Author's Note:

This is a sequel to my story, Monster, so if you haven't read that, you should read that first.

My whole inspiration for Monster was based on my desire to have Edward quote Dracula, and have Bella light the baseball game on fire, and a song by Imagine Dragons. Monster was a homecoming for Bella and Edward. Which makes Demons somewhat of an origin story with the connections that make us human.

I ask you for your patience as I am actively writing this, and will not be able to post weekly. I have one hell of an outline for it, so I'm hoping this one won't take ten years to write.

Chapter 1: Sonatas and Sympathies

As she slept, Edward could still feel her lips burning against his own, the warmth spreading down through his chest to a heart that no longer beat. In his mind, he could still hear her heart excited by the kiss, a frantic tempo with no melody, while beside him her resting heartbeat softly thumped inside her chest.

He studied her face; her dark eyelashes resting on her pale skin, the inversion of a snowflake. Her eyelids twitched as she dreamt and he wondered what horrors stalked her nightmare's tonight.

In her sleep she mumbled, "Ed…ward…"

His heart swelled inside his chest. She dreams of me? He would dream of her, he was sure.

He waited for her to say more, but she remained silent, except for her steady heartbeat. He imagined a pair of notes that could match each thump of her heart, and matched it to another set that could express the flutter of a delicate eyelash. His fingers twitched as he thought about the grand piano down below.

He got up from the bed without making a choice. He was pulled down the hallway, down the stairs, like Newton's apple falling to the Earth.

Edward approached the piano on the platform with caution, as if it might rebuke him for his long absence. He stepped onto the dais and stared down at the glistening instrument. He remembered Bella sitting down at it and playing the keys that had once been his; she was so full of surprises.

The hinge on the lid squeaked as he propped it open. He circled it, still nervous, returning to the bench where he sat and flipped open the fallboard. He wondered if it would be too loud, would the sound disrupt the sleeping girl above? She needed her sleep, he was sure. He stared at the keys, imagining the sounds they would make if he were to touch them. He continued to compose the melody in his head.

Jasper and Alice were still sitting where they had been during the family meeting. Edward could see Jasper, he could hear Alice's thoughts still coming from her location on the floor. They were consumed with thoughts of each other, both choosing to ignore Edward where he sat silently composing.

Rosalie and Carlisle were both busy with research. Rosalie was trying to use the information they'd learned to look into Bella's past. Carlisle was trying to use that same information to discover her future.

His hands lifted to the keys as the sun started to rise and he tentatively tried out the first few notes. He played the intro twice before moving on to the next sequence. His fingers stuttered as he struggled to meld the sounds together. He pushed through, trying to give birth to the song in his head.

Composing hadn't been this hard since he had been human. After his transition, his mind could finish a piece before his fingers ever touched the keys. It was easy; he knew what sounds would be produced before he ever produced them. Once he'd set his mind to writing, his only limit had been his imagination.

But this time, it was difficult. His imagination and his fingers weren't cooperating. He considered he was too out of practice to compose.

He heard her coming, her footsteps and her heartbeat giving her away. There was something about her heartbeat; the metronome of her life. It was a sound he'd become so used to hearing, he wondered if he could pick it out of a crowded room.

He stopped his hands and looked at her beautiful face.

"You're playing."

"Yes."

"It sounds beautiful."

"It sounds like shit."

She gave a laugh and then stopped when she realized he wasn't joking.

"It seems I've lost my touch."

"When was the last time you played?"

"Before I left home…1925."

Bella got very quiet as she thought about the span of time.

"You never ask," he observed. "You must have millions of questions and you never ask."

"It makes you uncomfortable," she said. "I don't want to fight."

He frowned at the keys that mocked him as if this were their fault too. He knew the fault was his own.

In the past, questions about who he was had made him uncomfortable. He'd always encourage Bella not to ask. His main concern had been preventing her from discovering he was a vampire and that ship had finally set sail. He didn't have anything else worth hiding from her.

"Why did you stop?"

Still full of surprises. He tells her that he stopped playing piano in 1925 and the only question she wants to ask is why.

"I started to feel lost," he admitted. "When Carlisle first changed me, it was to be his companion. He wanted me to live as he did, feeding off the blood of animals. When we're new…It isn't that easy. People are everywhere and our instincts to kill override common sense. I got away from him by accident… My ability made that difficult to enjoy, made it easier to abstain. The last thing I wanted was the terrified thoughts of someone being eaten alive inside my head.'

"When Carlisle found Esme, I could see how much he loved her. I never resented him for keeping her, but I couldn't understand how he could condemn her to this life. She was so full of kindness and compassion… Then she struggled so much more than I had.'

"It wasn't bad enough that we were vampires, we weren't even normal within our own community. We met others…I saw into their minds. Carlisle had always viewed their way of life as evil and I always believed him, until one day I didn't. They didn't view themselves as evil. It was normal for them. The shark doesn't weep for the seal, the hawk doesn't mourn the hare, and the lion doesn't love the lamb.'

