my truck.
"This way," he said, glancing over his shoulder at me, eyes still
annoyed. He started into the dark forest.
"The trail?" Panic was clear in my voice as I hurried around the truck to
catch up to him.
"I said there was a trail at the end of the road, not that we were taking
it."
"No trail?" I asked desperately.
"I won't let you get lost." He turned then, with a mocking smile, and I
stifled a gasp. His white shirt was sleeveless, and he wore it
unbuttoned, so that the smooth white skin of his throat flowed
uninterrupted over the marble contours of his chest, his perfect
musculature no longer merely hinted at behind concealing clothes. He was
too perfect, I realized with a piercing stab of despair. There was no way
this godlike creature could be meant for me.
He stared at me, bewildered by my tortured expression.
"Do you want to go home?" he said quietly, a different pain than mine
saturating his voice.
"No." I walked forward till I was close beside him, anxious not to waste
one second of whatever time I might have with him.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice gentle.
"I'm not a good hiker," I answered dully. "You'll have to be very
patient."
"I can be patient — if I make a great effort." He smiled, holding my
glance, trying to lift me out of my sudden, unexplained dejection.
I tried to smile back, but the smile was unconvincing. He scrutinized my
face.
"I'll take you home," he promised. I couldn't tell if the promise was
unconditional, or restricted to an immediate departure. I knew he thought
it was fear that upset me, and I was grateful again that I was the one
person whose mind he couldn't hear.
"If you want me to hack five miles through the jungle before sundown,
you'd better start leading the way," I said acidly. He frowned at me,
struggling to understand my tone and expression.
He gave up after a moment and led the way into the forest.
It wasn't as hard as I had feared. The way was mostly flat, and he held
the damp ferns and webs of moss aside for me. When his straight path took
us over fallen trees or boulders, he would help me, lifting me by the
elbow, and then releasing me instantly when I was clear. His cold touch
on my skin never failed to make my heart thud erratically. Twice, when
that happened, I caught a look on his face that made me sure he could
somehow hear it.
I tried to keep my eyes away from his perfection as much as possible, but
I slipped often. Each time, his beauty pierced me through with sadness.
For the most part, we walked in silence. Occasionally he would ask a
random question that he hadn't gotten to in the past two days of
interrogation. He asked about my birthdays, my grade school teachers, my
childhood pets — and I had to admit that after killing three fish in a
row, I'd given up on the whole institution. He laughed at that, louder
than I was used to — bell-like echoes bouncing back to us from the empty
woods.
The hike took me most of the morning, but he never showed any sign of
impatience. The forest spread out around us in a boundless labyrinth of
ancient trees, and I began to be nervous that we would never find our way
out again. He was perfectly at ease, comfortable in the green maze, never
seeming to feel any doubt about our direction.
After several hours, the light that filtered through the canopy
transformed, the murky olive tone shifting to a brighter jade. The day
had turned sunny, just as he'd foretold. For the first time since we'd
entered the woods, I felt a thrill of excitement — which quickly turned
to impatience.
"Are we there yet?" I teased, pretending to scowl.
"Nearly." He smiled at the change in my mood. "Do you see the brightness
ahead?"
I peered into the thick forest. "Um, should I?"
He smirked. "Maybe it's a bit soon for your eyes."
"Time to visit the optometrist," I muttered. His smirk grew more
pronounced.
But then, after another hundred yards, I could definitely see a
lightening in the trees ahead, a glow that was yellow instead of green. I
picked up the pace, my eagerness growing with every step. He let me lead
now, following noiselessly.
I reached the edge of the pool of light and stepped through the last
fringe of ferns into the loveliest place I had ever seen. The meadow was
small, perfectly round, and filled with wildflowers — violet, yellow, and
soft white. Somewhere nearby, I could hear the bubbling music of a
stream. The sun was directly overhead, filling the circle with a haze of
buttery sunshine. I walked slowly, awestruck, through the soft grass,
swaying flowers, and warm, gilded air. I halfway turned, wanting to share
this with him, but he wasn't behind me where I thought he'd be. I spun
around, searching for him with sudden alarm. Finally I spotted him, still
under the dense shade of the canopy at the edge of the hollow, watching
me with cautious eyes. Only then did I remember what the beauty of the
meadow had driven from my mind — the enigma of Edward and the sun, which
he'd promised to illustrate for me today.
I took a step back toward him, my eyes alight with curiosity. His eyes
were wary, reluctant. I smiled encouragingly and beckoned to him with my
hand, taking another step back to him. He held up a hand in warning, and
I hesitated, rocking back onto my heels.
Edward seemed to take a deep breath, and then he stepped out into the
bright glow of the midday sun.
===========================================================================
13. CONFESSIONS
Edward in the sunlight was shocking. I couldn't get used to it, though
I'd been staring at him all afternoon. His skin, white despite the faint
flush from yesterday's hunting trip, literally sparkled, like thousands
of tiny diamonds were embedded in the surface. He lay perfectly still in
the grass, his shirt open over his sculpted, incandescent chest, his
scintillating arms bare. His glistening, pale lavender lids were shut,
though of course he didn't sleep. A perfect statue, carved in some
unknown stone, smooth like marble, glittering like crystal.
Now and then, his lips would move, so fast it looked like they were
trembling. But, when I asked, he told me he was singing to himself; it
was too low for me to hear.
I enjoyed the sun, too, though the air wasn't quite dry enough for my
taste. I would have liked to lie back, as he did, and let the sun warm my
face. But I stayed curled up, my chin resting on my knees, unwilling to
take my eyes off him. The wind was gentle; it tangled my hair and ruffled
the grass that swayed around his motionless form.
The meadow, so spectacular to me at first, paled next to his magnificence.
