Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight

A huge thank you to Katinki, who, despite an incredibly busy week, still found time to edit this chapter.

Chapter 17

I nod, unable to say a word.

Edward studies me for a few seconds, then rises and walks to the pile of flesh that was once my assailants. With another glance back at me, he exhales and gets to work.

He works quickly. And by "quickly," I mean at a normal human speed multiplied by ten. I watch him, feeling surreal and detached, thankful for the intangible veil that temporarily cocoons me, shielding me from this gruesome reality.

Not a minute passes before the bodies are gone, and Edward is back.

"Would you be opposed if I brought you to my house? I must take care of your injuries," he says softly.

I search his eyes but they're dark and impenetrable.

I nod again. There's a lump in my throat that's been sitting there since I realized that Edward had saved me, and it makes speaking difficult. Otherwise, I feel normal, fine almost.

He hesitates. "I would carry you, but I am… my clothes and my hands are soiled. I would rather not touch you now." His voice is sad, resigned. "Are you capable of walking? It is only a few yards…" he trails off.

I want to laugh, because between the two of us, I'm the one literally sitting in mud, but the sound gets stuck in my throat, and I just nod for the third time and attempt to get up. The moment I put the slightest weight on my knees, they begin to tremble violently, and I slide back to the ground, scratching my palms in the process.

Without any further words, he scoops me up in his arms and runs.

XXX

"Jenks, I need hot water, plenty of it, a clean cloth, a bottle of spirits, and a gown," he fires to a short, balding man who holds the front door open. This is probably the Masens' only servant Jessica told me about. "Check in the blue bedroom, there should be several in Mrs. Dwyer's size."

Jenks leaves without a word as Edward darts up the flight of stairs to a dimly lit room on the first floor. I recognize it. It's the same room I climbed into, wrench in hand, on that memorable night two months ago.

His room.

Edward carefully places me onto a spacious couch that I don't remember being here before and steps to the side to wash his hands. I try not to think about what kind of matter he's cleaning off. In the meantime, Jenks returns with a neatly folded stack of thin cloth, probably muslin, and a large bottle. He leaves it on the table by the couch and disappears through the doorway.

Finally, Edward comes back to me, lowers himself onto the edge of the couch, and says in a professional doctor's voice, "I need to clean your wound of debris and then pour alcohol over it to prevent inflammation."

He doesn't spare me more than a cursory glance. It all feels so clinical—as if he's a random physician, not a supernatural being who's just saved me from a group of rapists, possibly murderers. But then, he's always like that—collected, focused—I tell myself, trying not to worry.

I rasp, "Sure," not taking my eyes off him.

Very gently, Edward cleans my face with a damp cloth, then with another, and then he opens the bottle and pours some of its contents onto a third. It smells strongly of juniper.

"This might burn," he says quietly as he dabs gin on my cheek. "I am very sorry."

"It's fine. I've had worse," I chuckle and immediately wince because, unlike the tiny sting of alcohol, stretching my facial skin actually hurts. "Is the cut deep?"

"No, it is not deep," he replies. "There is, however, some bruising. The bleeding has stopped, and the wound shall not form any sort of a scar."

I let out a laugh. "Oh good. So my beauty shall remain untarnished then." I roll my eyes. "It's a good thing I had my Tdap booster recently—no need to worry about tetanus on top of everything else, right? Although there's a big question… Whose body I'm in, mine or Mrs. Dwyer's? It feels like mine, but nobody seems to notice the difference between us, so maybe it's hers, and hers is definitely not vaccinated…"

He stops his ministrations and looks at me with concern.

"Edward, I'm fine," I say, trying to sound like I really am. "I'm not in shock or anything, and I can explain about vaccines later…"

"Bella, may I suggest that, before we speak further, I allow you some privacy to clean yourself and change your clothes? It would certainly prevent any unwelcome questions upon your arrival home." His voice is stiff again, as if he's uncomfortable being near me, and I feel a pang of disappointment deep in my chest.

