Good Morning, Loves!

I am so glad you all are ready for this second ride! So many thank you's to Mel for her incredible beta work on this story!

CHAPTER ONE

Bella

Oxford, England

Three Years After the Academy

"Sometimes snakes can't slough. They can't burst their old skin. Then they go sick and die inside the old skin, and nobody ever sees the new pattern. It needs a real desperate recklessness to burst your old skin at last. You simply don't care what happens to you, if you rip yourself in two, so long as you do get out."

― D.H. Lawrence

The Admiral's Arms was packed when I arrived. A few faces I recognized were near the door; classmates from last year gathered together over pints and a half-eaten plates of chips. I ignored them as I made my way in, reaching up to unbutton my coat as the humidity of the pub slammed into me. I stuffed my phone into my pocket and draped the coat over my arm.

Inside, bodies pressed together, groups of six or seven all packed around a table suitable for two. Most people were standing, and there were bouts of laughter rising over the din that signaled it was finally Friday.

I flagged down someone behind the bar, ordering a pint as I continued searching the pub with my eyes. It was so crowded I had to spend a few seconds longer on each face to try to work out if they were familiar or not.

I got my order just as my eyes finally landed on Peter.

He was sitting against the back wall, chatting with a few other students from our Russian literature lecture last term. He hadn't seen me yet, but it didn't matter. I picked my way through the crowd until I neared his table.

"Bella!" he said, his smile bright once he noticed me. He motioned me over to the tiny bench he was sitting on, and everyone shuffled to allow me space. I set my pint down before plopping beside him, throwing my coat on the bench between us. Peter grinned, leaning over to offer me a chaste kiss in greeting. "How was your first day?"

"Fine," I said, not wanting to shout too much. Peter smiled at me, tapping his glass against mine before relaxing back and placing a loose arm around my shoulders. I turned my attention to the table where Stefan was giving an account of his summer visit back home to Romania. He was a fantastic storyteller, with wide expressive eyes and a laugh that forced you to join in. I'd only known him since last term, but he and Peter had gotten close enough that we saw Stefan regularly.

"So then," Stefan said, bending over the table, encouraging us all to lean in with him conspiratorially. "I told her, no, that is not the Prime Minister; that is a goat!"

I didn't know the beginning of the story, but everyone at the table broke into roaring laughter, and I couldn't help smiling. Stefan sat back, satisfied, and reached for his drink.

"Bella, how were your summer hols?" he asked once he'd taken a large swig.

All eyes turned to me. "Oh, fine," I said, shrugging.

Peter snorted. "She spent them in school," he said with a smile. "Smartest woman I know. She'll be done with her doctorate in no time," he boasted.

I blushed, shaking my head. Despite the frankly traumatic experience I'd had at the Academy, it had done one thing exceptionally well—I was more prepared than I could have ever hoped to face university. In just three years, I was able to sail through all my undergraduate work, and this summer, I'd been accepted to stay for my master's work. One year of that, then three more years of doctorate work, and I'd be twenty-five with my PhD.

"Christ, don't you ever give it a rest?" a guy named Alex asked, his tone exasperated but his smile playful enough to let me know he was joking. "You give the lot of us lazy sods a bad name."

"Seriously, how do you do it?" a girl named Charlotte asked, leaning toward me. She was from somewhere in Canada, the only person I'd made friends with who was also from North America.

I shrugged, sipping my beer. "Honestly?" I said, setting the glass down on the tabletop. "It's all natural to me at this point."

Peter beamed with pride, and Charlotte deflated slightly, as if she'd hoped that I was going to give her the secrets to running the universe. The truth was, I was able to work so hard because I didn't allow myself distractions. The only one I permitted was Peter, and even he was limited in his role in my life. We'd been dating for almost a year now, but I could probably recount exactly how many instances we'd actually spent any amount of quality time together. Apart from the occasional lectures where we sat together, I didn't see Peter much until school breaks.

It was the most ideal sort of relationship for me. Functional, practical, and not overly taxing.

"All this talk of work exhausts me," Stefan said, knocking the table with his knuckles. "We must drink more!" He and Alec got up to grab another round, while Charlotte slipped off her stool to go to the toilets. When Peter and I were alone, he turned to me, giving me a charming smile.

"Are you too busy to come 'round to mine tonight?" he asked, his tone hopeful.

I hesitated. It wasn't that I didn't want to go spend the night with him, but I had an early lecture the next morning, and there was some reading I still wanted to do to prepare for it.

"I have like a hundred pages left to read for tomorrow morning," I said slowly.

Peter smiled, reaching out to take my hand in his. "So read it at my place," he urged gently. "We can do it together in the bath."

I bit back a smile. "That sounds soggy," I said, my voice softly teasing.

Peter grinned, leaning in to kiss the corner of my mouth. "No," he murmured against my cheek. "Just nice and wet."

Despite myself, I squirmed a little in my seat and he let out a laugh. "Say you'll come over?" he asked. If I really couldn't and told him no, I knew he wouldn't push me. Peter had always respected my boundaries. Sometimes I felt bad for how many I had, but he'd never once complained.

