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.

13. Revelations

A/N: Lots of shame and angst in this chapter—at least until the end. I find, a lot of the time, we believe the very best for others, but it's very hard for us to think ourselves worthy of the exact same thing. You'll see what I'm talking about.

I imagine Edythe murmuring "Dimming Of The Day" by Alison Krauss to soothe herself. It's a beautiful song, and a certain part of the lyrics just pin-points the nature of how Edythe sees the relationship between her and Beau… You pull me like the moon pulls on the tide, you know just where I keep my better side… Give it a listen. It really is a beautiful song. I've been obsessed with it lately since I read it in a Hunger Games FF.

And while we're talking about beautiful songs that fit Edythe's nature, I recently found Sarah Darling's cover of "Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want" and it's just… Oh. Perfect. The song (by Muse) was originally on Edward's playlist for Midnight Sun, and just for fun, I went looking for covers and found Sarah Darlings. I fell in love with that one, too. SO check those both out if you get the chance, OR check 'em out on my playlist over at 8tracks ( /foreverdawn/you-pull-me-in-like-the-moon-pulls-on-the-tide)

Anyway! Gosh. I always start off these A/N's with, 'Jeez, what am I gonna talk about?', and then I end up rambling until there's no tomorrow. SO enough of that! Here we go!

…

I hesitated in the trees lining the Swan property. There was a thin layer of clouds in the sky, enough to obscure my skin's reaction to the UV rays mostly. It still glowed faintly, but I wasn't sure human eyes would pick that up.

Inside the house, I could hear the sound of rushing water, and the scrub of a brush against ceramic. I listened as Beau's feet pounded up the stairs, and then the water was running in the upstairs bathroom—he was brushing his teeth. I waited until he'd finished with that before I moved to the front door.

Suddenly, I felt cautious. Archie had said that he was seventy-five percent sure, this morning, that Beau would survive today. Part of me had hoped I could have caught Charlie before he left for his fishing escapade, but he'd left before the sun had risen. His father had no idea where he was going, and I forced myself to think of the Chief's reaction, if he were to come home to an empty house… I felt marginally more at ease, knowing Beau had to have told someone, probably Jeremy, of our plans for the day—maybe not these specific ones, but at the very least that we would be together.

I knocked quietly, and I heard his feet on the stairs. There was a brief skirmish on the other side of the door as he struggled with the deadbolt, but then the door flew open.

The most delicious human I had ever laid eyes on stood in the doorway, eyes bright, and I drank in the sight of him. He wore a light tan sweater and a white t-shirt underneath, both crew neck, and blue jeans. I forced my eyes not to linger on the way the soft material of his sweater clung to his arms and chest—streamlining his shape. By complete coincidence, I was wearing almost the exact same thing—only, my sweater was scoop neck, and I wore a thin white tank top underneath. I didn't usually show much of my skin around the humans, but this had been part of the plan, and it was almost a requirement in this instance.

I laughed at our matching outfits. My mood would have brightened at the sight of him alone, anyway. "Good morning."

"What's wrong?" Immediately Beau glanced self-consciously down at himself.

"We match." I giggled again. I didn't know why, but this was fitting, and it soothed me to know we were on the same wavelength—at least in some ways.

Sighing in resignation, I walked over to the truck while he locked the front door behind him. This was going to be a very slow drive.

"You agreed to this," he reminded me as he unlocked and opened my door for me.

Only for you. I shot him an over-exaggerated martyred look as I climbed into the seat.

Despite the fact that he hadn't driven the vehicle in nearly a week, his scent saturated the tiny cab. It was ingrained in every fiber of the bench seat, overwhelming the air around me. I sucked in a deep breath, feeling the burn in my throat, focusing on that for a brief moment. I reminded myself that I had authority over the burn, I could control the desire of my thirst. I would. I would bring Beau safely home to his father today.

He hopped in on the driver's side and revved the grating engine to life.

"Where to?"

"Put your seatbelt on—I'm nervous already."

He did as I asked, and then repeated his question.

"Take the one-oh-one north."

He backed out of the driveway and headed down the street. I took the long opportunity of his focus on the road to stare at his profile, to memorize every inch of it—every perfect imperfection, every angle of his face, the shape of his lips, the fringe of dark lashes around those amazing eyes. The patch of red I could see peeking out the neckline of his sweater. Could he feel my eyes on him?

I thought deeply about the day that laid ahead, the predicament it presented. Not only would we be alone as a predator and her prey—but we would also be alone as a couple. Or, rather, this strange in-between stage we were in. I had a feeling that would change today.

"Edythe… Can I kiss you?" he'd murmured in his sleep the other night. Even the memory of the words had those familiar sensations welling up inside me: the butterfly-wing feeling in my stomach, the sudden electric current running along the surface of my skin. And my reaction to his unconscious request, how unthinking it had been… How instinctual. The very human part of me, the part I was trying to embrace, wanted very much to feel what it would be like to have his warm, soft lips on mine; I wanted to know how it would feel to allow him to hold me in his arms that way…

And there was the other reaction that came in response to the idea—the strange, giddy nervousness. For whatever reason, it had my breath hitching.

I forced myself to focus on something else.

"Were you planning to make it out of Forks before nightfall?"

He didn't take his eyes off the road. "This truck is old enough to be the Volvo's grandfather—have a little respect."

I giggled, but to please me, he did pick up the speed.

Archie had said this day would be significant in more ways than one, if I succeeded at not killing him. Was this what he'd been talking about? He'd been focusing very hard on various images in his mind when he had told me this, so I couldn't quite be sure where his mind had been, but I wondered if this had to be it.

It took ages for Beau to drive out of town limits, and the impatience made me uncomfortable, but it was a far easier sensation to focus on than the ones that I felt mentally, emotionally and physically when I thought about all the different ways this day could go. Equal amounts of paralyzing fear and deep, aching desire were at war inside of me.

I relayed the instructions automatically, and he obeyed without speaking.

"Now we drive until the pavement ends."

"And what's there, at the pavement's end?" he asked quietly. His hands were at exactly ten and two, and his eyes had not strayed from the road once. I had forgotten how hard humans had to focus while driving.

"A trail."

"We're hiking?" Though he tried to hide it, there was just the slightest hint of panicked hysteria in his tone. I could see why he might react this way.

"Is that a problem?"

"No," he lied.

"Don't worry," I assuaged him, "It's only five miles or so, and we're in no hurry."

I found it suddenly ironic how much I hated driving slow; but walking alongside Beau at a normal human's pace was something else altogether. I would move at the pace of a tortoise if it afforded me more time spent with him.

Beau looked suddenly anxious, and it raised alarm in me. Was he second-guessing his decision to be alone with me today? Was he afraid? Or was it simply due to his aversion to physical activity?

"What are you thinking?" The question slipped from my lips on its own accord.

"Just wondering where we're going," he said.

"It's a place I like to go when the weather is nice." We both looked out the windows, at the expanding sky. The sunshine was burning away the hazy clouds, points of blue forcing its way through—visible to my eyes, at least.

"Charlie said it would be warm today."

So did Archie. "And did you tell Charlie what you were up to?"

"Nope."

"But you probably said something to Jeremy about me driving you to Seattle," I surmised, placated by the assumption.

"No, I didn't."

Shock, cold as ice spiked through my dry veins, and then, immediately following, the hot flame of anger. "No one knows you're with me?"

"That depends," Beau mumbled, "I assume you told Archie?"

"That's very helpful, Beau," I snapped. Again, he was not only flirting with death, he was downright seducing it. I found myself questioning his sanity once more. "Is it the weather?" I wondered, "Seasonal affective disorder? Has Forks made you so depressed you're actually suicidal?"

"You said it might cause problems for you… us being together publicly."

My fists clenched in my lap. "So you're worried about the trouble it might cause me—if you don't come home?" My tone was scathing.

He only nodded, keeping his eyes on the road.

"I ought to put this boy in a padded room—straight jacket and all," I growled under my breath, sure the words had passed from my lips too quickly for him to understand. It was becoming more and more clear to me that Beau was of no help when it came to keeping him alive. I was alone in this endeavor, and the thought of that enraged me—for, who could be a worse choice in the gate-keeper of his life, than the very monster who craved his blood every second?

The only redeeming factor was that the animal inside me, who had been so intent on his homicide, was no longer present. It would be pure, tragic accident if I were to harm him, now. But that didn't make me any less dangerous.

I debated, for half a second, over whether I should convince him to turn around and go home. It said much about my own selfishness that I did not utter the words.

We came to the end of the road, and Beau pulled the truck over onto the shoulder. He was quiet, as he stepped out of the truck, and I lingered there for a moment, staring at his turned back.

A million thoughts swirled through my head—doubt, satisfaction, fear, longing, pain, euphoria, excitement, dread… Had this really been the right decision, to take him here?

I peeled my sweater off and got out of the truck, slamming the door behind me. The atmosphere was rising in temperature now, the air heavier with humidity. It would be sunny by the time we got to the meadow, and it made no sense to bring my sweater along.

I twisted my hair up into a coil, and then pivoted to stare into the trees. I pondered the best route to take. The rough terrain was no issue for me; for Beau, however…

"This way," I decided, glancing over my shoulder at Beau to make sure he followed. He'd removed his sweater, too, and wore just the t-shirt now. Despite the modest garment, I had never seen so much of his skin before. His arms were more defined than I had expected them to be.

I stepped off the shoulder, through the taller grass and weeds, drifting into the shade of the trees.

