Daybreak: Her Side Of The Story

by WinterSunshine

"In that moment, something shifted inside me, not in a physiological way, but on a much, much deeper level. In this moment, I was forever changed, by the seemingly simple human boy sleeping in the bed across the room from me." [Life and Death/Midnight Sun, from Edythe's POV/perspective.] Canon pairings, etc, etc.

8. Port Angeles

A/N: Ugh, a couple things I wasn't sure about in this chapter, but I think it turned out alright. Is anybody else getting annoyed by Edythe's severe self-esteem issues? (LOL!) Why can't she see what an amazing girl she is…?! Ah, character development… Oh! Before I forget—somebody asked in a recent review (hi, there!) if I would do an alternate ending to the original Life and Death and continue on with the next books through Edythe's eyes… The answer is: possibly…? I can't go as far as to give a 'yes' to the sequels, but I was already thinking about doing an AE anyway, when I'm finished with the original.

Also, I had to find quite a balance between 'appropriateness' and 'accuracy' when it came to depicting Edythe's… 'admirers'' thoughts.

Anyway—enough rambling. On to the chapter!

…

I spent the next two days watching Beau from the shadows—only furthering the creepy, vampire, fan girl dilemma.

I didn't go home often, and when I did, it was because I didn't want Earnest to be worried about me. I did not see much of Jessamine's old friends.

The forced absence from school had never been a struggle like it was to me now. But the sun seemed to give Beau pleasure, so I couldn't resent it too much. Anything that brought him joy was in my good books.

On Monday morning, I eavesdropped on a conversation that had the potential to destroy me completely—but as it turned out, it did quite the opposite.

I had to give McKayla some credit—she had not just slunk away to nurse her wounds. She was brave, and determined, and she wasn't going to give up so easily.

Beau got to school early, setting himself up on one of the picnic benches that was stationed in the sun. It seemed he was going to get as much of the sunshine as he possibly could. He sat on his rain jacket and opened his books, presumably to do some homework, but soon his eyes were wandering over the property, and his pencil was tracing obscure patterns in the margins of his paper.

McKayla arrived then, in an outfit that made me narrow my eyes in disapproval, and she was ecstatic when she caught sight of Beau.

This must be my lucky day!

Quickly, she checked her hair and lipgloss in the side mirror of her car, and then quickly headed toward him.

He greeted her with enough interest to please her, and me the opposite.

She sat next to him, too close.

See, he likes me. He wouldn't smile at me like that if he didn't. I bet he wanted to go to the dance with me after all… Wonder what he had going on in Seattle…

"Great day, isn't it?" she started.

"My kind of day," he agreed.

She started off with some small-talk, trying to build up her confidence, while they talked about the remainder of the weekend and the essay that we all had due on Wednesday.

Damn—stupid essay.

Finally, she got to the point, and my teeth were clenched so hard, I would have been able to grind granite into dust.

"I was going to ask if you wanted to go out."

"Oh," Beau said, clearly thrown.

Oh? What does that mean? Is he going to say, yes, or…? Wait—I guess I didn't really ask him.

"Well, we still could go to dinner or something…" Hint, hint. "And I could work on it later." She gave him a hopeful smile.

"McKayla…" He started, and the strength of the fury inside me was appalling. I wanted so badly to race across the parking lot—too fast for human eyes to see—and snatch him up, to take him away and have him all to myself.

"I don't think that would be the best idea."

Oh. And all of my anger abruptly dissipated.

Crap, McKayla thought, I shouldn't have asked. I'm so stupid. Seattle was just an excuse… Ugh… I'm so humiliated…

"Why?"

Bet it's Edythe freaking Cullen, she guessed with an internal eye-roll.

This thought made me smug.

"Look," Beau said, "I'm breaking all kinds of man codes telling you this, so don't rat me out, okay?"

What? "Man codes?"

"Jeremy's my friend, and if I went out with you, well, it would upset him."

What on earth is he talking about?

"I never said any of this, okay? It's your word against mine."

"Jeremy?" she repeated, finally catching on. What? But… Oh. Okay… I guess he… Huh.

"Seriously, are you blind?"

I laughed out loud. He shouldn't expect everyone to be as perceptive as he was, but really, this was beyond the scope of obvious.

Jeremy. Huh. Wow… But… Huh. "Oh."

Beau took the opportunity to shove his book back in his bag. "I don't want to be late again. I'm already on Mason's list."

McKayla became an unreliable viewpoint from then on. She found, as she turned the idea of Jeremy over in her mind, that she rather liked the kid. It was second place, not as good as Beau, but still—she had no trouble turning her thoughts to the Stanley boy instead, and for some reason, this made me angry. Did she really see Beau as so interchangeable?

There was still that lingering hint of doubt inside me—Beau hadn't outright told McKayla he didn't have feelings for her; he'd simply put the happiness of his friend over that of his own. Could he have feelings for her? I supposed it was possible, though I didn't like to linger on that possibility.

When they walked out of sight, I curled up against the smooth trunk of a huge Madrone tree and watched him through others' eyes for the rest of the day. I was always glad when I could use Allen Weber's mind as a filter. He was so kind to Beau, and certainly very genuine. I wished there was a way I could thank him for his kindness. It made me feel better to know that Beau had at least one true friend.

In Trigonometry, Jeremy invited Beau to Port Angeles to catch a movie and order corsages for the dance with a few of the other boys. He didn't quite agree to the plans, so I didn't make any corresponding ones, either.

At lunch, I didn't miss the way Beau glanced again and again toward our empty table. It pleased me, just a bit, to think that maybe he did miss me.

When Allen asked him again about the outing, this time he agreed, and I made my own surveillance plans in conjunction with that. But after school, the plans were cancelled when McKayla asked Jeremy to dinner instead.

I ran to Beau's home, doing a quick sweep of the woods by his house, to make sure no one dangerous had wandered too close. When I was satisfied, I climbed into a tree.

And as if Beau knew I wished so achingly to see him, as if he had pity on me, he emerged from the house with a blanket under his arm and a book in his hand. He laid the blanket out on the damp grass, and then slumped down on top of it. He flipped through the paperback for a few minutes, and I read over his shoulder. Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea. Interesting. He flipped through the entire thing twice, and then, seeming uninterested with the book, tossed it aside and rolled onto his back.

As he closed his eyes, I found myself confused. Why would he bring a book outside to read, and then flip through the entire thing twice and give up on the whole institution? Was something else on his mind? Was he thinking about McKayla?

After not too long, Beau became very still, and his breaths grew longer and more even. After several long minutes, his lips began to tremble. Mumbling in his sleep.

This was impossible to resist. I listened harder.

Thoughts from various neighbors, none too close or paying any attention, blared into my head.

Two tablespoons of flour… One cup of milk…

C'mon! Make the shot, make the shot…! Ugh, come on!

Red dress, or blue…? Or maybe I should go for something more casual…

I leaped from the branch, landing on my toes so I didn't snap the heels of my boots off.

This was stupid and, frankly, very irresponsible. I remembered how, once, I'd judged Eleanor's careless actions, and Jessamine's lack of discipline. And now I was disregarding everything, breaking all the rules, taking what they'd done to the very extremes, myself. I used to be the responsible one.

