Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns everything in the Twiverse. But this plot is mine :)

I think it's high time we heard from Rosalie, don't you?

Chapter 11: Is That Your Final Answer?

Rosalie's POV

Disappointment sullies Edward's eyes. He does not expect my query, not in the least, and I feel a familiar need to nurse his emotions, mercurial as they are.

But I can't.

Not while those animals that attacked me still draw breath.

Edward stares without blinking, my words penetrating the heady haze around us. "This is what you ask of me?"

His tone is incredulous with a twinge of hurt, and I nearly falter. Although I have seen little of him since our confrontation in the forest, I am acutely aware of a pull between us: the way my body seems to feel his presence long before he comes into view, how I am calm and confounded every time he parts his lips to speak.

There is something here.

Perplexing though it may be.

The notion of hurting him, of minimizing the significance of this strange, beautiful boy is almost too painful to consider. He has been nothing but kind since my awakening, even when I insult and push him away. And I want to show him what that means, to show him in a way he will understand.

But the sharp image of a different man with sweaty hands and cruel intentions blocks my view of Edward's face, and I can see nothing but the desire to tear that man to shreds.

So whatever this is with Edward must wait.

His rising eyebrows create stressful lines in his face, and I know he is reading my thoughts. But at the moment, with the memory of my defilement streaking across my mind, I am unable to care.

"Yes," I reply. "This is what I need."

Edward steps away, releasing my hand with such deference that tears spring to my eyes. As if a curtain has been drawn, his face falls into indifference. "I see."

His eyes turn to golden ice, and a shiver ghosts across my skin. I want to restore our warmth, to see those eyes dance with delight as I inch closer toward him and his marvelous madness.

But I cannot. Not until I have taken my five pounds of flesh. And I hope his disappointment in my emotional detour won't keep him from helping me.

His eyes widen, then a subtle shift in his posture as he softly snorts his derision.

So much for not listening to my thoughts.

With a twitch of his mouth, he blinks and breaks my trance-like focus on his face. We are flirting with disaster no more, so my mask slides back into place. "Are you going to help me or not?"

"Why should I?" He shrugs. "This is not my fight."

"You would allow this violation to go unpunished? To leave those dogs alive where they could possibly damage another young soul?"

He flinches, but his voice is grave. "I cannot take another human life."

"Another?" I latch onto the word. "There have been more?"

His nod is barely perceptible, but it wholly intrigues me. "Tell me."

A frown tugs on the corners of his mouth, and sympathy blooms in my breast. "Edward, you can talk to me."

"No."

I step toward him, unable to bear the distance, and reach for his hand. "Please?"

He watches as our fingers make contact once more, and I am literally shocked by the dynamic current between us. "I cannot."

"You can." I caress the back of his hand, his answering hiss softening my voice. "Whatever you have done, it is long past."

He is breathing audibly, the perfection of his scent billowing around me, and I inch closer as the moment stretches. "I would never tell," I hear myself whisper. "Your secrets are safe with me."

"Rosalie..."

"Yes?"

"Please..." He swallows loudly, his fingers twitching in my gentle grasp. "Please do not press me."

My curiosity is ousted by his rejection, and I release his hand. He rubs it against his pant leg as if to snuff the feel of my touch.

And now I am offended.

"Does this mean you will not help me?"

"It does."

His bald answer hurts, but I refuse to relent. "I ask you to help me avenge myself against the demons who raped me, and you refuse?"

He avoids my eyes. "I am afraid I must."

"Could you truly be so apathetic? Or are you just selfish?"

There is an instant sting of regret as his nostrils flare. "If I were selfish, I would let you pursue this fruitless folly without attempting to talk you down."

"Folly?"

"Murdering those men will not erase your shame," he says with more tenderness than I can bear. "The stain of their blood will taint your soul and poison the beautiful bravery that colors your definition."

I ignore the flutter his flattery inspires. "Selfish it is."

"If I were selfish," he retorts in a sub-audible snarl, "I would end this game and claim my prize."

His words are benign, but they arrest my full attention. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, if I were as selfish as you believe me to be, I would surrender to my basest urges and let nature rule me. If I were truly selfish, this tete-a-tete would have become wicked and wordless thirty seconds ago."

