A/N: Happy New Year, everyone! I'm in an exceptional mood. New Year means all of Ellie's fave shows have new seasons coming out: "Psych", "Monk", -muttering- "American Idol"… You get the idea. I'm tangled up in the Model-athon (Cycles 1-9, baby!) on VH1. It's one of those shows you watch when no one's around; right up there with "So You Think You Can Dance" and…"Deal or No Deal" (though my brothers always catch me watching that one since I yell at the TV).
Lol, now that we've had our random moment of the day, I just want to let you know that this story in on my list of New Year's Resolutions. Right there in big bold letters, "FINISH EDITS ON BatB!"
Thanks LOADS to my beta, Ren better known as Angel Ren, without whom, a lot of this would've made you go, "Huh???" You totally rock, Ren!
Everyone who has used our various forms of communication to tell me to get my butt in gear, bunches of thanks. I was almost afraid people were tired of this story.Thanks to everyone whose been reading and reviewing ('cause replying to reviews is on the resolutions list, too) to push me past 200 reviews! –happy-dances-- And thanks to everyone that got through this author's note, lol. I love you all! Hope 2008 is splendiferous for all of you.
Read, enjoy, and review!
"Love is patient, love is kind…It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves."
May love do all these for you and much more, Anna Mei.
Love, love, love, Ellie
Chapter Thirteen
Fool! He'd been so foolish to believe that this pseudo-companionship would endure his earth-shattering revelation. With the guile and tact of a cinderblock, he'd plowed right through to the heart of the matter. And curse it all, she was being as enigmatic as ever.
Bella glanced up at him, and then quickly back down, startled at the intensity in his eyes.
"Somehow," she whispered, "I do not think you wanted to tell me that."
"Somehow," Edward replied, unspeakable self-rage mounting within him, "I think you were displeased with my answer." The words came out as a growl—a mere rumble in his chest—so low he was surprised Bella could discern them.
He could not even see her face to try and judge how she had taken the news. Did she believe? Did she understand? How could she? Edward had made a broad statement without any semblance of clarification. And the horror that he would have to explain it further to her ripped at his dead heart.
He wanted her happy. It frightened him to his core that there was nothing and no one else that mattered at this exact moment. He blinked, and every time, her face was there behind his eyelids: shy, beautiful, courageous, and fascinating.
Would he ever fully understand the mystery that was Isabella Swan? Something in him delighted somewhat at the intrigue, feeling that with her, there would always be something new to learn.
He had always enjoyed being in control. Edward would not really consider it a character flaw, though he knew many others most likely did. Because once you knew everything there was to know about someone, the shock was gone. They could never again surprise you, never hurt you because you could see it coming from a mile away. It had never been a bad thing up until this point. Being in people's heads every second of the day, what choice had he been given but to live with that fact?
"You have questions, I know," Edward ground out. Gooseflesh had broken out on Bella's arms from their proximity, but he could not force himself to move away.
Bella shook her head quickly, sending her mahogany hair into a brief dance. "No." Then she looked up with a flaming face. "I do not understand why you prompt questions when you do not want to answer them."
Because you want me to answer them! That was what he wanted to say. In fact, the retort was on the tip of his tongue, ready and waiting. Why did it seem that every statement Bella made wrought twenty more questions he was dying to ask her?
He had expected her to react badly, she knew. She could just picture it: Edward explained himself and watched as Bella fled screaming and waving her arms. The news was not exactly welcome…and yet she couldn't clarify why she wanted him to trust her…
Bella mistook his quiet for confusion. Lowering her head once more, she said, "It wasn't very fair for me to force your hand. Had I realized that it was such a sensitive topic…"
Edward's pride flared a bit at that. "It wasn't. Isn't." He didn't like this new polite and reserved Bella. Where was the firecracker that had driven him insane by holding her breath? Where was the bravery? Why did he feel the urge to rush in and hold her to him and spill out anything and everything she wanted to know?
"You should have the chance to tell me when you're ready."
"I am. I just did." His anger came up, bubbling and simmering to the surface.
"But I know you did not want to. So it's your turn once again."
Edward clenched and unclenched his right fist. Once, twice. Feeling the annoyance drain out of him, he said, "Were you perhaps just a bit unnerved by it? Is that what brought all of this on?"
No. Yes. "That's two questions," Bella said, her voice trembling.
