Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and all its characters. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: I have been cheating on my favourite vampire with a much darker and slightly more conventional vampire of British origin. Unfortunately, he has gone and died, leaving me heartbroken. The nerve of some vampires!

This story is written in my native tongue, and I'll make no bones about the fact that it has been inspired and influenced by my recent dalliance, so not all vampiric traits will be strictly in keeping with Twilight. In my copy, the italicised sections are written in dark red, which sadly can't be used here, but you might like to imagine it.

There is a lot of angst and a fair bit of darkness in this one...

"Where am I?" he asked, turning in a circle.

"You're here," she said.

Everything was white for as far as he could see in every direction, but just two feet from where he stood was a large bathtub - an old fashioned, cast iron, roll top tub with ball and claw feet.

She reached out and began to unbutton his shirt.

"What are you doing?"

"You need a bath," she said, looking him in the eye.

He didn't fight her as she eased the shirt off his shoulders. He raised his arms when she lifted the hem of his vest so she could pull it up and off over his head. The smell of blood flooded his nostrils when the fabric brushed past his face.

He closed his eyes when her fingers moved to unfasten his blood soaked trousers. She knelt on the floor in front of him and untied the laces on his shoes, holding each shoe steady for him to raise each foot so she could take them off.

She pulled his trousers and underpants down as one and waited for him to step out of them. His socked feet made red, sticky footprints on the pristine white floor. She peeled his socks off one by one and then stood up and took his hand, leading him over to the bathtub.

"Climb in," she said.

The warm water was tainted the moment his first foot entered it, and his hands left bright red prints on the rim of the bath as he lowered himself into the water. She pushed his shoulders down gently until he was completely submerged from head to toe. He closed his eyes, thinking that when he came back up for air, he would never want to open them again.

She bathed him with her hands alone, running them through his long, matted hair and rubbing them over his face and neck, across his chest, down his arms and then lower under the water until she reached his toes. Her hands touched almost every inch of his bloody skin, but he wasn't aroused. He was too weary.

"What is this place?" he muttered. "I shouldn't be here. I don't belong here. I should be in hell."

"Hell isn't a place you can inhabit," she said, tapping a finger to his temple. "Hell inhabits you."

He shuddered. "Then where am I?"

"You're here… because your brother loved you. He loved you enough to stop you, enough to let you go and save you from yourself. He loved you so much, he could see your soul."

He snorted, inadvertently taking water in through his nose. He could taste the blood.

"Stand up," she said.

The water ran down his body, the hairs on his chest, arms and legs dark and straight against his skin. He opened one eye. She was regarding him with a singular expression he could not determine.

She held out a hand and he took it, stepping out of the bath and letting her lead whilst he dripped a trail of red water behind him. A door appeared where previously there has been nothing but white. She opened it, and he followed her into another expanse, not dissimilar to the first, except the water in the bath was clean and pure.

"Get in," she said.

"It will take more than water to wash away my sins," he said.

"You think that's what we're doing?"

"Isn't it?"

Her mouth quirked up at one corner. She nodded towards the bath and raised her eyebrows, but his eyes were drawn to her left hand. It was clenched in a fist. He frowned at it until she relaxed her fingers, opening them so he could see the pale wood and bristles of a small nail brush.

He did as he was told and once again closed his eyes while she scrubbed at the nails on his hands and feet.

"You'll never get it all out," he said. "I've tried."

"I know what I'm doing," she said, working the brush up his legs towards his groin. He winced in anticipation of the brush on his more delicate skin and bit into his bottom lip when she scrubbed the area between his legs, then his stomach, his chest and the front of his neck.

"Lean forward," she said. The brush on the back of his neck and shoulder blades was soothing, more so as she worked it in circles down his spine to the small of his back. He felt his whole body relax and his mind began to drift.

"On all fours," she said.

In an instant, he had opened his eyes and turned his head. "You are joking, aren't you?"

Her face showed no sign of humour; neither was it stern.

He placed his hands on the rim of the tub, pushed himself up and climbed out. Her eyes roamed over his body, but still he wasn't aroused. And yet the woman kneeling in front of him was more than enticing.

She looked up at him with her dark brown eyes wide open and her full lips slightly parted. Her chestnut hair was wavy and long, reaching almost to her waist, which was hidden by the simple, ankle length, white shift dress covering her body.

She looked innocent, angelic and everything his baser nature would normally desire, but his body did not react as it would have done when he was…

"Am I dead?" he asked.

"You tell me," she said.

