It was all so childish.

Why did Edward need to leave so that Jacob could come over? Weren't they past this kind of immaturity?

"It's not that I feel any personal antagonism toward him, Beau. It's just easier for the both of us. I won't be far away. You'll be safe."

"I'm not worried about that."

A sly look came into his eye. His hand shot forward with vampiric speed and ruffled the curls on top of Beau's head.

Beau laughed, batting his arm away. "Hey!"

Edward raced out the door, grinning.

Beau went back to the kitchen to kill time until Jacob showed up. He was up to his elbows in dishwater when the doorbell rang.

"Come in, Jake!"

Beau was so focused on his work that he didn't hear Jacob's approach. "Should you really leave your door unlocked like that?"

Half the sink's water ended up on his shirt. "Ah!"

"Sorry about that," Jacob said, tossing him a dishtowel.

"I'm not worried about anyone who would be deterred by a locked door," Beau said, scrubbing at his shirt. It was no use; the fabric was soaked through. "I'll be right back."

The younger boy burst into laughter as Beau came down the stairs a few minutes later. Beau grimaced, accepting the humiliation. He never got around to doing that load of laundry after returning from his confinement, and the only clean shirt within reach was one Renée sent him home with.

"I Heart The Jacksonville Jaguars," Jacob read aloud. "That's really great."

"Take it home if you like it so much."

"No, thanks. It's not really my style."

But Beau's smile had faltered. His mind went to the other shirt, the one that went the way of his pillow: into the ether. Both disappeared around the time the intruder swept through this house.

"Beau? What's wrong?"

"The vampire that came here," he said slowly. "I think he took one of my shirts. And my pillow."

"He sneaks into your house, leaves your dad alive, and he takes some of your stuff. Why?"

"I have no idea."

Jacob's eyes narrowed. He didn't like that idea any more than Edward. "I'll just be a minute."

Beau wandered back to the sink until he heard Jacob thundering down the stairs. "Thanks for the warning."

"Sure, sure. Well, that scent was easy enough to catch. By the way, your room reeks."

"I know, it's due for a clean. Don't remind me."

Jacob appeared at his elbow. "I can help."

The two worked side-by-side until all of the dishes were put away. When that was done, Beau decided to organize the silverware drawer. Jacob rolled his eyes but chose not to complain.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Depends on what you want to know."

"What's it like, having a vampire for a boyfriend?"

It was Beau's turn to roll his eyes. "It's the best."

"I'm serious. The idea doesn't bother you? Never creeps you out?"

"Never."

Beau watched him divide the butter knives from the steak knives. "Anything else?"

"Well . . . I was wondering . . . do you . . . kiss?"

Beau laughed. "Yes."

"Ugh."

"You don't worry about the fangs?"

"You know he doesn't have fangs."

"Close enough," Jacob muttered. "Can I ask another one?"

"I guess so."

Jacob's eyes were still on the silverware. "You said a few weeks . . . when . . . exactly . . . "

"Graduation," Beau whispered.

"So soon," Jacob breathed.

Beau thought of the baying wolf on the flyer from Newton's and frowned.

Would Jacob howl in his grief? Would his cries carry over the swells of First Beach?

"Ow!"

Beau jumped a full foot into the air. He was thinking so hard about the flyer that he had not noticed Jacob's right hand clench around the blade of the steak knife. It cut a deep gash across his palm. Blood slid down his fingers and dripped onto the floor.

"Damn it! Ouch!"

Beau thrust the dish towel at Jacob. "Here, quick! Wrap this around it."

"It's nothing, Beau. Don't worry about it."

The room started to shimmer around the edges. "I'll drive you to the ER. You're going to need stitches."

Jacob tossed the towel aside and put his hand under the faucet, letting the water wash over the gash. The water ran red with his blood.

"Not necessary. I'm fine, Beau. Take a deep breath."

"I'm okay. Let me see it."

Beau thought he was losing his mind. It wouldn't be an unreasonable explanation; all of the stress of late was bound to have damaged his brain in some capacity.

Jacob's hand, which was gushing blood only moments before, looked like it had scarred over. The skin was angry, pink, and puckered.

But not bleeding. Not anymore.

"I heal fast," Jacob explained.

"I'll say."