I stepped out into the sunshine, my careful gaze on Beau, keeping an ear out to any change to the rhythm of his breath or heartbeat—which would alert me to his wakefulness. Nothing changed, and so I took a few steps forward.

I purposefully did not pay attention to what I looked like in the sun, but it was impossible not to notice the rainbows that fragmented off of mine, onto Beau's pale skin. I flinched at the sight. Could I be anymore of a freak, an outsider, a misfit? I imagined the terror he would feel, if he were to open his eyes at this moment…

I took a couple of careful steps backward, ready to retreat, but he murmured something once more, and I stopped to listen.

"Mmm… Mmm." Just inaudible mumbling, but I could bet on the fact that the intelligible wasn't far off. I'd wait a few minutes, then.

I crouched down and carefully, silently, stole his book, leaning my body away and stretching my arm out as I did so, careful to stay as far away as I could. I started breathing again when I was a few yards away, noticing the way the warmth of the sun changed his fragrance. It made him smell unbearably sweeter, still… My throat burned with bloodlust, the pain fresh and ferocious, because I'd been away from him for too long again.

I focused on controlling the desire for a moment, and then—forcing myself to breathe through my nose, so I could desensitize myself to his scent once more—I let his book fall open in my hands. The binding was worn and well-read, but each of its pages were pristine. Not one coffee stain, or bent corner.

I had never read Verne's work, and I started in on the first chapter, but I only got through the first two sentences, because Beau spoke once more.

"Hmm… Edythe…"

Joy warred with self-loathing at the sound of my name on his lips. A wistful, low murmur; not the shout of horror that would have undoubtedly left his lips if he could see me now. Still, he was dreaming of me.

He frowned, his eyebrows knotting together. "Ridiculous…"

I felt my own eyebrows pull toward each other, and the word pierced through me offendingly deep. He thought I was ridiculous? Or was it something else?

Wounded and hurt, because, yes, I was ridiculous—a ridiculous excuse for a creature; it was a ridiculous notion to think that he could have feelings for me… Of course not—I retreated back into the shadows of the trees.

I stayed there to watch him, feeling vulnerable and helpless as the sun sank lower in the sky, and the dark shadows made their way toward him, gradually enveloping him until they'd swallowed him whole. When the light was entirely gone, he looked too pale—ghostly white, his hair a shock of darkness against his complexion.

It was a frightening thing to watch—like Archie's visions coming to fruition right in front of me. Beau's steady, strong heartbeat was my only reassurance that kept this moment from feeling like a night terror.

I was relieved when Chief Swan arrived home, and the sound of his tires on the driveway woke Beau. He started awake, casting around disorientedly.

"Charlie?" His voice was low, and I could hear the trepidation in it.

But Charlie was at the front of the house, getting out of his car and slamming the door.

For one brief moment, his eyes touched the shadows where I stood, lingering for just half a second, and then they flickered away.

Then he jumped up, gathered up the quilt and his book, and headed inside, glancing toward the trees one last time before closing the back door behind him.

I settled myself into a tree closer to the east side of the house, where their small kitchen was located, and eavesdropped on their evening conversation. Beau discussed his plans to go into Port Angeles the following evening, and I adjusted my own plans in accordance. Though I knew Jessamine had asked Patricia and Charles not to hunt in the vicinity of our home, I would follow him to Port Angeles and keep an eye out for him, just in case. After all, we weren't the only ones of our kind out there—and besides, there were all those other mortal dangers I now so greatly feared.

…

Beau slept restlessly this night.

He tossed and turned agitatedly, the expressions on his face vacillating between sadness and anxiety. I wondered what troubled him… And then decided that I didn't want to know.

When he spoke, he mostly complained about Forks. Once, he sighed the words, 'Come back', and his fingers unfolded, hand open in a wordless plea. For a single moment, I allowed myself to wonder if he was dreaming of me, then.

Tuesday was uneventful—Beau seemed in a worse mood than the day before, and I wondered if he would cancel his plans with his friends. But he never did, probably due to his tendency to put his companions' pleasure above his own.

Today he wore a thin sweater in the shade of viridian, and it made his eyes look impossibly bluer. I liked that.

When school ended, the plan was for Jeremy to pick the other guys up so that they all didn't have to drive separate vehicles up to Port Angeles. The grouping had originally been larger than the three that were still in on the plan, and I thought I'd seen some relief in Beau's face when he'd learned that Logan Mallory was no longer going.

I went home to retrieve my car. Upon arrival, however, I found that Patricia and Charles were still there, and I knew I owed them some respect. After all, I'd hardly been around these past two days, and I didn't want them thinking I was rude.

Besides, I would never be able to follow behind the boys at the speed limit. It would drive me crazy.

Jessamine's friends eyed me curiously from the front door. Jessamine was bidding them goodbye.

What a strange creature, the tall, white-blond Charles thought, And she was so normal and pleasant the last time we met.

Immediately, I felt chastened. I hadn't wanted to give off a bad impression, but apparently I had.

Patricia's thoughts were strangely in sync with her mate's, which was usually the case for them.

It must be the animals, she surmised, The lack of human blood drives them mad eventually. Her hair was just as fine as his, and fell in long curtains to her hips. They were very similar—aside from Patricia's petite stature—in both look and thought, and I had always thought them a well-matched pair.

"If you see Miguel again," Jessamine was saying, a little wary, "tell him I wish him well."

Miguel was the vampire who had created both Jessamine and Patricia—Jess in the latter half of the nineteenth century, during the Civil War, and Patricia later, in the nineteen-forties. He'd looked Jessamine up, once, when we were living in Calgary. It had been a short stay, and we'd had to move almost immediately. Jessamine had asked Miguel, politely, to keep his distance in the future.

Now, Archie wrapped a protective arm around Jess's waist, and I watched his eyes narrow at the mention of Jessamine's dictatorial creator.

"I don't imagine that will happen anytime soon," Patricia said, giggling softly, "But if it should, I certainly will."

They were embracing then, preparing to depart. I got to my feet and curtsied very casually.

"Patricia. Charles. It was lovely to see you again."

"Nice to see you again, too, Edythe," Charles said softly, though I could hear the doubt in his thoughts.

Patricia just smiled tightly my way.

I decided to make my own departure.

Crazy woman, Eleanor threw after me as I headed for the door.

Simpleton, Royal thought in aggravation.

Poor thing, Earnest mused sympathetically.

And Archie, disapprovingly, They're heading straight east, toward Seattle. Nowhere near Port Angeles. Chill, Edy. He showed me his visions as proof.

I pretended I'd missed that. My excuses were flimsy enough as they were.

…

The clouds returned with ambition, hastening the sunset.

I was thankful for it. There was only so much waiting outside of town that I could do.

I checked in routinely with the boys, mostly grappling for Allen's mind, though he was quiet—Jeremy had the louder of the thoughts, and so he'd been easier to locate in the beginning. But I much preferred Allen's frame of mind.

"Maybe I should go with the red roses," Jeremy was saying, doubting his decision of white-on-white, thinking it might be too plain for McKayla.

"I don't mind going back," Allen returned, "You don't think Beau will wonder where we are though?"

What was this? Beau wasn't with them? It was true, I had allowed my attention to lapse when I'd grown bored with Jeremy's indecision over the flowers the first time around, but it wasn't until now that I noticed his absence. Immediate anxiety gripped me, and I glared toward the sun, still too high in the sky to get out of my car.

