The most important weapon in a hunter's arsenal is knowledge.
The fact I lacked it was a problem. I knew the library was a no go. The best I'd get in Forks would be small paragraphs in compilations on myths and legends. So I used the home office's computer and scoured the internet. Like the library, most of what I found wasn't very useful. The top searches brought up fictional characters in television shows, books, and movies.
Myths and folklore were mixed. I read internet articles on whatever legend I could find, from Vlad Tepes to Mercy Brown. Nothing quite matched what I'd witnessed in the Cullens. I began to wonder if Jacob's tale of the cold ones had any connection to vampires. Maybe it was just the closest comparison.
What I needed were books.
I searched for the nearest bookstore. Forks didn't have anything, but Port Angeles had a few. One of which had a webpage featuring tarot cards and a myriad of crystals. It could have been bogus, but every so often a real psychic or hunter would open shop somewhere. It was as good a place as any to start looking. At the very least, they'd have books off the beaten path. I wrote down the name—Mystic Books—and its address.
Grabbing my jacket and fake cards, I hurried down the steps. "I'm going to Port Angeles for the afternoon," I announced to Sam and Dean before moving for the front door.
"Whoa, whoa," Dean objected, looking up from the pieces of his thirty-eight laid apart on the table. "You know you can't just—"
"I'm going with Angela and Jessica," I lied, opening the door.
Dean scoffed. "In that truck?" He drew out a burner phone and started dialing.
"What are you—"
"Jess gave me her number," Dean grinned at me.
Crap.
I folded my arms and tried to look put out.
"Hey, Jess," Dean greeted. "Good to hear your voice too, sweetheart." Ugh. "Sarah wanted me to let you know she's on her way over for your trip." I dug my fingers into my arms, still affecting a bored expression. Dean watched me like a boxer waiting for his first opening. After a moment, his sights shifted to the side and he frowned lightly. "Well, drive safe." As relief threatened to ruin my carefully constructed façade, I made a show of examining my nails. "Bye."
"Satisfied?" I asked.
Dean picked his bore brush back up and went back to cleaning the barrel. "Have fun."
My phone rang as soon as I shut the truck's door with a bang. "Hey, Jessica."
"You owe me," Jessica returned.
I actually thought we were even for her slipping Edward into the conversation yesterday but didn't feel like quibbling over trivialities. "Totally."
"So where are you really going?"
I started the engine and had to turn down the radio. "Port Angeles. I feel like shopping."
"That doesn't sound half bad," Jessica mused. "The Spring Formal is coming up. I wouldn't mind picking something out before all the good dresses are gone."
I hadn't had dress shopping in mind, but she had just saved my ass. "Sounds good."
"We're taking my car, though," she went on. "No offense."
"None taken." I was grateful for the truck, but Jessica's Kia wouldn't grumble so much about the drive.
It took me less than ten minutes to reach Jessica's house. From there, I parked on the street and went up to her door. She was out as soon as I knocked. "I invited Angela," she said as we headed for her car. "Hope you don't mind."
I didn't. Angela was even closer, less than five minutes from the house I was staying at. She greeted us with her slight, shy smile and sat in the back. A minute later, we were off.
Jessica drove much faster than Dean. With all the weapons and fake ids we had in the car, we had to stay at least three miles within the speed limit. Jessica felt no such compunctions as she sped down the highway at eighty. The gossip started right away. Most of it centered around Lauren and Tyler, but it wasn't long before the talk turned to Mike.
It revolved around the various people we went to school with as we reached Port Angeles. The modest town was obviously built around the harbor. Several store names referred to either the port or the ocean. It was charming, though, especially along the boardwalk.
But we drove past the tourist trap, back inland towards a small department store. We kept up the steady stream of chatter as we found our way to the dresses and began combing through the racks.
It was around the fifth set of dresses Jessica and Angela tried on that Jessica asked, "Are you sure you won't be around for the dance?"
