Chapter 4: Guest

I let Bella take the lead—Alice isn't angry with her—although I know that won't save me for long. Calling after only 41 minutes will only earn a little goodwill, and I have a mountain range of mistakes to make up for.

"Explain," Alice demands the moment she answers.

"Victoria is trying to kill me," Bella says, getting straight to the point. "She came here about a week ago, but the Quileute pack has been keeping her out."

"Pack?"

"There are five shapeshifters in the tribe now," I tell her. "I think they're the reason you can't see us—because you can't see them."

"Then why can't I see Victoria in Seattle?"

"I don't know," I admit. "But hopefully I'll find out tonight."

"You'd better."

"I'm sorry, Alice," I say, knowing she won't be remotely appeased, but needing to say it anyway.

"Can we all come home now?" she asks pointedly.

"Yes," I say guiltily. "Tomorrow."

"What's your plan to catch Victoria?"

"Can you see exactly when she disappears from your sight?"

"When it's dark," she snaps, and I regret asking the question; Victoria's schemes have obviously worked extremely well. "What's your plan?" Alice repeats, and I can hear the worry in her voice, despite her efforts to hide it.

Bella eyes me meaningfully, so I give Alice the full version. "I broke the treaty, but the Quileutes are letting me make up for it by hunting Victoria with them. The pack and I are going to work together—they're letting me on their land. We're in La Push now."

That surprises her so much that she doesn't speak for almost seven seconds. Then she snaps, "Is there anything else I need to know?"

"I don't think so… but please keep Victoria's involvement to yourself until she is defeated."

"How soon will you be back?" Bella asks.

"Tomorrow," Alice promises, making her smile.

"I love you, Alice."

"I love you, too, Bella," she replies emphatically. Then she hangs up.

"You really are in trouble," Bella observes.

I sigh. "I hurt her, too, and I didn't listen when she insisted I was making a monumental mistake—and she was right."

She strokes my cheek and I give her a quick kiss that soon becomes a lingering series of kisses, each more passionate than the last. I ignore the thoughts around us for as long as possible—until Harry Clearwater is moments from storming into the room, even though Sam has told him he can hear Bella's steady heartbeat (which isn't completely true, since her heart is far from steady).

When I tell her that the humans are getting restless, she gives a little chuckle and shifts her hands from my chest, taking my hand instead.

"I'm curious," she says as I'm opening the door, and I chuckle softly—when isn't she? "Laurent was so sure the rain would wash away his scent."

That makes me laugh (because he's dead), though it also makes me wonder what they'd talked about. "Sounds like he got careless. I would've thought running with James would remind him how it works—but maybe he'd started thinking that James tracked through solely superhuman means."

"Didn't he?"

"Perhaps," I allow, "but a vampire's scent can linger for months, especially on certain materials. Although it's a wonder I managed to pick up anything beneath the wolf stench." She makes a face at that, mistaking my joke for prejudice, so I add, "I smell bad to them, too."

"You all smell fine to me," she remarks as we enter the living room.

"That's just you," I tease, partly for my own amusement and partly for the wolves, who can't comprehend how my scent could be pleasant to anyone.

She frowns and I instantly regret saying something she could misconstrue. I can tell she is about to pull away from me, so I step in front of her before she can move. She narrows her eyes at me, not at all afraid by how fast I moved, but the wolves all tense and the humans freeze—this is the first time they've seen a vampire moving at a more natural speed. I ignore them; they aren't so afraid that they would risk interfering.

"You know I didn't mean it like that," I say.

She pouts. "I know exactly what you meant."

"I meant it as a compliment."

She scoffs.

"Bella," I murmur, stroking her cheek. "You did go from hanging out with vampires to hanging out with werewolves—" I use the term they give themselves, though they have no idea that real werewolves are exactly as the legends say (bound to the full moon), because it emphasizes my point more strongly.

"I just see people."

I smile. "I know." I glance at Sam and Emily; while Sam is wondering how she can possibly see vampires as people, Emily is thinking how kind and brave Bella is. "We all appreciate it."