I stared through Jeremy's eyes first, and then Allen's. They were standing in front of a row of shops, and Beau was nowhere in sight.

Who gives a crap about Beau? Jeremy thought. "He's fine," he said in answer to Allen's question, "We'll meet him at the movie theatre. I'll be quick. Besides, I think he wanted to be alone." But his thoughts gave no allusion to where Beau might have gone.

"Let's hurry, then," Allen said. I hope the guy doesn't think we just ditched him. He was cool, earlier in the car… But he's seemed kind of down all day. I wonder if it's because of Edythe Cullen? I'll bet that was why he was asking about her family…

I reprimanded myself for not paying more attention. What, in its entirety, had I missed? Beau was wandering off by himself, and he'd been asking about me? But Allen and Jeremy were talking about the popular new video game now, and I couldn't glean anything more from him.

I turned my eyes back to the sky, appraising the shadows. The sun would be behind the clouds soon enough, and I would be safely concealed if I stayed on the west side of the road, close to the buildings…

The anxiety swarmed my insides as I drove through the thin traffic and into the small village. This wasn't something I'd apprehended, Beau wandering off on his lonesome, and I had no idea how to find him. I should have known this would happen.

Port Angeles was familiar to me, and the first place I could think of Beau wanting to run an errand at, would be the one bookstore in town, so I drove straight there. No luck. The only person in the store was a character of a man standing behind the counter. Too new age for any practical person to go inside, and I doubted Beau had even stepped foot past the entry.

I glanced toward a large patch of shade I could park in, contemplating. The sunlight wasn't quite gone yet, and it wouldn't be smart for me to risk exposure to the sunlight, but I had no other way to find him!

I parked, and climbed out, making sure I stayed in the deepest part of the shadow as I walked toward the little bookshop. I noted the faint trace of Beau's scent in the air, but it stopped on the sidewalk. I was right. He hadn't gone inside.

I followed his scent as far as the shade would allow, coming to a stand-still when I hit the edge. The frustration was a physical sensation inside me. I felt so trapped!

I could only guess that he'd continued south, even though there wasn't much over that way. Was he lost?

I got back in the car, driving slowly, searching the sidewalks for his figure. I got out a couple more times, where patches of shade allowed, but the direction of his fragrance confused me. Where was he trying to get to?

I drove back and forth between the bookstore and the theatre a couple of times, hoping I'd see him along the way, but to no avail. Jeremy and Allen were already there, waiting on a couple of benches just inside.

I resorted to searching the minds of strangers, hoping someone might have seen him in passing.

I grew more and more concerned the more time that passed. I hadn't taken into consideration how difficult it would be to find him once he was off the grid like this.

The clouds were massing together, preparing to engulf the sun. It wouldn't be long until I could get out and search for him on foot, and once I was able to do so, I would find him quickly.

But until then, I was helpless.

Another mind, and another. Such trivial thoughts.

...think the baby has another ear infection...

Was it six-four-oh or six-oh-four...?

Late again. I ought to tell him...
There he is! Got you now, pig.

There he was! At last, someone had noticed him. Relief flooded through me.

I took pause, reading more closely into the woman's thoughts, and the relief froze into icy-cold dread.

This particular individual's mind was unfamiliar, and yet, not completely strange. I had once hunted minds like these.

A wordless shriek of rage ripped itself from my throat, and my foot stomped down on the gas pedal, propelling me forward. But where was I going?

I knew the general location of the woman's thoughts, but not any specifics. Frantically, I searched for some marker—a street sign, a store front, something—but Beau was deep in shadow, up against a chain-link fence, and the only thing the woman, and the men around her, was registering, was the fear in his clear blue eyes.

Pity, she thought, to have to do away with him. Such a good-looking boy… Such pretty eyes.

A volley of growls erupted from my throat, shaking the frame of the Volvo as I spurred forward.

The fence behind him… Somewhere industrial, then, away from the more brightly lit and populated shopping district. How had he ended up there?

The tires of my car squealed as I rounded the corner, swerving around an oncoming car, heading in what I hoped was the right direction.

"I-I'm… S-sorry. I don't know what you're t-talking about."

"Aren't you gonna call for backup, Officer?"

I watched through her eyes as Beau glanced over his shoulder, confused. The only choice in her mind, and in the minds of the remaining gang members around her, was that this couldn't get back to anyone. Not only the drug use Beau had apparently caught them in the middle of, but a multitude of other crimes and judicious infractions this could easily lead to proof of. But she had it all wrong! Where was her evidence?! What had her thinking Beau was a police officer?! It made no sense.

"I think you've got the wrong guy," Beau said.

"Sure we do," the woman said. "And you didn't see anything back there, either, did you?"

"See anything?" Beau's voice broke. "No. No, I didn't see anything."

Beau's heel caught on the edge of something, and he warbled backwards, throwing up his arms to stabilize himself, and the tall man reacted immediately, thinking Beau had a weapon. He pulled his handgun out of the back of his jeans and pointed it at Beau's forehead.

"NO!" Another shrieking snarl escaped me. The man wasn't prepared to shoot just yet, but he would if he needed to.

One of the younger men glanced down the street, nervous—he didn't want the 'backup' coming along and catching them—and gave me what I was looking for. I recognized the cross street he stared toward.

"Hey, hey," Beau said, lifting his hands, palms forward, fear trembling in his voice.

I barreled through a red light, slipping through a space just wide enough between two cars in the moving traffic. Horns blared behind me.

My phone vibrated in my jacket pocket. I ignored it.

"You think I'm stupid?" the woman asked snidely. "You think your plainclothes getup fools me? I saw you with your cop partner, Vice." She was remembering a scene from a few months earlier, in the airport. Beau had knocked his bag into one of her friends, and of course Charlie had been there in uniform. She'd put two and two together and had gotten five.

Another snarl slid through my teeth.

"What? No, that was my dad!"

I bet he uses that excuse all the time, the undercover bastard. Young-looking enough to get away with it, too. She laughed. "You're just a baby pig?"

"Sure, okay. So that's cleared up. I'll get out of your way now…" He started sliding along the fence sideways.

"Stop." This was the man with the gun. His thoughts were resolved. He couldn't let Beau go, not after what he'd seen. He would recognize all of them, the man feared, he'd rat them out.

"What are you doing?" This was a different man, a short guy, the guy who'd glanced toward the street. He was pretty fresh on scene, and he didn't want to go through with this if they didn't have to.

"I don't believe him."

Believe him! He has nothing to hide! I begged silently, the snarls still issuing from between my teeth.

I was just two blocks away now. The man could hear the revving of my engine, but he paid it no mind, focused on his intended actions. I could see that he enjoyed the fear in Beau's eyes, he was enjoying the chase, the hunt.

I would see how he enjoyed the hunt when he was the prey. I would see what he thought of my style of hunting.

In another part of my mind, I was already leafing through the catalogue of cruelties I'd born witness to in my vigilante days, searching for the most excruciating of them. He would suffer for this. They would all suffer.

"How's that pirate song go? Dead men tell no tales."

"What?" Beau croaked. "No, look, that's—that's not necessary. I'm not telling any tales. There's nothing to tell."