"Werewolf, remember?"

The room was returning to normal. Beau exhaled. "Right."

Beau and Jacob cleaned up the blood on the floor. He felt bad; Jacob had come over to do pack business, not chores. Yet he kept the grumbling to a minimum as the two scrubbed the floor and counter until both surfaces shined.

The boys went into the living room for a break. Beau took the armchair while Jacob stretched out on the entire length of the couch. It wasn't enough for him; his feet hung over the side.

"Can I ask you something, Beau?"

"Is that wise? The last time you asked a question, you almost gouged out your hand."

Jacob just chuckled.

"Okay—shoot."

"What's it like having a werewolf for a best friend?"

The question caught Beau off guard. Now it was his turn to laugh.

"Does it creep you out?"

"No. When the werewolf is being nice, it's the best."

Jacob grinned. "Thanks, Beau."

Then he glanced toward the front door. He swung off the couch easily; Beau scrambled to catch up.

"Are you leaving?"

"He's waiting for me to go. I can hear him outside."

"Oh."

Jacob pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. Before he could reciprocate, Jacob pulled away.

"Ugh. Your hair stinks worse than your room."

"All right, all right, I get it. I'm sweaty. Jeez."

"No, it's . . . it's him. I can smell him on you."

Beau blushed. "Oh. I see."

"One of the many hazards of socializing with vampires. It makes you smell bad."

Jacob hugged him again, making a face as he did so. When they stepped apart, Jacob made his way to the back door, then turned back.

"Do you think you can come to La Push tonight? We're having a bonfire party. Quil's been asking about you. He's pretty peeved that you found out before he did."

Beau grinned. Jacob's human friend had learned the secret before he did. Beau had no doubt that information would irk Quil.

"I don't know about that, Jake. It's a little tense right now . . . "

"C'mon, you think somebody's going to get past us?"

His big dark eyes were full of unashamed pleading.

"I'll run it by him."

Jacob scoffed. "Is he your warden now, too?"

"Okay!" Beau cut him off, pushing him out the door. "Time for the werewolf to get out."

"Bye, Beau. Be sure you ask permission."

Edward walked slowly into the kitchen a few seconds later, raindrops glistening in his hair. His eyes were wary.

"Did you two get into a fight?"

"Edward." Beau hurried over to give him a hug. "You're back."

"Hi, there," he laughed. "Are you trying to distract me? It's working."

"Maybe. But no, we didn't fight. Why?"

"I was just wondering why you stabbed him. Not that I object."

"Damn, I thought I got everything," Beau cursed, following his gaze to the knife on the counter. He held it under the faucet until the water ran clear. "I didn't stab him, by the way. He forgot he was holding it."

"That's not nearly as fun as the way I imagined it."

"Be nice."

Beau watched Edward withdraw an envelope from his jacket pocket. "I have your mail."

"Yeah? Anything good?"

"I think so."

Beau held out one hand for the envelope. His name and address were printed on the thick, expensive cardstock. He flipped it over to examine the return address.

"Dartmouth? Is this a joke?"

"They don't send the big envelope as a joke."

"What did you do?"

His face was absent of guile, which told Beau everything he needed to know. "All I did was mail your application."

"With what, a $250,000 check?"

Edward was bewildered. "You can't get into an Ivy League school with so little."

"Please tell me you're joking," Beau moaned.

"Of course I am, Beau. You got in on the strength of your essay. My application was the one that needed a boost—I'm the legacy, after all. Carlisle went there for a degree back in the '60s."

"I don't remember that one. You made me write so many of them."

Edward's memory was unfailing. "You wrote an essay about moving to Forks. About finding who you are, who you want to be . . . finding . . . "

"Love," Beau finished. "Finding you."

He remembered it now. It had been a simple prompt: share your story.

Beau wrote the thing in an afternoon while procrastinating on his extra credit work. He wasn't sure what struck him about that prompt, exactly. It seemed like a moonshot. Though in New England, Dartmouth wasn't a liberal mecca like some of the other Ivies. Reading an essay about coming out, living as a gay man, and finding the love of his life might have caused some on the admissions panel to keel over and die.

Maybe that happened, but against all of the odds, Beau was invited to the funeral. He couldn't—or perhaps, he wouldn't—let himself believe it. The Cullens had near-endless resources. Edward might have been protecting his feelings.