"Positive," I told her, holding a yellow off-shoulder she'd liked.
There was a dip in the mood, but it picked up again as the two girls discussed possible dates.
"What about Dean?" Jessica asked me, twisting to examine the way a dusky rose gown hugged her curves in a body-length mirror.
From a nearby rack, I shook my head, "You don't want to go there, Jess. Trust me."
She turned to regard me over her bare shoulder. "Are you saying that because he's your brother?"
"I'm saying that because he's not into relationships."
Jessica turned back to the mirror, pensive.
I hoped I'd nipped that in the bud. Setting the dresses onto a nearby hanger, I wondered, "How many more are you going to try on?" We'd already been looking several hours.
Angela and Jessica glanced at each other. "A few more?"
"Mind if I take off? I want to visit a bookstore while I'm in town." We'd talked about going out to eat later. "We can meet up at the restaurant."
"Okay," Angela agreed.
"Where are you going?" Jessica wondered.
"Mystic Books? It's not far off from the boardwalk, right?"
Jessica nodded, already gazing back in the mirror. She gave some directions to the store, finishing with, "See you in an hour."
I agreed and with a few waves was making my way back onto the streets of Port Angeles. I ended up skimming the boardwalk, which was packed with tourists, before turning onto a street that led away from the coast.
I knew I'd found the right place from the myriad of dream catchers and crystals hanging in the shop's display window. Patchouli and sage greeted me inside. The shop was on the smaller side, packed with so many shelves and displays I was glad I wasn't claustrophobic. All the occult items were displayed on small tables or the counter up front, while the books were kept further back. The woman at the register was disappointingly boring in appearance—a professional pant suit, well-kept brown curls, and a perfectly ordinary face. It was always fun when they hammed up the mystic angle with some scarves, peasant blouses, egyptian eyeshadow, and jangling bangle bracelets.
I skipped the healing crystals, candles, incense, and tarot cards for the back shelves. The first books I saw were mostly dealing with new age subjects. Spirituality, aroma therapy, astrology, and the like. I was starting to think I wasn't going to get much out of my trip when I found the section for myths and legends.
Half of it looked dubious, but there were a few titles I recognized from Bobby's. I started browsing for anything on either the Quileutes or vampires. Unsurprisingly for the area, I found a book on legends of the Pacific Northwest. A quick look at the index revealed a reference to the cold ones.
It wasn't a very large entry, nothing like what Jacob had told me. The most it had was a small reference to 'blood drinkers' known as cold ones because of their icy skin. But it backed up Jacob's claim they were vampires.
Even though I'd gotten everything I needed from it, I didn't know if I'd need some other bit of information on the area, so I kept it in my arms as I went back to looking. It was taking more time then I'd planned. Almost an hour by the time I found a book based on medieval superstitions and folklore.
Here I found what I'd been looking for.
The vampire was once an accepted scourge upon a village much as any drought or plague. The dead which walked the earth to steal life away from the living. A creature so feared they would stake a corpse to its coffin and place great rocks upon a grave to keep the dead where they lay. For if a vampire rose it would take the entire village to put the creature down.
The book went on to describe their skin as pale as a corpse but hard as diamonds. Their strength greater than twenty men, their speed faster than the eye could see. They could smell better than a dog and see better than a hawk. It also claimed they had fantastic psychic powers.
Everything was spot on aside from the, 'eyes as red as the blood they consumed.' According to the text, the only way to kill the vampire was to dismember the body and burn the pieces. That explained the machete.
Loaded with two books, I went back to the front and bought them with one of my fake credit cards. Over the time it had taken me to find both books, the sun had set. It was dark when I stepped outside.
I attempted to retrace my steps, but the streets looked different at night. Buildings were large, dark shapes that loomed at the side of the road. Cars were bright white dots that came roaring by, leaving two trails of red behind. Streetlights gave pools of yellow light, but they seemed to create darker shadows lurking between buildings.