"That's right," the woman agreed, resolved as well. She turned her eyes on the man with the gun and gave him the assent. I decided that she would be the one to suffer the most. She would beg for death before I gave her that gift.

"My wallet's right here in my pocket," Beau begged off, "There's not much in it, but you're welcome to it…" He reached back for his pocket—no!—and the man lifted the gun an inch. Beau put his hands in the air again.

"We need to keep this quiet," the younger guy warned, resigning to the fact now, that they would need to kill the boy who had seen too much.

He would tell no one! No one!

I was around the corner now.

The guy picked up a piece of pipe from the gutter. "Put the gun away."

But the guy hesitated, guessing that Beau would run as soon as he lowered the weapon. He kept it raised while the other guy started toward him, his own weapon raised.

I wheeled sharply around the corner, my headlights washing over the group of them, rendering most of them blind for a second.

I considered running down the man with the pipe, but decided it was too easy a death for him.

I didn't stop until the passenger door was closest to Beau. I threw that open, and he was already running toward me.

"Get in," I hissed.

What the hell?

Knew this was a bad idea! He's not alone!

Should I run…?

…Think I'm gonna throw up…

Beau dove into the car, yanking the door shut behind him.

"Drive, Edythe, get out of here! He's got a gun!" he shouted.

"Keep your head down," I ordered, not hearing his words. I opened the driver's side door, prepared to get out and… What? What would I do? Would I murder these men and this woman right in front of him? Would I cart them off and leave Beau here alone?

And then his very warm, very soft hand clamped down around my forearm. I could feel his soft warmth even through my jacket. I froze. His strength was not enough to keep me here—ironically, it was his fragility that froze me to the spot.

"What are you doing?" he cried, "Drive!"

I turned my eyes back on him, taking in first his hand, gripped around my arm, and then up to his frantic eyes, and finally, past him to glare out the windshield at the gang members who still stood frozen.

My jaw was clenched, and I spoke tightly through my teeth. "Give me just a minute here, Beau."

I couldn't break free of his grasp. I was too angry, too out of control to be able to keep myself gentle enough. I didn't trust my motions in this moment, and so I waited for him to release me.

"If you go out there, I'm going with you," he threatened lowly, "I'm not letting you get shot."

I would have laughed at the notion if there'd been a trace of humor in my body in that moment. But I could see that he was serious, that he wasn't going to let me go.

I contemplated for just a moment. No, I could not let Beau out of my sight. And I could not kill these horrible people in front of him. I would not traumatize him that way. The solution was for me to get him to safety, and then I could come back and get my revenge.

I shut my door and peeled out in reverse.

I spun the car in a tight semi-circle as we sped backward toward the opening of the alley I'd come down. I took him away from his pursuers so quickly, they could only stare after us with uncomprehending expressions. I took us around the corner, back out onto the street, and then thrust the gear shift into drive.

"Put your seat belt on," I demanded as we raced forward. My voice was hard and sharp, like the edge of a blade—murderous and full of fury and bloodlust—not for the fragile, gentle boy in the seat beside me, but for the people who had almost taken his life.

Finally, he let go of my arm and did as I asked.

I surged left across an intersection, and then ran several stop signs without stopping.

As I drove Beau to safety, I went over the various torture techniques I could use again. Where would I leave him, so that I could come back and serve Beau's justice honor? These people could not be allowed to live after what they were prepared to do to him…

"Are you okay?" Beau's voice was quiet and hoarse.

He wanted to know if I was okay?

"No." No, I realized. I was so completely not okay.

I took him to the same unused driveway where I'd spent the afternoon posing as the poorest excuse ever for, a surveillance system.

"Are you hurt at all, Beau?" This was the most important thing, after all, of the utmost first priority.

"No," he croaked, and then cleared his throat. "Are you?"

I turned my eyes on him again. Once more, he was asking if I was okay. After all he'd been through, he was concerned for my well-being?! "Of course I'm not hurt."

"Good. Um… Can I ask why you're so mad? Did I do something?"

I sighed in exasperation. "Don't be stupid, Beau."

"Sorry," he apologized.

What on earth was he apologizing for?! I stared at him in struck disbelief for a moment, and then shook my head. "Do you think you would be all right if I left you here in the car for just a few—"

He gripped my hand, interrupting me, and I froze again. His palm lay against the back of my hand, where it rested on the gearshift, and it was indescribably soft and warm. Again, I did not trust myself not to hurt him when I moved. This time, he did not flinch back from the chill of my skin, and I wondered about that.

"You're not going anywhere without me." His voice was low and fierce and completely serious.

I glared at him. Like he could stop me. Like he could hold me back, or run after me.

I waited for him to release me.

But the fact was that I didn't want to leave him, I didn't want to go against his wishes. Not now that I'd gotten him to safety, not now that I could feel his skin on mine, see the intensity of the emotions in his eyes. Suddenly, it seemed of much greater priority to make sure that he was okay. I didn't know how he was going to react to this entire situation. He could go into shock at any moment, and he needed someone with him, in case that happened. I could deal with the vile excuses for humans later.

"Fine. Give me a moment," I requested, and I shut my eyes, taking five deep breaths in through my nose—feeling the fiery burn of thirst in my throat as I did so—and slowly, the tension began to fade. I could focus on Beau now; that was all that mattered. Everything else was second place in comparison to this.

Once I was calm, I opened my eyes, and looked down at his hand, still on mine. In the time he'd left it there, I'd felt the temperature of his skin cool several degrees.

"Do you… want me to let go?" he asked, seeing the direction of my gaze.

Did I? No, I supposed I didn't want him to let go of my hand… It felt surprisingly pleasurable, and as I'd sat there, it had helped me to relax. "I think that might be for the best."

"You're not going anywhere?"

"I suppose not, if you're that opposed."

And then he pulled his hand away. He examined my face for a moment. "Better?"

I took another deep breath. "Not really."

"What is it, Edythe? What's wrong?"

I almost smiled, almost found humor in the situation. "This may come as a surprise to you, Beau, but I have a little bit of a temper. Sometimes it's hard for me to forgive easily when someone… offends me." I supposed those words would have to do, for now. Indeed, the men and woman of that gang had offended me deeply.

"Did I—"

I knew where he was going with that, he was going to attempt to pin the blame on himself, and so I interrupted him. "Stop, Beau. I'm not talking about you." I gazed up at him with eyes wide. "Do you realize that they were serious? That they were actually going to kill you?"

"Yeah, I kinda figured they were going to try."

"It's completely ridiculous!" I could feel myself losing composure again, the fury and bafflement rising up in me again. "Who gets murdered in Port Angeles? What is it with you, Beau? Why does everything deadly come looking for you?"

He blinked, his expression blank. "I… I have no answer for that."

Ah. And, finally, I felt some humor rise up in me. His baffled, puppy-dog-like confusion always seemed to calm me, to bring me good humor.

I tilted my head and pursed my lips, sighing through my nose. "So I'm not allowed to go teach those thugs a lesson in manners?"

"Um, no. Please?"