"I thought… I should have…" He turned around and stared at the door that hadn't been there a moment ago. Before he could think how she'd got there, she was in front of him, pulling him through the doorway towards another bathtub full of clean water.

"In you get," she said.

"Another one?"

"Yes."

He looked down at his feet and watched the pool of red forming around them. Where was it all coming from?

"In you get," she said again.

The water was fractionally warmer than before, and he wondered if it would get hotter the closer he got to… wherever she was taking him. This was his third bath in how many to come?

His musings were interrupted by a deluge of hot water pouring over his head. It had him coughing and spluttering and gasping for breath. Then her hands were in his hair and on his scalp, and rivulets of soapy, bloody water were running down his face, neck and chest.

He retched.

Blood had never troubled him before, not in that way, but then he'd always been able to let it run down the drain and wash away from him, out of sight, forgotten - mostly.

The bath water got darker when she used a second jug of water to rinse the soap from his hair.

"This might take some time," she said, tugging at his arm to indicate he should once more stand and get out.

Time after time, bath after bath. She could try all she wanted, but she would never be able to wash it all away.

...

He lay on the bed in her arms, her fingers exploring the contours of his face, neck and chest. All around him was white as far as he could see. Everything was white and pure, but him.

He drifted, half asleep, half dreaming until the first face appeared behind his eyelids: his brother, wooden stake in hand, saying he loved him enough to free him from his misery.

...

"Take this."

"What is it? Oh, no, Edward! Don't—"

"I need you to stop me."

"Not like this."

"I'm a slave to it, Emmett. I can't stop."

"For years you were fine. You'll be fine again."

"Not this time, and it isn't just blood. It's sex and violence and torture and death. I've lost control of the monster. Look at me. I'm covered in it, and no amount of trying will wash Bella's blood out from under my skin."

"Is that what you've been doing? Trying to wash her blood away? Edward, it wasn't your fault. She pushed and pushed, and despite your fears, despite your warnings…

She knew what she was asking of you. She knew the risks."

"To her. She knew the risks to her."

"She didn't think what it might do to you. If she'd loved you as she should—"

"She loved me more than I deserved. She took me back. She gave me a second chance."

"And then you were both fools."

"I can't go on, Emmett. It's either you or…"

"No. Not them. I'll do it, but I need time to prepare."

"How many more people do I have to kill? Please. Do it now. I'm beg—"

"I'm doing this because I love you."

...

All around him was bright white. The glare was too much. He longed for the dark, for the darkness inside him to explode outwards and relieve his eyes.

He choked on air, gasping for breath whilst she rubbed his back. He looked down at the sheet rumpled in his lap, covering his shame. Tiny spots of red liquid appeared on the sheet, one after the other, until he could see nothing but red.

"Who are you?" he whispered through his tears.

"It doesn't matter," she said, throwing off the sheet and exposing him. She clambered off the bed and grabbed his legs, pulling them towards her until his feet dropped to the floor. She took a hold of his hands.

"Come on," she said.

They walked and walked for minutes, hours, days, him leaving a trail of red spots in his wake, until they stopped still in the middle of nowhere.

He looked up at nothing and then down between their feet at the smooth, white floor.

Water started to fall, light and warm at first, like a summer rain shower. Then it became heavier and increasingly cold. His hair clung to his forehead, almost blocking his view of the woman, whose shape was now clearly visible under her long, wet dress. The thin, white fabric clung to her body, giving away her secret, showing her to be completely naked beneath it.

He wiped a hand across his face and took in the vision that had once been an erotic fantasy sufficient to make him lose all control, but his body didn't react. His body was ice cold, frozen and impotent. She took his hand and placed it on her breast, but his fingers were too numb to move on their own. They had lost all sensation.

He stared down at his feet, humiliated. They were surrounded by a pool of blood red water, for there was nowhere for it to go.

She sighed and squeezed his hand. "Come with me."

...

Through yet another door, there was small, white table and two white chairs with painted metal legs. There was food on the tabletop: a loaf of bread on a wooden chopping board, a block of cheese set at an angle beside it with a serrated knife sticking up out of the top, and some fresh butter in a white, ceramic dish.

"Sit," she said. "Eat."

"I'm naked."

"Yes, you are."

"And dripping wet."

"Is that a problem?"

He looked her up and down. Her dress had dried and was no longer clinging to her body. Her hair was dry too and so were her feet. Why was he still dripping wet?

"Could I have a towel, or a robe, or a sheet?" he asked. "Please."

