This was my entry for The Canon Tour's Pre-Twilight Round. Visit this account's profile, Twitter account (TheCanonTour) or the website bit . ly / canon-tour (remove spaces)
There were 28 excellent stories in the pre-Twilight round - go, read, enjoy, and then go on back for the following rounds.

Thank you to everyone that read and reviewed this story - I loved reading your words!

Beta'd by Kherisma

The Bear

I should have listened to my brother.

The words drone repeatedly in my head as I lay face down on the ground. If I had listened to Michael, I wouldn't have gone hunting alone. I wouldn't have hiked down into this ravine, my steps tracing an unfamiliar trail. I wouldn't have surprised the bear as it lumbered out of a tree hollow, warm and drowsy from a nap.

My sight is dim, filmed over by something sticky, but I can make out my rifle and pack on the ground to my right, out of reach. The stink of blood and bear clogs my nose and my head aches, a splintering pain throbbing through my skull in time to my heartbeat. Behind me, I hear the deep snorting grunts of the bear. I feel its great paw nudging me, moving my body as it pushes into my side. Pain flares where the paw makes contact, bursts of stabbing fire that tell me my ribs are badly broken. A hoarse grunt escapes me as the bear rolls me over, and I squint at the canopy of trees above me, glimpses of bright sky peeking through the hickory and maple leaves. The paw shoves at the fire in my side again and this time I can't stop the weak cough that wheezes out of my lungs.

The bear rears up on its hind legs with an angry roar that echoes through the empty wood. It takes all my concentration to move my head a fraction of an inch, and I realize dully that something is very wrong. My head, my arms, my chest, and guts, every inch hurts so much; each breath is agony. But below my belt, there is nothing, not even coldness. A weightless, blank nothing, as if my legs have vanished, though I see the tips of my boots when I cast my eyes down over my chest.

My eyes flicker to the bear as he lunges back down, his shining black eyes meeting mine as a deep snarl rings in my ears. I have time enough to blink, watching as one huge paw swings back before slamming into my face. With a pop, the sky goes black, all light extinguished in an instant. I can hear the bear for a while longer, snuffling and snorting as it continues to push at me with paws and snout. I feel a whoosh of hot air on my neck as a warm, wet nose rests there a moment, smelling me. Another deep growl rumbles against my shoulder before an ugly crunching noise fills my ears. The blank nothing blanketing my legs drifts higher, covering me like a shroud.

I'm sorry, so sorry I didn't wake Mama before I left to tell her I love her. I'm sorry that she will worry when I don't come home, and that my family will miss the meal I was hunting. I know how much they count on me.

I hate that everyone will think I ran away from Gatlinburg. I hate how much harder life will be for my family without my paychecks from the railroad. I hate that I will never have spoonbread and coffee with my brothers before work, play fighting over the baking dish before we leave enough for the little ones.

I wish I had more time to play cards with my brothers, laughing and sipping sour mash. I wish I had one more night with sweet, redheaded Dolly in the back room of the tavern by the mill, her skin like warm, Irish cream beneath my hands and mouth.

I should have listened to my brother.

The Angel

"Don't be afraid. I promise I won't hurt you."

A voice full of golden music speaks in my ear with such tenderness. The eyes looking down on me are golden, too, shining through the film over my eyes. The beauty and kindness that fill those eyes gazing at me make my heart stutter and ache.

Why would I be afraid of an angel?

I try to speak but my lungs can only pull in shallow breaths as I gaze at the breathtaking creature bending over me. The angel smiles then, as if she has heard my question and the loveliness in her smile makes my head swim. I hear myself gasp and feel cool fingers on my cheeks, the whispering touch as hard and soothing as marble.

I want to warn the angel about the bear but shame fills me when I remember what has happened. I know I am dirty and bloodstained, lying crumpled on the ground. The stink of the bear and my wounds hangs in the air like a heavy fog. I do not want the angel to see me like this.

"I think we were both hunting today, no?" The angel's wonderful teasing laugh caresses me as surely as her cold fingers. "Neither of us has had much success, I'm afraid."

The pain filters through me as the angel speaks, the aches tearing at my head, shoulders, and chest. Now when I breathe, a thousand pinpoints of hurt fill my chest, and every breath I draw seems somehow wet. I am cold, so cold, every limb as heavy as concrete.

"I must move you now," the angel says gently, her red lips curving softly around her words. "It will hurt and for that I am sorry."

