Author's Notes (July 19, 2011): Thanks to Aleeab4u, duskwatcher2153, GreatChemistry and smexy4smarties for polishing this chapter and listening to me whine about life.
Chapter pic: bit(dot)ly/sotpm25-pic
Chapter music: bit(dot)ly/sotpm25-music
"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"
CHAPTER 25: PEACE AND SPANNERS IN THE WORKS
When I'm shamed and humbled in disgrace,
I am yours, if you are mine.
When time decides it won't stop for me,
When the hawks and vultures are circling,
I am yours, if you are mine.
"I Am Yours" by Tracy Chapman
EDWARD MASEN
Something had transpired between Bella and Alice. I didn't know what, but when Bella returned from Forks, she came with more questions. And this time she wanted detailed answers.
"What was it like in the beginning?" she asked, pushing her dinner plate to the side. "When you woke up as a vampire?"
"The details are gory," I warned. "You just ate."
"I think I can handle it."
I studied her face from where I sat across from her at the kitchen table. She was being sincere, I knew, but it was difficult to reveal myself, as though I were peeling away bandages to reveal festering wounds. Could she handle more of my past? Could I handle revealing it to her? But if she'd not run or screamed yet, especially after knowing I hadn't attempted to turn Charlie, she probably wouldn't. I had to remember that.
So I unearthed what I'd long ago tried to bury and told her the story of waking alone one early evening in a rundown Chicago warehouse. I'd woken to a fire in my throat far worse than the one I'd suffered during the Spanish Influenza and to a soundtrack of strange, one-sided conversations that had made no sense.
I'd been overwhelmed by everything, right down to the dried bloodstain on my neck—my own blood, though I'd not known it then—which I'd scratched off and licked from my fingernails without hesitation. I would have chewed my fingers off if I'd believed it would lead to more of that sweetness.
My clothes scratched at my skin like wool on a hot summer day. They smelled of sweat, which was both revolting and appetizing in ways I couldn't understand.
One thought pervaded my mind: What's wrong with me?
My bowels and bladder had emptied and stained my slacks. A smeared trail of my own waste could be seen from the open warehouse door to where I lay; I'd dragged myself to shelter at some point, though I had no recollection of it.
In truth, I had little recollection of anything that hadn't happened in the weeks before my change.
One thing I hadn't forgotten was that I was a carouser. I'd been such a drunk in my last years as a human that one of my first thoughts, hazy though it was, was that I must have passed out from overindulging, and my body had seen fit to right itself while I was unconscious. Of course, the body releases its contents in death, too, but I hadn't known I was dead—or undead, depending on one's views on vampirism. That realization had come later, upon discovering my heart lay silently in my chest.
I was an animal, reverting to the basic instincts of man, to less-than-man. I felt powerful and afraid, as if my body couldn't quite contain me. Either it would swallow me up or I'd take control of its strength and conquer the world. Nothing escaped my notice—no dust mote, no skittering beetle or smelly patch of mold. I saw—felt, smelled, heard—everything.
Like a mad man, I tore off my clothes and walked, filthy and naked, down alleys, feeling as alien as I undoubtedly looked. I was searching for something, smelling a thousand scents on the wind—dirt and oil and garbage and factory smoke and dust and damp concrete and something delightfully sweet—hearing voices, so many voices, turning around, and expecting to see people behind me. There was never anyone there. The conversations weren't spoken aloud. It'd taken me an hour to figure that out, and several more to believe the truth: I could read minds. By then, I'd run away to the outskirts of Chicago, past suburbs and into the wilderness.
But not before hearing that flutter, that thud and thump that was the sweetest music, one that—even now—I could not replicate on piano. It was a melody that sent tingles down my spine and made my muscles coil in excitement.
Life.
Yes, I'd fled to the outskirts of Chicago, but not before listening to that music and smelling that scent—the scent—the one that would change me forever, even more than the blond-haired bastard who had turned me. He'd left me alone, afraid and thirsty. So thirsty.
Not that I'd needed him to guide me. Instinct told me what to do.
I took my first innocent on that cloudy, twelfth of August evening—a woman whose name I never knew, but I remembered her last thought, of the curly-haired toddler waiting for her at home with the nanny. I'd killed a woman, a wife, a mother, and while part of me had felt remorse, a much larger part had been thrilled by her pitiful struggle and—of course—the taste.
"It should have been me," I said to Bella. "She had a right to live." But I'd yielded to the monster, and she'd died with a mouth wide open in mid-scream, a mouth I'd covered with my hand. I'd shattered her jaw with my strength, snapped her spine in my eagerness. I'd chosen the path of least resistance and savored every drop, a demonic babe at a twisted breast. "My time should have been up, but instead…"
"She's not here and you are," Bella finished gently.
"I'm sorry." It was all I could say.
She drew in an uneven breath. "What happened after that?"
"For a while, I aimed to make amends for what I'd done," I explained. "It took time, but I learned how to use my ability to find humans who were planning to harm others."
"You saved people?" Bella said, her voice rising in surprise.
"Saved?" I scoffed. "Don't paint me in such a heroic light."
"But that's what you did if you went after bad people, right? It means you saved innocent people."
"Salvation through murder. That's a poetic idea," I said. "But, no, I don't believe I did much saving. That wasn't my intention, no matter what I told myself at the time. It was only that I felt less guilty in killing degenerates. It was about me, Bella; it wasn't about saving innocents or seeking justice."
"But you still saved people."
"It may appear that way, but in the long run, I didn't save anyone. Killing a man does something to you, as you might suspect. I became a monster by feeding off of monsters, and I did more damage than any of those criminals could have over time. They fed…a part of me that I don't like to think about."
