Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Robert Frost
Preface
All of their attempts at subterfuge had been in vain.
Edward tensed, ready to fight, but he was outnumbered. The Cullens were fighting a different battle miles from here—too far to be of any assistance.
Edward and Beau were on their own.
Would Beau ever learn the outcome of the other fight? Would he live long enough for that?
The odds did not look great.
Black eyes, wild with their fierce craving for his death, watched for the moment when his protector's attention would be diverted.
The moment when he would surely die.
Somewhere, far away in the forest, a wolf howled.
Beau,
Yeah, I miss you, too. A lot. Doesn't change anything. Sorry.
Jacob
Beau smoothed his fingers over the dents on the page, where a pen had nearly broken through. He could picture Jacob's black eyebrows pulling together as he wrote. If he had been there, Beau might have laughed. Don't give yourself a brain hemorrhage, Jacob, he would have told him. Just spit it out.
Laughing was the last thing Beau felt like doing. This note was an answer to the pleading message Beau passed to Charlie, who passed it to Billy, who (reluctantly, Beau was sure) passed it on to Jacob.
The reply was not a surprise, but Beau was surprised by how deeply each crossed-out line hurt him. Jacob's pain cut deeper than his own.
The scent of store-brand spaghetti sauce drifted up the stairs.
Beau tried not to make a face. Charlie had asked—told him, really—that he was taking over dinner duty tonight. His father never got along with Grandma Marie, whose sauce Beau always made from scratch whenever they had spaghetti, which explained why he went with the store-brand kind. But it was a nice gesture all the same.
Beau leaned one shoulder in the doorway, watching. Charlie stood by the stove, stirring the sauce over a low flame. Garlic bread and salad already sat on the table. The chief was wearing his Kiss the Cook apron, a garment usually reserved for Sunday barbecues.
"So, what's all this about?"
Charlie glared out into the rain. "Don't know what you're talking about."
Beau was mystified. This surliness was mostly directed at his boyfriend, in an attempt to illustrate how unwelcome Edward was in the Swan home. Charlie's efforts were unnecessary; Edward knew exactly what he was thinking, passive aggression or not.
Beau felt his shoulders stiffen at the word boyfriend.
It wasn't the right word, not at all. He needed something more expressive of eternal commitment, but destiny and fate sounded like delusions of grandeur. Edward had another word in mind, and that word was the source of the tension Beau felt.
Fiancé. Ugh. The word put his teeth on edge just to consider it.
"It just seems weird, that's all."
"There's no law that says I can't cook in my own house."
"You would know."
"Ha. Good one."
Beau gave up and sank into one of the chairs at the table. Charlie would get around to talking about whatever was bothering him in his own time. His father was not a man of many words.
Yet the effort he put into a sit-down dinner made it clear to Beau that Charlie had something to say.
Beau glanced at the clock. Less than half an hour to go now.
Afternoons were the hardest part of his day. After Jacob blabbed to Charlie about Beau's motorcycle, the chief had grounded Beau, limiting the time he could spend with Edward to two-and-a-half hours per night. These visits were restricted to the Swan house and under the supervision of Charlie's unfailingly crabby glare.
This was an escalation from the grounding Beau earned for the weeks-long road trip across the southern United States with Jacob.
Even the easygoing Renée had sided with Charlie on the motorcycle issue. Beau must have done something bad if both of his parents were in agreement.
Beau still saw Edward at school, of course, because there wasn't anything Charlie could do about that. Edward spent every night in Beau's room, too, an arrangement the elder Swan was blissfully unaware of. Edward's ability to climb easily and silently to the second floor window was almost as useful as his ability to read Charlie's mind.
Though the afternoon was the only time Beau spent away from Edward, it was enough to make him restless. The hours always dragged by.
Beau endured this punishment without complaint. He'd earned it.
He also couldn't bear the thought of hurting Charlie again by moving out. A much more permanent separation hovered on the horizon, but Charlie remained unaware of that, too.
So Beau watched his father move around the kitchen like a bull in a china shop. He slammed cabinets and drawers closed in a huff. When he noticed Charlie reaching for the latest edition of the newspaper, Beau groaned.
"Something wrong?"
