These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,

Which, as they kiss, consume.

Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene VI

Preface

Beau felt like he was trapped in one of those terrifying nightmares, the kind where he was running the bases until his lungs might burst, but unable to move fast enough. His legs seemed to move slower and slower as he fought his way through the callous crowd, but the hands on the huge clock tower didn't slow. They turned with relentless, uncaring force toward the end—the end of everything.

But this was no dream, and, unlike the nightmare, Beau wasn't running for his life. He was racing to save something infinitely more precious. His own life meant little to him today.

Alice had said there was a good chance they would both die here. Perhaps the outcome would be different if she wasn't trapped by the brilliant sunlight. Only Beau was free to run across this bright, crowded square.

And he couldn't run fast enough.

So it didn't matter to Beau that they were surrounded by extraordinarily dangerous enemies. As the clock began to toll out the hour, vibrating under the soles of his sluggish feet, Beau knew he was too late—and glad something bloodthirsty waited in the wings. For in failing at this, he forfeited any desire to live.

The clock tolled again, and the sun beat down from the exact center point of the sky.

Beau was ninety-nine percent sure he was dreaming.

The reasons he was so certain were that, first, he was standing in a bright shaft of sunlight—the kind of blinding clear sun that never shone on his drizzly new hometown in Forks, Washington—and second, Beau was looking at his Grandma Marie. Gran had been dead for six years now, so that was solid evidence toward the dream theory.

Gran hadn't changed much; her face looked just as Beau remembered it. Her skin was soft and withered, bent into a thousand tiny creases that clung gently to the bone underneath. Like a dried apricot, but with a puff of thick, white hair standing out in a cloud around it.

Their mouths spread into the same surprised half-smile. Apparently, she hadn't expected to see him, either.

Beau was just about to ask her a question; he had so many—What was she doing in his dream? What had she been up to in the past six years? Had she become any less homophobic? Was Pop okay, and had they found each other, wherever they were?—but she opened her mouth when Beau did, so he stopped to let her go first. She paused, too, and then they smiled at the little awkwardness.

"Beau!"

It wasn't Gran who called his name, but they both turned to see the addition to their small reunion. He didn't have to look to know who it was; this was a voice Beau would know anywhere—know, and respond to, whether sleeping or waking . . . or even dead, he'd bet. The voice Beau would walk through fire for—or, less dramatically, slosh every day through the cold and endless rain for.

Edward.

Even though Beau was always thrilled to see him—conscious or otherwise—and even though he was almost positive this was a dream, Beau panicked as Edward walked toward them through the glaring sunlight.

Beau panicked because Gran didn't know he was in love with a vampire—nobody knew that—so how was he supposed to explain the brilliant sunbeams that were shattering off his skin into a thousand rainbow shards, like Edward was made of crystal or diamond?

Well, Gran, you might have noticed that my boyfriend—yes, boyfriend—glitters. It's just something he does in the sun. Don't worry about it . . .

What was he doing? The whole reason Edward lived in Forks, the rainiest place in the world, was so that he could be outside in the daytime without exposing the family secret. Yet here he was, strolling gracefully toward them—with the most beautiful smile on his angel's face—as if Beau was the only one here.

In that second, Beau wished he was not the lone exception to Edward's mysterious talent; he usually felt grateful that he was the only person whose thoughts the vampire couldn't hear just as clearly as they were spoken aloud. But now Beau wished Edward could hear him, too, so that he could hear the warning the former was screaming in his head.

Beau shot a worried glance back at Gran and saw it was too late. She was just turning to stare back at him, her eyes equally alarmed.

Edward—still smiling so beautifully that Beau felt like his heart was going to swell up and burst through his chest—put an arm around Beau's shoulder and turned them both to face Gran.

Her expression surprised Beau. Instead of looking horrified, she was staring at the boys sheepishly, as if waiting for a scolding. And she was standing in such a strange position—one arm held awkwardly away from her body, stretched out and then curled around the air. Like she had her arm around someone Beau couldn't see, someone invisible . . .