"You are what you eat," Bella murmured, her eyes widening when she realized she'd said the words aloud.
I snorted a laugh. "Something like that. Don't misunderstand. I don't regret ending those who were out to harm others"—Bella's heart skipped a beat, and I gentled my voice—"but I convinced myself that I was doing mankind a great service. I felt that humanity owed me. Arrogance and gluttony ensured my downfall, and in time there was little difference between myself and those I judged evil. When I stopped drinking human blood, I was more often feeding from innocents than criminals. I am a criminal."
What a downfall it had been, to go from one pulsing vein to the next, until my existence was a continuous, bloody haze. The blood, the innocents I stole it from, coddled me and helped me forget that I was alone. As long as I was on the move, as long as I was hunting, I didn't have time to think about what I was doing or what I'd become. Until Renée crossed my path.
"So now you write music," Bella said, interrupting my thoughts.
I nodded once. "So now I write music."
She wanted to know more, and as she peeled away more of my bandages, I was surprised to find I wanted her to know more. I'd begun to think no subject was taboo when she made a request that left me on edge.
She wanted to know my victims' stories.
I sat at my piano, playing "Sweet Hour of Prayer" in an effort to calm myself. It didn't work. I'd told Bella to choose a binder, that we'd begin with whatever she chose, but I didn't want to begin. I wanted to hide. I wanted to lie and tell her that I'd never killed anyone, that these weren't my victims' swan songs. Shame lay heavy in the pit of my belly. How could she love the monster behind the music, behind so much bloodshed?
She returned to my side with binder forty-one, which contained my murders from 1962. Twenty-three innocents—dead. Lives and families ruined. My doing.
"And you're sure you want to know all of this?" I asked as she sat beside me.
"I'm sure."
Her answer came easily and was free of judgment. I wasn't sure whether I should be selfishly grateful for her acceptance or concerned by her lack of ire and absent self-preservation.
Without further comment, Bella flipped the binder open to its table of contents and smacked it down in front of us, covering a cluttered mass of sheet music. My sins confronted me once more, from Alex Cho, who I'd killed in January of sixty-two, to Camille Jensen-Berg, who'd died on New Year's Eve. This binder was a work in progress; only seven of these innocents had swan songs composed for them. I sighed.
Bella ran a finger down the rows of names. "Have I heard any of their music?"
"You've heard Stacy's piece," I answered softly, remembering the pungent scent of chopped onions and hickory smoke. He'd been a cook in Michigan—underpaid, overworked, dog-tired. And delicious. I swallowed venom. Perfect recall meant I would never forget the way they tasted.
"And these are the dates that—" Bella glanced at me, unsure.
"That I killed them, yes." There was no sugarcoating murder.
Her heart stuttered.
"Why do you want this?" I asked, my voice rough. "It's not as if telling you the details or playing music brings them back. It doesn't change anything."
I'd learned as much long ago.
These wounds, self-inflicted as they were, weren't easy to reveal, even to Bella, even after so much else had come out. I'd played my music for her, but no one had ever known the true stories behind individual pieces. What she asked for seemed like too much.
I didn't give her time to answer. "Must I tell you everything?" I asked bitterly. "Don't I get to keep any secrets?"
Bella didn't even blink at my outburst. She reached out and placed a warm hand on my forearm. "I just want to help."
"Help? How do you think you can help?"
She removed her hand and looked down at her lap. "I don't know. I just know this eats you up inside."
"It should, Bella. They're dead because of me."
"I know, okay! You don't have to keep telling me."
"I only tell you because it's true."
"I know," she said again. "I just wish… You helped me with Dad and—"
"Your father's passing was and is a completely unrelated matter—a natural matter."
"It's not that different. All these people… I know you've made terrible mistakes—I get it—but that's in the past now, and you're trying to do right. You're grieving them. I hear it in your music."
"You confuse grief with guilt."
"You're not bad. I don't believe that. Bad people don't do the things you do."
"You don't want to believe I'm evil—and I don't want you to—but maybe you're wrong, Bella. Have you considered that?"
Why am I sabotaging myself?
Of course, deep down, I knew.
I wanted her to have someone better than I was capable of being. I knew of a different way of existing now, but to show her this… How, why, would she ever choose me? When I set aside my feelings and thought solely of what was best for Bella, why would I ever want her to choose me? But she was my mate. I did want her, and I wanted her to choose me.
I'm fucked.
"Edward? Let me help you."
I stared at her, wondering how on earth she thought she could help. What did she know of murder? Of bloodlust? Of loneliness and fear and boiling anger? Those were the things that simmered beneath the surface.
"Please," she whispered.
She deserves to know. I know she does.
Sparing no detail, I told her everything about the twenty-three people I'd killed in 1962.
I hated myself in the telling.
With the raw truth of a part of my past now in the open, I left Bella in the house and sought the coolness of the woods. After revealing so many things, there'd been too much heat in the four walls of my home—central heating to keep Bella warm, Bella and Lucky's body heat, and worst of all, the heat of my shame, a full-body blush I had no means of expressing but felt nonetheless. Bella assured me that knowing my dark secrets didn't change her feelings, but it did something to me.
I was naked to her, and I was unworthy, no matter what she believed.
When I thought of how foolishly I'd laid everything out to her, how I'd all but begged her to consider joining me in this existence, I was embarrassed. What right did I have to ask her for such things? Being what I was, what could I give her? Surely she saw me for what I was now.