"That would be great," I reply softly.

Whatever he feels about me… oh well. I can only feel one thing back, and nothing can change that. Not anymore.

At this instant, Jenks enters the room with a huge bucket of steaming water in one hand and a large empty basin in the other. He places both on the floor. Then, like a magician, he produces a large towel, a cake of purple-colored soap, and a copper mug with a pour spout, and leaves those on the dresser. After that, he rushes outside to bring a large linen bag that he places on the couch—that must be the gown.

"I shall leave you alone for now," Edward says gently. "You are safe here. Take as much time as you require. I shall remain close by, should you need me."

With that, he leaves, silently closing the door behind him.

I jump from the couch too quickly and have to steady myself for a second, until the black dots stop dancing in front of my eyes.

Get a grip, Bella.

The bucket is large, but the water won't stay hot forever. I quickly undress, noticing that my gown has a few blood stains and a major tear in the front. My arms and legs are heavily caked with mud and bruised in many, many places. I'm stunned by Edward's thoughtfulness—there's no way I'd be able to discretely wash this amount of dirt off at home, not to mention hide my bruises in the process. At least now, if I clean myself here and then hold off bathing for a few days until my bruises fade, I might get away with the story that I accidentally fell in my room and cut my cheek, or something…

Washing yourself in a basin is a trick I never thought I'd be able to pull, but my time in 19th-century London taught me how to get cleaned up in all kinds of unusual ways. I no longer find washing just a few body parts at a time a bizarre thing to do—it's always better than nothing. I start by leaning over the basin and washing my hair, arms, and chest, pouring water over myself from the copper mug. Then, with a towel over my hair, I step inside the basin and scrape the dirt off my legs. There's no way I'm washing the most complicated area, my lower torso, at Edward's place, but thankfully, nobody touched me there. Just thinking about a different scenario makes my hand shake so badly that I spill some water on the floor, and I need to pause and take a couple of deep breaths. Then I thoroughly dry myself and take the gown out of the bag.

It's cream-colored, nice and soft, clearly expensive despite its simplicity, and it fits me just fine. The hem falls a little lower than I like but it can definitely work. Briefly, I wonder why Edward or Carlisle, both supposedly bachelors, own such an article, but then I switch my attention to more important questions.

How will I explain to Jessica in the morning that I suddenly have a different gown?

I guess I'll just have to ignore her. My own dress is unsalvageable and will have to be destroyed—it's a piece of evidence in a potential murder case, after all.

I'm finally decent, except for my very wet hair, which probably looks ridiculous, and I open my mouth to call Edward, but then I have an idea.

"Edward, I'm ready," I half-whisper.

He appears in a matter of seconds.

I smile. So, his hearing is as good as… everything else.

"Thank you. That was incredibly thoughtful of you," I tell him, waving toward the basin. "I'm sorry there are a few drops of water on the floor. Hopefully, it won't do any damage…" I briefly close my eyes, trying to get myself back on track. "Listen, can we talk now? I need to tell you something."

Edward's also changed his clothes and is now wearing a crisp white shirt. It's easy to see the outlines of his taut, muscular body through the thin fabric, and shifting my gaze to his face takes effort.

"Yes, madame, of course," he replies in that polite, neutral tone of his that I've grown to hate. He walks to the chair at the end of the room, leaving a good twelve feet between us. I sit down on the edge of the couch, feeling my stomach tightening in a knot.

"First of all, thank you," I start, slightly shaking. "Again… Again, you saved my life… and I know what you're going to say. That it was incredibly stupid of me to go out like this, alone and on a night when so many people are out there drunk…" I have the strange sense of a deja vue from my first night in this room, when he sat in the same chair and I spoke just as fast, trying to explain how I knew him and what had happened to me. Only now, my voice sounds not just breathless, but desperate, hysterical even.