Not even the weight of my twenty-two was comforting. The trouble with knowing so much about the evil that lurked in the world was I couldn't so easily dismiss the monsters lurking in the darkness as imaginary. Although I really wasn't any safer during the day, there was something comforting about sunlight.
It was thirty minutes before I admitted I was lost. I was in some sort of warehouse district, judging from the huge buildings and long, empty patches of concrete surrounded by fences. Alone in a city I didn't know, my mind buzzed with possibilities. Jessica and Angela could leave me stranded. I'd have to call my brother, and then Dean would wonder why I'd separated from the girls. It was clear I wasn't finding my way to the restaurant, so I settled for finding a store that was open late.
I'd walked another fifteen minutes when I turned down a street with several men walking towards me from the other direction. They were obviously having a good time, talking and laughing loudly, and the closer we came to crossing paths the more I could see they weren't too much older than me. Maybe their early twenties. They were dressed in jeans and sweaters or jackets, none nice enough to mark them as fellow tourists.
I could sense the change when they noticed me. They nudged each other while their sights focused on me in a way that made me wish I could disappear. Their smiles became a little less easy, their words a little more leering. I stiffened my shoulders as if preparing to charge through the group but made to cross the street.
My stomach dropped when they started crossing, too.
"Hey, there!" one of them called, a heavier man in blue sports sweater and ripped jeans.
I gave a short nod but kept facing ahead, careful not to make eye contact. My throat tightened at their continued path towards me. I debated crossing the other way, then realized it'd be pointless. They'd follow.
They started to spread out the nearer I came. Five of them, various sizes, but all larger than me. I clenched my fists. There was a fence to my right that stretched the expanse of the street. To the other side, a series of warehouses with large rolling doors, all padlocked.
Nowhere to go.
"Hey, honey!" another with blonde hair called, to several guffaws of his pals.
I would cross their path soon. Instead, I turned around.
The way back was darker than I remembered, but I quick walked for the street I'd just come from. There was a busier road nearby.
"Hey!" Came another call.
Their footsteps quickened. I picked up my own pace. After a moment, they matched me. Gripping the bag of books tightly, I launched into a flat-out sprint.
I heard the men behind me start to run.
At least two of them were gaining. "Don't be like that!" cajoled a deeper voice from behind.
I ran as fast as I could but could hear those footsteps getting louder the closer they came.
They were too fast.
There were too many.
I slowed to a fast jog. They came closer, catcalls a constant ringing in my ears. I came to a stop and turned as the two who'd been about to overtake me slowed in response. My stomach twisted, my throat filled with acid, but I shifted my stance. "Leave me alone!"
A few laughed. Even the slower three were about caught up.
The weight of my twenty-two seemed even heavier in that moment. I could draw it, but it had been drilled into my head that you only pulled a gun if you intended to use it. Scared as I was, I wasn't sure if I could shoot any of the men moving to surround me. And if one of them were armed, I was escalating the situation to a level where someone was going to die, and there was a good chance it could be me. "Don't come any closer," I warned, somehow managing to speak levelly.
They ignored me. One wearing a red shirt beneath a brown jacket was close enough to touch, "She's not very friendly," he said to his friends. He was sharper than the others, his features and build leaner and made up of angles. He reached out towards my head.
I didn't even think as I slapped his hand away and moved back a step. "Don't touch me," I demanded.
They exchanged looks and laughed. Now nearly all of them were close enough to touch. I was boxed in as the shortest moved around me.
The stockier one leaned forward and grabbed for my arm.
I was done.
I wasn't playing. I wasn't training. Aiming for the adam's apple in the middle of his throat, I threw my punch. He wasn't expecting it. He staggered, wheezing, and doubled over.