"Here I was, once again, a son. I had a father who thought he knew best and a mother who doted on me. All I wanted was the right to choose what was right for myself… I wasn't sure what that was, but I could see what it wasn't." He was afraid to look at Bella. "I was staring down the face of eternity alone, trapped as a third wheel, and I didn't want to spend my forever filled with self loathing for what I had become. I was lost and the longer I stayed that way, the angrier I became."

"So you left?"

"Eventually. The first people I killed were before my leaving. They'd done nothing wrong." The act had been easy; he killed the girl first so he wouldn't have to hear her scream, but her boyfriend had gotten an eyeful. The coward had tried to run, so Edward kicked him in the back, breaking the man's spine. The thoughts of a man about to die, paralyzed from the waist down, had been profoundly disturbing. Edward panicked and slammed his foot into the man's head to stop him from thinking. The human skull was so fragile; it exploded like a crushed grape on a supermarket floor.

"The meal was better," he admitted, shamefully. "Afterwards, I returned home and realized… I didn't belong there. The house looked about as familiar to me as Mars. That's when I left.'

"After I left home, Fate seemed to offer me a guiding hand. I ran into a man who'd beaten his wife half to death."

Charles Evanson. It was remarkably easy to listen to prayers for mercy knowing the condemned had never shown any mercy to anyone else. Charles should have been the one person Esme could count on to keep her safe.

"That's when I realized the world was full of people who deserved to die."

"Do you regret it?" She asked.

There was no good answer to this.

For a long time, it was just his normal. He was a hunter of predators. The years passed by and he found that he wasn't any less alone for it. The more evil he discovered, the more obsessed he became with eradicating it. He couldn't understand the depravity; the seemingly limitless number of methods humans designed to hurt each other.

After he met Bella, his obsession had turned to rampant desperation. He wanted to be able to create a world where Bella could live without fear. He also began to realize he could never stop the tide.

It still felt like a miracle that lips such as hers would consent to touch his. With every life he took, his sins equaled theirs. In the end, living more traditionally hadn't put a stop to his self-loathing. He wasn't sorry about the dead, but he knew his vigilantism had still been murder. They were people who had not wanted to die. He'd killed them.

"I do not grieve for them, but I am not proud of what I've done." He considered the day he met Bella. "If I hadn't done it, I might never have met you."

"Can you play it again?"

"It's not done, it's not good."

"Play it anyway."

He'd never been one to suffer from stage fright, but he felt self-conscious in front of her. He had been composing this piece about her and there was no good reason why she shouldn't hear her own damn song.

He set his fingers to the keys and began to play. He started softly and slowly, like a first kiss, with the tempo of Bella's racing heart in his ears, he began to increase to a crescendo…His fingers faltered midway through. It wasn't right and, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bella frowning.

"Play it again."

It was a command.

Edward would deny her nothing, but he found her insistence that he play a bad musical composition humiliating. He'd been a prodigy before he'd become a vampire.

He started over.

His fingers faltered in the same location.

"Play it again."

He looked at her and began to think she was making a joke at his expense.

"Please?"

He nodded and began again.

This time as he played, Bella moved to set her fingers upon the keys. As he played, so too did she. He played softly and slowly, while her fingers struck dramatically down in time with his tempo. As his composition picked up speed and volume, her hands moved with more precision…They reached the spot where he had failed twice and her hands continued. His hands now followed hers. The music flowed out of their fingertips, progressing toward a dramatic conclusion of loud, sweet notes that hung in the air.

"It was meant for two," he mused. "Where did you learn to play?"

"Another life," she whispered. "My mother taught us. Arianna was terrible at it. At first, I thought if I played well enough, they'd… I don't know. I was a kid, you know? It was stupid. Like playing the piano was somehow going to make up for the fact I'm…"

"We don't have to talk about it."

"I want to be honest with you, Edward."

"When you're ready."

"Demonic," she spat the word. "That's what they called me. I lit my own crib on fire when I was a baby, they told me. They told me I should have died there." She thought about Arianna's hands bumping the wrong keys. "During my second exorcism, the priest accidentally broke my hand. I remember watching my hand swell up like a balloon and thinking I'd never be able to play again. Ari thought so too. She was happy about it."

"Can you remember the notes you just played?"

"I think so."

"One more time?"

Edward set his hands back to the piano keys. This time his fingers moved confidently, knowing where the music was going: Back to her. He could never have finished a composition of this complexity on his own. It needed four hands and two minds and at least one beating heart.

Her hands joined his and he found his own heart breaking at the thought of her injured hand. He couldn't understand how her family could view her as a curse, when all he could see was a blessing.

He glanced out the corner of his eye, her face tense in concentration. He thought about her willingness to bring her soft lips so close to his teeth. He thought about the amount of trust she showed him each and every second she spent not running away from him. Once again, he felt despair at his inability to be the man she deserved, even if he was the one she had chosen.