"Forget the game, Bella." Edward's voice was low and urgent. Bella felt feverish, her pupils dilating. Unconsciously, she leaned toward him slightly. Edward didn't seem to notice. "Just the first question, then. Were you scared of what I told you?"
"You don't want me to answer that," Bella replied feeling the sting of tears behind her eyes.
"Why not?" Edward burst out, finally losing his temper.
She shifted imperceptibly away from him, from his fury. And broke his heart all over again. "That's another question."
In a lithe move Bella did not see, Edward was once more standing. He needed distance. He couldn't have her scent whirling around in the air like that, enticing and succulent, when he wanted to hit something. Hard.
Her flowery aroma mixed with something less pungent but no less alluring. It was saline, Edward realized. She was crying.
"Miss Swan—"
Bella sniffled loudly, blotting beneath her eyes with the long sleeve of her nightgown. "I'm not crying."
Edward almost smiled at her tenacity. "I never said you were. But there is a good chance that someone might think you were."
"Well, I'm not," came the stubborn, watery reply. "There's just a bit of dust in my eye." It was an immature response. A stupid one, at that. She couldn't pinpoint why the thought of Edward—your captor, her mind screamed pleading with her heart, the man who took your father away—being upset with her made her feel like doing something ridiculous.
She turned her head up to blot the tears more effectively and caught the expression on Edward's face.
And in that moment, Isabella Swan tumbled headlong into love with him. Irrevocably.
Her hand itched. Staring into his eyes was like drowning. She couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. How could something be so horrible and wonderful at the same time? The color within his eyes swirled and changed, starting with a light topaz and fading to deep gold. Because it soothed her somewhat to scratch at the back of her hand, she did.
And suddenly, as if given a signal, the other hand began to itch as well. Bella raked her nails (very short from the bad habit she had of chewing on them) back and forth vigorously, not an easy feat as coated in sticky juice as she was. What was wrong with her? Her palms, her knuckles, her fingers, hands…all the way up to her elbows!
Edward stared.
As Bella rubbed her arms against each other, seeking relief from the burning sensation, Edward noticed for the first time what the raspberry juice had been concealing. Marring Bella's beautiful skin was the beginnings of an unsightly rash, plumping her arms. Oh, dear.
"Miss Swan—"
"Holy crow!" Bella burst out. She whipped her head first left, then right, looking for something to chafe her flaming arms against. She more or less dragged herself to the beautiful wingback armchair whose material was just the right texture…
"Miss Swan—"
There was the sound of frantic friction as Bella scratched her arms against the chair, not at all satisfied, but much, much better.
And, as Bella sat back aghast at the puffy pink rash, Edward laughed aloud for the first time in nearing fifty years.
"I…don't see how...this is…amusing, Edward," Bella managed.
It wasn't, not if you stepped back to look at it. But as close as he was to all the drama, the hilarity only tightened its hold on him. Nevertheless, Edward did his best to sober his expression and stepped forward.
At least until Bella's frenzied itching broke the skin.
In a moment of utter madness, there is always that brief second, millisecond, where everything goes completely still. Where the world pauses to breathe before whatever chaos comes to take hold of it.
Time stopped.
Instinct gripped Bella tightly. She wouldn't feel the slow trickle of blood from her open wound, nor would she be able to hear the unsteady thump-thump of her heartbeat bumping in her ears. Something was wrong. No, something was very wrong. Bella didn't need to look up to see where two charcoal eyes were rapidly scalding her raw flesh with their glare. Glazed eyes followed the path up her arm to the midsection of it where several tiny red dots began to appear.
Unconsciously, Edward's tongue darted out to moisten his lips.
The monster was back. Simple as that. He'd taken a momentary leave of absence, promising as always to return when he was least expected.
But his eyes, of their own accord, danced up to the stunned, befuddled expression on Bella's face.
And time started once more.
"Talk to me," he rasped.
Edward's lips were barely moving, but they were emitting sounds that seemed familiar. These were words she should know, words she had grown up knowing. And yet they weren't reaching her. Her mouth was as dry as cotton, unable to form a single syllable as she watched the pinpricks of blood continue to grow exponentially, unchecked.
It smells awful, Bella's subconscious moaned, incapable of doing much else.
It smells wonderful. Edward growled. He clenched his fists. He even tried to cease his breathing to no avail.
"Bella. Speak." It was his only rational wish. While the monster snarled and ripped viciously at the back of his throat, Edward's mind and heart wanted something entirely different. If she would only distract him somehow, try to take his mind off of this burning thirst so that he could function sanely!
