port angeles

It was too bright for me to drive into town when I got to Port Angeles; the sun was still too high overhead, and, though my windows were tinted dark, there was no reason take unnecessary risks. More unnecessary risks, I should say.

I was certain I would be able to find Jessica's thoughts from a distance—Jessica's thoughts were louder than Angela's, but once I found the first, I'd be able to hear the second. Then, when the shadows lengthened, I could get closer. For now, I pulled off the road onto an overgrown driveway just outside the town that appeared to be infrequently used.

I knew the general direction to search in—there was really only one place for dress shopping in Port Angeles. It wasn't long before I found Jessica, spinning in front of a three-way mirror, and I could see Beau in her peripheral vision, appraising the long black dress she wore.

Beau still looks pissed. Maybe I shouldn't of told him about Tyler. But at least he'd have someone to go with to Prom. That's not so bad, right? But I guess I see his point, I mean, Tyler is totally not into boys… probably. Maybe. God, I don't even know. Since when did boys get so complicated?

"I think I like the blue one better. It really brings out your eyes." Beau said.

Jessica smiled at him mischievously.

"And the girls." Jessica swayed her body suggestively at Beau. I quickly tried to block out her thoughts and searched close by for Angela—ah, but Angela was in the process of changing dresses, and I skipped quickly out of her head to give her some privacy.

Well, there wasn't much trouble Beau could get into in a department store. I'd let them shop and then catch up with them when they were done. It wouldn't be long until it was dark—the clouds were beginning to return, drifting in from the west. I could only catch glimpses of them though the thick trees, but I could see how they would hurry the sunset. I welcomed them, craved them more than I had ever yearned for their shadows before. Tomorrow I could sit beside Beau in school again, monopolizing his attention at lunch again. I could ask him all the questions I'd been saving up…

So, he was upset about Tyler's presumption. I'd seen in Tyler Crowley's head—that he'd meant it literally when he'd spoken of the prom, that he was staking a claim. I pictured Beau's expression from that other afternoon—the outraged disbelief—and I laughed. I wondered what he would say to Tyler about this. I wouldn't want to miss his reaction.

The time went slowly while I waited for the shadows to lengthen. I checked in periodically with Jessica; her mental voice was the easiest to find, but I didn't like to linger there long—too much rambling. I saw the place they were planning to eat. It would be dark by dinner time… maybe I would coincidentally choose the same restaurant. I touched the phone in my pocket, thinking of inviting Alice out to eat… She would love that, but she would also want to talk to Beau. I wasn't sure if I was ready to have Beau more involved with my world. Wasn't one vampire trouble enough?

I checked in routinely with Jessica again. She was thinking about her jewelry, asking Angela's opinion.

"Maybe I should take the necklace back. I've got one at home that would probably work, and I spent more than I was supposed to…" My mom is going to freak out. What was I thinking? I should have asked Beau's opinion first.

"I don't mind going back to the store. Do you think Beau will be looking for us, though?"

What was this? Beau wasn't with them? I stared through Jessica's eyes first, then switched to Angela's. They were on the sidewalk in front of a line of shops, just turning back the way. Beau was nowhere in sight.

Oh, I didn't think about that. Jessica thought, worry tinging her thoughts. "I think so. We'll get to the restaurant in plenty of time, even if we go back. And besides, I think Beau wanted to be alone… I want to make sure we give him his time, I mean he was so sweet to come with us and help us with our dresses." I got a brief glimpse of the bookshop Jessica thought Beau had gone to.

"You're right. Let's hurry, then." Angela said. I hope Beau doesn't think we ditched him. He was so nice to me in the car before… He's really a sweet person. But he's seemed kind of blue all day. I wonder if it's because of Edward Cullen? I'll bet that was why he was asking about his family…

I should have been paying better attention. What all had I missed here? Beau was off wondering by himself, and he'd been asking about me before? Angela was paying attention to Jessica now—Jessica was babbling about that idiot Mike—and I could get nothing more from them.

I judged the shadows. The sun would be behind the clouds soon enough. If I stayed on the west side of the road, where the buildings would shade the street from the fading light…

I started to feel anxious as I drove through the sparse traffic in the center of the town. This wasn't something I had considered—Beau taking off on his own—and I had no idea how to find him. I should have considered it.

I knew Port Angeles well; I drove straight to the bookstore in Jessica's head, hoping my search would be short, but doubting it would be so easy. When did Beau ever make it easy?

Sure enough, the little shop was empty except for the anachronistically dressed woman behind the counter. This didn't look like the kind of place Beau would be interested in—too new age for a practical person. I wondered if he'd even bothered to go in?

There was a patch of shade I could park in… It made a dark pathway right up to the overhang of the shop. I really shouldn't. Wandering around in the sunlight hours was not safe. What if a passing car threw the sun's reflection into the shade at just the wrong moment?

But I didn't know how else to look for Beau!

I parked and got out, keeping to the deepest side of the shadow. I strode quickly into the store, noting the faint trace of Beau's scent in the air. He had been here, on the sidewalk, but there was no hint of his fragrance inside the shop.

"Welcome! Can I help—" the saleswoman began to say, but I was already out the door.

I followed Beau's scent as far as the shade would allow, stopping when I got to the far edge of the sunlight.

How powerless it made me feel—fenced in by the line between dark and light that stretched across the sidewalk in front of me. So limited.

I could only guess that he'd continued across the street, heading south. There wasn't really much in that direction. Was he lost? Well, that possibility didn't sound entirely out of character.

I got back in the car and drove slowly through the streets, looking for him. I stepped out into a few other patches of shadow, but I only caught his scent once more, and the direction of it confused me. Where was he trying to go?

I drove back and forth between the bookstore and the restaurant a few times, hoping to see him on his way. Jessica and Angela were already there, trying to decide whether to order or wait for Beau. Jessica was trying to figure out what Beau would like so they could maybe order for him.

I begin flitting through the minds of strangers, looking through their eyes. Surely, someone must have seen him somewhere.

