#come nightfall

on June 20th (Edward's birthday, though Bella doesn't know that yet), they attend Sleeping Beauty at the SF Ballet. they stay the night. (knowing Edward, they probs stayed at some old-school fancy hotel like the Ritz-Carlton or the Mark - he strikes me as a Nob Hill kind of guy). the story goes (most of this is canon, a few details are just in my head): she wakes up in the middle of a night after a sex dream a la Breaking Dawn honeymoon, begs asks him to touch her, but he didn't have the kind of control for that, so he refused. mututal masturbation was the compromise. (my conspiracy theory is Edward never actually masturbated in front of her bc 1: "that's dirty and impolite," 2: he was afraid of losing control, & 3: he's done it so few times relative to his age that he was insecure. but! i wouldn't necessarily consider that theory canon.)

His eyes were black holes, like someone had ripped the eyes out of his sockets. Even the under-eyes were angry, thick streaks of purplish bruising. The only way I could tell they still existed was the disgusting way in which the reflection of light moved as his eyes did.

Before I could dig the balls of my feet into the cobblestones to stop myself from charging head-first into a starving vampire, I tripped and slammed into him so hard that the force would have hurled me to the ground if his arms hadn't caught me and held me up. It knocked my breath out of me and snapped my head back.

Like a year had never passed, Edward’s hands and body molded to mine with instinctual ease, wrapping me into his arms. Even his grip had remained unchanged—a product of muscle memory, surely. Still, he held me tight to him. Almost too tight.

My memories hadn’t done me justice. Everything about him remained almost unchanged—besides the thick scar tissue running across the base of his neck and the smell of burnt cinnamon so strong it made my eyes water, he felt and smelled the same.

“Carlisle was right.” His exquisite voice filled with wonder—and slight amusement. It sounded breathless and weak, like his throat was coated with chalk or sand.

“Edward.”

He shuddered at the sound of me. Venom glistened on his lips. “Say it again.”

Eight minutes.

“We have to move.”

He carried me with my legs still wrapped around his waist. "I can't believe how quick it was. I didn't feel a thing—they're very good.” He pressed his lips against my hair, bumping my head. When he spun me around in his arms, he tripped over the cobblestone road, taking out chunks of street under his heel. His voice was like honey and velvet, but dry. He wiped the venom on his chin with the back of his hand. “You smell almost the same. Something’s off.”

A weird sense of deja-vu struck me, but his calmness brought on a wave of desperation. “Edward, you need to feed, we’ve got to get out of here right now.”

“Shh. You know there’s no hunting in Volterra.”

The party was still in full swing in the streets. The streetlamps began flickering to life as we walked swiftly through the narrow, cobbled lanes. The sky was a dull, fading gray overhead, but the buildings crowded the streets so closely that it felt darker. In the crowd of stumbling-drunk Italians and enthralled tourists, Edward and I didn’t stand out one bit.

Meanwhile, Edward walked. Walked.

“Where should I take you?” he whispered to me. “Where should we go? Paris? Your bedroom? The moon?”

Seven minutes.

“Wherever; can you pick up the pace?” My voice edged on hysteria.

“Wow, even the vein patterns are the same,” he marveled, staring at my chest. “This is much better than a memory. Just as warm—hotter.”

Memory? Hang on.

My stomach fell.

I yanked on his hair, I kicked him in the back with my heel, I hissed, “You’re not dead.”

Edward froze.

His eyes surveyed the other humans in the scene. No had one noticed us—as far as anyone else was concerned, we were just two travelers having a romantic moment in the ancient streets of southern Italy.

His eyes caught mine.

He whirled around into a different alley and pressed my back up against a wall, darting his eyes to the mouth of the road where people passed by. He shifted so they couldn’t see me, like I was some secret. Still, no one noticed.

“I’m not dead?” His voice was low even by vampire standards. “What do you mean I’m not dead?”

“The Volturi haven’t—"

His whispered became increasingly panicked. “Did I kill you? Are you dead? Am I carrying a corpse through Volterra? Who are you? Oh my god. Did I kill someone?”

