Title: La Cantante Blues
Summary: Edward plans to catch the set of his new favorite band, but some singers aren't found onstage.
Rated M
Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable characters herein. No copyright infringement is intended.
La Cantante Blues
"Emmett! I need you to meet me in Seattle right away," Edward hisses into the payphone receiver.
"Kate Jackson is on Johnny Carson tonight," Emmett whines. "I've been waiting for this for months."
Edward rolls his eyes. Emmett and his ridiculous Charlie's Angels obsession.
"Record it on the Betamax. I've got a serious problem."
"What'chu talkin' bout, Will━"
"Emmett, I don't have time for your TV catchphrases!"
"Sit on it, Edward."
"Fine." Edward swallows down the thick coating of venom in his mouth and spits out the words between his clenched jaws. "Will a potential death match between me, a crazy nomad, and a pack of angry werewolves get you out of the house?"
"Whose side are you on?" Emmett's voice finally loses the teasing tone as he grasps the danger Edward's facing.
"Neither of theirs. It's just me. I need to get out of here, but I—I'm really fucked up, Emmett."
Edward's voice nearly cracks, which shouldn't be possible. Could a vampire have a panic attack?
The night had started like so many other Thursdays—a quick trip to Seattle to catch a good band—but suddenly, Edward's carefully crafted existence began collapsing in spectacular fashion.
"A/C broke and it's probably going to stay that way until spring. The doors are open; it's November. Deal with it, people," the doorman announces as he checks IDs and urges the line to continue moving forward.
Edward enters the cavernous nightclub and is instantly engulfed by the combination of intense humidity and stifling heat.
It feels like the Amazon in here: hot, steamy . . . moist.
He smiles ever so slightly. Rosalie's unconditional hatred of that word just gives him further motivation to use it whenever he can, but she's not here to annoy. Edward's smile transforms into an almost imperceptible frown.
He's alone tonight—again. It's better than being lonely at home, the perpetually single one, compelled by his unique gift to be a constant involuntary witness to the love and intimacy of the couples with whom he lives. He doesn't begrudge them their happiness, but when it becomes unbearable, he seeks solace in live music. The Hotel California has become his favorite haunt. The popular Seattle venue books a steady stream of up-and-coming blues and rock bands whose music fills Edward with a passion he can find nowhere else in his solitary existence.
He lingers in the shadows, tucked in a corner of the balcony that frames the main floor below, observing the crowd gathered in front of the stage. A thick cigarette haze hangs overhead, like a fog that never descends to the ground. The simple human patrons can't see across the converted warehouse's interior, but Edward's sight isn't hindered by either the smoke or the darkness. The speakers blare up-tempo music designed to get the crowd moving before the band begins. Women in skimpy halter tops and hot pants and men in shirts open to their navels, all dance with abandon.
Edward's rarely tempted by the scent of blood, but he chooses to remain at a careful distance. They unwittingly expose throbbing pulses and beating hearts that a human won't notice, but a hungry vampire can barely ignore. It hasn't been long, barely two weeks since he had ventured into the Olympic Forest to feed, but his eyes are already becoming black. He absentmindedly fingers the gold chain around his neck. He rarely wore jewelry throughout the preceding decades, but he's adjusted to it more easily than he likes to admit.
"Esme, it's just not me."
"Edward, dear, we need to keep up with the times. Current fashions help you blend in at school; you know this. Men wear gold necklaces now just like women. Please try it on." Esme has never had to plead; the motherly look of hope is always enough to break him.
"Fine, a gold chain but no pendant. It's not appropriate. They're all religious symbols. I'd feel wrong wearing a cross."
"Of course, you would, dear. That's why I had these made especially for each of you."
Esme produces another jewelry box and opens it to reveal three handcrafted gold pendants of the Cullen crest. Edward sighs, knowing he's defeated.
'Thank you, Esme. It's perfect."
So, Edward had agreed to it, and to the wide-collared shirts, but he drew the line when she came home with white polyester suits. Let Carlisle indulge his mate's penchant for trendy clothes. Edward still has some dignity.
The solitary couple in front of him moves, and he takes his favorite spot along the balcony railing and settles in to wait for The Black and Blues Band. Edward doesn't care for the rudimentary name, but they're a tight group playing big band style blues with a full complement of horns. He tries to catch them whenever they play the Hotel California. Live music is always preferable to Rosalie's endless replaying of her current disco favorites on the living room Hi-Fi. While Edward's tastes run to more classic music genres, he's not one of those anti-disco knuckleheads.
"If I want to be part of a group of irritating pasty-white men and women who think they're superior to everyone else, I'll volunteer for the Volturi Guard," he had remarked to Emmett as they watched the spectacle of Comiskey Park Disco Demolition Night in July.
Fifty thousand bread and circus fans jammed into the stadium, not for the game, but to witness the destruction. Worst of all, his beloved White Sox, in an already abysmal season, had to forfeit the second game of the doubleheader to Detroit.
What idiot thought blowing up a pile of disco records on a baseball field was a great idea?
Edward almost threw the combination television-stereo console out the window. Emmett and Carlisle had to combine to stop him. He can evade one vampire quite easily but two are tricky, even if he can read their thoughts. Still, it wasn't until Esme walked in with a disapproving look, that he finally gave up and went for a long run.
The music this decade has been mostly dreadful thus far, Edward reflects.
The petite waitress Edward has mentally dubbed "the rock chick" walks by, her arm straight in the air, holding her tray aloft. She's here most nights, weaving through the room with ease. She wears the club's uniform of a sleeveless white tee with Hotel California emblazoned across the front, and black velvet hot pants over fishnets, but eschews the high heels the other waitresses wear in favor of high top sneakers. Regardless, she commands attention, from her Chuck Taylors to the heavy eye makeup, dark blush, and short-layered hairstyle favored by Joan Jett and Heartbreaker singer, Pat Benatar. Tonight's Chucks are red. She nods hello, one of the few humans he's encountered who seems completely comfortable around him.
"Back again, Edward? You really like this band."
"The band can jam, plus my sister won't stop playing 'I Will Survive.' It's getting on my nerves, so I had to get out of the house."
"I didn't think you were a disco fan."
"I'm not a hater. Disco has some really good musicianship—'Le Freak,' 'Good Times,' 'We Are Family'—but the blues is better than anything on the radio right now. Top Forty especially; it's all trite soft rock or bands named after cities or states. There's no originality in pop music anymore."
She laughs. "You sound like an old man. Are you even twenty?"
Edward gives her a half smile, carefully hiding his teeth. "Not quite."
It's as close to the truth as he can admit.
"Well, you're old enough for a drink. Can I get you a beer?"
"No, all set, but thanks anyway." Edward tosses a few dollars onto her tray, as is his habit.
"You got it, sugar. Let me know if you change your mind."
She winks and smiles brightly before heading toward the stairs, her tray never wavering even when she glances back for a moment. She's convinced she recognizes him from somewhere else. With his perfect recall, Edward knows that's not correct, but he's seen the image she has of him: golden-eyed and laughing while sitting in a tree. It's uncannily real. Her mind is like one of Esme's macramé projects: separate knots that somehow all combine into a larger design.
The band takes the stage and begins to play, launching into a popular jumpin' and jivin' number about drinking artificially colored alcohol. In Edward's opinion, they could use a better lyricist, but the arrangements and chord progressions are as good as it gets. His head bobs along to the rhythm as he gets lost in the give and take of the guitars and horns. The crowd below dances wildly, and the club's temperature grows hotter. The bartender flicks on the overhead ceiling fans as the heat rises from the dance floor.
Edward's nostrils flare as he catches the scent of another of his kind. He stills to stone as his supernatural instincts overtake his senses. Every fiber of his body is on alert. His eyes rapidly search the room for the presence of a vampire, while his mind listens for thoughts related to thirst and venom. It doesn't take more than milliseconds for Edward to hone in on the male. He's directly below, at the back of the crowd, the glitter of his pale white skin not visible to human eyes.