"There's a towel on the chair," she said, pointing at it. He was sure it hadn't been there until that moment.

She picked up the towel, shook it out and held it open with her arms wide apart, just as one might for a child. He walked up to her and turned his back, waiting patiently as she wrapped it around his waist, tucking in one end to secure it.

"Seems a shame to cover you up," she said," but I suppose the chair would be uncomfortable without it."

They took their seats and he stared longingly at the food on the table. "I can't eat human food," he whispered.

She pulled the knife from the block of cheese and cut a thick slice of bread from the loaf. She placed it on the table in front of him, scraped the knife over the butter and then spread some on the bread. Then she cut a slither of cheese and laid it on top.

His stomach rumbled. He inhaled, smelling the scents that should have repulsed him. He lowered his face to the food and breathed it in. He would take a chance and try one mouthful. He could always throw it up later.

One bite led to another, and as soon as he'd finished the first slice, another was placed before him. He ate and ate until everything was gone bar the crumbs on the table.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw her smiling at him, but when he looked up, her eyes were dark and serious and focused on his upper body.

"What?" he asked.

"Leave the towel," she said, pushing her chair back and rising to her feet.

He untucked the towel as he stood and let it drop to the floor, where it quickly soaked up the watery red pool he'd left beneath the chair.

...

He lay on the bed beside her, staining the sheets with his guilt. He stared up at the blank, white nothingness above him and allowed his mind to drift.

...

The meadow was covered with bright red poppies - the perfect flower to mark the end of his war with his conscience, the perfect flower to remember the dead.

His conscience had won a tentative victory, barely maintained until his brother had honoured his request, but the war had waged for too long. So many innocent lives had been lost. So much innocent blood had been spilt and drunk and smeared all over him.

With his brother standing there, his hand still holding onto the bloodied stake whilst tears streamed down his face, Edward felt his life ebb slowly away.

The pain in his chest had almost faded when the first speck of dust floated up from his corpse. As the breeze picked up, his last thought was that he might be saving others by ending his life, but he himself was beyond salvation.

...

Her hands caressed his chest, his face, his arms, his legs. Gentle strokes over the smooth cotton of the white sheet.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"We're here," she said.

"Will you tell me your name? Please."

"You know my name. You just have to remember it."

He turned on his side and opened his eyes only to be met by her gaze. "What are you?"

"I'm dead," she said. "That's what I am."

Like me, he thought. "How do you cope with all the white?"

"How do you cope with all the red?"

"I need it. It reminds me of what I've done. It reminds me of who I am."

"You're not that… anymore."

"What am I then?"

She combed her fingers through his hair, over and over, until he closed his eyes.

"I can't sleep," he said.

"Try."

...

"Where have you been?" she asked.

"I… I don't know, but you were with me."

"You've been gone for months… I think." She frowned and looked away from him.

"You were with me. You cared for me. How could you not know?"

"I've not been here. My dad said I… He said it was as if I'd died, and yet my body was..."

"Did you not wash me, comfort me, feed me? I was with you all that time."

"I don't know where I was. Everything was black. I thought I was in hell."

"Don't. Please. Don't say that."

"What are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You look different. Paler. Like a ghost of the man I loved."

"I wasn't a man."

She waved a hand between them.

"I've been scrubbed clean," he said.

"Then I don't want you."

"What?"

"I wanted you exactly as you were. The sum of all your experiences, good and bad."

"But the things I did - to so many - to you. Cruel, hateful, sinful… evil." His hands were in his hair, tugging hard. How could she want that man, that murderer? "You wanted the danger, the risk, the terror?"

"I wanted you, but you didn't stay. You decided I wasn't good enough and you left, and somehow, even though you didn't want me, you took me with you."

His tongue tingled in his mouth. His throat contracted as he tried to swallow. "You wanted me to take your soul with mine to hell."

"And you didn't, but you took me to hell anyway."

"I can't be that monster anymore. I can't take another life."

"Then you'd better leave and go back to the woman you were with. What was her name?"

"Bella."

She scowled at him.

"Her name was Bella," he said, "just like…"

"Just like the little girl you fell for back in Forks High School. How apt."

"Aren't you that girl?"

"Not anymore."

He looked at her properly now, at her dull eyes, pallid skin and limp hair. He looked at her blood soaked clothes and shoes and the long gash running from her neck down to her chest, still oozing blood.

And then he breathed in her absent scent and listened for the beat of her absent heart.