I opened my mouth, ready to give in, when I caught sight of a flash of bronze hair moving across the pub out the corner of my eye.

My head whipped around so fast I got whiplash. My eyes burned as I looked around, desperately trying to reassure myself that it wasn't who I'd thought.

I finally spotted a skinny ginger man who was carrying his pint back to a table crammed with people. Just a stranger.

I let out a relieved breath, my back still tense despite the calm I was trying to accomplish by breathing deeply. I'd not heard one word out of anyone from the Academy in three years. It was almost as if that entire chapter of my life had been sealed shut, a memory that should never be spoken about again.

"Bella? What's wrong?"

I looked back to Peter, whose face had turned worried. He glanced around the pub, like he was trying to assess any danger, but when he came back empty, he shrugged and focused on me.

"Nothing," I said, shaking my head. "I just got startled."

Thinking about the Sixteen made my stomach hurt, and as much as I wanted to go home to my flat and lose myself to books, I knew I needed more tonight. Tonight was a night to forget, not to remember.

"Yeah," I said after a moment. "I'll come over."

Peter's smile was brilliant as he leaned in to kiss me again.

Our friends returned, and for the next hour, I worked to chase every shadow of a thought of the Sixteen from my mind.

By the time we were ready to leave, I felt warm and lightly buzzed. I slipped away from our table to head down to the toilets, knocking into several bodies along the too narrow corridor. When I came back, Peter was watching the few televisions on the walls and I rolled my eyes when I saw it was a rugby game that had drawn his attention. I approached him and he blinked, glancing down at me. He smiled, offering me my coat.

I really liked Peter, I decided. He was kind and patient, and yeah maybe a little boring, but he was exactly what I needed in life right now. He was predictable and stable, two things I craved.

He helped me into my coat before leading me out of the pub, our fingers laced together.

By the time we made it onto the street, I was feeling more than ready to go home with Peter. We said good night to our friends before Peter offered me his arm. I grinned, looping mine through his as we started toward his apartment.

"You know what I think?" Peter asked as we strolled down the lane arm-in-arm.

"What's that?" I asked, tilting my head up to look at his handsome face. He grinned as he peered down at me. "I think that this is going to be a very important year," he declared. "I cannot put a finger on it, but I sense that this year something special is going to happen."

I smiled. "Wouldn't that be nice?"

I felt Peter press a kiss to the top of my head.

Three blocks later, Peter was unlocking the foyer door that led up to his second-floor flat. I'd been to his place a handful of times, knew it well enough, though it had been some time since my last visit.

Peter opened his front door and I stepped inside, taking in the mostly tidy space.

"Can I make you a cuppa?" he asked, shirking off his coat.

I turned and grinned at him. "You're so British."

Peter rolled his eyes but smiled as he disappeared to the kitchen. I reached up to unbutton my coat as I heard him filling the kettle.

I slipped my hands into my pockets to pull out my phone, but I froze when I felt a small stiff paper inside my left pocket. I pulled the item out, frowning when I saw it was a slate grey business card. The top was embossed with a logo I'd never seen before, and when I flipped it over, my heart sank.

There on the blank back of the card, in a neat handwriting, was a note that read, Call me.

I felt like I was going to throw up. I didn't recognize the handwriting, but I did recognize the power move. There was only one person who would be this commanding and vague at the same fucking time.

I spun around, my heart hammering in my chest, as if I expected to see him standing behind me in Peter's apartment. There was a loud ringing in my ears. I knew immediately who the card was from, and I knew it hadn't been in my pocket before I got to the pub, which meant, he was here.

Edward Cullen had come to Oxford.

…

It had always been a strong probability that the Sixteen knew where I was. The school had paid for my university education, and it didn't seem like the Sixteen were the sorts of people that one could really hide from.

Some part of me had always known they must be watching me.

But naively, I had assumed they would have someone lower on the pecking order keeping tabs on me. Not Edward Cullen, their golden boy.

It didn't make sense. I was no one to people like them. There was no reason on this earth that Edward should ever need to interact with me again.

My mind flashed back to the last time I'd spoken to Edward. I still debated with myself if it was mercy or cruelty to show him any sort of pity. Surely, his life wouldn't have any for him in any other form.

Peter tried to get my attention all night, but it was futile. My mind was racing away from me, and there was nothing he could do to reel it back in.

Eventually, he gave up and we retired to bed.

But I couldn't sleep. Curled up with Peter on his small double mattress, my mind tried to track every single reason Edward might have resurfaced.

Was he finally here to tell me if Alice had lived or died? Did he learn about the manuscript I'd stolen from the school and still hadn't touched, that I kept wrapped in an old sweater at the bottom of my wardrobe? Or was there some darker, more nefarious reason?

There was only one way to find out.