With urgency, he tightened his grip around my legs and bolted down the narrow street, rushing to the third back door on the street, making it impossible for me to stand on my own. For a second he looked at it, leaning in ear-first. Then in one fluid motion, he grabbed the handle of the door. It bent, groaning, and with a grunt Edward tore it off. The warped metal clattered to the ground.

Clearly he hadn’t fed in a while—a long while. He didn’t have his balance, his strength—his mind.

“I’m not dead either. Put me down. Can’t you hear my heartbeat?”

“I can hear her heartbeat,” he muttered, bursting into the dark kitchen of some empty home. We brushed past a small wooden table on our way down the hall. “I see her veins and smell her scent—there’s enough of a resemblance for me to think you’re her. Do you have any ID?” His hands drifted to the back pockets of my jeans, searching. I balked at his touch and slammed my heel into his back again, harder—his hands zipped back down my legs to keep me supported.

“I am her and I’m here.” I thrashed in his arms, but he only held me closer, tighter. Almost too tight.

“In Volterra?” Edward shook his thread and scoffed. “Sure. I believe as my hallucination you think you’re in Volterra.”

Still in his arms, my foot knocked a picture frame off an end table in a narrow hallway. Edward spun when it crashed to the ground, swore, stumbled, and kept moving, entering the bedroom at the end of the hall. My other foot knocked against the threshold of it.

Five minutes.

“This is just my subconscious making me feel guilty. I’m sorry I killed you but I’m so—” Even in darkness, his eyes shouted the end: thirsty. ravenous. starving.

“Edward, c’mon, we don’t have time!”

“I could only hold out so long. Carlisle won’t ever— But I’m not going back. It doesn’t matter.”

He dropped me off of him—not without effort, but enough that I bounced when my back hit the mattress. The back of his hand wiped the bead of venom rolling down his lips.

I said as he crawled over top of me. “We have to get out of here, you have to feed, you need energy. You’re thirsty," I whispered, studying the purple bruises under his black irises.

Next to the bed was a window. I tried pushing him in that direction, but he wouldn’t budge. My hand found his neck and I dug my fingernails into his hard skin—unsuccessfully—to get him to register my presence. Panic kept rising in my chest.

We weren’t going to make it in time if he didn’t get it together.

“So thirsty, I’m so thirsty.” Edward’s voice was hoarse. His fingertips traced the circles under my eyes. Drops of venom landed on my chest. “So thirsty. I don’t want it to be over. You’re here.” His eyes sparkled wildly.

“Stop drooling, oh my god.” I ripped the corer of the bedsheet out from under me and wiped up the drops of venom. Then I held the cloth to his face. “Spit.”

He needed sanity. He needed to be a single-track mind. He needed to not blow our last few minutes with this stupid nonsense!

My mind panicked even as it reeled through the options, the option: every time Edward tastes my blood, he’s been able to stop—

“Your hair’s gotten longer. You look tired. You don’t smell as good as she does.” He’s insane! You’re insane! “I wonder how you taste.”

I must’ve had tears in my eyes because my voice cracked when I said, “Drink from me.” God, what the hell am I saying? “We need to go now.” His smile flashed all his teeth, fangs included. Even as he did as he was told, wiping his mouth and spitting into the fabric, he said, “If you were really Bells, why would you want me to—"

“Cuz I’m frickin’ alive and we need to go now!” I shouted. In frustration, I ripped at his hair, slapped him across the face, punched his chest, yanked him towards me, anything for a reaction.

For all of his temporary insanity, our minds still operated on the same wavelength—so what did that say about me?

His mouth found mine, hungry, open-mouthed. This was as reckless and needy as his summertime kisses, the era when his hands would touch me freely and his mouth roamed over my skin. I kissed him back, my heart pounding out a jagged, disjointed rhythm while my breathing turned to panting and my fingers moved greedily to his face. I could feel his marble body against every line of mine—no pain in the world would have justified missing this opportunity.

I cried. Because I loved him.

Three minutes. Or two? Or one?

In my defense, kissing him provided a pretty convincing argument that I was, in fact, alive.

“You’re not really alive, are you?” he panted.

Okay. Maybe not.