"The trail?" His voice spiked with anxiety.

"I said there was a trail at the end of the road, not that we were taking it."

"No trail? Really?" He sounded afraid—but of course, he would not be afraid of being alone with me. The lack of footpath was of far greater concern… My musings were heavily sarcastic, of course.

I rolled my eyes where he couldn't see, and then glanced back at him with a soft, teasing smirk. "I won't let you get lost."

As I watched, despair so crushing it panicked me, shadowed his face and darkened his eyes. At once, I was sure that he must have finally understood the danger I posed, and the pain the comprehension lanced through me surprised me. Agony, exacerbated by the torment in his own expression, consumed me.

"Do you want to go home?" I braced myself for the rejection.

"No," he said. Then he strode forward until he was next to me, so close our bare arms almost brushed.

His response confused me. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not a fast hiker. You'll have to be very patient." He was hiding something, something he didn't want me to know, but he'd made his choice. I would be on my best behavior today; I would be at my strongest. I would give him nothing to fear. I inhaled deeply, the swirling notes of his scent scorching my throat. Authority. Dominion over the thirst. I possessed it.

"I can be patient—if I make a great effort," I teased. I ducked my head slightly, to hold his gaze, hoping the joke would be enough to brighten his suddenly despairing mood. As answerless as his mood was, as much as I wanted to know what was behind the gloom, what mattered more in this moment was pacifying him.

He forced his lips into a smile, but the expression wasn't convincing.

Did he not trust me? This realization hurt more than the idea that he might be frightened of me.

"I'll take you home," I vowed. Even if it caused me great agony, even if I had to destroy myself in assurance that I did not obliterate him, I would keep him safe.

Suddenly, his eyes were firm with resolve. "If you want me to hack five miles through the jungle before sundown, you'd better start leading the way." His tone was sour, and it took me a little off guard.

I tried to understand it, but his expression and tone did not match up to any of what I'd formerly learnt about his character. I gave up after a moment, wondering if his sudden sullenness could really be due to his aversion to hiking.

I attempted to ease the journey for him to the best of my ability. I found the smoothest path, and stayed close to his side in case he needed steadying. To my great astonishment, the wicked snarls of the forest only caught him unawares twice, and both times, I was able to reach out and grip his elbow before he could fall. Each time I did so, a shockwave would zip up my arm, resonating from where our skin had come into contact. I didn't think he was so immune to the strange sensations, himself. Each time I touched him, his heart pounded into high gear.

I wondered about that, remembering again the thin line between attraction and fear. Could that be why he reacted to my touch so palpably, or was it the chill of my skin in the shade of the forest that put him off?

It occurred to me, once more, that I was revealing more of my body than I ever had in public before. Could the way his eyes lingered on my collarbones, my neck, my shoulders, be more than just subtle ways to avoid my gaze? The slow rise of color in his neck and face, the erratic beat of his heart, all clued me in to the possibility that he desired me in the same way I desired him.

There was a strange warmth awakening itself deep inside my core, sending ripples out to my arms and fingers, that demanded attention.

But I refused to allow my mind to go in that direction, the direction that wanted to see more of his skin, and I quashed the inappropriate quandaries as soon as they floundered their way into my mind.

To distract myself, I asked more questions.

"Tell me about your favorite teacher from grade school," I requested. He glanced up at the strange heated restraint in my tone—I could hear it, too—and stumbled. I gripped his elbow, welcoming that strange electric shock.

"Um," he huffed, regaining his composure. "Mr. Haldon. Grade One." The answer seemed to come easily, and it intrigued me.

"Why?"

He shrugged, sheepish. "He taught me how to read."

I asked him about birthdays, childhood friends, favored school subjects. When I asked him if he'd had any childhood pets, he told me he'd given up on the practice after killing three goldfish in a row.

I laughed loudly at the irony. He was able to care for his mother as a child, but he was unable to keep one measly vertebrate alive? I found the paradox acutely hilarious.

The hike took longer than I had expected—most of the morning—but also something I hadn't anticipated was that it wouldn't bother me in the least. I was perfectly content to walk alongside Beau, to lead him through the mossy green labyrinth, toward my quiet, special utopia. I wondered about the significance of this—sharing this place with Beau. I had never even brought Archie here, the one member of my family whom I considered myself closest to.

Steadily, the sun regained its strength, pressing down through the canopy of trees above us with its warmth and vitality. I was eager to feel it on my skin.

Eventually, the path brightened ahead, and I could see where we would find the opening into the meadow.

"Are we there yet?" he asked.

"Nearly," I assured him, "Do you see the clearer light ahead?"

He squinted in its direction blindly. "Um, should I?"

"Maybe it is a bit soon for your eyes," I relented.

"Time to visit the optometrist," he deadpanned on a sigh, and I grinned at his good humor.

We continued forward, and as the light ahead grew brighter, I suddenly found myself feeling anxious. I had decided that I would bear my entire nature to him today, I would leave nothing left to hide. This had to be his choice, and the only way to make a fully educated, rounded choice, would be to see me for what I truly was. But I was suddenly hesitant, and I found myself pulling back as we drew nearer to the opening. Would he be repulsed by my obvious alien-ness? When he saw the way my skin refracted light, would he demand I take him home, right then and there? Would he be disgusted, frightened, repelled?

Without hesitation, Beau pushed his way through the border of ferns flanking the meadow, and stepped into the golden sunshine. I paused where I was, still safely hidden in the shadows of the towering primordial pines, wishing I could see his face, so that I could see his reaction. But his back stayed to me as he moved slowly through the tall, swaying grass and the wildflowers, which carpeted the ground.

And then he stopped and whirled, realizing that I wasn't there with him. He found me hesitating in the shade, and the expression on his face was so full of awestruck wonder, it made me ache.

He took a step back toward me, offering his hand. Then he smiled softly, receptively, and started back toward me.

But I needed a moment. I held up a hand, and he halted immediately, obeying my unspoken request.

How did the human adage go—? You never know until you try.

I figured it applied, in this case. Besides, I soothed myself, Beau had hardly ever reacted in the way I expected him to. Encouraged by this, I took a deep breath, tasting the sunshine, just out of reach, on the back of my tongue, closed my eyes, and I stepped out of the dark, and into the light.

I had my eyes closed, so I was only aware of the fact that Beau was sprinting toward me by way of sound.

"Edythe!" he shouted. I couldn't decide whether his tone sounded panicked, shocked, disgusted, or possibly a combination of all three.

I opened my eyes, seeing his rapid approach, and I threw up my hand, warning him to keep his distance. Suddenly, very clearly, one of the images Archie had seen reared in the back of my mind. Beau's sudden advance, my unprepared reaction… I bit the thought off short.

Beau stumbled to a stop so sudden he nearly toppled to his knees. He stared, eyes wide with… what? I couldn't fathom the expression on his face. I stared back, terrified.

He took a cautious step forward. "Does that hurt you?" he whispered.

"No," I breathed. These hadn't been the words I'd expected to hear. Again—it sounded like he was concerned for me. But underneath that concern was something else. Something that gave me enough pause to allow him to come closer, and to circle around me. I felt his eyes on me, burning brighter than the sun with their rapt attention, and the apprehension was tearing me apart.

What did he see, when he gazed at me? Did he see the alien that I was? Did he see that our worlds were galaxies apart? Would he realize that we were too different—that he found my disparity atrocious? Was he frightened?

He completed his very slow circle, and then closed the gap between us until his fragrance was a physical force in the air around me. Sweetened by the warmth of the gilded sun, potent in his proximity. My throat burned. My muscles were already rigid with self-conscious terror, but they tightened more, now.

"Edythe," he whispered. His eyes were still wide, the vivid blue in them crushing. The beauty of this boy broke my heart—because I knew, I would never be enough for him. But I wanted, desperately, to be. If I had to spend the rest of his life trying to be that, to be enough, I would do it. If he still wanted me, after this ghastly show of the monster, the outsider, I truly was.

"Are you scared now?" I breathed.

"No." The word was so vehement, so intense, I could only stare. The wide-eyed bewilderment, the swirling storm in his eyes, could it be different from what I'd thought? Was it true? Was he really unafraid? Had I misread the emotion on his face?

His hand came up, slowly, and he watched my face as he moved, measuring my reaction. I flinched, but I didn't stop his approach. I was still frozen with fear when he touched me, laying his fingertips against my arm. Warmth, more piercing than that of the blazing rays of the sun, sunk underneath the surface of my skin, through the petrified flesh and muscle, down to the hollow marrow of my bones. I stared at his face, unable to process his feelings.

His expression was fathomless, eyes still wide, lips slightly parted as he watched his fingers brush the skin on my arm.

Rainbows danced across his face, reflecting off my skin.

"What are you thinking?" I was unable to employ the full volume of my voice.

He seemed to struggle for a moment. "I am… I didn't know…" He paused and took a breath. "I've never seen anything more beautiful—never imagined anything so beautiful could exist."

I appraised him, attempting to find the real motive behind the words. I couldn't decide whether he was just saying the words to appease me, or if he really thought they were true. But the blue in his eyes was so bright, and the expression on his face was… Well, I had no words for it. But it put a metaphorical lump in my throat.

On its own accord, my hand began to lift, wanting to touch his face, to hold him in place so I could stare into those heavenly eyes, but when I moved, the rainbows on his face swam and intensified. Mortification caused me to drop my hand. "It's very strange, though," I murmured, hoping to pull more out of him.

"Amazing." His voice was still just a mere whisper.