Around two in the morning, I couldn't take it anymore. Carefully so as not to wake Peter, I slipped out of his bed, making sure the arm he had wrapped around my waist didn't flop too quickly to the mattress. When he didn't stir, I turned, shrugging one of his hoodies over my head. I was in pajama pants I'd left at his apartment months ago, and I grabbed my phone, stepping quietly toward the living room where my shoes were near the front door. Grabbing his keys, I made sure I had everything I needed before carefully unlocking his front door and slipping into the stairwell.

When I reached the bottom step, I let out a long breath and pulled out my phone.

It was the same phone Edward had given me in school. I'd meant to delete his number, to try to erase the connection to him. I never managed to do it though.

I scrolled to the contact and hesitated for a second before pressing send. Yes, it was two in the morning, but somehow, I knew he'd be up.

The phone rang as I brought it to my ear, and I curled over, my stomach suddenly riddled with anxious nerves. Some part of me had just assumed he'd changed his number a hundred times since then. Maybe the call wouldn't connect to him, maybe some old lady would pick up, telling me that I had the wrong number. Maybe…

The ringing cut off, and I had enough time to exhale before I heard his voice.

"Bella."

His tone held no surprise, not even anger that I was calling so late. He sounded perfectly calm, expectant even.

For some reason, that made it easier to talk to him. He was an arrogant asshole, not someone I should feel afraid of.

"Neat trick with the card," I told him, not bothering with a greeting. "Though a bit dramatic for my taste when you had my number all along."

I could almost hear him smile. "You know I can't pass up an opportunity to make a statement."

I rolled my eyes. He was talking like we were old friends, which we were anything but.

"It was bold of you to assume I hadn't deleted your number. What if I had? Your little card would have been useless."

Edward chuckled. "And yet, here we are, on the phone." I scowled. "I knew you wouldn't delete my number."

"You couldn't have known that," I argued, annoyed.

He was quiet for a moment. "No," he said finally. "You're right. I didn't know. I hoped you had kept it, but if this card failed, I did have a more direct plan B in place."

I shook my head.

"What do you want, Edward?"

He was quiet again before he let out a short breath. "I need to talk to you."

"We're talking now," I pointed out.

He let out a huff, and I could just picture the teenager I'd known, reaching up to yank his hair.

"Bella." His voice was strained as he said my name, and I knew, fucking knew, that whatever he was about to ask of me, I wouldn't want any part of it.

"I'm not doing you another favor," I hissed, my fingers curling to fists at the thought.

"Bella," he said, sounding impatient. "Shut up. I need to talk to you tonight. In person."

I swallowed. "It's two in the morning."

"Go outside," he said in answer.

I hesitated. He shouldn't know where I was. It was one thing to know where my apartment was, but Peter's?

I stood from my spot on the steps, gripping my phone anxiously. "I swear to God if you have some kidnapping scheme in place," I growled, unlocking the front door.

Edward let out a dry laugh as I pulled the door open. The night air was cold, and I shivered in Peter's hoodie.

Ten seconds after I opened the door, a dark sleek car pulled up to the curb in front of me. Even as the passenger window rolled down, I knew who it was.

Edward was shadowed behind the wheel, but I could identify the riot of his hair and the rigidity of his posture.

"Get in," he beckoned, hanging up the call.

I took a deep breath, planted on Peter's stoop. "Why should I?"

Edward let out a gruff snort. "Jesus, will you ever just do something without fucking arguing?" he snapped.

"No," I shot back.

I couldn't see his face, but I could sense him fighting a smile. I bit my lip to do the same.

"Bella, please," he said, trying again. "In about four minutes, someone is going to find us unless we leave right the fuck now."

That made me hesitate. "My boyfriend," I started.

"I'll bring you back. He doesn't have to know you left," Edward snapped.

I could feel his impatience mounting, but I still wavered. I could turn around, walk away from Edward, and head back upstairs. In the year Peter and I had been dating, he'd never let me down, never threatened or belittled me. He'd been nothing but supportive and caring.

Everything Edward wasn't.

"For fuck's sake." I groaned, launching off the stoop and reaching for the handle of the passenger door. "I'm my mother's fucking daughter," I growled, climbing in. The moment the door was shut, Edward launched away from the curb, sailing through the quiet streets of Oxford at an alarming speed. I didn't bother to tell him to slow down. He probably had some sort of twisted death wish, and because I'd gotten into the car with him, I apparently did too.

"It's good to see you," Edward said as we edged closer to the outskirts of the town.

"Shut the fuck up," I snapped.

In the shadows, I saw Edward grin as he turned back to the road.

"Are you trying to break land speed records?" I asked, feeling nervous at how fast he was going. "You're going to get us fucking killed."

Edward's grin spread wider, and I could just picture the manic look in his eyes. "Come on, Bella. You know as well as anyone. What's life without the threat of death?"

Fuck, I really was crazy, because as soon as the words left his mouth, I felt my posture changing, the challenge in his voice egging me on. I shifted in my seat, glaring at him.

"Go faster."

Edward let out a whooping laugh as he floored it.