But Beau had felt something that afternoon. He poured his heart into that essay. It was the story of his life.

His life so far, anyway.

Dartmouth. Of all the crazy things that happened in the past year—of all the crazy things that happened in the last few weeks, even—earning a place at one of the best schools in the country was at the top of the list.

The two had already established that Edward couldn't read his mind, but in moments like this one, Beau wasn't so sure.

"You might like it, Beau," Edward murmured. "Imagine how excited Charlie and Renée would be."

His voice painted an irresistible picture. Beau had no doubt Charlie would explode with pride. Ivy League acceptances didn't come every day, especially to their rainy little town. And Renée would be hysterical with joy . . . mother and son on the same coast again, just three hours away by plane . . .

"I can't even think of college right now, Edward," he said at last. "I'm just trying to live through graduation."

Beau didn't resist as the cold arms snaked around him. "No one is going to hurt you. You have all the time in the world. Think about it."

"New Hampshire has its advantages," Beau said thoughtfully. "It's far enough away that Charlie won't expect a visit until Christmas at the earliest. That just leaves Renée. You know, this whole secrecy and deception thing is kind of a pain."

Edward's expression hardened. "It gets easier. After a few decades, everyone you know is dead. Problem solved."

Beau flinched.

"I'm sorry. That was harsh."

"But still true."

Edward moved until their eyes met again. "If I get this resolved, whatever or whoever it is we're dealing with, will you please consider waiting?"

"If you can get Victoria and the mystery vamp off our backs, then sure. I'll consider it." Somehow Jacob's phrase for the intruder had stuck around, even when he didn't.

"Really?"

"You forgot about the Volturi," Beau reminded him. "Don't count your chickens before they hatch."

"I won't. Though . . . " Edward was looking at his t-shirt. "Perhaps we should swap out chickens for jaguars?"

"Okay," Beau groaned. "I get it. I'll get rid of the shirt."

Edward released him. Beau grabbed the neck of his t-shirt and pulled upwards. His cheeks were red as it came off, as they usually were when Edward looked at him like that.

Beau dropped his gaze to the shirt. Then his smile faded.

"Edward, I think the mystery vamp took my stuff."

"What stuff?"

"My nice shirt, the blue one. And my pillow. I guess that means the pillowcase, too."

"Something you wore? Something you slept on?"

"Edward, what is it?"

His expression was strained. "They're all things with your scent."

"What would he want that for?"

"I don't know. But I swear I will find out."

"I know you will." Beau returned to Edward's arms, ignoring the chill. They both sighed as Edward's phone began to ring.

"Carlisle, I was about to—"

Edward broke off and listened, his face taut with concentration. "I'll check it out. Listen . . . "

They were speaking in that fast, vampire way that Beau's ears couldn't catch. Figuring Edward would fill him in when they were done talking, Beau went upstairs and snagged a t-shirt from the top drawer of Charlie's dresser. He was putting one arm into a flannel when Edward appeared in the doorway.

"Was there a newspaper delivered today?"

Beau shrugged. "Check the porch."

Edward had already gone and come back in by the time Beau reached the bottom of the stairs. He watched him unfold the paper onto the table, one finger tracing passages that interested him the most.

"Carlisle's right . . . yes. Very sloppy. Young and crazed? Or a death wish?"

The headline of The Seattle Times read: "Murder Epidemic Continues—Police Have No New Leads."

It was almost identical to the story Charlie had been complaining about a couple of weeks ago. Seattle's homicide rate was sending it straight to the top of the national average.

"It's getting worse."

Edward frowned. "Altogether out of control. This can't be the work of just one newborn vampire. What is going on? It's as if they've never heard of the Volturi."

"Is that possible?"

"If the one who made them hasn't explained the rules yet, sure. Whoever is doing this is playing a dangerous game. The Volturi will intervene soon unless we find a way to clean up this mess. I'd rather they didn't come to Seattle . . . when their business is done, they might decide to check on you."

"What can we do about it?"

Edward thought for a moment. "We need to gather some intelligence first. Perhaps if we can talk to these young ones and explain the rules, it can be resolved peacefully."