I got more and more anxious the longer he remained missing. I hadn't considered before how difficult he might prove to find once, like now, he was out of my sight and off his normal paths. I didn't like it.

The clouds were massing on the horizon, and, in a few more minutes, I would be free to track him on foot. It wouldn't take me long then. It was only the sun that made me so helpless now. Just a few more minutes, and then the advantage would be mine again and it would be the human world that was powerless.

Another mind, and another. So many trivial thoughts.

…think the baby has another ear infection…

Was it six-four-oh or six-oh-four…?

Late again. I ought to tell him…

Here he comes! Aha!

There, at least, was Beau's face. Finally, someone had noticed him!

The relief lasted for only a fraction of a second, and then I read more fully the thoughts of the man who was gloating over his face in the shadows.

His mind was a stranger to me, and yet, not totally unfamiliar. I had once hunted exactly such minds.

"NO!" I roared, and a volley of snarls erupted from my throat. My foot shoved the gas pedal to the floor, but where was I going?

I knew the general location of his thoughts, but the knowledge was not specific enough. Something, there had to be something—a street sign, a store front, something in his sight that would give away his location. But Beau was deep shadow, and the man's eyes were focused on Beau's frightened expression—enjoying the fear there.

Beau's face was blurred in his mind by the memory of other faces. Young men and women, all wearing the same frightened expression. Beau was not this man's first victim.

The sound of my growls shook the frame of the car, but did not distract me.

There were no windows in the wall behind Beau. Somewhere industrial, away from the more populated shopping district. My car squealed around a corner, swerving past another vehicle, heading in what I hoped was the right direction. By the time the other driver honked, the sound was far behind me.

Look at him shaking! The man chuckled in anticipation. The fear was the draw for him—the part he enjoyed.

"Stay away from me." Beau's voice was low and steady, not a scream.

"Don't be like that."

He watched Beau flinch to a rowdy laugh that came from another direction. He was irritated with the noise—Shut up, Jeff! He thought—but he enjoyed the way Beau cringed. It excited him. He began to imagine Beau's pleas, the way he would beg…

I hadn't realized that there were others with the man until I'd heard the loud laughter. I scanned out from him, desperate for something to see. He was taking the first step in Beau's direction, flexing his hands.

The minds around him were not the cesspool that his was. They were all slightly intoxicated, not one of them realizing how far the man they called Lonnie planned to go with this. They were following Lonnie's lead blindly. He'd promised them a little fun…

One of them glanced down the street, nervous—he didn't want to get caught harassing the boy—and gave me what I needed. I recognized the cross street he stared toward.

I flew under a red light, sliding through a space just wide enough between two cars in the moving traffic. Horns blared behind me.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I ignored it.

Lonnie moved slowly toward Beau, drawing out the suspense—the moment of terror that aroused him. He waited for Beau's scream, preparing to savor it.

But Beau locked his jaw and braced himself. Lonnie was surprised—he'd expected the boy to try to run. Surprised and slightly disappointed. He liked to chase his prey down, the adrenaline of the hunt.

Brave, this one. Maybe better, I guess… more fight in him.

I was a block away. The monster could hear the roar of my engine now, but he paid it no attention, too intent on his victim.

I would see how he enjoyed the hunt when he was the prey. I would see what he thought of my style of hunting.

In another compartment of my head, I was already sorting through the range of tortures I'd born witness to in my vigilante days, searching for the most painful of them. He would suffer for this. He would writhe in agony. The others would merely die for their part, but the monster named Lonnie would beg for death long before I would give him that gift.

He was in the road, crossing toward Beau.

I spun sharply around the corner, my headlights washing across the scene and freezing the rest of them in place. I could have run down the leader, who leapt out of the way, but that was too easy a death for him.

I let the car spin out, swinging all the way around so that I was facing back the way I'd come and the passenger door was closest to Beau. I threw that open, and he was already running toward the car.

"Get in," I snarled.

What the hell?

Knew this was a bad idea! Kid's not alone.

Should I run?

Think I'm going to throw up…

Beau jumped through the open door without hesitating, pulling it shut behind him.

And then he looked up at me with the most trustful expression I had ever seen on a human face, and all my violent plans crumbled.

It took much, much less than a second for me to see that I could not leave him in the car in order to deal with the four men in the street. What would I tell him, not to watch? Ha! When did he ever do what I asked? When did he ever do the safe thing?

Would I drag them away, out of his sight, and leave him alone here? It was a long shot that another dangerous human would be prowling the streets of Port Angeles tonight, but it was a long shot that there was even the first! Like a magnet, Beau drew all things dangerous toward himself. I could not let him out of my sight.

It would feel like part of the same motion to him as I accelerated, taking him away from his pursuers so quickly that they gaped after my car with uncomprehending expressions. He would not recognize my instant of hesitation. He would assume the plan was escape from the beginning.

I couldn't even hit the monster with my car. That would frighten Beau.

I wanted the man's death so savagely that the need for it rang in my ears and clouded my sight and was a flavor on my tongue. My muscles were coiled with the urgency, the craving, the necessity of it. I had to kill him. I would peel him slowly apart, piece by piece, skin from muscle, muscle from bone…

Except that the boy—the only boy in the world—was clinging to his seat with both hands, staring at me, his silver eyes still wide and utterly trusting. Vengeance would have to wait.

"Put on your seatbelt," I ordered. My voice was rough with the hate and bloodlust. Not the usual bloodlust. I would not sully myself by taking any part of that man inside me.

He locked the seatbelt into place, jumping slightly at the sound it made. That little sound made him jump, yet he did not flinch as I tore through the town, ignoring all traffic guides. I could feel his eyes on me. He seemed oddly relaxed. It didn't make sense to me—not with what he'd just been through.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice rough with stress and fear.

He wanted to know if I was okay?

I thought about his question for a fraction of a second. Not long enough for him to notice the hesitation. Was I okay?

"No," I realized, and my tone seethed with rage.