Edward records the minutia that comprises the creature. The other vampire appears to be in his mid-twenties. He's approximately five inches shorter than Edward's six foot two, but stockier in build. Overall, he's otherwise unremarkable, which in itself is an unusual quality for a vampire. Edward observes that he travels unnoticed as he skirts the edge of the crowd. The thoughts around him are quiet. No one thinks him inordinately handsome because he's not; his looks are just ordinary—pin-straight blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, an oval face with nondescript features. Edward wonders if he must have been an exceedingly ugly human, and then feels a pang of guilt for such a petty thought.
Edward focuses on the vampire's mind. He's moderately thirsty. However, unlike other nomads Edward has known, he isn't looking for a quick and easy kill. He's a hunter, a tracker, looking for a challenge. He may not even find anyone here tonight. Satisfied that, at least for the moment, the stranger doesn't have plans that may interfere with his evening, Edward tunes him out, until his mental voice blends into the constant hum that's always there in the back of his mind, and refocuses on the music.
The song playing is a slow plaintive melody full of the unrequited longing for a woman in love with another man. The youthful lead singer, Jake Black, croons into the microphone as his guitar blisters along with the words. The essence of blues music carries forward into all the genres that follow—everything from broken-hearted country songs to thrashing heavy metal guitar solos traces back to it, like branches to a tree trunk, but Edward enjoys it more than its derivatives. He listens intently, allowing his emotions to flow along as the band plays songs that run the gamut of the blues genre before finally announcing a short break.
The rock chick waitress walks by again, her tray still aloft. Edward absently observes as she descends the stairs and approaches two girls wearing the standard fashion of dark designer jeans, tight satiny tops, and those open toe shoes with wooden heels that Rosalie lives in—Candies. Their hair is long and wavy, styled like the stars of Charlie's Angels—Emmett's current obsession shared by much of the country.
Edward listens as the girls order pina coladas, giggling about the romance of that nonsensical song. Edward rolls his eyes. He'd rather listen to "I Will Survive" for the forty thousandth time, at least that's more realistic than some idiot trying to have an affair by answering a personal ad, only to find out it's "his own lovely lady."
The smaller of the two glances up and catches Edward looking at her. While he would normally look away, something about her eyes, a deep soulful brown, holds his gaze. His curiosity piqued, he listens for her thoughts, but her inner voice is drowned out by her friend excitedly thinking of ways to get them together.
"As if that would ever happen," Edward mumbles to himself.
"Bella, he's gorgeous and he's staring at you, go talk to him."
Bella feels her face heat as she shyly meets the piercing eyes of the incredibly handsome guy leaning against the railing above them. While she's at a loss to explain why he's looking, she knows exactly what that stare is doing to her body. The heat that begins in her cheeks surges through her like an electrical current. Regardless, someone that perfect can't possibly be interested in an ordinary high school senior, even with the makeover Jessica has given her.
"No way, Jess. He's completely out of my league. I mean look at him, he's better looking than John Travolta, and look at me."
This human doesn't see herself very clearly, Edward thinks, as he appraises her soft curves, translucent skin, and cascading hair. He knows he's not the only male in the club to make such an observation.
Before he can attempt to delve into her mind, a crystal clear image of him gently tucking a stray hair behind the girl's ear as he leans forward to kiss her enters the waitress's mind, interrupting his focus.
"Black leather jacket, white silk shirt, gold chain, right? That's Edward. He's here a lot, but he's always alone, no girlfriend. I could totally see you together," she confides to the girls, turning to a group behind them.
How absurd.
Edward turns away, unsettled by the realness of the image, and instead, concentrates on looking for the other vampire. He doesn't believe the other is aware of his presence, and if Edward can, he'd like to keep it that way.
Carlisle encourages his family to invite nomads to visit, but Edward has no such inclinations with this particular creature. The unusual lifestyle choices he and his family have made are mostly misunderstood, and sometimes openly scorned, by those who have no qualms about humans as the vampires' natural food source. From what Edward has read of this vampire's mind, he is one of the latter. He spots the vampire moving closer to the girls, approaching from the opposite direction as the waitress prepares to move through the crowd, and tunes to his thoughts.
Suddenly, a scent sweeter and more delicious than any Edward's ever encountered overwhelms his senses. His eyes dilate to jet-black. Venom pools in his mouth as his throat burns with thirst. His hands grip the rail in front of him, bending the metal as if it were putty. The decision is made without Edward's conscience interfering.
I must have that blood.
Edward gasps, fighting the desire, and realizes the air he breathes, although fetid with the smells of urban nightlife, is clear of the sweet blood that momentarily flooded his senses and clouded his mind. He inhales repeatedly, gulping large breathfuls of temptation-free air. Edward looks down and sees the other vampire, his eyes black with dark desire behind his tinted glasses. It's his thoughts of lust for blood that overwhelms Edward. He stills in horror as he identifies the intended victim. His plans to ignore the other vampire are irrevocably altered.
"Not her."
It's merely a whisper, but to another of his kind, he may as well have shouted. The stranger turns and his eyes alight when he sees Edward. He enjoys a challenge.
"She smells better than any other specimen I've ever found. It's as though she were designed only for me," he counters, his voice too low for human ears.
The nomad inhales another deep breath. It takes every bit of the mental strength Edward's amassed over the decades to avoid experiencing the sweet aroma through his mind once again.
"Does she smell as enticing to you? Perhaps you expect to share? Sorry, I must keep her for myself. I'm a greedy bastard, and she's a small one, but I'm sure one of the other humans will be more to your tastes."
Edward cautiously considers his options. He can see the other vampire wants him to try to take his prey. If so, it will be a fight to the death for her. Conversely, if Edward acquiesces, the girl will surely lose her life. There's no avoiding a fight with the nomad. At this moment, Edward's gift is his greatest weapon, and he must prevent the other vampire from discovering his talent. He watches as the two girls move closer to the stage while the rock chick retreats behind the bar on the opposite side of the room.
Edward chooses to approach the other vampire while the females are all at a safe distance. At least if he's close, he has a better chance of protecting the intended from her fate. He quickly bends the railing back into shape and walks down the stairs at a slow human pace.
"I'm Edward," he states. He confronts the smaller vampire, making sure his posture seems as non-threatening as possible, despite the height differential.
"James."
The other vampire spits out his name as though he were challenging Edward to a duel. If he were a dog, he would've already urinated to claim his territory.
Edward purposely ignores the animosity and forces himself to chuckle. Lying is a skill he has had decades to perfect.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to imply that I want her. I'm not thirsty. I just came for the music. I saw you focus on her and it's easy to see that she'll be missed if she disappears, perhaps a less noticeable target, like him."
Edward points out a man whose thoughts are particularly dark—if there has to be a victim here, at least it won't be an innocent.
James shakes his head. "No, can't you smell how delicious her blood is? It's calling to me. I'm over a hundred years old and she makes me feel like a newborn. It's euphoric."
Edward feigns confusion.
"Really? She smells just like the rest of the humans to me. I didn't know it was possible for some to smell better than others."
James relaxes his tense posture ever so slightly.
"Yes, I've heard rumors of such blood, but I've never experienced it before now. She. Is. Mine." He emphasizes each word just as the band returns to the stage for its second set.
Edward puts up his hands in front of his waist in a surrender motion.
"I'm not the enemy. I do hunt in this area, so I only ask that you be discreet."
He probes James' mind and sees the nomad seems to accept his position.
"I didn't realize this was claimed territory."
"The city's not. I live a few hours from here, in a remote area, but I'm here often for the music . . . and the food."
"You live there? Permanently? Alone?"
Now that the bloodlust has been controlled, Edward's eyes have returned to an unusual shade of dark amber and the lack of red is noticeable to one of his kind. James suspects that Edward is hiding something. He's searching his memories for stories of abnormal vampires. Edward decides to appear as normal in his habits as possible to protect his family.
"Yes, I prefer to be alone. It's far enough away, but I'm careful not to attract the attention of the Italians by being conspicuous in my hunting habits. The disappearance of someone like her would be noticed, but the city has plenty of vagrants who'd never be missed."
