He glanced at me grimly, both of us remembering. “You must have thought I was possessed.”
“I couldn’t understand why. How you could hate me so quickly . . .”
“To me, it was like you were some kind of demon, summoned straight from my own personal hell to ruin me. The fragrance coming off your skin . . . I thought it would make me deranged that first day. In that one hour, I thought of a hundred different ways to lure you from the room with me, to get you alone. And I fought them each back, thinking of my family, what I could do to them. I had to run out, to get away before I could speak the words that would make you follow. . . .”
He looked up then at my staggered expression as I tried to absorb his bitter memories. His golden eyes scorched from under his lashes, hypnotic and deadly.
“You would have come,” he promised.
I tried to speak calmly. “Without a doubt.”
He frowned down at my hands, releasing me from the force of his stare. “And then, as I tried to rearrange my schedule in a pointless attempt to avoid you, you were there — in that close, warm little room, the scent was maddening. I so very nearly took you then. There was only one other frail human there — so easily dealt with.”
I shivered in the warm sun, seeing my memories anew through his eyes, only now grasping the danger. Poor Ms. Cope; I shivered again at how close I’d come to being inadvertently responsible for her death.
“But I resisted. I don’t know how. I forced myself not to wait for you, not to follow you from the school. It was easier outside, when I couldn’t smell you anymore, to think clearly, to make the right decision. I left the others near home — I was too ashamed to tell them how weak I was, they only knew something was very wrong — and then I went straight to Carlisle, at the hospital, to tell him I was leaving.”
I stared in surprise.
“I traded cars with him — he had a full tank of gas and I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t dare to go home, to face Esme. She wouldn’t have let me go without a scene. She would have tried to convince me that it wasn’t necessary . . .
“By the next morning I was in Alaska.” He sounded ashamed, as if admitting a great cowardice. “I spent two days there, with some old acquaintances . . . but I was homesick. I hated knowing I’d upset Esme, and the rest of them, my adopted family. In the pure air of the mountains it was hard to believe you were so irresistible. I convinced myself it was weak to run away. I’d dealt with temptation before, not of this magnitude, not even close, but I was strong. Who were you, an insignificant little girl” — he grinned suddenly — “to chase me from the place I wanted to be? So I came back. . . .” He stared off into space.
I couldn’t speak.
“I took precautions, hunting, feeding more than usual before seeing you again. I was sure that I was strong enough to treat you like any other human. I was arrogant about it.
“It was unquestionably a complication that I couldn’t simply read your thoughts to know what your reaction was to me. I wasn’t used to having to go to such circuitous measures, listening to your words in Jessica’s mind . . . her mind isn’t very original, and it was annoying to have to stoop to that. And then I couldn’t know if you really meant what you said. It was all extremely irritating.” He frowned at the memory.
“I wanted you to forget my behavior that first day, if possible, so I tried to talk with you like I would with any person. I was eager actually, hoping to decipher some of your thoughts. But you were too interesting, I found myself caught up in your expressions . . . and every now and then you would stir the air with your hand or your hair, and the scent would stun me again. . . .
“Of course, then you were nearly crushed to death in front of my eyes. Later I thought of a perfectly good excuse for why I acted at that moment — because if I hadn’t saved you, if your blood had been spilled there in front of me, I don’t think I could have stopped myself from exposing us for what we are. But I only thought of that excuse later. At the time, all I could think was, ‘Not her.’”
He closed his eyes, lost in his agonized confession. I listened, more eager than rational. Common sense told me I should be terrified. Instead, I was relieved to finally understand. And I was filled with compassion for his suffering, even now, as he confessed his craving to take my life.
I finally was able to speak, though my voice was faint. “In the hospital?”
His eyes flashed up to mine. “I was appalled. I couldn’t believe I had put us in danger after all, put myself in your power — you of all people. As if I needed another motive to kill you.” We both flinched as that word slipped out. “But it had the opposite effect,” he continued quickly. “I fought with Rosalie, Emmett, and Jasper when they suggested that now was the time . . . the worst fight we’ve ever had. Carlisle sided with me, and Alice.” He grimaced when he said her name. I couldn’t imagine why. “Esme told me to do whatever I had to in order to stay.” He shook his head indulgently.
“All that next day I eavesdropped on the minds of everyone you spoke to, shocked that you kept your word. I didn’t understand you at all. But I knew that I couldn’t become more involved with you. I did my very best to stay as far from you as possible. And every day the perfume of your skin, your breath, your hair . . . it hit me as hard as the very first day.”
He met my eyes again, and they were surprisingly tender.
“And for all that,” he continued, “I’d have fared better if I had exposed us all at that first moment, than if now, here — with no witnesses and nothing to stop me — I were to hurt you.”
I was human enough to have to ask. “Why?”
“Isabella.” He pronounced my full name carefully, then playfully ruffled my hair with his free hand. A shock ran through my body at his casual touch. “Bella, I couldn’t live with myself if I ever hurt you. You don’t know how it’s tortured me.” He looked down, ashamed again. “The thought of you, still, white, cold . . . to never see you blush scarlet again, to never see that flash of intuition in your eyes when you see through my pretenses . . . it would be unendurable.” He lifted his glorious, agonized eyes to mine. “You are the most important thing to me now. The most important thing to me ever.”