I exhaled, long and slow, put out. The only thing I wanted more than to commit a highly-justifiable murder in this moment, was this boy. And, though this was impossible in every way, just the idea of it being in the realm of achievable, made the idea of going on a killing spree tonight unmanageable. Because Beau deserved better than a killer. I had spent so many decades trying to be the opposite of that very title. All of my effort would never make me worthy of the attentions of this boy sitting beside me now, but I felt that if I slipped even one more time, allowed this night of indulgent torture to take place, that possibility would be even further from attainable. I was trying to be good for him. An impossible goal, but I still had to attempt it. "How disagreeable."

I warred with myself for a long, silent moment—trying, wishing, to be what I couldn't be.

I opened my eyes and found the time on the clock. The boys would miss their movie, and it was time to get Beau back to his friends—away from the abomination that I was.

"Your friends must be worried about you."

He didn't answer, but I started the engine again anyway. I turned us around and headed back toward the lights of the town. Soon, we were under the streetlights, back in the brightness, and the parallel of light and darkness—he deserved to be there, and I had to stay in the shadows—made me think of the difference between us again. I would never be good enough for him. I would never be as pure and sweet and unstained as Beau Swan always would be.

I drove straight to the theatre and parallel parked along the curb. Jeremy and Allen had waited until the movie had started, and they were just leaving, walking away from us.

"How did you know where…?" he started to ask, but then cut himself off, shaking his head, letting it go. I was glad, in that moment, for his flexibility.

"Stop them before I have to track them down, too. I won't be able to restrain myself if I run into your other friends again."

I thought I saw him shudder slightly, but then he peeled off his seatbelt and hopped out of the car, keeping one hand on the frame as he called after them: "Jer! Allen!"

They both turned, and Beau waved at them in a wide arc with his free arm.

There he is!

Late much? Jeremy thought sullenly, but underneath his impatience, he, too, was relieved that Beau hadn't been lost or hurt.

They rushed back toward us. Jeremy recognized the car, and its owner, right away.

Holy hell. No way!

Allen leaned forward, peering through my darkly tinted windshield until he could make out my face.

Edythe Cullen? What? Did he sneak off just to meet up with her? But then, why would he have looked so embarrassed when he asked me about her earlier…? I was rewarded with a brief flash of Beau's adorable mortification when he had asked Allen why we were away from school so much. Nah. He must have run into her on his errand.

Errand. Right.

"What happened to you?" Jeremy demanded. And how the hell… This… Edythe? My man's been holding out on me! "We thought you took off." Until now. Now I know exactly why he went off on his own. Ho-lee hell.

"No, I just got lost. And then I ran into Edythe." His tone was remarkably casual, stunningly blasé. Like that was truly all that had occurred.

At the sound of my name, I leaned forward in my seat so they'd be able to see me more clearly, and smiled, just playing my part.

Both Jeremy and Allen's minds were blank, their heartbeats aflutter—again: scary? Or attractive?

Well, according to their thoughts, their reactions were screaming attraction.

I glanced swiftly at Beau, mulling the possibility over again.

"Uh, hi… Edythe," Allen finally said, gaining control of himself.

Becoming more and more confident by the idea that Beau found me attractive, I felt good-natured enough to wave teasingly at him with two fingers.

He gulped.

"Uh, hey," Jeremy said, glancing in my direction but not quite at me.

Holy crap she's hot. Like… freakily gorgeous.

Then he turned his gaze fixedly on Beau. "So… the movie's already started, I think."

"Sorry about that," Beau apologized.

Jeremy glanced down at his wrist-watch. "It's probably still just running previews. Did you…" He glanced at Beau's hand, still clutching the frame of my car, "…still want to come?"

Beau hesitated, glancing at me.

Allen's manners kicked in. "Would you like to come… Edythe?" Wow. I'm asking Edythe to a movie… Not in that way, but still. Wow.

I opened my door and stepped out of the car, shaking my hair out of my face. I leaned against the frame, to assure Beau I wasn't going anywhere—I'd seen the way he was white-knuckling my car, as if he could hold it back with his sheer mortal strength. Ha. I grinned at Allen, noting the way Jeremy's jaw, quite literally, unhinged.

"I've already seen this one," I lied, "but thank you, Allen."

Allen blinked, expressionless and mind boggled. Now, why couldn't I do that to Beau?

I cast a look at Beau, who had his eyes on his friends, a strange expression on his face. "On a scale of one to ten, how much do you want to see this movie now?"

Please say one, please say one.

I found myself inappropriately enamored with the idea of Beau taking me to dinner… Or rather, me taking Beau to dinner, but conventions were conventions, after all.

"Er, not that much," he muttered.

I grinned at Jeremy now. "Will it ruin your night if I make Beau take me to dinner?" I asked him.

He needed sugar in his bloodstream—though his blood was already sweet enough without it, I noted wryly. The horror of the situation was bound to truly dawn on him at any time, and it would be better if he had something in his stomach when that happened. After all, he was prone to syncopal episodes, as I'd formerly experienced.

These boys wouldn't be in any danger if they went straight home. Danger didn't seem to stalk their every step.

And besides, it would please me very much to have Beau's undivided attention—if he wanted to give it to me, that was.

Jeremy shook his head at me, now.

"Thanks." I smiled again. "I'll give Beau a ride home."

I slid back into my seat.

"Get in the car, Beau."

Allen nor Jeremy moved. They only stared at their friend, their minds a conglomeration of confused shock.

Beau shrugged and then situated himself back in the passenger seat.

"The hell?" Jeremy breathed as Beau slammed the door behind him.

Okay, what. The actual. Hell. Buddy has some serious 'splaining to do. How on earth did he score a date with Edythe Cullen?! How long has this been going on? Is that why he's been so weird lately…?

I pulled away from the curb and headed toward a small bistro I'd seen on my search. It looked intimate and quiet, exactly what I was looking for.

"Did you really want dinner?" he asked me after a moment.

I glanced at him, confused. Had he noticed I didn't eat? What kind of question was that?

"I thought you might," I finally told him.

"I'm good."

Dejection lanced through me. "If you'd rather go home…"

"No, no." The words came out a little too quickly, I thought, which soothed some of the rejection. "I can do dinner. I just mean it doesn't have to be that. Whatever you'd like."

That brought a smile to my face as I pulled into a spot in front of Bella Italia.

We headed toward the entrance, and Beau stumbled a little in his rush to hold the door for me. The gesture was sweet, and it did strange things to my ghost of a stomach. I smiled at him as I walked past.

I was delighted to find that the restaurant was just as quiet as I'd hoped it would be. I kept careful inventory of what vitals I could of Beau's as we stepped up to the hostess' station. I wanted to run my hand over his forehead to check his temperature—he seemed sort of lost and confused, but then, wasn't that just sort of… Beau?

Hot damn, the host's thoughts intruded my mind. Hot, hot damn.

It seemed to be my night to garner the admirers. But I wondered if that was just because I wished Beau would see me in that way? We were physically attractive to our prey—I had never thought much of it before. After all, it was a hunting instinct. Usually, the fear kicked in quickly afterward.

But right now, the host was grinning and taking a deep, over-exaggerated bow.

"What can I do for you?"

"A table for two, please," I said primly.

He glanced at Beau quickly, giving him a short once over.

No… He thought doubtfully. That can't be her date, can it? Maybe he's her cousin… or her brother or something. No way could he pick up a girl like that.

