It was time to face the fact that some essential part of him had turned itself over and shifted. The change had been humming through him in the river when he'd leaned over Isabella, pressing her backwards with his mouth while he pulled her close, but Edward knew that it had probably sparked to life the night Carlisle brought him here and she'd stepped out on her porch to look him over.
He'd be the first to admit he wasn't great at self reflection, but at this point, even he could feel that his center of gravity lay outside himself. The need to be near her was as strong for him as the need to be away from her seemed to be for others. He didn't care why. As long as she didn't dial up the volume on that deep seated dread she could inspire, he wanted to be where she was. Maybe time would help him master her pull over him in the same way it was supposed to help him control his lust for human blood, but right now he couldn't even master frustration as he sat across from her on the roof.
There had to be something to this silent ritual Isabella performed nearly every day, but damned if Edward could figure it out. Yes, he could feel the weight of his thighs and his butt on the roof. No, he couldn't keep his mind on the sensation for more than ten seconds without some random thought popping into his head. But so what? What the hell was the point?
When he had returned from a hunt this morning to find her on top of the house again, looking like some ridiculously shiny Christmas angel, he'd gone inside to take a shower, and then he'd leapt up through the hole in her room. She didn't move or frown at his approach, so he'd watched her for a while in the sunshine until he had the impulse to settle in with her, both of them cross legged and facing one another. Her eyes were closed, but of course, her mind was still open to him. He tried to make his own mind mirror hers, if only to see what it was that could possibly enthrall her for hours on end.
Breathing in. The warmth of the sun. Right hand pressing into the palm of the left… If Demetri hadn't shown up I would've moved my hand down from the small of her back and –
Sitting still was a waste of time as far as he could tell. Though his body could do it indefinitely, his mind would not cooperate. Instead of his current breath, he thought about his hunt, how a herd of deer had been closer to the cabin than he'd expected. For a while he wondered why the Volturi believed that Isabella could help them stop Enkidu. Then his mind moved back to their kiss. Everything kept revolving around to that kiss. It had been four days and nights since then, and each time he came near her, she had some maddening thought, like Will he try it again? that made him think she might reject him.
Breathing out.
At least she'd opened up a little. He'd asked her how she had suspected, even before Demetri said anything, that Enkidu was the reason for the visit the other day, and she hadn't looked away or brushed him aside. She'd just told him that the Volturi had agreed, back in the 1700's, to let her know if Enkidu turned up.
Breathing out. Had he not noticed breathing in?
She was so close that when the wind caught her hair, it almost brushed against his shoulder. It was infuriating that he could sprint like a steam train and know the thoughts around him, but he couldn't make his mind stay still the way she could.
He caught her scent on the breeze, and got the bright idea to use his obsession to his advantage. Instead of his own breath, he would watch hers. Instead of his own sensations, he would feel and hear through her mind. Immersing himself in her thoughts was one of the few things he could actually do well and consistently. He matched her, breath for breath, settling himself into her rhythm. She felt the breeze flutter her shirt against her bare skin. There were no words in her mind. There weren't really words for the details that she noticed anyway. The wind picked up and the fabric brushed against her and lifted. She had her attention on her shoulders and her chest, but Edward was solely focused on her breasts, and it was possible that twenty minutes went by with only her sensations passing through his mind, until eventually she opened her eyes.
"Hey," he said.
She watched him, noticing the way his hair was ruffled by the wind, and she thought he looked calmer than she'd ever seen him before. Less like a deer ready to run.
Great. First she compared him to a wolf cub, and now he was a deer.
Whatever peace he'd found evaporated, but he could show her that he wouldn't bolt. His weight tilted onto his knees as he used his hand to push himself toward her.
Her breaths grew short and her eyes widened. Who's the deer now? he wanted to ask. He looked at her slightly parted lips and back to her eyes. She blinked as she realized what he intended, and she wondered whether to stay or to flee.
Oh no you don't. He could get somewhere with her if he didn't let her think it through. He uncrossed his legs and ended up on his knees above her. His mouth came down on hers while she wavered. She opened to him then, her lips soft and even shy - such a surprise for Edward to find himself the aggressor - and he moaned. Hearing him, her doubts rushed in again, but he leaned forward so far that it forced her back onto the roof until she lay pinned beneath him.
He didn't think she was going to use her ability on him. There was no dread, no voice telling him that she'd end him any moment. She shivered under him, trying to contain herself, but he was determined to make her come undone. He deepened the kiss, tasting her mouth, and he brought his hands to her wrists and pulled her arms up so that her fingers curled into his hair. She tugged him closer, and he knew he had her. More and more, lately, she was thinking in ways he understood, like now when she tugged at his lower lip and thought she would like to bite it. She didn't, so he bit down lightly on hers instead and pressed his tongue to her teeth to keep her distracted as he slipped his hand under her shirt and traced above her navel. He brushed his fingers along her ribs. She let him. He felt a rush of power, and then he held her breast in his palm.
It wasn't until that moment, as everything fit into place, that he understood the depths of his usual agitation. Right here was where he was meant to be, pulled down to crash into her. Anywhere else, he was a mess. He brushed over her nipple, and she arched up, causing the edge of the bronze blade around her neck to swing over his hand. The strength of her reaction startled her. When he moved to lift her shirt, he could hear her mind flick back to the sort of thoughts he understood. I should stop. He doesn't even know what he's doing half the time. He'll get upset and -
"I'm not going to flip out," he said. His jaw ground tight from the force of biting down on his words.
"Show me," she said. "If I tell you to stop, can you do it without a tantrum?"