She was his first kill after decades of sobriety. She was his first real attempt to reclaim his humanity, and his first step towards a cruel madness, a bloody insanity. She was the beginning of his end.

...

"Bella!"

"Ssh, Edward, I'm here."

His mind was trapped between the nightmare and a waking reality he could not understand. He pulled his knees into his chest and rocked himself back and forth on the floor. Where was the bed?

He opened his eyes and looked at his fingernails. They were filthy with blackish red, dried blood. Was it hers?

"Bella," he whispered.

"I'm right here," she said.

A pale hand appeared in front of his face, and he snatched it out of the air, desperate to hold onto something. She pulled and pulled, and slowly he unfolded his body and let her help him up.

She led him to a freshly drawn bath. He looked at the water and sighed. He lifted one leg over the side and then the other and held onto the rim to lower himself into the hot water.

He sat in the middle of the tub with his long legs bent up and his hands resting on his knees.

"Get in with me," he said, his eyes pleading with the woman. "Please."

She bent to take the hem of her shift in her hands and raised it up over her head. The fabric floated to the floor. He closed his eyes and waited to feel her body wrap around his from behind. He leant back in her arms and there they stayed - still, quiet, eyes closed, simply breathing.

"Your name is Bella."

"Yes."

"Are you her?"

"I am me."

"Why am I here?"

"I don't know." Her voice faltered for the first time. "I wanted.. so much… and I hurt…"

He felt her body shuddering against his back. "You're crying. Please don't. None of it was your fault."

"But it was."

And her clear tears joined his red ones in the water as they cried themselves to sleep.

...

"What are you doing?"

"Unbuttoning my shirt."

"Please don't."

"But you promised we'd try today."

She pushed the last button through the last buttonhole and pulled her shirt wide open, letting it slip from her shoulders. Her jeans were next, and he couldn't help but watch, conscious of the fabric of his own jeans against his growing erection.

He looked at the pale skin she'd exposed, the delicate lace of her royal blue underwear, and he felt his resolve weakening.

Her hands moved behind her back, reaching for the clasp of her bra. He covered his face with his hands. "Please stop. I know I said I'd try, but… "

"You can't even bear to look at me, can you?"

"Quite the contrary. I'm finding it increasingly difficult to keep away from you."

"Then don't."

...

They stood facing one another beside the door.

"I'm worried," she whispered.

"Why?"

"I don't believe I've seen this kind of door before."

"I'll hold your hand."

He pushed the door open to yet another expanse of white. He led her over to the bed and lifted the top sheet. She climbed in and looked at him, standing there naked before her."

"Get in," she said.

"I'm not clean."

"You are," she said. "You're clean enough… for me."

"You want him, not me."

She stared into his eyes, watching a single drop of blood roll down his cheek. "Him?"

"Who or what I was before."

"Why would you think that?"

"You said you don't want me like this."

"When?"

"In my dream, my nightmare."

She reached out both arms towards him. "That was wasn't me."

"You're not her?"

"Please…"

He got into bed and wrapped his arms around her, allowing himself to feel her skin and smell her hair. His lips brushed against her temple as he spoke. "I don't know what's real."

She kissed his throat, his neck, his unshaven jaw. She kissed his lips, his nose, his eyelids. She ran her hands through his hair and pressed her body against his, waiting, waiting, waiting…

"Don't you want me?" she whispered.

"I can't allow myself to."

"Don't hold yourself in check. Not with me. Please."

"You begged me once before."

She pulled back and shook her head. Her eyes were watery.

"Just let me hold you," he said. "Please."

...

The one after Bella had been blonde haired and blue-eyed. He'd tried to pull away, tried to leave her be, but she'd climbed into his lap and pressed her hips into his and thrust her throat right under his nose.

He should have been revolted. He should have pushed her off and ran. He still didn't know why he'd stayed.

He tried to believe he'd given her pleasure before he'd taken his own. She had been every bit as willing to play with him as he had with her. She'd enjoyed their little game, luring him down the dark alleyway, but she hadn't known what he was or what he would do.

And though he drank every last drop, it was like swallowing the foulest tasting medicine, not the elixir of life. Nothing like Bella's blood at all.

...

"Edward! You need to wake up."

He opened his eyes and recoiled. She was covered in red and it was wet and glistening. He heaved.

"It's your tears," she said, repeating her words as she held his head to her breast. "It's only your tears."

"Let me go."

"I can't."

"You must. I'm going to be sick."

He fell off the bed onto his hands and knees and retched. She leaned over him and rubbed his back as he created a new puddle of dark red on the smooth, white floor.