I took him to the same unused drive where I'd spent the afternoon engaged in the poorest surveillance ever kept. It was black now under the trees.

I was so furious that my body froze in place there, utterly motionless. My ice-locked hands ached to crush Beau's attacker, to grind him into pieces so mangled that his body could never be identified…

But that would entail leaving Beau here alone, unprotected in the dark night.

"Beau?" I asked through my teeth.

"Yes?" he responded huskily. He cleared his throat.

"Are you all right?" That was really the most important thing, the first priority. Retribution was secondary. I knew that, but my body was so filled with rage that it was hard to think.

"Yes." His voice was still thick—with fear, no doubt.

And so I could not leave him.

Even if he wasn't at constant risk for some infuriating reason—some joke the universe was playing on me—even if I could be sure that he would be perfectly safe in my absence, I could not leave him alone in the dark.

He must be so frightened.

Yet I was in no condition to comfort him—even if I knew exactly how that was to be accomplished, which I did not. Surely he could feel the brutality radiating out of me, surely that much was obvious. I would frighten him even more if I could not calm the lust for slaughter boiling inside of me.

I needed to think about something else.

"Distract me, please," I pleaded.

"I'm sorry, what?"

I barely had enough control to try to explain what I needed.

"Please, just talk. Talk about anything you want until I calm down," I instructed, my jaw still locked. Only the fact that he needed me held me inside the car. I could hear the man's thoughts, his disappointment and anger… I knew where to find him… I closed my eyes, wishing that I couldn't see anyway…

"Um…" He hesitated—trying to make sense of my request, I imagined. "I'm going to run over Tyler Crowley tomorrow before school?"

Yes—this is what I needed. Of course Beau would come up with something unexpected. The threat of violence coming through his lips was so unexpectedly jarring it was almost comical. If I had not been burning with the urge to kill, I would have laughed.

"Why?" I barked out, to force him to speak again.

"He's telling everyone that he's taking me to prom," he said, his voice filled with frustration. "Either he's insane or he's still trying to make up for almost killing me last…well, you were there, you remember," he inserted dryly, "and he thinks taking me to prom is somehow the correct way to do this. So I figure if I endanger his life, then we're even, and he can't keep trying to make amends. I don't need enemies and maybe's Lauren's brother, Logan, would back off if Tyler left me alone. I might have to total his Sentra, though," he went on, thoughtful now. "If he doesn't have a ride he can't take anyone to prom…"

It was encouraging to see that he sometimes got things wrong. Tyler's persistence had more to do with the accident. Beau didn't seem to understand the appeal he held for the human boys at the high school. Did he not see the appeal he had for me, either?

Ah, it was working. The baffling processes of his mind were always engrossing. I was beginning to gain control of myself, to see something beyond vengeance and torture…

"I heard about that," I told him. He had stopped talking, and I needed him to continue.

"You did?" he asked incredulously. And then his voice was more frustrated than before. "If he's paralyzed from the neck down, he can't go to the prom either."

I wished there was some way I could ask him to continue with his delightfully deadpan comments. He couldn't have picked a better way to calm me. His voice somehow managed to soothe me, even thick with frustration as it now was.

I sighed, and opened my eyes.

"Better?" he asked timidly.

"Not really."

I leaned my head back against the seat, staring at the ceiling of the car, willing my face to relax without much success.

No, I was calmer, but not better. Because I'd just realized that I could not kill the monster named Lonnie, and I still wanted that more than anything else in the world. Almost.

The only thing in this moment that I wanted more than to commit a highly justifiable murder, was this boy. And, though I couldn't have him, just the dream of having him made it impossible for me to go on a killing spree tonight—no matter how defensible such a thing might be.

Beau deserved better than a killer.

I'd spent eight decades trying to be something other than that—anything than a killer. Those years of effort could never make me worthy of the boy sitting beside me. And yet, I felt that if I returned to that life—the life of a killer—for even one night, I would surely put him out of my reach forever. Even if I didn't drink his attacker's blood—even if I didn't have that evidence blazing red in my eyes—wouldn't he sense the difference?

I was trying to be good enough for him. It was an impossible goal. I would keep trying.

"What's wrong?" he whispered.

His breath filled my nose, and I was reminded why I could not deserve him. After all of this, even with as much as I loved him… he still made my mouth water.

I felt a new wave of self-loathing wash over me. I couldn't bring myself to speak, I didn't deserve to speak to him. I was a monster. I continued to stare at the ceiling, despising myself.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, I felt his warm hand rest gently on my arm. If my heart could beat, it might have exploded out of my chest. My eyes snapped to his face, he was looking down at my arm. When he looked up to face me, his expression was gentle and concerned.

"Edward, what's wrong?" He asked again. Hearing my name, the way he said it, with such tenderness was like a soothing balm to the core of my very being.

I could not keep anything from him. I would give him as much honestly as I could. I owed him that.

"Sometimes I have a problem with my temper, Beau." I stared into the depths of his beautiful eyes, wishing both that he would hear the horror inherent in my words and also that he would not. Mostly that he would not. Run, Beau, run. Stay, Beau, stay. "But it wouldn't be helpful for me to turn around and hunt down those…" Just thinking about it almost pulled me from the car. I took a deep breath, letting his scent scorch down my throat. "At least, that's what I'm trying to convince myself."

"No, it wouldn't," he said softly, soothingly.

"I shouldn't go back to those…" I struggled with the word, "Those thugs."

Even I was unsure if I had made a statement or asked a question. Perhaps it was somewhere in the middle.

"Um, no."

I took a deep burning breath, letting it out in a long, slow sigh.

Beau said nothing else. How much had he heard in my words? I glanced at him furtively, but his face was unreadable. Blank with shock, perhaps. Well, he wasn't screaming. Not yet.

It was quiet for a moment. I warred with myself, trying to be what I should be. What I couldn't be.