I returned home some hours later to a dark house filled with the gentle tattoo of steady heartbeats. Lucky was curled up on the couch, his paws twitching in response to dreams, and Bella was asleep upstairs, her breathing easy. If only I could sleep.
On my way to the laundry room to pull off muddy jeans, I stopped short at my piano. Bella had left a sheet of staff paper tented upward to gain my attention. I opened it, taking a moment to smooth out the middle crease on the lid of the piano.
Thank you for sharing yourself with me. It helps me understand.
I love you. Nothing will ever change that.
I stared at the word nothing; she'd underlined it with three crooked lines.
Beneath her note were a series of scribbled verses, some crossed out, others left in three-versed stanzas. "Another Man's Land," the title of one of my pieces, was quoted at the top of what she'd written.
Soon, I realized what Bella had done. She had paired her words with my music.
They weren't just any words, either. Bella wrote true, raw words that, even more so than when I'd watched her write Charlie's eulogy, allowed me to catch a glimpse of her psyche.
These were words that saw through me, to the essence of who I was. Words that saw into the mind of my victim, as if she'd been with me as I'd drawn the blood from Josef Cerny's neck, as if she'd heard his weeping and felt him struggle.
Bella not only knew. Somehow, she understood.
An unnatural chill snaked down my spine, and I glanced over my shoulder to sniff the air. I was alone, but I didn't feel alone. Bella's words made it seem as though Josef Cerny were standing right next to me.
I thought of Billy Black's story of the forlorn tribesman. Billy believed in that tale, in a death that led to one's transformation, where the spirit went on to exist elsewhere in nature. He was of a mind that a part of Charlie Swan would forever live along the waters of La Push, to gaze on Billy's children and grandchildren as a kind of spiritual godfather. Perhaps his ideas weren't so farfetched after all.
Bella had transformed the essence of Josef Cerny. A part of him lived on the eight-and-a-half by eleven sheet of staff paper I held.
Free to rest,
Free to drift away…
My shoulders sagged. There was a completeness found in these verses that I'd never come close to achieving with music alone. This was a swan song. This was penitence.
Free.
Only peace and grace remained. It's done, I thought, both surprised and relieved. It felt as though Josef could rest in my music and Bella's words. And live. It was everything I'd attempted—and failed—to achieve on my own for twenty years.
Bella had said she would help me. I'd never supposed she actually could.
The staff paper slipped from my fingers and fluttered to the floor as I ran upstairs. I came to an abrupt halt at the side of my bed, where Bella was curled up in a ball beneath the covers. I knew I should let her sleep, but I couldn't control myself. The joy and relief were too much to bear.
"Bella," I whispered, shaking her shoulder as gently I could. "Bella, wake up."
She stirred and blinked up at me. I saw myself reflected, ghostlike, on the glassy darkness of her eyes. "Hmm?"
I moved too fast, touching her shoulders, her hair, the uneven flesh of the scar on her face. Her heart thundered, but she wasn't afraid of my sudden appearance. "You wrote for Josef." She shook her head, confused; I'd spoken too quickly. "You wrote for Josef," I repeated, slower this time.
Her cheeks turned rosy. "You read it?"
I nodded, smiling.
"I know it needs work. Maybe I shouldn't have even written it. It's your music. I shouldn't have—"
"Bella, it's amazing."
Her eyes widened. "You think so? You like it?"
"You've done what I never could. It's—well, it's perfect. It's as if you were there with me. I don't know how you did it. You understand exactly who Josef was." By extension, that meant she understood me.
So much for my being the mind-reader in this relationship.
"It's not that good," she protested. "It's your music. It always inspires me." She held my gaze as she tried and failed to hold back a yawn.
"You should sleep," I said. "I shouldn't have woken you."
"It's okay. I'm glad you did."
I pulled the covers up to her chin. "Rest. I'll—"
"Stay with me."
"I don't sleep," I reminded her, glancing at her sideways.
"I know, but…" She pushed the bed covers down again. "I miss you."
"You're sure?"
She nodded.
I didn't have to be invited twice. I yanked my jeans down, not caring that they lay muddy on the floor, and slid in beside her. She curled toward me, a flame bending forward from the fire. This heat, I didn't mind at all.
We lay facing each other, small smiles on our faces. A bridge of excitement lay between us. Something profound had happened.
"Thank you," I whispered.
She entwined our fingers. "I won't let you get lost, either, you know."
I'd never felt so alive as when I kissed her then.
The first day of winter passed without notice. Somehow, though the odds had seemed against us, Bella and I found one another in music and words.
Per some unspoken agreement, we began at the beginning, opening the first of my binders from the early twenties. I told her my victims' stories; played any completed piece she wanted to hear, as many times as she requested; and she wrote poetic fragments as they came to her. Some works we finished, while others we abandoned to return to at a later time.
Bella possessed a rare talent that could perhaps be attributed to my music—as she insisted she'd never written this way before—but I thought her own, compassionate nature was what lay behind her lyricism. She'd been influenced by the many things she'd read before Charlie was ill, and all the quotes from her journal, but her words were her own, and they blended well with my music.
We were partners.
As we grew closer through our joint efforts, so my elation grew. Bella said nothing of joining me in this existence, and though I knew I shouldn't entertain such fantasies, I imagined them nonetheless. Her voice, sweet but gently off-key now, would caress the notes of any tune if she became a vampire. I thought I could spend eternity this way, with my fingers on the keys and hers penning verses, the gentle hum of our voices harmonizing.
Our work was interrupted when the Cullens visited us one morning on their way to Alaska, bearing Christmas well wishes and a homemade apple pie for Bella, even though she'd insisted none of us cook for her anymore.
