He had turned the radio to an oldies station, and he sang along with a song I'd never heard. He knew every line.

"Does it matter much?" His smile, to my relief, remained unclouded.

He could drive well, when he kept the speed reasonable, I had to admit. Like so many things, it seemed to be effortless to him. He barely looked at the road, yet the tires never deviated so much as a centimeter from the center of the lane. He drove one-handed, holding my hand on the seat. Sometimes he gazed into the setting sun, sometimes he glanced at me -- my face, my hair blowing out the open window, our hands twined together.

"You like fifties music?" I asked.

"Are you ever going to tell me how old you are?" I asked, tentative, not wanting to upset his buoyant humor.

"Music in the fifties was good. Much better than the sixties, or the seventies, ugh!" He shuddered. "The eighties were bearable."

"No, but I still wonder…" I grimaced. "There's nothing like an unsolved mystery to keep you up at night."

"I wonder if it will upset you," he reflected to himself. He gazed into the sun; the minutes passed.

He sighed, and then looked into my eyes, seeming to forget the road completely for a time. Whatever he saw there must have encouraged him. He looked into the sun -- the light of the setting orb glittered off his skin in ruby-tinged sparkles -- and spoke.

"Try me," I finally said.

"I was born in Chicago in 1901." He paused and glanced at me from the corner of his eyes. My face was carefully unsurprised, patient for the rest. He smiled a tiny smile and continued. "Carlisle found me in a hospital in the summer of 1918. I was seventeen, and dying of the Spanish influenza."

"They had already died from the disease. I was alone. That was why he chose me. In all the chaos of the epidemic, no one would ever realize I was gone."

"I don't remember it well -- it was a very long time ago, and human memories fade." He was lost in his thoughts for a short time before he went on. "I do remember how it felt, when Carlisle saved me. It's not an easy thing, not something you could forget."

"Your parents?"

He heard my intake of breath, though it was barely audible to my own ears. He looked down into my eyes again.

"How did he… save you?"

A few seconds passed before he answered. He seemed to choose his words carefully.

I could tell from the set of his lips, he would say no more on this subject. I suppressed my curiosity, though it was far from idle. There were many things I needed to think through on this particular issue, things that were only beginning to occur to me. No doubt his quick mind had already comprehended every aspect that eluded me.

"It was difficult. Not many of us have the restraint necessary to accomplish it. But Carlisle has always been the most humane, the most compassionate of us… I don't think you could find his equal throughout all of history." He paused. "For me, it was merely very, very painful."

His soft voice interrupted my thoughts. "He acted from loneliness. That's usually the reason behind the choice. I was the first in Carlisle's family, though he found Esme soon after. She fell from a cliff. They brought her straight to the hospital morgue, though, somehow, her heart was still beating."

"Carlisle brought Rosalie to our family next. I didn't realize till much later that he was hoping she would be to me what Esme was to him -- he was careful with his thoughts around me." He rolled his eyes.

"So you must be dying, then, to become…" We never said the word, and I couldn't frame it now.

"And Emmett and Rosalie?"

"No, that's just Carlisle. He would never do that to someone who had another choice." The respect in his voice was profound whenever he spoke of his father figure. "It is easier he says, though," he continued, "if the blood is weak." He looked at the now-dark road, and I could feel the subject closing again.

"But she was never more than a sister. It was only two years later that she found Emmett. She was hunting -- we were in Appalachia at the time -- and found a bear about to finish him off. She carried him back to Carlisle, more than a hundred miles, afraid she wouldn't be able to do it herself. I'm only beginning to guess how difficult that journey was for her." He threw a pointed glance in my direction, and raised our hands, still folded together, to brush my cheek with the back of his hand.

"But she made it," I encouraged, looking away from the unbearable beauty of his eyes.

"Yes," he murmured. "She saw something in his face that made her strong enough. And they've been together ever since. Sometimes they live separately from us, as a married couple. But the younger we pretend to be, the longer we can stay in any given place. Forks seemed perfect, so we all enrolled in high school." He laughed. "I suppose we'll have to go to their wedding in a few years, again."

"Alice and Jasper?"

"Alice and Jasper are two very rare creatures. They both developed a conscience, as we refer to it, with no outside guidance. Jasper belonged to another… family, a very different kind of family. He became depressed, and he wandered on his own. Alice found him. Like me, she has certain gifts above and beyond the norm for our kind."