Bella glances around, as though she is only now realizing that we have an audience again. She smiles at us all, humans, wolves, the wolf in his human form, and me. There is no change in her expression as she looks around at her friends and me, and I marvel all over again at her exquisite open-mindedness and acceptance. She really doesn't see any difference between us.

Then she remembers she's cross with me and she frowns again. It reminds me of the reason she has for genuine anger, so I give her the smile that makes her heart dance. She is distracted for a moment, then she deliberately closes her eyes.

"I don't want you to go after her," she says. "Any of you."

"There are six of us and one of her," I point out. "And we have to. If we don't, she'll come here. Or she'll pay a visit to Forks." I don't need to say that she might run into Charlie there.

Bella sighs. She opens her eyes, and then folds her arms. "If Victoria bites me—"

"She won't get that close," I insist, interrupting her.

"Sure," she agrees flippantly. "But if she does, don't you dare stop the change."

I frown. "I will do what I think is—"

"No," she snaps. "What you think is best for me is not what I think is best for me."

When I go to argue—that I know what it means to be a vampire, and it isn't worth risking her soul—she holds up her hand.

"I know what I'm asking," she says firmly. "I haven't forgotten what it feels like—" we both wince—"and I will stay silent this time." I can't help but make a face; I remember her screams all too well. "Carlisle did," she points out, probably in reaction to my expression. "And I'll have an even better reason than he did."

The others are curious (they don't know anything about the process), and so am I—though of course, I know half of what she's referring to. "What reason?"

"He was just hiding. I'll be trying not to torture you."

I cringe. "Even if you somehow manage not to scream, I'll still know exactly what you're going through."

She squares her jaw. "Not exactly."

"Close enough."

"It's only three days," she insists. "Three days for eternity."

I'm too conflicted to know what to say to that. There is nothing I want more than eternity with her—but she's wrong. It's not just three days, it's the rest of her human life, and maybe her soul, too.

"There's only one certainty here," she goes on, sensing weakness. "One day, unless you change me, I will die. Your reason for not changing me is based on something you don't even know is true."

"That's a gross oversimplification."

She purses her lips. "All right. Let's say you get your way. What if I make it to seventy-five and then I get some horrible disease—or cancer? What then? Will you leave me to suffer, or will you change me then, when I'll be stuck at seventy-five forever, and everyone will think I'm your grandmother." She shudders. "Carlisle's grandmother! I can't cope with that!"

I am still lost for words. She makes a valid point—even Sam, Emily, and Billy think so, and they hate it as much as I do—but does it justify pre-emptively jeopardizing her soul?

Before I can come up with anything, Sue stands up. "Lunch is almost ready," she says. "Everyone, go wash up."

Bella sighs, giving up the argument for the moment. Then she points to the floor where we're standing; after I nod my agreement, she heads off to wash her hands.

While the other humans also start making their way to one sink or other, the pack members in wolf form aren't sure what to do. They're hungry, and they know they'll need their full strength for tonight, but they can't help feeling more vulnerable in human form. Jacob—eager to be alone and free of me—encourages them to phase back, and they feel less anxious when he promises to return to the Reservation; I wouldn't believe him if I didn't know he won't leave his pack to face Victoria without him.

"Everyone here is safe from me," I promise them. "And it will be much easier to eat with hands."

Sam chuckles at my vague attempt at humor, then nods to his pack.

They leave the room in single file, with Jared in front and Paul and Embry jostling for second position. Paul growls, his temper getting the best of him even though Embry is only teasing, so Embry pulls back, feeling a little guilty for goading him when they're already on edge because of me. He considers phasing now, but realizes that Bella and Emily are between him and the spare shorts before I have to request that he wait.

Sam watches them go, mulling over the day's events, then turns to me. "Help me set up outside?"

"Sure," I reply, listening to his plan, which revolves around keeping me out of the already crowded front room while not excluding me entirely. "Thank you."