Could I bring myself to believe his words? Could I assume that he thought I really was as beautiful as he said? "Aren't you repulsed by my flagrant lack of humanity?"

He shook his head slowly, dazedly. "Not repulsed."

I felt my eyes narrow in disapproval. "You should be," I told him. But amidst the disapproval, my heart was soaring. He wasn't repulsed by me… He thought I was… Beautiful? More beautiful than anything he'd ever seen? According to him, at least.

"I'm feeling like humanity is pretty overrated," he said now.

At these words, my heart plummeted, and I pulled my arm, very gently, out from underneath his fingers, securing it behind my back. Unbidden, the image of Beau's pale, granite skin and crimson eyes, flashed in my mind's eye. The mental picture caused me palpable pain.

Without hesitation, Beau took a step toward me, and my inattention nearly ended his life. At the same time he'd moved closer, I'd inhaled, and his fragrance scorched my airways. The resulting release of venom and coil of my muscles was very reflexive. The bloodlust flared—urged by the sweet fermenting of his scent in the warmth of the sun—and I could see it, for a fraction of a second, in my mind's eye. Reaching out to grab him, to pull him to me, to press my aching jaws against the column of his throat…

I wrenched myself back four yards before I could do something I would regret, jaw locked against my stopped breath, hand up to ward him off.

He blinked, taking a moment to process my sudden departure. "I'm sorry," he blurted immediately.

I'm sorry… I had almost killed him! All because I'd allowed my attention to wander for half a second. He could not afford this irresponsibility on my part!

He didn't know the risk he was taking, putting himself so close to me. He did not understand the very real danger I was! I would have to be more aware, more attentive.

"I need some time," I said, knowing the request was unreasonable, knowing I deserved nothing less than his patience and his understanding. But I wanted this; I wanted to be able to be close to him, to sit in this meadow and talk, and be together… Now that it was becoming apparent that he wasn't terrified of me, and that he didn't find my monstrous nature repulsive—or quite as repulsive as I would have assumed.

"I'll be more careful," he promised.

It was too much to ask of him, but I was grateful for the guarantee anyway. I nodded and walked forward, giving him a wide berth as I passed, and crossed to the middle of the meadow. I folded my legs under me, facing away from him, and stared into the shade of the trees across the clearing.

No more mistakes, I reprimanded myself.

I heard very clearly when he came toward me, passing too close—I held my breath—to sit across from me. I would have liked a little more space, but he lowered himself into the grass five feet away.

"Is this all right?"

I nodded, forcing down the anxious frenetic energy inside of me. "Just let me… concentrate."

He did. He was very obediently quiet for a long few seconds, and I let my eyelids flutter closed.

Archie had seen two possible outcomes to this story. He had said this day would be significant in more ways than one. I focused on the truth of that sentiment. He had said Beau had a seventy-five percent chance of surviving this day, and I focused on all the little choices that would lead him to that success. Every move I would make that I had seen in Archie's visions, every seemingly inconsequential detail.

I forced myself to focus on the premonitions he'd pictured of his death, too, watching every move Beau would or would not make, paying extra attention to the trigger-point, when the animal inside would overwhelm me, and I would give in to the desire to sate my thirst.

Watching these instances play out brought me great pain, but in time, it soothed the edges of my anxiety, softened them. If I could keep an eye out for what might or might not come, maybe I could keep myself aware enough to keep him safe.

Archie had said, not once, but many times, that it would cause me great pain if I were to kill Beau. I paid attention to what that pain would feel like—for myself, yes, but for the friends he'd made, his mother, his father… I focused on the grief it would bring them, knowing how deeply Charlie loved his son, knowing how great a loss it would be for him.

But for myself… I couldn't fathom how I would go on if… If I did what I swore I would never do—which was destroy Beau's soul in any way. It would be unendurable, to have known a love so deep and strong and wide, and then to have that end on my own accord. No. I would not survive that.

Eventually, the combination of these musings relaxed me, made me sure of my course, and I laid back in the grass, one hand behind my head.

"Can I…?" Beau asked hesitantly.

He had been so quiet, so obedient, the thumping of his heart and the whoosh of his breath had been the only sound in the very warm, very quiet meadow. All of the residual menace was gone. His scent still burned my throat, but I was prepared enough, in this instance, to assert my authority over the thirst. I would not let it control me. I would stay focused.

I patted the ground beside me, inviting him to sit.

I heard him scoot a few feet closer, pausing. He moved another foot closer, and than another half-foot.

I had kept my eyes closed, because it was easier to block out some of the stimulus this way.

I forced myself to continue to breathe, focusing on the way his scent pierced my throat, remembering that, when I suffered, Beau lived. When I was in agony, Beau was safe. I took another deep breath, in and out.

He shifted once more, and then became very still.

I sang softly to myself, knowing it would lull the fears in my heart and mind.

"Did you… say something?" he whispered. He was sitting close enough for me to feel his breath wash over my exposed skin when he spoke. I didn't stop breathing, expecting that the intensity of the burn would be worse with him closer. It was.

"Just singing to myself," I elaborated without opening my eyes, "It calms me."

We sat in companionable silence for a long time. Every so often, when I could feel his fragrance influencing me in the direction of peril, I sang a few more lines to myself. Songs that I knew would bring peace, and calmness—various nocturnes, ballades, concertos. And then, from more modern artists—Alison Krauss, Lee Ann Womack, Martina McBride, Mary Carpenter, Sleeping at Last, Seabird, Kodaline… Singers with voices that helped soothe the tension inside whenever it had arisen in the past—though never to this magnitude, to be sure.

I sang softly to myself for a while, feeling the gradual relaxation of my tensed muscles, acclimating myself to the way the sun made Beau smell impossibly sweeter. Eventually, the venom stopped flowing, my jaw stopped aching, and I felt in control again.

Beau touched me, and I opened my eyes to watch his face. It was just the tip of his pointer finger, on the back of my hand, and it was clear now—how had I not noticed it before?—that he was fascinated, almost… in awe. His eyes were so intense, his gaze so focused, that I might have blushed if I'd been a normal, seventeen-year-old human girl.

He must have felt me watching him, because he glanced up, his finger stilling against my skin.

"I still don't scare you, do I?" I realized I was smiling.

"Nope. Sorry." He didn't sound very sorry at all, and my grin widened.

His eyes fell back to his prior focus, and he shifted incrementally closer. His scent wafted over me, and I inhaled carefully. He shifted the point of access with my skin, unfurling his hand and fingers until his entire palm covered my hand, his long fingers stretching up my forearm. The warmth enveloped my fingers, my hand, my wrist, resonating up my entire arm. The heat was indescribable.

"Do you mind?" he murmured.

"No," I replied, "You can't imagine how that feels."

I felt his hand drift over my arm, fingers tracing the veins at the crease of my elbow. The warmth sparked there and spread, as if he'd injected the pleasurable feeling directly into my bloodstream. Soon enough, it filled my entire body with a high I couldn't describe.

I opened my eyes to watch him, feeling I needed to do this in order to stay grounded in this moment, lest I float away on the tide of the feelings he was creating in me. He reached for my hand, and guessing at what he wanted, I flipped my palm up. His fingers froze, and I realized I'd moved too quickly.

"Sorry." I smiled at the odd reversal of roles. Beau was usually the one to apologize so incessantly. "It's too easy to be myself with you."

He didn't answer, only lifted my hand and angled it this way and that, inspecting it for some unseen origin. He stared so intently, I had to ask.

"Tell me what you're thinking. It's still so strange for me, not knowing."

"The rest of us feel that way all the time, you know," he replied chidingly.

"It's a hard life." I had meant to utter the words in jest, but suddenly I realized how true it was. "But you didn't tell me."

"I was wishing I could know what you were thinking…" he admitted, somewhat hesitantly.

"And?" Would I tell him whatever he asked now, no secrets barred?

"I was wishing that I could believe that you were real." I felt a pang of despair at his gloomy tone. "I'm afraid—"

"I don't want you to be afraid," I breathed. His fear was needless, and contrary to the inexcusable behavior I'd exhibited half an hour ago, I was firmly in control now.

"That's not the kind of fear I meant."

I propped myself on my elbow, and our faces were inches apart. This time, my sudden movement hadn't scared him. He stared back, eyes swimming, heart and respiration rates increased. I could feel the warmth of blood, flooding under his skin. I wanted to understand what he meant—the anticipation of it was overwhelming. Here he was—admitting fear to something. It was insanity to think that Beau was completely and totally without fear, especially in my presence, but up until now, I had to admit, he'd done a very good job of hiding it. And now, for whatever reason, he was allowing that veil to fall.

"Then what are you afraid of?" I was desperate to know.

He didn't answer, only staring for a moment longer. And then, in a movement that was far too quick for me—a vampire who saw all things—he leaned toward me.

His scent flared like wildfire across my face and down my throat, burning radiantly in my chest. His breath washed, unbearably sweet, across my face. The skin along the column of his neck stretched, the pulse of his blood visible in the blood vessels in his throat…

I was twenty feet away from him by the time he realized I was gone.

More than the hunting instinct, more than the song his blood sang to me, had been the other yearning, the other craving, that had me leaning in too, for the fraction of a second it had taken me to withdraw myself.

I stared across the meadow at him, from where I stood safely in the shade of the trees. He sat unmoving, his hands still poised in the same position they had been when I'd been sitting under them.

"Edythe," he whispered hoarsely, "I'm… sorry."