I struggled to be hospitable, annoyed that I'd only found out about their Alaskan trip at the last minute. As a mind reader, I'd never handled the unknown very well, often perceiving it as a threat. To discover that the Cullens and I were not the only vampires to survive on animal blood, that they had supposed "relatives" that they'd never bothered to tell me about, wasn't something I easily accepted. I'd found out only an hour prior to their impromptu visit. During a phone call.
Their behavior seemed suspicious, even more so when I found their thoughts revealed nothing—seemed to even be guarded, perhaps—but I reprimanded myself and didn't disrespect them by voicing my doubts, though Alice likely saw me consider doing so several times. I had no good reason to distrust the Cullens anymore, not when they were willing to break treaties for Bella and me. I had to remember that I was no longer a nomad. Thinking and behaving as though the Cullens were my territorial enemies was unacceptable.
Still, I was glad to see them leave, if for no other reason than it meant I would have more time with Bella. Things were going well; I didn't want to ruin that.
But humans don't possess the same level of focus that vampires do. Bella needed rest and variation, even in her routines. Her creativity couldn't be forced forever, and on the third day of our working together, she put down her pen and paper and said to me, "Let's do something else."
The bubble we'd been living in finally burst, but it seemed all right. There were five swan songs completed now, and we weren't the same people we'd been going into the bubble. We were better.
"I feel ridiculous," Bella mumbled behind the scarf I'd wrapped around the lower half of her face.
"I don't want you to be cold." I slipped a newly-purchased mitten over her hand.
She rolled her eyes. "I'm dying of heatstroke in here."
"Oh, you're perfectly fine. We'll be outside in a minute." I pulled a beanie cap over her head, making sure to tug the knitted fabric over the tops of her ears. I stood back to look at her and frowned. "I should have gotten you earmuffs."
"I would not wear earmuffs. This is already overkill."
"Your opinion may change after you see where I'm taking you."
"And just where are you taking me—Antarctica?"
I grinned at her crabbiness. "Where we're going"—she looked hopeful as I paused and leaned forward—"is a surprise."
Her face fell. "I hate surprises. Have you forgotten the frog?"
"That was a momentary lapse in judgment," I said lightly. Directing her hands to my shoulders, I bent down and tied her boot laces. Her coat was too thick for her to easily do it herself.
"There," I breathed, glancing at her thighs before rising to my feet.
"Can we go now?" She made a puh-puh sound as she tried to dislodge lint from her tongue.
Holding back a laugh, I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and opened the back door. "Winter awaits."
"But you're barefoot!"
I looked down at my feet with her. "The cold doesn't bother me like it does you." I shrugged. "Anyhow, it's easy to wear through shoes in the forest."
"Wear through shoes? How?"
"You'll see."
I closed the door on Lucky's whimper and the scrape of his foot against the locked dog door. He wanted to come, but we were going too far away, and I hated when he got lost in the woods, trailing behind my faster speeds. I tapped the door in reply. "We'll be back soon, pup."
Helping an overdressed Bella down slippery patio steps proved impossible, so to her great dismay, I carried her to the grass. Late, or early, as it was—five in the morning—frost covered everything, so that my feet crunched upon the earth. I could feel each icy blade of grass shatter under my weight.
"Can you put me down?"
Her face was close to mine, rosy and smelling of her woolen scarf and the cinnamon of the apple cider I'd given her before dressing her for this outing.
I kissed the exposed sliver of her cheek and set her down. "We're only changing positions."
"Huh?" Her eyes dipped below my waist, then back to my face. She blushed.
Sighing shakily, I turned around and bent at the knees. "Piggy-back ride."
"What?" She snorted a laugh. "No way. I haven't done that since I was a kid and slipped off Renée's back. I was bruised for a week. I already feel foolish enough being out here dressed like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man when you've only got a sweatshirt on—and no shoes!"
I glanced at her over my shoulder. "You look fine—a little puffy, granted, but fine. I'd rather you be warm. And I won't let you fall."
"Is this part of your surprise?"
"Yes."
"I don't like it."
"Humor me."
She let out a loud sigh, but waddled forward and put her arms around my neck. She hopped and half scrabbled up my back. I grabbed her legs and locked her heels together at my front and tried not to think about how good it felt having her wrapped around me again.
"Happy now?" she asked.
"Very," I replied as I walked into the woods, all the while wishing that the cold more reliably dowsed the flame of desire.
Such thoughts wouldn't do. Bella had already seemed eager to renew the physical side of our relationship in the last night. I was eager, too, which she'd have known had I let her anywhere near my lower half, but I'd carefully rebuffed her advances.
I wouldn't endanger her. If we could ever make love again, it would be after careful consideration. I would be well-fed. We would take everything slowly. She would not push me for more, and I would control myself. Not that the thought of sliding in and out of her inspired control.
"What is it you always say to me?" Bella asked. "Penny for your thoughts?"
I lied, "I was thinking about how nice it is tonight."
Nice save.
"It's too dark for me. Can you see?"
"I see just fine." I nodded my chin toward the darkness ahead. "You'll be able to see more as we get to higher ground."
"That'll take forever."
I chuckled. "You think?"
"You're carrying me."
"You weigh next to nothing," I said, squeezing her thighs. They were fuller than when we'd first met. "So you want to go faster?"
At my words, her heart thudded against my back, making it feel as though it were my own, beating again. "You're going to run?"
I could smell her excitement as I said, "Yes. Hold on tight."
She renewed her grip. "Okay, I'm ready."
