giving her a smile to show I'm teasing. "I am whole again."

She touches her hand to my chest, over my granite heart. "Me, too."

"I love you," I say.

"I love you," she replies, finally smiling at me—though I know I don't deserve such rapid forgiveness.

"I will make up for my mistakes," I promise her. "As long as you want me, I'm yours."

"I've told you before," she says. "I want you forever."

I should be sad, but I smile. I can't let it go completely, though, so I try a different approach. "If I were human and you the vampire, would you change me?"

She frowns, but her look quickly turns speculative. I try to prepare myself, although I have to admit, I have no idea what she has come up with. "If you were the human," she says slowly, "wouldn't you give anything to stay with me forever?"

I feel my eyes widen. She has me there—there isn't anything I wouldn't do for her. I frown this time. How has she backed me into a corner using my own argument? "We are not discussing this."

She scowls, as though trying to outdo me in my anger. I have missed this—her kitten-tiger anger. "Fine," she snaps; from the stubbornness in her voice, she isn't remotely fazed by my resoluteness.

This is too much for Jacob; he knows how stubborn she is. He concentrates hard, and then shifts from wolf to man in two seconds. "Your bloodsucker broke the treaty today—if you think we're going to let him break it again—"

"What are you talking about?" Bella asks, turning her head sideways without taking her eyes off me.

"The treaty forbids them to bite humans, not just kill."

She turns on him then. "It's my choice!" When she realizes he is naked, she narrows her eyes and looks away, back up at me.

He growls, angry that she can dismiss him so easily.

Before he can form his bitterness into words, she turns to the council, the ones whose opinions matter. I am still on trial, and now she is arguing for her own exemption from the treaty. "I will live by the terms of the treaty," she says. "But it doesn't apply to me yet. I have the right to decide for myself how to live my life."

"What about Charlie?" Billy asks, homing in on the one aspect she can't argue away.

She twitches. "I'll figure something out," she insists. "I won't leave him thinking I'm dead."

"No, you'll want to kill him," Jacob hisses.

"No, I won't," she snaps. "I'll never want to hurt him—and I never will. Edward will save me from hurting anyone."

"You'll still be dead," he retorts, his tone not merely hard, but repulsed.

I hear the accompanying thought and I want to rip out his tongue before he can say something so hurtful. Though I know my warning might have the opposite effect, I can't stay silent—Bella is clearly trying to hide how much his words have already upset her, but I can feel her trembling. "Don't," I warn.

Bella glances back at him, perhaps thinking my warning is against something he plans to do. This time, she doesn't turn away; perhaps she sees the pain behind his anger. She reaches for him, and for a moment, he sees only Bella, the girl he loves. He takes a step toward her and pulls her hand against his heart, holding it there with one of his. She tenses, but doesn't resist. The agony of her mental silence has never been more acute.

"I'll still be me," she says softly, trying to comfort him.

It is the last thing he wants to hear. His eyes harden. "No, you won't. Better you really be dead."

She gasps and tries to pull out of his grasp. He tightens his grip, and this time, she gasps in pain. I am frozen—I can't risk touching him, because I know his temper can't cope with that, but I can't leave him to hurt her. Before I come up with a viable option, Bella loses her balance.

Holding myself perfectly still, I watch as she puts out her hand to steady herself against my chest, while he tries to pull her back, away from me—he has loosened his grip, his thoughts full of regret for hurting her, and now his focus is getting her away from me—but she resists this time. She tries to yank her arm out of his grip, but she only wrenches her arm and loses her balance again. She is farther away from me this time, so instead of grabbing me, as I expect, she grabs the crate in front of me.

Her hand lands on wood that I cracked between my fingers in that moment of barely controlled rage. She shrieks at the shock of pain as the splinters pierce her skin.

Jacob releases her and staggers back a pace, shocked at what he's done—so shocked that he doesn't even spare a thought for the vampire in the room. (His thoughtlessness irritates me, but at least he doesn't get in my way.) I lift her into the crate with me and set her down on a smooth plank of wood nailed into the opposite side that would've acted as support for the top of the crate. It's a little too narrow for her to sit comfortably, but I don't want to waste time arguing to be allowed outside my pen—or give them a chance to stop me treating her.

She is struggling to keep the tears from falling; although the heel of her hand is a bloody mess, I know the pain of Jacob's words cuts deeper. Moving with purposeful slowness, I kneel down in front of her, then take her hand in both of mine and gently turn her palm upward so I can get at the splinters more easily. She watches in silence, her expression one of complete trust, as I begin pulling them out, being as gentle as possible.

The scent of her blood calls to me—but not simply to the monster that craves only blood. Though I'd thought my deepest instincts were all tied to my vampiric nature, her blood stirs protective instincts that I didn't know were remotely comparable with the intensity of my thirst.

Were I not so upset on her behalf, I would laugh at the thoughts filling every mind in the room. Some are waiting for the vampire to reveal itself, others are wondering how long I can endure the scent of blood, and the rest are marveling at my impossible self-control—but weaving through every thought is the image of me sinking my teeth into Bella's palm.

"You don't have to stay," Bella murmurs, distracting me. "I can do that—"

"I'm fine," I assure her, careful to speak calmly.

She doesn't believe me; neither does anyone else.

"You don't have to suffer," she says.

For a full second, I take a break from my task to stare at her, amazed that she really can forgive me so easily, after all the suffering I have caused her. But I know she won't like me pointing that out. Then I think of something much better—something I think she will believe.