"That's true. She knows other things. She sees things -- things that might happen, things that are coming. But it's very subjective. The future isn't set in stone. Things change."

"Really?" I interrupted, fascinated. "But you said you were the only one who could hear people's thoughts."

"She saw Jasper and knew that he was looking for her before he knew it himself. She saw Carlisle and our family, and they came together to find us. She's most sensitive to non-humans. She always sees, for example, when another group of our kind is coming near. And any threat they may pose."

"What kinds of things does she see?"

"Are there a lot of… your kind?" I was surprised. How many of them could walk among us undetected?

His jaw set when he said that, and his eyes darted to my face and away so quickly that I wasn't sure if I only imagined it.

"No, not many. But most won't settle in any one place. Only those like us, who've given up hunting you people" -- a sly glance in my direction -- "can live together with humans for any length of time. We've only found one other family like ours, in a small village in Alaska. We lived together for a time, but there were so many of us that we became too noticeable. Those of us who live… differently tend to band together."

"And the others?"

"Nomads, for the most part. We've all lived that way at times. It gets tedious, like anything else. But we run across the others now and then, because most of us prefer the North."

We were parked in front of my house now, and he'd turned off the truck. It was very quiet and dark; there was no moon. The porch light was off so I knew my father wasn't home yet.

"Why is that?"

"Did you have your eyes open this afternoon?" he teased. "Do you think I could walk down the street in the sunlight without causing traffic accidents? There's a reason why we chose the Olympic Peninsula, one of the most sunless places in the world. It's nice to be able to go outside in the day. You wouldn't believe how tired you can get of nighttime in eighty-odd years."

"So that's where the legends came from?"

"Probably."

"And Alice came from another family, like Jasper?"

"No, and that is a mystery. Alice doesn't remember her human life at all. And she doesn't know who created her. She awoke alone. Whoever made her walked away, and none of us understand why, or how, he could. If she hadn't had that other sense, if she hadn't seen Jasper and Carlisle and known that she would someday become one of us, she probably would have turned into a total savage."

"Can't I come in?" he asked.

"It's definitely resurfacing."

"I've never spent much time around anyone who eats food. I forget."

"Very human," I complimented him.

"Yes, if it's all right." I heard the door close quietly, and almost simultaneously he was outside my door, opening it for me.

There was so much to think through, so much I still wanted to ask. But, to my great embarrassment, my stomach growled. I'd been so intrigued, I hadn't even noticed I was hungry. I realized now that I was ravenous.

"I'm fine, really."

"I'm sorry, I'm keeping you from dinner."

"Would you like to?" I couldn't picture it, this godlike creature sitting in my father's shabby kitchen chair.

"I want to stay with you." It was easier to say in the darkness, knowing as I spoke how my voice would betray me, my hopeless addiction to him.

He walked beside me in the night, so quietly I had to peek at him constantly to be sure he was still there. In the darkness he looked much more normal. Still pale, still dreamlike in his beauty, but no longer the fantastic sparkling creature of our sunlit afternoon.

He reached the door ahead of me and opened it for me. I paused halfway through the frame.

"The door was unlocked?"

"No, I used the key from under the eave."

"I was curious about you."

I concentrated on getting my dinner, taking last night's lasagna from the fridge, placing a square on a plate, heating it in the microwave. It revolved, filling the kitchen with the smell of tomatoes and oregano. I didn't take my eyes from the plate of food as I spoke.

"You spied on me?" But somehow I couldn't infuse my voice with the proper outrage. I was flattered.

He was unrepentant. "What else is there to do at night?"

"How often?" I asked casually.

I stepped inside, flicked on the porch light, and turned to look at him with my eyebrows raised. I was sure I'd never used that key in front of him.

I let it go for the moment and went down the hall to the kitchen. He was there before me, needing no guide. He sat in the very chair I'd tried to picture him in. His beauty lit up the kitchen. It was a moment before I could look away.

"I come here almost every night."

Instantly, silently, he was at my side, taking my hands carefully in his.

"On?" he urged.

"What you heard!" I wailed.

I still didn't turn around. "How often did you come here?"

"You miss your mother," he whispered. "You worry about her. And when it rains, the sound makes you restless. You used to talk about home a lot, but it's less often now. Once you said, 'It's too green.'" He laughed softly, hoping, I could see, not to offend me further.