"I don't know why you bother reading that. It just pisses you off."
Charlie ignored him, his eyes glued to the front page of the paper. "This is why everyone wants to live in a small town! Ridiculous."
"What have the big bad cities done wrong now?"
"Seattle's making a run for murder capital of the country. Five unsolved homicides in the last two weeks. Can you imagine living like that?"
"Phoenix is a lot higher on the homicide list, Dad. I have lived like that."
Beau had been roughed up in Phoenix, but small-town Mississippi had been the place of his latest near-miss, ironically enough. That was if he limited his scrapes to the North American continent alone. He also had a legion of enemies in Volterra, the Italian headquarters of the powerful Volturi coven.
Beau felt his hand creeping toward the top of his head, a gesture as eternal as the ancient vampires breathing down his neck. Pulling down the Mariners cap to shield his face had been a habit broken by losing it in a fire, but the impulse persisted, even a year later.
"Well, you couldn't pay me enough."
The chief set the paper aside to serve their dinner. Store bought sauce or not, Charlie had done a good job.
Charlie waited until Beau stood up for seconds to clear his throat.
"You're right. I did have a reason for doing this. I wanted to talk to you."
Beau turned back to the table. "You could have just asked."
"Yeah. I'll remember that next time. I thought taking dinner off your hands would soften you up."
"It worked—your cooking skills have me soft as a marshmallow. What's up, Dad?"
"Well, it's about Jacob."
Beau stiffened. "What about him?"
"Easy, son. I know you're still upset that he told on you, but it was the right thing to do. He was being responsible."
"Responsible . . . Jacob . . . right. So, what about him?"
What about Jacob? What was Beau going to do about him? His former best friend who was now . . . what? His enemy?
Charlie looked wary. "Don't get mad at me, okay?"
"Mad?"
"Well, it's about Edward, too. Hey, come on. I let him in the house, don't I?"
"You do," Beau admitted. "For brief periods of time. You might think about letting me out of the house every now and then, too. I've been pretty good lately."
"Well, that's kind of where I was heading with this."
"I'm confused, Dad. Are we talking about Jacob, Edward, or me being grounded?"
"Sort of all three."
Beau waited.
"I'm thinking you deserve parole for good behavior. You're amazingly non-whiny for a teenager."
"Seriously?" Beau asked. "I'm free?"
Beau had been positive the warden would never commute his sentence. Edward hadn't picked up any wavering in Charlie's thoughts . . . this must have been a game-time decision.
"Conditionally, of course."
"Of course."
"Oh, relax. This is more of a request than a demand, okay? You're free, I promise. But I'm hoping you use that freedom judiciously."
"I'm waiting out here in left field, Dad."
Charlie sighed. "I know you're satisfied to spend all of your time with Edward—"
"I spend time with Alice, too." Edward's sister was immune to Swan Prison visiting hours; she came and went as she pleased. Charlie was putty in her capable hands.
"That's true, but you have other friends besides the Cullens, Beau. Or you used to. When's the last time you spoke to Angela Weber?"
"Friday at lunch."
It wasn't a lie. The two talked about her plans to attend a horror movie marathon at one of the local theaters with Ben. Beau was invited to come along, but with his daily furlough for school coming to an end, he had been forced to decline.
Before Edward's return, Beau's school friends had polarized into two groups, the us and them. The good guys were Angela, her boyfriend Ben Cheney, and Mike Newton; these three had generously forgiven Beau for going nuts when Edward left town.
Lauren Mallory was the evil core of the them side. Almost everyone else, including his first friend in Forks, Jessica Stanley, seemed content to vote Beau off the island. The dividing line between the two sides had become even more distinct since Edward came back.
Beau knew this was his fault. Distancing himself emotionally (and later physically, by fleeing the state with Jacob) had left some hurt feelings behind.
But there was still time to make amends with the humans . . . and say his goodbyes.
"Outside of school?"
"I haven't seen anyone outside of school, Dad. Grounded, remember? And Angela has a boyfriend that she's always hanging out with. If I'm really free, maybe we could double date."
"Okay. But . . . you and Jake used to be joined at the hip, and now–"
"Dad, please get to the point. What's the condition?"