James scoffs. "The Volturi? I've heard those onion-skinned relics don't even hunt any more. They have their food brought to them. They don't have a hundredth of the skill I have. Don't worry about attracting attention. I'll be very discreet. No one will ever find her; she'll be one of those that disappear without a trace. Now, if you'll excuse me, Edward, I've got a meal to plan."
James pushes past Edward into the back of the crowd. Edward can see what he has planned. Although James' bloodlust is significant, his desire to hunt and corner his victim—in essence to play with his food—gives him patience. James is no blood-crazed newborn. He's had over a century to fine-tune his tracking skills, and he's using every ounce of the control he's learned in that time. He'll wait until the club empties before following her and capturing her when she's finally alone.
Knowing that vampires are competitive predators who defend their prey if threatened, Edward purposely turns in the opposite direction, his thoughts consumed with ideas of how to prevent James from killing tonight. He navigates through the crowd, his mind completely focused on the other vampire across the room, the intended victim, and how to handle this situation. His gifts give him an advantage in a fight, but perhaps it'd be wise not to be overly confident and ask Carlisle to—
"Ompf! Ouch, you're really hard."
Bella angrily realizes Jessica purposely has led her right into Edward's path. While Jessica's intentions are good, there's no way he'll ever be interested in her. Up close, she can really appreciate his fine features—chiseled jaw and cheekbones, expressive dark eyes, thick reddish-brown hair that looks soft to the touch, a lanky yet muscular frame, but it's his expression that she notices most. The shock on his face would have been comical if she wasn't smarting as though she had just run into a brick wall. Bella steadies herself by placing her hand on his abdomen just as he exhales a breath of surprise, its sweet irresistible fragrance permeating the air surrounding her. Bella breathes in and immediately feels as though she is floating in a hazy, beautiful dream.
She can't stop the overwhelming feeling of giddiness that suddenly saturates her mind. Her normally quiet and serious nature subverts as instincts she's unaware she possesses take over. Acting of its own accord, her hand slides over the smooth silk fabric of his shirt, caressing the hard muscular planes beneath as she babbles nonsense. Despite the heat of the room, Edward's body is as cold as it is unyielding. Regardless, Bella is inexplicably drawn closer to the source of her intoxication. She feels his abdomen draw in a breath and eagerly awaits the accompanying exhale, but the eyes that were filled with surprise a moment before are now full of murderous rage.
In that brief space of time, Edward wonders how it's possible he didn't detect the giggling girl, the same girl whose beguiling eyes he'd noticed earlier, right in front of him. Her face is flushed a lovely shade of pink, the color trailing down her neck to the hint of cleavage peeking from the tight teal satin top, but those thoughts disappear. His other senses shut down simultaneously as the scent overcomes all else. She's talking, flirting even, but her words barely register.
It's much more floral this time. How can it smell even better?
Edward's eyes dilate to pure black and venom floods his mouth as he stills to stone. His throat transforms to a column of flames inside his neck. Every cell and pore of his body is affected by the intoxicating, overpowering fragrance.
Her friend apologizes. "Bella's only had one drink. I don't know why she's acting like this." She shrugs.
Edward ignores her voice. The hypnotic haze of bloodlust is too strong for him to focus on anyone's thoughts.
I have to get out of James' head.
In the space of a second, he swallows the venom down as he inhales a deep desperate breath in order to clear the scent from his thoughts once again. Instead of the relief of cigarette-tainted stale air, the smell of delicious, succulent blood multiplies, worsening the desire to kill. The instinct to crouch and attack dominates his psyche as the long-dormant monster within him roars to the surface. The burn in his desiccated throat multiplies tenfold. He frantically looks beyond the small human in front of him, not trusting his thoughts. James and his intended victim, the waitress Alice, are still a safe distance apart from each other at the other side of the club.
Shit! Why didn't that work this time?
Edward looks down at Bella. Her warm hand still rests on his shirt, dangerously close to where his long-dead heart doesn't beat. Heat seeps through to his cold skin below, but it's nothing compared to the intense dry burn of his throat. It's been less than ten seconds since they'd initially bumped into each other. He attempts to focus on her large brown eyes, trying to recall how they'd captivated him only minutes earlier as his mind works furiously to cope with the onslaught of images of the humans he's killed before. The memories of their thick, hot blood coating his throat, memories he's suppressed for decades, rise to the forefront as the monster threatens to unleash itself.
Everything aches with the desire to take her. Even the muscles in his stomach coil as he peers into her eyes, begging himself to find a sliver of his humanity and restrain the monster. Edward stops breathing entirely, afraid one more dose will send him over the edge. He sees his image in the thoughts of her friend Jessica standing behind her. The look of hatred on his face momentarily stops him from attacking—
No! It can't be.
With horrifying clarity, Edward realizes what's happening. Fate is surely an evil witch, taunting him, the supposed savior of one girl suddenly mutated into the assailant of another.
At the same time, Bella and Jessica back away; their survival instincts repelled by the revolting, inhuman creature he has become even as their conscious minds rationalize his behavior into something less frightening than the truth.
"That was rude."
"Why are the hot ones always such weirdos?"
Edward clenches his fists tightly, willing himself to stay rooted in the spot long enough to quell the urge to step forward, just a few steps, and sink his teeth into the pulse of her neck. Even so, his mind is calculating, plotting, and assessing his plan of attack, as James had been doing moments ago. The collateral damage inside the club would be considerable. She must be lured outside, preferably alone, otherwise her friend will also die. Saving the rock chick waitress, Alice, is no longer a possibility let alone a priority.
Now that she's a few feet away, although there's no such thing as a safe distance, Edward wills himself to look at Bella again. She's small, not much bigger than that waitress. Between her petite stature, the tight clothing that hugs her body, and those ridiculous shoes, she wouldn't be able to escape from a human predator, let alone a supernatural one. She's already forgotten him, dancing right in front of the stage as Jake Black smiles down at her, admiring the way her satin tube top clings to her breasts as they jiggle. Edward's sudden vicious hatred for the singer he'd so recently admired overwhelms him.
How dare he look at her that way!
"Mine."
The low growl resounds through Edward's body before he's able to stop it. The music masks the sound from human ears, but across the room James hears him. He chuckles, calling to Edward at a frequency the humans can't decipher.
"Do remember to be discreet, Edward. Of course, if you need help with your dinner, I'd be more than happy to assist if you'd like to share."
The thin thread of Edward's control unravels further. He growls back.
"No sharing, remember?"
"This one must smell good to you, as good as my little singer does to me, perhaps?"
Singer?
Edward probes the hunter's thoughts and grasps James' meaning, cantante, a Volturi expression for a human whose blood smells irresistible to one particular vampire. Edward shakes his head; there's no need to make the girl's demise into a game of cat and mouse.
"Just an easy mark, and I never share."
Edward's offhanded comment appears genuine, but in truth, it took more effort to sound casual than just about anything he'd ever done. James seems satisfied with his reply.
"Enjoy your meal."
Edward turns his attention to Bella, who's still dancing in front of Jake Black. She glances back at him, but quickly hides behind her veil of long hair. Bella could almost dismiss their strange encounter as a hallucination if it weren't for the fact that every time she glances back, Edward is staring at her. While his eyes no longer hold a murderous glare, he has a wild intensity about him. Despite the feeling of danger he arouses, part of Bella yearns to experience the euphoric rapture she felt in his presence.
What was that? she wonders as she peeks over her shoulder one more time to check if he's watching her. Did he try to drug me? But how? She runs her hands over her bare arms. She would have felt a needle. She glances down, no marks. LSD stickers have to be licked to work; her cop dad told her that. Did he hypnotize me? Maybe that's it. He could be a serial killer—the most handsome serial killer in history. Regardless, a gorgeous psychopath is still a psychopath just like Tony in Looking for Mr. Goodbar. Jessica's right, being in the middle of the crowd in front of the stage is the safest place to be. Bella turns back and makes eye contact with the lead singer, who gives her a flirty smile and a wink. She smiles back.