"Hmmm?" He sounded as if I had pulled him from some other train of thought.

He waited.

"No!" I gasped, heat flooding my face all the way to my hairline. I gripped the kitchen counter for support. I knew I talked in my sleep, of course; my mother teased me about it. I hadn't thought it was something I needed to worry about here, though.

I whirled, stunned. "Why?"

"Don't be upset!" he pleaded. He dropped his face to the level of my eyes, holding my gaze. I was embarrassed. I tried to look away.

"You're interesting when you sleep." He spoke matter-of-factly. "You talk."

His expression shifted instantly to chagrin. "Are you very angry with me?"

"That depends!" I felt and sounded like I'd had the breath knocked out of me.

I sighed in defeat. "A lot?"

"Should your father know I'm here?" he asked.

"How much do you mean by 'a lot,' exactly?"

"Oh no!" I hung my head.

"Don't be self-conscious," he whispered in my ear. "If I could dream at all, it would be about you. And I'm not ashamed of it."

He pulled me against his chest, softly, naturally.

He knew what I was getting at. "You did say my name," he admitted.

"Another time then…"

My father's key turned in the door.

"Edward!" I hissed.

"Anything else?" I demanded.

"I'm not sure…" I tried to think it through quickly.

Then we both heard the sound of tires on the brick driveway, saw the headlights flash through the front windows, down the hall to us. I stiffened in his arms.

I heard a ghostly chuckle, then nothing else.

And I was alone.

"Bella?" he called. It had bothered me before; who else would it be? Suddenly he didn't seem so far off base.

"In here." I hoped he couldn't hear the hysterical edge to my voice. I grabbed my dinner from the microwave and sat at the table as he walked in. His footsteps sounded so noisy after my day with Edward.

"How was your day?" I asked. The words were rushed; I was dying to escape to my room.

"Can you get me some of that? I'm bushed." He stepped on the heels of his boots to take them off, holding the back of Edward's chair for support.

"Good. The fish were biting… how about you? Did you get everything done that you wanted to?"

"It was a nice day," he agreed. What an understatement, I thought to myself.

I took my food with me, scarfing it down as I got his dinner. It burned my tongue. I filled two glasses with milk while his lasagna was heating, and gulped mine to put out the fire. As I set the glass down, I noticed the milk trembling and realized my hand was shaking. Charlie sat in the chair, and the contrast between him and its former occupant was comical.

"Thanks," he said as I placed his food on the table.

"Not really -- it was too nice out to stay indoors." I took another big bite.

Charlie surprised me by being observant. "In a hurry?"

Finished with the last bite of lasagna, I lifted my glass and chugged the remains of my milk.

"You look kinda keyed up," he noted. Why, oh why, did this have to be his night to pay attention?

"Sounds like a good idea to me," I agreed as I headed up the stairs.

"No plans tonight?" he asked suddenly.

"It's Saturday," he mused.

"None of the boys in town your type, eh?" He was suspicious, but trying to play it cool.

"Yeah, I'm tired. I'm going to bed early."

"He's Just a friend, Dad."

"No, none of the boys have caught my eye yet." I was careful not to over-emphasize the word boys in my quest to be truthful with Charlie.

"No, Dad, I just want to get some sleep."

I didn't respond.

"Well, you're too good for them all, anyway. Wait till you get to college to start looking." Every father's dream, that his daughter will be out of the house before the hormones kick in.

"Do I?" was all I could manage in response. I quickly scrubbed my dishes clean in the sink, and placed them upside down on a dish towel to dry.

"I thought maybe that Mike Newton… you said he was friendly."

"'Night, honey," he called after me. No doubt he would be listening carefully all evening, waiting for me to try to sneak out.

I worked to make my tread sound slow and tired as I walked up the stairs to my room. I shut the door loud enough for him to hear, and then sprinted on my tiptoes to the window. I threw it open and leaned out into the night. My eyes scanned the darkness, the impenetrable shadows of the trees.

"See you in the morning, Dad." See you creeping into my room tonight at midnight to check on me.

The quiet, laughing response came from behind me. "Yes?"

"Just give me a minute to restart my heart."

"Edward?" I whispered, feeling completely idiotic.

I whirled, one hand flying to my throat in surprise.

He lay, smiling hugely, across my bed, his hands behind his head, his feet dangling off the end, the picture of ease.