I feel the angel's arms move around me, hard and cold even through my clothes. She is just a little thing, hardly taller than Mama is. She plucks me from the forest floor with ease, taking such care to be smooth and gentle in her moments. Even so, every prick of hurt intensifies a thousand-fold, becoming a dagger, crashing down on me like a waterfall of agony. For a moment, the pain robs me of my reason.

Please, let me die.

"Shhhh, I'm sorry," the angel whispers, her golden voice breaking, and I know that the hoarse scream echoing through the trees is mine.

My breaths come like panting sobs as the angel settles my head on her little shoulder. One arm is sure and strong around my back, while I think the other must be under the blank space below my belt. I rest my forehead in the crook of her cool neck, her skin so hard and smooth, like liquid stone against mine. I float on a wonderful smell, like cinnamon and sweet pea blossoms. I fight the darkness creeping over me as the nothing shroud draws tight again. I need to see the light in her golden eyes.

"Try to sleep." I hear the angel whisper, her voice so sorrowful my heart weeps. Cold lips brush against my temple as my stubborn eyes slide closed, a sudden rushing sensation all around me. I struggle to stay awake.

I want to see the angel fly.

The Samaritan

Wet warmth moves slowly over my skin, washing away the sticky grit, removing the smells of bear and blood. Logs crack and pop on a fire to my left, the smell of burning hickory sweet in the air. Cold fingers touch my face; others linger on my wrists and hands, liquid stone soothing me. The sound of my heart beats slowly, slowing in my ears. Golden eyes sparkle above a smile, so beautiful my eyes fill with tears.

The angel.

Movement behind her, more golden eyes burning with kindness, and soft voices all around, filled with music. I hear gold, crystal, velvet, and rustling leaves in their voices. I float for a moment on the lilting beauty of their voices, my eyes drifting closed. The nothing shroud's suffocating softness lingers near.

"I'm going to give you some morphine, son, in hopes it lessens the pain," the voice like rustling leaves tells me, warm, bright eyes smiling down into mine. I smile, recognizing this angel for what he truly is, a Samaritan. His smile somehow reminds me of Mama, and I swallow against the lump in my throat, my eyes brimming.

I try to tell the Samaritan my name, but my tongue is made of granite and my lips are stubborn. My heart is in my ears and throat, beating more quietly, and the cold squeezes my heart with sure, dark pressure. The nothing shroud draws near, soft and eager to cover me.

Golden eyes so keen gaze into mine, belonging to a beautiful boy whose face is filled with concern. "His name is Emmett," says the voice behind those eyes, velvet rich and soothing as the nothing shroud rolls silently over me.

"Hurry, Carlisle, I don't like the way he looks just now." It is the voice of the angel, the worried crease between her eyes causing my tears to spill, my heart breaking to see her pain.

The Samaritan bends low over the nothing shroud, silken hair grazing my nose and chin, and I breathe in the smells of pear and leather. My heart is quiet, beating slower, growing still.

I am not afraid with angels by my side.

There is a sudden, piercing pain at my neck, like a snakebite causing a slow, spreading warmth. The nothing shroud pulls back as my eyes open, seeing clearly. My heart beats so loud in my ears, racing, chasing my breath. Then I am burning. Fire and fear, whipping through me like lightning, the nothing shroud obliterated in a conflagration. Fire licks my skin, inside my nose and eyes, burning my mouth and throat. My lungs, heart, head, soul, all are incinerating and falling to ash.

Distant hands are cool on my face, arms, neck, and the Samaritan's sorrowful voice gently reaches past my cries. "It doesn't help to scream. I am so sorry, Emmett. Don't be afraid."

I try to listen, to keep my head as the fire consumes me. But I cannot stop the screams when the agony doubles and intensifies. My legs, feet, and hips are cremated and falling to ash. I am and this is a crucible from which I cannot emerge. I burn.

Please let me die. I am not afraid with angels by my side.

The Blood

The silence is overwhelming, ringing in my ears after the sound of my screams. A hush follows the noise of the bed breaking beneath my hands, the doors falling to pieces when I push them open, my steps quick on the wood floor. The burning is done; my skin has cooled at last. The flames are gone except in my throat where they smolder, each swallow so hard and dry, scorching like cinders. The heat there is maddening me, forcing my feet to move, to push past the beautiful, golden-eyed guardians. My eyes turn to find the angel, her face filled with light even as her eyes burn through me. The flames in my throat push me, forcing me out into the night where I race into the moonlight.

I know who I am.