Edward wages a war within his nature, with the monster in him making plans to get her alone as soon as possible. He can go over to her and apologize for being rude, ask to get her a drink, another insufferable pina colada. Can he manage to hold it together long enough to charm her into leaving the club? But does she find the blues singer attractive? Will she want to leave with him, complicating Edward's plans? He listens but hears nothing. Like a dead station on the FM dial, there's no sound, no thoughts coming from her mind.
What is she thinking?
Edward squints, He's never before had to try to read someone's mind. The thoughts have always simply been there since he'd awoken from the change. Tuning in has never been an issue, tuning out has been the skill he's honed after years of practice. Even then, he's still aware of the thoughts floating in the air like radio waves surrounding him. He listens intently to each person near the brown-haired girl.
Her friend Jessica on her left:
Bella seems to have sobered up now that she's away from that creepy guy. Why was she acting so strangely? She only had half of her drink . . .
Another girl to her right:
Why is the singer paying so much attention to that girl? I was here first, and my boobs are much bigger . . .
The bassist:
E, E.
On and on, he easily tunes in and out each of the people close to her, but the girl herself remains mentally silent. Edward seethes in frustration as he moves slightly closer. His self-imposed rules about staying away from the crowd no longer matter, nothing matters but her. She peeks back at him again and meets his gaze. Her deep eyes widen with . . . what? Fear? Disgust? Edward is completely floundering without the clarity his gift provides. He spends the rest of the hour trying to unravel the secrets of her mind as he keeps a safe distance from her scent.
It's the final song of the set, when Jake Black always invites a select few to join them on stage to sing and dance along. Even if Edward couldn't read the singer's mind, he'd have known Bella would be one of the chosen. Jake reaches down and helps his new favorite fan clamber up the apron of the stage.
Cute . . . I hope she's legal.
Before Edward realizes it, he's exactly where Bella was only moments ago at the front of the crowd, sizing up Black, struggling for control.
Patience. He's merely a human. He may be big, but he's no match for me, and he'll never get any closer to her than he is right now.
Edward glowers as the singer thinks very inappropriate thoughts while belting out the finale as if he's channeling Bruce Springsteen.
"Shake that booty, ladies!" Black calls out. "Lookin' good!"
"Mine," Edward hisses, his voice drowned out by the music for most.
From the depths of the club, he hears James' low chuckle.
"Just an easy kill, huh? Don't do anything that I'd have to report to the Volturi."
Edward runs his hands through his hair, tugging at the ends. His thoughts are a confusion of anger and frustration—at Jake, at James, at this small fragile human currently shaking her booty and giggling as the lead singer ogles her, and at himself for being here in the first place. He should have stayed home and watched The Waltons with Emmett after all.
Cold One.
The words are thought, not spoken, but the thoughts are surrounded by malice and images of vampires being ripped apart by a giant black dog. It's enough to temporarily bring Edward out of his state of catatonic bloodlust to focus on the trombonist, a large man with the same dark hair, tanned skin, and facial features as the rest of the band, but slightly older in appearance. He returns Edward's stare with a look of pure hatred.
That's right, bloodsucker. You try anything and you'll get what's coming to your kind.
As far as Edward can tell, the man doesn't know about Edward's gift; he's simply reacting to their eye contact. Edward takes a tentative breath. He can still smell the fragrant sweetness of his prey, but it's dwarfed by a heavy musky odor. An image of Edward as a human boy springs to his mind. His mother scolds him as a shaggy golden retriever drips water all over the Persian rug in their entrance hall.
Wet dog! It smells like wet dog . . . Are you fucking kidding me? What else can go wrong tonight?
More memories flood Edward's mind—memories of a treaty agreed upon long ago with a tribe of shape-shifters, people who could transform into wolves, the Quileute.
A plan quickly forms. This could work to his advantage. If he sics the dog on James, he can save Alice, the rock chick, and simultaneously have his prey all to himself. Yes, it's hypocritical, but he isn't a sadist like the nomad. He'll make sure it's as painless as possible.
The hardest part will be to convince the wolf that he isn't a danger to anyone, so he can escape with the girl. Killing her here is too dangerous. Edward sees his image in a half dozen minds: jet black eyes; a fixed scowl; hair sticking up like a mad scientist; tense, coiled muscles. He looks like an escapee from a mental hospital for the criminally insane. No sworn enemy of his kind would currently believe he's a member of the harmless Cullen family.
Edward runs his hand through his hair in an attempt to tame it. He doesn't trust himself to breathe, which makes it difficult to relax. Vampires don't need to breathe, but some habits from their human life remain. Instead, Edward focuses on relaxing his muscles and re-shaping his expression. His eyes are too dark, but that can't be helped.
He can't look at Bella dancing on stage. He needs to block out the images others have of Bella's shapely curves, or else he'll lose control and kill every male in the room as well as a few females.
Mercifully, the song ends with a "Good night, Seattle!" As usual, the band lingers on stage to chat with fans.
Once he's composed himself as much as possible, Edward decides it's time to introduce himself to the trombonist. He walks to the side where the tall, thickly muscled man packs his instrument into a case. Edward assembles his features into as friendly an expression as he can muster given that the world's most succulent human is only twenty feet away. Thankfully, the close proximity of a werewolf means the smell of wet dog mostly masks her delectable aroma.
"Hey, man, great set."
The trombonist warily sizes him up, but before he can reply, Edward continues to speak.
"You know, I think we might know each other. I'm Edward Cullen. My family has been in Forks for a very long time. You're a member of the Quileute tribe, aren't you?"
The man nods slightly, wondering what this Cold One is doing. While he's seen Carlisle at the hospital, and knows there are more coven members, he has never encountered any of them. Edward seizes the moment.
"I bet you'd love to have a Cold One right now. Why don't you walk over to the bar and get one? Your favorite kind is there, I'm sure."
"You want me to . . . have a Cold One?"
The shock and confusion in the mind of the wolf would be comical in any other situation.
Can vampires have mental problems? he silently wonders.
"Yes, at the bar. I'm sure you know of Ephraim. This is exactly the type of 'Cold One' he preferred. I have a feeling you have the same tastes. I didn't catch your name."
"You knew Ephraim?"
A childhood memory of a wizened elder fills the trombonist's mind.
"Yes, personally," Edward emphasizes.
"Why are you here tonight? It's a long drive from Forks."
"Actually, I'm here quite often. I love music, especially the blues. I've seen you play live several times, but usually, I stay upstairs. I thought I'd check out the show from a different perspective tonight."
"Are you thirsty?" Sam mentally dismisses the comment about music. He only sees vampires as blood-thirsty demons incapable of any shred of human behavior.
The question couldn't be any more direct.
"I don't plan on drinking here. I'm on a special diet, you know."
Technically, it isn't a lie yet. It seems to placate the trombonist.
"Sam Uley."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sam. Would you like to check out the bar?"
"Sure, but first, I'd like to introduce you to the rest of my pack. Paul, Jared, Embry!"
Too late, Edward sees the images in Sam's mind of the bassist, drummer, and saxophonist morphing into giant dogs.
Christ almighty, he literally means a pack.
The three approach, each eyeing the vampire incredulously.
Is that an actual leech?
I thought I smelled something weird earlier, like moldy flowers.
"What's this tick doing here, Sam?" the one called Paul asks aloud.
Edward hastily intervenes before they express their thoughts in words and alert James to his treachery.
"I'm Edward Cullen, from Forks. Since the Cullen family and the Quileutes have such a long history, I thought I'd say hello and let you know that there's a Cold One for you at the bar."
Edward glances over at Sam, willing him to understand the need to keep silent, as the cacophony in their thoughts assaults his mind.
What the . . . Is this bloodsucker for real?
Shit, Cullen as in the Cullen Treaty?
"QUIET! Don't say anything."
He listens, as Sam, the Alpha werewolf, quickly brings the others under his control. Sam's thoughts dwell on the lead singer and the rhythm guitarist.
"How are Jake and Quil?"
"Jake played a great set, even though he's still got the fever. He was complaining about a headache during the break. Quil seems fine, still no symptoms."
"It'll happen soon for Jake. We may only have a few hours left. Make sure Quil understands Jake can't be a Casanova tonight. We might need to isolate him soon."