"Give me a moment," I requested, loud enough for his human ears to hear.

He did.

I took ten seconds to ensure that the danger had passed, to allow the hunting reflexes to fade, and then I walked back to him. I sat six feet away from him, folding my legs underneath me just when I could feel the heat of his skin touch my own. I watched his face carefully, expecting the fear, but not finding any.

I took two, deep mouthfuls of his fragrance, searing the inside of my throat and lungs, claiming dominion over the realm of my thirst. I was in charge. I was in control.

"I am so very sorry," I apologized to him, "Would you understand what I meant if I said I was only human?" True, it was not quite an appropriate analogy, but it got the point across just the same.

He nodded wordlessly.

I'd done it. I'd finally done it. I'd frightened him. He sat frozen, eyes staring wide into mine, like a bird locked in the gaze of a snake. I could smell the adrenaline in his perspiration from where I sat.

I felt my mouth twist into a mordant smile. Whether it had been the fact that the day's tensions had finally been too much for me and I'd snapped, or whether it was that I simply wanted to unhinge myself from all the facades and the charades I was still keeping, I decided to embrace the sudden desire—the aberrant, sickening desire—to truly show him the depth of what it meant to be the animal I was. To truly make him understand just how dangerous I was.

"I'm the world's best predator, aren't I?" I said in a low, calculating voice, "Everything about me invites you in—my voice, my face, even my smell. As if I needed any of that!"

I leaped up to demonstrate the full power of my speed, circling the meadow in half a second and coming to a stand-still next to the tree I'd retreated to. He'd blinked and I was gone.

"As if you could outrun me."

I pushed off the ground, hard, feeling it crumble slightly under my force, and soared thirteen feet into the air. I gripped a two-foot-thick branch and twisted it away from the trunk effortlessly—like snapping an uncooked spaghetti noodle in half. I fell back to the earth, landing on the balls of my feet. I paused just long enough to make sure he saw me holding the giant branch—as tall as myself, and just as wide—with as much effort as it would take for him to hold a pencil. I wasn't one for feats of strength—I usually left that up to Eleanor—but I was proving a point, here.

I gripped the branch in one hand and swung it underhanded at the tree I'd ripped it from.

Both elements splintered with a sound like thunder, and I smelled the unearthing dirt, the fresh, pulpy wood. Before the tree could timber, I flitted back toward him, stopping when I was two feet away.

"As if you could fight me off." My emotions betrayed me, and some of the tenderness bled through. I didn't want to picture that particular situation.

Behind me, the tree crashed to the ground, roots un-anchoring, wildlife scattering.

Beau sat where I'd left him, sallow and frozen with fear. He did not shout, he did not attempt to flee, and even though I couldn't read his thoughts, I knew exactly what he must have been thinking. The terror on his face broke me from my strange, maniacal trance, and I came back to myself.

The remorse and the despair lanced through me, and everything in me dropped into blackness. What had I done? How many promises had I broken to him in this one small moment? I had promised not to scare him, and here he sat at my feet, petrified.

I could not fathom what had possessed me.

He moved then, scrambling to his knees, one hand extended toward me.

I held out my hand to stop him. I didn't quite trust myself yet. "Wait," I pleaded.

He waited.

I took a careful step toward him, eyes fixed on his, waiting for him to recoil. "Don't be afraid," I begged—wanting, more than anything, in this moment for him to trust me. No matter how little I deserved that trust, now. "I promise…" No, a promise was not enough. Promises could be broken. "I swear I will not hurt you. You don't have to be afraid."

I took another measured step forward. Lightly, in a gesture I hoped would reassure, I touched the hand he still extended toward me. But he moved now, winding his fingers around mine and holding tightly—even with such a contrast in our measures of strength, I knew that he was holding onto my hand with as much vigor as he could summon.

"Please forgive me," I continued to plead, because he had not spoken yet, "I can control myself. You caught me off guard. I'm on my best behavior now."

I waited, but he merely stared up into my face from where he knelt in front of me, his face completely blank—due to the fear this time, I was sure now.

He was still silent, so I attempted a different avenue of persuasion. "I'm not thirsty today, honestly," I joked, and threw in a wink for good measure.

Thank the stars—he laughed. It sounded a little breathless, but at least he laughed, at least he'd broken the long, tense silence. The icy fear in his eyes melted, and his gaze was lucid once more.

"Are you all right?" I reached out carefully to put my other hand on top of his. I still felt awful for the way I'd scared him, and I searched his face for the answer. But he looked away from my eyes, down at our interlocked hands. Then he lifted them to mine once more, and he smiled. A smile so brilliant, so at ease and joyful, that my own answering smile was automatic, unconscious. If he was happy, I was happy.

Deliberately slowly, I lowered myself back into the grass beside him, making sure he was aware of each of my movements, doing my best not to scare him again.

When we were close enough to share his heat, his knees pressed against mine, hands wrapped together between us, I spoke again.

"So where were we, before I behaved so rudely?"

"I honestly have no idea." His voice was still blank with shock.

Shame flooded through me, but I worked to smile, to rebuild our conversation to what it had been, before I'd terrified him so badly he'd turned into a statue.

People thought there were only two options in the infamous 'fight or flight' instinct. But what many didn't know, was that there was a third, entirely insufficient, option. To freeze.

"I think we were talking about why you were afraid, besides the obvious reason."

"Oh, right," he remembered.

"Well?" I urged.

He lowered his gaze, twisting our hands so that mine was on top. The sunlight shattered off my skin, scattering prisms of color over Beau's.

"How easily frustrated I am," I complained when he didn't answer.

Then his eyes lifted to mine, and there was a new emotion in them. "I was afraid," he relented, "because for, well, obvious reasons, I probably can't stay with you, can I? And that's what I want, much more than I should."

If he asked me to stay, I would. If it was what he wanted. I had not done a very good job of denying the boy his desires in the past. And besides, it was what I wanted more than anything else on this entire planet. Nothing, nothing could replace the joy, the vitality, the bravery or the peace that loving this boy brought me. And it was selfish of me, I knew, but I wasn't going anywhere.

I devised a way to answer judiciously. "Yes," I said, knowing we could agree on one thing, "Being with me has never been in your best interest."

The corners of his lips drooped attractively in a pout.

"I should have left that first day and not come back. I should leave now." I shook my head to myself, knowing I wasn't going anywhere. I couldn't. "I might have been able to do it then. I don't know how to do it now."

"Don't. Please." His voice was full of such wistful sadness, it struck me like a physical blow.

"Don't worry. I'm essentially a selfish creature," I admitted, "I crave your company too much to do what I should."

"Good!" he enthused.

Anger flared again at his reckless lack of fear. Even after what had just occurred. Did he forget so easily? Gently, I unwound my fingers from his, and folded my arms over my chest, afraid of what my temper would do to my strength.

"You should never forget that it's not only your company that I crave. Never forget that I am more dangerous to you than I am to anyone else." I gazed into the shadows of the forest, mulling this over. Was this part of the equation essential for him to know? Surely it would send him running, crashing through the forest. Surely, he would not stay when the full truth was revealed.

"I don't think I understand exactly what you mean by that last part," he said softly.

"How do I explain?" I mused aloud, "And without horrifying you?"

Though I did not deserve it, I put my hand back in his, desperate for that anchor now, to ease the passage of this unforgiving truth. He squeezed my fingers in response, and the warmth permeated my skin without pause. I glanced down at where our fingers linked.

"That's amazingly pleasant, the warmth."

He didn't say anything, and I took a moment to organize my thoughts. He'd responded well to the food analogy from before—though it was extremely ill-placed in this situation; or, rather, well-placed, depending on the viewpoint.

"You know how everyone enjoys different flavors?" I began, "Some people love chocolate ice cream, others prefer strawberry?"

He nodded.

"I apologize for the food analogy," I interjected, "I couldn't think of another way to explain."

He grinned, unbothered, and my smile automatically mirrored his, though the contriteness was apparent on my face—I could feel it.

I continued. "You see, every person has their own scent, their own essence… If you locked an alcoholic in a room full of stale beer, she'd drink it. But she could resist, if she wished to, if she were a recovering alcoholic." Did he draw the parallel of my story? How could he? He did not know my history. "Now let's say you placed in that room a glass of hundred-year-old brandy, the rarest, finest cognac—and filled the room with its warm aroma—how do you think our alcoholic would fare then?"

I stared into his gaze, willing him to understand, attempting to read the emotions there as they played out. But as always, Beau's eyes were fathomless pools, and I could not see past them.

I wondered about my analogy, whether it had been appropriate or not.

"Maybe that's not the right comparison," I second-guessed myself. Alcoholism—what I'd learned of it from the human mind—was an escapism, an anesthetic to soothe the wounds. Drug use had always been held in higher esteem, a way to vault oneself into a higher state of being, chasing the high, hunting down that moment of intense supremacy. "Maybe it would be too easy to turn down the brandy. Perhaps I should have made our alcoholic a heroin addict instead."

"So what you're saying is, I'm your brand of heroin?" His tone was good-natured, and he smiled unflinchingly.

I was exceedingly impressed with his wise assumption. Grateful for it. "Yes, you are exactly my brand of heroin."

"Does that happen often?" he enquired.