The interruption made his father grow stern. "I don't think you should dump all your other friends for your boyfriend, Beau. It's not nice, and I think your life would be better balanced if you kept some other people in it. What happened last September . . . well, if you'd had more of a life outside of Edward Cullen, it might not have been like that."
Beau looked away. "The point?"
"Use your new freedom to see your other friends, too. Keep it balanced. Don't forget your friends, Jacob in particular."
"Jacob might be difficult."
"The Blacks are practically family, Beau. He's been a very, very good friend to you."
"I know that."
"Don't you miss him at all?" Charlie asked.
Beau folded his arms across his chest. "Of course I miss him. It's complicated."
"How so?"
Beau forced himself to meet his father's eyes. "Friendship doesn't seem enough for Jake."
"Edward isn't up for a little healthy competition?"
"There's no competition."
"You're hurting Jake's feelings by avoiding him like this. He'd rather be just friends than nothing."
Beau had half a mind to show Charlie the note, just to prove him wrong. "Where'd you get that idea?"
His father looked uncomfortable now. "The subject might have come up today with Billy."
"Why the hell did it come up today with Billy?"
"Hey. Billy's worried about him. Jacob's having a hard time right now . . . he's depressed."
When Beau didn't reply, Charlie kept talking. "You were always so happy after spending the day with Jake. Hell, you ran away with him."
"We didn't run away," Beau snapped. "Besides, I'm happy now."
The contrast between his words and tone broke the tension at last. Both Swans burst into laughter.
"Okay, okay," Beau said when he could talk again. "Balance."
"And Jacob."
"I'll try."
"Good. Find that balance, Beau. And, oh, yeah, you've got some mail. It's by the stove."
Beau didn't have to get up; Charlie was already halfway back to the table with a thick, white envelope.
The return address was from the University of Alaska Southeast. Beau ran a finger along the top of the envelope but found it had already been slit open.
"Reading other people's mail carries a five year sentence, you know."
Charlie was grinning. "I was curious. It's your first acceptance. Congratulations."
"Thanks, Dad."
"We should talk about tuition," Charlie said as he ferried their plates to the sink. "I have some money saved up—"
"No way. I'm not touching your retirement, Dad. I've got my college fund."
What used to be his college fund, anyway. Beau was thankful Charlie restrained himself to the acceptance letter alone. The monthly bank statements told a different story. If Charlie had chosen to read those, Beau would need to explain the massive I'm-sorry-I-broke-your-heart payoff Edward tried to disguise as a scholarship.
Most of the money had gone into a beater car to replace Big Red. Edward wanted to buy him the latest, top-of-the-line SUV, but Beau refused.
Beau felt the familiar pang of loss for the truck. His Chevy had survived a beating from Rosalie Hale, a werewolf transformation, and a vampire attack from Laurent. He suspected the bones of Big Red lay somewhere in Idaho, or maybe Oregon. Somewhere close enough for Jacob to make his way back to Washington, but far enough away to ensure its total destruction.
Beau didn't blame Jacob one bit. That punishment fit the crime.
"Some of these places are pretty pricey, Beau. I want to help. You don't have to go all the way to Alaska just because it's cheaper."
It wasn't cheaper, but it was far away. Plus, Juneau had an average of three hundred and twenty-one overcast days per year. The first was Beau's prerequisite; the second was Edward's.
"I've got it covered, Dad. There's lots of financial aid out there. I can get a student loan."
"So . . . "
"So, what?"
"Do you have any idea what Edward's plans are for next year?"
Beau hoped his poker face was still intact. "Oh."
"Well?"
Three quick raps at the front door saved him from replying.
He decided to ignore his father's mumbled "Go away" and wrenched the door open.
There he was, Beau's personal miracle. Edward Cullen.
Beau studied him: the hard square of his jaw, the softer curve of his lips, lips that were twisted up into a smile now, waiting for the inevitable moment when their eyes would meet.
Edward was more than just his beauty, but he had a face any male model would trade his soul for, and that might be the exact asking price: one soul.
Beau didn't believe that. He felt a twinge of guilt for even thinking it, and was glad—as always—to be the one person immune to Edward's telepathy.
"Hey," Beau said at last, reaching for Edward's hand.
