(Carlisle POV. Excerpt from this two-shot about Edward's transformation. This includes some new text re: the details in Midnight Sun about Carlisle's own transformation.)
We reached the morgue after what felt like an eternity. My hand drifted toward the fresh stack of death certificates. But there was no time; I already heard footsteps on the cement floor of the hall behind me, their warning growing quickly closer. I scooped Edward up and leapt over the row of corpses that lay between the door and the window. By the time the door opened behind me, I was already in the alley with Edward safely clutched to my chest. I realized too late that I should have brought a blanket; the pounding rain and wind were merciless against his thin hospital gown and bare legs and feet. He was too far gone to even shiver at the cold. I adjusted my hold to cover more of his skin with my lab coat.
I ran as long as I dared, and then I took to the rooftops. It was a risk, jolting him again with even the gentlest of landings, but this would be much faster. His heart, weak as it was, pounded against my chest as I ran. Hurry. Hurry, it seemed to say. I ran faster, all at once realizing that the decision had been the easy part. One of the reasons I had delayed so many years was that I feared the ultimate failure: that I might end the very life I intended to save. But time for fear was mercifully short. My house, lonely on a densely forested hill outside the city, loomed ahead. In an instant I was in the parlor, gently laying Edward down on the couch and kneeling down on the rug beside him. My hands trembled as I tilted his chin up and away. For the slightest portion of a second, I froze as I recalled my own torment; all my years of mental preparation had not lessened the horror of what I was about to inflict.
"Forgive me," I breathed, even as the venom began to flow and I bared my teeth. Was it a prayer, or a plea to Edward himself? My eyes trained on his external carotid artery, but that was too dangerous; he was weak enough without the blood loss that would cause.
But it would taste better, a dark voice whispered from deep inside me. I recoiled in horror again, this time at the reawakening of a primal, ancient hunger I had long since defeated. I traced my fingers along the boy's jugular vein instead, but I had lost my confidence. I was too afraid to let myself bite his throat—it was too close to what I wanted right now.
Biting the throat wasn't even necessary. My own creator had been flailing in the moment he'd changed me—there had been several of us fighting him and he'd lashed out like a madman. I'd only felt a burning pain in the palm of one hand and on my upper arm. It seemed a most indirect way for the venom to reach the greater vessels... but perhaps that was for the best? The slow spread of the pain had given me time to crawl to safety, to come to terms with the horror of what was happening to me before I surrendered myself to the fire completely. If it had happened differently, would I be the same man I was today? Perhaps a slower, more gradual change had played a role in my ability to hold onto who I was. I shook my head, sure that wasn't right.
I could debate with myself all day. But further delay would only increase the danger. I decided to exactly replicate the wounds I had received; that would give me a better chance of resisting, and I wanted to give Edward every chance to remain who he was. I lifted his hand to my mouth and bit, gently incising the soft flesh below the thumb. For the first time, after two hundred and fifty-five years of denying myself, human blood crossed my lips.