"You would be absolutely right! It was an extremely stupid thing to do, and because of my stupidity, you had to kill three people." It's startling to hear my own words, and I close my eyes for a moment. "I don't know how it is for your species, but I wouldn't want anybody to be forced to do that and then have to live with it, no matter how horrible those people were. So please, please forgive me if you can… and don't be mad at me, okay? I'm so mad at myself!"

Edward remains silent and still, and I wonder if he has more of those pretty handkerchiefs he and Carlisle seem to carry around. I could really use one right now. Unfortunately, no such handkerchiefs are being offered at this time, so I gather all the strength I have left and pull myself together.

"In return, I promise to stop asking questions. About what you are. I mean, I know that you aren't human, but I've decided that it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter to me what you are, okay?" My voice breaks. "I just don't want you to disappear anymore, Edward. Stop running away from me. I want you near me, as a…friend. If that's something you want, too." I lower my head, embarrassed, and instinctively hug my chest, bracing for the blow that will surely come when he says he wants nothing of the sort.

"You want to be friends with me?" His voice is soft as a caress, and I shiver. He sounds… dangerous. "You have decided that you do not want to know what I am anymore?" He lets out a noise that is part laugh and part groan. "That is a significant change of heart, Mrs. Dwyer. However, I, too, have something to tell you, for you must abandon your delusions."

He jumps up from his chair, and the next moment he's here, towering over me. It's clearly a deliberate move meant to frighten me, and I realize just how much he toned down his otherness in the past.

"You were right to deduce that I am not a human man. But to think that their deaths shall weigh on my conscience because I ended their worthless lives—this is where you are gravely mistaken. Killing is inherent to my nature, Bella. My kind sustains itself on human blood. Surely, you can see how having a conscience would be nothing short of an inconvenience."

I take a sharp breath. "So… you're what, a vampire?! Oh… okay then. That was actually option E on my list. Funny thing, it's the same letter as your initial!" I let out a hysterical giggle. "So, why didn't you drink their blood? They were already there, after all."

I briefly question my sanity and how easily I'm accepting this, but then I remind myself that I'm a time traveler. Maybe Hamlet was right—there are more things in Heaven and Earth… Yep, the prince was definitely not stupid, although it would be great if Shakespeare had made him less of a jerk.

Edward turns away. "Carlisle and I survive on animal blood," he says impassively. "That allows us to live among humans… although there are inevitable limitations."

I blink a few times, taken aback. "Wow, impressive! Is that difficult? I mean, I went vegan once for three months... Not fun, I'll tell you that! I never dream, but during that time, I dreamed every freaking night about a burger—a big, juicy one at that, with extra-crispy bacon and a giant milkshake on the side..."

Edward pinches the bridge of his nose, seemingly trying to make sense of my word vomit, but eventually just shakes his head in defeat.

"Please make no mistake," he continues, "were I able to turn back the clock—though unlike you, I cannot—and confront the same choice between killing those two-legged crocodiles and letting them live, I would end them again without hesitation. Knowing their vile thoughts, the filth festering in their feeble minds? They had met a merciful death, by all accoun…"

"Wait," I interject, "how did you know their thoughts? Not that they didn't make their intentions clear, but… can you read minds, too?!"

"Yes."

My eyes widen. I'm so used to his evasiveness that it throws me off to get a direct answer for once.

"Some of us have special gifts, and mine is mind-reading. I know of only one more like me…"

"More like you… of course," I murmur and shake my head. I'm going to need some time to process this. A lot of time. "Who else? Your brother Carlisle, I presume… By the way, is he really your brother?"

"Bella, you seem to be overlooking the meaning of my words. I am a murderer. A monster. While I choose not to kill innocent humans, the desire remains ever-present. And to be entirely candid, the urge to drink your blood is even stronger. Your blood smells like Heaven to me… So much so, that at times, being in your proximity feels like pure Hell." His eyes close for a moment and his Adam's apple moves up and down as he swallows. "It would be most unwise for you to remain near me, as it is not safe. Through my own carelessness, I permitted myself to grow close to you, indulging in dreams of what might be. I am so very weak."

