September 5, 2011

Dear Readers,

I am in the midst of re-working A Different Kind of Love through an organization called Project Team Beta. Since my story is completed, however, I am leaving it online for your reading pleasure because there should be no major plot changes. You will recognize edited chapters by the change in format.

As always, feel free to leave any comments – good, bad, ambivalent – at the end of any chapter, and God bless!

~ evelyn-shaye

Special thanks to ChocolateMango and Twimarti for being wonderful betas in this first chapter!

October 29, 2011

I have a very special announcement to make. I have two wonderful permanent betas! lost in his golden eyes and Nikki Halen are absolute delights to work with, and they have tirelessly and beautifully revisited these already-edited chapters and made this story even more incredible. Chapters 1 through 3 have also been reworked since my last post, and chapters 4 and 5 are in the works as we speak!

Whether you are new to my story or reading it again, I hope that you enjoy seeing Jake and Nessie from my point of view!

~ evelyn-shaye

Prologue: Memories

They say that normal children forget most of what they experience prior to age two or three.

There are exceptions, of course. Some children can recall memories as far back as their first birthday party; others have no recollection of anything before kindergarten. Still, these exceptions aren't considered abnormal. Even little flashes of being fed by their mother or rocked to sleep in their father's arms aren't uncommon; that's why children gravitate towards their parents, especially their mother, and instinctively recognize other family members and their own unique name.

I suppose that I should have felt anxiety toward my own state of normality when I realized that my memories went back to my time in Isabella Marie Cullen's womb.

But then again, I have never been normal.

No normal baby remembers her mother's coos and comforting strokes during the period of development. No normal baby feels guilty for having to stretch in the womb and make her mother uncomfortable.

My name is Renesmee Carlie Cullen, and I can remember the morning of my birth as clearly as if it were yesterday.

At the beginning, even in my happy state inside my mother, I was ruled by need—need for blood above everything else. I knew that I was draining Bella, my Momma, of her life source, but I couldn't ignore my desperate thirst for the blood that fueled my development.

The morning that she drank blood for the first time, I was finally able to separate my thirst from my love for the one carrying me. Of course, I couldn't form coherent thoughts yet, but I had flashes of emotion and tried to listen to the goings-on outside of my little world. My limited infant mind began to understand why I was killing her: I was the daughter of a vampire and a human, predator and prey, and my nature called for blood to sustain me.

Later, as my mind developed further and I did my best to protect my mother from the inside, I was able to hear my father, Edward, reading my thoughts and passing them on to Momma. I felt relief for the first time. Maybe Momma would make it, and we could be happy together….

Until that fateful morning, when she dropped the cup of blood on the floor, human blood had never called so strongly to me. Even when I was killing her by sucking her dry, even when I tasted new but still delicious donated blood for the first time, I had never experienced the overpowering need that I now directed toward the insignificant plastic vessel of blood below me. I acted instinctively and used my teeth to start tearing myself out of her body.

Immediately, I had the sensation of being lifted. There were other hands all over Momma, some of them focused on my little pocket; it was uncomfortable. Another set of teeth worked to get me out faster until I was exposed to the outside world for the first time.

All the light! All the color! And there—pale but distinct shapes, my vampire family. Even on that first day, I was able to see everything with perfect clarity.

In the midst of my wonderings, I heard a beautiful sound: the voice of my mother. It was strained, tired, but I had become so attuned to it that nothing could take away from the awe I felt at that sound. I focused my eyes on her and smiled. Bella. Beautiful.

"Renes…mee, so…beautiful," she croaked. Something soared inside of me. A heart? But Daddy didn't have one, and mine was faster than Momma's. I remotely attributed the phenomenon to my hybrid state that I had accepted before birth.

"Give—give her to me." Daddy's cold hands placed me into Momma's warm arms. Oh, how I loved her already! I pressed my cheek into her chest, savoring her comforting presence. But then I smelled the blood flowing in her veins and unconsciously sank my teeth into her skin—

Cold hands pulled me away from her. "No, Renesmee," Daddy murmured, his velvet voice pained. As if I didn't realize now that biting my mother would hurt her. Remorse flooded me as I watched Momma take one last shuddering breath and lie still.