Beau had his doubts about that. Both the Cullens and the like-minded coven in Alaska were the outliers of the vampiric world. They were only ones for miles that seemed interested in preserving human lives.

"We'll wait until Alice has an idea of what's going on. But it's good we have Jasper. If we are dealing with newborns, he'll be helpful."

"Jasper? Why?"

"Jasper is sort of an expert on young vampires."

"How does one become an expert in them?"

"That is a very long story, and his to tell."

"What a mess," Beau mumbled.

"Yes," Edward sighed. "Do you think that your life might be easier if you weren't in love with me?"

"Maybe. But it wouldn't be much of a life."

"For me," Edward said quietly. "Besides, aren't you going to ask me?"

"Ask you what, to turn me? I know the condition and the answer is still no."

Edward chuckled. "I thought you had some sort of werewolf soirée tonight."

"Eavesdropping again?"

"Just a bit, at the end."

Beau shrugged. "I don't know if I should go. There's enough going on here stressing you out."

"Would you like to go?"

"Maybe. But it's no big thing."

"You don't have to ask my permission to go, Beau. Though you might want to ask Charlie."

"You know he'll say yes."

"Then what's the problem?"

Beau stared at him, trying to understand what he wanted. It felt selfish to want to go hang out with Jacob and his friends in La Push when there were so many other things to worry about. But that was why he did want to go—he wanted to escape the death threats, for just a few hours . . . to be the less mature, more reckless Beau, if only for a brief time.

Edward was still waiting for an answer. Beau lifted one shoulder to shrug.

"Beau, I told you that I was going to be reasonable and trust your judgment. I meant that. If you trust the werewolves, then I trust the werewolves."

"Wow."

"And Jacob's right—about one thing, anyway—other than my house, La Push is the safest place for you right now."

And so Beau found himself being driven to the boundary line. Edward stopped the car when they saw Jacob waiting, then handed Beau a cell phone.

"Call me whenever you're ready to come home."

"I will. Thanks."

Beau leaned in for a kiss goodbye and was surprised when Edward kept him there much longer than usual. His face was burning when they pulled apart.

"Okay, bye," Beau said breathlessly. His hand shook as he reached for the door handle.

As he turned away from Edward, Beau thought he saw a flash of something he wasn't supposed to see. Worry, maybe. But it was gone so quickly from Edward's face that Beau thought he imagined it.

Jacob pulled him into a vice-tight hug when he drew close enough. Beau heard the growl of the Volvo's engine, turning back to see the silver car disappearing around the bend.

"Nice."

Jacob played dumb. "What?"

"He's being surprisingly cool about this, so no need to push your luck."

Jacob laughed as he closed the passenger door of the Rabbit for Beau. When he came around to the other side of the car, he was still laughing.

"Beau, you can't push what you don't have."


"Are you gonna eat that hot dog?"

Beau thought Paul was already on thin ice with Jacob. First he imprinted on Rachel, now he was asking for the last hot dog off Jacob's plate? Really?

"It's yours if you go away."

Paul grinned. "Done."

Beau watched, fascinated. The transformation must have required a lot of energy, because Jacob and his comrades had eaten everything in sight: hot dogs, hamburgers, chips, potato salad, and corn on the cob. Teenage boys were already known for their appetites, but in La Push, Beau was desperately outmatched.

The fire crackled and settled lower into the sand. The bright orange color was in sharp contrast to the darkened sky.

Beau glanced at his watch for the first time all evening. The hours had flown by, but he was not ready to leave just yet.

It was the first time Beau had seen Quil and Embry since their transformations. Both of them had grown, outward and upward, rippling with new muscles and confidence.

He had been dreading this moment. Would they be angry with him for taking Jacob away? For abandoning him in Mississippi? But when Jacob led him to the clifftop meeting place, the conversation had been casual and light.

"Hey, it's the vampire guy!"

Beau had ruefully shaken their outstretched hands. He supposed there were worse things to be known by.

Jacob took him aside before they reached the fire. "Sam and Emily are here. Don't stare at her. It bugs Sam."

"Why would I stare?"

"As much as I hate to agree with your bloodsucker, hanging with werewolves has its risks."

Beau wasn't sure what he meant until they took their seats. His eyes found Sam easily enough. He gave Beau a curt nod across the fire before turning back to the woman seated beside him.