Only then, as Beau looked at the bigger picture, did he notice the huge gilt frame that enclosed his grandmother's form. Uncomprehending, he raised the hand not wrapped around Edward's waist and reached out to touch her. Gran mirrored the movement exactly. But where their fingers should have met, there was nothing but cold glass . . .

Then, with a dizzying jolt, his dream abruptly became a nightmare.

There was no Gran.

That was him. Beau in a mirror. Him—ancient, creased, and withered.

Edward stood beside him, casting no reflection, excruciatingly lovely and forever seventeen.

He pressed his icy, perfect lips against Beau's wasted cheek.

"Happy birthday," he whispered.

Beau woke with a start and gasped. Dull gray light, the familiar sight of an overcast morning, took the place of the blinding sun from the dream.

Just a dream, Beau told himself. It was only a dream. He took a deep breath, and then jumped again when his alarm went off. The little calendar in the corner of the clock's display informed him that today was September thirteenth.

Only a dream, but prophetic enough in one way, at least. Today was his birthday. He was officially eighteen years old.

Beau had been dreading this day for months.

All through the perfect summer—the happiest summer he had ever had, the happiest summer anyone anywhere had ever had, and the rainiest summer in the history of the Olympic Peninsula—this bleak date had lurked in ambush, waiting to spring.

It was even worse than he feared it would be. Beau could feel it—he was older. Every day he got older, but this was different, worse, quantifiable. He was eighteen.

And Edward never would be.

Beau went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. As he stared into the mirror, he was almost surprised that the face he found there hadn't changed. But it would—and soon. Wrinkles, jowls, a receding, gray hairline . . . it was just a dream, though. But it was also his worst nightmare.

Beau skipped breakfast to get out of the house as fast as possible. He wasn't entirely able to avoid his dad and thus had to act cheerful for a few minutes. Beau thanked him up and down for the gifts he'd asked Charlie not to buy, but inside, he was queasy.

The vision of Gran was hard to get out of his mind. He never met either of his grandfathers; she was the only elderly person he had ever spent time with. A kid at heart, Renée had always surrounded herself with youth, and now, Beau was following her example—though the Cullens only looked young.

Beau spotted Edward leaning motionlessly against the Volvo, like a marble tribute to some forgotten pagan god of beauty. The dream had not done him justice. And he was there waiting for Beau, just as he did every other day.

The despair Beau felt momentarily vanished as wonder took its place. Even after half a year with him, Beau still couldn't believe that he deserved this degree of good fortune.

Alice, Edward's sister, stood waiting for him, too.

Of course the two weren't really related. The Forks cover story was that all the Cullen siblings were adopted by Dr. Carlisle Cullen and his wife, Esme, both plainly too young to have teenage children. The entire family shared the same pale skin, the same gold eyes, and the same bruise-like shadows underneath them. Their faces were startlingly beautiful. To someone in the know—someone like Beau—these similarities marked them for what they were.

The sight of Alice waiting there—her tawny eyes bright with excitement, small hands wrapped around a silver-wrapped box—made him frown. Beau told Alice he didn't want anything, anything, not gifts or even attention, for his birthday. Obviously his wishes were being ignored.

Beau slammed the door of Big Red and moved to avoid the resulting shower of rust specks. Ever since it was towed back from Phoenix, the truck was starting to show its age, and today, Beau sympathized. Sooner or later they would both be put out to pasture.

Alice skipped forward to meet him. "Happy birthday, Beau!"

"Ssh!" He glanced around the parking lot to make sure no one overheard her. The last thing he wanted was a celebration of this dark day.

"Do you want to open your present now or later?"

"No presents."

She finally seemed to process his mood. "Okay . . . later, then. Did you like the scrapbook your mom sent you? And the camera from Charlie?"

Beau sighed. Of course she would know what his birthday presents were. Edward wasn't the only member of his family with unusual skills. Alice would have "seen" what his parents were planning as soon as they'd decided that themselves.

"Yeah. They're great."

"I think it's a nice idea. You're only a senior once. Might as well document the experience."

The world senior had more than one meaning this morning; Beau cringed. "How many times have you been a senior?"

"That's different."

