The worst part of the run turned out to be exhaustion. Not the physical kind, I wasn't really capable of that. It wasn't the fatigue that came from blood-hunger, either, though I was feeling that fairly strongly by the time I arrived. No, the worst part was the fugue state. I'd never run faster, and I'd never run anywhere near so long. It started out normal, but after five or six hours, I had to put more and more focus on simply pumping my legs, putting one foot in front of the other. Left, right, left, right.

I didn't dare risk the delays that cutting cross-country involved, so I dashed down human highways, my bare feet slapping the asphalt and my tightly-bound pack of supplies—shoes, spare change of clothes, things I would need to appear normal should the need arise—jostling against my back. I didn't have the luxury of conventional stealth, so I relied on my psychic gift to avoid notice—at least, the kind of notice that would have me remembered as more than just an odd blip on someone's long drive. All the while, I could think of nothing more than the order of my steps. Left, right, left, right, left, right.

I gritted my teeth, lungs determinedly puffing breath I didn't need, through the daylight hours. Interstate Five was the road of greatest convenience, and it became busy as I progressed through California. I shut my ears to the screech of tires and the couple metal crashes as my wanton attention-diverting caused near-misses and several actual accidents. Just another set of crimes to heap upon my soul, further proof that vampires could only harm the world. I couldn't dwell, I could only focus on the run. Left, right, left, right, left, right…

At some point, I was able to leave the interstate and cut across the deserts. It all became a blur, only a few moments sticking in my memory. A massive leap over a wide ravine, a fence labeled "Mojave National Preserve," and a burning, oppressive heat that threatened to debilitate even my body at times. My mind sank into my feet, I lost everything of myself except the running. Not my name, not my purpose, not even my destination remained, just footfall after footfall.

Left, right, left, right, left, right, leftrightleftrightleftright…

Only the stars and a crescent moon lit my arrival in Phoenix, Arizona. The streets glistened with a watery sheen and the air smelled rainstorm remnants, perhaps an hour past? A sign outside Zion's Bank declared the time to be 2:27 in the morning, and there were blessedly few cars out and about on the streets.

I slowed to a jog, my mind reveling in finally letting the concentration of constant sprinting fade away. My chest almost immediately stopped heaving, remembered instincts falling off now that the exertion was over. I let myself have that moment of euphoria of satisfaction. I'd completed a twenty-two-hour journey in under nineteen hours. I physically could not have arrived faster, which meant I had a chance to save Bella Swan from the vampire toying with her.

Giving myself a once-over, I found that I'd worn the pits of my shirt threadbare and the inner thighs of my trousers weren't much better. I nearly shuddered to imagine the destruction the run would have wreaked upon my shoes. With nothing for it, I ducked into a gas station to change and emerged a changed man. The cashier looked shocked; she must have thought I was a vagrant as I entered. I did pause long enough to purchase a local map with the last of my stolen money, then looked up the address I'd found on Bella's computer. It was on the other end of town, not far from the airport.

Now that I had the luxury, I did my best to avoid sight conventionally. I stayed on side roads, moved through alleys, avoided parts of town with bars or clubs. It got much easier as I reached the dead-silent suburbs. I had to reference the map a couple times to find the correct street, but only lost a few minutes to the identical rows of houses and cul-de-sacs. Soon enough, I was crouched in her backyard, scanning the windows of her home's second story.

If she was still alive, Bella would be asleep right now, having arrived much earlier in the evening. If she was already dead, then there was nothing I could have done anyway. I tried not to dwell on that idea, focusing on the hope that I'd made it on time. The wrinkle here was that Edward wouldn't be asleep. My gift would avail me nothing if he heard me forcing the lock or sliding open a window. I had no doubt that I could kill him, but I wasn't sure if he would do something stupid and get her killed as collateral damage. She was precious prey, but he wouldn't risk his own safety just to preserve his sadistic little game.

I breathed deeply of the scents surrounding me. Grass, cut in the last day or two. Sun-scorched pavement. Painted wood, shingled roofs. Some turned earth in a neighbor's yard. The petrichor from the recent rains. But no blood, no stench of panic. Had she been killed here, the hours since the murder would have allowed those scents to soak through the doors and windows, the very walls, and I would have caught something.

Satisfied that I needn't rush, I circled the house, gauging ease of entry for the different windows, the front and back door. As I passed the back door, I narrowed my eyes and loped up to it. Something was wrong. The doorknob was bent away from the doorframe, which was what piqued my interest, but the real damage became evident when I opened the screen door. The door jamb was broken around the latch and dead bolts, a forced entry. There was a conspicuous dent near the handle; humans would assume a hammer or ram, but to me it was clearly a vampire's palm strike. On a hunch, I sniffed again and found a scent much like Bella's—her mother, perhaps?—tinged with panic and underlain by…Waylon's scent?