"I'm not a child. I'm losing my temper more from your attitude than anything else." He flopped down beside her on his back. "Just forget it."
His breath was still timed to hers, and they were panting as they lay next to one another. One day he would have to ask Carlisle why their breath would stupidly race. It served no purpose, and yet he couldn't stop.
He didn't expect her to reach out and take his hand. He turned and found her staring at their twined fingers in what looked like surprise. Then she lay back again and looked up at the sky.
"It's been a long time since anything made me feel uncertain," she said.
He wanted to snort in disgust. What was there to be unsure about? But the answers were in her mind. He was young. So incredibly young. He opened his mouth to swear that he was getting better, getting some control over himself so that not every urge was able to knock him sideways anymore, but apparently his violent nature wasn't her only concern.
"I did things when I was a newborn that I should never have done," she said. "Probably unforgiveable things, though I have come to the place where I've forgiven myself anyway, if only because there was no one else to do it, and without some forgiveness I might have gone mad." She gripped his hand tighter. "Right now you can remember every moment from the last two years, but imagine what it will be like when every mistake over the millennia will stay with you always, or at least until the sun burns up this world and us along with it." Her thumb ran a rhythmic path back and forth along his knuckles. "I'm not saying that anything you and I do together would cause you that kind of regret, but I think you're too new to know what you want until your emotions settle and you have full control over yourself."
A low growl rumbled from his throat before he could stop it.
"See." She rolled toward him and held his hand in both of hers. "Even the knowledge that you're temperamental makes you start to lose control."
Edward thought that the force of will it was taking to not bare his teeth at her now should have been enough to convince anyone that he was a saint. "When you're close to me, I'm less out of control," he said in the most even tone he could manage. "That means something."
Their breathing had slowed. Blue sky flashed through the clouds, and sunlight shone off the both of them again, so insufferably bright that he was surprised it couldn't give him a headache. He wanted to go inside, but he was tied to her, moving where she moved. She was thinking about waking up, reemerging from a hazy dream to the sharp edges of real life, and he had no idea what the hell she was on about. Their kind didn't sleep. Whatever she was thinking, it seemed unlikely to lead to his skin on hers.
Not a dream, she thought. Swëtïan.
"I don't understand you," he said. "What does that even mean?"
"They're my own thoughts, Edward. Please tell me you aren't asking me to think them in some context for your sake."
"Well, what does swëtïan mean at least?" He couldn't tell her that he'd seen the word scrawled in her journal.
"It's nothing. Old English. 'To be sweet'."
Be sweet, Bella. Be calm. He remembered the chant from her hunt.
"I want to call you Bella."
"Why?" She scrambled backwards, stood up and took a step backwards so that she was higher on the roof, looking down at him.
"It's how you think of yourself, how you sooth yourself. Besides, Isabella is formal and long. It makes me think of Queen Isabella sending Columbus off in a boat."
She looked away. "Names are nothing; I change them every few hundred years." She was working hard to get that dismissive tone just right; he could tell. "Call me whatever you like. But now…" She took a deep breath and turned back to him. "Can you give me an hour or so on my own?"
"No."
"Edward." Her voice was soft, but he didn't let it fool him.
"No."
She put a hand on her hip, and stared him down. He had a feeling she would take off for who knew how long if he didn't change his mind. Then he'd have no control over when she returned.
"I've already hunted," he said, "but I guess I could go call Carlisle."
It was far enough that she could have a moment to think on her own with no Edward in her mind, though he wondered what she'd need to hide from him. Maybe the lack of privacy affected her more than he'd thought.
She leapt down, and he followed her into the house. She didn't watch him or think about him as he left, and he threw open the door and ran like he was bearing down on prey. There was a freedom in going all out, even if it was moving him away from her while a considerable part of him ached to go back until he was flush against her. If he could give her a few minutes alone, it could show her that he had a hold on himself. He wouldn't be gone long. The forest blurred into streaks of brown and green, the bright lime of new growth and the deep forest-black of older evergreens. He stopped short of the cliff face that he'd tumbled over before.
He would be lucky if he could concentrate on what Carlisle had to say. He thought about asking to speak to Esme and winced at the thought of the conversation that would follow. He should ask. With any luck maybe she wouldn't want to talk to him. He punched in the numbers on the worn out phone.
There was a rustle of sound in the distance that didn't fit. He turned away from the cliff to face it. There were thoughts in the trees, and they were moving in quickly.
Carlisle's voice sounded at his feet, and he realized dimly that he'd dropped the phone.
He didn't know who was here. It wasn't a mind he recognized. If he were human, he might have been curious, but his newborn senses were honed to recognize a threat. He felt danger vibrate in every cell of his body, and he didn't bother to growl or raise himself to his full height. He was fast and he knew it, so he set off in a sprint. He could outrun most anything.
He hadn't made it far before he felt another mind in front of him, and another, closing in from the side.
A shudder ran through him, but he couldn't afford to panic. Everything seemed to slow down, and he told himself to be calm. It was the oddest thing. Calm down, Edward. He could almost hear it in Bella's soft chant. The minds were circling and closing in on him now, near enough that he picked up scent as well. He didn't think he could switch directions enough to escape them. He might have to stand and fight.
Get ready. Make yourself be calm, he thought. He came to a halt and dropped into a defensive position. Be calm. He was outnumbered, but there was no way in hell he was going to be sweet.
All the usual characters, settings, etc. are the property of the wonderful S. Meyer. Original characters and plot are mine. No copyright infringement is intended. May not be reprinted without express written permission.