Edward raised their interlaced fingers to brush Beau's cheek with the back of his hand. "How was your afternoon?"
"Slow."
"For me, as well."
Beau tightened his grip to pull Edward inside the house. He knew Edward was just humoring him; vampiric strength was no match for that of an eighteen-year-old human.
"Good evening, Charlie." Edward was always polite, even when Charlie wasn't. His eyes flickered back to Beau. "I brought another set of applications."
Beau groaned again. Were there any colleges left in the United States? Edward kept finding ways to bypass the deadlines. But the answer was obvious: money.
Edward chuckled at Beau's expression, no doubt guessing the conclusion he reached just then.
"Shall we?"
Beau didn't realize his father had followed them until they were seated at the table.
"Speaking of college applications, Edward, Beau and I were just talking about next year. Have you decided where you're going to school?"
Edward smiled. "Not yet. I've received a few acceptance letters, but I'm still weighing my options."
"Where have you been accepted?"
"Syracuse . . . Harvard . . . Dartmouth . . . and I just got accepted to the University of Alaska Southeast today."
Beau desperately tried to keep the grin off his face. His father, meanwhile, was trying to conceal his awe.
"Harvard? Dartmouth? That's really something. The University of Alaska . . . " He paused. "I'm sure your dad would want you to go to an Ivy League."
"Carlisle's always fine with whatever I choose to do."
Beau raised his eyebrows. "I just got my acceptance to the University of Alaska, too."
"Congratulations! What a coincidence."
Charlie looked at both of their grinning faces and sighed.
"I'm going to watch the game, Beau. Nine-thirty."
It was his usual parting command, but less than an hour ago, he'd dangled the keys in front of Beau's jail cell.
"Dad, based on our conversation about freedom earlier . . . "
"Right. Okay, ten-thirty. You still have a curfew on school nights."
"Beau's no longer grounded?"
"Conditionally," Charlie said flatly. "What's it to you?"
"It's just good to know. Alice has been itching for a day trip to Seattle."
The chief's face darkened. "Seattle is out of bounds."
"Dad, you said–"
"There's a gang on a killing spree in the city. It was in the paper. I want you to steer clear, okay?"
Beau rolled his eyes. "Dad, there's a better chance of getting struck by lightning than that the one day I'm in Seattle—"
"Totally understandable, Charlie," Edward cut in, surprising both Swans. "Our parents like having Beau look out for Alice, but no sense in putting both of them at risk. Of course not."
Beau was amazed. The idea that he could serve as some sort of protective escort for Alice—tiny but formidable Alice—was more than a little hilarious. Edward must have been trying to appease Charlie.
It seemed to work. Charlie wandered off to the living room, leaving them alone at last.
Beau waited until the TV went on. "What–"
"Hold on." Edward didn't look up from the newspaper. "I think you can recycle your essays for this one. Same questions."
Charlie must have been trying to listen to their conversation. Beau sighed before turning his attention to the application form. When he looked up, Edward was staring pensively out the window. Momentarily distracted, Beau glanced down at his work again, then scoffed.
"Are you serious with this? Dartmouth?"
"I think you'd like New Hampshire," Edward said. "There's a full complement of night courses for me, and the forests are very conveniently located for the avid hiker. Plentiful wildlife."
"Do you have any idea how much Dartmouth costs? Actually, don't answer that."
"I'll let you pay me back, if that makes you happy. I can even charge you interest."
"Like I could even get in without an enormous bribe. Have they started building the new Cullen wing of the library yet?"
"Will you please just fill out the application?" Edward pressed.
"I don't think I will. Why are we having this discussion again?"
Beau reached for the application form, but it was gone. "What are you doing?"
"I have copies of the essays you've already written."
Beau bristled. "You're going way overboard with this, you know. I really don't need to apply anywhere else—I've been accepted to Alaska. I can almost afford the first semester's tuition, and that's as good an alibi as any. No need to throw away a bunch of money."
"Beau—"
He held up one hand. "Don't start. I agree I need to go through the motions for Charlie's sake, but we both know I'm not going to be in any condition to go to school next fall. To be anywhere near people."