"Of course, er, mademoiselle." He picked up two menus and gestured for us to follow. Follow me… Wish I could follow you… I'd like to check out dat—I tuned him out.

He led us around the partition and over to a four-top in the middle of the most crowded part of the dining room.

No need to do him any favors, he thought as he stepped back, waiting for us to take our seats, Wonder if I can slip her my number, somehow…?

I pulled a bill from the clip in my pocket. People were easily swayed where money was involved.

Beau would be very curious tonight, I could see all of the questions in his eyes, and a seat as public as this was not appropriate for this kind of conversation.

"Perhaps something more private?" I said to the host in my gently-influential voice, reaching over to slip it between his fingers.

He glanced at the money in surprise, and then his fingers folded around the tip, and he gave me a little smirk.

"Of course." He took us to another part of the dining room, where every booth was empty. "How is this?"

"Perfect," I said. No one would be able to see us here, or Beau's reactions to whatever I would tell him. What did he want to know? And would I be able to give him the answers? Then, feeling slightly peeved by his rude thoughts toward Beau, I curled back my lips in a smile that wasn't quite a smile, and showed him all of my teeth.

Whoa. This babe can't be real. She's gorgeous. He wandered away a moment later, listing slightly to the side. As he walked away, he glanced down at the tip I'd given him. Fifty dollars for a better table? Rich, too. That makes sense—can't get hair as perfect as that in a barber shop. And those jeans… I turned my attentions away from his thoughts as he began to muse over what was inside my jeans. Cad.

I took a seat close to the edge so that Beau would be forced to sit facing me with the length of the table between us. I didn't want him getting too close, lest his scent overwhelm me.

Beau just stood there for a second, and then he sat, too.

On the other side of the wall, the host, still a little dazed, tripped over his feet, stumbling forward a couple steps before being able to get his bearings.

I found myself mulling over the host's apparent lack of fear. I remembered Eleanor's teasing from the other week, in the cafeteria… Hate to break it to ya, little sis, but you're just not as intimidating as you think you are.

Was it true? Was I losing my predatory edge?

"That wasn't very nice."

I looked up, startled out of my reverie by Beau's disapproving tone.

"What do you mean?"

"Whatever that thing you do is—with the dimples and the hypnotizing or whatever. That guy could hurt himself trying to get back to the door."

The dimples, I was aware of. But hypnosis?

I felt one corner of my lips pull up. "I do a thing?"

"Like you don't know the effect you have on people." His words were heavily skeptical. Hm… Sarcasm was surprisingly attractive on him, as well.

"I suppose I can think of a few effects…" My thoughts turned sour for a moment, picturing the various instances of fear and horror I'd elicited in people in my past. "But no one's ever accused me of hypnotism by dimples before."

"Do you think other people get their way so easily?" His tone was still doubtful.

I tilted my head to the side, comparing the host's reaction to Beau's various lapses in attention when in my presence. I just had to sate my curiosity. It had been bothering me for so long. "Does it work on you—this thing you think I do?" I voiced my curiosity impulsively, the words escaping too quickly to be able to pull them back.

But before I could regret it too quickly, he ducked his head shyly and said, "Every time." Delicious color rose underneath his skin, and if I could have, I would have flushed with pleasure.

I hypnotized Beau with my dimples?

My frozen heart swelled with a hopeful pleasure so great, I thought I'd burst. So did that mean he didn't have feelings for McKayla?

And then we were interrupted by our waiter.

"Hello," he said after staring at me for just a moment too long.

Oh my god. Mitch didn't even do her justice. She's… I mean, she's incredible!

"My name is Sal, and I'll be taking care of you tonight. What can I get you to drink?"

I had my eyes fixed on Beau, watching the color rise up under his skin and focusing not on how it made the burn in my throat flare, but rather how it made his eyes clearer, and brightened his fair complexion.

"Beau?" I prompted when he didn't reply to the waiter's request.

"Um, a coke?"

I noticed it now, too—it was difficult not to, with his vulgar thoughts so loud—how he didn't look at Beau, and I cast him a conspiratorial smile, and then turned to the waiter.

"Two Cokes." Normal, human thirst was one of the first signs of shock. I would make sure to get plenty of sugar into his system. And then, just to test the theory, I smiled at the waiter widely, making sure the dimples were on show.

Wha…? Uh… Huh?

The waiter lost his balance, warbling a bit.

Crap. What was their order again…?

Oh my. The reaction was hilarious, and I pressed my lips together to suppress my laughter. I didn't want to embarrass him, the poor child.

"And a menu?" I prompted when he didn't move. The host had forgotten to leave ours with us in his… Hypnotized… State.

Get it together, man. "Yes, of course. I'll be right back with that."

"You've seriously never noticed before?" Beau asked when he was gone.

"It's been awhile since I cared what anyone thought about me," I admitted. "And," I added, "I don't usually smile so much."

Hmm… And then I stared at the reason why I was smiling so much these days with tenderness…

"Probably safer that way." He was playing with the salt shaker. "For everyone."

"Everyone but you," I amended. "Shall we talk about what happened tonight?"

"Huh?"

"Your near-death experience? Or had you forgotten?"

"Oh." It sounded like he had.

I frowned, wondering if this was part of the shock. "How do you feel?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you cold, dizzy, sick…?" I listed off the typical symptoms of acute shock.

"Should I?" he asked.

I laughed, disoriented by his bravado, his resilience. He certainly didn't look like he was going into shock. He looked healthy… Luminous, even. "I'm wondering if you're going to go into shock. I've seen it happen with less provocation."

"Oh," he said, "No, I think I'm fine, thanks."

I watched him for a minute, trying to decide whether he was just trying to act tough, or if he really was fine. But Beau was never one to obsess much over his masculinity. "Just the same, I'll feel better once you have some food in you."

Just then, the waiter rounded the corner with the Cokes and a basket of bread sticks. He placed them on the table, and then handed me the menu that had been tucked under his arm. I didn't look at the waiter as I retrieved the menu, and then immediately slid it across the table to Beau.

The waiter cleared his throat. "There are a few specials. Um, we have a mushroom ravioli, and—"

"Sounds great," Beau interjected, "I'll have that." He spoke a little louder than was necessary, leaning to the side a little because, once more, the waiter wasn't even looking at him. I ducked my head to hide my smile at his obviousness.

"And for you…?"

"That's all we need. Thank you," I dismissed him.

When I looked at Beau, he was making a face. Hm. So he had noticed I never ate. He was far too perceptive… And I was far too irresponsible with my usual facades.

"Drink," I ordered him when the waiter was gone.

He took a sip without question, and then drank more deeply. He chugged the entire glass, and when he set it down, I slid the second glass across the table to him. I frowned to myself. Thirst? Or shock?

"No, I'm fine," he protested.

"I'm not going to drink it," I assured him. The jig was clearly up anyway. Might as well going along with it.

"Right." He reached for the glass and drained its entire contents as well.

"Thanks," he said when he was done. Then he shuddered once.

"You're cold?" Cold drink? Or shock?

"It's just the Coke," he insisted, and he shivered again, his lips trembling in a way that made me think his teeth were about to chatter.

The thin sweater he wore didn't look like enough material to keep him warm. It hugged his chest snugly. I was reminded again just how vulnerable he was. "Don't you have a jacket?"