I looked away again, thinking back on the conversations I'd had with each of my sisters. I couldn't answer with much confidence, but I did have their experiences to go off of. "To Jessamine, every one of you is much the same. She's the most recent to join our family. It's a struggle for her to abstain at all. She hadn't had time to grow sensitive to the differences in smell, in flavor." I flinched and looked quickly to his face for a response. My words had come unthinkingly. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." And truly, he appeared unaffected. "Look, don't worry about offending me, or horrifying me, or whatever. That's the way you think. I can understand it, or I can try to at least. Just explain however it makes sense to you."

Right. Like I was going to stop worrying about that anytime soon.

I drew a breath, and we sat close enough that his fragrance felt like a white-hot branding iron in my throat. I focused on that, on the burning, on the response, on my power over it.

"So Jessamine wasn't sure if she'd ever come across someone who was as—" I hesitated, pondering over how best to phrase it, "—appealing as you are to me. Which makes me think not. She would remember this." I gauged his face for another reaction. He stayed expressionless, eyes fixed, unmoving, on my face. I looked away again. It was easier to discuss this particular subject while avoiding eye contact. "El has been on the wagon longer, so to speak, and she understood what I meant. She says twice, for her, once stronger than the other."

"And for you?" he urged.

"Never before this."

Our eyes locked, and a long moment of silence passed between us. I attempted to see past the mirror in his eyes, in order to ascertain his true feelings. But, as always, I could perceive nothing.

"What did Eleanor do?" he finally asked.

I cringed, recalling her remembered experience. I turned my face away and locked my body down, in case it wanted to respond reflexively to El's evoked occurrence. A country lane at dusk, the sky streaked with lavender and auburn ribbons. The heavy, fermenting scent of bruised apples, wafting in thick clouds through the air. The sudden night breeze that blew the sheets the woman had been hanging on the line out like sails. The way her scent had fanned across El's face, and her entirely unconscious response—she hadn't thought twice about the repercussions…

"Okay, so I guess that was a dumb question," he said now, pulling me from my reverie before the memory of El's disaster could grow more explicit.

He understood my un-answer, and suddenly I regretted sharing her story. Eleanor was one of the very few who had ever attempted to curb her appetite for human blood. She tried very, very hard, and I was suddenly anxious that I had cast her in an unseemly light.

"Even the strongest of us fall off the wagon, don't we?" I wanted him to see that, to decide that El wasn't a bad person because she had made a mistake. She battled her nature every day, striving for a life she wanted to be worthy of. Wasn't that enough?

"Are you… asking for my permission?" he whispered, and then he visibly shivered.

Shock nearly bowled me over. "No!" Remorse impaled me, and I felt horrible for the horrifying misconstrument.

"But you're saying there's no hope, right?"

Anger flared, but not for Beau. For Archie—for the way he was so resigned to the way he saw the future playing out. For myself—for all the mistakes I had already made. For the lack of my own strength… "Of course there's hope. Of course I won't…" My words trailed off, but I hoped with a searing intensity that he would understand. "El…" I grappled for someway in which to redeem her character, "These were strangers she happened across. It was a long time ago. She wasn't as practiced, as careful as she is now. And she's never been as good at this as I am."

It was cruel of me, to take her down a peg, but I had to insure that he knew I would not hurt him.

"So if we'd met… oh, in a dark alley or something…"

The inevitable would have undoubtedly taken place. The next confession fell from my lips easier than I thought it would have. "It took everything I had—every single year of practice and sacrifice and effort—not to jump up in the middle of that class full of children and—" I clenched my jaw, fracturing the sentence in half. I would not subject him to those horrors. "When you walked past me, I could have ruined everything Carine has built for us, right then and there. If I hadn't been denying my thirst for the last… too many years, I wouldn't have been able to stop myself."

I stared into his eyes execrably, full of shame, watching the recall flash behind them—watching the savage animal I'd been come to life, once more, in his memories.

"You must have thought I was possessed," I murmured morosely.

"I couldn't understand why," he admitted, "How you could hate me, just like that…"

"To me, it was like you were some kind of demon, summoned straight from my own personal hell to ruin me." The words came tumbling out, a great release, and for a moment, my guard was completely down, his horror laid aside in favor of confessing the full nature of my sins, "The fragrance coming off your skin… I thought it would make me deranged that first day. In that one hour, I thought of a hundred different ways to lure you from the room with me, to get you alone. And I fought them each back, thinking of my family, what I could do to them. I had to run out, to get away before I could speak the words that would make you follow…"

"Hello, my name is Edythe Cullen. Can I show you to your next class?"

I gathered the strength to hoist the unbearable weight of my reprehensible gaze to his.

"You would have come." I knew this—even before I'd been made aware of his severely misplaced fascination, I knew I would have cajoled and sweet-talked and influenced enough for him to follow. He would not have been able to resist my predator's lure.

"No doubt about it." His voice was calm, but the color in his eyes trembled, belying his true apprehension.

I cast my gaze away, the pain of that possibility too much to bear while looking into his eyes. "And then, as I tried to rearrange my schedule in a pointless attempt to avoid you," I continued, unable to stop the flow now. I had begun, and I would have to continue until my offenses were fully revealed, "there you were—in that close, warm little room, the scent was maddening. I so very nearly took you then. There was only one other frail human there—so easily dealt with. But I resisted. I don't know how. I forced myself not to wait for you, not to follow you from the school. It was easier outside, when I couldn't smell you anymore, to think clearly, to make the right decision. I left the others near home—I was too ashamed to tell them how weak I was, they only knew something was very wrong—and then I went straight to Carine, at the hospital, to tell her I was leaving."

The memories of this very long, very influential day overtook me, and as I spoke, I drifted back in time, watching the entire discourse from above, as a spectator—an audience to my own burning depravity.

"I traded cars with her—she had a full tank of gas and I was afraid to stop. I didn't dare to go home, to face Earnest. He wouldn't have let me go without a fight. He would have tried to convince me that it wasn't necessary… By the next morning, I was in Alaska." I paused, filled with guilt and disgrace. Still, now, I did not understand the weight of my oppression. To admit my lack of strength was painfully difficult. "I spent two days there, with some old acquaintances… but I was homesick. I hated knowing I'd upset Earnest, and the rest of them, my adopted family. In the pure air of the mountains it was hard to believe you were so irresistible. I convinced myself it was weak to run away. I'd dealt with temptation before, not of this magnitude, not even close, but I was strong. Who were you, an insignificant human boy—" I took a moment to grin at the insanity of the phrase. Beau was anything but insignificant. In fact, he was the most significant part of my existence, now. "—to chase me from the place I wanted to be? Ah, the deadly sin of pride… So I came back.

"I took precautions, hunting, feeding more than usual before seeing you again. I was sure that I was strong enough to treat you like any other human. I was arrogant about that.

It was unquestionably a complication that I couldn't simply read your thoughts to know what your reaction was to me. I wasn't used to having to go to such circuitous measures, listening to your words in Jeremy's mind… His mind isn't very original, and it was annoying to have to stoop to that. And then I couldn't know if you really meant what you were saying, or just saying what you thought your audience wanted to hear. It was all extremely irritating." I paused, frowning, remembering the interim of time I had spent watching Beau from afar—infatuated, even then, by his uniqueness, his maturity, his kindness… How desperately I had desired his non-deserved trust.

"I wanted you to forget my behavior that first day, if possible, so I tried to talk with you like I would with any person. I was eager, actually, hoping to decipher some of your thoughts. But you were too interesting, I found myself caught up in your expressions… and every now and then you would move and the air would stir around you… The scent would stun me again…" And I would have to battle back the caged animal, time after time. The strenuous endeavor would have exhausted a mortal.

"Of course, then you were nearly crushed to death in front of my eyes. Later I thought of a perfectly good excuse for why I acted at that moment—because if I hadn't saved you, if your blood had been spilled there in front of me, I don't think I could have stopped myself from exposing us for what we are. But I only thought of that excuse later. At the time, all I could think was, Not him."

I shut my eyes, overcome with the tense anxiety, the crushing despair. The memory was almost too much to bear.

"In the hospital?" he urged, then.

I opened my eyes and stared into his, the memory of the scene in the hallway flaring back. "I was appalled. I couldn't believe I had put us in danger after all, put myself in your power—you of all people. As if I needed another motive to kill you." I flinched when the word slipped out, and I felt Beau wince, as well. I pushed forward, desperate to redeem myself, desperate to make him understand this was no longer what I wanted. "But the disaster had the opposite effect. I fought with Royal, El, and Jessamine when they suggested that now was the time… the worst fight we've ever had." I remembered the battle lines that had been drawn, the stand Jessamine had been prepared to make against me… What I had been willing to do… "Carine sided with me, and Archie." I frowned, recalling the ordeal over the visions, and the ensuing denouement to our argument. "Earnest told me to do whatever I had to in order to stay."

I supposed I'd given the element of surprise away. Beau now certainly understood how each of my family members thought of him.

"All that next day I eavesdropped on the minds of everyone you spoke to, shocked that you kept your word. I didn't understand you at all." You mesmerized me right from the beginning. "But I knew that I couldn't become involved with you. I did my very best to stay as far from you as possible." The feat was more impossibly painful than I could ever have fathomed… "And every day the perfume of your skin, your breath… it hit me as hard as the very first day." Though by now, the animal had been shut down—the homicidal urges had abruptly vanished, when I'd turned from killer to protector…

I raised my eyes to his, wanting him to see, to understand my predicament.

"And for all that, I'd have fared better if I had exposed us all at that first moment, than if now, here—with no witnesses and nothing to stop me—I were to hurt you."

He didn't comprehend it. "Why?"