They reached Edward then, and he extended his hand for Beau's. Beau took it eagerly, forgetting, for a moment, his glum mood. Edward's skin was, as always, smooth, hard, and very cold. He gave Beau's fingers a gentle squeeze. Beau looked into the liquid topaz eyes and felt his heart give a not-quite-so-gentle squeeze of its own. Hearing the stutter in his heartbeats, Edward smiled again.

Edward lifted his free hand and traced a cool fingertip across Beau's lips. "So, as discussed, I am not allowed to wish you a happy birthday, is that correct?"

"Yes. That is correct." Beau could never quite mimic the flow of his perfect, formal articulation. It was something that could only be picked up in an earlier century.

"Just checking. You might have changed your mind. Most people seem to enjoy things like birthdays and gifts."

"I'm not most people."

Alice laughed. "Of course you'll enjoy it. Everyone is supposed to be nice to you today and give you your way, Beau. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Getting older," Beau answered, knowing perfectly well she meant it was a rhetorical question. He watched Edward's smile tighten into a hard line at the words.

"Eighteen isn't very old. Don't people usually wait until they're twenty-nine to get upset over birthdays?"

"It's older than Edward."

Edward sighed.

"Technically," Alice said, keeping her tone light. "Just by one little year though."

Beau thought if he could be sure of the future he wanted, sure that he could spend forever with Edward, and Alice and the rest of the Cullens (preferably not as a senior citizen) . . . then a year or two in one direction or the other wouldn't matter so much. But Edward was dead set against any future that changed him. Any future that made Beau like him—that made him immortal, too.

An impasse, Edward called it.

Beau couldn't really see Edward's point. What was so great about mortality? Being a vampire didn't look like such a terrible thing—not the way the Cullens did it, anyway.

"What time will you be at the house?" Alice went on, changing the subject. Judging from her expression, she was up to the very thing Beau had been hoping to avoid.

"I didn't know I had plans to be there."

"Oh, be fair, Beau!" she complained. "You aren't going to ruin all our fun like that, are you?"

"I thought my birthday was about what I want."

"I'll get him from Charlie's right after school," Edward told her, ignoring Beau all together.

"I have to work."

"You don't, actually," Alice said smugly. "I already spoke to Mrs. Newton about it. She's trading your shifts. She said to tell you 'Happy Birthday.'"

"You spend enough money in her store," Beau mumbled, knowing full well they could hear him. "Besides, we can't have a party—we have more research to do."

Beau and Alice had taken to pulling as many public records they could procure from the library and the internet when the school year began. So far they had narrowed their search for her origins to the Deep South. Jasper reported Alice had a particular accent when they met, but it was hard to pinpoint, as these things often evolved with time.

Alice wanted to find more about her life—the short life she had—before she was made a vampire. Beau remembered being surprised by her request; she hadn't mentioned James since the start of summer. He knew Cullens could afford a private investigator, but, in a rare moment of shyness, Alice admitted she wanted to take this quest at human speed. The thought of dredging up painful memories made her nervous. She was happy to learn what she could at Beau's pace.

But there was no shyness from Alice today.

"Oh, that. We can go back to it tomorrow."

"I still can't come over, I haven't watched Romeo and Juliet for English."

Alice snorted. "You have Romeo and Juliet memorized."

"But Mr. Berty said we needed to see it performed to truly appreciate it—that's how Shakespeare intended it to be presented."

Edward rolled his eyes.

"You've already seen the movie."

"But not the nineteen-sixties version. Mr. Berty said it was the best."

Alice's smugness finally ran out. "This can be easy, or this can be hard, Beau, but one way or the other—"

Edward stepped in at last. "Relax, Alice. If Beau wants to watch a movie, then he can. It's his birthday."

"So there."

"I'll bring him over around seven. That will give you more time to set up."

"Sounds good," Alice laughed. "See you tonight, Beau. It'll be fun, you'll see."

Beau felt himself being pulled down to her height so Alice could peck him on the cheek. Then she danced off to her first class before he could say a word of protest.

"Edward, please—" Beau trailed off as Edward pressed a cool finger to his lips.

"Let's discuss it later. We're going to be late for class."