He flashes me the beginnings of a smile, then proposes the relocation to Emily and Bella when he meets them in the hallway. I follow him slowly, letting Bella join me rather than going to her.

Emily is amused by the way Bella carefully positions herself directly between us, and I'm freshly impressed by her lack of fear. She accedes to Sam's cautious approach, then holds out her hand for Bella. "Let's get some food before the boys take it all," she coaxes.

We can all see that Bella wants to decline, so I give her hand a gentle squeeze. "I'll be right outside," I assure her, and she reluctantly releases my hand and goes with Emily and Sam.

Though my body walks outside, my mind follows Bella. They all cringe when they see the damage to the front entrance, but Emily does an excellent job of hiding her concerns and redirecting Sam's attention onto how many extra seats they'll need outside. So Sam brings out the dining chairs, while I rearrange the patio furniture so that we can all fit, and then the humans fill their plates before coming outside.

I sit between Bella and Sam, keeping my eyes on Bella to avoid making anyone too uncomfortable. As they settle into the meal, the number of nervous glances directed my way tapers off.

Watching Bella and the others eat reminds me of my need for sustenance—I need to be as strong as possible when we face Victoria: I will have to hunt before tonight. Which means I will have to leave Bella. Even the thought of leaving for half a minute makes me sick—metaphorically speaking—but if I let my lack of self-control weaken me tonight, I would be doing her a greater disservice.

Of course, Bella notices my faint frown, and it feeds her own nerves. I shove aside the self-reproach and smile at her. "I was just thinking that I should find myself a deer or two before nightfall."

Her lower lip trembles, but she soon manages a small smile. "Wouldn't you prefer mountain lion?"

I smile back, enjoying her reassurance, but the others are starting to lose their appetite, so I try for a distraction rather than giving a straight answer to her question. "I prefer to leave them alone during the breeding season."

It doesn't really work, but most of them solve the problem by switching to a food that doesn't make them picture me draining the blood out of Bambi—or a person. Sam, on the other hand, wonders whether there's really that much difference between human blood and the blood of a non-human mammal. I look at him and nod. His curiosity is such that I decide to answer him verbally.

"Herbivores are least appealing," I murmur.

You mostly eat deer, don't you?

I nod. "We choose deer because they're commonest—we'd rather not be responsible for driving any species extinct."

He laughs, amused by the thought of socially responsible, environmentally conscious vampires. Everyone is surprised by his laughter, but it has the effect of settling their unease, mostly. Harry Clearwater and Quil Ateara still object to my unfettered presence, especially because my gift strips them of their most basic right to privacy, but neither one will complain about that aspect lest it imply disrespect or distaste for the wolves' telepathy (though they see that as an important cooperative tool, unlike my telepathy, which they see as a weapon).

"You may not hunt on our lands," Quil says firmly. This is one thing he is confident his fellow councilmen will agree with, so Billy's and Sam's frowns confuse him. They are both wondering how I can replenish my strength without hunting on their lands or being unaccompanied at any point. Then Sam considers bringing me a couple of deer.

I can't help but shudder; the last time I fed in the vicinity of people, I was hunting human prey. Can I drink unappetizing ungulate blood when I am surrounded by human substitutes?

"If I brought you a couple of deer, would that be okay?" Sam asks, pressing for a response.

I think about it for a moment, and the scent of Bella's fresh blood seems to become even more potent—yet my response to it remains unchanged. Surely if I can resist her fragrant blood, I can resist the others' pedestrian blood. Surely. "That could work," I agree, still a little hesitant.

They all pick up on my lack of absolute certainty, and almost every heartbeat accelerates. Trying to undo the damage I've caused—because now that the option may no longer be available to me, I do feel confident I can handle it—I add, "I can control myself. If I thought there was any risk, I would say so. I won't expose Bella to any danger."

"It won't be the same as hunting," Bella points out, defending me.

Of course, no one takes her word for it, and the point only makes letting me drink blood in their vicinity seem more dangerous.

