A/N: I think there's someone we've all been waiting to meet. So, I'll save my ramblings and answering of questions for the end note. Twilight is the property of Stephenie Meyer.
Epilogue – Everything's Alright
He barely feels the natural litter of the forest floor beneath his feet, or the passage of the pine-scented wind in his ears as he runs soundlessly through the trees. Loud and frantic, his heart pounds as if it will flee his chest. Fear, not exertion, propels its flight.
His half-vampire nature makes it impossible for him to tire or lose his breath, so shouting as he runs should pose no challenge. But he is barely able to force words out around the tight ball of terror burgeoning at the base of his throat.
"I will search by the river. You travel west."
He is unfamiliar with this territory; the object of their hunt has ranged far. He has greater faith in his mate's ability to track this game than in his own.
Without slowing the sinuous grace of her own run, she turns her huge, shaggy head in his direction. Her golden brown eyes show no hint of the alarm that is all but crippling him. He knows that confidence, not indifference, is the source of her calm.
She chuffs low in her chest—a sound of assent—and veers off through the trees. He watches her majestic lupine form bound smoothly away, and feels the all-too-familiar tug in his chest. Seven years as her husband, and still every moment spent without her seems a waste of breath to him.
Now, he must make good use of these minutes apart. It is unthinkable that they should fail. For all her strength—far greater than his—he knows his beloved could not survive the failure of this hunt.
He breaks through the tree line and gains the rocky bank of the wide, deep river.
Turning quickly in a circle, he scans the open space around the water in every direction, as far as his vampire-acute eyes can see. No living creature moves anywhere in his sight, and the only sound is the crashing of the river as it moves rapidly through its channel.
Further south, he knows, this waterway is flat and placid. Here, nearer its headwaters, the river moves quickly, dark and thick as it tumbles over huge rocks and several steep drops. Here, its rush is more than powerful enough to carry away a large animal that might fall into the water. If their quarry blundered into the river—
He forces the thought away, and for a moment, he is perversely glad his mate is not with him. Tears of angry frustration well in his teak eyes and his hands tremble shamefully. His weakness humiliates him, but he can count on the fingers of one hand the other times in his long existence when he has felt so frightened and powerless.
Turning again in a slow circle, he considers which way to head next. North or south along the river? Or back to rendezvous with his wife?
When a familiar scent drifts toward him, layered over the aromas of running water and rich, green life, intense relief weakens his knees; will alone keeps his legs beneath him. He turns eagerly toward the scent.
A gangly wolf pup steps carefully from a thicket of boisterously flowering bushes on the opposite side of the river. The animal advances to the water's edge, plops on its rump in the mud and tips its head to the side. Its low, questioning whine would have escaped a human's ears.
With his quarry found, fear is giving way to anger.
"Stay there," he commands, and he springs across the river in a single powerful leap. He lands only a few feet from the pup, but the small, light gray wolf shows no sign of intimidation at his proximity.
For a handful of heartbeats, he struggles with himself, unsure to which conflicting urge he should allow himself to succumb. Finally, he yields to his dominant instinct.
Falling to his knees in the mud, he enfolds the pup in his arms.
"Damn it, Adam," he growls, not unkindly. "Your mother and I have been worried sick. Where have you been?"
A surge of gentle warmth alerts him that his son is about to phase, but he does not release the boy. This is merely part of the amazing parcel of Adam's powers—the ability to phase while touching another without inflicting any harm.
It is a gift they discovered quite by accident, the first time the boy phased.
He remembers holding his son on his lap as Adam's mother tried to coax the child to eat steamed carrots. Unable to wriggle his chubby toddler body free of his father's arms, Adam had simply decided it was time to try something new.
Of course, when he found his arms full of wolf cub instead of child, he'd been so surprised that he had promptly released the infant-turned-wolf. The wobbly pup had happily scampered away.
"Nahuel!" Leah had shrieked at him, and he'd cringed, expecting her to berate him soundly for dropping the baby.
Instead, she had seized his empty arms and stretched them out before him, twisting the limbs this way and that. Other than the old puncture scars near the bend of his elbows, his skin was smooth as always.
He'd been bewildered by her reaction.
"What is it, ñi piuque?"
"You're fine," she gasped in wonder. "Holy shit, he phased while you were touching him and you're not hurt at all!"
Of course, Carlisle and Jacob had spent maddening hours interviewing him about the incident, dissecting every fragment of minutiae, developing a complex theory to explain how Adam's abilities functioned. Their ultimate conclusion, reached with the input of Eleazar and Edward, was that Adam was a shield unlike any other—with complete control over how others may, or may not, perceive him, even to the point of being able to obstruct strong aggressive talents. It was how he broke Joham's hold over Leah that long-ago night in Denali. It is how he managed to stay hidden today from his parents.