"Jessica and Angela will be worried," he said quietly. His voice was very calm, and I was not sure how that could be. Was he in shock? Maybe tonight's events hadn't sunk in for him yet. "I was supposed to meet them."

Did he want to be away from me?  Or was he just worried about his friends' worry?

He slowly removed his hand from my arm. I tried not to think that meant he wanted to be away from me. I said nothing, but I started the car and took him back. Every inch closer I got to the town, the harder it was to hold on to my purpose. I was just so close to the monster…

If it was impossible—if I could never have nor deserve Beau—then where was the sense in letting the man go unpunished? Surely I could allow myself that much…

No. I wasn't giving up. Not yet. I wanted him too much to surrender.

We were at the restaurant where he was supposed to meet his friends before I'd even begun to make sense of my thoughts. Jessica and Angela were finished eating, and both now truly worried about Beau. They were on their way to search for him, heading off along the dark street.

"How did you know where…?" Beau's unfinished questioned interrupted me, and I realized that I had made yet another gaffe. I'd been too distracted to remember to ask him where he was supposed to meet his friends.

But instead of finishing the inquiry and pressing the point, he just shook his head and half-smiled.

What did that mean?

Well, I didn't have time to puzzle over his strange acceptance of my stranger knowledge. I opened my door.

"What are you doing?" he asked, sounding startled.

Not letting you out of my sight. Not allowing myself to be alone tonight. In that order. "I'm taking you to dinner."

Well this should be interesting. It seemed like another night entirely when I'd imagined bringing Alice along and pretending to choose the same restaurant as Beau and his friends by accident. And now, here I was, practically on a date with the boy. Only it didn't count, because I wasn't even giving him a chance to say no.

He already had his door half open before I'd walked around the car—it wasn't usually so frustrating to have to move at an inconspicuous speed—instead of waiting for me to get it for him. Was this because he wasn't used to being treated so well, or because he didn't think of me as a gentleman?

I waited for him to join me, getting more anxious as his girlfriends continued in toward the dark corner.

"Go stop Jessica and Angela before I have to track them down, too," I ordered quickly. "I don't think I could restrain myself if I ran into your other friends again." No, I would not be strong enough for that.

He shuddered, and then quickly collected himself. He took a half step after them, calling, "Jess! Angela!" in a loud voice. They turned, and he waved his arm over his head to catch their attention.

Beau! Oh, he's safe! Angela thought with relief.

Oh, my god, I'm going to kick his butt for scaring me like that. Jessica grumbled to herself with acute relief that Beau wasn't lost or hurt. That made me like her a little more than I had.

They hurried back, and then stopped, shocked, when they saw me beside him.

Oh. My. God. Jess thought, stunned. No freaking way!

Edward Cullen? Did Beau go away by himself to find him? But why would he ask about them being out of town if he knew he was here… I got a brief flash of Beau's mortified expression when he'd asked Angela if my family was often absent from school. No, he couldn't have known, Angela decided.

Jessica's thoughts were moving past the surprise and on to excitement. Beau's been holding out on me.

"Where have you been?" She demanded, staring at Beau, her voice full of concern.

"I got lost. And then I ran into Edward," Beau said, waving one hand toward me. His tone was remarkably normal. Like that was truly all that had happened.

He must be in shock. That was the only explanation for his calm.

"Would it be all right if I joined you?" I asked—to be polite; I knew that they'd already eaten.

Holy crap but he's hot! Jessica thought, her head suddenly slightly incoherent.

Angela wasn't much more composed. Wish we hadn't eaten. Wow. Just. Wow.

Now why couldn't I do that to Beau?

"Er… Sure," Jessica agreed.

Angela frowned. "Um, actually, Beau, we already ate while we were waiting," she admitted. "I'm sorry."

What? Shut up! Jessica complained internally.

Beau shrugged casually. So at ease. Definitely in shock. "That's fine—I'm not hungry."

"I think you should eat something," I disagreed. He needed sugar in his bloodstream—though it smelled sweet enough as it was, I thought wryly. The horror was going to come crashing down on him momentarily, and an empty stomach wouldn't help. He was an easy fainter, as I knew from experience.

These girls wouldn't be in any danger if they went straight home. Danger didn't stalk their every step.

And I'd rather be alone with Beau—as long as he was willing to be alone with me.

"Do you mind if I drive Beau home tonight?" I said to Jessica before Beau could respond. "That way you won't have to wait while he eats."

"Oh, wow, that's… so thoughtful." Jessica bit her lip, trying to read Beau's face, looking for some sign that this was what he wanted.

Ooh, I bet Beau wants to be alone with him. I mean, who wouldn't? Jessica thought. At the same time, she watched Beau wink.

Beau winked.

"Okay," Angela said quickly, in a hurry to be out of the way if that was what Beau wanted. And it seemed that he did want that. "See you tomorrow, Beau… Edward." She struggled to say my name in a casual tone. Then she grabbed Jessica's hand and began towing her away.

I would have to find a way to thank Angela for this.

Jessica's car was close by and in a bright circle of light cast by a streetlamp. Beau watched them carefully, a little crease of concern between his eyes, until they were in the car, so he must be fully aware of the danger he'd been in. Jessica waved as she drove away, and Beau waved back. It wasn't until the car disappeared that he took a deep breath and turned to look up at me.

"Honestly, I'm not hungry," he said.

Why had he waited for them to be gone before speaking? Did he truly want to be alone with me—even now, after witnessing my homicidal rage?

Whether that was the case or not, he was going to eat something.

"Humor me," I said.

I held the restaurant door open for him and waited.

He sighed, and walked through.

I walked beside him to the podium where the hostess waited. Beau still seemed entirely self-possessed. I wanted to touch his hand, his forehead, to check his temperature. But my cold hand would repulse him, as it had before.

Oh, my, the hostess's rather loud mental voice intruded into my consciousness. My, oh my.