"Mr. Edward…" Her voice sounded like it was coming from the other end of a tunnel. "I don't feel so well."
Keep talking. He was begging with her, trying to communicate when he couldn't at all force the sounds through his inflamed throat.
The only thing that kept him from pouncing, taking his first actual kill in forty-nine years was the resigned look in Bella's dazed eyes. She knew what he wanted to do, what he planned to do. And she was prepared not to fight, but to give up.
Even as the monster rejoiced, Edward took a step back. Then two. Slowly, painstakingly, he reached the door and fumbled for the knob. Bella's eyes did not see him anymore as he slipped outside.
She fainted for the second time in as many hours.
Mortification had Bella murmuring a quiet "Thank you" as Carlisle wrapped her arms—from wrist to elbow—in white gauze.
"It isn't the most desirable remedy, and they will take some time to heal, but at least it will prevent any scratching."
She had no memory of how she had ended up downstairs, how Edward had staggered to Carlisle's study, weak from the pain of holding himself back from her blood.
Carlisle had diligently applied a pink lotion to her arms while she barely restrained any urges to tear her skin once more. Edward sat watching at waiting the entire time and Bella got the distinct impression that Carlisle did not want him to be there, though she did not hear the argument that had ensued between the two.
Edward, you did well. I can handle it from here. Carlisle threw several colored bottles into his case effortlessly.
The muscles in Edward's neck stood alert with the effort he was expelling to hold back the thirst. Black eyes, fiery and bright nonetheless, stared back at Carlisle. "I will come with you."
Edward. Carlisle gave the equivalent of a mental sigh, still keeping his body ready to spring should Edward's resolve give way to the monster. I don't think that's such a good idea.
She was hurt, was all Edward could think. She was hurt and he needed to see for himself that she would be alright. "Carlisle," was all he said.
Despite the tensions in the house, Carlisle felt his son's determination radiating throughout the room. He couldn't deny Esme's claim now. Edward was in love. It made him grimace to think how quickly he would be at Esme's side if she so much as tripped.
"Fine. Feed." The thought had occurred to him to simply tend to Miss Swan while Edward made his way to the basement, but he could not bring himself to betray his son's trust.
Carlisle had left Edward and the human, trying to resist the parental call that demanded he wait outside the door.
Seeing the familiar flash of caramel hair, Carlisle frowned. "Esme, what…?"
Esme raised a hand to her lips. Tugging him behind the door and out of the line of sight of the two inside the sitting room, she resumed her place at the threshold.
"Are you spying, my dear?" Carlisle's low voice, right at her ear, made her shiver.
"It has been called that in certain societies," she retorted airily.
Bella could feel Edward's eyes on her.
She groaned aloud. And through all this—all this careful consideration of what Edward wanted—she had managed to make a fool of herself in reply. Instead, she had broken into a scratching fit like a madwoman. And on top of it all, fainted…again.
Typical, Bella grumbled mentally.
Bella lifted her bandaged arms, glaring at them in disgust before letting them fall.
"Well," she said to no one in particular, "that was embarrassing."
Edward wished he could say that after being close to her for so long, she no longer surprised him. At the moment, he was so very glad she couldn't see the look of incredulity that twisted his features.
"Getting those berries was too easy. I knew that plant had to be poison oak." She shuddered. "Oh, just imagine if I had eaten one."
Silence.
"I faint at the sight of blood. I hope it to be my only true stereotypical feminine quality." Well, that and crying at every little thing. Bella turned her head slightly to stare at him. "Not so much the sight, I guess, but the smell is what kills me."
"Humans cannot smell blood," Edward replied automatically.
Just the way he said humans—not condescending at all, but detached, like he was well aware he didn't belong to that particular group—ruffled Bella's feathers slightly. "Says you."
"What does it smell like then?" Edward challenged. What was he doing to himself? The last thing on earth he wanted to discuss was blood, most especially when it was Bella's.
"Fine, but this is your second question." While their game had flown right out of Edward's head the moment he'd revealed himself, it was Bella's lifeline.
"Blood smells…disgusting. Like...I don't know if you've ever let a pipe rust after it has rained for a long time…"
He hadn't.
"…but it just smells like that. Rusty, salty, awful."
Her description unnerved him. Yes, blood, he supposed, may smell an awful lot like what she had just described. To a human, anyway. Possibly even to him, if he thought about it. But it was his nature to think it delicious, tantalizing and mouthwatering. He didn't want to dwell on it, and yet she'd offered it so willingly. But he'd asked. Once again, it all came back to him.