"Yeah," he answered immediately, and patted the seat next to him. "Oh—I left it in Jeremy's car." He shrugged, and then shuddered once more.

I began to unwind the scarf I'd stolen from Archie this morning. I wished the gesture could have been more helpful—it wouldn't offer him any warmth from my body; I had none to offer—but I hoped the extra half-layer would help.

When I looked up, his skin was flushed, and he looked distracted. What was he thinking?

"Here." I tossed the scarf at him.

But he pushed it back immediately. "Really, I'm fine."

I cocked my head and appraised him for a moment. "The hairs on the back of your neck are standing up, Beau," I told him, "It's not a lady's scarf, if that's what's bothering you." Again, I didn't know where he stood on the whole 'Esteemed Value of His Own Masculinity' thing. "I stole it from Archie."

"I don't need it."

Stubborn thing, wasn't he?

"Fine, Royal has a jacket in the trunk, I'll be right—" I started to get up, but I saw Beau lurch forward, reaching out as if to grab me, and I froze, knowing what he wanted, but not willing to let his skin come into contact with mine, no matter how much pleasure it brought me. He was cold enough.

"Don't go," he murmured, eyes blazing. "I'll wear the scarf. See?"

He picked it up and wrapped it around his neck haphazardly.

"Did I do it right?" he asked when he was finished.

"It suits you." The truth. But no, he hadn't done it right. But what else could I expect from charming, bumbling Beau? I laughed fondly. He was too adorable.

"Do you steal a lot of things from, um, Archie?"

I shrugged. "He has the best taste."

"You never told me about your family," he reminded me. "We ran out of time the other day."

I pushed the basket of breadsticks toward him, hoping he'd eat something. He looked alright, amazing, in fact, but I wasn't going to take any chances. I wanted all my bases covered.

"I'm not going into shock," he reassured me, reading my actions.

"Humor me?" And then, on purpose, I smiled enough to show my dimples.

To my immense surprise, it worked. He grumbled petulantly as he picked up a breadstick and bit off the top.

"Good boy," I praised him, laughing, mostly in shock.

He tried his best to glare at me as he chewed, and I laughed again at how non-threatening he looked. Just more adorableness.

"I don't know how you can be so blasé about this," I admitted, "You don't even look shaken. A normal person—" I stopped myself there. "But then, you're not so normal, are you?"

He shook his head and swallowed. "I'm the most normal person I know."

"Everyone thinks that about themselves."

"Do you think that about yourself?" He lifted an eyebrow, challenging me.

I pursed my lips. That wasn't the same.

"Right. Do you ever consider answering any of my questions, or is that not even on the table?"

"It depends on the question." My tone was wary. Here was the conversation I'd been dreading.

"So tell me one I'm allowed to ask," he suggested.

I thought about that for a minute, surprising myself with the realization that I wanted to tell him more than I could. I wanted to answer his questions, but I also wanted to keep him safe, and so, the two pieces of the puzzle did not fit together, no matter how much pressure I employed, no matter how much I hoped they, somehow, could.

The waiter came over with Beau's food then, setting it down in front of him. I tuned the waiter's thoughts out as best I could.

"Did you change your mind? Isn't there anything I can get you?" I didn't miss the double-meaning in his thoughts.

I declined, but did ask for more soda. Without another word, he picked up the glasses and walked away.

"I imagine you have a lot of questions for me." I could have changed the subject, but I hadn't. I wanted to know his ponderings. I wanted to give him what I could.

"Just a couple thousand."

"I'm sure," I said wryly, "Can I ask you one first? Is that unfair?"

He considered that for just half a second and then nodded eagerly. "What do you want to know?"

I wished I could be as open as he was.

I thought about his openness, his willingness… His instincts were all wrong—reacting in reverse, in opposition to how he should be. He stared danger in the face and vaulted himself toward it. And I wondered, how could I protect him from myself when neither of us wanted that?

I stared at the table, organizing my thoughts before I spoke.

"We spoke before," I began lowly, "About how you were… Trying to figure out what I am. I was just wondering if you'd made any more progress with that." This was the burning question, the one place I wondered where he stood.

He didn't answer, and finally I had to look up into his face. His expression was blank, frustrating color blooming beneath his skin. His eyes were slightly wide, and troubled. I deflated a bit.

"It's that bad, then?"

"Can I—can we not talk about it here?"

"Very bad," I confirmed, half to myself. Very, very bad. If it wasn't the truth, it was something close to it, something he believed in enough that he didn't think it appropriate to discuss in public. If he knew my secret—and I was counting on that 'if'—the three separate futures had very suddenly been cut down to two. I agonized over this. So I had damned his soul.

"Well, actually, if I answer your question first, I know you won't answer mine. You never do. So… you first."

This seemed fair. "An exchange, then?"

"Yes," he agreed.

We were disturbed briefly by the waiter's return with the Cokes, but he didn't say a word as he set them down and then left.

"I suppose we can try that," I acquiesced, and then I hated to add, "But no promises."

"Okay… So what brings you to Port Angeles tonight?"

Ha. An easy-sounding enough answer—for him. It gave away nothing on his part, but everything on mine.

I folded my hands carefully on the tabletop, and stared down at them for a minute before looking up at him.

"Next."

"But that's the easiest one!" he argued.

I shrugged. Maybe for him. "Next," I repeated.

He stared down at the table, brows furrowed. Frustrated? Meticulously, he unrolled his silverware, picked up his fork, and speared a bite of pasta. Infuriatingly slowly, he put it in his mouth, chewed, and then swallowed. And then, just when I thought I would die from anticipation, he paused to take a sip of Coke.

"Fine, then," he finally said, "Let's say, hypothetically, that… someone… could know what people are thinking"—I froze—"read minds, you know—with just a few exceptions."

This I was not expecting. I was reminded again by how intelligent, how quick he was. No one else had ever guessed this about me—except for Carine, and then it had been because I was answering all her thoughts for her when I was first changed, as opposed to her spoken words. She had understood before I had…

The question wasn't the worst ever, I supposed. It wasn't a sole piece of the vampire cannon, and so I went along with it.

"Just one exception. Hypothetically."

His face went blank with shock, and then he fought a smirk.

What was that about?

"Okay," he continued after a minute, "Just one exception, then. How would something like that work? What are the limitations? How would… that someone…"—i.e. me—"find someone else"—i.e. you—"at exactly the right time?"—i.e. Just before you were brutally beaten to death by a pipe in a back alley. "How would she even know I was in trouble?"

"Hypothetically?"

"Right." His eyes danced with mirth. He was happy I was going along with this.

"Well, if… that someone—"

"Call her Jane."

I felt myself smile. "If your Hypothetical Jane had been paying better attention, the timing wouldn't have needed to be quite so exact." I rolled my eyes in exasperation, and relief, looking back at it now, "I'm still not over how this could happen at all. How does anyone get into so much trouble, so consistently, and in such unlikely places? You would have devastated Port Angeles's crime statistics for a decade, you know." I was aware, by the end of my monologue, that I had given up on the charade.

"I don't see how this is my fault."

"I don't either. But I don't know who to blame."

He leaned forward, elbows on either side of his plate. "How did you know?"