It seemed to be my night to turn heads. Or was I only noticing it more because I wished so much that Beau would see me this way? We were always attractive to our prey. I'd never thought so much about it before. Usually—unless, as with people like Shelly Cope and Jessica Stanley, there was constant repetition to dull the horror—the fear kicked in fairly quickly after the initial reaction…

"A table for two?" I prompted when the hostess didn't speak.

"Oh, er, yes. Welcome to La Bella Italia." Mmm! What a voice! "Please follow me." Her thoughts were preoccupied—calculating.

Maybe they're cousins. They couldn't be brothers, they don't look anything alike. But family definitely. They can't be here on a date.

Human eyes were clouded; they saw nothing clearly. How could this small-minded woman find my physical lures—snares for prey—so attractive, and yet be unable to see the soft perfection of the boy beside me?

Well, no need to help him out, just in case, the hostess thought as she led us to a family-sized table in the middle of the most crowded part of the restaurant. Can I give him my number while he's there…? She mused.

I pulled a bill from my back pocket. People were invariably more cooperative when money was involved.

Beau was already taking the seat the hostess indicated without objection. I shook my head at him, and he hesitated, cocking his head to one side with curiosity. Yes, he would be very curious tonight. A crowd was not the ideal place for this conversation.

"Perhaps something more private?" I requested of the hostess, handing her the money. Her eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed while her hand curled around the tip.

"Sure."

She peeked at the bill while she led us around a dividing wall.

Fifty dollars for a better table? Rich, too. That makes sense—I bet his jacket cost more than my last paycheck. Damn. Why are all the good ones into guys?

She offered us a booth in a quiet corner of the restaurant where no one would be able to see us—to see Beau's reactions to whatever I would tell him. I had no clue as to what he would want from me tonight. Or what I would give him.

How much had he guessed? What explanation of tonight's events had he told himself?

"How's this?" the hostess asked.

"Perfect," I told her and, feeling slightly annoyed by her resentful attitude toward Beau, I smiled widely at her, baring my teeth. Let her see me clearly.

Whoa. "Um… your server will be right out." He can't be real. I must be asleep. Damn. I've got to tell Adam about him. If I'm not his type, maybe Adam'll get lucky… She wandered away, listing slightly to the side.

Odd. She still wasn't frightened. I suddenly remembered Emmett teasing me in the cafeteria, so many weeks ago. I'll bet I could have scared him better than that.

Was I losing my edge?

"You really shouldn't do that to people," Beau interrupted my thoughts in a disapproving tone. "It's hardly fair."

I stared at his critical expression. What did he mean? I hadn't frightened the hostess at all, despite my intentions. "Do what?"

"Dazzle them like that—she's probably hyperventilating in the kitchen right now."

Hmm. Beau was very nearly right. The hostess was only semi-coherent at the moment, describing her incorrect assessment of me to her friend on the wait staff.

"Oh, come on," Beau chided me when I didn't answer immediately. "You have to know the effect you have on people."

"I dazzle people?" That was an interesting way of phrasing it. Accurate enough for tonight. I wondered why the difference…

"You know you do," he said, still critical. "So I don't know why you're acting surprised."

I grinned at his tone.

"Do I dazzle you?" I voiced my curiosity impulsively, and then the words were out, and it was too late to recall them.

But before I had time to too deeply regret speaking the words aloud he answered, "Maybe." And his cheeks took on a faint pink glow.

My silent heart swelled with a hope more intense than I could ever remember having felt before.

"Hello," someone said, the server, introducing himself. His thoughts were loud, and more explicit than the hostess's, but I tuned him out. I stared at Beau's face instead of listening, watching the blood spreading under his skin, noticing not how that made my throat flame, but rather how it brightened his fair face, how it set off the cream of his skin…

The server was waiting for something from me. Ah, he'd asked for our drink order. I continued to stare at Beau, and the server grudgingly turned to look at him, too.

"I'll have a coke?" Beau said, as if asking for approval.

"Two cokes," I amended. Thirst—normal, human thirst—was a sign of shock. I would make sure he had the extra sugar from the soda in his system.

He looked healthy, though. More than healthy. He looked radiant.

"What?" He asked—wondering why I was staring, I guessed. I was vaguely aware that the server had left.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

He blinked, surprised by my question. "I'm fine."

"You don't feel dizzy, sick, cold…?"

He was even more confused now. "Should I?"

"Well, I'm actually waiting for you to go into shock." I half-smiled, expecting his denial. He would not want to be taken care of.

It took him a minute to answer me. His eyes were slightly unfocused. He looked that way sometimes, when I smiled at him. Was he… dazzled?

I would love to believe that.

"I don't think that will happen. I've always been very good at repressing things," he answered, a little breathless.

Did he have a lot of practice repressing things, then? Was his life always this hazardous?

"Just the same," I told him. "I'll feel better when you have some sugar and food in you."

The server returned with the cokes and a basket of bread. He put them in front of me, and asked for my order, trying to catch my eye in the process. I indicated that he should attend to Beau, and then went back to tuning him out. He had a vulgar mind.

"Um…" Beau glanced quickly at the menu. "I'll have the mushroom ravioli."

The server turned back to me eagerly. "And you?"

"Nothing for me."

Beau made a slight face. Hmm. He must have noticed that I never ate food. He noticed everything. And I always forgot to be careful around him.

I waited till we were alone again.

"You should drink," I insisted.

I was surprised when he complied immediately and without objection. He drank until the glass was entirely empty, so I pushed the second coke toward him, frowning a little. Thirst, or shock?

"No, I'm fine." He shook his head slightly.

"I'm not going to drink it," I said, fighting a smile

"Right," he said, because he knew I wouldn't drink it. He saw too much. "Thank you," he breathed after downing the entire glass. He shuddered once.

"Are you cold?"

"It's just the coke," he said, but he shivered again, his lips trembling slightly as if his teeth were about to chatter.

The deep blue shirt he wore looked too thin to protect him adequately; it clung to him like a second skin, almost as fragile as the first. The deep V-cut of the collar exposing his ivory chest… I refocused my thoughts. "Don't you have a jacket?"