Something was very wrong.

No longer worried about Bella or her "boyfriend" overhearing me, I opened the busted door and crept into the home's front room. The place was at once packed away and in order. There were sheets over furniture, but they were in disarray. A cabinet of knick-knacks had one door hanging open, many of the decorations scattered across the floor. The kitchen drawers had been carelessly pulled out and their contents—silverware, knives, other utensils—spilled onto the linoleum. Like the door, this place had been staged to look like a robbery. But the wearer of Waylon's coat had left his stench all over the place, so I knew better.

Carefully, so as not to disturb anything, I crossed the chaos and ascended the stairs. The bedrooms on the second floor fared no better than the ground floor below. The place really had been thoroughly ransacked. It would take an official investigation some time to determine that nothing had actually been taken. Vampires cared only for their prey, rarely for ordinary loot.

But that thought worried me the most. Earlier I had considered the danger of fighting Edward while his chosen prey was near, but if Waylon's murderer had come this far and gone to this much effort, then Edward wasn't the only vampire with his sights set on Bella. This second vampire meant to poach her out from under Edward's nose, and that confrontation would go much worse for her than any involving me. At least I would take care to avoid harming her.

Bella's room—or, at least, the room I supposed was hers, patches on the wall indicating removed posters—was nearly untouched. The destruction was limited to the closet, in which a number of tough cardboard boxes had been packed, labeled with Bella's name and an age range. Her possessions, the ones too cumbersome or too 'childish' to take to Forks, sorted into eras of her life. Several of these boxes were brought down from their stacks, but only one was torn open. I knelt by its scattered contents, noting the tag that read "Bella, 5-10." These things were costumes for a much, much smaller Bella. Leotards, ballet shoes. Some old, faded photographs. There was a camcorder box, too, but that was shredded and the camcorder itself was missing. But that was it.

I stood and turned about in the room. What was I missing? Why had Waylon's killer come all the way out here? Why ransack the whole house, but be so targeted in this one spot? It was like…like he'd been in one task, then gotten interrupted by something. But what? Why take only the camcorder? There had to be some clue, maybe in the pictures. I grabbed them again, examining them more closely.

They were of dancing children, mostly young girls in tutus and ballet shoes. One girl appeared in every photo, of course, and often with a woman I assumed was her mother. The room or building they were in looked like a studio, but that didn't help. One of the photos was taken outside and had captured part of a sign. But it hadn't captured the important part of the sign, just "something Studio."

So what, was that it, then? With no viable scent trail—thank you, rainstorm—I just…had to go and check every dance studio in Phoenix against this photo and hope I got there in time? I could also wait here and hope that Bella arrived…but no, that was a bad idea. I was starting to think that Bella had lied in that note to her father. She'd given both him and her "boyfriend" the slip to come here. But if she hadn't already come to this house, then she'd gone somewhere else. And literally the only possible lead I had was this box, the only box in her room to be ransacked, and the camcorder that was the only item in the whole house to actually be stolen. It all pointed to whatever dance studio this was, at least as much as it pointed at anything at all.

With nothing else for it, I looked up dance studios in the index of my map, picked one at random, and set out from Bella's childhood home at yet another dead sprint. I just had to hope I picked the right one soon enough to save her life.

...

The taxi smelled like old tobacco smoke, like it had been owned by a smoker before becoming a taxi. Or maybe the driver had quit, like, thirty years ago? He looked old enough. He hadn't commented on the hour or the destination at first, but now that we were getting close to Mimi's, he kept looking at me with a wrinkly concerned expression.

"You're not in trouble are ya, missy?"

I jumped and realized that he'd pulled up outside the studio. It was time for me to pay. I glanced at the meter and grimaced. Sixty-two dollars? I wouldn't be able to get back to…I almost laughed at my stupidity. I didn't need to worry about the return fare; I wouldn't be returning. I pulled out my last twenties and a five, he fished around for some ones in change. As I reached for them, though, he snatched them away and locked eyes with me.

"You ain't the first person I delivered to someplace they ought not to be," he said. "You sure you wanna go in there, do whatever you came for?"

"Uh…" I glanced over my shoulder, out the passenger door at the studio. Its bricks were still wet from the rain earlier, and its silhouette intimidated me. I looked back at the driver. "Yeah, sorry, uh…can I have my change?"