"I need a bath," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I'm sure we can find one somewhere around here."

...

She sat between his legs with her hair up in a knot and he washed her with his hands, cupping the water and pouring it over her skin. The water turned red.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"What for?"

"The blood."

"You can't help it."

"You're not repulsed?"

"No."

His hands began to explore her body. He wasn't tentative in his touch, but he was gentle. He touched her breasts, her stomach and her thighs. He ran his fingers through her pubic hair, and when she opened her legs, he let his fingers wander down between them.

She leaned back into his chest and turned her face up to be kissed, her lips parted. He brought his mouth close to hers but didn't oblige her. They breathed each other's breath, and he watched her face whilst his fingers caressed her slippery skin.

She could feel his body beginning to respond to hers - finally some proof that he wasn't completely unaffected by her - and it excited her. She kept her discovery to herself, her erotic secret, whilst he brought her to her climax.

When she came to in his arms, she tried to turn around, but he held her fast.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"Look at the water." The red was so dark it was almost black.

"Did you…?"

"Yes," he whispered, "when you did."

"Oh."

She rubbed her hands over his forearms, feeling the hairs beneath her fingertips, and smiled. And then she laughed, and he thought he'd never heard a more hopeful sound in all his long life.

...

The men were laughing hysterically at their friend taunting the woman. They stank of alcohol, and she stank of fear. She was so frightened, there was urine running down her legs.

He didn't stop to think. He placed himself between the men and the woman and let out a roar of rage. The woman stumbled backwards for a second and then ran. She tripped, picked herself up and ran some more until he could no longer hear her.

He felt justified later. He had done a service to the community by killing those men, but he knew none of them was much older than he had been when he was changed. They were still boys, fueled by cheap whisky, pretending to be grown up. If he had watched and waited, they might have let the woman go.

But he hadn't waited and he hadn't stopped until he'd finished. And now he'd have to scrub himself clean and find some new clothes all over again.

...

"Stop! You'll scrub your skin raw!"

He shook his head and looked at the large, bristled brush in his hand. How did that get there?

Cold water cascaded down over his head as if he were underneath a waterfall. He looked around, but there was nothing to see. No grey rocks. No lush, green foliage or clear blue skies. There was only white and red and her.

"There's no need to do that to yourself," she said. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Yes, I did."

She put her hands on her hips. "What we did together was not something you need to scrub away."

He looked at her body, his eyes following the curves of her breasts, waist and hips, and he frowned.

She took a step closer. "Why would it be wrong to touch me like that when I wanted you to? Why would it be wrong for you to feel that pleasure with me?"

"I…" He shook his head again. "I don't know where I am. Sometimes I'm here - with you - and sometimes I'm… not."

His knees buckled beneath him, and he curled up on the wet floor and sobbed. The water kept on falling.

…

He smoothed a lock of her hair between his finger and thumb. "You remember who we were before."

"I remember everything."

"You didn't show it when I first arrived."

"That wouldn't have been fair. I've had time to pull myself out of that darkness."

"How did I get here?"

"I don't know, but I wished for you. I longed for you."

"Why?"

"I think you know the answer to that." She wrapped one arm around his waist. "Dance with me?"

"There's no music."

"Then sing."

He didn't sing, but he did hum, and they danced in circles, round and round, until they reached another door. She grabbed the handle and looked up at him. "What's your favourite colour?"

His eyes glinted. "I thought you remembered everything."

She opened the door and they stepped through. All they could see was white.

"Well, that didn't go as expected," she said.

"Did you think you could change it?"

"Maybe. Oh, look. I did change something."

There, in the distance, was a small patch of the palest blue which turned out to be a woollen blanket. They lay down on it and looked up at where the sky should be.

His hand wriggled its way into hers and held tight. "I shouldn't have laid down on this," he said. "I'll ruin it."

"Not possible."

"Every bath, every bed, even the floor. I leave bloodstains wherever I go."

"They only bother you. I don't mind them."

"It's… I'm not… I'll never be clean."

She turned her head and smiled at him. "You make my world more colourful."

He snorted. "You've always done that for me."

"Spilled blood all over?" She grinned.

He screwed his face up.

"Too soon?" she asked.

"A little."

"Let's just lie here for a while with our eyes closed."

"Until I need another bath."

"Until then."

...

What had he done?

There was so much blood. How could there be so much blood when he'd drunk her dry?