Blue sweater lunged and I bobbed out of his path, thrusting out my foot to trip him. As he went down, I darted for the opening he'd left. I was cut off by the largest man. He grabbed my arm. I tried jerking free, bringing up my forearm to break his hold. He was strong, though. He held firm, hard enough to bruise. He reached for my other arm, spitting out a slur. I grabbed his hand before he could latch on and wrenched his hand back hard enough to hear a pop. That got him to let go with a sudden cry.
I backed up, but before I could move away, another of the group wrapped his arms around my upper body, trapping my arms to my sides. He lifted me up. I kicked back and heard a crack and a shout as I struck his kneecap with my heel. We went down together.
The ground was the last place I wanted to be. He was cursing me out but holding strong. I brought my head back with as much force as I could muster. The shock of the impact went through my whole skull, from back of my head to the tip of my nose. The pain came soon after, enough to make my eyes water. I ignored it because his arms loosened enough for me to roll away.
I was scrambling to stand when the squeal of tires sliding over concrete sounded and a car rounded the corner of the building at the end of the street. Caught like a deer in the spotlight of bright headlights, I stilled, terrified it was reinforcements. The car revved as it drove right up to us, then screeched to a sudden stop.
The door opened and a familiar silken voice told me, "Get in the car." He was moving out of the car, walking purposefully towards us.
I didn't hesitate. I jumped to my feet and practically dove in. Edward didn't follow. He stood, still, and as the men hobbled towards him, he took several steps forward.
The lights illuminated Edward's back, and beyond, the men's faces as they morphed from furious to pants-wetting terror. The one whose knee I must have busted cried out as the others turned and started to run. Edward was quiet, apparently watching broken knee try to crawl away.
Shivering with dread, I forced myself to stand outside of the car. "EDWARD!"
His back stiffened even further, and a moment passed before he spun about and marched for the car. I ducked back inside a moment before he slid in, eyes large as he stared out the windshield. The car roared forward suddenly, and when the man cried out I had a moment's terror that he'd been hit, but Edward stopped suddenly and threw the car in reverse. I could see the man was fine as we sped back, until the wheel was sharply turned, and we spun around.
Cars honked as Edward rejoined the busier street around the corner, nearly ramming into a passing SUV.
The volvo raced down the street, zipping around cars as streetlights blurred by in flashes of light. I held onto the dashboard, eyes wide as my heart pounded and ears still buzzed from the adrenalin. Edward stared ahead, hands clenching the steering wheel. Despite the fact I'd been the one in a brawl, his eyes were squinting as if he were in pain. "Put your seatbelt on," he suddenly demanded.
I took a steadying breath, reaching for the belt on autopilot. It occurred to me that his expression wasn't one of pain. No. It was the same look I'd encountered that day in Biology. "Are you alright?"
Edward's head stretched to the side, his lips pulled back into something resembling a smile, except for the fury tightening his features. "I should go back there," he said, glaring at the road. "Rip their heads off."
"No," I said, ice filling my blood as a chill swept over me as I inadvertently pictured Edward's angelic face covered in blood. "No, you definitely should not."
His eyes narrowed even further. "You have no idea of the vile, repulsive things they were thinking."
"It wasn't hard to guess," I said, stomach flipping. I swallowed against another wave of nausea. I closed my eyes and forced a calming breath. It was—easier than I would have thought.
He was still glaring darkly at the street beyond the windshield. "Distract me."
"What?"
"So I don't turn around," he said, hand tightening on the wheel till it creaked.
My still racing thoughts were almost too jumbled to hold on to. I remembered the first time I felt a rush of terror that made it hard to think. "The first ghost I ever saw was a seven-year-old kid," I blurted. "He haunted a hospital in Ohio. I was ten."
It had been an accidental case. Dad had tangled with something—he never did tell us what—but whatever it was had torn him up bad. Bad enough that we couldn't patch him up. Dean and I took him to the nearest emergency room. While he recuperated, we heard about a woman who'd died. While that might not be awfully unusual for someone in a hospital, it turned out she hadn't been the patient. Her daughter had been.