I stared at him, torn. Did I tell him the truth? And, if so, how much of it? I wanted to tell him. I wanted to be deserving of the trust he still had for me, so clear in his eyes. I did not deserve that, which he still wholeheartedly gave to me.

"You can trust me, you know." He reached forward, as if to lay his hand over mine, but I pulled my own back, and it was painful to do so. His hand fell flat to the table.

He had given me no evidence against this. It was true—I knew I could trust him to keep my secret; and I was surprised by just how much I wanted to give up the whole façade, and to let somebody in—for the first time in my entire existence. But it risked too much on his part.

"It's what I want to do," I whispered, "But that doesn't mean it's right."

"Please?"

I couldn't deny him. I couldn't. "I followed you to Port Angeles. I've never tried to keep a specific person alive before, and it's much more troublesome than I would have believed. But that's probably because it's you. Ordinary people seem to make it through the day without so many catastrophes. I was wrong before, when I said you were a magnet for accidents. That's not a broad enough classification. You are a magnet for trouble. If there is anything dangerous within a ten-mile radius, it will invariably find you." Why him? What had he done, as pure and good as he was, to deserve any of this?

"You put yourself into that category, don't you?" he guessed.

"Unequivocally." I was the most dangerous of all the fraught possibilities.

He stretched across the table once more, ignoring my retreat this time, and laid his hand on top of mine. I clenched my jaw, riddled with anxiety over the way my skin must have felt to him, repulsed by the nature of myself, but he didn't react with disgust, or even surprise. It was as if he'd been expecting the chill.

"That's twice now," he said, "Thank you."

Please, don't thank me, Beau. You're in more danger than everything else combined sitting here with me right now.

"I mean," he said now, his tone bright, joking, "did you ever think that maybe my number was up the first time, with the van, and you're messing with fate? Like those Final Destination movies?"

But his humor didn't touch me, because that hadn't been the first time.

"Edythe?"

My head fell forward with the weight of the shame, and my hair obscured my face.

"That wasn't the first time." The truth ran full-bodied and freely now, unbridled, "Your number was up the first day I met you. It's not twice you've almost died, it's three times. The first time I saved you… it was from myself."

He was very quiet, and I could hear that his breathing had accelerated. I forced myself to look at him, terrified of the fear I would see in his eyes.

"You remember? You understand?"

"Yes."

I waited for more, but his face stayed calm and even. His eyes held the awareness, the understanding that I had wanted to murder him that first day, and still—here he sat, unmoving, his hand on mine.

"You can leave, you know." I said the words, though they caused me great pain. "Your friends are still at the movie."

"I don't want to leave," he said.

This infuriated me. Why wasn't he afraid of me? He should be! Here I was, admitting to my desire to murder him, and he didn't want to go?!

"How can you say that?"

He patted my hands, totally calm. "You didn't finish answering my question," he reminded me, "How did you find me?"

I glared at him, wishing that he would be angry, too, because how could he not feel betrayed, and defiled, and horror-struck by something such as this? How could he sit here and reassure me?

I shook my head and sighed. "I was keeping tabs on Jeremy's thoughts. Not carefully—like I said, it's not just anybody who could get themselves murdered in Port Angeles. At first I didn't notice when you set off on your own. Then, when I realized that you weren't with him anymore, I drove around looking for someone who had seen you. I found the bookstore you walked to, but I could tell that you hadn't gone inside. You'd gone south, and I knew you'd have to turn around soon. So I was just waiting for you, randomly searching through the thoughts of everyone I could hear—to see if anyone had noticed you so I would know where you were. I had no reason to be worried… but I started to feel anxious…" It was coming back to me now, and I felt myself taking those steps, tracking his scent… "I started to drive in circles, still… Listening. The sun was finally setting, and I was about to get out and follow you on foot. And then—" The fury possessed me, and I shut down, every muscle in my body locking into place, because I was still very aware that Beau was touching me, and I did not want to hurt him. But I did want to hurt them. I forced myself to stay here at the table with Beau.

"Then what?" he urged.

"I heard what she was thinking," I hissed, anchoring my gaze to his, knowing it would be enough to keep me here, "I heard what she was thinking. I saw your face in her head, and I knew what she was planning to do."

"But you got there in time," he said, like it was nothing.

"It was harder than you know for me to drive away, to just let them get away with that. It was the right thing, I know it was, but still… very difficult. That's one reason I made you go to dinner with me," I admitted quietly, "I could have let you go to the movie with Jeremy and Allen, but I was afraid that if I wasn't with you, I would go looking for those people."

Again, I searched his face for that entirely justifiable reaction. But it didn't come. I had confessed to a second intended murder, and still, nothing. His heartbeat was slightly irregular, but it evened out quickly. His face was slightly paler, but composed.

I was teetering on the edge, and I had no idea if I would fall. Would I kill them, then? Would I betray Beau's ill-founded trust in me? Was there any way to stop myself?

At any rate, he must have had enough truth for one night.

I took a breath, almost reveling in the burn that seared my throat. While I burned, Beau stayed alive. While I suffered, Beau remained safe.

"Are you going to eat anything else?"

He blinked at his food. "No, I'm good."

"Do you want to go home now?"

He hesitated for just a minute. "I'm not in any hurry."

Not in any hurry to be away from a self-proclaimed intended murderess… That displeased me significantly.

"Can I have my hands back now?"

He jerked his away. "Sure. Sorry."

And there it was again… Another apology. I glanced at him as I pulled my bill-fold from my pocket. "Is it possible to go fifteen minutes without an unnecessary apology?" How many times had I heard him apologize, tonight alone?

"Um, probably not."

This made me laugh.

The waiter walked over then. "How are you do—"

"We're finished, thank you very much, that ought to cover it, no change, thanks."

I stood, and Beau fumbled for his wallet.

"Um, let me—" he stammered, "You didn't even get anything—"

A sweet gesture—however, without need.

"My treat, Beau," I assured him. My family had more money than we would ever know what to do with.

"But—" he argued.

"Try not to get caught up in antiquated gender roles."

I headed for the door, giving him no choice but to follow. I let him pass me so he could get the door again—I could give him that, at least.

He held the car door for me, too.

Yes, this was very sweet, and I found myself warmed by his courtliness.

I watched him scramble over to the passenger side, hand sliding across the hood of the car as he went. In the interim, I turned on the heater. The warm weather had ended abruptly, and I wanted him to be comfortable.

When he was inside, I looked pointedly at his seatbelt until he fastened it. Then I pulled out into the light traffic.

I waited until we were past the lights of the boardwalk to speak. It gave me a sense of privacy, an aloneness with him.

Was it right to think like that? Now that my attention was fully on him, the car seemed very small, even cramped. His fragrance intermingled with the heated air, swirling in an inescapable cloud around the car, growing in ever-increasing potency, demanding to be recognized.

Well, I recognized it. My throat burned in agitated recognition, but I did not rebel at the feeling. This was what I deserved, I supposed. It was the least I could endure after all Beau had and would endure because of me.

But I had to limit the reaction to only that—just to focus on the burn. But the venom filled my mouth, and my muscles coiled to spring, as if I were on the hunt.

I needed a distraction, and I knew what would do it for me…

"Now," I said to him, "It's your turn."

…

A/N: As always, let me know what you thought! Thanks!