"I'd rather hunt as usual," I say, "but if you can't allow that, then the alternative Sam suggests is perfectly workable."

You wouldn't be comfortable feeding in front of Bella, Quil thinks maliciously, because whatever front you try to present, you are a soulless, evil creature who craves only blood and death.

Though he is addressing me directly, it is only partly deliberate: I know from the accompanying feelings that he simply cannot control his thoughts. But there is also a part of him that enjoys the chance to be cruel without exposing it to his tribe (which competes with the coward that fears my retribution).

"I cannot escape what I am," I say, answering the others, though perhaps answering Quil more directly, "but I am more than that. If my thirst controlled me, none of us would be here."

"And I'd be dead," Bella points out. Then she smiles. "If you had died at seventeen—like you were supposed to," she says, pointedly quoting me—"I would've died at seventeen, too."

I roll my eyes, not accepting the point. "Tyler killing you with his van was not a certainty."

"Something would've gotten me by now," she insists. "If not Tyler, then the men in Port Angeles—" I wince, picturing Bella suffering Rosalie's fate—"or James. Or Mike," she jokes, adding dying of boredom to the list.

"Mike wouldn't have killed you at seventeen," I point out, struggling to keep it light (and not ruin Bella's joke).

"Maybe not," Bella concedes. "But Jessica might've."

I can't help but find that amusing. Bella sees my lips twitch and grins.

The wolves all know who Mike is—from Jacob's memories (I catch a glimpse of Mike, Jacob, and Bella at the movies)—and some of them vaguely remember a Jessica from the beach trip and rightly assume she must be jealous of Mike's interest in Bella, but the humans don't understand what she's talking about.

"Who's Mike?" Billy asks.

"He's in my class at school," Bella explains. "His parents own Newton's Outfitters, where I work. He had given up on me, but he's been annoyingly interested again lately."

Sam gets a strong sense that her irritation with Mike is exacerbated by Jacob's interest in her, and I'm inordinately pleased by that idea. He remembers Jacob's memory of Bella agreeing that she likes him more than anyone else, but not in the way he likes her, and I feel torn between relief and shame. As much as her preference for Jacob's company without feeling anything stronger seems like the truth (at that time), it is another example of the destruction I wrought on her life and her sanity.

I kiss her temple. "I'll take care of that."

She smiles at me, then says, "Pity you didn't show up yesterday—you could've crashed work."

Her eyes dance, and I imagine she is picturing Mike's reaction to my sudden entrance. That thought makes me smile, too. But Mike is the least of our problems. "Pity I didn't show up a week ago," I remark, realizing too late that such a comment will torpedo the good mood.

"Pity you left at all," Bella chides, confirming my slip.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, wishing there were something real that I could do to make up for all the heartache and fear I've caused her.

She takes another bite of her sandwich, then chews slowly. We all wait for her response—I am no longer the only one watching her intently—but the main theme running through the others' thoughts is still amazement at her miraculous transformation. I hope that they are right and that my presence alone is enough to repair the hurt I've caused her. "As long as you know what you did wrong," she says, "let's write it off as a learning experience."

I quirk an eyebrow. "I know I shouldn't have left," I offer, guessing she's implying something else.

"You shouldn't have tried to change my mind by force."

"That topic is still off limits," I insist, before she can go into any more detail.

She shrugs indifferently. "I'm just saying, when I make up my mind, it's made up."

The description intrigues me; although I already know this about her, I've never heard her sound so decisive. It is almost as though she is part-vampire already—and yet she can't possibly appreciate how true the point is for us. Frozen as we are at the moment of change, any substantive changes after that point are abrupt and irrevocable (or the persistent work of centuries).

It reminds me of her resolute acceptance of her fate—I'll take it to the grave. "You left the window open for me," I murmur, focusing on the positive, and on our imperfect but arguably justified happiness.

She smiles back, but I can see surprise beneath her answering happiness; did she expect me to persevere with the negativity?