Nothing about their relationship was normal. She was a pyrokinetic drifter, hustling strangers for cash in a park, while he stalked her as a potential next meal. After killing a man who'd wanted to kill her, she'd then saved his life by frightening a vampire twice his size. Together they'd run, living out of abandoned warehouses, motels, and stolen cars. She never asked about all those hours he'd been running errands and in return, he'd never called her by her real name or asked her where she came from.

If he were human, he would have knocked on her door and introduced himself to her parents. He would have presented her with flowers and asked her to join him on a walk through the park instead of threatening to make her the picnic in it.

The last few notes fell from their fingertips and the house fell silent.

Silent was a relative term when he could hear everyone thinking.

If he were human, he would have courted her like a gentleman.

"Bella, what are you doing this evening?"

"Tonight?"

"Yes."

"I don't know… Nothing?"

Edward nodded his head.

"How would you like to go out for dinner?"

"You don't eat," she told him, as if he'd forgotten.

He laughed at her tone.

"I know, but you do."

Bella didn't answer. She was trying to imagine Edward in that crowded little diner with the nosy neighbors.

"You want to go out to eat in Forks? In public?"

"I want to take you to dinner, but I was actually thinking of Port Angeles."

"Why?"

Edward groaned in frustration. He'd assumed she'd just say yes or no. She hadn't asked this many questions when she'd discovered he was a vampire.

"Is it so hard to believe that I want to spend time with you?"

"Oh," Bella answered. She wanted to point out that he didn't need to take her to dinner to do that, but she'd just noticed Alice and Jasper craning their heads around the couch to get a better look at them. "Okay."

Edward hissed between clenched teeth and Jasper and Alice went back to pretending to mind their own business.

"Are you hungry now?"

"Breakfast would be good."

Edward watched as Bella devoured a bowl of cereal and poured herself a second bowl. That couldn't have much nutrition in it, could it? Should he have offered to cook for her? He'd have to ask Esme to teach him how.

She looked up at him.

"What?"

"Is that any good?"

She shrugged. "It's okay."

Bella didn't understand the scrutiny. She'd eaten a lot worse, a lot less, and some days nothing at all. Cheerios would always be better than an empty stomach any day.

Esme appeared in the room and opened the fridge. She took a casserole dish out of the fridge and set it on the counter. She reached in and pulled out another casserole dish and set it down next to the first. She bent down and rummaged in the back of the fridge, and came up with six plastic food containers.

She was humming the song they'd just played on the piano as she unloaded the fridge. She flitted to a pantry and pulled out another pair of plastic containers. She began to load the casseroles into the plastics. She opened two of the six containers and sniffed. She curled her lip at one and tossed the contents into the garbage.

"What are you doing?"

"We have a lot of leftovers."

"Oh…Um… I'm sorry, I already ate."

"They're not for you," Edward told her. He would have laughed, but what Esme wanted wasn't funny. "Esme, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Do you have a better one?" She challenged him. She can always say no.

He said nothing.

"They're for Charlie," Esme said.

"The Chief?"

"Yes. He's unmarried. His friend has died. He's been working longer hours."

"So you're going to feed him our leftovers?"

"It is traditional to feed the bereaved and it isn't a tradition that has fallen out of fashion… But no, I didn't think I should bring them. I thought you should."

"You thought I should bring food to the Chief of Police?"

Bella's stomach lurched painfully at the thought. There wasn't much she feared, but cops were definitely on the list.

"You're human, Bella. He'll be comfortable with you. He definitely took a shine to you at the supermarket."

"How can you tell?"

"He told you to call him if you got into trouble, right?"

"Esme, that's his job."

"Nonsense. He could assign anyone from the department to assist you with your next flat tire. He has a personal interest."

"Why would he have a personal interest in me? He doesn't know me."

"I don't know, but you can add it to the list of conversational topics to discuss with him."

"Really bad idea, Esme," Edward added. "Bella, you can say no."

Esme ignored Edward and continued, "I just thought it would be a kindness to the local police chief in his time of need. Offer him some food, maybe ask him how the case is going…"

"You want me to spy on him?"

"Not spy… talk. Give him someone to talk to. You're human, he's human. You're allowed to do that sort of thing." She studied Bella's face, and saw the resistance there. "Bare minimum, drop off the food. That is a sincere gesture. He needs to eat."

She looked at Edward. "And while Bella's doing that, it'll give us time to talk."

We need to talk about Bella, she told him. It might be kinder to do if she were not here.

"That's a worse idea." Edward's temper started to flare. If Bella found out they were talking about her, she'd be furious.

We aren't trying to keep secrets from her, Edward. She's had a stressful couple of days and it might be healthier for her to hear the truth from you… Instead of Rosalie?

"What?" Bella inserted.

Edward shook his head. "It's up to you, Bella. If you want to take leftovers to Chief Swan."

"It's the right thing to do," Esme purred.

"Okay," Bella agreed. "But I'm just offering him the food. I'm not asking about a murder investigation."