"You trust me?"
She took a breath. "With my life."
Happiness propelled me as I leapt into the dark. I wove through knotted trees, headed toward higher altitudes. Bella's heart continued to race, and I could hear and feel the warm rush of her breath against my neck.
"Are you all right?" I called in a loud enough voice that she'd hear over the wind.
She laughed a brilliant, bright laugh, one of pure, adrenaline-tinged bliss. "Can you go faster?"
I could, and she squealed as I doubled speed, bounding across sprawling creeks and fallen trees. We were free.
A half hour later, just as I was beginning to feel tremors of tiredness ripple through Bella's thighs and arms, I slowed us to a stop in the clearing. It was one I liked to visit after hunting, for the moon always seemed close beneath this patch of sky.
The clearing was halved by a rushing stream, a tributary of nearby Lake Mills. A mushy sludge of ice kissed its shore, and the water shimmered in grey-blue tones, mirroring the surrounding trees and the sky. Snow flurried to the ground.
"It's beautiful here," Bella said. "Much brighter than in the woods, too."
"I like it, too." Carefully, I bent to let her slide off my back.
"Oh!" she exclaimed as her knees buckled. I caught her around her waist before she fell.
"Careful," I hissed, and she looked up at me sheepishly.
"Sorry." She touched my chest. "I'm okay now."
"You love speed," I said, shaking my head as I led her over to a large boulder. I lifted her up on it.
"It was fun," she replied, yanking down the scarf to expose her mouth. Smiling, she looked up at the waning moon. Snow flurries landed on her cap and face, only to melt. "Thanks for bringing me here. You're…faster than I thought you'd be."
I hopped up on the boulder beside her and closed my fingers over one of her mitten-covered hands. "I'm glad you're not afraid of me. Even now that you know everything."
Excepting my history with Renée. I'd not told her about that. Did I plan to? I wasn't sure.
Bella shook her head. "I don't think I've ever been afraid, exactly. Not for myself. Confused or worried, yeah—unnerved—but not afraid."
"Are you confused or worried now?"
"No," she answered, bumping me with her shoulder.
"I thought you'd like the sky from here, but it's a little cloudy," I said with a frown. "I could take you higher," I added, looking toward mountains in the distance.
"I'm happy here."
I relaxed. I was, too.
We lay back on the boulder, and I pointed out the stars that my eyes could see through the thick clouds. I pulled her close and guided her hand through the shape of the common constellations. "That one's Orion," I said, tangling our fingers.
Through a patchwork of thick clouds, we watched the sky lighten into the beginnings of an overcast Christmas Eve. There'd be no demonstrations of what happened to me in the sun on this day, but I was content.
I nudged Bella awake from where she'd fallen asleep on my shoulder. She'd begun to shiver. "Let's get you home."
Cradling her along my front this time, I jogged lightly. She quaked against the wind and curled into me as much as she could. I hoped she wouldn't catch cold.
Influenza. Pneumonia. Any number of illnesses that could kill a human. I'd change her if it came down to it. With her permission. I needed her permission.
She interrupted my thoughts as she spoke between chattering teeth. "Will you take me running again sometime?"
"I would run all over creation with you if you asked it."
"Maybe I'll run with you one day," she whispered, and it took great effort not to stumble.
Bella woke late in the afternoon, and I eagerly went to her at the bottom of the stairs. Her skin was warm again. No signs of sniffles. I kissed her forehead. Temperature was normal. Satisfied that she was healthy, I launched into my introduction.
"I know you said I shouldn't get you anything for Christmas, but it's not Christmas quite yet and—"
"Edward…" She sounded exasperated.
"Bella." I laughed. "Close your eyes. I promise it's nothing extravagant." I covered her eyes with my hands, and guided her toward the kitchen.
I'd made Bella all of her favorite foods, the ones I'd learned at last. There was ravioli, garlic bread and layered chocolate cake that claimed to be better than sex, though I highly doubted its lofty claim. I'd considered making her a Bloody Mary—the irony of which wasn't lost on me, what with having killed eight Marys in the past—but I didn't think it would go well with everything else.
It all smelled unappetizing, but I couldn't stop smiling.
"You made pasta?" She sniffed the air.
"Perhaps." I removed my hands from her eyes. "Take a look."
Bella's lips parted in surprise. The candles I'd lit cast golden light across her cheekbones and made the few freckles that dusted her skin stand out, golden brown. "You didn't have to do this," she whispered.
"No, but I like taking care of you. I always will. Whether you let me for eighty years or a million." A million years with Bella sounded just about right.
She looked away from the food-laden table to gaze at me. Tears were in her eyes. "Thank you." She sat at the chair I pulled out for her. "I used to make a big dinner for Charlie and me on Christmas Eve. It was how we celebrated Christmas."
I knew that from Charlie's memories, which had inspired this, but I only smiled in response.
There were leftovers, as I'd known there would be, but she'd made quite a dent in the chocolate cake, which did in fact elicit several moans.
"I'll do the dishes," she said, quickly grabbing the plate I'd been about to pick up. "You should…go hunt. Have your own dinner." She bit at her lip. "Your eyes are dark."
"It's Christmas Eve. I'm not leaving you."
"But you did all this for me. You shouldn't go hungry when I'm stuffed."
"I'm not hungry."
"Yes, you are."
"I'm not."
I was. She knew it, too.
She knew me.
"Just go, Edward." She leaned up on tiptoe and kissed my cheek. "I'll be up when you get back."