"Oh, Beau," I murmured tenderly, glowing joy resonating deep in my stomach, stretching up like rays of sunshine into my throat. I reached up to brush the tips of my fingers across the bird-like structure of his cheekbone—as delicate as if made from spun glass… "Beau," I said again, "I couldn't survive hurting you. You don't know how it's tortured me… The thought of you, still, white, cold… to never see your face turn red again, to never see that flash of intuition in your eyes when you see through my pretenses… I couldn't bear it." I realized I'd dropped my gaze once more in shame, and I lifted my eyes back to his.

This was the most important truth of all the sins I'd confessed to today. I coveted this boy with an ardor that was horrendously immoral. I did not deserve him as he sat here, holding my hands in his, listening to the story of how I'd wanted him dead, and then, to everybody's surprise—most of all my own—I had fallen completely, entirely, in love with him.

"You are the most important thing to me now. The most important thing to me ever."

The words had flowed freely, done their job. I had confessed every sin, laid everything at this perfect being's feet. I would leave it up to him, how to decide my fate. No one deserved the authority more, after what I'd put him through.

An eternity of time passed in those quiet few moments. I was completely bare—I had given him every last part of me, had laid it in tattered shreds at his feet. I'd left myself completely exposed to the elements, had opened my heart to the very painful reality of heartbreak.

Beau's fingers tightened around mine. "You already know how I feel." His voice was low and soft, "I'm here because I would rather die with you than live without you." Despite the incredible non-essential risk this human boy was taking, despite the danger it posed to him, despite the absurdity of the entire situation, incomparable joy exploded inside of me, filling my insides with a warmth hotter than sunshine, hotter than the heat of his skin on mine… I was glowing. "Sorry, I'm an idiot."

"You are an idiot," I agreed, and we laughed together.

For just a moment, I laid everything else aside—the danger, the inconvenience, the unrelenting anxiety, the all-consuming impossibility of the entire condition…

For just a moment, I allowed myself to bask in this knowledge—Beau was in love with me.

"And so the lion fell in love with the lamb," I murmured tenderly.

"What a stupid lamb," Beau breathed. His eyes were wide and electric.

I exhaled heavily. "What a sick, masochistic lion."

I stared into the trees for a long time. What would become of us? How would our abruptly ensnared futures play out? I hoped for the best, but there was no way of knowing with any degree of certainty… I knew Archie would disagree with this, however… Was I truly damning him, in this moment? Was I entirely eclipsing his chance for a happy, fulfilling life? All for my own selfish gain? And why, then, did this feel so marvelous?

"Why…?" Beau's hesitant question broke me from my reverie.

I turned my eyes back on him, all at once overjoyed. He could ask me anything. I no longer had anything to hide. "Yes?"

"Tell me why you ran away from me before," he requested.

I frowned. "You know why."

"No, I mean, exactly what did I do wrong?" he clarified, "I need to learn how to make this easier for you, what I should and shouldn't do. This, for example"—he dragged his thumb across my wrist, electrifying my deadened heart—"seems to be all right."

It was unreasonable to infer that this was somehow his fault, that it was his responsibility. "You didn't do anything wrong, Beau. It was my fault."

"But I want to help," he persisted.

"Well…" Hadn't I pondered over his lack of astuteness, regarding the preservation of his own life, before? Hadn't I lamented over the fact that I was the sole preserver of his life? Hadn't I wanted him to participate in this conservation? "It was just how close you were," I admitted. "Most humans instinctively shy away from us, are repelled by our alien-ness… I wasn't expecting you to come so close. And the smell of your throat—" I stopped short, mortified. I checked to see how he would react to my slip.

"Okay." He tucked his chin into his chest, until the skin there crowded and overlapped. "No throat exposure."

I grinned gamely. "No, really," I insisted, "It was more the surprise than anything else."

I lifted my free hand, reminding myself to be very gentle, and laid it alongside his neck, feeling the pulse beat against my hand, the rush of blood under his tantalizing skin. I breathed deeply, his scent roasting my throat, but even this was fine. I was expecting it, bracing myself against the assault. I was firmly and entirely in control.

"You see? Perfectly fine."

His heart pounded out a jagged, staccato rhythm. Patches of red bloomed across his face.

"I love that," I mused quietly. Gently, I untangled my other hand from his and lifted it to his face, to carefully brush my hand against the warm patch of blood flood under his cheek. Slowly, I took his face in my hands, aware of just how breakable he was. How appallingly easy it would be to snap his spine, or crush his skull.

Carefully, I reminded myself, Carefully!

This was a test—a trial run of sorts. My mood was higher than I had ever felt it before, and with the joy, came the confidence. Now was better a time than any to try.

"Be very still," I warned him.

He didn't move when I leaned in and pressed my ear to the center of his chest. The heat of his skin burst in waves across my cheeks, down my neck, across the exposed skin of my shoulders and collarbones. It was overwhelming, like sinking into a steaming bubble bath. My skin reacted immediately to the closeness, drinking in his warmth, rising in temperature.

I could feel every outline of lean muscle through the thin material of his t-shirt, surprised at how appealing it was to me, to be able to touch and feel. So soft, and yet firm in a way that wasn't quite firm. And underneath, his sternum, his ribcage—brittle, readily-yielding bones that I reminded myself, were inexorably breakable. And deeper still, the steady thudding of his heart. Every pulse hammered against the side of my face, vibrating through my own body.

I wondered, if I could press myself close enough, would his own heart cause mine to beat?

Very deliberately, I smoothed my hands across his broad, handsome shoulders and slid them around his neck—remembering the fragility of his spinal cord—and pressed him close.

I had not stopped breathing all this time, and the fragrance coming off his skin was scandalous. It burned my throat with a higher concentration than I'd ever felt before, and I swallowed back the reflexive flooding of venom. Tantalizing, delicious… But when I thought these words, they were not only in reference to the fragrance of his blood.

I had to work to keep my breath even, using the metronome of his heartbeat to guide me. My skin was on fire, every inch of it, even in places where his body did not touch mine. The whirling, swooning feelings overtook me, and I focused on these, instead of the thirst.

Such desire rivaled that of the bloodlust, and I was surprised at its strength. It rendered me weak and wrought through with thrilling pleasure.

I kept him pressed to me for ten, then fifteen minutes, before I finally pulled back to look at him.

"It won't be so hard again." I was sure.

"Was that very hard for you?" he questioned. There was no trace of fear, not on his face, not in his voice.

"Not nearly as bad as I imagined it would be," I confided. "And you?"

"No, that wasn't… bad for me." I caught the inferred meaning in his words, and smiled at the implication behind it.

"Here." I pulled his hand out of his lap without even thinking—it was getting easier to touch him, now that I had figured out the mechanics of it—and pressed it against my cheek. His body heat had permeated my skin, and I was warmer now. Possibly, I wouldn't be so repulsive to the touch anymore. "Do you feel how warm you've made me?"

But he didn't respond. His eyes were wide, glossy, lips slightly parted. His breaths burst in warm pants across my cheeks.

"Don't move," he breathed.

It was my turn to keep still, and I was much better at playing statue than Beau had been. I let my eyelids flutter shut in a way that felt natural, and locked down my muscles.

I heard and smelt the whisper of air as his hand stirred it, consciously slowly I thought, and then he softly stroked my cheek, trailing fire across my face as his fingers grazed my eyelids, the hollows underneath them, down my nose, and traced the shape of my lips.

Everywhere he touched me tingled with a strange, electrifying sensation. As if I were on fire, but could feel none of the resulting pain. Instead of pain, there was pleasure. Pleasure so intense I was sure I had never, and would never again, feel anything else like it.

And as the fire spread like wildfire down my neck, across my shoulders, and down into my belly, my body reacted in kind. If I had been human, my heart would be galloping. My breath, however, sped, and I parted my lips to accommodate it.

I breathed his scent in greedily, tasting its sweetness on the back of my tongue.

He was being courteously slow as his hands slid down my neck and came to rest on my shoulders. His thumbs followed the curve of my collarbones, and if I could have shivered, I would have.

His touch was awakening in me aches that were acutely pleasurable, pains that weren't pains at all, yearnings that went deeper than instinct, deeper than thirst, deeper than reason…

I felt his hands slip around my shoulders to my back, down across my shoulder blades, across my ribs, and folding over to wrap around my waist. The heat of his palms sunk through the thin cotton of my tank top, scalding my skin in a stinging, delightful way. I felt him pull against me, and I leaned in, giving him what he wanted unthinkingly, relaxing into his chest.

I stopped breathing, cautious of the unexpected closeness. Discordant impulses battled for domination, and I could not make sense of them. They built to a bewildering crescendo of cacophony. I remained completely stoic, focusing on the passage of each one through my mind and through my body.

Beau bent his head, pressing his face into the top of my hair for one long second. His breath burst over the crown of my head, saturating my hair with its sweet perfume. He inhaled deeply, and then he released me—mostly, one hand stayed on my arm, trailing feather-light touch down to my wrist—and leaned away.

"Sorry," he apologized.

I might have rolled my eyes, but I was too busy focusing on the strange symphony of sensations taking place inside my body. My head was swimming, and my breath came in jagged bursts. For a moment, if it had been possible, I felt as if I might swoon.

"I wish… I wish that you could feel the… complexity… the confusion… I feel. That you could understand," I breathed.

In a motion that was not quite my own, my hand lifted on its own accord, tracing the shape of his face, and then running quickly through his thick, dark hair.

"Tell me," he whispered hoarsely. His heart was pounding.