He stares off somewhere in the distance with an expression of absolute despair on his angelic face. "This is the sole reason I persist in running away, as you called it, and then making a pathetic return. But now that you are aware of the truth, there shall likely be no further necessity for such unmanly actions. You are an intelligent woman, and I trust you possess a sense of self-preservation, though today's events seem to suggest otherwise."

His tirade leaves me momentarily stunned and slightly dizzy. It's a lot to take in. One thing is clear: he has no idea how far gone I am if he thinks I can walk away now. I really need to explain that to him at some point… Still, I feel like I'm missing something important here, something that can't wait until I've recovered from the shock of the assault and processed everything that's happened today. I rub my face, trying to focus.

"Edward, what you're saying, it doesn't make any sense. You say that your species doesn't have a conscience, but all your behavior proves the opposite. You don't kill people for sustenance, or at least you try not to. You saved me, a little human, twice, risking exposure and probably breaking whatever supernatural laws you guys have—yes, I remember you hinting about that." I wrinkle my forehead, trying to find words that he hopefully won't brush off. "And although in an ideal world, I would love to bring those crocodiles to justice, I'm well aware that, right now, it's virtually impossible. So, you've not only rescued me, you've possibly saved their next victims, too. How am I supposed to think of you as a monster? If that's not proof enough that you value human life, then what is? And don't you dare say that I don't understand!"

I reach for his hands and pull him down to the couch to sit with me. He hisses softly but complies. His hands are cold and rigid. I pray that he doesn't snatch them away.

"You've come clean, told me what you are… Not that it didn't take a little of coercing—or a lot…" I chuckle. "But now, it's my decision. I'm telling you that I understand the risk, and I accept it, okay?"

He doesn't move for a long moment, but then he turns my left hand up and brings my wrist to his lips. The soft coolness on my pulse point is almost unbearable, and I moan.

"Being near you, touching you like this, is a matter of my wildest dreams—if I could ever dream," he whispers. "I am so irrevocably drawn to you."

My heart pounds. Knowing that he can probably hear it makes it beat even louder and faster. "It's the same for me… Edward, I want to be with you, too. Despite… everything." My voice is quiet but surprisingly firm. "And don't think I say this lightly. I just can't imagine a life in which I would go on without knowing you, ever."

I let go of his left hand and cup his cheek. It's just as smooth and soft as I imagined. Not quite silk, not quite marble, but something in-between. He trembles slightly and closes his eyes. There's a long moment of silence. I just wait patiently for him to make a decision, whatever it is.

Finally, Edward opens his eyes, leans impossibly closer to me, and puts his mouth on mine.

At that very second, the clock tower chimes two, and I can't help but smile at the thought that a dramatic sound effect marks what might be one of the most significant moments of my life. Edward pulls away and grins, too, likely thinking the same thing. Then I tug at his neck, desperate to resume the kiss.

It's as if my wish to go back in time to our kiss after the music lesson was granted by some higher powers. Once again, I'm enveloped in his sweet scent, the softness of his lips, and the irresistible urge to melt into his touch and never leave. Suddenly feeling bold and free, I push myself into his hard, cool body and lick his lower lip. He inhales sharply and stills us both, cradling my face in his hands and pressing his forehead against mine. Then he turns me away from him, holding my shoulders against his chest while his fingertips glide along the curve of my neck—a highly sensual, although mildly ticklish, experience.

I gasp from the sudden wave of arousal and attempt to press my backside into him, but he doesn't let me.

"Is this how friends usually behave with one another in the 21st century?" he teases. Thankfully, I can't see his smirk right now—there's only so much a girl can handle.

"No… not really," I reply cooly and relax in his arms.

Lost in thought, he gently caresses my good cheek with his thumb.

"So, you can stand being close to me after all? Or do you still want to taste my blood?" I ask.

He presses a kiss on my hair and gently pulls me closer. "It grows more tolerable as time progresses. But I do want your blood, always."