“Bite me. —No, stop, not my neck. No. Edward. My arm.” Dazed, Edward followed my commands, his lips leaving a trail of sloppy kisses on my skin. He’s listening to me. That wild, urgent hope that came with insane ideas overtook me. “Swallow your venom. It’ll be fine.” Maybe. Hopefully. Either I die right now or die by the Volturi—

At the very least, he seemed to know what I was asking. Edward stared at me, dark eyes soft, and it was easy to pretend that he felt the same way I did about this. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

“If you’re not already dead and I kill you, sorry about killing you.”

So that's what I did. I pretended, to make the moment sweeter.

“Swallow your venom. It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”

“Don’t worry,” he continued, brushing the wrinkle between my brows with his thumb. “If you become a vampire, I’ll come back to end you. I promise.”

He kissed the trail of veins one more time.

I looked at my father.

Yeah, the stress of chasing a serial kidnapper had put more salt in that salt-and-pepper hair, deeper wrinkles in his forehead. But I couldn’t help but notice that that the rings under his eyes had faded to a light lilac. How his thinned face looked slightly rounder.

I couldn’t help but notice how he had been humming most of the way up here. While we listened to golf on the radio.

Charlie was undoubtedly okay. For once, a plan I had had worked. That small lining of relief—despite the fear and anxiety and pain and danger and isolation—made this ugly foray into the paranormal world worth it. For now. And I didn’t have time to regret what could have been or what might be.

My loved ones were happy. Even though I didn’t live with him, Charlie and I still hung out Wednesdays and Sundays. I had balance.

It was enough.

“I’m okay,” I said as he got out of the car. “Just tired is all.”

“You talk to your doctor?”

“Yeah.” No. “They’re not gonna do anything until I’ve been on the new meds for a while, so.”

Charlie threw the driver-side door open. “Speaking of doctors,” he said, “we might wanna take it easy on Harry today, huh?”

“Sure, how come?”

“Just some stuff going on with his heart,” said Charlie. “He’s fine, but this isn’t gonna be some ten-mile hike like you n’ Jake are used to. Probably do a loop, check the traps, break at one of the stands.”

“I can circle back.”

Just as he got up to exit the car, Charlie halted and turned to me. “I want you to stick by us, Bells,” said my father, voice stern. “I mean it. Just last week we had another disappearance ‘bout twenny miles north of here. Better we stick together.” His door slammed shut.

I chewed the inside of my lip, not moving. “Megabear?”

The back door flung open and he poked his head in as he grabbed his gun case. “Could be, I s’pose. I’ll leave it to the forest rangers to decide. ‘Course if anyone’s gonna catch ‘em, it’s gonna be your old man and Harry. —You get something to eat this morning?”

Crap. I just made a sentimental speech about Charlie; now I had to lie to him? “Yeah, no worries. I got breakfast.” I struggled out of the passenger door to wheel around to the back. My bow case—or, really, Billy’s bow case—sat on the floor of the backseat. I wriggled it out and set it on the seat.

With his door still flung open, my father tossed something that crinkled across the seat. It hit the flat side of my bow case.

A granola bar.

When I looked up at him, he gave me a curt nod. “Have more breakfast,” Charlie gruffed.

He slammed the door shut.

*

“Your old man’s been on the bear’s path for over an hour, still hasn’t even taken the first shot,” Harry complained, breathless. “Can’t keep up with me like he used to, that’s for damn sure.” And this old man cackled.

We’d already set most of our stuff down in the clearing, opting to talk a short loop with our weapons while waiting for Charlie to get back. It made me nervous, thinking he was walking out all alone. But Harry had reassured me that Charlie “knew what he was doing.” So Harry and I stuck together, walking in silence.

“Just likes to be sure of his shot is all,” I said. Though I was sure the real reason had to do with tainting the meat by making two shots. He only said it a billion times. “One and done.”

It felt a little awkward, considering I’d kinda pissed him off last night at the fish fry.

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Harry chuckled. We faded into silence. Then, as if reading my mind: “About yesterday,” said Harry, and my heart sunk.