No one stared anymore as they took their usual seats in the back of the room. Edward had amazing pull with the female administrators and managed to get them placed in nearly all of the same classes. The two had been together so long that they were barely a blip on the school radar these days. Even Mike Newton had lightened up over the summer—in his attitude, at least. His pale blonde hair had been darkened and freed from its usual, gelled prison, where it curling lazily across his forehead.

Edward always smirked in Mike's presence, but never explained why.

Beau spent most of the morning plotting how to get out of whatever was going down at the Cullen house tonight. It would be bad enough to have to celebrate while in a mourning mood. But, worse than that, this was sure to involve attention and gifts.

Attention was kryptonite for the accident-prone. He was long finished with the physical therapy that followed his broken leg, but Beau still felt like a klutz.

And he'd pointedly asked—well, ordered really—that no one give him any presents this year. It looked like Charlie and Renée weren't the only ones ignoring his request.

Beau never had much money, and that had never bothered him. Renée had raised him on a kindergarten teacher's salary. Charlie wasn't getting rich at his job, either, and he was the police chief in this tiny town. Beau's personal income came from the three days a week working at Newton's Olympic Outfitters. He knew he was lucky; jobs were hard to come by in Forks. Every penny earned went directly to his microscopic college fund.

If he ever needed it, of course. With college baseball drifting away and the MLB with it, Beau didn't see the point of college; he had other plans for his future. College was Plan B. Edward was being stubborn about Plan A, which involved vampiric transformation. Beau's Plan C was to pursue a doctorate investigating the existence of supernatural creatures. There had to be another way to immortality. It was the only way Beau could level the playing field.

Edward had a lot of money; Beau tried not to think about it too much. Money meant next to nothing to the Cullens. It was just something that accumulated with unlimited time and a psychic proficient at reading the stock market. Edward didn't seem to understand why Beau objected to having money spent on his behalf. It made him uncomfortable to sit at an expensive dinner in Seattle when he was the only one eating. He refused to give up Big Red in favor of a Cullen-procured car. And he definitely objected to Edward paying his college tuition. The two butted heads constantly about Plan B.

How could Beau let Edward give him things when he had no way to reciprocate? Edward, for some unfathomable reason, wanted to be with him. Anything he gave Beau on top of that just threw them further out of balance.

As the day wore on, neither Edward nor Alice brought up his birthday again, and he began to relax a little. They joined him at their usual lunch table, where a strange kind of truce existed. Alice, Edward, and Beau sat on the far end of the table. Now that the "older" and somewhat scarier (in Emmett's case, certainly) Cullen siblings had graduated, Alice and Edward did not seem quite so intimidating. Beau's other friends, Mike and Jessica (who were in the awkward post-breakup friendship phase), Angela and Ben (whose relationship had survived the summer), Eric, Conner, Tyler, and Lauren (though the last two didn't really count in the friend category) all sat at the opposite side of the table. The invisible line dividing them all dissolved on sunny days when Edward and Alice were absent.

Edward and Alice didn't find this minor ostracism odd or hurtful. People always felt ill at ease around the Cullens, for reasons they could not explain. Beau was the rare exception to that rule. Sometimes it bothered Edward how comfortable Beau was being close to him. He thought himself hazardous to Beau's health, an opinion the latter rejected vehemently whenever it was voiced.

The afternoon passed quickly. School ended, and Edward walked him to Big Red as he usually did, but this time, he held the passenger door open. Alice must have been taking the Volvo home so that Edward could prevent an escape attempt.

"It's my birthday, don't I get to drive?"

"I'm pretending it's not your birthday, just as you wished."

Beau folded his arms. "If it's not my birthday, then I don't have to go to your house tonight."

"All right." Edward shut the passenger door and walked past him to open the one on the driver's side. "Happy birthday."

"Ssh."

Edward played with the radio during their ride home. He shook his head in disapproval. "Your radio has horrible reception."

"You can thank Rosalie for that." He was so nervous about Alice's plans, on top of his already gloomy mood, that the words came out sharper than intended. Beau was hardly ever bad-tempered with Edward. His tone made Edward press his lips together to keep from smiling.