"Yes." He looked around himself, a little perplexed. "Oh—I left it in Jessica's car."

I pulled off my jacket, wishing that the gesture was not marred by my body temperature. It would have been nice to have been able to offer him a warm coat. He stared at me, his cheeks warming again. What was he thinking now?

I handed him the jacket across the table, and he put it on at once, and then shuddered again.

Yes, it would be very nice to be warm.

"Thank you," he said. He took a deep breath, and then pushed the too-long sleeves back to free his hands. He took another deep breath.

Was the evening finally settling in? His color was still good; his skin was cream and roses against the deep blue of his shirt. My eyes wandered down his jaw, following the line of his neck, along his collarbone, and down his lean chest…

"That color blue looks wonderful with your skin," I complimented him. Just being honest.

He flushed, enhancing the effect.

He looked well, but there was no point in taking chances. I pushed the basket of bread toward him.

"Really," he objected, guessing my motives. "I'm not going into shock."

"Humor me?" I smiled at him.

He rolled his eyes, picking up a breadstick.

I laughed. "Good boy."

"Don't push your luck," He narrowed his eyes at me.

"I don't know how you can be so blasé about this. You should be upset—anyone else would be. You don't even look shaken." I stared at him, disapproving, wondering why he couldn't be normal and then wondering if I really wanted him to be that way.

"I feel safe with you," he said, his eyes, again, filled with trust. Trust I didn't deserve.

His instincts were all wrong—backwards. That must be the problem. He didn't recognize the danger the way a human being should be able to. He had the opposite reaction. Instead of running, he lingered, drawn to what should frighten him…

How could I protect him from myself when neither of us wanted that?

"This is more complicated than I'd planned," I murmured.

I could see him turning my words over in his head, and I wondered what he made of them. He took a bit out of the breadstick without seeming fully aware of the action. He chewed for a moment, and then leaned his head to one side thoughtfully.

"Usually you're in a better mood when your eyes are so light," he said in a casual tone.

His observation, stated so matter of factually, left me reeling. "What?"

"You're always crabbier when your eyes are black—I expect it then. I have a theory about that."

So he had come up with his own explanation. Of course he had. I felt a deep sense of dread as I wondered how close he'd come to the truth.

"More theories?"

"Mm-hm." He chewed on another bite, entirely nonchalant. As if he weren't discussing the aspects of a monster with the monster himself.

"I hope you were more creative this time…" I lied when he didn't continue. What I really hoped was that he was wrong—miles wide off the mark. "Or are you still stealing from comic books?"

"Well, no, I didn't get it from a comic book," he said, a little embarrassed. "but I didn't come up with it on my own, either."

"And?" I asked between my teeth.

Surely he would not speak so calmly if he were about to scream.

As he hesitated, biting his lip, the server reappeared with Beau's food. I paid the server little attention as he set the plate in front of Beau and then asked if I wanted anything.

I declined, but asked for more coke. The server hadn't noticed the empty glasses. He took them and left.

"You were saying?" I prompted anxiously as soon as we were alone again.

"I'll tell you about it in the car," he said in a low voice. Ah, this would be bad. He wasn't willing to speak his guesses around others. "If…" he tacked on suddenly.

"There are conditions?" I was so tense I wasn't sure how my tone sounded.

"I do have a few questions, of course."

"Of course," I agreed, my voice hard.

His questions would probably be enough to tell me where his thoughts were heading. But how would I answer them? With responsible lies? Or would I drive him away with the truth? Or would I say nothing, unable to decide?

We sat in silence while the server replenished his supply of soda.

"Well, go ahead," I said, jaw locked, when the server was gone.

"Why are you in Port Angeles?"

That was too easy a question—for him. It gave nothing away, while my answer, if truthful, would give away too much. Let him reveal something first.

"Next," I said.

"But that's the easiest one!"

"Next," I said again.

He was frustrated by my refusal. He rolled his eyes, and looked away from me. He unrolled his silverware and picked up his fork, looking down at his food. Slowly, thinking hard, he took a bite and chewed with deliberation. He washed it down with more coke, and then finally looked up at me. His eyes were narrow with suspicion.

"Okay, then," he said. "Let's say, hypothetically, of course, that… someone… could know what people are thinking, read minds, you know—with just a few exceptions."

It could be worse.

This explained that little half-smile in the car. He was quick—no one else had ever guessed this about me. Except for Carlisle, and it had been rather obvious then, in the beginning, when I'd answered all his thoughts as if he'd spoken them to me. He'd understood before I had…

This question wasn't so bad. While it was clear that he knew that there was something wrong with me, was not as serious as it could have been. Mind-reading was, after all, not a facet of the vampire cannon. I went along with his hypothesis.

"Just one exception," I corrected. "Hypothetically."

He fought a smile—my vague honestly pleased him. "All right, with one exception, then. How does that work? What are the limitations? How would… that someone… find something else at exactly the right time? How would he know that he was in trouble?"

"Hypothetically?"

"Sure." His lips twitched, and his liquid silver eyes were eager.

"Well," I hesitated. "If… that someone…"

"Let's call him 'Joe,'" he suggested, a wry smile on his lips.

I had to smile at his enthusiasm. Did he really think the truth would be a good thing? If my secrets were pleasant, why would I keep them from him?

"Joe, then," I agreed. "If Joe had been paying attention, the timing wouldn't have needed to be quite so exact." I shook my head and repressed a shudder at the thought of how close I had been to being too late today. Even then, I had to roll my eyes at the situation. "Only you could get into trouble in a town this small. You would have devastated their crime rate statistics for a decade, you know."

"I don't see how this is my fault." His voice was sharply disapproving. His lips turned down at the corners.

I examined his face, frustrated that I had upset him. "I don't either." I admitted. "But I don't know who to blame." Who could I blame for his extraordinary bad luck?

"Don't blame me then, I don't appreciate it." He said, pointedly.

His lips, his skin… they looked so soft. I wanted to touch them. I wanted to press my fingertip against the corner of his frown and turn it up. Impossible. My skin would be repellent to him.