I returned a few hours later, well fed on deer—and bloodstained. I slipped quietly through the backdoor, trying to pinpoint where Bella was in the house so I could avoid her. I didn't want her to see me like this.
Lucky yipped when he saw me.
"Shut it, mutt," I hissed, baring my teeth at him. He grunted and left the room.
It turned out Bella was upstairs, along with all of my clothes and the only full bath in the house.
I didn't plan this well.
If I ran, I thought she wouldn't see me. But then nothing could have prepared me for what I was running toward, what I would see in my bedroom. I stopped in the doorway to stare.
Bella's back was turned to me as she removed the last of her clothes. She slipped out of her underwear, revealing milky curves and a birthmark only my eyes could see. The brazier fell to the floor in a black tangle, landing atop jeans and a sweater the color of fresh blood.
My thirst was sated, but my throat was dry. I couldn't have moved if I wanted to, not that I had any desire to move—unless it was to move closer.
Her pulse changed. Her breathing quickened. When she turned around, she wasn't surprised to see me. The pink blush that painted her cheeks also colored her breasts.
I couldn't stop staring. It wasn't that I'd forgotten what she looked like—there was no way I could forget—but to see her like this again, to feel the heat rolling off of her onto me, into me, through me…
She crossed her arms over her chest, but then she let them fall to her sides. "You're home," she said softly.
"You're naked."
Her blush darkened. "You need a bath."
My desire fled in an instant as I realized I was standing before her in my hunting clothes. "Christ. I'm sorry." I sped to my closet and reached for something new to wear.
"It's okay," she said, following me.
"No, it's not."
"Edward, stop."
I turned around, my eyes wide. "You shouldn't have to see me this way."
"It's okay."
I could smell the adrenaline in her veins. Nervousness, fear. I shook my head. "Just because you accept the truth doesn't mean you should have to face it like this."
She swallowed hard and stepped closer. Her heart pounded like a drum. "It's just a little blood," she said, staring at my face. "It doesn't bother me."
I remembered the erotic pleasure of her tasting blood on my tongue, but that had been before she'd known the truth. And this wasn't a little blood. It was a lot. I knew what it looked like—what I looked like—after I fed.
"I made you a bath."
She took my hand and began pulling me toward the bathroom. I cringed as our skin stuck together from the vestiges of drying blood, but Bella paid it no mind.
The large bath was filled. Steam floated upward from the water, and the mirror was fogged. The tile flooring was warm under my bare feet.
"You planned this when you sent me hunting," I said.
"I might have."
"Thank you," I said awkwardly, squeezing her hand. "Let me see to this, though. I'll only be a minute."
Brow furrowed, she shook her head. "Let me stay."
Raising her hands, she put her fingers to the buttons of my tattered, bloodied shirt. The buttons popped through the holes easily, despite how much she was shaking.
"Doesn't this bother you? Don't you have any desire to run away from me?"
Shaking her head, she smiled a curious, little smile and continued to the work on the buttons. I sucked in a breath when her finger brushed against my stomach.
"You have to eat," she said simply. "And what you do… I'm not bothered by that. Not really. I'm…" She looked up at me. "I'm amazed by you."
I held back an incredulous laugh. "Amazed?"
"You give up something you naturally want. You feel remorse for things that—in a way—you don't have to, even if it's maybe good that you do. How many humans do that? I can't even give up chocolate."
"You don't have to give up chocolate," I pointed out. "No one dies if you eat it."
"You're a great man, Edward, no matter what else you are."
My shirt slipped to the floor, and she rested her palm against my chest, over my silent heart. "The choices you make mean you get to be with me," she whispered. "I'm thankful for that, so no, I'm not bothered that you come home like this. It means one thing to you, but I'm beginning to think that it means something else to me."
She blushed when my pants were off.
I looked away. "Sorry," I muttered. "You are naked, though."
"I wasn't complaining," she said softly.
She pulled me to the large bath and held my hand as I got in, forgetting my balance was superior to hers.
As I sank into the warm water, blood swirled pinkly off of my skin into the bath. "Go," I said. "I know it's disgusting."
"It really isn't."
A slender foot slipped into the water, and I looked up in surprise. Her heart was so loud in that moment that I thought its drumming might echo off the bathroom walls.
Bella knelt in the water and sat on my thighs, her knees resting on either side of my hips. Wet, warm hands framed my face. "I love you," she said, "and blood doesn't come between us."
Suddenly, I knew she was right. Blood didn't come between us—not anymore. I vowed it never would. I vowed I would be everything I could for her.
"Bella." I could only speak her name.
She smiled in response and picked up my right hand to begin washing the blood away. With gentle hands, she washed me clean, removing the blood and hair from under my nails, the dried drop at the side of my mouth. It was a baptism. She made me whole with water and her hands, sculpted me into something new.
Humans, though so often predictable, have moments of greatness. I saw it sometimes in their memories, sometimes as it happened. I'd witnessed it in their final moments before death, when they thought of loved ones, of regrets, of God, or when they courageously stared me down. It came down to intention and choice, both of which were incomprehensibly more significant in a finite lifespan. When at the crossroads, what did these fragile china dolls choose to do, to think, to feel?
This was one of Bella's moments of greatness.
And she chose to give it to me.
The water sloshed in the tub as she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around my neck in a tight hug. "Make me like you," she whispered in my ear.
For a moment, I didn't move or breathe. Bella's heart thundered once more. "Bella, I… I've never done this—never turned anyone."
"Shh, not tonight, okay? But one day."
"You really mean that?"
She nodded against my neck, and I smelled the salt of her tears.