A hand flies to my mouth in shock, his meaning emphasized by his darkening eyes. "You mean, you would..." The vampiric equivalent of a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. "...take me?"

He bites his lip with a groan, the primal sound slicing the silence as he recaptures my eyes. "Without delay."

I blink against the truth his gaze reveals. "You... you would... force me?"

"Force y-?" He cuts off the last word as his eyes pinch shut. A harsh wind blows between us, and I feel its chill in the very marrow of my bones.

Edward is motionless for too long a moment, and when he looks at me again, his eyes are black as pitch. "You think I would force you?"

His tight whisper frightens me, and I clutch my heaving chest. "Did you not admit as much?"

He turns sharply away, his hands trembling as they ball into fists at his side. "I am sorry to have wasted your time, Miss Hale," he says with perfect civility. "But I cannot help you. Please accept my refusal and vacate my room at once."

The erasure cuts me deep, but I will not let him see my sadness. I proceed toward the door with soundless steps and slam it hard enough to shatter its frame and leave it hanging off the hinges.

Edward curses aloud at my departure, the scathing expletive neatly obscuring my first sob.

-B-I-

Alone in my room, I peel off my clothes, heedless of the tear-induced stinging in my eyes. Esme told me immortals cannot cry, and my sorrow increases at the reminder.

Must I also be denied the relief of weeping?

I stand in my undergarments in the center of the room, trying in vain to recover my faculties. I can neither proceed nor retreat, and until my eyes are calm, I will be unable to see. Remembering Esme's gift, I find the robe and cinch it around my waist, holding myself there as my sobs subside.

Edward's breathing hitches as I sniffle yet again, and his ill-placed concern incenses me.

"I respect your refusal," I say, "so please respect my privacy."

His voice reaches between our walls. "Rose, I..."

I cannot bear his kindness now. "Please."

"I'm sorry."

I detect a double-meaning in his apology but ignore it. There are more pressing matters at hand.

I glance at the clock on my chest of drawers and frown. Edward has cost me irreplaceable time, but if I dress quickly, I can make up the difference during my journey.

As I reach for the handle on the bottommost compartment, his voice echoes in my head.

"Murdering those men will not erase your shame."

The words themselves are not as vexing as their sorrow.

He speaks as if from experience, and the thought wounds me.

But then...

"I would surrender to my basest urges and let nature rule me... This conversation would have become wicked and wordless thirty seconds ago."

An uncomfortable heat spreads throughout my body and confuses the burn in my eyes.

I realize with a sigh that my mind has chosen its focus with no regard for my preference.

There must be another explanation, for he cannot possibly mean he would demand my submission, that he'd take his pleasure against my will.

But then...

"You would just... take me?"

"Without delay."

What could be meant, if not that? Why would one need to take unless another is loath to offer? Esme says Edward is more puritanical than Reverend Smith, so I doubt he has experienced such sensuality, even as a vampire.

The notion is somehow enticing, and I force myself to ignore it.

But I have not imagined the fire in his gaze, the yearning in his voice when he whispers my name. His eyes must have seen things of which I have yet to dream, and the visions have left him bereft and haunted.

Could that be the trouble? Could there have been a woman, a woman with whom he formed an inappropriate attachment that resulted in heartache and death? And both tragedies at his hands?

I noticed the not-so-subtle glances between Carlisle and Esme when I inquired about Edward after my first feeding in the forest. There is more to his story than they know, and the deleted details are the source of his pain.

And as I recall my confusion at his earlier outburst, I realize the flutter in my chest was not one of fear but of anticipation, as if my body understood something my mind did not. More troubling still is the certainty that his clandestine communique was welcome.

Desired even.

I run a frustrated hand through my locks, the gesture reminding me painfully of him and what lies in ruins unfinished between us.

This is wrong.

I am wrong.

He would never violate me.

In any way for any reason.

And I hurt much more than his pride by suggesting otherwise.

That will not do.

But as I decide to go to him, the clock in the hall chimes, bringing me back to myself. As much as I wish it otherwise, Edward cannot be my priority right now.

He understands my plight, the depth of my need.

And he will forgive me.

Shoving the beautiful boy to the darkest corner of my mind, I open my bottom drawer and finger its contents with a slow smile.

Showtime.

Miss Hale is just getting started :)

Thanks for reading! xo