"My apologies." I said softly. I regretted upsetting him.

He leaned across the table toward me, all irritation suddenly gone from his wide eyes.

"How did you know?" he asked, his voice low and intense.

Should I tell him the truth? And, if so, what portion?

I wanted to tell him. I wanted to deserve the trust I could still see on his face.

"You can trust me, you know," he whispered, and he reached one hand forward as if to touch my hands where they rested on top of the empty table before me.

A part of me craved his touch, but I still pulled them back—hating the thought of his reaction to my frigid stone skin—and he pulled his own hand back.

"I want to trust you." My voice was low, soft. "But that doesn't mean I should."

I knew that I could trust him with protecting me secrets; he was entirely trustworthy, good to the core. But I couldn't trust him not to be horrified by them. He should be horrified. The truth was horror.

"Please?" His voice was gentle and soothing again.

I read his eyes; though his mind was silent, I could perceive both trust and wonder there. I realized in that moment that I wanted to answer his questions. Not because I owed it to him. Not because I wanted him to trust me.

I wanted him to know me.

"I followed you to Port Angeles," I told him, the words spilling out too quickly for me to edit them. I knew the danger of the truth, the risk I was taking. At any moment, his unnatural calm could shatter into hysterics. Contrarily, knowing this only had me talking faster. "I've never tried to keep a specific person alive before, and it's much more troublesome than I would have believed. But that's probably just because you are a magnet for trouble."

I watched him, waiting.

He smiled. His lips curved up at the edges, and his silver eyes warmed.

I'd just admitted to stalking him, and he was smiling.

"A runaway van and a group of drunk thugs hardly makes me a magnet for trouble." He countered. I didn't know what to say so I remained silent. He seemed to reflect for moment before speaking again. He examined my face carefully, and his own turned serious again.

"You put yourself into that category, then? Of trouble?" he asked, softly.

Honestly was more important in regard to this question than any other. "Unequivocally."

His eyes narrowed slightly—not suspicious now, but oddly concerned. He reached his hand across the table again, slowly and deliberately. I pulled my hands an inch away from him, but he ignored that, determined to touch me. I held my breath—not because of his scent now, but because of the sudden overwhelming tension. Fear. My skin would disgust him. He would run away.

He brushed his fingertips lightly across the back of my hand. The heat of his gentle, willing touch was like nothing I'd ever felt before. It was almost pure pleasure.

A half-smile turned up the corners of his lips.

"Thank you," he said, meeting my stare with an intense gaze of his own. "That's twice now."

His soft fingers lingered on my hand as if they found it pleasant to be there.

I answered as casually as I was able. "Let's not try for three, agreed?"

He narrowed his eyes, but he was still smiling.

"Did you ever think that maybe my number was up the first time, with the van, and that you've been interfering with face?" he asked.

I felt my body tense.

"Edward?"

"That wasn't the first time," I said, staring down at the dark maroon table cloth, my shoulders bowed in shame. My barriers were down, the truth spilling free recklessly, like his touch somehow had some power over me to compel the truth out me. "Your number was up the first time I met you."

It was true, and it angered me. I had been positioned over his life like the blade of a guillotine. It was as if he had been marked for death by some cruel, unjust fate, and, since I'd proved an unwilling tool—that same fate continued to try to execute him. I imagined the fate personified—a grisly, jealous hag, a vengeful harpy.

I wanted something, someone, to be responsible for this—so that I would have something concrete to fight against. Something, anything to destroy, so that Beau could be safe.

Beau was very quiet; his breathing accelerated.

I looked up at him, knowing I would finally see the fear I was waiting for. Had I not just admitted to how close I'd been to killing him? Closer than the van that had come within slim inches of crushing him. And yet, his face was still calm, his eyes still tightened only with concern, and his warm hand still lingered on my own.

"You remember?" He had to remember that. "You understand?"

"Yes," he said, his voice level and grave. His deep eyes were full of awareness.

He knew. He knew that I had wanted to murder him.

Where were the screams?

"You can leave, you know," the words were like knives. It was the exact opposite of what I wanted, and yet, I had to be strong enough to allow him this chance to escape me. "You could take my car and drive home."

I waited while he considered my offer. I wanted him to run. I wanted him to escape me, to be safe from me. And yet, I knew if he did leave it would destroy me. I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to love me.

"I don't want to leave."

My emotions warred with each other. My elation at his choosing to stay, choosing to stay with me, and yet the keen frustration that he would so willingly put himself in danger.

Hopelessly, I pushed one more time at the barrier that protected his thoughts, desperate to understand. It made no logical sense to me. How could he even care about the rest with that glaring truth on the table.

"How can you say that?" I felt helpless, having to voice my question out loud.

He didn't answer, he simply sat and watched me. Then his hand squeezed mine. I felt a thrill of fear that he would be repulsed this time. My hand was unyielding stone under his… and yet, he didn't so much as flinch. His hand stayed wrapped around mine. His eyes continued to watch my face. He wanted to stay. He would stay with me.

I didn't know what to think of any of it. I used to be so sure of everything. I used to know what I was doing. I used to be always so sure of my course. And now everything was chaos and tumult.

Yet, I wouldn't trade it. I didn't want the life that made sense. Not if the chaos meant that I could be with Beau.

"You didn't finish answering my question," he said suddenly, pulling me from my reverie. "How did you find me?"

He waited, only curious. His skin was pale, which was natural for him, but it still concerned me. His dinner sat nearly untouched in front of him. If I continued to tell him too much, he was going to need a buffer when the shock wore off.

I named my terms. "You eat, I'll talk."

He processed that for half a second, and then slowly removed his hand from mine. I ached for the exquisiteness of his touch almost as soon as his hands had left. He picked up his fork and threw a bite of food into his mouth with a speed that belied his calm and popped it in his mouth.

"It's harder than it should be—keeping track of you," I told him. "Usually I can find someone very easily, once I've heard their mind before."