My head was spinning at the rapid change in direction our conversation had taken. From the cheerful topic of my impending demise, we were suddenly declaring ourselves. He waited, and even though I looked down to study our hands between us, I knew his golden eyes were on me.
“You already know how I feel, of course,” I finally said. “I’m here . . . which, roughly translated, means I would rather die than stay away from you.” I frowned. “I’m an idiot.”
“You are an idiot,” he agreed with a laugh. Our eyes met, and I laughed, too. We laughed together at the idiocy and sheer impossibility of such a moment.
“And so the lion fell in love with the lamb . . . ,” he murmured. I looked away, hiding my eyes as I thrilled to the word.
“What a stupid lamb,” I sighed.
“What a sick, masochistic lion.” He stared into the shadowy forest for a long moment, and I wondered where his thoughts had taken him.
“Why . . . ?” I began, and then paused, not sure how to continue.
He looked at me and smiled; sunlight glinted off his face, his teeth.
“Yes?”
“Tell me why you ran from me before.”
His smile faded. “You know why.”
“No, I mean, exactly what did I do wrong? I’ll have to be on my guard, you see, so I better start learning what I shouldn’t do. This, for example” — I stroked the back of his hand — “seems to be all right.”
He smiled again. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Bella. It was my fault.”
“But I want to help, if I can, to not make this harder for you.”
“Well . . .” He contemplated for a moment. “It was just how close you were. Most humans instinctively shy away from us, are repelled by our alienness. . . . I wasn’t expecting you to come so close. And the smel
l of your throat.” He stopped short, looking to see if he’d upset me.
“Okay, then,” I said flippantly, trying to alleviate the suddenly tense atmosphere. I tucked my chin. “No throat exposure.”
It worked; he laughed. “No, really, it was more the surprise than anything else.”
He raised his free hand and placed it gently on the side of my neck. I sat very still, the chill of his touch a natural warning — a warning telling me to be terrified. But there was no feeling of fear in me. There were, however, other feelings. . . .
“You see,” he said. “Perfectly fine.”
My blood was racing, and I wished I could slow it, sensing that this must make everything so much more difficult — the thudding of my pulse in my veins. Surely he could hear it.
“The blush on your cheeks is lovely,” he murmured. He gently freed his other hand. My hands fell limply into my lap. Softly he brushed my cheek, then held my face between his marble hands.
“Be very still,” he whispered, as if I wasn’t already frozen.
Slowly, never moving his eyes from mine, he leaned toward me. Then abruptly, but very gently, he rested his cold cheek against the hollow at the base of my throat. I was quite unable to move, even if I’d wanted to. I listened to the sound of his even breathing, watching the sun and wind play in his bronze hair, more human than any other part of him.
With deliberate slowness, his hands slid down the sides of my neck. I shivered, and I heard him catch his breath. But his hands didn’t pause as they softly moved to my shoulders, and then stopped.
His face drifted to the side, his nose skimming across my collarbone. He came to rest with the side of his face pressed tenderly against my chest.
Listening to my heart.
“Ah,” he sighed.
I don’t know how long we sat without moving. It could have been hours. Eventually the throb of my pulse quieted, but he didn’t move or speak again as he held me. I knew at any moment it could be too much, and my life could end — so quickly that I might not even notice. And I couldn’t make myself be afraid. I couldn’t think of anything, except that he was touching me.
And then, too soon, he released me.
His eyes were peaceful.
“It won’t be so hard again,” he said with satisfaction.
“Was that very hard for you?”
“Not nearly as bad as I imagined it would be. And you?”
“No, it wasn’t bad . . . for me.”
He smiled at my inflection. “You know what I mean.”
I smiled.
“Here.” He took my hand and placed it against his cheek. “Do you feel how warm it is?”
And it was almost warm, his usually icy skin. But I barely noticed, for I was touching his face, something I’d dreamed of constantly since the first day I’d seen him.
“Don’t move,” I whispered.
No one could be still like Edward. He closed his eyes and became as immobile as stone, a carving under my hand.
I moved even more slowly than he had, careful not to make one unexpected move. I caressed his cheek, delicately stroked his eyelid, the purple shadow in the hollow under his eye. I traced the shape of his perfect nose, and then, so carefully, his flawless lips. His lips parted under my hand, and I could feel his cool breath on my fingertips. I wanted to lean in, to inhale the scent of him. So I dropped my hand and leaned away, not wanting to push him too far.
He opened his eyes, and they were hungry. Not in a way to make me fear, but rather to tighten the muscles in the pit of my stomach and send my pulse hammering through my veins again.
“I wish,” he whispered, “I wish you could feel the . . . complexity . . . the confusion . . . I feel. That you could understand.”
He raised his hand to my hair, then carefully brushed it across my face.
“Tell me,” I breathed.