Big Red came to a stop in front of Charlie's house. Edward reached over to take Beau's face in his hands. He brushed his cool fingers softly against his skin, gently, like Beau was breakable. Which, in comparison to the vampire, he was.

"You should be in a good mood, today of all days."

"And if I don't want to be in a good mood?" Beau asked, his breathing uneven.

The golden eyes smoldered. "Too bad."

Beau's head was already spinning by the time Edward leaned forward. The press of icy lips against his sent shivers down his spine. He soon forgot all about his worries, which was, no doubt, exactly what Edward intended.

Beau's enthusiasm quickly got the better of him. He felt Edward's mouth curve upward into a smile as he easily brought the kiss to an end.

Edward had drawn many careful lines for their physical relationship. He always said it was for Beau's own safety. Though Beau respected the need to maintain a safe distance between himself and Edward's razor-sharp, venom-coated teeth, he tended to forget trivial things like that when they were kissing.

"Be good, please," Edward breathed before indulging them both one more time.

"Do you think I'll ever get better at this?" Beau wondered aloud. "That my heart might someday stop trying to jump out of my chest whenever you touch me?"

"I really hope not." The vampire was a bit smug.

Beau rolled his eyes. "Let's go watch the Capulets and Montagues hack each other up, all right?"

"Your wish, my command."

Edward sprawled across the couch while Beau sped through the opening credits. Beau was surprised to feel the strong arms pulling him down so the boys were spooning. He didn't mind. This was the way they—well, he—slept every night. He accepted the old afghan blanket Edward offered so he wouldn't freeze beside him.

"You know, I've never had much patience with Romeo."

"What's wrong with Romeo?" Beau was offended; Romeo was one of his favorite fictional characters. He always had a thing for a tortured soul.

"Well, first of all, he's in love with this Rosaline—don't you think that makes him seem a little fickle? And then, a few minutes after their wedding, he kills Juliet's cousin. That's not very brilliant. Mistake after mistake. Could he have destroyed his own happiness any more thoroughly?"

Beau sighed. "Do you want me to watch this alone?"

"No, I'll mostly be watching you, anyway." His fingers traced patterns across the skin of Beau's arm, raising goosebumps. "Will you cry?"

"Probably," Beau admitted. "If I'm paying attention."

"I won't distract you then." But Beau was distracted; he felt Edward's kiss on the back of his neck.

The movie eventually captured his interest, thanks, in large part, to Edward whispering Romeo's lines in his ear. The irresistible, velvet voice made Leonard Whiting sound weak and coarse in comparison. And Beau did cry, to Edward's amusement, when Juliet woke and found her new husband dead.

"I'll admit, I do sort of envy him here."

"Do you have a thing for Olivia Hussey?"

Edward made a disgusted sound. "I don't envy him the girl—just the ease of the suicide. You humans have it so easy! All you have to do is throw down one tiny vial of plant extracts . . . "

"What?"

"It's something I had to think about once, and I knew from Carlisle's experience that it wouldn't be simple. I'm not even sure how many ways Carlisle tried to kill himself in the beginning . . . after he realized what he'd become . . . " His voice, which had grown serious, was light again. "And he's clearly still in excellent health."

"What are you talking about?" Beau demanded. "What do you mean, this is something you had to think about once?"

"Last spring, when you were . . . nearly killed . . . " Edward worked to bring the teasing tone back into his voice. "Of course I was trying to focus on finding you alive, but part of my mind was making contingency plans. Like I said, it's not as easy for me as it is for a human."

Beau flinched at the memory. He could see it all so clearly—the half-deflated balloons and streamers in the now-torched Forks High School gymnasium, the home video used to lure him there, and the sadistic vampire who wanted to torture him to death. James, waiting in the locker room with Charlie, his hostage—or so Beau thought. He hadn't known it was all a ruse. Just as James hadn't known that Edward was racing to save him; Edward made it in time, but it had been a close call. Beau traced the crescent-shaped scar on his hand. It was strangely a few degrees cooler than the rest of his skin.

"Contingency plans?"

"Well, I wasn't going to live without you." He rolled his eyes as if that fact was childishly obvious. "But I wasn't sure how to do it—I knew Emmett and Jasper would never help . . . so I was thinking maybe I would go to Italy and do something to provoke the Volturi."