"You need to say that with a Romanian accent to make it sound authentic," I tell him. "Or Hungarian."

He sighs. "Have I mentioned that half of the time I do not understand your meaning?"

"It'll get easier." I smile. "So, if you can read minds, why did you make me believe that you thought me delusional during our first meeting?" I ask. "That was a shi… not a very nice thing to do. I thought I was losing my mind."

"I cannot read your mind, Bella. You are the first person whose thoughts are closed to me since I woke up in this state," he says gravely. "And I regret that I played on your vulnerability. I knew that you were telling the truth immediately. That you were different… unique in every sense." With that, he moves my hair to one side and kisses a spot just below my ear.

I jump up and spin to face him.

"Really? You can't read my mind?!" I exclaim, my mood getting impossibly better. "Also, when did that happen—the waking up part? And while you're considering if you should answer yet another invasive personal question, I just want to say that I'm so very thankful that my mind is closed to you. Oh god… I rarely keep my thoughts to myself, but when I do, trust me, that's because they should really stay inside my head, for everybody's benefit."

He laughs. It's a beautiful, happy sound, too. "To answer your "personal question," I am older than I may appear to you," he finally offers.

I roll my eyes. "How much older? Are we talking decades? Centuries? Millenia?"

"I was born in the year 1652," he says simply. "I shall tell you the story in its entirety one day, but now I must take you home, to Sir Alistair."

I want to crack a joke about him being an older guy while technically, I won't be even born for another 164 years, but my eyes keep closing of their own accord. He's right. I have to go back, although I absolutely hate it. By the feel of it, the day is going to start in a matter of minutes.

We're about to leave the room, when I suddenly remember something. "Where is Carlisle, by the way? He's not at home, is he?"

Edward gives me an innocent look. "Carlisle is in Yorkshire. There is an old lady friend of his living there who needs his medical expertise."

I snort. "So, that last charade was based on a true story—sort of."

He smiles but says nothing.

I turn to grab my shawl from the pile on the floor and realize that it's torn, too—damaged beyond repair. "Every nighttime excursion costs me outerwear," I chuckle humorlessly.

Edward blinks and looks at me sheepishly. "As a matter of fact, your first clothing item is not lost. I found it in the bush near the house and kept it."

"Oh, really?" I say, surprised. "That's wonderful! I won't freeze to death this winter after all. Why didn't you send it to me with the wrench? Or did you find it after that?"

Edward sighs. "I found it right away. I needed that cape." He doesn't elaborate.

It's my turn to sigh. "Edward, I thought we were past this. You used it… for what?"

He swallows. "I needed your cape to become accustomed to your scent. You affect me too much." His voice is barely audible.

"Accustomed to my what? Oh…" I'm suddenly speechless and warm all over. "Um… I see. That's probably the hottest thing I ever heard from a man… or a vampire."

He closes his eyes and shakes his head in incredulous laughter. "Does playing with death excite you?" he asks me, exasperated. "That is, provided I comprehend the true meaning of the word "hot" correctly."

"I think you do, old man. Hopefully, you find me hot, too—and not just literally." I snicker at my own joke and immediately yawn.

Gently, he lifts me off my feet and rushes out of the house. Within a minute, we're back in my room and I'm placed on my bed, my head spinning just a little bit.

Edward kisses my forehead, and I whimper, wanting more—so much more. He then speaks so quietly that I have to strain to hear him: "Bella, since my first encounter with you, I have no longer been the master of my own dead heart. I find you to be the most beautiful, alluring woman in the entire world, and I am certain that this description encompasses whatever you mean by "hot" as well. Sleep, my love."

With that, he disappears.

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A/N:

Two-legged crocodiles: this is a phrase from The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexander Dumas.

"Upon my word," said Dantes, "you make me shudder. Is the world filled with tigers and crocodiles?"
"Yes; and remember that two-legged tigers and crocodiles are more dangerous than the others."

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