Each day of parenting Adam brings new surprises—from the shock of having a son, rather than the daughter they had expected, to his disappearance from their home this morning before breakfast, leading his parents on a wild goose chase.
Like his mother, Adam Harry Clearwater never does what his father expects.
He feels the child's spindly, human-shaped arms loop around his neck and grip tightly.
"I'm sorry, Papa," the boy says in his high voice, sweeter than birdsong. "I didn't mean to scare you and Mommy."
He pushes back to study his child's small face. Wide, round eyes the exact same deep, rich black as Leah's, regard him solemnly. Coppery skin a shade darker than her complexion sparkles oh-so-faintly in the late afternoon sun. He sees only traces of himself in the boy—in the curve of his lips and the glossy sheen of his dark hair—and it has always pleased him immensely that his son most resembles his beloved.
"Why did you wander away?" he asks, gentling his voice more easily now that his terror has passed.
The boy's lower lip pushes out stubbornly—a habit he echoes from his mother. He shakes his head.
"Don't wanna say."
He rarely loses his temper with the boy, so he has no difficulty restraining his annoyance now.
"Adam, why will you not tell me?"
The child's jutting lower lip begins to quiver and his luminous, bottomless eyes shimmer with tears.
"You'll be mad at me."
He cups the boy's treasured face in his hands and with his thumbs gently wipes away the tears that spill over.
"I promise I will not be angry."
Adam's eyebrows climb his small, smooth brow.
"You're already mad at me," the child accuses, tone infused with the indignation of innocence at his father's apparent fib.
He sighs.
"I was at first," he concedes, mentally chastising himself for being verbally bested by a person who has inhabited this planet nearly a hundred and fifty-five years fewer than he. "But only because I was very frightened when I could not find you."
Adam considers this.
His breath catches in wonder at the play of thoughts so clearly written on the small face and in the huge eyes.
"So you're not mad anymore?"
He nods firmly, and rocks back to sit on his heels. His grip slides down the boy's arms until he holds both small hands in his. He squeezes them gently before releasing Adam. Reaching up, he unshoulders the pack he has carried, produces a bottle of water, uncaps it and hands it to the child.
"I am no longer angry. I am very happy to have found you and that you are alright."
Adam drinks greedily.
From the pack, he unfolds a pair of shorts. Holding them open near Adam's feet, he gestures for the boy to step into them. When the small feet clear the leg openings, he draws the shorts up the boy's legs and settles them low around his waist, before helping him into a T-shirt.
A small, clever smile curves the child's rosy lips. "I love you, Papa," he offers slyly.
A wave of powerful adoration swamps him so completely that he knows if he does not regain control of this discussion, it will end with the boy not being chastised at all. This would not please Leah. Truly, if the boy ever finds out how profoundly and completely his parents love him, he will rule them with a tiny iron fist.
"I love you, too, Adam, but I still wish to know why you ran away into the forest."
The boy snorts through his nose—another of his mother's habits, one of the less appealing ones—and folds his arms across his narrow chest.
He regards the boy calmly and waits. Perhaps it is only by virtue of his superior age, but he is certain this is a contest he can win. Patience is not Adam's strong suit.
Finally … "Fine," the child mutters with ill grace. "I was mad."
He restrains a sigh. "Why were you angry?" he probes gently.
When he sees that the boy is again not ready to answer, he decides to distract him with motion. He reshoulders the pack, stands and lifts Adam in his arms. The boy wraps around his chest, legs twine around his waist, arms around his neck, little hands gripping the long braid it has taken him seven years to regrow. He bounds back across the river smoothly. Still carrying the child, he darts back into the trees, allowing the psychic tether that ties him to his beloved to draw them both toward Adam's mother.
While he runs, his vampire-quick mind allows him to evaluate and eliminate a range of possible sources for his son's pique. It takes him only a fraction of a second to settle on one he feels is the most likely.
"Is it because we are moving?"
The boy shakes his head, the cap of Adam's thick curls dancing against his chest. He feels as if each brush carves deep into his heart.
"No, I understand why we have to leave North Carolina," he says. "Grandpa Carlisle explained it real good. He said people are going to start noticing that you and Mommy and everyone else don't get older."
With the most plausible possibility discounted, he broaches a second theory.
"Is it because Ahlia and the other children won't be coming with us?"
While Adam's growth has followed the curve of a traditional human child, the vampire-human hybrid children have not. Like Renesmee and himself, they have matured rapidly, leaving Adam behind. Perhaps the boy is angry and sad to lose so many playmates at once.
"No, they're all so much older than me that they're not fun anymore. They're really kinda boring now."