Beau didn't want to believe he was serious, but those golden eyes were brooding, focused on something far away. Focused on contemplating ways to end his own life. Abruptly, Beau was furious.

"What is a Volturi?"

His eyes were still remote. "The Volturi are a family. A very old, very powerful family of our kind. They are the closest thing our world has to a royal family, I suppose. Carlisle lived with them briefly in his early years, in Italy, before he settled in America—do you remember the story?"

"Of course I remember."

Beau would never forget the first time he went to the Cullen house, or the room where Carlisle—Edward's father in so many real ways—kept a wall of paintings that illustrated his personal history. The most vivid, most wildly colorful canvas there, the largest, was from Carlisle's time in Italy. Of course Beau remembered the calm quartet of men, each with the exquisite face of a seraph, painted into the highest balcony overlooking the swirling mayhem of color. Though the painting was centuries old, Carlisle—the blond angel—remained unchanged. Beau remembered the three others, Carlisle's early acquaintances. Edward had never used the name Volturi for the beautiful trio, two black-haired, one snow white. He'd called them Aro, Caius, and Marcus, nighttime patrons of the arts . . .

"Anyway, you don't irritate the Volturi," Edward went on. "Not unless you want to die—or whatever it is that we do."

His voice was so calm, it made him sound almost bored by the prospect. Beau's anger turned to horror.

"Don't ever think of anything like that again. No matter what might ever happen to me, you are not allowed to hurt yourself."

"I'll never put you in danger again, so it's a moot point."

"Put me in danger? I thought we established that all the bad luck is my fault." Beau was getting angrier. The idea of Edward ceasing to exist, even if he was dead, was impossibly painful. "How dare you even think like that?"

"What would you do, if the situation were reversed?"

"That's not the same thing."

Edward didn't seem to understand the difference; he chuckled. This stoked Beau's anger even further.

"What if something did happen to you? Would you want me to go off myself?"

A trace of pain touched his perfect features. "I guess I see your point . . . a little. But what would I do without you?"

"Whatever you were doing before I came along and complicated your existence."

Edward sighed. "You make that sound so easy."

"It should be. I'm not really that interesting."

"Moot point," Edward reminded him. Then he pulled himself up into a more formal posture, shifting them both until so that they were no longer touching.

"Charlie?"

Edward smiled as the sound of the police cruiser pulling into the driveway reached them. Beau took his hand firmly. Charlie could deal with that much.

His father came in holding a pizza box. "Hey, kids. I thought you'd like a break from cooking and washing dishes for your birthday. Hungry?"

"Sure. Thanks, Dad."

Charlie didn't comment on Edward's apparent lack of appetite. He was used to him passing on dinner.

"Do you mind if I borrow Beau for the evening?" Edward asked when the pizza was all gone. "I know the Sox are playing the Mariners."

Beau looked at his father hopefully. Maybe he had some concept of birthdays as stay-at-home, family affairs—and with such a big game on. This was Beau's first birthday with him and the first birthday since Renée had remarried and gone to live in Florida. Beau didn't know what Charlie would expect.

"That's fine. I'll tape it for you, Beau," Charlie explained, dashing his son's hopes. "Take your new camera for a spin. Your mother will be wanting to see the pictures faster than you can snap them."

"Good idea, Charlie." Edward handed Beau the camera.

Beau turned it on Edward and snapped the first picture. "It works."

"That's good. Hey, say hi to Alice for me. She hasn't been over in a while."

"It's been three days, Dad," Beau reminded him. Charlie was crazy about Alice. He became attached to her last spring when she helped Beau through his recovery period. He would be forever grateful to her for saving him the horror of showering his almost-adult son. This also allowed Charlie to avoid a safe sex talk at the same time. "I'll tell her."

"Okay, you kids have fun tonight." Charlie was already edging toward the living room and the TV.

Edward smiled, triumphant, and led Beau away from the kitchen.

When they got to the truck, Edward opened the passenger door again, and this time Beau did not argue. He still had a hard time finding the obscure turnoff for the house in the dark.