Beau followed his gaze. The woman next to Sam had copper skin and long, straight, crow-black hair. For a moment, Beau didn't understand the warning. Was Emily shy around people she did not know?

As if sensing his eyes on her, Emily turned her head.

A lifetime of controlling his expression had been good training for this moment.

The right side of her face was scarred from hairline to chin by three thick, red lines. One of the scars pulled down the corner of her right eye. Another scar twisted the right side of her mouth into a permanent grimace.

Beau forced himself to look away. He was sure Emily was used to it by now, but he didn't want to be rude.

One hand fell reflexively to his own scars. He wasn't looking at Jacob, but he could tell his friend was tense.

Soon the adults started to arrive, bringing more food and drinks with them. All the tension melted away. Everyone was talking and laughing.

Billy Black wheeled himself to the head of the circle. Old Quil sat in the folding lawn chair beside him. Sue Clearwater, the widow of Charlie's friend, Harry, sat on the other side. Next to Sue were Leah and Seth, her two children.

Beau had been told not to stare at Emily, but his eyes involuntarily moved between her, Sam, and Leah.

What did it feel like, to sit in the company of a man one loved, while he was in love with someone else?

Leah's lovely face betrayed no emotion. She never looked away from the flames, even when Rachel Black sat next to her, placing one arm around Leah's shoulders. Paul sat on the other side of Rachel, watching her every move.

Rachel caught Beau staring and scowled at him. He hastily looked elsewhere.

Seth Clearwater was almost bouncing in his seat with excitement. It was obvious he was in the middle of a growth spurt: his long, gangly limbs were almost fawn-like. If Seth was not yet in the pack, it seemed like his time was nigh.

As Beau's eyes moved from one face to the next around the bonfire, he began to understand the power of the imprint bond. The way Sam looked at Emily . . . it was like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time. Like a collector stumbling across an undiscovered Da Vinci.

"Are you okay?"

"It's late," Beau whispered. "I should be getting back."

"Don't start that yet," Jacob whispered back. "The best part is coming."

Billy was calling the circle to order. The atmosphere changed in the blink of an eye. Everyone sat up straighter, watching Billy with rapt attention.

The fire crackled, its sparks glittering in the night.

"The Quileutes have been a small people from the beginning. And we are a small people still, but we have never disappeared. This is because there has always been magic in our blood. It wasn't always the magic of shape-shifting. That came later. First, we were spirit warriors."

Beau had never recognized the ring of nobility in Billy Black's voice, though he realized now that this authority had always been there.

"In the beginning, the tribe settled in this harbor and became skilled shipbuilders and fishermen. But the tribe was small, and the harbor was rich in fish. There were others who coveted our land. We were too small to hold it. A larger tribe moved against us, and we took to our ships to escape them."

Emily had produced a notebook. Her pen sprinted across the paper as Billy spoke.

"Kaheleha was not the first spirit warrior, but we do not remember the stories that came before his. We do not know who was the first to discover this power, or how it had been used before this crisis. Kaheleha was the first great Spirit Chief in our history. In this emergency, Kaheleha used the magic to defend our land."

Billy's words carried over the crackle of the fire and the waves crashing against the cliff below.

Kaheleha and his warriors used their spirits to fight, he continued. Their control over the elements and animals became stronger. As the news of their powers grew, neighboring tribes came forth to make treaties. The Quileutes lived in peace with them, using their gifts only in the name of protection.

There was the last great Spirit Chief, Taha Aki. Taha Aki was a man of great wisdom. But there was someone that coveted the power for himself: Utlapa, one of Taha Aki's strongest spirit warriors.

Taha Aki, betrayed by Utlapa, roamed the spirit realm until a great wolf welcomed his spirit.

Billy's voice had a hypnotizing quality. Everyone seemed to be leaning forward in anticipation of the next part.

"Many years after Taha Aki gave up his spirit wolf, when he was an old man, trouble began in the north with the Makahs. Several young women of their tribe had disappeared, and they blamed it on the neighboring wolves, who they feared and distrusted. Taha Aki charged his oldest wolf-son, Taha Wi, to find the culprit behind these disappearances before the tribes fell into war."