"My turn," Bella said unsteadily. Those brooding silences frightened her more than anything. It was on the tip of his tongue, she knew, to order someone to simply lock her up somewhere far away where she wouldn't see another living soul for a long time. Where she wouldn't see him for a long time.
"Bella." Edward's voice was low and desperate. "I only want to ask one final question, and then you may ask me any one that you wish."
There. That was it. The finality in his tone had her curling into herself on the settee. "Alright."
"What were you thinking when I told you?"
The question was oddly intimate. No one, save Charlie, had ever asked her about her thoughts on something.
And so, the words poured from her mouth like a waterfall. "I knew you weren't comfortable telling me. I did not want you to regret it, that's all." No, it wasn't. She didn't want to him to regret anything that happened between them. Bella gnawed on her lower lip. Somehow, one of them would not be pleased with her answer, and she wondered who it would be.
"I did not believe you at first," Bella whispered. "I thought you must be telling me something you thought I would accept so that I would keep from questioning you about it."
Acceptable? How in God's name was being a vampire acceptable?
As though reading Edward's look of consternation, Bella scowled and said, "I never said my thoughts were one hundred percent logical."
She continued, "And then I reasoned that you were simply ill."
Her brown eyes were roaming the room, straying anywhere but where Edward wanted them: on his. He had no way of dragging the truth from her. Bella could say whatever she wished and he would never fully know if it was the truth.
"But suddenly it all made sense, especially when I scraped my arm." Bella was quiet for a few moments and Edward thought she had finished. "I suppose I'm not a very talkative person. But I like to watch. I watched people in Forks and the way they interacted until I could almost predict their next moves. So I watched here as I did there. You and your family never ate. You possessed supernatural strength. And your eyes change. Sometimes they'd be…topaz, I guess is the closest color. Then other times they'd be completely opaque with blackness.
"Not to say that I figured it out all on my own. The person who reassured me of my assumptions probably did not even know that they did." Bella paused for breath. "My father's friend loved to tell ghost stories. The sort that leave you quivering beneath the covers long after they've been told. The last time he visited, he told me of what he called the Cold Ones. I realized if it walked like a duck and quacked like a duck—"
"Then it must be a vampire."
Edward had thought Bella Swan's expression when he revealed himself to her had shaken the world as he saw it. Her next words threw his Earth off its axis entirely.
"But then I decided that it did not matter."
He would have bet one hundred years worth of advanced hearing on the fact that he'd heard her incorrectly. But that didn't stop him from bursting out, "It didn't matter?"
Taken aback a bit at his anger, Bella murmured, "No."
"Then you did not understand." He had just expected her to grasp in completely, hadn't he? Idiot, he chastised once more bitterly.
"Oh, I understood. I think maybe you don't: it just really makes little difference."
"You understand, do you? You understand that at this very moment, I can see your pulse strumming against your skin. Just barely contained, just barely protected. You would never be able to fight me off if I decided I wanted it. I would be at your throat so quickly, you wouldn't even realize it!" He was breathing heavy, speaking low and furious yet the words thundered throughout the room. Edward found himself utterly sickened by the way he spoke to her, but had no way of controlling the words that frothed madly at his lips. "You understand, then, that every second in a room with your scent is torture. Even when you aren't there. Your blood calls to me, and you have no earthly idea of it."
Bella began to tremble. Her body vibrated on the settee. "You're trying to scare me," she whispered.
"Yes!" Edward shouted. "Now we understand each other! I am the monster that you won't find even in your nightmares. And you are the prey that I hunt."
"Stop."
The word was soft-spoken, not even really a reprimand, though it was said firmly. Esme strode over to the pair with anger thrumming in her golden eyes. "Please allow me to speak with Miss Swan, Edward."
It was evident from his expression that Edward had no intention of doing so. "Esme—"
"You will leave us now."
Esme so rarely gave orders. He could probably count the number of times that she did. And when her infrequent requests were made, they were hastened to be followed. Feeling cowed, Edward stood. That dazed, terrified look in Bella's eyes made him want to hit something. Unfortunately, his conscious conveyed snidely, since he had been the one to put it there. He slammed the door behind him, vexed when it did nothing to soothe the savagery of his insides.
Esme watched the girl shivering quietly as fat tears rolled down her pink cheeks. Men, she thought with more than a bit of agitation, could be such idiots at times.