Edward listens to their conversation with a mixture of horror, awe, and relief. He hastily assesses the vitals of the band members in front of him. They're all much hotter than an average human. If he had to guess, he'd say at least 107 F—a fever that would incapacitate a normal adult.
Their thoughts linger on their own initial transformations, how little control they have as their bodies changed into wolf form, and the dangers of the innocent getting too close. Images of a woman with a heavily scarred face cloud each of their thoughts. Edward silently panics at the thought of Bella being hurt like that.
No! I need to get her away now. I can't let him hurt her. She's meant for me.
"Something wrong, Cullen?"
Edward looks back at Sam and sees a desperate, dangerous vampire reflected in his thoughts. He struggles to control the panic rising to the surface and attempts a wry smile.
"You mentioned your lead singer is a bit . . . feverish. I don't think you'd want him to get sick here."
Sam nods, accepting the vampire's understanding of their cryptic conversation.
"He's fine for at least a few hours. Let's get that Cold One. Why don't you come with us."
Reluctantly, Edward walks across the club with the four large band members at a short distance behind him. He stops at the corner of the bar. It's close enough to where James is lurking, watching Alice, that they can see and smell for themselves.
"You were right, Cullen. They do have our favorite kind here. Thanks for the tip. We'll get our own. I wouldn't want to put you out."
"One more thing, keep a close eye on her or she could leave with your Cold One."
Edward nods toward the rock chick, hoping Sam will understand she is James' intended victim. Sam nods and directs his pack to flank and surround the nomad from a safe distance. They can't do much more than watch while they're in a crowd of ordinary humans, but it's more than Edward is capable of at the moment. Edward takes a tentative breath. His own singer is far enough away that he can breathe almost normally. Reason begins to return to his addled brain.
I need to find the strength to spare the human girl. She's an innocent. I owe it to my family and to her to let her go, but I don't have the strength to walk away and leave her here .
"Hey, doll, rough night?"
Alice sidles up to him, her ubiquitous tray at her side.
"You said it." Edward rubs his temples as erratic images float through his mind. Bella, running at vampire speed; Alice's eyes changing from blue to red to amber; Edward and Bella . . . kissing?
"What are you thinking?" He gasps.
She smiles impishly.
"Me? I get all sorts of ideas running through my brain. Like, I think you should ask that girl out, Edward. I know you've been watching her all night, so don't pretend you don't know who I mean. I think you'd look good together."
"She seems to be busy."
Edward watches as Jake Black plays the 'look how big my hand is next to your hand' game in some thinly veiled attempt to get Bella to think about the size of another part of his anatomy. Pathetic.
Where is the boy who's supposed to get him away from her?
"I don't think he's her type," she replies.
"Well, I'm certainly not."
Edward chuckles dryly. From across the room, Edward can clearly hear their conversation.
"You and Jessica should come backstage and hang out with the band. It's really cool, there's free food and drinks. We can party. Mike likes your friend."
Bella glances around the room, but doesn't see Edward. She had gotten more than a little spooked when he stood right in front of the stage as she'd danced during the final number. He hadn't even looked at her, but seethed in anger over . . . everyone else? She'd been all too happy to stay with Jake after the show ended.
He's sweet and sort of beautiful, but most importantly, I feel safe with him.
His natural warmth puts her at ease. Still, she hopes Edward has left so she and Jessica can just go home. She looks over to where Jessica and Mike, the band's piano player, are currently talking. Mike leans in and gives Jessica a passionate kiss. She sighs, knowing how hard her friend has already fallen, and turns back to Jake.
"Sure, that sounds like fun."
An image of Bella cold, unmoving, and drained of blood flashes through Alice's head before Bella morphs into Alice and then the vision disappears entirely.
"Are you all right?" Edward asks.
Alice shakes her head, purposely filling her thoughts with images of the Village People dancing.
"Yeah, it's fine. You should talk to her. I think it'd be bad if you didn't."
"Bad?"
"Yeah, bad." She doesn't offer a further explanation but finishes restocking her tray and sets out to deliver the drinks.
"Last call! Last call before closing!"
Alice will be safe while the humans crowd around her for their last chance to slosh themselves full of alcohol. It's time to admit I need help.
Edward crosses the dance floor in front of the stage and walks at human speed down the deserted hall leading to the restrooms. The old rotary payphone sits at the end. He fishes his pockets for the correct change, dials the number faster than a human ever could, and waits anxiously. It rings twice before, thankfully, Emmett answers.
"Emmett! I need you to meet me in Seattle right away," Edward hisses into the pay phone receiver.
"Kate Jackson is on Johnny Carson tonight," Emmett whines. "I've been waiting for this for months."
Edward rolls his eyes, Emmett and his ridiculous Charlie's Angels obsession.
"Record it on the Betamax. I've got a serious problem."
"What'chu talkin' bout, Will━"
"Emmett, I don't have time for your TV catchphrases!"
"Sit on it, Edward."
"Fine," Edward swallows down the thick coating of venom in his mouth and spits out the words between his clenched jaws. "Will a potential death match between me, a crazy nomad, and a bunch of angry werewolves get you out of the house?"
"Whose side are you on?" Emmett's voice finally loses the teasing tone as he grasps the danger Edward's facing.
"Neither of theirs. It's just me. I need to get out of, but I—I'm really fucked up, Emmett. Please, don't tell the others. I can't face them right now."
The memory of Carlisle's face, compassionate and patient, floods Edward's thoughts. He hadn't deserved such love when he'd returned from his killing spree decades ago, yet Carlisle didn't hesitate to absolve his undeserving prodigal son. Edward had spent the last fifty years trying to make up for his behavior.
"Oh shit, id-day ou-yay ill-kay a uman-hay?" Emmett lowers his voice to the barest of whispers.
Edward lets out a huff of exasperation and spills his thoughts. "No. I don't want to. There's a girl, she smells so good, she smells better than everyone else, I barely stopped myself."
"Ooh, I know what that's like. It didn't end well for the human."
"Emmett, I can't hear her thoughts."
"What? Like not at all?"
"No, it's like she's on FM and I'm only getting AM."
"Freaky, dude. Where are you?"
"The Hotel California in Pioneer Square."
"Seriously? As in 'You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave?' I guess that's appropriate."
"It's a nightclub, Emmett."
"I'm on my way. Can you keep it together?"
"Just hurry."
Edward hangs up and heads back toward the main part of the nightclub to search for Bella. Instead, he comes face to face with James at the hall entrance.
"What are you up to?"
Suspicion seeps through the nomad's thoughts.
"I already told you, I'm not interested in your dinner."
"Don't patronize me. I saw you talking to those . . . What are they? I know they're not normal humans; they smell wrong. Suddenly, there's one everywhere I turn. You're setting me up."
"You've got it all wrong. We're the same kind. Why would I do that?"
"Are we the same? There's something . . . odd about you. What are you hiding?"
James' thoughts are screaming accusations. He's convinced Edward wants both Alice and Bella for himself, perhaps one to feed and the other to change and keep.
Out of the corner of his eye, Edward sees Sam coming closer, watching the stand-off. Edward attempts to soothe James' temper, but with Sam now close enough to hear every word he'll know Edward's on the verge of completely losing control of the situation.
"Look, I told you, they all smell the same to me. I just talked to the band about music and offered to buy them a drink. I really have no interest in your prey, and I'm already too far away from my own."
"Bullshit. I should rip your head off right now."
James' thoughts match his words; therefore, Edward knows it's too late to try to convince him otherwise. He pushes his way past as James attempts to grab Edward's arm from behind. Edward swiftly moves aside. James growls and immediately lunges out again. Edward deflects as he turns to face the nomad and lowers into a defensive crouch.
"I knew it! You are gifted. What is it?"
James internally sorts through a variety of talents. No longer caring, Edward confronts James' accusations.
"Not quite, but you're getting warmer."
"Mind reader."
Edward smirks, but falters when James fills his mind with images of draining Bella while a limbless Edward watches, before being decapitated and burned.
"Your gift's not always an advantage, is it? You interfere with my hunt, and I'll return the favor. I know you want that girl—her blood sings to you, doesn't it?"