I pushed her away gently and brushed wet hair from her face. "Why are you crying?" In truth, I wanted to cry with her. My eyes burned.
"I'm just so—" She shook her head. "I'm just happy and a little afraid and…so many things."
"It's all right. I am, too."
I pressed my mouth to hers. I tried to tell her through touch what I couldn't express any other way. All other ways seemed inferior.
"Make love to me," she whispered, her breathing uneven.
"I don't want to hurt you…"
"We'll go slow."
Loving eyes watched me closely, and I knew, because of her, I wasn't the creature I'd been. I nodded.
We rose out of the pink-colored water, dried each other off and retired to the bedroom. On the bed, I covered her body with mine, kissed her slowly, teasingly until our hips rocked. I could smell her blood, her passion, the watered down remnants of deer blood on our skin. My throat flamed, and I burned with it.
I moved down her body, kissing and licking each patch of clear skin that had once carried a mark I'd made on her—each sloping rib, both jutting hipbones. Her humanity was precious, even if I was thankful that she was willing to give it up for me.
I spread her legs and kissed along the inside of her thighs, then higher—touching and tasting until her breathing evolved to sighs and moans. Her femoral artery worked like a polished engine, seamlessly carrying blood through her body; it rushed like thick floodwater beside my ears.
Life.
Hers. Mine. Ours.
Hearing her cry my name made me shiver. "I can't wait any longer," I confessed, moving back up her body.
She arched upward in expectation. "I want you."
I held her hips and slid just inside the warmth of her body. There was no bothering with condoms this time. It was her naked flesh against mine, a bed of fire and ice. She tried to push up, to bring our bodies closer together, but I held her to the bed.
My breathing labored, I asked her softly, "Forever? You're sure that's what you want?"
Biting her lip, she nodded.
"Tell me again," I begged.
"I want forever with you, Edward." She pushed at my restraining hands. "I want all of you."
I sank into her with a groan.
When we lay together later in the night, the room smelled of us—of venom and sweat, of blood pulsing beneath the surface of skin. Yawning, Bella threw a leg over my hips and curled into my side. Her ear rested against my chest, over the heart that would beat for her if it could beat at all.
"Merry Christmas, Edward."
I kissed the top of her head and hummed her to sleep.
Could vampires be reborn?
I wondered this as I watched her play with Lucky in the backyard.
I felt blessed.
Bella didn't think I saw her sadness or the way her fingers found the fragile lines of the fossil's dragonfly wings, but I noticed. I understood. Acceptance of death does not mean one doesn't grieve from time to time.
"Come," I told her. "It's time we saw Charlie."
It was cold and dismal at Forks' cemetery. Bella sat in front of her father's gravestone, her nose red from the wind and from crying too much. I stood beside her and pondered what it would mean to take Bella from her human realm.
Later that day, as we sat together in front of the television, I remarked between commercials, "I don't know if I have a soul."
She muted the television and turned to me with eyes still puffy from crying. "What do you mean?"
What I wondered was if by choosing me, she might never again see Charlie. She might burn in hell with me one day. If there was indeed a hell; no one knew for certain, but I had enough watery human memories from church to hope it wasn't where I was headed. Was I truly willing to risk her soul for my own personal happiness? No, I thought, but I was willing to try to outsmart God.
"I don't know that vampires have souls," I said. "Most people don't believe we do. Most think we're demons, if anything, bound for hell, even if we take a long detour on the way down."
I thought of the nomads I'd come across over the years. Demon wasn't a wholly inappropriate description, given the red eyes, nearly unquenchable thirst and depraved lifestyle of a vampire on the move. I had been a demon once.
Before her.
"People believe lots of things—doesn't mean they're right."
"No," I agreed, "but say that they are."
"It'd be pretty cruel of God—any god—to punish you for something you didn't choose. I don't believe in that sort of thing."
"Perhaps. But then what of you? I'm asking that you choose this. You're currently agreeable." I pulled her a little closer. "What if I'm asking you to give up your soul—for me? What right do I have?"
For a moment, she said nothing, and I knew she was thinking a million things I wanted to hear. Leaning forward, she kissed the corner of my mouth, then settled back down, resting her head on my shoulder.
"My soul's already yours, Edward Masen. That's what I think."
Bella kissed her way down my body, her fingers curling around my cock. I clamped my eyes shut. I couldn't look at her—it'd be too much—but I sought out her face with my hand. "Slow. Go slow," I cautioned, struggling to speak as I caressed her warm cheek. "Remember to stop if I—"
She kissed one of my thighs, cutting off my words. "If you tell me to. I know. You won't hurt me, Edward."
"You can't know that. You thought that once before. Think of—"
"We're different now."
"Are we?"
"Yes, we are. Relax."
I could not relax. I hated myself for wanting this, for thinking about it, for obsessing over it as soon as she'd said she wanted it, too.
My God, it'd been decades since…
I breathed too loudly in anticipation, then I stopped breathing altogether. Allowing her this—allowing myself this—was a terrible idea. Absolutely awful. So much could go wrong. I could hurt her. She'd promised to tell me if anything hurt, told me to trust her, but I could—
"Oh, Christ, Bella."
This was possibly the best idea she'd ever had.
I stared at the television screen as the reporter described the latest murder in Portland. Why hadn't police caught the killer—killers? gang members?—yet? Humans could be slow when it came to solving crime, but this seemed exceedingly inept.
"More people have died?" Bella asked as she came to sit beside me.
"It's murder," I corrected, my voice hard.
"Seattle and Portland aren't too safe anymore… Lauren said the Seattle police force was downsized, too. That can't be helping." Her pulse thumped harder. "I hope they figure it out soon."