He frowns. Now he is at a loss. Belatedly, he remembers that trying to guess Adam's motivations is often as frustrating and fruitless a task as trying to convince Leah to curb the profanity from her speech when in the presence of their son.
He has no other recourse than to voice his question as a direct demand.
He easily jumps a fallen log and continues west toward the area where Leah ranges.
"Adam, you will tell me right now what has you so angry that you ran off into the woods."
"Fine!" The boy gripes again. "I'm mad at Pire, okay?"
He stumbles for only the second time in his long existence and nearly drops the boy—again.
He catches himself before he falls, and for long seconds, speech eludes him. Hearing his own mother's name spill from his son's mouth is nothing short of shocking. His mouth feels dry, and a watery discomfort deep in his gut harkens his memory to a time long past, when he vomited outside that accursed barn.
Adam's face is turned up to his, and the boy's eyes are wide, his small lips trembling. He realizes he is frightening his son. The child can hear his racing heart and is singularly adept at reading emotion on adult faces.
Struggling to slow his heart rate and keep his voice as calm as possible, he forces the words out.
"Who is Pire?"
Now chagrin supersedes the worry in Adam's dark eyes. The boy speaks slowly and cautiously, as if revealing a secret that he is not sure his father can keep.
"The baby in Mommy's tummy."
If he had still been moving, he would have tumbled to the ground. To be safe, he lowers his son to stand before him. Then he kneels in front of the boy, putting them at eye level with each other and ensuring he will not further frighten the child if his legs give out in shock.
"There is a baby in Mommy's tummy?"
His voice is a touch higher than normal, but he is pleased that none of the howling confusion raging in his head is leaking from his lips.
Adam nods gravely. "Yah."
It does not even occur to him to doubt the accuracy of his son's assertion; the child has a way of knowing things. Once, this revelation might have driven a shiv of betrayal through his heart. Now, he knows better. Knows his beloved better. And there can be only one reason why she has said nothing to him of this.
"Does Mommy know there is a baby in her tummy?"
The boy nibbles his lower lip reflectively. "Not yet. Pire doesn't want her to know yet."
He is grateful he is kneeling. Taking his son's hands again, he draws the warm little body into his arms.
"Pire is able to hide from Mommy?"
Adam nods. "Yah. She's real small, so Mommy doesn't know she's there."
Small enough to go unnoticed but developed enough to be capable of framing the desire to remain hidden? How is this possible? But then, how is Adam possible? How is he, himself, possible?
"Why does Pire want to hide?"
The child's eyes are sorrowful and wise. "She thinks you won't like her."
He is aghast. This revelation births so many questions his half-vampire mind is having difficulty juggling them all.
He knows he cannot simply ask his son to explain. Adam is a brilliant seven-year-old, but still, he possesses only a child's capacity for relaying information. He knows from weary experience he will have to plumb the answers he needs by asking just the right series of specific questions.
"Why does she believe that?" he queries, carefully.
"She heard what you said on my birthday."
Anger boils behind his eyes, but now it is wholly directed inward.
Two weeks past, Adam celebrated his seventh birthday with a party at the Cullen mansion. He recalls a conversation with Jacob and Renesmee, who have decided to start their own family. With Leah tucked under his arm, he'd joked that nothing in his existence had ever frightened him more than the prospect of becoming a father. He has no doubt this is the offense to which Adam refers.
His thoughtlessness has again hurt someone he loves—for already he loves this mysterious, hidden child with an intensity that once would have left him shaken and desperate for escape.
But self-recrimination will not help him gain the information he needs to set this right for his family. He gently probes again.
"How do you know these things, Adam?"
The boy blinks at him sleepily. His bedtime is fast approaching, and the day's jaunt has surely tired his little body. Adam slips a thumb into his mouth and says nothing.
Gently, he pulls the boy's thumb out. "Does Pire talk to you?"
"Yah."
He struggles to contain his amazement, and if his mate were here, she would surely know of his internal battle from the slight tremble of his lips.
"How does she talk to you?"
Adam taps his index finger to his forehead. "In here. She can do lotsa stuff, like me, only more. You know?"
His heart quells at this information. He is proud of his son, in awe of his abilities, but he also fears that fate will one day demand much of Adam in payment for his many gifts. How much greater a burden will this new child face if her abilities exceed Adam's? Anguish and fear for his children hold him silent for long seconds.
Adam breaks his reflection with a quiet, tentatively voiced question. "You gonna tell Mommy?"
He smiles gently. "She has the right to know, don't you think?"
The boy nods sharply. "That's what I told Pire. That's why we fought." He considers for a moment. "Well, part of why, anyway."
It is the opening he needs to plate another question before the child. "Why is it that Pire talks to you and no one else?"
Adam rolls his eyes in disgust. Clearly, this question is beneath contempt, but the child deigns to answer it anyway.