James cocks his head and studies Edward as his thoughts turn even darker.
"Or perhaps you're one of those freaks who likes to do more with humans? Is that it? Do you want to fuck her while you drain her? You do, don't you?"
Visions of Bella and Edward being intimate flood James' mind: Edward's hand palming her bare breast, his thumb and forefinger rolling her nipple between them as she gasps and moans . . . Edward pinning her naked against a wall as she hitches her leg around his bare thigh and he plunges into her with a hard, relentless rhythm . . . Bella screaming in pleasure as her walls clamp down around Edward's cock . . .
Edward feels an unfamiliar stirring in the pit of his stomach that spreads lower.
Is that what this is? he wonders, simultaneously reviled and enthralled by the idea he may finally be attracted to someone for more than merely blood. But does the fact that he craves both prove he is truly a freak among the freaks?
Suddenly, Bella's moans of ecstasy warp to screams of pain as the Edward of James' mind bites her. Long ago, Edward had once fed on the basest of humans, those whose thoughts and actions revolved around vile acts of depravity, but Edward had never seen visions as heinous as those James creates of Edward and Bella, mixing the desires of the monster and the man. Yet, he realizes James isn't far from the awful truth. Edward wants her blood, but he wants Bella for more than just that. He wants her in every way possible. Regardless, he'd never be capable of the repulsive actions James imagines.
"No!" Edward lunges for James, his unleashed rage blinding his reason, but he finds his path blocked by all four members of the Quileute pack. Edward quickly discovers that, while they may be in human form, they still possess enough supernatural strength to hold him back effectively.
"Not here, you idiot," Sam warns between gritted teeth as he pushes Edward back against a wall, creating an indentation in the plaster.
James uses the distraction to retreat across the club, his thoughts returning to hunting the waitress.
"Let me go! We've got to stop him!" Edward howls with rage just as the house lights come on.
"Paul! Jared! Follow the other Cold One's scent, but don't change shape unless you're sure no one will see you. Embry, stay with me."
Sam turns back to Edward. "As far as I'm concerned, there are about to be two dead bloodsuckers. Give me a reason not to kill you right now!"
"Hey! Take this outside! Club's closing! Let's go! Everybody out!"
A bouncer calls over and points them toward the exit. Sam grins, eager for the opportunity to get outdoors and find a place to transform into wolf form.
"My pleasure. Embry, grab his other arm and we'll escort this precious Cullen outside."
They each keep an iron grip on Edward as they exit through a side door into a deserted alley behind the building. Edward is again pinned against a wall. Sam nods to Embry, the air around him shimmers and in a flash a large gray spotted wolf stands in his place.
"You've got it all wrong."
Do I, mind reader? Sam thinks, rather than speaks.
"Yes! I swear! I only wanted James to think I hunted humans because I could see how dangerous he was. He's going to kill that waitress and then go after . . ."
Edward pauses, ashamed and confused by the feelings James exposed.
"He's planning to go after the girl Jacob Black has backstage right now."
"You mean the girl you want to kill? He's going after her because he knows you want to suck all the blood out of her until her heart stops. Don't lie to me, leech."
Sam practically snarls as he holds Edward by the throat. Embry growls menacingly from just behind Sam's shoulder. Edward tries to keep his voice low and not agitate him further, but he's teetering on the edge of sanity and can barely contain his emotions.
"Look at my eyes—they're not red. I don't drink from humans."
"I don't care about anything before tonight, Cullen! Don't deny it. No matter how civilized you may appear, you're always a threat. But have no doubt, we will tear both of you apart and burn the pieces before either of you harms those women."
Edward weighs his odds of successfully fighting his way out of this. It's two against one, and even with his supernatural gift, he would have a disadvantage. He pounds his head back against the wall in frustration, leaving an oval imprint in the brick.
"She's safer with me than she is with that puppy. He could do a lot worse than scar her face—he could kill her if he transforms in front of her. Do you even know how close he is to changing?"
Too late, Edward sees the truth, that it was Sam who'd hurt his own fiancé when she was too close to him during a transformation. Sam's body quivers as the air around him shimmers. In seconds, a giant black wolf snaps its fangs dangerously close to Edward's jaw. Knowing he's dead if he doesn't try to escape, Edward uses all his strength and shoves Sam back into Embry as he leaps away from the wall. The wolves swiftly recover and chase after Edward who leaps straight to the roof and begins running. The wolves clamber onto a dumpster, then jump a short distance to a fire escape above. While a normal wolf wouldn't have been able to climb the rungs of the fire escape, the shape-shifters have no problem, reach the roof, and begin to close the distance.
I need to get to Bella.
Edward can think of nothing else as he runs across the roof. He leaps down five stories to the deserted alley below, the loud thud sounding like the rumble of an approaching storm. He doubles back to the building while searching through the minds of the remaining humans inside. Locking in on Jacob Black's thoughts, Edward bolts at vampire speed to the rear entrance to the club.
Bella sighs. When they'd first gotten backstage, Jessica and Mike had immediately closed themselves into a small dressing room. Even if she couldn't hear anything over the loud music blasting out from the Hi-Fi system, it didn't take much imagination to know what was happening.
I wouldn't be in this situation if I had just insisted we go home.
She had pictured a lively backstage scene, crowded with the band's friends and fans, but it's empty, not even the other band members are there. Yet, despite being alone with Jake, it isn't awkward. Jake's surprisingly easy to talk to and keeps her laughing. A few minutes later, one of Jake's bandmates, Quil—Like a pen? That's a weird name.—walks in and sits right next to Jake as though he's determined to be the third wheel. The conversation starts to go in circles and it's suddenly not fun at all. Bella gets up and walks over to grab a soda while Quil tells Jake for the third time in ten minutes that they need to make sure it's an early night.
"Quil, man, why are you fucking around?" The loud music muffles Jake's voice, but it's easy enough to read his lips from where Bella stands at the table looking over the selection of pizza, junk food, and drinks. She leans over and grabs a can of soda just as the door to the dressing room opens. Jessica sticks her head out, looks around, and calls Bella over.
"Bella, how's it going with Jake?" she whispers.
"Not as well as it's going for you," Bella responds.
Jess giggles, then whispers, "I have so much to tell you."
She looks around Bella at Jake and Quil who are at the point where their voices are loud enough to be heard over the music. Jake's easy demeanor is gone.
"I'm sick of everyone following me around like puppies! I don't need a fucking chaperone! I know Sam told you to watch me. What do you think I'm going to do . . . run off to Vegas with a chick I just met?"
"You're sick. You're burning up and you need to go home. Sam will be here any minute," Quil counters.
Bella turns to Jessica. "I'll wait in the hall, just come out when you're ready."
Jessica's face doesn't hide her disappointment. "Sorry, I thought we'd both get a guy tonight. You've had the worst luck—first the hot psycho, and now, a hot fever."
Bella nods and quietly exits to the hall. Quil and Jake are too wrapped up in their argument to notice, which is just as well.
Edward wrenches the steel door off its hinges, turns and launches it into the air like a supersonic frisbee. It slams into the black wolf, knocking him off his feet and pushing him backward. In turn, he slams into the gray-spotted wolf, the momentum carrying them back the length of several football fields. It won't stop them, but it's enough to give Edward a lead. He leaps forward into the deserted hall . . . except it's not completely deserted. He stops breathing. There's the girl with the silent mind, standing alone at the other end where the hallway intersects with another. Her eyes are wide, like saucers. She's seen everything he's just done.
"Bella," Edward pleads. Saying her name aloud is like a prayer, an invocation. "Don't run, please, just stay very still."
Edward loathes himself even more for the necessity of stating those words. As much as he wants to be her newfound protector, if she runs, he will need to resist his own urges to chase, his instincts scream to hunt her as prey. She hasn't moved, frozen with . . . fear, shock, disgust . . . or perhaps something else? He can't be sure without the extra abilities of his gift. She knows he is something beyond an ordinary human. Her heart pounds, but the rate isn't dangerously high.
"I don't understand." Bella shuffles, unsure if she should go back into the room behind her. "What are you?"