Edward drove north through Forks, visibly chafing at the speed limit enforced by Big Red. The engine groaned even louder than usual as he pushed it over fifty.

"Take it easy."

"You know what you would love? A nice little Audi coupe. Very quiet, lots of power . . . "

"I think you're forgetting what happened the last time I drove a luxury car. Besides, speaking of expensive nonessentials, if you know what's good for you, you didn't spend any money on birthday presents."

"Not a dime," Edward said virtuously.

"Good."

"Can you do me a favor?"

Beau was suspicious. "That depends on what it is."

The vampire sighed. "Beau, the last real birthday any of us had was Emmett in 1935. Cut us a little slack, and don't be too difficult tonight. They're all very excited."

"Fine, I'll behave."

"I probably should warn you . . . "

"Please do."

"When I say they're all excited . . . I do mean all of them."

"Everyone? I thought Emmett and Rosalie were in Africa." The rest of Forks was under the impression that the older Cullens had gone off to Dartmouth this year.

"Emmett wanted to be here."

"But . . . Rosalie?"

"I know, Beau. Don't worry, she'll be on her best behavior."

Beau didn't answer. As if he could just not worry. Like it was that easy. Unlike Alice, Edward's other "adopted" sister, Rosalie, didn't like him much. The feeling was mutual. As far as Rosalie was concerned, Beau was an unwelcome intruder into her family's secret life; for Beau, the beautiful blonde nearly totaled Big Red to strengthen their case that a car crash caused the grievous injuries delivered by James. It cost him a small fortune to send the truck back to Dowling's. And that was just for his car—it took almost all summer for him to earn enough to cover the Mercedes repairs.

He did feel guilty about their situation. Beau wanted to make amends, especially because having Rosalie around meant seeing Emmett, Edward's playful bear of a brother, too. He was in many ways the big brother Beau always wanted . . . only much, much more terrifying.

"So, if you won't let me get you the Audi, isn't there anything that you'd like for your birthday?"

The words came out in a whisper. "You know what I want."

A deep frown carved creases into his marble forehead. He obviously wished he stuck to the subject of Rosalie. It felt like they'd had this argument a lot today.

"Not tonight, Beau. Please."

"Well, maybe Alice will give me what I want."

Edward growled—a deep, menacing sound. "This isn't going to be your last birthday, Beau."

"That's not fair!"

They were pulling up to the house now. Bright lights shone from every window. A long line of glowing Japanese lanterns hung from the porch eaves, reflecting a soft radiance on the huge cedars that surrounded the house. Big bowls of flowers lined the wide staircase that led up to the doorway.

Beau moaned.

"This is a party," Edward reminded him after a handful of calming breaths. "Try to be a good sport."

"Sure."

Edward came around to get the door and offered his hand.

"I have a question."

He waited warily.

"If I develop this film," Beau said as he toyed with the camera. "Will you show up in the picture?"

Edward burst into laughter. He was still laughing as they made their way up the stairs and through the front door.

The family was waiting in the huge white living room. When they walked in, the Cullens greeted him with a loud chorus of "Happy birthday, Beau!" He smiled as his face flooded with color.

There was a table draped with a white cloth next to Edward's piano. It held a birthday cake, plates, and a small pile of silver-wrapped presents.

It was a hundred times worse than he imagined. Edward, sensing his distress, held his hand.

Edward's parents, Carlisle and Esme—impossibly youthful and as lovely as ever—were the closest to the door. Esme hugged him, her soft caramel curls brushing against his chest. Carlisle put an arm around Beau's shoulders.

"Sorry about this, Beau," he stage-whispered. "We couldn't rein Alice in."

Rosalie and Emmett stood behind them. She did not smile, but at least she didn't glare. Emmett's face was stretched into a huge grin. It had been months since they saw each other; Beau had forgotten how beautiful Rosalie was. And had Emmett always been so . . . big?

"You haven't changed at all," Emmett said with mock disappointment. "I expected a perceptible difference, but here you are, red-faced just like always."

"Thanks a lot, Emmett." The tone made him laugh.

"I have to step out for a second"—Emmett paused to wink conspicuously at Alice—"Don't do anything funny while I'm gone."