He sat up slowly, so as not to startle me again. Then he leaned forward and reached out with his long arms to pick me up, gripping the tops of my arms like I was a toddler. He sat me on the bed beside him.

"I'm sorry." He pressed his lips together, trying to hide his amusement.

"Oh!" I breathed, sinking unsteadily to the floor.

"Certainly." He gestured with one hand that I should proceed.

"Yes, ma'am." And he made a show of becoming a statue on the edge of my bed.

We sat there for a moment in silence, both listening to my heartbeat slow. I thought about having Edward in my room, with my father in the house.

"You tell me -- I'm sure you hear it better than I do."

I hopped up, grabbing my pajamas from off the floor, my bag of toiletries off the desk. I left the light off and slipped out, closing the door.

I felt his quiet laughter shake the bed.

"Stay," I said, trying to look severe.

"Why don't you sit with me," he suggested, putting a cold hand on mine.

"How's the heart?"

"Can I have a minute to be human?" I asked.

I meant to hurry. I brushed my teeth fiercely, trying to be thorough and speedy, removing all traces of lasagna. But the hot water of the shower couldn't be rushed. It unknotted the muscles in my back, calmed my pulse. The familiar smell of my shampoo made me feel like I might be the same person I had been this morning. I tried not to think of Edward, sitting in my room, waiting, because then I had to start all over with the calming process. Finally, I couldn't delay anymore. I shut off the water, toweling hastily, rushing again. I pulled on my holey t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Too late to regret not packing the Victoria's Secret silk pajamas my mother got me two birthdays ago, which still had the tags on them in a drawer somewhere back home.

I could hear the sound from the TV rising up the stairs. I banged the bathroom door loudly, so Charlie wouldn't come up to bother me.

I took the stairs two at a time, trying to be quiet, and flew into my room, closing the door tightly behind me.

I grimaced.

"What was all that for?"

"'Night, Bella." He did look startled by my appearance. Maybe that would keep him from checking on me tonight.

Edward hadn't moved a fraction of an inch, a carving of Adonis perched on my faded quilt. I smiled, and his lips twitched, the statue coming to life.

"'Night, Dad."

"No, it looks good on you."

I rubbed the towel through my hair again, and then yanked the brush through it quickly. I threw the towel in the hamper, flung my brush and toothpaste into my bag. Then I dashed down the stairs so Charlie could see that I was in my pajamas, with wet hair.

His eyes appraised me, taking in the damp hair, the tattered shirt. He raised one eyebrow. "Nice."

"Thanks," I whispered. I went back to his side, sitting cross-legged beside him. I looked at the lines in the wooden floor.

"Oh." He contemplated that. "Why?" As if he couldn't know Charlie's mind much more clearly than I could guess.

"Charlie thinks I'm sneaking out."

"Mmmmmm…" he breathed.

"You look very warm, actually."

"Apparently, I look a little overexcited."

He bent his face slowly to mine, laying his cool cheek against my skin. I held perfectly still.

"Yes?" he breathed.

"It seems to be… much easier for you, now, to be close to me."

"Why is that," my voice shook, embarrassing me, "do you think?"

He lifted my chin, examining my face.

"Much, much easier," I said, trying to exhale.

"So I was wondering…" I began again, but his fingers were slowly tracing my collarbone, and I lost my train of thought.

"Does it seem that way to you?" he murmured, his nose gliding to the corner of my jaw. I felt his hand, lighter than a moth's wing, brushing my damp hair back, so that his lips could touch the hollow beneath my ear.

"Hmm."

It was very difficult, while he was touching me, to frame a coherent question. It took me a minute of scattered concentration to begin.

I felt the tremor of his breath on my neck as he laughed. "Mind over matter."

I pulled back; as I moved, he froze -- and I could no longer hear the sound of his breathing.

"You're good at everything," I pointed out.

We stared cautiously at each other for a moment, and then, as his clenched jaw gradually relaxed, his expression became puzzled.

"No -- the opposite. You're driving me crazy," I explained.

"But how can it be so easy now?" I pressed. "This afternoon…"

"Did I do something wrong?"

"I'm just pleasantly surprised," he clarified. "In the last hundred years or so," his voice was teasing, "I never imagined anything like this. I didn't believe I would ever find someone I wanted to be with… in another way than my brothers and sisters. And then to find, even though it's all new to me, that I'm good at it… at being with you…"

He grinned.