"I don't know if I can," I admitted. "You know, on the one hand, the hunger—the thirst—that, being what I am, I feel for you. And I think you can understand that, to an extent. Though, as you are not addicted to any illegal substances, you probably can't empathize completely," I teased, smirking. "But…" Again, my fingers lifted unconsciously, the tips resting lightly on his lips for just a moment. I so wished… "There are other things I want, other hungers. Hungers I don't even understand myself."

"I might understand that better than you think," he confided.

"I'm not used to feeling so human," I confessed, "Is it always like this?"

"For me?" he asked. "No, never. Never before this."

I put my hands on both sides of his face, imploring with him to understand. If he wanted to share even the most innocent of physical relationships with me, he had to understand my limits, the complexity of the endeavor. I desired it so much, but with the incredible desire, came equal amounts of terror. This was so new, and I didn't know how to process it. "I don't know how to be close to you. I don't know if I can."

His hand lifted, covering my own, and then he leaned very slowly forward, giving me enough time to adjust, and touched his forehead to mine.

"This is enough," he sighed, and shut his eyes.

Whether this was true or not, I didn't know, but I appreciated his gentility anyway. Whether his resolve would stay this way, I didn't know. Would he want more in time? Would I be able to resist?

Today, it didn't seem so. I'd already overcome so much, as the sun had moved across the sky. I was stronger than I had thought.

I brushed my fingers through his hair, stirring up his fragrance. I still felt firmly in control, and so I angled my face up and pressed my lips to the burning skin of his brow. The point of contact tingled in my lips, coursing fervently through my dry veins.

Beau's heart warbled.

"You're a lot better at this than you give yourself credit for," he murmured after a moment.

I leaned back so I could see his face, folding my hands in his again. "I was born with human instincts—they may be buried deep, but they exist."

And it was true, truer than I had hoped for. Letting him hold me in his arms, being close to him, was very easy. An instinct as primal as breathing. It felt completely natural. And though the other reflexes were as present as always, it was far easier to ignore them than I had imagined.

The sun was sinking behind the trees, the shadows of the saplings reaching their fingers toward us. The emotion in his eyes changed, and I read it easily.

"You have to go."

"I thought you couldn't read my mind."

I smiled. "It's getting clearer," I joked.

Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with euphoria. The enigma of this day was no longer weighing heavily on my shoulders. The sun was setting, and I had not harmed Beau. In fact, I had surpassed all my former expectations of my own strength. For the first time in a very long time, I felt proud of myself. More than this, I had shared the entirety of the dirty, awful truth with Beau, and he had taken it completely in stride. The sight of my skin, and then the awful confessions, had not frightened him away. He accepted me for who—and what—I was, and the newfound freedom this unleashed in me was too incredible for words.

I was filled with a sudden exhilaration—he had taken all the depraved parts of my nature with complete non-judgment; now I wanted to share with him the very best parts of what I was. I wanted to share the small piece of exhilaration and excitement and joy I had found when I'd awoken to this new life. There was so much about it that I despised and felt ashamed of. But there were a few things I truly enjoyed. And one of those things was running.

"Can I show you something?"

"Anything." He was immediately receptive.

I grinned, my body alive with elation. "How about a faster way back to the truck?"

His eagerness turned to caution, his eyes narrowing just slightly.

"Don't you want to see how I travel in the forest?" I urged, "I promise it's safe."

"Will you…" He hesitated. "Will you turn into a bat?"

I couldn't help it. The laughter burst forth from my chest, pealing in long notes, echoing off the trees around us. The absolutely astonishing turn this day had taken was amazing. I could trust in myself! I could believe that some part of this impossible fairy tale was true.

"Like I haven't heard that one before!" I teased, still giggling.

"Right," he said, "I'm sure you get that all the time."

It was apparent that he was wary, but I jumped to my feet in one smooth motion anyway. He blinked, and then was surprised to find me on my feet. Again, I'd moved too quickly for him to perceive. I couldn't help it. I was suddenly very aware of how easy it was to be myself around him. It was undeniably liberating to free myself of the chains I'd kept myself in for so long. I didn't want to hide from him anymore.

I extended my hand to him and he took it without question. I pulled him to his feet, cautious not to dislocate his elbow or his shoulder. Then I wheeled and glanced at him over my shoulder.

"Climb on my back."

He balked, eyes widening. Beguiling, adorable confusion crossed his features. "Huh?"

"Don't be a coward, Beau," I baited, still giddy, "I promise this won't hurt."

I waited, but he didn't move. His eyes traced the narrow lines of my back.

"Edythe, I don't… I mean, how?"

He could not be this astute. The Beau I knew was far more intelligent than this. I turned back to face him, cocking an eyebrow sarcastically. "Surely you're familiar with the concept of a piggyback ride?"

He shrugged, going suddenly red in the face. "Sure, but…"

"What's the problem, then?"

"Well… you're so small," he said.

I sighed in exasperation. So not only had my ability to stop a van not been enough to convince him, but neither had my hauling his drooping, half-syncopied self halfway across campus, nor the way I could effortlessly stop him in his tracks, nor the instance when, just a few hours ago, I'd wrenched a two-foot-thick tree branch from a pine and had smashed both in half one handed!

I sprinted across the meadow and into the woods. Finding what I was looking for, I gripped the rough stone boulder half the height of my own stature, and jerked it from the earth. In another instant, I was back at his side, balancing it on one palm.

I tilted my head to the side. How's this for small?

"That's not what I meant," he disagreed, though. "I'm not saying you're not strong enough—"

Well, thank whatever God there was for small favors… I flung the oversized rock over my right shoulder. It sailed through the warm, evening air, taking out four towering hemlocks before colliding with another boulder. I heard the splinter of wood and the fracture of stone detonate behind me.

"Obviously," Beau continued, "But I… How would I fit?" He glanced first down at his own body, and then over to mine. True, I was much shorter than he was, and the width of my waist was little more than half the size of his, but that didn't matter. It might come as a surprise to him, but physics were of little consequence when it came to the mechanics of vampirism.

I turned around again. "Trust me," I urged.

In strange, awkward motions, Beau slung his arms over my shoulders, enveloping me not only with his scent, but with his body, itself. His chest pressed to my back, and his carotid artery thumped beautifully at my left ear.

"Come on," I huffed impatiently. I reached back with one hand, hooking it behind his denim-clad knee and hitched it up over my hip.

"Whoa!" he complained, but I was already pulling his other leg into position, wrapping their lengths around my waist.

I was surprised by the sensations that coursed through me, feeling his limbs entangled around me, his heart thumping against my back, the way his heat created a cloud of warmth around me. It felt very natural, and even vitalizing.

"Am I hurting you?" he worried.

I rolled my eyes. "Please, Beau." Without thinking, I gripped his hand and pressed his palm over my nose and lips. I inhaled deeply. The combination of his fragrance and warmth and closeness were overwhelming. My head spun intoxicatingly. All at once, I felt simultaneously woozy and fortified. To my great surprise, these feelings were of greater strength than the thirst.

"Easier all the time," I conceded, and then I lurched forward, sprinting at vampiric speed into the trees ringing the small meadow, fading in the sunset. At least, it would be that way to Beau's eyes. I could still see with perfect clarity. Nighttime colors simply changed. From blue to indigo, green to navy blue, lilac to deep purple. I could make out every vein in every leaf on every tree. Every tree root, every small, skittish animal that fled in my wake.

Of course, somewhere in the back of my mind I paid attention to my course, watching for tree roots and tree branches and any other obstacles, but this act was unconscious, second-nature.

I was really thinking of all the successes of the day, how close I'd been able to get to him without destroying him… And more than that, I had enjoyed it, I had wanted more…

To think, I had held his hand to my face just a moment ago, and the thirst I had assumed would ensue had barely touched the atmosphere of my elation. His ulnar artery had been inches from my teeth, and yet, the physical closeness of his skin, the softness, a scent that had nothing to do with bloodlust… These had been the sensations I'd focused on more.

Part of me ached to be able to press my lips to every inch of him. The beautiful curvature of his face, his jaw, his cheekbones, the eyelids over those gorgeous blue eyes, his throat… His lips…

Could I?

And suddenly it occurred to me that this was what Archie had been hiding from me. He'd seen this happening. He'd told me the day would be significant in many ways. Was this new step in our physical relationship what he'd seen?

Of course, I would enjoy the nature of Beau's relationship and mine whether physical affection was a part of it or not, but I was immensely surprised to find that I wanted it. I desired this intimacy with an acute ache that was so deep, it made the petrified muscles deep in my belly clench and warm.

In no time at all—fifty times faster than it had taken us to get to the meadow—we arrived at the truck.

"Exhilarating, isn't it?" I asked him once I'd stopped, waiting for him to climb down.

He didn't move, and he didn't speak.

Panic reared its horrific head. "Beau?" My voice was anxious. I couldn't see his face, his eyes, so I didn't know what he might be possibly experiencing. Obviously no human had ever travelled at such a speed before. Had I harmed him, somehow?

But I could feel him gripping me, his palms slick with perspiration, and his breath was bursting in shallow, hot gasps along the back of my exposed neck.

"I might need to lie down," he finally blurted weakly.

"Oh. I'm sorry," I apologized, still anxious. I waited for him to release his hold on me. It took a couple more seconds, but finally he peeled his fingers off of me. Once his fingers released, everything else relaxed, and he staggered, half-falling off my back. I turned before he'd hit the ground, and he staggered a few feet before completely losing his footing, coming to fall hard on his behind.