I run, faster and swifter than ever before, into the woods, racing like a deer on feet so light they float. The air whistles by, the woody tang of birch and maple slipping over my tongue. I hear their steps behind me, footfalls easy and unhurried to my right, others further back to my left. A glance shows me the beautiful boy who knows my name, the Samaritan, and the angel running behind him. They are following, as if to guard me or perhaps to guard others from me. My lips pull back from my teeth as I stare at them, a terrifying growl in my chest; the sounds coming from me are not human.

A hot, salty scent slams into me, breaking like a wave over my head. My face snaps forward with a long snarl, the scent pulling me to the right as if a cable is attached to my chest. I fly through the trees, seeing every leaf and frond, each root poking through the brown earth, the patches of moss growing on every rock. Even as my wide eyes take it all in, that mouthwatering smell calls me, begs me closer. My mouth is wet, dripping as I swallow the flames in my throat.

I see a cougar just as my mind understands the wonderful smell is blood, pumping thick and hot beneath the cat's tawny fur. In a blink, the cat is in my arms, writhing fiercely with flashing teeth and eyes, its screams high in my ears. I smile as I bend my face against its neck, the cat's brave heart pumping blood through the vein pulsing beneath my lips for just a moment before my teeth move the fur and flesh aside.

The blood strikes the fire in my throat, wave after wave washing into my mouth and crushing me with luscious, liquid weight. Every inch of me hums with lust and relief, each cell pulsing with the cat's dying heart. My head, chest, hips, and legs are all are strong and singing with the heat of the sweet blood. I drink it all, my moans shocking and shameful while my arms wrap around the cat in an embrace that promises only death.

The feast is over too quickly, the flames in my throat hardly quenched. The carcass lands at my feet, light as an empty husk. Slow shadows catch my eye, the figure of the guardians drifting closer, careful to keep their distance. It is then I realize the one thing the blood did not touch, the one thing that is not soaring with delicious warmth: my heart. Slowly, I raise my hand to press against the center of my chest, waiting for the gentle thumping of my heart that never comes. My heart is silent, still, and cold within the cage of my body.

I know who I am, Mama. Don't I?

The Brother

The beautiful boy walks beside me with long, graceful limbs. The distance between us is respectful, while his keen eyes watch me, gauging my hunger and confusion. The quiet steps of the Samaritan and the angel are close behind, the four of us making our way easily along steep mountain passes while the moon watches our progress.

"My name is Edward," the boy says quietly, his voice filled with wonderful velvet music.

"How long have I been here?" My eyes grow wide at the sound of my own voice, deep and achingly clear, like the icy water of a deep mountain creek.

"Three days," Edward tells me, giving me a reassuring smile. "Rosalie found you in the woods after you had been mauled by a bear. She brought you here."

Rosalie. The angel.

"Rosalie is my sister," Edward says, as if answering my thought. When my eyes flick toward him, his eyes are bright with the kind laughter I hear in his voice. "Our mother, Esme, is waiting at home. Carlisle, your Samaritan, is our father."

Fear and fury crash through me, because the boy is hearing my unspoken words. My body spins toward him in a flash as a growl rips from my chest like a scream. Before I can even blink, perhaps before I have even finished turning toward him, Edward is standing out of my reach. His easy posture belies the tension of his awareness; I know he is ready for any attack I might throw his way. The steps behind us pause as Carlisle and the angel wait in silence while my control stretches and unravels like a worn thread.

"It's all right," Edward says, so softly. His golden gaze is steady holding mine, his hands up but open, his manner soothing me as I would a wild creature in the woods. "I can hear your thoughts, Emmett. It's simply something I can do. I mean you no harm and do not wish to offend you."

We hold each other's stares for a long time, clouds moving like shadows over the moon, stars glinting coldly in the midnight sky. At last, Edward approaches me again, the edges of his lips curving up, waiting silently for me to begin walking before falling in step beside me.

"What's happened to me?" I ask him.

Edward's brows knit as he speaks, his face growing troubled; he takes his time before answering. "You were dying by the time Rosalie delivered you to Carlisle; there was no saving you, I'm afraid."

With sure, quiet steps, the others draw close, the angel stepping closer to stand by Edward's side. "Carlisle has changed you, Emmett. You are like us now," Rosalie says in a whisper. Her voice and eyes filled with a pain I want to soothe away with my fingers and lips.

"And what are you?" The words hang in the air after I have spoken them and I watch her, my throat tightening as I wait for the answer.

"We are vampires," Carlisle says, his reply as serious as my question before. "As are you, Emmett; you are a one of us now."