He shrugged, allowing that, and we both laughed in whispers.

"Would you like a round of applause?" I asked sarcastically.

"It's not easy," he sighed. "But this afternoon, I was still… undecided. I am sorry about that, it was unforgivable for me to behave so."

He considered that briefly, and when he spoke, he sounded pleased. "Really?" A triumphant smile slowly lit his face.

He threw back his head and laughed, quietly as a whisper, but still exuberantly.

"Mind over matter," he repeated, smiling, his teeth bright even in the darkness.

"Wow, that was easy," I said.

"I'm trying," he whispered, his voice pained. "If it gets to be… too much, I'm fairly sure I'll be able to leave."

I'd never seen him struggle so hard for words. It was so… human.

And then his face was abruptly serious.

"Not unforgivable," I disagreed.

"So there's no possibility now?"

"Easy for you!" he amended, touching my nose with his fingertip.

I scowled. I didn't like the talk of leaving.

"Thank you." He smiled. "You see," he continued, looking down now, "I wasn't sure if I was strong enough…" He picked up one of my hands and pressed it lightly to his face. "And while there was still that possibility that I might be… overcome" -- he breathed in the scent at my wrist -- "I was… susceptible. Until I made up my mind that I was strong enough, that there was no possibility at all that I would… that I ever could…"

"You seem more… optimistic than usual," I observed. "I haven't seen you like this before."

"For example" -- his words flowed swiftly now, I had to concentrate to catch it all -- "the emotion of jealousy. I've read about it a hundred thousand times, seen actors portray it in a thousand different plays and movies. I believed I understood that one pretty clearly. But it shocked me…" He grimaced. "Do you remember the day that Mike asked you to the dance?"

"That suits me," he replied, his face relaxing into a gentle smile. "Bring on the shackles -- I'm your prisoner." But his long hands formed manacles around my wrists as he spoke. He laughed his quiet, musical laugh. He'd laughed more tonight than I'd ever heard in all the time I'd spent with him.

"Very different," I agreed. "More forceful than I'd imagined."

"And it will be harder tomorrow," he continued. "I've had the scent of you in my head all day, and I've grown amazingly desensitized. If I'm away from you for any length of time, I'll have to start over again. Not quite from scratch, though, I think."

"Isn't it supposed to be like this?" He smiled. "The glory of first love, and all that. It's incredible, isn't it, the difference between reading about something, seeing it in the pictures, and experiencing it?"

"Don't go away, then," I responded, unable to hide the longing in my voice.

"I was surprised by the flare of resentment, almost fury, that I felt -- I didn't recognize what it was at first. I was even more aggravated than usual that I couldn't know what you were thinking, why you refused him. Was it simply for your friend's sake? Was there someone else? I knew I had no right to care either way. I tried not to care.

I nodded, though I remembered that day for a different reason. "The day you started talking to me again."

"And then the line started forming," he chuckled. I scowled in the darkness.

"I waited, unreasonably anxious to hear what you would say to them, to watch your expressions. I couldn't deny the relief I felt, watching the annoyance on your face. But I couldn't be sure.

"That was the first night I came here. I wrestled all night, while watching you sleep, with the chasm between what I knew was right, moral, ethical, and what I wanted.

I knew that if I continued to ignore you as I should, or if I left for a few years, till you were gone, that someday you would say yes to Mike, or someone like him. It made me angry.

"But jealousy… it's a strange thing. So much more powerful than I would have thought. And irrational! Just now, when Charlie asked you about that vile Mike Newton…" He shook his head angrily.

"Of course."

"That made you feel jealous, though, really?"

"And then," he whispered, "as you were sleeping, you said my name. You spoke so clearly, at first I thought you'd woken. But you rolled over restlessly and mumbled my name once more, and sighed. The feeling that coursed through me then was unnerving, staggering. And I knew I couldn't ignore you any longer." He was silent for a moment, probably listening to the suddenly uneven pounding of my heart.

"I should have known you'd be listening," I groaned.

"I'm new at this; you're resurrecting the human in me, and everything feels stronger because it's fresh."

"But honestly," I teased, "for that to bother you, after I have to hear that Rosalie -- Rosalie, the incarnation of pure beauty, Rosalie -- was meant for you. Emmett or no Emmett, how can I compete with that?"