Edward doesn't answer. He's lied so many times. He knows what he should say, but he can't bring himself to lie to her, and so he says nothing.
"Won't you tell me? You took that door off like Superman."
A mirthless laugh escapes from Edward's lips.
"I'm no superhero."
"So, are you the villain, then?"
"I won't hurt you." Edward emphasizes the words, determined to make them the truth. He needs to breathe to keep talking, so he cautiously inhales. Even from across the hall, her scent scorches his throat, like a thousand fiery knives puncturing him from the inside out. He gives himself a moment.
Perhaps it's better to acclimate to her scent. If I want to protect her, I need to stay close.
"I'm trying to keep you safe. It's not a good idea to be near Jacob Black tonight."
"He's dangerous?" Bella looks at him incredulously.
"Yes."
Edward can clearly hear Jake arguing with someone in the room behind her, but her human ears must be too weak to hear it over the music. Edward can see Jake cranking the volume even louder. Bella continues, unaware of what's transpiring backstage.
"This isn't about him, though. You've been following me all night, looking at me like you hate me one minute, then acting as though you hate anyone who gets near me the next. Aren't you the dangerous one?"
"I am, but I don't hate you. I want . . ."
"What?"
"I . . . You overwhelm me, and no one has ever had this effect on me."
Bella shakes her head, not believing this strange, beautiful man could possibly feel the way she had felt when she had been close to him earlier.
"Speaking of overwhelmed . . . what did you do to me before? Did you hypnotize me, drug me, what was that?"
Edward frowns, puzzled. "I don't know what you mean?"
"When we bumped into each other, what did you do to me to make me react that way? It was like I was drunk, but I know I wasn't," Bella replies impatiently.
"Oh . . ." Edward pauses, recalling the moment.
She had been intoxicated by his scent. He's built to attract prey; an overpowering fragrance is one of many snares his kind can employ. At the time, he could think of nothing but the siren call of her blood and its effect on him, but now he remembers her hands tracing the lines of his abdomen through the soft silk shirt, fingers leaving a trail of heat along his skin. Her eyes had looked up at him, reckless with desire.
The memory stirs long buried human reactions in his own body. He inhales again and is surprised to find the burn of his throat has less of a hold on him. He wants nothing more than to feel the heat of her hands on his body again. He takes a few tentative steps forward, slowly, letting her see his intention. Bella's heart speeds up, but she doesn't outwardly react.
Edward! Hold on! his brother's mental voice calls out to him, stopping him from moving toward Bella.
He's close, Rosalie, Esme, and Carlisle are with him, their thoughts a jumble of apprehension and confusion. They've heard the clamor of the door hitting the wolves, and even if they aren't able to see what happened, they can guess an approximation of the events.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, his eyes not leaving Bella, knowing the apology will be heard by both her and his family. "This is complicated."
Before he can close the short space between them, three things occur at the same moment.
The door behind Bella opens and her friend walks out, head down, eyes focused on the contents of the small purse hanging from her shoulder.
"Bella, I just need to find my keys . . ."
Rosalie bursts through the hole where the door was and immediately positions herself between Edward and Bella. Her nostrils flare as Bella's fragrant blood reaches her.
She does smell good.
Outside, the returning wolves come face to face with Carlisle and Emmett who are blocking them from the entrance where Edward still stands. Carlisle extends both of his hands in a stop gesture.
"We wish to settle this peacefully. Please, will you agree to talk?"
Edward's vampiric mind easily processes everything that's occurring, yet he remains unnaturally still. For the first time in a very long time, he doesn't know what to do. The right thing is to let her leave, get as far away from him as possible, but that's not what he wants. Edward prides himself on always being correct, on never wavering in his choice to follow Carlisle's path, but it's no longer as simple as just wanting her blood. He watches Bella as she eyes Rosalie standing between them. What is she thinking?
Bella hasn't blinked; she's sure of it, yet suddenly this blonde bombshell has materialized between her and Edward. Is she his girlfriend? Gorgeous people tend to stick together; it would make sense.
A second later, Bella notices Jess emerging from the room behind rummaging for her car keys, completely oblivious to the two extraordinarily beautiful people standing across the hall.
"Got them!" Jess grabs Bella by the hand and begins to walk to the right. Bella hesitates, but Rosalie looks directly at her and nods to her, mouthing the word "go."
Bella nods in return, already intimidated by the imposing, impossibly beautiful woman. She casts one more glance upon Edward, still wondering at the connection between him and the blonde, before allowing Jessica to pull her out of sight.
Edward closes his eyes, listening to her retreating footsteps as they walk to another door and exit. He wants nothing more than to follow. He opens them again and focuses on his sister. He can see Rosalie's thoughts flowing like a river—she's determined to protect the family, and while there is real sentiment there, Rosalie is mostly motivated by a desire not to move away from Forks, where the constant cloud cover allows for a semblance of a normal human life, even if they will never again be humans.
Typical Rosalie, even when she's trying to be unselfish, there's usually an angle where her actions ultimately favor her, he reflects, but aloud he says, "Emmett was supposed to come alone."
"Edward, family sticks together." Rosalie's voice is softer than usual. "Did you really think we would ignore Emmett's conversation with you? Pig Latin isn't much of a secret language."
Edward runs his right hand through his hand and looks down. "I am sorry. I've behaved reprehensibly."
An apology, that's a first, Rosalie thinks before stating, "No, you haven't. You showed more restraint than most could in your situation, but we're not out of this yet. We need to ensure the treaty is still in place."
Edward wonders if Rosalie would be so generous with her forgiveness if she knew that Bella had seen him forcibly remove the door and toss it at the wolves. He sighs, knowing it's time to face the music, or in this case the musicians.
They join their family just outside the door where the standoff continues. The wolves pace a few yards away. Carlisle looks at Edward with a mixture of sympathy and pride. Edward frowns, not feeling as though he's worthy of Carlisle's paternal affections in this particular situation. Carlisle silently asks if the human girl was able to leave unharmed. Edward nods ever so slightly. Carlisle again mentally offers his praise before addressing the wolves.
"The human girl is gone. No rules were broken, and this is neutral territory. I ask that you transform back, and we can discuss this further. "
"He's a nomad. I've never seen him before tonight," Edward replies to the questions Sam thinks.
No sooner are the words spoken than screams pierce the superhuman hearing of both the wolves and vampires. The wolves immediately race into the building with the vampires close behind.
This was too easy. James can't help but feel a bit of disappointment as he approaches the waitress, her succulent scent permeating the air.
She's at the bar, unaware of his presence as he closes the space between them at human speed. It's silent in the large room. No other humans remain and only a single row of lights illuminate the path from the bar to the exit.
He breathes deep, savoring her sweet mouth-watering aroma. The pretty boy, mind reader Edward underestimated his skills, just like so many others have. As if those two boys would be enough to stop a seasoned tracker. James is still unsure exactly what they are, but they aren't ordinary humans. They are supernaturally strong; however, they aren't gifted. It's been child's play to outwit them.
What so many fail to understand is that a tracker's skills aren't limited to finding others; they include evading those who would interfere with the hunt. They are probably still standing at the end of the pier three blocks away, where he'd jumped into the water before circling back to the club.
The waitress turns. Strangely, she doesn't seem surprised, or even frightened. He realizes her eyes are unfocused, as though she's blind. James cocks his head to the side as he studies her. So many odd creatures in one place tonight. No matter, this one will not live more than a few more moments.
Alice's mind flits from one scene to the next—some she's seen before—Edward in a tree, laughing as he looks down at her and Bella, nearby a shadowy figure reaching forward, his hand covered in scars. A new image, the same hand, and now the arm, also heavily scarred. They're teeth marks. She can see each bite clearly. There's a silvery shimmer to them. She looks up and into the amber eyes of a man with leonine golden hair . . .
My love . . .
The image swirls, same man but with red eyes, a rainy day, a diner.
I've been waiting for you . . .
The image morphs again . . .