"I'll try."

Alice let go of Jasper's hand and skipped forward, her teeth sparkling in the bright light. Jasper smiled too, but kept his distance. He leaned, long and blond, against the post at the foot of the stairs. During the days they spent cooped up in Vancouver, Beau thought he'd gotten over his aversion to him. But Jasper had gone back to exactly how he acted before—avoiding Beau as much as possible—the moment he was free from that temporary obligation to protect him. Beau knew it wasn't personal; it was a precaution. Jasper had more trouble sticking to the vegetarian diet than the rest of his family. The scent of human blood was much harder for him to resist than the others—he hadn't been trying as long.

"Time to open presents," Alice declared. She towed Beau by the elbow to the table with the cake and the shiny packages.

"Alice, I know I told you I didn't want anything—"

"But I didn't listen," she interrupted smugly. "Open it."

Beau sighed and accepted the large square box she gave him. He was forever indulging Alice since the incident with James. In an act of bravery or foolishness—Beau vacillated on that depending on the day—he smashed the video camera James set up to record his final moments. It didn't matter, of course; Edward learned of the camera's secrets the moment the family confronted James. But Beau still felt guilty and always gave in to her whims in the end.

The box was as light as air. The tag on the wrapping paper said it was from Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper. Beau tore the paper off and stared into the empty box. There was nothing inside.

"Um . . . thanks."

Rosalie actually cracked a smile. Jasper laughed. "It's a new stereo for your truck. Emmett's installing it right now so that you can't return it."

"Always one step ahead of me, Alice. Thanks, Jasper, Rosalie," Beau said, grinning as he remembered Edward's complaints about the radio this afternoon—all a setup, apparently. "Thanks, Emmett!"

There was an answering booming laugh from outside.

"Open mine and Edward's next," Alice said excitedly. Her voice had become a high-pitched trill.

Beau glared at Edward. "You promised."

Before he could answer, Emmett bounded through the door, pushing Jasper to the side so he could have a better view. "Just in time!"

"I didn't spend a dime," Edward assured him as he brushed a strand of hair from Beau's forehead. The skin there tingled in his wake.

"Give it to me," Beau sighed.

Emmett chuckled with delight.

Beau stuck one finger under the edge of the wrapping paper, wincing as it sliced his skin. He pulled it out to examine the damage. A drop of blood oozed from the tiny cut.

It all happened very quickly then.

"No!" Edward roared.

He threw himself at Beau, flinging his body across the table. It fell, as Beau did, scattering the cake, presents, and plates. Beau landed in the mess of shattered crystal.

Jasper slammed into Edward. The sound was like the crash of boulders in a rock slide.

There was another noise, a grisly snarling that seemed to be coming from deep in Jasper's chest. He tried to shove past Edward, snapping his teeth just inches from Edward's face.

Emmett grabbed Jasper from behind and locked him into his massive steel grip. Jasper struggled, his wild, empty eyes focused only on Beau.

Beyond the shock, there was also pain. Beau had tumbled down to the floor by the piano, his arms thrown out instinctively to catch his fall, and landed on the jagged shards of glass. Only now did he feel the searing, stinging pain that ran from his wrist to the crease inside his elbow.

Dazed and disoriented, Beau looked up from the bright, red blood pulsing out of his arm—into the fevered eyes of six suddenly ravenous vampires.

A/N: Hey everyone! It's been a long time! Welcome back to The Blue Hour Twific universe. I hope you're happy to be here—I for sure am!

I did not intend this to take so long to publish, but ya know, the pandemic sucks. I wanted to at least post on the two year anniversary of The Blue Hour, but even that slipped by. Fortunately I can report that Moonrise, my New Moon AU and the second part of this series, has 20 prewritten chapters and will post every Sunday here and on Archive of Our Own (AO3). I also have—of all things—an upcoming Emmett/Rosalie AH story that I've been working on concurrently with Moonrise. Please check it out if you can, I'm really excited about it.

Another word on Moonrise—it mostly follows NM canon until unraveling in Chapter 5/6/7. Then we'll take a wild, AU turn. Buckle up!

Thanks again, welcome back, and enjoy the ride!