Beau's knowledge of those first few years as a new vampire was sketchy. It was not Edward's favorite subject. Beau did know self-control was an acquired skill. Sitting in lecture halls with one hundred beating hearts was a disaster waiting to happen.
"I thought the timing was still undecided. You might enjoy a semester or two of college. There are a lot of human experiences you've never had."
"I'll get those afterward."
"They won't be human experiences afterward. You don't get a second chance at humanity, Beau."
"We don't have time for this."
"There's no danger yet," Edward insisted.
Beau could only glare at him. No danger? Sure. There was a sadistic vampire trying to avenge her mate's death with Beau's, preferably through some slow and torturous method. And if Victoria didn't get him, the Volturi—the vampire royal family with their small army of faithful undead—were just looking for an excuse to kill Beau.
Beau and Edward had broken the biggest rule in the vampire world: humans could never know the secret. The sole way to atone for this transgression was for Beau to become a vampire.
It was insane to take chances, even with Alice keeping watch. Beau had already won this argument. The date for his transformation was tentatively set for after graduation, just a handful of weeks away.
His stomach twisted with unease. It was less time than he realized.
This change was necessary, but Beau was deeply conscious of Charlie sitting in the other room. And he couldn't forget his mother, Renée, far away in sunny Florida. She was still pleading for Beau to spend the summer there with her and Phil.
And Jacob, who, unlike Charlie and Renée, would know exactly what happened when Beau vanished from some distant school. Even if his parents didn't become suspicious for some time, even if Beau could put off visits with every excuse under the sun, Jacob would know the truth.
The idea of Jacob's certain revulsion overshadowed all the other pain.
"Beau," Edward murmured. "There's no hurry. I won't let anyone hurt you. You can take all the time you need."
"I want to hurry. I want to be a monster, too."
Edward pushed the newspaper across the table. "You have no idea what you're saying."
Beau glanced at the headline on the front page:
DEATH TOLL ON THE RISE, POLICE FEAR GANG ACTIVITY
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Monsters are not a joke, Beau."
"A vampire is doing this?"
Edward's voice had gone cold. "You'd be surprised how often my kind are the source behind the horrors in your human news. It's easy to recognize the pattern, when you know what to look for. This indicates a newborn vampire is loose in Seattle. Bloodthirsty, wild. Out of control. The way we all were."
Beau studied the headline again. With no reference point for a newborn, he imagined a red-eyed version of himself stalking those streets, and shivered.
"We've been monitoring the situation for a few weeks," Edward went on. "All the signs are there: the unlikely disappearances, the poorly disposed-of corpses, the lack of other evidence . . . yes, someone brand-new. Yet no one seems to be taking responsibility for the neophyte . . . "
His expression darkened with every passing second.
"Well, it's not our problem. We wouldn't even pay attention to the situation if it wasn't going on so close to home. Like I said, this happens all the time. The existence of monsters results in monstrous consequences."
Beau tried not to focus on the names of the victims, but they jumped out as if written in red ink.
The five people whose lives were over, whose families were mourning their losses: Maureen Gardiner, Geoffrey Campbell, Grace Razi, Michelle O'Connell, Ronald Albrook . . . these murders were impossible to consider in the abstract. These people had parents and children, pets and jobs, hopes and plans, memories and futures . . .
"It won't be the same for me," Beau said, more to himself than Edward. "You won't let me be like that. We'll live in Antarctica."
Edward snorted. "Penguins. Lovely."
Beau set the newspaper aside. Of course Edward would consider the hunting possibilities. He and his "vegetarian" family—every one of them committed to protecting human life—preferred the flavor of large predators to satisfy their dietary needs.
"Alaska, then, as planned. Only somewhere much more remote than Juneau. Somewhere with grizzlies galore."
"Better," Edward allowed. "There are polar bears, too. Very fierce. And the wolves get quite large."
Beau felt his jaw drop open. Edward frowned at him.
"What's wrong?"
Before Beau could recover, the confusion vanished, and the boy he loved seemed to turn to ice.
"Oh. Never mind the wolves, then, if the idea is offensive to you."
"He was my best friend, Edward," Beau muttered. "Of course the idea offends me."
"Please forgive my thoughtlessness," Edward replied, still formal. "I shouldn't have suggested it."
"Don't worry about it."