Hesitantly, always afraid, even now, that he would disappear like a
mirage, too beautiful to be real… hesitantly, I reached out one finger
and stroked the back of his shimmering hand, where it lay within my
reach. I marveled again at the perfect texture, satin smooth, cool as
stone. When I looked up again, his eyes were open, watching me.
Butterscotch today, lighter, warmer after hunting. His quick smile turned
up the corners of his flawless lips.
"I don't scare you?" he asked playfully, but I could hear the real
curiosity in his soft voice.
"No more than usual."
He smiled wider; his teeth flashed in the sun.
I inched closer, stretched out my whole hand now to trace the contours of
his forearm with my fingertips. I saw that my fingers trembled, and knew
it wouldn't escape his notice.
"Do you mind?" I asked, for he had closed his eyes again.
"No," he said without opening his eyes. "You can't imagine how that
feels." He sighed.
I lightly trailed my hand over the perfect muscles of his arm, followed
the faint pattern of bluish veins inside the crease at his elbow. With my
other hand, I reached to turn his hand over. Realizing what I wished, he
flipped his palm up in one of those blindingly fast, disconcerting
movements of his. It startled me; my fingers froze on his arm for a brief
second.
"Sorry," he murmured. I looked up in time to see his golden eyes close
again. "It's too easy to be myself with you."
I lifted his hand, turning it this way and that as I watched the sun
glitter on his palm. I held it closer to my face, trying to see the
hidden facets in his skin.
"Tell me what you're thinking," he whispered. I looked to see his eyes
watching me, suddenly intent. "It's still so strange for me, not knowing."
"You know, the rest of us feel that way all the time."
"It's a hard life." Did I imagine the hint of regret in his tone? "But
you didn't tell me."
"I was wishing I could know what you were thinking…" I hesitated.
"And?"
"I was wishing that I could believe that you were real. And I was wishing
that I wasn't afraid."
"I don't want you to be afraid." His voice was just a soft murmur. I
heard what he couldn't truthfully say, that I didn't need to be afraid,
that there was nothing to fear.
"Well, that's not exactly the fear I meant, though that's certainly
something to think about."
So quickly that I missed his movement, he was half sitting, propped up on
his right arm, his left palm still in my hands. His angel's face was only
a few inches from mine. I might have — should have — flinched away from
his unexpected closeness, but I was unable to move. His golden eyes
mesmerized me.
"What are you afraid of, then?" he whispered intently.
But I couldn't answer. As I had just that once before, I smelled his cool
breath in my face. Sweet, delicious, the scent made my mouth water. It
was unlike anything else. Instinctively, unthinkingly, I leaned closer,
inhaling.
And he was gone, his hand ripped from mine. In the time it took my eyes
to focus, he was twenty feet away, standing at the edge of the small
meadow, in the deep shade of a huge fir tree. He stared at me, his eyes
dark in the shadows, his expression unreadable.
I could feel the hurt and shock on my face. My empty hands stung.
"I'm… sorry… Edward," I whispered. I knew he could hear.
"Give me a moment," he called, just loud enough for my less sensitive
ears. I sat very still.
After ten incredibly long seconds, he walked back, slowly for him. He
stopped, still several feet away, and sank gracefully to the ground,
crossing his legs. His eyes never left mine. He took two deep breaths,
and then smiled in apology.
"I am so very sorry." He hesitated. "Would you understand what I meant if
I said I was only human?"
I nodded once, not quite able to smile at his joke. Adrenaline pulsed
through my veins as the realization of danger slowly sank in. He could
smell that from where he sat. His smile turned mocking.
"I'm the world's best predator, aren't I? Everything about me invites you
in — my voice, my face, even my smell. As if I need any of that!"
Unexpectedly, he was on his feet, bounding away, instantly out of sight,
only to appear beneath the same tree as before, having circled the meadow
in half a second.
"As if you could outrun me," he laughed bitterly.
He reached up with one hand and, with a deafening crack, effortlessly
ripped a two-foot-thick branch from the trunk of the spruce. He balanced
it in that hand for a moment, and then threw it with blinding speed,
shattering it against another huge tree, which shook and trembled at the
blow.
And he was in front of me again, standing two feet away, still as a stone.
"As if you could fight me off," he said gently.
I sat without moving, more frightened of him than I had ever been. I'd
never seen him so completely freed of that carefully cultivated facade.
He'd never been less human… or more beautiful. Face ashen, eyes wide, I
sat like a bird locked in the eyes of a snake.
His lovely eyes seem to glow with rash excitement. Then, as the seconds
passed, they dimmed. His expression slowly folded into a mask of ancient
sadness.
"Don't be afraid," he murmured, his velvet voice unintentionally
seductive. "I promise…" He hesitated. "I swear not to hurt you." He
seemed more concerned with convincing himself than me.
"Don't be afraid," he whispered again as he stepped closer, with
exaggerated slowness. He sat sinuously, with deliberately unhurried
movements, till our faces were on the same level, just a foot apart.
"Please forgive me," he said formally. "I can control myself. You caught
me off guard. But I'm on my best behavior now."
He waited, but I still couldn't speak.
"I'm not thirsty today, honestly." He winked.
At that I had to laugh, though the sound was shaky and breathless.
"Are you all right?" he asked tenderly, reaching out slowly, carefully,
to place his marble hand back in mine.
I looked at his smooth, cold hand, and then at his eyes. They were soft,
repentant. I looked back at his hand, and then deliberately returned to
tracing the lines in his hand with my fingertip. I looked up and smiled
timidly.
His answering smile was dazzling.
"So where were we, before I behaved so rudely?" he asked in the gentle
cadences of an earlier century.
"I honestly can't remember."
He smiled, but his face was ashamed. "I think we were talking about why
you were afraid, besides the obvious reason."
"Oh, right."