More than the clumsy, awkward fall, the disorientation on his face had me biting back laughter. I held out my hand, to help him to his feet, but he didn't take it. Instead, he stayed on the ground, and ducked his head until it was hanging between his knees.

First the blood typing, and now this. Apparently, Beau's vasovagal system was not up to the task of very many things.

I knelt beside him and touched a hand to the back of his damp neck. Decades in the field of half-nursing—I say half because I only ever participated in the remedies that did not include blood—and the two medical degrees I'd pertained under disguise, told me the coolness of my skin would help.

For once, I was not ashamed of the difference in our temperature.

"I guess that wasn't the best idea," I murmured, waiting for him to recover.

"No," he argued, but his voice was muted and shaky, "it was very interesting."

"Hah! You're as white as a ghost!" I appraised his stricken profile, his head still hanging between his knees, and rephrased: "No, worse, you're as white as me!" There was not a stitch of exaggeration in my conclusion.

"I think I should have closed my eyes," he murmured.

"Remember that next time," I urged. Despite his reaction, I just had to do that again.

But his head jerked up, and the blue in his eyes was swimming with shock and fear. "Next time?"

I only laughed, having known his reaction would have been something of that sort.

"Show-off," he muttered lowly, dropping his head again. But his words were of stronger conviction, and some of the color was returning to his face. Ah, he would be fine in a moment.

I gave him thirty more seconds, focusing on the proximity of our bodies. I wanted to be closer to him still; I wanted to distract him from his discomfiture. All of the cravings and the yearnings I had recently been acquainting myself with came rushing back.

Now was as perfect a time as ever.

I doubted I could put it off any longer. Every inch of my body sang with the anticipation of it, every part of me braced for it—but it was of a different nature, now. No longer did my body lock down in fear of the coming bloodlust. Instead, my muscles strained, reaching forward to the magnetic pull he possessed.

I leaned in, inhaling his scent, testing myself. I was still in control.

Reckless and high on exhilaration, I didn't give myself time to wonder whether this was a bad idea or not. In this moment, there was nothing I wanted more.

"Look at me, Beau," I murmured.

He lifted his head and exhaled into my face. His puff of hot breath fanned over my cheeks, and I breathed it in. Could any other person, mortal or immortal, look more delicious in this moment?

Eyes so blue they stunned, complexion so utterly perfect, skin so soft, lips so perfectly shaped and smooth… I wanted to brush my own lips against them, to taste the succulent fragrance coming off of his skin.

My breath was shallow, quiet and rapid. My fingers tingled with a strange disquiet.

"I was thinking, while I was running—" I began.

"About not hitting trees, I hope," he interjected, breathless. Hmm… He'd been breathing slowly and evenly a moment ago… Could I hope it was my closeness that did this to him? I, too, felt breathless. Breathless in reaction to his luminosity.

"Silly Beau," I crooned, "Running is second nature to me. It's not something I have to think about."

"Show-off," he repeated, but the insult held significantly less condemnation this time. His eyes flickered back and forth between my eyes and lips. Could he want what I was hoping for? Just the other night, he'd asked for this very thing…

"No, I was thinking there was something I wanted to try."

I took his face in my hands, and took pause. His panting breaths burst across my face and down my airways, but I was still firmly self-possessed. So I leaned in, slowly, acutely aware of every shift in my inner-atmosphere. As the distance closed between us, the potency of his taste in the air between us grew—there was a thick layer of it on the back of my tongue, coating my throat, the way candy-floss might coat his own mouth. So sweet, was his scent, so absolutely delicious.

And then, so very, very softly, aware that I could bruise him so easily, or break his nose, or fracture his cheekbone, I pressed my cold, stone lips to the very soft, receptive warmth of his own.

Euphoria flooded through me, fire—on my hands and lips, flooding over me, into me, out of me. So this was what it felt like.

And then, Beau lost control.

His heart rocketed into high gear, pushing the blood through his veins at a rapid rate. It flooded the capillaries under his skin, and heat burst against my face, against my mouth, where his lips exploded with fire. His hands wound through the long strands of my hair, pulling himself closer to me, his breath bursting in ragged, full-bodied pants against my lips.

I inhaled fire, and I froze. I locked my jaw against every wild, animalistic urge that grappled for dominance inside of me. The urge to return the fervor, to crush my chest to his, to suck in the fragrance of him greedily, to loop my arms around his shoulders and kiss his jaw, his throat, to open my mouth and feel the heat of his skin against my tongue, the back of my throat, to pierce that delicate skin and sooth the burning in my throat with the lake of his blood…

I didn't know what kind of control possessed me in that moment. But, somehow, peculiarly, I had enough wit to measure the velocity and strength of my hands, to gently push his face back in order to clear some distance between us.

I held him inches from my face, restraining his wild reactions, forcing down each incongruous impulse. One by one, I pegged them with arrows of truth. I love you. I will not hurt you. Your life is tied to mine. You are my life.

"Whoops," he breathed.

I felt the heat of the breath that blew across my face, but I did not inhale it. I waited for the raucous hurricane inside me to calm. Your life is precious. Your father loves you. Your mother adores you.

"That's an understatement."

I focused on the light in his eyes, the beautiful storm raging there—passion, excitement, ardor, embarrassment, retribution.

"Should I…?" he said, and attempted to untangle himself. But I held him still, as I slowly regained my composure.

"No," I said, "It's tolerable. Wait a moment, please."

Gradually, each urge fell to the wayside. The flowing venom that saturated my mouth slowed. My muscles relaxed. The fire in my belly extinguished itself.

I grinned as the flames gradually smothered themselves out. "There," I said, pleased with myself.

I was the master of this dominion. I would not allow my thirst to control me. This, now, was proof that I could do the insufferable. I could claim authority over my demons. I could control my impulses. I did not have to be the monster I feared.

"Tolerable?"

I laughed, overjoyed, basking in my self-control. "I'm stronger than I thought. It's nice to know."

"And I'm not. Sorry."

His eyes burned with viridian fire, passionate and tantalizing.

"You are only human, after all."

He sighed. "Yeah." Something in his voice made me think he was… Sad.

I released his face and unwound his fingers from my hair. Then I stood, holding my hand out for him. He took it this time, and pulled himself to his feet. He stumbled when he took a step away from me, and I reached out to steady him.

"Are you still reeling from the run, or was it my kissing expertise?" I teased. At once, I was overwhelmed with happiness. Today, I was victorious over my own sinful nature, and I laughed out loud. Maybe I could find a way to redeem myself. Maybe this was the beginning. Beau's life, it gave me courage. It gave me peace. It gave me hope.

"Both," he answered now, and I grinned.

"Maybe you should let me drive," I offered. This, I was serious about.

"Uh," he hesitated, "I think I've had enough of your need for speed today…"

"I can drive better than you on your best day," I assured him, "You have much slower reflexes."

"I believe you, but I don't think my truck could handle your driving."

"Some trust, please, Beau," I supplicated. As much as it physically pained me to drive slowly, I would not push his truck past what it could handle.

He slipped his long, pale hand into his pocket to fist it around the key possessively. "Nope. Not a chance."

Sometimes I forgot how deliciously stubborn Beau could be—strange, how that was, when I had a one-hundred percent recall. I felt my eyebrows lift in surprise. Really, would he make me wrestle the key out of his grasp? I was not going to let him drive in this condition. We'd already done this once before.

I reached out to snatch a wad of his t-shirt in my fingers and tugged him to me. He staggered, his feet lurching underneath him. Just in time, though I would have caught him, he lifted his hand to brace himself against my shoulder. His entire hand overshadowed my shoulder in lovely warmth. I liked the way he towered over me, the way his hands were so much bigger than mine.

"Beau," I chided, "I've already expended a great deal of personal effort at this point to keep you alive. I'm not about to let you get behind the wheel of a vehicle when you can't even walk straight. Friends don't let friends drive drunk."

"Drunk?" His voice was wrought with opposition.

I stretched up on my toes, sinking into the beautiful lake of his eyes. My face hovered inches from his, and I wanted to kiss him again, but I was worried about his reaction. "You're intoxicated by my very presence." And I, by yours. Being this close to him, I could feel the familiar thrumming start up in my body again.

"I can't argue with that," he agreed, sighing. The proclamation filled me with bliss. He lifted the key high above his head, as if to tease me, though I could easily leap the foot of distance and snatch it. But I gave him another second, and he dropped it. I caught the key between two fingers easily.

"Take it easy," he warned, "My truck is a senior citizen."

"Very sensible," I approved.

I released his shirt, resisting the urge to smooth the wrinkled fabric over his warm chest and ducked under the hand that was still braced against my shoulder.

"So you're not affected at all? By my presence?" His voice was disheartened.

His insecurity provoked a tender reaction inside of me. I remembered that he was more unsure about himself than I'd realized. Did he not know how he made me swoon? Was he truly blind to the affect he had on me?

I turned to take his hand, pulling it up to my face. I leaned into his palm, letting my eyes slide shut. For a minute, I reveled in his warmth, the smooth rush of blood in his veins a melody all its own. Slowly, I breathed in.

"Regardless," I hummed, opening my eyes to grin up at him, "I have better reflexes."

And, thankfully, a modicum more self-control.

…

A/N: Ah, sweet, sweet first love… This chapter was FULL of emotion—wowie! I didn't realize until I came back and proofread it over. This was one of the chapters I was looking most forward to writing, so I would lovelovelove to know what you thought of it! xo