I watched his face carefully as I said this. Guessing right was one thing, having it confirmed was another.

He was motionless, his eyes wide. I felt my teeth clench together as I waited for his panic.

But he just blinked once, swallowed loudly, and then quickly scooped another bite into his mouth. He wanted me to continue.

"I was keeping tabs on Jessica, not carefully—I honestly didn't think you'd find trouble in Port Angeles—" I couldn't resist adding that. Did he realize that other human lives were not so plagued with near death experiences, or did he think he was normal? He was the furthest thing from normal I'd ever encountered.

"And at first I didn't notice when you took off on your own. Then, when I realized that you weren't with her anymore, I went looking for you at the bookstore I saw in her head. I could tell that you hadn't gone in, and that you'd gone south… and I knew you would have to turn around soon. So I was just waiting for you, randomly searching through the thoughts of people on the street— to see if anyone had noticed you so I would know where you were. I had no reason to be worried… but I was strangely anxious.…" My breath came faster as I remembered that feeling of panic. His scent blazed in my throat and I was glad. It was a pain that meant he was alive. As long as I burned, he was safe.

"I started to drive in circles, still…   listening. The sun was finally setting, and I was about to get out and follow you on foot. And then—"

As the memory took me—perfectly clear and vivid as if I was in the moment again—I felt the same murderous fury wash through my body, locking it into ice.

I wanted that monster, Lonnie, dead. I needed him dead. My jaw clenched tight as I concentrated on holding myself here at the table. Beau still needed me. That was what mattered.

"Then what?" he whispered, his silver eyes wide.

"I heard what they were thinking," I said through my teeth, unable to keep the words from coming out in a growl. "I saw your face in his mind."

I could hardly resist the urge to kill. I still knew precisely where to find him. His black thoughts sucked at the night sky, pulling me toward them…

I covered my face, knowing my expression was that of a monster, a hunter, a killer. I fixed his image behind my closed eyes to control myself, focusing only on his face. The delicate framework of his bones, the thin sheath of his pale skin—like silk stretched over glass, incredibly soft and easy to shatter. He was too vulnerable for this world. He needed a protector. And, through some twisted mismanagement of destiny, I was the closet thing available.

I tried to explain my violent reaction so that he would understand.

"It was very… hard—you can't imagine how hard—for me to simply take you away, and leave them… alive," I whispered. "I could have let you go with Jessica and Angela, but I was afraid if you left me alone, I would go looking for them."

For the second time tonight, I confessed to murder. At least this one was defensible.

He was quiet as I struggled to control myself. I listened to his heartbeat. The rhythm was irregular, but it slowed as the time passed until it was steady again. His breathing, too, was low and even.

I was too close to the edge. I needed to get him home before…

Would I kill that low-life, then? Would I become a murderer again when Beau trusted me? Was there any way to stop myself?

He'd promised to tell me his latest theory when we were alone. Did I want to hear it? I was anxious for it, but would the reward for my curiosity be worse than not knowing?

At any rate, he must have had enough truth for one night.

I looked at him again, and his face was paler than before, but composed.

"Are you ready to go home?" I asked.

"I'm ready to leave," he said, choosing his words carefully, as if a simple 'yes' did not fully express what he wanted to say.

Frustrating.

The server returned. He'd heard Beau's last statement as he'd dithered on the other side of the partition, wondering what more he could offer me. I wanted to roll my eyes at some of the offerings he had in mind.

"How are we doing?" he asked me.

"We're ready for the check, thank you," I told him, my eyes on Beau.

The server's breathing spiked and he was momentarily—to use Beau's phrasing—dazzled by my voice.

In a sudden moment of perception, hearing the way my voice sounded in this inconsequential human's head, I realized why I seemed to be attracting so much admiration tonight—unmarred by the usual fear.

It was because of Beau. Trying so hard to be safe for him, to be less frightening, to be human, I truly had lost my edge. The other humans only saw beauty now, with my innate horror so carefully under control.

I looked up at the server, waiting for him to recover himself. It was sort of humorous, now that I understood the reason.

"S-sure," he stuttered. "Here you go."

He handed me the folder with the bill, thinking of the card he'd slid in behind the receipt. A card with his name and phone number on it.

Yes, it was rather funny.

I had money ready again. I gave the folder back at once, so he wouldn't waste any time waiting for a call that would never come.

"No change," I told him, hoping the size of the tip would assuage his disappointment.

I stood, and Beau quickly followed suit. I wanted to offer him my hand, but I thought that might be pushing my luck a little too far for one night. I thanked the server, my eyes never leaving Beau's face. Beau seemed to be finding something amusing, too.

We walked out; I walked as close beside him as I dared. Close enough that the warmth coming off his body was like a physical touch against the left side of my body. As I held the door open for him, he sighed quietly, and I wondered what regret made him sad. I stared into his eyes, about to ask, when he suddenly looked at the ground, seeming embarrassed. It made me more curious, even as it made me reluctant to ask. The silence between us continued while I opened the door for him and then got into the car.

I turned the heater on—the warmer weather had come to an abrupt end; the cold car must be uncomfortable for him. He huddled in my jacket, a small smile on his lips.

I waited postponing conversation until the lights of the boardwalk faded. It made me feel more alone with him.

Was that the right thing? Now that I was focused only on him, the car seemed very small. His scent swirled through it with the current of the heater, building and strengthening. It grew into its own force, like another entity in the car. A presence that demanded recognition.

It had that; I burned. The burning was acceptable, though. It seemed strangely appropriate to me. I had been given so much tonight—more than I'd expected. And here he was, still willingly at my side. I owed something in return for that. A sacrifice. A burnt offering.

Now if I could just keep it to that; just burn, and nothing more. But the venom filled my mouth, and my muscles tensed in anticipation, as if I were hunting…

I had to keep such thoughts from my mind. And I knew that would distract me.

"Now," I said to him, fear of his response taking the edge off the burn. "It's your turn."