Taha Wi led a search through the mountains. They came across a scent they had never encountered before. A strange, sweet scent. They did not know what creature would leave such a scent, but they followed.

Beau felt his heartbeat pick up speed. Disappearances and a strange, sweet scent . . .

"They found traces of human blood on the trail. But Taha Wi and his two brothers did not return."

Beau could see it unfolding in his mind's eye. The creature responsible for the disappearances looked like a man, but his skin was as hard as stone. One Makah girl was dead at his feet. The creature disposed of the second Makah girl in short order. His white lips were covered in her blood. His eyes glowed red.

They called it the Cold One, the Blood Drinker. The wolf-men worked together to dispose of him, burning the pieces and spreading his ashes far and wide.

"The Cold One had a mate, another blood drinker, who tracked down the Quileutes seeking revenge. The stories say the Cold Woman was the most beautiful thing human eyes had ever seen. The sun glittered off her skin like diamonds. She was cruel—and thirsty."

Beau imagined the Cold Woman with Victoria's face and shivered. Cruel and working off a blood grudge? Check and check.

Jacob elbowed him—he had missed parts of the story.

"The third wife ran toward the Cold Woman with the dagger raised high. The Cold Woman smiled, barely distracted from her fight with the old wolf. She had no fear of the weak human woman or the knife that would not scratch her skin. She drew back to deliver the death blow to Taha Aki.

"And then the third wife did something the Cold Woman did not expect. She fell to her knees at the blood drinker's feet and plunged the knife into her own heart."

The third wife's sacrifice had thrown the Cold Woman off her game. Taha Aki and his sons killed the creature, but their victory was hollow: the loss of the third wife was deeply felt by her people. Taha Aki never changed back into a man again.

Taha Aki's descendants continued to protect the tribe from the cold ones until a yellow-eyed coven made a treaty with them. Yet their presence today called the young men of the tribe to action once again. It was a great burden and sacrifice.

All the listeners were silent. A few pairs of eyes flickered to Beau and away. There seemed to be sadness in the air, a wistfulness for a safer time.

For all but one, at least.

"Burden," Quil scoffed. "I think it's cool."

Little Seth Clearwater nodded his agreement.

Billy chuckled. Suddenly, it was a circle of friends again. Low conversations began once more, teasing and casual.

Leah Clearwater's eyes had closed at some point during the story. Beau watched a tear slide down her cheek before Rachel wiped it away with her sleeve.

His thoughts went to the third wife. A human woman with no special gifts or powers. Physically weaker and slower than everyone else, but she had saved them all.

He wished they'd remembered her name.

"Ready?"

Beau slapped his knees as he stood up. "Yep."

It was nearly midnight when they reached the boundary line. Jacob handed him the phone when the Volvo came into view.

"Thank you for inviting me tonight. That was something else."

"I'm glad you liked it. It was nice having you there."

"Thanks, Jake. 'Night."

Edward smiled broadly as he neared the Volvo. He had been leaning against it with his arms folded, waiting.

"Did you have a nice time?"

"Yeah—it was amazing, Edward. I wish you could have come. I can't even explain it. Jacob's dad told us the old legends and it was . . . magic."

"You'll have to tell me about it tomorrow."

"I won't get it right," Beau yawned.

Charlie had waited up for him—or tried to, until he fell asleep on the couch. Edward pretended to leave until Beau had guided Charlie up the stairs. Then he collapsed on his own bed until Edward returned.

"Is Jacob out there?"

"Yes, somewhere. Esme's on her way home."

"It's so cold out there. This is silly."

"It's only cold to you, Beau."

Beau's dreams were full of wolves and blood. He woke once in the night, but relaxed at the sight of Edward. He was propped up on one elbow reading Beau's copy of Wuthering Heights. Nightmares were no match with Edward in his bed.

Beau thought about Jacob out there, patrolling the woods for their enemies. He was the latest wolf in a long line of protectors. After hearing the stories at the bonfire tonight, Beau had a new appreciation for him.

It was a noble inheritance, at great personal sacrifice, no matter what Quil said.

Beau snuggled closer to Edward in the dark. For the first time since—well, since seeing her in the clearing at the baseball game—Beau wasn't so afraid of Victoria.

With defenders like his, she might never get through to Beau.