I don't know what else to say, so the conversation lapses. The wolves are still gorging themselves, but the humans are all slowing down. Bella crunches her way through the last thing on her plate, a quartered apple. Everyone is trying not to worry about tonight, or about Jacob. Then Sam thinks of something that cheers me up considerably.

"It would be my pleasure to help rebuild the hallway," I tell him, making the offer to Emily at the same time. "My mother Esme's hobby is restoring historic buildings, and my siblings and I usually contribute, so I certainly have the skills to repair the damage."

She smiles and thanks me, but she doesn't want to distract us from tonight's task.

"After I drop off Bella's truck, I could pick up the necessary building materials in my car—it won't take me long to repair the wall and repaint everything."

Sam thinks it's a great idea—he's especially keen on me doing all the work—but Emily's not so sure. She feels embarrassed that I am apparently offering to pay for the materials as well as complete the work for free, even though paying for it all herself would severely strain her budget. I like that she is thinking of me as she would any person.

"I would be glad to help," I tell her, hoping to ease her self-consciousness. "I feel somewhat responsible."

Somewhat?, Quil gripes, but I ignore him; it helps that the others are more equable in their apportioning of blame. Although Jacob has never lost control like that before, and they all understand why, they agree that he deserves some of the blame for riling me—and Sue thinks injuring Bella wouldn't have helped his state of mind.

"Thank you," Emily replies, gratefully accepting the offer.

The wolves finish up their meal and, although they want to phase back immediately, they manage not to be so rude. After helping Sam put the extra chairs back inside, they grudgingly accept dish duty. Paul makes a case for one of them to phase back—to check on Jacob—and he thinks he should be the one.

Sam, enjoying the fervent petition, agrees, so Paul leaves Jared and Embry to argue over who washes and who dries, and ducks into the nearest shrubbery, shedding his t-shirt as he goes.

The grey wolf freezes in the garden when all is silent in his head, alarmed that he can't hear Jacob. Before the panic can get the better of him, I pass on the news (hoping Bella won't be worried). Sam is uneasy, but provides the calm reaction that Paul needs.

"He'll be back tonight," he says confidently. "He won't abandon us." Or risk Bella—he tries to break off the thought as he realizes that, in this case, not saying it aloud doesn't avoid the awkwardness.

I appreciate his consideration. To ease his embarrassment, I nod to him and say, "He has plenty of time to get back."

Bella frowns, and I wonder if she's hoping he'll stay away—out of harm's way.

To distract myself—and, if I'm honest, to remind her of Jacob's bad behavior—I suggest that it might be time to change the bandage on her hand. While I unwind the bandage, Emily retrieves a fresh dressing from the bathroom.

As I expose the multiple punctures, some of which are still bleeding a little, I can't help inhaling her blissful scent. The smell of her fresh blood is wondrous—and yet there is no accompanying frenzy, no urge to drink or even to taste it; the monster is genuinely enjoying the bouquet without craving more.

The wolves all watch on tensely; Paul notices that I am breathing more deeply and growls in warning.

"I'm in complete control," I assure him, and the others, and they can see it from my steady hands as I wrap the fresh bandage around Bella's hand.

"Smelling the bouquet," Bella jokes.

I give her a smile, but I'm surprised she would say such a thing in front of the Quileutes; Emily and Embry think it's funny, but the others are aghast that she is joking about my thirst for her blood.

"They already know how crazy I am," she explains, picking up on my surprise.

That makes Embry and Jared snort with laughter.

"Did you really know what he was before you started dating?" Sam asks.

Bella nods; I can't help but smile, remembering the pure joy in her face when I'd shown up that night in Port Angeles—knowing that she had known my awful secret in that moment made it all the sweeter.

"My vampire superhero," she teases. "At least it's easier for you this time."

I quirk an eyebrow, unsure what she means.

"There's less blood."

I roll my eyes.

"You can't tell me that doesn't make a difference."

"For your blood," I murmur, "there's no difference."