Red eyes, but a different face: cold, hard, hungry. The image fades, but the face remains as the gap between the future and now dwindles to nothing. Time has run out. He's staring at her, his head tilted as though she were a sculpture in a museum, and he wants a better look. She vaguely recalls seeing him walking around the club. He didn't buy anything, but he was never far away. She tilts her head in a mirror reflection of his. She thinks about running, but then she only sees herself as dead, lifeless, cold. Instead, she stays still, and the visions repeat.
"It's time," she says, her voice even and low.
The hunter tilts his head to the opposite side as he observes her.
"It is."
"Why?"
"Why you?" He inhales again. "Nothing personal, you just smell so good and I'm hungry."
James drops into a crouch, and she still doesn't flinch. He'd prefer she ran but no matter, it'd be no more than an extra few seconds.
"No, why are your clothes wet?" she asks, bargaining for just a few more moments.
James straightens, surprised, and looks down.
"I went for a swim," he explains. "Your friend tried to protect you, but he failed."
"Did he?" Alice asks.
James laughs. "Well, I'm here and he's not." He crouches again.
"This will hurt," he assures her, with the slightest hope she'll panic and run.
"Yes, it will," she answers, readying herself for the inevitable.
He smiles widely, showing his shining teeth. Alice raises her arm, shielding her neck, just as he launches himself, a growl reverberating through the empty space. His teeth sink into her flesh, allowing a trickle of the sweetest most succulent blood to cascade over his tongue. More! James thinks with satisfaction as he swallows. Before he can lap any more, the searing pain of his arm ripping away from his shoulder ricochets through his body.
He's picked up and thrown like a rag doll, landing face down on the floor across from the bar. He screams in frustration and disbelief as he tries to stand, but he's held down by something hot and heavy. He struggles as a loud growl erupts near his ear—the last sound he hears before the face of a large silver wolf appears over him. Its sharp jaws close around James' head, wrenching it from his body.
The wolf closest to Alice shudders and transforms back into a human.
"Alice, shit! Paul, he bit her, what do we do?" Jared bends down to where Alice is lying on the floor curled up in a ball as she cradles her right arm.
The burning trail of venom is already coursing through Alice's veins. She swallows back a sob as she focuses on the familiar face of the Black and Blue band's bass player in front of her.
"Jared?"
"Yeah, Alice, you'll be okay, don't worry. We almost didn't make it, but we're here. That fucker thought he could shake us, but we knew he'd come back here. He can't hurt you anymore. Paul made sure of that. He's in like six pieces. We'll take him out back and burn him, and that will be the end of it forever."
"Jared? Are━Are you . . ."
"I know you're scared. It's okay. We're not werewolves, we're shape-shifters. It's not the same thing, and we'd never intentionally hurt a human. We hunt vampires. That's what that piece of shit was."
Alice winces as the pain climbs from her arm into her shoulder. She takes shallow breaths as she struggles to speak.
"Okay. But I meant, are you naked?"
"Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry, just don't look, okay?"
Paul transforms back to human form and begins gathering the pieces of the dismembered vampire.
"Sam knows," he announces. "He said to take care of this tick on our own. He and Embry are . . . busy."
Alice moans in pain. Jared looks pointedly at Paul, motioning to Alice with his eyes.
"And?" he asks.
Paul shrugs. He and Jared both know it's too late. She's been bitten; there's no stopping it. The merciful thing to do is just kill her now, but she's technically still human. Plus, she always gave them free beers, even though Paul's still underage. Killing her just doesn't seem right.
"Paul? I need—" Alice gasps his name as the pain threatens to overwhelm her. Her eyes are screwed shut as she tries to tell them what she knows.
"What do you need, Alice?"
"Go. I'll be fine. They'll take care of me."
"Who?"
"My family. They're here."
"Family? I thought her family lived out of state?" Jared whispers to Paul.
Alice opens her eyes.
"The Cullens. I'm a Cullen now," she exclaims, just as the burning venom reaches her chest and she begins to scream.
Two months later
"I prefer Italian Vogue to the others—the fashions are the most cutting edge. In two years, this is what everyone will be wearing."
"Shoulder pads, really?" Esme says. "I haven't had a dress with shoulder pads since World War II ended. Good morning, Edward."
Edward's mouth raises into a lopsided grin. He wasn't at all surprised when Alice, his newest sister, woke up from her transformation with the gift of precognition. Alice's memories of him finally made sense. He walks across the living room to where Esme and Alice are poring over the latest fashion magazines and plants a kiss on Esme's cheek.
"Good morning, Mom."
"I thought you were hunting with Carlisle this morning?" Esme looks up from where she and Alice are sitting. They're together constantly since Esme is overseeing Alice's transition from bloodthirsty newborn to vegetarian vampire.
"We left early. He wanted to be at the hospital in time to meet the new chief of police. He's stopping by there today."
"Oh, yes, Chief Swan? Has his daughter started school yet?" Esme beams.
"Today is her first day. I really don't know if this is a good idea, Esme," Edward cautions, trying to dampen his mother's enthusiasm.
"You'll be fine, Edward. I've seen it," Alice interjects, still as confident in herself as she was when she was human.
"Alice, I'm still unsure how much of this was your vision and how much was manipulation. I find it more than a bit odd that the previous chief suddenly retires and Bella Swan's father, who lives in Seattle, happens to get the job."
Alice's newborn red eyes twinkle as she and Esme exchange a secretive look.
"Does it really matter how the town council got his resume? They requested the interview, he accepted their offer, and now he and his family are here." Alice smiles sweetly.
"Dude, you're creeping around her bedroom every night, you'll be fine," Emmett declares. as he and Rose join the others in the living room.
"I don't creep around. I'm adapting to her scent," Edward retorts, trying to justify his need to visit Bella and watch over her as she sleeps.
He follows her during the day as well, on the premise that he needs to make sure she doesn't tell anyone what she saw in the hallway that night. Most humans would tell a confidant, but as far as he knows, she hasn't told a soul.
"It's creepy, period. It's also stupid—you're putting all of us at risk because a newborn had a vision that you and this human girl are destined for each other." Rose huffs.
"Alice hasn't been wrong yet. I made a fortune betting on the Superbowl yesterday," Emmett counters.
"It was the Steelers' fourth win in five years; it wasn't that hard to predict," Rose replies. "Carlisle never should have taken the bet."
"Sorry about that Esme. I was experimenting with how to predict events that have no direct connection to us. I can't see humans very well, but I can see Emmett, so I had him decide to bet on each team and then I could predict the winner."
"No worries, dear. I'm sure there will be ample opportunities in the future to make it back. Besides, that's what he gets for gambling with Emmett."
Edward smirks.
As soon as Alice woke from her transformation, she captivated everyone, except Rose, who is used to being the center of attention in the family. Though she'll never admit it, she's a tad jealous. A combination of Alice's innate upbeat personality and the fact that her abilities mean they won't need to move to a remote location while she gains control of her thirst is slowly wearing down Rose's defenses. Alice shoots a glance at Edward.
Two more months, she thinks, meaning that Rose will thaw by then.
"I think Rose should drive her M1 today," she says aloud, giving Edward a mischievous look, adding, "And Edward should take his Volvo."
Alice has already developed a knack for giving Rose news she will like, such as driving her ostentatious BMW to outweigh news she won't like, such as Edward driving Bella home.
Edward watches as Alice envisions him driving Bella home, the two sitting close together in his car, his hand gently caressing her face. The image spins and swirls, Bella in a blue dress, Edward in a powder blue tux and ruffled shirt. Edward grimaces and the tux changes to a more classic black. They dance, his hands encircling her waist, her arms stretched up to reach his shoulders. He leans down and kisses her neck? Edward nearly gasps. The images continue faster and faster, Bella and Edward talking, laughing, and kissing.
See, you will be fine, Alice thinks. You're stronger than you think.
A few hours later, Edward moves his books into a pile to make room for the girl who's just walked into biology class. She makes her way to his table, the air vent blowing her succulent scent toward Edward, who watches her walk with her eyes cast downward. Finally, she sits down and stares at him, recognition dawning on her face. Edward arranges his own face into its most gentle expression, a closed half smile tugs at one corner of his mouth as he speaks.
"Hello. My name is Edward Cullen. You must be Bella Swan."