"There's no competition." His teeth gleamed. He drew my trapped hands around his back, holding me to his chest. I kept as still as I could, even breathing with caution.

"It hardly seems fair," I whispered, my face still resting on his chest, listening to his breath come and go. "I haven't had to wait at all. Why should I get off so easily?"

"I know there's no competition," I mumbled into his cold skin. "That's the problem."

"You're right," he agreed with amusement. "I should make this harder for you, definitely." He freed one of his hands, released my wrist, only to gather it carefully into his other hand. He stroked my wet hair softly, from the top of my head to my waist. "You only have to risk your life every second you spend with me, that's surely not much. You only have to turn your back on nature, on humanity… what's that worth?"

"Of course Rosalie is beautiful in her way, but even if she wasn't like a sister to me, even if Emmett didn't belong with her, she could never have one tenth, no, one hundredth of the attraction you hold for me." He was serious now, thoughtful. "For almost ninety years I've walked among my kind, and yours… all the time thinking I was complete in myself, not realizing what I was seeking. And not finding anything, because you weren't alive yet."

He hummed a melody I didn't recognize; it sounded like a lullaby.

I heard the door crack open, as Charlie peeked in to make sure I was where I was supposed to be. I breathed evenly, exaggerating the movement.

"Lie down!" he hissed. I couldn't tell where he spoke from in the darkness.

Then Edward's cool arm was around me, under the covers, his lips at my ear.

"What --" I started to ask, when his body became alert. I froze, but he suddenly released my hands, and disappeared. I narrowly avoided falling on my face.

"You are a terrible actress -- I'd say that career path is out for you."

A long minute passed. I listened, not sure if I'd heard the door close.

He paused. "Should I sing you to sleep?"

I rolled under my quilt, balling up on my side, the way I usually slept.

"Not yet." And his voice was abruptly full of ancient grief.

I tried to pull back, to look in his face, but his hand locked my wrists in an unbreakable hold.

"Very little -- I don't feel deprived of anything."

"Darn it," I muttered. My heart was crashing in my chest.

"Just because I'm resisting the wine doesn't mean I can't appreciate the bouquet," he whispered. "You have a very floral smell, like lavender… or freesia," he noted. "It's mouthwatering."

"I've decided what I want to do," I told him. "I want to hear more about you."

"So if you don't want to sleep…" he suggested, ignoring my tone. My breath caught.

"You do it all the time," he reminded me.

"Tell me when you decide."

I could feel his cool breath on my neck, feel his nose sliding along my jaw, inhaling.

"Ask me anything."

I couldn't answer at first.

"If I don't want to sleep…?" He chuckled. "What do you want to do then?"

"Yeah, it's an off day when I don't get somebody telling me how edible I smell."

"I thought you were desensitized."

I sifted through my questions for the most vital. "Why do you do it?" I said. "I still don't understand how you can work so hard to resist what you… are. Please don't misunderstand, of course I'm glad that you do. I just don't see why you would bother in the first place."

He chuckled, and then sighed.

"I'm not sure," I finally said.

"But I didn't know you were here," I replied icily.

"Right," I laughed. "Like I could sleep with you here!"

"No."

"Did you fall asleep?" he whispered after a few minutes.

He hesitated before answering. "That's a good question, and you are not the first one to ask it. The others -- the majority of our kind who are quite content with our lot -- they, too, wonder at how we live. But you see, just because we've been… dealt a certain hand… it doesn't mean that we can't choose to rise above -- to conquer the boundaries of a destiny that none of us wanted. To try to retain whatever essential humanity we can."

I lay unmoving, locked in awed silence.

"Is that all you were curious about?"

"What else do you want to know?"

I rolled my eyes. "Not quite."

"Why can you read minds -- why only you? And Alice, seeing the future… why does that happen?"

I felt him shrug in the darkness. "We don't really know. Carlisle has a theory… he believes that we all bring something of our strongest human traits with us into the next life, where they are intensified -- like our minds, and our senses. He thinks that I must have already been very sensitive to the thoughts of those around me. And that Alice had some precognition, wherever she was."

"Carlisle brought his compassion. Esme brought her ability to love passionately. Emmett brought his strength, Rosalie her… tenacity. Or you could call it pigheadedness." he chuckled. "Jasper is very interesting. He was quite charismatic in his first life, able to influence those around him to see things his way. Now he is able to manipulate the emotions of those around him -- calm down a room of angry people, for example, or excite a lethargic crowd, conversely. It's a very subtle gift."