She had begged him to stop. She had pleaded for his very soul, but his soul had begun its departure long ago when his maker punctured two holes in his neck. His soul had seeped out of his body and had taken his humanity right along with it.

Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing would ever matter again. The monster within him had won, and it would never be sated.

...

He watched the little, yellow duck bobbing around in a sea of watery red.

She dipped the white flannel into the water and wrung it out. It had turned pink. She wiped the tears from his cheeks and washed behind his ears.

"Could you want me without the intimacy?" he asked.

"This is intimate, isn't it? Washing you."

He turned his head and looked at her face. Her lips were parted, and he wanted so much to kiss her, to put his tongue into her mouth and pull her close. He wanted to consume her.

"I don't know if I can separate myself from the past," he whispered. "Every sexual act has ended in bloodshed, and I'm not sure if I can be intimate with you in that way without remembering."

She lay the flannel out flat on the surface of the water, covering the little, yellow duck, and sighed.

"I long to be with you in every way," she said. "I always have, even before I knew you existed, but I won't push you to do something you can't ever again."

She turned her head away so he wouldn't see her tears and reached for the pile of fabric to her left. She pulled on the white shift dress and stood, and then she walked towards the open door.

"There's a towel there for you," she said.

He hurried to follow her, dripping and slipping on the floor. He scrubbed the towel over his head and body and then looked at it in disgust. Dark red streaks of blood marred the fluffy white.

He threw it down and ran to catch her up, reaching out to pull her to him, but he wasn't trying to comfort her. He was hurt and he was angry.

"You can't say something like that and walk away from me," he said, and then he realised she was shaking. "Why are you crying? Is it because I won't fuck you?"

"No!" She turned on him, pounding her fists against his chest. "I did this to you. Me. I destroyed every last vestige of humanity you had left, and still I can't let you go."

He felt his body soften as he enveloped hers. "I don't want you to let me go, and I'll forgive you anything you did to me, if only you could forgive me."

...

There was only one thick cut sandwich, wrapped in greaseproof paper. He peeled back a corner of the bread to inspect the filling. It was cheese. Pale yellow, almost white.

She watched him take the first bite. He took a little more than was wise, and his cheeks plumped out whilst he chewed.

He watched her trying to contain her amusement. Her eyes were twinkling and her lips were resisting her every effort to keep them pressed together. He swallowed his mouthful.

"Do you find this funny?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You used to watch me eat."

"I found it fascinating." His eyes dropped to the sandwich in his hand then returned to her. "I found you fascinating."

"I forgave you whilst you drank my blood. Did you not hear me?"

"Pardon?"

"I said I was sorry. I said I forgave you. Over and over until I couldn't utter another word, and then I thought the words as I watched you fall apart."

"There was this noise in my ears. It was deafening."

"You were distraught. You were screaming. I tried to comfort you, but you couldn't feel my touch. You couldn't even see me."

"I can see you now."

"I know."

...

"Edward! You need to stop! Please!"

...

He lay back in the tub with his legs outstretched and closed his eyes. The water already had wisps of red floating in it.

"Get in," he said.

She removed her white dress and sat at the opposite end, laying her legs over his so her feet were close to his hips. The hairs on his shins tickled the backs of her thighs.

She lifted her long hair up and draped it over the rim of the bath, leant back and closed her eyes. The water was almost scalding. She thought she might fall asleep.

He opened first one eye and then the other. He regarded her face, her long lashes, her lips, her collarbones, her breasts, her stomach and the pink skin between her legs. The water was slowly darkening, hiding her, restricting his view.

She heard the gentle splish splosh of the water and felt the skin of his legs dragging against hers as they moved beneath them, but she didn't open her eyes.

She felt his hands slide between her arms and her sides, up under her shoulders, and then the weight of his body as he gently lowered himself down on top of her.

Then she felt his lips on her chest, her throat and the underside of her chin, and when they reached her lips, she embraced him. He entered her body with such ease, it was as if he had been able to love her this way all his life.

His movements were so natural, so loving, and although he did not yet allow himself to display the full intensity of his passion, she knew he would another time, another day.

They sunk down under the water, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, eyes wide open, but all they could see between them was deep, dark red.

"After you, I couldn't stop."

"I know. I was there."

"I fucked and drank and killed and fucked and drank, and I just couldn't stop."

"I know. I went everywhere you went."

"I made him drive a stake through my chest. I begged him to end it."

"I know, Edward."

"Bella?"

"I saw everything. He loved you with all his heart, as do I."

"Where are we?"

"We're here. Together."