She sighs. "That's only for you, though, isn't it?"

I shake my head.

"I suppose most vampires have told me I smell delicious," she teases, shrugging it off. "Maybe that's why Victoria came after me and not you—if she tortures you, that's all she gets. With me, she gets torture and dessert."

It's too painfully true not to be affected by the idea. Even Bella looks a little shaken.

"She won't get anywhere near you," I reiterate, struggling to keep my voice even.

Despite my efforts, the wolves hear the rage in my voice, and it makes them tense. As much as I hate to go, it seems like a good time to give them a bit of space. When I remind Bella of the plan to relocate her truck, she looks as unhappy about it as I am.

I'm surprised but grateful that she doesn't insist on coming with me; perhaps she senses that the wolves aren't settled enough to let her out of their sight. "I'll be as quick as I can," I promise.

She sighs, then nods without saying what's on her mind. There are so many things she could be thinking that I find it hard not to ask her. To distract myself, I kiss her forehead, and then we walk together to the front door. The extensive damage to the house makes her cringe, and I wonder if she's worrying about the damage Jacob caused to himself or simply feeling guilty for her (indirect) part in triggering the destruction.

While Sam tells me (telepathically) which route to follow on my return to La Push—forgetting that I will have a car then, too (and there's only one road)—I give Bella another kiss, this time on the lips, and then climb into the driver's seat of her truck.

"Keep your speed down," Bella reminds me, though she sounds torn, and this time, I'm confident I know what she's thinking: the slower I drive, the longer it'll take. I'm thinking the same thing. And yet, I know this old rustbucket will struggle to handle anything over sixty-five.

"I won't break it," I promise. "I'll stop at home on the way back to get the Volvo so I can pick up supplies to fix the door."

"Will they fit in the Volvo?" she asks uncertainly.

"I'll figure something out," I tease.

She rolls her eyes. "Of course."

When I start the engine, it's amusing how much less annoying I find its rough, grating rumble now compared to the last time I heard it. But thinking about the last time is too painful, so I focus on the positive association created today.

Bella seems to be struggling to do the same; her eyes are tight, and I ache for the pain I am still causing her.

"I'll be back in forty-eight minutes," I say, daring to give myself a deadline in the hope that it will help her deal with this temporary separation—while also hoping I can get back in 45 minutes or less.

She manages half a smile before I drive off. I keep her in sight through the truck's mirrors for as long as possible, and then I settle for watching her through the others' thoughts for as long as I can.

Her scent is so wonderfully clear that I can almost pretend she is still with me; I let the precious memories of our trips together fill my thoughts. It is a little sad to arrive at Bella's and have to leave the truck behind, though the quiet when I switch off the motor makes up for it.

It isn't until I'm running home that I begin to dread seeing our house again after so many months. In some ways, it represents my family—the family I made homeless and then abandoned.

The house is as empty as I expected. It's so quiet here, in and out of my head, but as peaceful as it is, I hate it—not just because it reminds me of my absent family, but because my need to be with Bella overwhelms everything else. I had thought I couldn't possibly feel a greater attachment than I did already, but after seeing her again, I know I absolutely cannot exist without her. (I should hunt now, while I'm outside the Quileute border, but the closest deer are north of my destination and even two miles feels like too great a departure from my route.)

I run inside, trying not to look around too much because it's sad to see everything packed away, and grab a change of clothes from my wardrobe. Someone—probably Esme—has thrown a couple of sheets over everything in my room to protect my things from dust. The thoughtfulness of this simple act hits me hard. The drive to get back to Bella as soon as possible is the only thing that keeps me moving.

The garage is emptier than I've ever seen it. The Volvo and Vanquish are in their usual spots, on almost opposite sides of the building, which only accentuates the unfilled spaces. I flick the sheet off the Volvo, disconnect the battery charger, and throw myself into the driver's seat. It's a relief when the key is in the ignition—as eager as I am to leave, I might've been tempted to hotwire the car rather than go back inside to search for the key.