“Yeah. Uh. Sorry. I forgot that Sam and—er, I mean, I didn’t think—”

“I know you want to help,” he said, talking over me in a grizzled voice. I shut up. Harry cleared his throat and continued. “And the way Billy’s been talkin, you’d think the whole damn sky’s about to fall down.” My heart sunk. “But I just want you to rest assured, we’ve got everything under control. Okay?”

The unease filling my stomach like sand made my lips twist into a grimace. Why reassure me about something I’d never expressed worry about? “Yeah. Right. I just—if I can be of any help, in any—”

“Protecting yourself and others is what you can do to help,” said Harry. “We’ve got everything under control, but only if everyone works together to play their parts. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir.” No.

“Sometimes,” he said, “for the good of the community, we gotta stay disparate and isolated. We don’t want to appear too unified. It gives the opportunity for our enemies to get to know us. You understand?”

“Yes, sir.” No.

Was that to say that Sam was part of some disparate, isolated group, as I was? No, that couldn’t be true. Sam spent all his time with his second- and third-in-command, Jared and Paul. He wasn’t isolated like I was.

“You’ll have your chance to get to know everyone,” said Harry. “But for now, you know, we’ve gotta pick the right moments to help each other out. And we gotta think long and hard about who we choose to be around,” said Harry.

We looked at each other.

“I...don’t understand.”

“We pick up the scents of our loved ones,” he said. “That affects who the cold ones target.”

Oh. An icy anxiety gripped me. Still, I found myself blurting out “What?”, unable to finish my thought. “We—but—we’re with Charlie right now.”

“Charlie’s as safe as anyone could be,” said Harry. “We don’t need to worry about a veteran cop. Being the chief of the force means he’s less likely to be a target to anyone. He’s too visible. And a good shot.” Harry stared at me, as if hoping I’d jump in with another name. But I didn’t. So he did. “I’m talking about Jake.”

“J—Jake?” The defense came faster than my brain could think. “I—well, I always keep a knife on me. And we, we’re not, y’know—it’s not like we’re going vampire hunting or anything.” Where was this coming from? Why hadn’t Billy said anything to me?

“He’s a boy,” said Harry. “He’s young, he’s vulnerable, and he’s going off to college in a few months. We need to keep in mind that when we spend time with him, he becomes a target.” Beat. “And if you hang out with Jake...you can’t be around Sam.”

My heart sunk. Chills scattered slowly up the veins of my hand, my wrist. My fingers went numb. Why didn’t Billy mention it? “So when you say ‘we,’” I said as Harry frowned, “does that also inclu—"

“Shh. Hang on,” whispered Harry, clasping a hand on my shoulder to halt me. His eyes searched the area. With his free hand, he steadied his gun. His stalking steps were silent--even to my ears.

I froze. Fragments of my dream floated around my head and made me shiver.

Harry’s safety clicked off.

I pulled my bowstring back.

Threads of icy air that I had passed off as cold morning wind made my skin prickle at the back of the neck. The heavy unease that I had dismissed as uncertainty from last night settled like a huge stone in my stomach.

Vampire.

My grip tightened. I swallowed a shallow breath.

But the feeling wasn’t as acute. The smell didn’t permeate the air.

Whoever had crossed through here hadn’t done so recently.

“Hm.” Harry gestured for me to look at the ground, several paces from our feet. Still panting, he squatted down on the hams of his legs with a grunt. “Here’s what you’re looking out for,” he said, pointing to the ground.

I relaxed my grip, arrow unknocked. When I bent over him, Harry was tracing the deep half-moon divot in the soggy ground with his finger. Chills swept the nape of my neck.

My breath caught. Is that…?

“These kinda markers can be easy to miss, so be careful. It’s a footprint, see? The cold ones take less steps when they run. They don’t run like you n’ I do, see, they land more forward, on their toes. They’ll dig these deep sorta divots in the ground for leverage. See how this round part is facing us?” I nodded. Harry, breathing deeply, turned towards where we came from, and I mirrored him. “That’s its direction,” he said, pointing.