"What did he bring into the next life, and the others?"

I considered the impossibilities he described, trying to take it in. He waited patiently while I thought.

"So where did it all start? I mean, Carlisle changed you, and then someone must have changed him, and so on…"

"Well, where did you come from? Evolution? Creation? Couldn't we have evolved in the same way as other species, predator and prey? Or, if you don't believe that all this world could have just happened on its own, which is hard for me to accept myself, is it so hard to believe that the same force that created the delicate angelfish with the shark, the baby seal and the killer whale, could create both our kinds together?"

I wanted to turn toward him, to see if it was really his lips against my hair. But I had to be good; I didn't want to make this any harder for him than it already was.

"I won't leave you." His voice had the seal of a promise in it.

"Are you ready to sleep?" he asked, interrupting the short silence. "Or do you have any more questions?"

"We have tomorrow, and the next day, and the next…" he reminded me. I smiled, euphoric at the thought.

"Only a million or two."

"No, forget it. I changed my mind."

"Are you sure you won't vanish in the morning?" I wanted this to be certain. "You are mythical, after all."

"Right." He laughed, and something touched my hair -- his lips?

"I keep thinking it will get less frustrating, not hearing your thoughts. But it just gets worse and worse."

"What is it?"

"Bella, you can ask me anything."

"One more, then, tonight…" And I blushed. The darkness was no help -- I'm sure he could feel the sudden warmth under my skin.

I didn't answer, and he groaned.

"Let me get this straight -- I'm the baby seal, right?"

He laughed in earnest now, understanding. "Is that what you're getting at?"

"If you don't tell me, I'll just assume it's something much worse than it is," he threatened darkly.

"Was there a purpose behind your curiosity?"

I fidgeted, unable to answer.

I shook my head.

"Oh," was all I could say.

"I don't think that… that… would be possible for us."

"Yes, I suppose it is much the same," he said. "I told you, most of those human desires are there, just hidden behind more powerful desires."

"Please?" His voice was so persuasive, so impossible to resist.

"Yes?"

"Well," I began, glad that he couldn't see my face.

"Please?" Again, that pleading voice.

"Well, I did wonder… about you and me… someday…"

He was instantly serious, I could tell by the sudden stillness of his body. I froze, too, reacting automatically.

"You said that Rosalie and Emmett will get married soon… Is that… marriage… the same as it is for humans?"

"I'm glad you can't read my thoughts. It's bad enough that you eavesdrop on my sleep-talking."

"Because it would be too hard for you, if I were that… close?"

"That's certainly a problem. But that's not what I was thinking of. It's just that you are so soft, so fragile. I have to mind my actions every moment that we're together so that I don't hurt you. I could kill you quite easily, Bella, simply by accident." His voice had become just a soft murmur.

He moved his icy palm to rest it against my cheek. "If I was too hasty… if for one second I wasn't paying enough attention, I could reach out, meaning to touch your face, and crush your skull by mistake. You don't realize how incredibly breakable you are. I can never, never afford to lose any kind of control when I'm with you."

He waited for me to respond, growing anxious when I didn't. "Are you scared?" he asked.

I waited for a minute to answer, so the words would be true. "No. I'm fine."

He seemed to deliberate for a moment. "I'm curious now, though," he said, his voice light again. "Have you ever…?" He trailed off suggestively.

"Of course not." I flushed. "I told you I've never felt like this about anyone before, not even close."

He laughed and lightly rumpled my nearly dry hair.

I yawned involuntarily.

"I'm not sure if I can."

"I may not be a human, but I am a man," he assured me.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"I've answered your questions, now you should sleep," he insisted.

"I know. It's just that I know other people's thoughts. I know love and lust don't always keep the same company."

"That's nice. We have that one thing in common, at least." He sounded satisfied.

"Your human instincts…" I began. He waited. "Well, do you find me attractive, in that way, at all?"

More tired than I realized, exhausted from the long day of mental and emotional stress like I'd never felt before, I drifted to sleep in his cold arms.

He laughed, and then began to hum that same, unfamiliar lullaby; the voice of an archangel, soft in my ear.

"They do for me. Now, anyway, that they exist for me at all," I sighed.

"No!" I said too loudly.