“I don’t think I can. I’ve told you, on the one hand, the hunger — the thirst — that, deplorable creature that I am, I feel for you. And I think you can understand that, to an extent. Though” — he half-smiled — “as you are not addicted to any illegal substances, you probably can’t empathize completely.
“But . . .” His fingers touched my lips lightly, making me shiver again. “There are other hungers. Hungers I don’t even understand, that are foreign to me.”
“I may understand that better than you think.”
“I’m not used to feeling so human. Is it always like this?”
“For me?” I paused. “No, never. Never before this.”
He held my hands between his. They felt so feeble in his iron strength.
“I don’t know how to be close to you,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I can.”
I leaned forward very slowly, cautioning him with my eyes. I placed my cheek against his stone chest. I could hear his breath, and nothing else.
“This is enough,” I sighed, closing my eyes.
In a very human gesture, he put his arms around me and pressed his face against my hair.
“You’re better at this than you give yourself credit for,” I noted.
“I have human instincts — they may be buried deep, but they’re there.”
We sat like that for another immeasurable moment; I wondered if he could be as unwilling to move as I was. But I could see the light was fading, the shadows of the forest beginning to touch us, and I sighed.
“You have to go.”
“I thought you couldn’t read my mind.”
“It’s getting clearer.” I could hear a smile in his voice.
He took my shoulders and I looked into his face.
“Can I show you something?” he asked, sudden excitement flaring in his eyes.
“Show me what?”
“I’ll show you how I travel in the forest.” He saw my expression. “Don’t worry, you’ll be very safe, and we’ll get to your truck much faster.” His mouth twitched up into that crooked smile so beautiful my heart nearly stopped.
“Will you turn into a bat?” I asked warily.
He laughed, louder than I’d ever heard. “Like I haven’t heard that one before!”
“Right, I’m sure you get that all the time.”
“Come on, little coward, climb on my back.”
I waited to see if he was kidding, but, apparently, he meant it. He smiled as he read my hesitation, and reached for me. My heart reacted; even though he couldn’t hear my thoughts, my pulse always gave me away. He then proceeded to sling me onto his back, with very little effort on my part, besides, when in place, clamping my legs and arms so tightly around him that it would choke a normal person. It was like clinging to a stone.
“I’m a bit heavier than your average backpack,” I warned.
“Hah!” he snorted. I could almost hear his eyes rolling. I’d never seen him in such high spirits before.
He startled me, suddenly grabbing my hand, pressing my palm to his face, and inhaling deeply.
“Easier all the time,” he muttered.
And then he was running.
If I’d ever feared death before in his presence, it was nothing compared to how I felt now.
He streaked through the dark, thick underbrush of the forest like a bullet, like a ghost. There was no sound, no evidence that his feet touched the earth. His breathing never changed, never indicated any effort. But the trees flew by at deadly speeds, always missing us by inches.
I was too terrified to close my eyes, though the cool forest air whipped against my face and burned them. I felt as if I were stupidly sticking my head out the window of an airplane in flight. And, for the first time in my life, I felt the dizzy faintness of motion sickness.
Then it was over. We’d hiked hours this morning to reach Edward’s meadow, and now, in a matter of minutes, we were back to the truck.
“Exhilarating, isn’t it?” His voice was high, excited.
He stood motionless, waiting for me to climb down. I tried, but my muscles wouldn’t respond. My arms and legs stayed
locked around him while my head spun uncomfortably.
“Bella?” he asked, anxious now.
“I think I need to lie down,” I gasped.
“Oh, sorry.” He waited for me, but I still couldn’t move.
“I think I need help,” I admitted.
He laughed quietly, and gently unloosened my strangle-hold on his neck. There was no resisting the iron strength of his hands. Then he pulled me around to face him, cradling me in his arms like a small child. He held me for a moment, then carefully placed me on the springy ferns.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
I couldn’t be sure how I felt when my head was spinning so crazily. “Dizzy, I think.”
“Put your head between your knees.”
I tried that, and it helped a little. I breathed in and out slowly, keeping my head very still. I felt him sitting beside me. The moments passed, and eventually I found that I could raise my head. There was a hollow ringing sound in my ears.
“I guess that wasn’t the best idea,” he mused.
I tried to be positive, but my voice was weak. “No, it was very interesting.”
“Hah! You’re as white as a ghost — no, you’re as white as me!”
“I think I should have closed my eyes.”
“Remember that next time.”
“Next time!” I groaned.
He laughed, his mood still radiant.
“Show-off,” I muttered.
“Open your eyes, Bella,” he said quietly.
And he was right there, his face so close to mine. His beauty stunned my mind — it was too much, an excess I couldn’t grow accustomed to.
“I was thinking, while I was running . . .” He paused.
“About not hitting the trees, I hope.”
“Silly Bella,” he chuckled. “Running is second nature to me, it’s not something I have to think about.”
“Show-off,” I muttered again.
He smiled.
“No,” he continued, “I was thinking there was something I wanted to try.” And he took my face in his hands again.
The Twilight Saga Collection Page 22