All that I could remember immediately after that was a blur. Being passed from one set of stone hands to another. In the background, Daddy leaning over Momma, trying to revitalize her on a borrowed hospital cot. And next to Daddy, shoving Momma's chest, someone I had never seen before. Who is that? I wondered to myself – that tall, dark man didn't fit in with my pale family. But I was rushed away too soon and distracted by the smell of blood. The cup that could have cost Momma's life had been refilled to sustain mine.

I guzzled it greedily until I could focus singularly on the one holding me. She was a beautiful woman, pale and golden-eyed like the rest. Somewhere in my little mind, it registered that, physically, she was probably more beautiful than Momma. But I didn't care. I loved my mother; she would always be the most beautiful to me.

Still, I felt affection for this woman, and I knew that she loved me, too. She lifted me closer, and I nuzzled her cheek. Oh, her skin was so cold compared to mine! But her hands were like satin against my newborn skin, and I found the coolness comforting.

As I marveled at the sensation, I became aware of another heart nearby. Right in front of me, as a matter of fact. I could feel heat from his skin all the way from the couch the woman sat in. Was he a hybrid, like me?

Curiosity won over my preoccupation with the woman. I raised my head to look at him.

And there it was: the part of the memory that always remained in my head, the part that age and years could never diminish. At first, I thought the intense look on his face was rage. But then, it shifted. An expression of confusion and awe lit his features. His eyes brightened; in them I could see adoration, protectiveness, and a complete certainty that I didn't understand but that made his mouth stretch into a delighted smile.

I recognized him now. He was the dark man that had stood over Bella upstairs. But was he really a man? The smile on his face gave him an almost boyish look, compared to my father, even though his size implied maturity.

Either way, I began to understand the glint in his eyes. We didn't know each other…yet. But we would. This was right; I needed to know him.

I lifted my arms, outstretched in his direction, feeling eager and anxious and thrilled all at once. The woman holding me turned to me with a smile. "What is it, Renesmee?" she cooed. She turned to the boy and gasped. My eyes darted between the two of them. The woman seemed nervous and suspicious; she held me closer. The boy watched her with pleading in his eyes and reached his arms out to me, copying my motion.

"Why should I let you hold her, mutt?" the woman spat. I was confused by the harshness of the words coming from her beautiful face. For the second time that morning, I experienced hurt and guilt. Was my desire to touch him wrong, somehow? As wrong as biting my mother?

The boy approached us slowly. "I promise I won't hurt her, Blondie," he returned, disgust in his voice overshadowed by something like wonder. I marveled at the sound of his voice, rougher than the others' but still unmistakably beautiful, and registered his tone in my memory for future reference. "I just—I just wanna see her."

I reached my arms out again, impatient. Still looking skeptical, the woman he called Blondie summoned two other members of my family – I caught a brief glimpse of their pale, perfect faces – to supervise as she carefully placed me in his arms.

The way he held me, so delicately but so protectively, gave me a feeling of rightness that prompted me to snuggle closer to him. This rightness didn't shadow or diminish the unconditional love for my mother and father upstairs or my affection toward Blondie and the other vampires in the room. It only augmented the total love I had to share; it made my thrumming heart swell.

The boy carefully cradled my tiny head against his chest and tilted his head down to speak to me. "Hi," he said softly. His deep voice rumbled and vibrated against my cheek. "My name is Jacob."

Jacob. The final puzzle piece fit perfectly in place. We were definitely supposed to know each other. Jacob and Renesmee.

I stretched my hand upward and placed it gently on his cheek; his breathing accelerated. I smiled and, for the first time, used the gift that I didn't know I possessed. I'm Renesmee, I told him, my heart filled to the brim with joy and loyalty and longing and every positive emotion for this boy who would, one day, be my best friend.

And I love you.