The man snorted, but did hand it over. "Tell you what, I'll wait up there—" he pointed "—around the corner. If you get spooked or something, just come running. I won't charge for wherever you need to go."

"Yeah, uh…" I glanced over my shoulder again. "Thanks, I guess."

I shut the door behind me and he drove away, around the corner he'd indicated. I breathed in, then out, then in again. I knew I had to be here, but the shivers running up and down my whole body, the fear washing across me, fought against that purpose. It took me nearly a whole minute to take the first step toward the front door, but then I ran the rest of the way. I knew if I stopped, I'd lose my nerve and cost my mother her life.

I frantically threw open the front door, barely registering that it shouldn't have opened at all, and stumbled into the main hall of the studio. Here I was arrested by a flood of memories. The pillars spaced around the studio, the wall-length mirrors with the rails. God, it smelled the same as I remembered. I could practically hear the shuffling steps of a dozen little pairs of ballet shoes, and hear the murmurs of watching mothers. It was so strong that I could hear the echo of my own voice.

But no, that was a real sound. I focused on that. It came from across the floor, in the teacher's office. I could see a flickering light back there, and before I knew it, my feet were pulled in that direction. The door had been left ajar, and I pushed it open to see that someone had hooked up an old camcorder to a TV. It was playing a video I'd watched many times. I mouthed along with my younger self.

"Mom, I suck," I said with her. I smiled, but the warmth only lasted until I heard a voice behind me.

"Such a stubborn child," said that smooth, predatory voice.

I whirled to see James standing in the office door. His red eyes caught the TV's light with every flicker, and even through my stark terror, his body had a repulsive kind of attraction. I could feel myself being pulled by parts of me that refused to believe this being could be my doom. But I knew better. I knew I'd come here to die. I didn't want to die, and…did I have to? Did I really?

"I've watched this video a dozen times, waiting for you," said James. His cocky grin was a mockery. "I think this part is my favorite."

"Have…" I gulped. My hand fell to my pocket, slipping inside to grip the pepper spray I'd brought with me. Did I dare? "Have you?"

"Aw, scared, are we?" He laughed, then took in a deep breath through his nose. "Terrified, actually. Such a beautiful odor, fear. Yours has an undercurrent of determination, too."

Before I could lose my nerve, I tore my hand from my pocket, spray in hand, pointed it and…the world spun. My wrist flared with pain, the floor became the ceiling became the floor, and my shoulder crunched. I gasped, then clenched my jaw against a scream.

James laughed again, the sound echoing across the dance floor. "Yes!" he cried, "Yes! Fight! Struggle!"

I tried to get to my feet, but it was my right shoulder that'd hit the ground; I collapsed again with a cut-off squeak. He walked toward where I'd landed, casually tossed aside my pepper spray—he must have taken it when he threw me. I gritted my teeth, then staggered to my feet. The tiny bit of brain still thinking remembered the taxi driver, parked around the corner. If I could just make it there…

"Ooh, that shoulder looks dislocated." James' voice came an inch from my ear. I hadn't heard his approach over my pounding heart. Before I could so much as shout in shock, he seized my arm above the elbow and slammed his other hand into my shoulder. This tore a scream from my throat as my shoulder bones ground against each other, the re-socketing forced through despite poor alignment. He let me drop and I lay there, quivering, tears running freely.

"There you go, all better."

I whimpered, my breath coming raggedly.

"What, no thank you?" He bent down, putting his face near mine. "You're stubborn and ungrateful." He shook his head, still grinning sadistically, then grabbed my hair and pulled me to my feet.

That pain was nothing compared to the shoulder, but I still groaned and scrabbled at his fist with my good arm. I froze when I felt his fingers close around my neck, but he didn't stop. My feet left the ground, my entire body supported by only my neck. I found a new, deeper level of panic. I thrashed, I kicked, I gurgled out a choking scream. And he let each flailing limb connect, let me break my toes on his knees, bruise my knuckles on his jaw. James' grin only grew wider, his eyes wider and more frenzied, as he held me struggling overhead.

"I think that's enough foreplay," he said. "Time for a taste."

He caught my next strike at the wrist, pulled me taut between neck and wrist, and sank his teeth into my forearm. The pain was sharp and immediate, but nearly pleasant after the rest. I felt my skin part before his teeth, watched my blood stain them.

Then I heard a crash of metal and glass. James' jaws popped free of my arm and he dropped me. I collapsed as much from shock as the impact, and my addled brain took far too long to realize what had happened. When the scene finally came into focus, my breath caught.