My veins iced over. The panic in my chest never rose above a simmer. The smell of vampire had become too faint to consider it an active threat. I frowned and turned back to Harry, saying as if it wasn’t actually a panicked confirmation, “Yeah, but they didn’t come through here today.”

“No, they’re not here now,” he said. “Musta came through ‘bout a day ago or so. See, the mud’s had time to set and dry.”

I nodded, turning back to the path we took anyway. As if we’d see one now, on this rare sunny day. I spun back around again to face him. “How d’you know all this?”

“I could ask you the same,” he said with a wry grin. “I saw you pick up on it. The smell.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, ignoring him. “You and Billy both…” I hesitated. It sounded accusatory: You and Harry both know how to track vampires. Why? How?

“For some of us, our relationship with the paranormal stretches way back,” he replied, arching a brow. “Reckon it’s the same for you.”

I looked back down at the ground, if only to look at something else.

Anything else.

Instead of concentrating on the horrific notion that I, like Caitlin and Billy and Harry, had always had a relationship with vampires.

Besides the thought being terrifying, it also meant that the last several months of Edward leaving meant nothing. It prevented nothing, solved nothing, did nothing. My relationship with vampires, with or without Edward, would always stretch out into the infinite.

That sucked.

Examining the half-footprint left in the dirt, it looked bigger than what I imagined Victoria’s footprint to be. “Who d’you think it is?”

“We’re working on it,” he said.

“You and, and Billy?” I said. Harry nodded. “And Sam?”

Harry side-eyed me but said nothing.

He told me we had to be an isolated, disparate community. If that were true, why did he keep saying “we”?

Why couldn’t “we” include me?

“Here. See. When we see these tracks,” he continued, pulling out a crumpled receipt and a pen from his shirt pocket, “you mark down the location. We have markers set up on Old Quil’s place that correspond to coordinates--coordinates are written on the markers. You remember that map we gave you last summer? You use that. Mmkay?” Harry did the same, clicked, the pen, put the materials back in his pocket. “Then we erase it.” His foot stomped into the sinking mud, then smeared the print with his boot heel. “Got it?”

If I ever wanted to be part of this “we,” it was clear that I had to know something. Provide something. Do something. I had to become too invaluable to ignore.

Not that I had anything worth of value. My bow skills were okay, and I guess the porcelain white-tipped arrows Billy gave me, like the knife, were presumably to fight vampires.

But who knew if the arrows were fast enough for them? Who knew whether I could hit a vampire on the move? Whether vampires could even die with human weapons in the first place, being so indestructible as they were?

Who knew if I would ever be good enough?

“Is it a girl?” I asked him. “The cold one?” Harry looked at me but said nothing, just gestured for me to walk back to the clearing with him. It felt awkward to talk about what I knew. As if it wasn’t the biggest secret of my life. “It doesn’t seem like it’s her this time. Victoria. I—” But I hesitated at telling him the truth, why I thought it wasn’t Victoria. The smell. The lights. All it would do was out me as a freaky human hybrid. “I dunno. The Cullens chased her into Europe several months ago,” I said, hustling to his side. “If she’s back, she’s probably looking for them. Or—me.”

“Doesn’t seem to be the motive,” was all Harry said.

I pressed on, desperate, at least, to be useful. “She has this neon green light power,” I said. “That’s how she lures her victims.”

Now Harry didn’t look at me. “I know.”

Where I hoped he couldn’t hear me, I sighed. I kept my eyes pinned on the trail as we walked, thinking to myself.

“Why can’t I?” I asked him. “Know.”

“Not the right time,” said Harry.

“But when is?”

“When I—we—say so.”

This would have to be my new project. Being valuable enough to be included. Learning enough information to—

“Whoa,” I said, gazing down at the huge paw print in front of me, like a gaping wound in the earth. The thing was massive! It was like if two of the biggest bears in the world got together and atomically fused themselves together into one giant— “Megabear.”

That made Harry swerve around. He never smiled. Never answered me. With that same firm, somber look, he went up to where I stared, frowned at the sight of it. Then he rubbed out the huge paw print with the heel of his boot. Fresh overturned soil erased the print.

He turned. “Better be getting back.”

“Aren’t you gonna write down the coordinates?”