I looked at her. "Are you afraid?"
"No." Her heart gave away her lie. "It's just been going on for months now, is all. It bothered Dad a lot." She brought her legs up to her chest. "And we're kind of sandwiched in the middle of it."
I could take care of it, I thought. The beast I'd been would have taken great pleasure in disposing of a fellow predator. But Bella wouldn't want that, and so I didn't offer.
Scooting closer, I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her brow. "The odds are against anything happening in Port Angeles, you know, but I wouldn't let anything happen to you. Ever."
Her heart rate slowed as she kissed my neck. "I know."
"Does it bother you that you weren't my first?"
Bella's eyebrows lifted. "It's not like you were mine, either."
"Touché." I didn't like to think about who had been.
"Too tight," she whispered, and I let my arms fall away from her. "What was she like?" She frowned. "I bet she was pretty."
"Deadly, is how I'd describe her," I said, my lip curling in distaste. "We shared bloodlust and lust, nothing more. Jacob Black, on the other hand…had your heart."
"And broke it," Bella replied flatly.
"Is it mended now?"
"Yeah." She smiled. "Yeah, it is."
"Hurry!" I called. "I don't think it's going to last."
Why was I so excited about showing her this?
Bella ran outside, hopping as she pulled on a sneaker. Lucky was at her heels. "It won't hurt you, right?"
Her concern touched me. "Not in the least."
She stopped at the end of the fragile ray of light that had managed to pierce through the late December clouds.
"Don't be afraid," I said.
"I'm not."
I stepped from the shade. The sun felt like Bella on my skin.
She sucked in a breath and squinted against the brightness of my skin. "You…you look like a diamond," she said. "Like my Gran's suncatcher." She let out a relieved laugh. "You had me so worried! I didn't know what to expect!"
"I'm guessing glitter never entered your mind," I said dryly before laughing with her.
She shook her head and came forward to touch my face. Light from my skin reflected onto hers. "How's it work?"
"Carlisle thinks it's UVB rays that we react to. I don't pretend to know."
Clouds blocked the sun again as I held her. "I can see why you don't want to be seen in the sun," Bella said. "Everyone would know you're not…human."
"I'll be taking the sun away from you," I sighed. "You deserve the sun—every warm, good thing."
"I don't need the sun, Edward—just you."
I wanted her all the time. It was a hunger, for which blood did nothing. I yearned not only to consume, but also to be consumed. Whereas I'd cherished her moments of rest in the past, with the amusing glimpses into her quiet mind, now I paced at the foot of the bed, counting the hours, the minutes, the seconds before she'd wake. I needed to hear her, to touch her. I burned with it, this fire in my veins.
Mania.
That was the clinical term. I'd seen it in enough minds to recognize it in my own. It was a feeling of jittery madness—one so sweet, made of that breathless moment before diving into deep, black water; of the last leap made when one knows he's winning the race; of the galloping beat of Bella's heart right before she came against my mouth. I was high. I could compose any song, go anywhere, be anyone, because she was mine. Would eternity be long enough when she gave it to me?
"Edward?"
I'd woken her, and I agonized over this while also rejoicing.
"What's wrong?" Her voice was rough with sleep.
"Nothing," I whispered. "Everything's fine. Go back to sleep."
Stay awake. Always. Never sleep.
She sat up. "Tell me."
I looked at her, at the mess of tangles around her face, the swell of lips that had been kissed too much and not enough. "You're too beautiful for your own good."
Her blush smelled like crushed roses petals in a bed of cut grass. "Why are you pacing?"
I stopped, and it was as if a coil was pressed down in my body. I needed somewhere to release the energy or I would go mad.
Bella leaned forward and grabbed my hand. She tugged. "Lie with me?"
I crawled onto the bed, over her legs. She fell back to the pillow and watched me with a wise smile. In all likelihood, she knew what I would say. "I need you," I confessed.
She wrapped her arms around my neck. Tired as she was, they hung loosely. I babbled against her mouth, overwhelmed, desperate and in love. "I need you all the time."
"Shh, you have me."
The New Year passed in shared joy and a night with drunken Bella, who was as eager as she was uncoordinated. It was the second of January now. The Cullens were due back in the evening. Life was moving forward, and big decisions would need to be made soon concerning my and Bella's future. Would she remain human for a time? Would she allow me to change her soon? Did she want anything, want to do anything, before diving headfirst into this existence?
I didn't view these matters with pessimism or trepidation, only excitement. The future seemed bright. The shadows and darkness were things of the past.
I was returning home at a human's pace. Bella had gone to Charlie's to finish the kitchen cabinets, and as she'd insisted on going without my help again, I took the time to hunt. Hunting now meant I wouldn't have to leave her in a few days.
The stillness of winter was in the forest, along with the raucous caws of crows. Peace was inside me as I contemplated composing a new work. I would play it for Bella later, I decided.
All seemed well, until I caught a faded scent on the breeze. Creosote and yucca burned in my nostrils. In disbelief, I breathed in again.
No. No, no, no.
Why now?
I ran the rest of the way home. As I neared, I heard her thoughts: the still, cold and calculating way she viewed the world, even the furnishings of my home, which she'd—of course—broken into.
I burst into the clearing of my backyard. The backdoor to the house was swinging on its hinge.
She'd heard me.
A slender, olive-skinned hand pushed the door open to reveal her small form. She still had a penchant for black dresses, for bangle bracelets. Full red lips lifted in a smile that matched red eyes.
Deadly.
"Hola, Eduardo."