Edward had James held in the air much like I had been, his hands squeezing James' jaws, forcing them open. "You do not get to touch her."

I blinked. Had that growl, that guttural noise, come from Edward?

He spun and threw James to the ground. The man bounced, but recovered quickly and rolled to his feet. Edward moved to stand over me, his posture hunched, his hands flexed like claws to his side.

James wiped my blood from his mouth and slowly smiled. "Oh, your precious 'family' wouldn't join you, Cullen?"

Edward didn't reply, he struck. He crossed the distance between them faster than I could see and crashed into James. My eyes could only track them properly once they slammed into the mirror. Cracks spiderwebbed from where they hit, but I was distracted by a burning flare in my arm. I suddenly remembered that I was losing a lot of blood through that bite and I clutched it to my abdomen, trying to staunch the blood with my shirt. Should it be burning like that, though? Was it the venom?

I looked back at the vampires in time to see James do something with his legs that let him throw Edward over his hip. Edward tumbled, but recovered in a blur as soon as his feet hit the ground. There was a flurry of exchanged blows; James blocked some, dodged others, but took most of them with pained grunts. He snapped a kick into Edward's thigh, then dashed forward as Edward stumbled and got him into a hold that locked his arms uselessly above his head.

"I get it," James snarled, "My coven didn't want to come, either. But you really shouldn't have come alone."

Edward coughed out a laugh, though his face remained in a rictus snarl. "I didn't come alone…I just got here first."

I gasped as another wave of fiery agony rolled up my arm, squeezing my eyes shut. I heard more footsteps. Someone else arriving? The shouts and grunts of combat continued. More glass broke. Stone—or bricks?—hit the ground. The sounds tumbled around me in a haze, like I was trying to perceive them through the heat mirage of the burning in my arm. More voices joined the mix, some were female. I heard screams of pain, desperate, full of terror. James' voice, I thought.

Gentle arms lifted me, their skin cool but their touch tender. They pried at my arm, then I heard Esme hiss in displeasure. Other hands prodded at my throat, made me whimper by nudging my shoulder. I heard Carlisle speak.

"These will heal, but that bite…It looks envenomed."

"Edward, go help—" Esme began, but Edward's voice cut her off.

"Emmett and Rosalie have it covered."

I finally forced my eyes open and saw their three faces. Alice joined them a moment later, sharing their looks of concern.

"He bit her just as I arrived," Edward said. "There's still time. I can suck the venom out!"

"And you think you can resist?" Carlisle asked. "Son, her blood is ambrosia to you. Your track record…"

Edward looked at Alice. "Tell them. I know you see it'll work."

"What I see keeps flickering between success and failure," she said, pained.

"I should do this," Carlisle insisted. "I resisted at each of your turnings, I can resist now."

A different kind of panic filled my heart. I couldn't say why, but I couldn't bear the thought of anyone's teeth on me but Edward's. Not again, never again. I tried to get that out, to explain, but all that came out was "Ed…Edward…please…"

He locked eyes with me and nodded, then looked sharply at Carlisle. "She wants me to do it. I hear her thoughts, and you heard her just now."

Carlisle grimaced and opened his mouth, but Alice cut in.

"Just let him, Carlisle." She was looking beyond us all and was terrified of what she saw. "We need to get that venom out of her and get her out of here. It works out, but if we argue too long the visions go blank. Now is not the time to find out what happens in a blank vision."

They shifted so that Edward could get at my arm. He held me tenderly, waiting for me to relax my arm before taking it in his hands. "Bella, I have to…"

He held my gaze for a moment longer, then locked his mouth around the wound. Even after all this time, I was surprised at how cool his lips were. I felt his teeth scrape the bite, lightly clearing away the beginnings of scabs, felt his tongue lap at the seeping blood. Then it began.

It was a strange kind of reverse pressure. His mouth tightened and the suction began pulling blood from my arm. The burning faded, retreating back to the bite, and was replaced with a deep chill. My body tried to panic—it knew too much blood was leaving—but I forced myself to relax. This was Edward. I wasn't in danger from him.

I felt him groan, his lips vibrating softly against my skin. His eyes opened, his gaze met mine. Then, as if in ecstasy, his eyelids fluttered and his eyes rolled upward. The pleasant coolness became an icy burn. He sucked harder, and my skin began clinging to my muscles and bones, exposing blood vessels that bulged with the blood Edward was drinking. My confidence turned to horror, as, blackness encroaching on my vision, I realized Edward had lost control. I heard Alice scream, saw Carlisle lunging, then it all just…faded.