"I'm her brother," he says, drawing out the word irksomely. "Who else is she gonna talk to?"
"Who indeed?" he agrees, suppressing the laughter he is sure would offend Adam. "And why do you call her Pire? Is it because you know it was my mother's name?"
Now genuine anger colors the boy's small, soft face, and he wonders if he has unknowingly put it there with some perceived blunder.
"Pire picked that name," he says darkly. "She heard you say it to Mommy or something and she liked it, so she picked it. I told her it was stupid for her to pick a name."
He blinks. This is a lack of charitableness uncharacteristic of Adam.
"Why is it stupid?"
"Because …" Adam shouts, flapping his small arms in frustration that his father is apparently as dim as his unborn sibling. "… she doesn't even know if she's really a girl. She thinks she is, but how would she know? I mean, Grandpa Carlisle could tell with his ulta-sounding machine, but how's he gonna know to check Mommy's tummy and take the picture if Pire won't let anyone know she's in there?"
He fights for a moment more before finally giving in to the euphoric laughter that has been boring through to the surface from the second he realized he is to be a father again. Howling gleefully, he springs to his feet, snatches Adam in his arms, and tosses the boy high into the air above his head three times. By the second toss, the child is laughing madly, too, and all the world is perfect.
On the fourth toss, he surprises Adam by hugging him tightly to his chest and smothering the boy's small face with kisses.
"Ewww, Papa! Vampire spit!"
He snarls, pulling his lips gruesomely back from his teeth while crossing his eyes. Adam shrieks in feigned terror, then claps appreciatively at his father's acting prowess.
When the child's giggles subside enough for the sleepiness around the edges of Adam's eyes to take firmer hold, he presses a final lingering kiss to the boy's forehead.
"I love you, Adam," he whispers against his child's warm, slightly sweaty skin. "Thank you for sharing this secret with me."
"You're welcome," Adam replies, yawning widely in his face—a reminder that the boy left the house this morning before brushing his teeth. The sour-little-boy aroma is the sweetest scent he has ever known.
He cradles his son close and begins walking through the forest again. A pulse of strength and love surges into his heart from the invisible tether that binds him to the source of his soul. His mate is near.
"Let us find your mother. She will be very excited to see you. And to hear your news."
End note: That, gentle readers, is the happiest, happily ever after I could think of for Leah and her vamp-boy. I hope you agree.
My beautiful betas MunkeeRajah and Evelyn-Shaye need thanking again, so I'm on record right now as saying there just aren't enough superlatives in the English language to adequately express how awesome they are. I promise to keep writing more so that we never have to go a month without talking!
If you're wondering about Adam's name, nj11 (the reviewer who figured out the Bowie titles first) picked it from a short list I provided. We both liked the name Adam for Leah and Nahuel's son because not only is it a cool name, but it's appropriate given that he is the first of his kind - the offspring of a vampire-human hybrid and a shape-shifter.
Several readers have asked if I'll be leaving the fandom (NO!) or if I'll write more (YES!). I think it's safe to say I'm hooked. I have ideas for several more stories rattling around in my head, including a few Bella-Edward stories (I've always confessed to being a B/E girl at heart). I'll have a few outtakes for SSW from Nahuel's POV, and it feels like Seth isn't done with me yet, either so he may be getting his own story at some point. And somewhere in all that, I've got to find time to work on a fantasy novel that's been playing through my head in bits and pieces since I was a kid.
On the immediate horizon, I'm taking part in the Project Team Beta back-to-school fundraiser because it's the least I could do for the people who brought me together with my betas! I'll be contributing a B/E one-shot and it will be quite a scorcher. Bella is a best-selling novelist who faces the challenge of her career: writing a great sex scene when she's never had great sex. Bet you can guess who helps her out with the whole "writing what you know" theory! You get to read it and a bunch of other stories by some of the best writers in the fandom by making a donation. Head over to back-to-school-fundraiser/ (remove the spaces and replace the "dot" with ".") to contribute.
Also, I'm supporting a fund-raising effort by MunkeeRajah to help students learn to read in Alaska. You can help too by going to http : project/storyworks-magazine-subscriptions /817341/
Part of me feels a real sense of accomplishment to have brought this story to fruition. Part of me is sad to leave Leah and Nahuel behind. All of me is profoundly grateful to have had this experience and to have met so many wonderful people because of it. Thanks to each and every one of you for reading this story and reaffirming my faith that love of reading and the written word is alive and thriving in the 21st century. To paraphrase my first professional mentor, a crusty old newspaper man who really did keep a bottle of bourbon in the bottom drawer of his desk: "It ain't thumbs that sets us apart from the lower animals, kids. It's the written word."
Until we meet again, take care and God bless.
Vivienne (Evelyn)
07-09-2012