An awkward silence descended between the boys. It was so quiet that Beau could hear the game replay in the other room.
A cool finger under his chin coaxed his face upward. The beard he had started growing while on the run with Jacob provided a slight buffer to the temperature.
Edward's expression was much softer now. "Sorry. Really."
"I know you are. I know it's not the same thing—I shouldn't have reacted that way. It's just that . . . Charlie says Jake is having a hard time. He's hurting right now, and . . . it's my fault."
"You haven't done anything wrong."
"I need to make it better, Edward. I owe him that. And it's one of Charlie's conditions, anyway–"
"You know it's out of the question for you to be around a werewolf unprotected, Beau. And it would break the treaty if any of us cross over onto their land. Do you want us to start a war?"
"Of course not!"
"Then there's really no point in discussing the matter further."
Beau wasn't ready to give in yet. "Maybe you've forgotten I was there when he transformed for the first time."
"Maybe you've forgotten he injured you in the process."
Beau thought back to that night in Texas. The two had been gorging themselves on appetizers when a pair of vampires walked into the bar, searching for appetizers of their own. Beau forced them to leave, but by then it was too late. Jacob later succumbed to a side of himself neither one of them knew he had.
The skin that had been slashed by Jacob's oversized claws was still healing. Beau wondered if it looked worse to a vampire's eyes.
"Maybe you're forgotten he saved my life."
Another night on the road, this time in Mississippi. Beau and Jacob had been on the hunt for a window into Alice's past. The two got what they came for, but hours later, something unexpected got in the way—literally, on the highway. Laurent, an ex-member of James's coven, hunting for his next victim in the wreckage left behind by Hurricane Katrina.
Beau wouldn't be sitting at the table if it wasn't for Jacob. Jacob and Alice. The two had torn Laurent to shreds and burnt the pieces for good measure. A vampire and a werewolf working together—it was a rare occurrence. Rare and unlikely to be repeated. But if Jacob hadn't gotten the ball rolling, Alice would have come across their corpses.
A shadow crossed his face. "I will never forget that."
The silence between them persisted until Edward picked up Beau's copy of Wuthering Heights.
"I'm glad Charlie decided to let you out, because you're sadly in need of a visit to the bookstore. I can't believe you're reading this again. Don't you know it by heart yet?"
"Not all of us have photographic memories."
"Photographic memory or not, I don't understand why you like it. The characters are ghastly people who ruin each other's lives. I don't know how Heathcliff and Cathy ended up being ranked with couples like Romeo and Juliet, or Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy. It isn't a love story, it's a hate story."
Beau was still sour about their disagreement. "You have some serious issues with the classics."
"Perhaps it's because I'm not impressed by antiquity. Honestly though, why do you read it over and over?"
Edward's eyes were alight with real interest, trying—again—to unravel the inner workings of Beau's mind. His hand returned to Beau's chin and jaw, fingers moving along the dark bristles.
"What is it that appeals to you?"
"I'm not sure," Beau admitted. "I think it's something about the inevitability. How nothing can keep them apart–not her selfishness, or his evil, or even death, in the end . . . "
Edward was thoughtful. "I still think it would be a better story if either of them had one redeeming quality."
"That's the point–their love is their only redeeming quality."
"I hope you have better sense than to fall in love with someone so . . . malignant."
"Too late," Beau pointed out. "But even without the warning, I seem to have managed fairly well."
"I'm glad you think so."
"Well, I hope you're smart enough to stay away from someone so selfish. Catherine is really the source of all the trouble, not Heathcliff."
"I'll be on my guard."
Beau returned to the matter at hand. "I need to see Jacob."
"No."
"Nothing bad is going to happen."
He knew Edward was still thinking of Beau's new scars. "Werewolves are unstable. Sometimes, the people near them get hurt. Sometimes they get killed."
"You don't know him."
"I know his kind better than you think, Beau. I was there the last time."
"The last time?"
"We started crossing paths with the wolves about seventy years ago. We had just settled in Hoquiam . . . this was before Alice and Jasper joined the family. We outnumbered them, but that wouldn't have stopped it from turning into a fight if not for Carlisle. He managed to convince Ephraim Black that coexisting was possible, and eventually we made a truce."