"I just lived through thirty-six minutes thinking you might be dead—no part of me wants to put myself through that again."

"No part?" she asks softly.

I nod. "I can't live without you—even the monster shies away from that kind of pain."

She gives me a little smile.

And then my phone rings. I start, but Bella doesn't seem at all surprised. I hesitate a moment, unwilling to stop tending her wounds—although I have already removed over a dozen of the largest splinters, there are still many more embedded in her palm—but I know who it will be. I can't afford to ignore Alice's call if she's seen something about Victoria.

Bella finds the solution first: she reaches down with her free hand and rummages in my pocket to retrieve the phone. She grins when she sees who is calling.

"Alice!" she exclaims as she puts the phone to her ear. "I was just thinking about you!" I don't like the sound of that—I have a feeling I know exactly what she was thinking.

Through the phone, I hear Alice gasp. "Bella?" The shock in her voice surprises me—why didn't she know I was with Bella?

"Who else would it be?" Bella teases. "How many girls answer Edward's phone?"

"None," Alice retorts, not amused. "Where is he?"

"Right here—he would've answered himself, but his hands are covered in my blood." She laughs at her joke, then pauses, her face expressing puzzlement, no doubt at the oddness of Alice asking that question.

"What happened?" Alice asks sharply. "Where are you?"

I spare a second to gesture for the phone; Bella holds it by my ear. "Alice," I say. "What's wrong?"

"Aside from Bella's sense of humor?" she replies dryly.

"She wasn't joking," I say, unable to avoid teasing her myself. Then I add, "Exaggerating, but not joking."

Alice doesn't answer for a moment. Then she repeats her questions—the other way around.

Bella pulls the phone back before I can answer; Alice's shrill voice must've been loud enough for her ears. "I caught my hand on a rough bit of wood," she explains; "although it wasn't my fault this time."

"Are you in Forks?" Alice asks, obviously trying for a yes-or-no answer.

"Not exactly," Bella replies; I am glad she sees the sense in sparing Alice the shock of the real answer.

"Bella!" Alice shrieks. "Tell me where you are right now!"

"Why? What's the matter?"

"I can't see Edward's future."

Bella's eyes widen in horror. "What does that mean?" she asks, although from her expression, she is already fearing the worst.

I gesture for the phone again, and Bella mechanically moves it closer to my head. "What about Bella's?" I ask.

"I hadn't looked," she snaps.

"Please look now."

There is silence for two full seconds, then half a sob. "Nothing!" she moans.

"Charlie?" I suggest, testing the suspicion forming in my head.

Alice sighs with relief. "Fishing," she murmurs. Then another gasp. "A funeral—he's going to a funeral!"

"Whose?"

"I don't know! I can't see! I can only see him in a suit—wait, Bella's with him. But she's not going." We both breathe a sigh of relief: it isn't Bella or someone she knows well.

"Where's Victoria?"

"Still in Rio."

That throws me. "She never went to Rio—I think she's in Seattle."

"What?"

"Can you see her now?"

"Yes. She isn't doing anything important," Alice replies uncertainly.

"What about tonight?"

A second goes by. Then, "I can't see her!"

My hunch seems to be holding: Alice can't see us now, nor Victoria tonight, because the wolves block her sight. How typical of the ill fortune that seems to plague Bella. Although the vengeful redhead has unwittingly profited from an apparent blind spot in Alice's gift, she must think her precautions are working. If only we could take advantage of that. If only the wolves would accept my help in hunting her. But that is speculation for another time.

"I may have a theory—"

"What?" Alice demands.

"You won't like it."

"Try me."

"Not right now—"

"Edward!"

I empathize with her frustration, but the councilmembers are growing more aggravated with the conversation by the second.

Bella takes the phone back. "We'll call you back in an hour," she promises.

"Sixty minutes," Alice insists.

"Yes—I promise."

Alice sighs. "One hour. I'll be waiting."

Bella opens her mouth to reply, then pauses. "I missed you," she murmurs.

"I missed you, too," Alice replies. "I'm sorry I didn't get to say goodbye."

"I don't blame you," Bella assures her; her slight emphasis on the last word makes me cringe.

She hangs up the phone, then slides it back into my pocket.

"I'm sorry," I say, though I know the words count for little.

She sighs. "It isn't just you I love," she reminds me.

"They love you, too," I reply. In trying to do the right thing, I have hurt everyone I love.

"Did they try to talk you out of it?" she asks, abruptly curious.

"I didn't give them the option," I say, though that is not strictly true—their thoughts made their feelings abundantly clear. Only Rosalie didn't care about Bella, but she more than made up for that with her protests about leaving Forks so soon.

"So the rest will come back now?" Jacob asks bitterly.

Bella glances at him, then quickly refocuses on me. "If you're going to stay human," she says, sounding almost bored, "go put some clothes on."

"Do I make you feel… uncomfortable?" he asks, trying to goad her into a response.

She lifts her eyes to his and fixes him with such a withering glare that he hunches in on himself; she doesn't need to chastise him for his childish vulgarity.

He strides out of the room without another word, his thoughts a whirl of anger, jealousy, and guilt. He knows he should apologize for hurting her, but he won't say he's sorry for speaking the truth. He comes back wearing a pair of cut-off jeans like Sam's, though he deliberately chose ones that are considerably shorter.

His efforts are seemingly wasted: Bella continues to ignore him. Her disdain pleases me even more than it irritates him (and considering he would take her anger over this total disregard, he is very irritated).