I freeze like stone as my mind racing over their words. My mind pulls every childhood memory I have of monsters and vampires, telling me that what Carlisle has said cannot be true, simply cannot be. But how can I explain the way I crushed the bed when the burning finally ceased, the splintering doors as I made my way outside? How can I explain the way I ran, my feet flying over the earth like the wind? What about the blood I drank? What about my heart, still and silent inside me?

Oh, Mama, I don't know what to believe anymore.

"You can never go home to them, Emmett," Edward says, his voice brimming with regret. "I'm sorry we have to tell you that. Given time, your human family will forget you."

"No," I say at once, shaking my head vehemently as the denials pile up in my mouth. "They'll never forget me! My family needs me, they love me, I –"

Edward steps forward then, careful to keep the distance I need, but coming close enough to lay one long hand on my shoulder; the affection in his gesture catches me off guard. "Your family is not safe from you, Emmett," he says in a soft murmur that makes a lump rise in my throat as I look into his eyes. "You are dangerous to them. Hurting them will destroy you and you will never forget. We won't allow that to happen to you."

I know who I am. Don't I?

The Mother and the Family

Esme's smile fills me with longing for my home in Gatlinburg. She won't let me apologize for the broken bed or the doors, telling me in her sweet, honeyed voice that it is to be expected from one so strong and new as me. She doesn't fuss when I break things, which is often. I still cannot reign in my anger, fear, or joy, cannot control my stone limbs when I turn too quickly in the little rooms of the house. I spend a lot of time out of doors, sparing the contents of the house, particularly the piano in the great room. I know that Edward or Rosalie sit there nearly every day to play the luminous music that does more to ease my ragged moods than anything else does. I want to hear those notes so badly.

Six months have passed. I often sit on the porch of the big wooden house while Esme tells me stories about Carlisle and herself, about Edward, and about my angel, Rosalie. I glance at Esme from time to time during our talks, smiling at the way her hair falls in warm golden brown waves, and the dimples that flash whenever she grins. She is beautiful and sweet, welcoming me and forgiving my clumsy actions and emotions.

Esme tells me about the struggles she endured after her transformation, and encourages me, telling me how well I am doing. She gives me hints for disguising myself when I am ready to walk among the humans and shows me ways to seem softer in my movements and posture, more like flesh than stone. She likes to touch me with her little hands, gentle nudges on my shoulders and sweet caresses down my arms, each gesture like a kiss. She is teaching me, along with the others, about who I have become.

Carlisle tells me the histories of the family and our kind. He tells me how long I can expect my shattering strength to last, and describes ways to ease the flashing moods that rule my life. He is patient and kind, filled with knowledge that staggers me. He has an easy laugh, filled with love for this family he has made.

Edward shows me how to hunt, to stalk prey without crashing through the brush to tackle beasts. He talks to me about books and music, about the years he has spent learning since his own change. He listens when I tell him about the human family in Gatlinburg. He nods, his eyes soft when I tell him how hard we struggled to make ends meet and how happy we were, crammed all together in that little house.

And my angel, Rosalie… she gives me love. Her voice is soft as she describes the life she led before her change, living in New York with her human family. She shares her secrets, letting me see the pain and doubt she still feels over the loss of her human life. She tells me about the places my new family has lived, about Carlisle's medicine and Edward's studies. She tells me about Esme's longing to add others to the family, how she keeps watch for more orphans to bring into the fold.

Rosalie presses her lips to my knuckles and tells me how hard she struggled not to kill me when she found me in the woods that day. The pout on her lips makes me laugh and she narrows her eyes playfully before racing into the woods, her feet flashing as I follow. When I catch her, I sweep her into my arms and bury my face in her neck as I did the day she found me, when I thought we were flying.

The fever in our kisses makes me forget the flames lingering in my throat for a little while, our tongues wild in their tasting. Our hands move on faces and over throats, touching white skin, wringing gasps, and groans that make me burn in a different way. My head, mouth, chest, hands, and hips are singing with pleasure as I pull my angel closer, her golden hair falling over me like rain.

I am putting the past to rest, allowing my human life to fade and die, as it must. Edward is helping me prepare a gift for the human family I left behind. It is a way to thank them for every joy they brought me during the hurried, murky moments of that life. It is a way to help them live well as they continue beyond me. Emmett McCarty may be gone, but the bloodlines that run through me will prosper, strong and sure. Somewhere my descendants may have my curly black hair, or devilish blue eyes, or even the dimples that melted the resolve of every girl.

I am learning about who I have become. I am finding my way in this world, with my family around me.

I know who I am.

A/N

Thank you for reading :)

There's just something about Emmett that makes me love him.