The name of Jacob's great-grandfather startled Beau.
"We thought the line had died with Ephraim," Edward muttered. "That genetic quirk which allowed the transmutation had been lost . . . "
It was a moment before he spoke again. "Your bad luck seems to get more potent every day. Do you realize that your insatiable pull for all things deadly was strong enough to recover a pack of mutant canines from extinction? If we could bottle your luck, we'd have a weapon of mass destruction on our hands."
"I didn't bring them back. Don't you know?"
"Know what?"
"My bad luck has nothing to do with it. The werewolves came back because the vampires did."
It was a remarkable feat to render Edward Cullen speechless. Beau felt like the intellectual superior, if only for a moment.
"Jacob transformed because we ran into vampires in Bandera. Plus he's part of the La Push pack now. Victoria was running all over the reservation looking for me. Do you think that's a coincidence?"
"Carlisle will be interested in that theory."
"It's not a theory, it's the truth."
"Interesting, but not exactly relevant. The situation remains the same."
Beau could translate that easily enough: no werewolf friends.
Beau summoned what was left of his patience. It wasn't that Edward was unreasonable, it was that he did not understand. He had no idea how much Beau owed Jacob Black: his life many times over, and possibly his sanity, too.
Beau didn't like to talk about that barren time with anyone, and especially not Edward. He spent months in a depressive state, then weeks on the road with Jacob, growing closer to another boy without realizing until it was too late. Moreover, Edward took on all of the blame for everything that happened, even things he had no control over.
So Beau would have to word his explanation carefully.
Beau got up and walked around the table. He stood behind Edward and circled his neck with his arms until their cheekbones touched. Edward automatically put a hand on Beau's forearm, locking him in place for the foreseeable future.
"This is so much more important than dropping in on some friend on a whim. Jacob is my best friend. He's in pain. I can't give up on him when he needs me. Just because he's not human all the time . . . well, he was there for me when I was not so human myself. You don't know what it was like . . . "
Because I didn't tell you all of it, he wanted to continue. Beau took a deep breath.
"If Jacob hadn't helped me, I'm not sure what you would have come home to, Edward. I owe him better than this."
He could feel the frown on Edward's face. "I'll never forgive myself for leaving you. Not if I live a hundred thousand years."
Beau stood up straight, leaving his hands resting on Edward's shoulders.
"You were just trying to do the right thing. If it was with anyone else, it might have been the best thing for them. But you're here now and that's what matters."
"If I'd never left, you wouldn't feel the need to risk your life to comfort a dog."
Beau felt his mouth twist into a hard line. "Don't talk about him like that."
Edward got to his feet. "I don't know how to phrase this properly. It's going to sound cruel, I suppose, but I've come too close to losing you in the past. I know what it feels like to think I have. I am not going to tolerate anything dangerous."
"You have to trust me on this."
Edward turned to face him. A moment later, Beau was struck by the full force of his pleading golden eyes.
"Please, Beau."
"Please, what?"
"Please, for me. Please make a conscious effort to keep yourself safe. I'll do everything I can, but I would appreciate a little help."
"I'll work on it."
"Do you have any idea how important you are to me? Any concept at all of how much I love you?"
Beau settled comfortably in the stone arms that closed around him. "I know how much I love you."
"You compare one small tree to the entire forest."
Beau rolled his eyes. "Impossible."
They stood that way for a moment. Beau sighed, enjoying the embrace, until Edward opened his mouth to speak again.
"No werewolves."
"I'm not going to go along with that," Beau said firmly. "I have to see Jacob."
"Then I'll have to stop you."
Beau drew back to study Edward's face. He looked so confident. Beau was beginning to understand that this would be an issue far longer than tonight.
"We'll see about that. He's still my friend."
Jacob's note was still in his pocket. Beau could hear the words in Jacob's voice, and shockingly, he was agreeing with Edward.
Doesn't change anything. Sorry.
A/N: HELLO friends! So happy to be back in The Blue Hour world with my third installment of the series.
Some familiar moments and lines here but as always I plan to shift the narrative a bit, then more drastically later on. Per the new rating–our boys will get a little steamy as the story continues ;)
Thanks as always for your kind words and encouragement.