We'd done some digging and found she hadn't been the only mother of a patient who'd died. There were at least two dozen of them dating back to the fifties.
So we borrowed Dad's E.M.F. reader and went ghost hunting. It wasn't until we'd snuck into the records room that we saw him. He'd been small, smaller than Sam. He'd been blonde with cheeks sunken from illness and big, brown eyes. At first he'd looked about as sad as it was possible to be. Then, when Dean tried talking to him, he'd turned. Got vicious. Dean ended up knocked into a wall. Then he'd flickered to life in front of me, screaming, and the next thing I knew Dean was waking me up from the floor.
But from that encounter we knew what he'd looked like. It helped us track his file down. And from that, the news stories.
"Turns out his mom had poisoned him. Not all at once. Slowly, over years. He spent more time in that hospital than he did at home."
Edward did seem to be driving a little saner. "Munchausen syndrome by proxy," he said quietly.
"Yeah." I swallowed.
Getting to the graveyard late enough that we wouldn't be caught had been a challenge. We ended up taking the last bus of the evening and waited several hours before sneaking into the cemetery. We'd had to take Sammy with us. It took hours of digging to get down to the coffin.
It had been our first Salt and Burn.
Dad had punished us, but I would've sworn I'd heard a hint of pride in his voice as he'd done it.
"How many ghosts have you seen?"
The question jogged more of my memory. Forced my thoughts into order as I sorted through them. I shrugged. "A couple." I'd helped put five down. I'd only seen three of them. One had shown up at the gravesite and tossed us around like fallen leaves in a tornado. That was the time I broke my arm.
Edward hadn't turned to look at me. Not once. "Why didn't you use your gun?"
I stared at his profile. The perfect angle of his nose, the plush curve of his lips, the way his bangs fell over his broad forehead. "How'd you know I have a gun."
He grinned, but it looked stiff. "You have a lump under your jacket."
I touched the place where my twenty-two rested in its holster at my hip. "Because someone would be dead," I said quietly.
He took a deep breath, eyes squinting again in pain, before he seemed to relax.
It occurred to me that I should be more worried about being in the car with a vampire, but all I felt was relief and gratitude. It seemed this vampire was always showing up in time to save me. I stared out the window, noticing we were headed back towards the harbor. "I'm supposed to meet Jessica and Angela."
Edward smoothly switched lanes and turned onto a quieter street a minute later. Streetlights continued to streak past us until we were at the better-lit part of Port Angeles. The Volvo glided into a spot in front of La Bella Italia that would have taken me several minutes to parallel park in. If I could have even managed it in the Ford. "How did you know?"
He said nothing, just nodded out the window. I turned just in time to see Angela and Jessica walking down the wooden steps, away from the restaurant.
I pushed open the door and got out. "Jess! Angela!"
"Oh my god, where were you?" Jessica demanded as they drew closer.
"We were worried," Angela added softly, her eyes shining with relief.
Jessica frowned. "You were taking so long—"
Edward's door shut behind me. It attracted Jessica and Angela's attention and their questions slowed to nothing as surprise overtook them.
"I apologize," Edward said as he joined me on the sidewalk. He smiled.
Jessica looked stunned.
"No, it's—ah—my fault." I held my bag up. "I shopped too long and got lost." I looked to the handsome monster beside me, soft cashmere sweater pulled over a sculpted chest, tapering to perfectly pressed khakis. I wondered what the men had seen that had so frightened them. Swallowing, I turned back to find Jessica and Angela waiting. "Sorry."
"Not a problem," Jessica said.
Angela nodded, "We just finished eating." She looked apologetic.
"Oh," I said. Then again, my stomach was still a bit touchy. "I'm not that hungry, anyway."
"You should eat," was Edward's authoritative reply. He looked to Jessica. "If you don't mind, I can take Sarah home. That way you won't have to wait for her to finish eating."
Jessica looked to me, trying to divine what I wanted from my expression.
I wasn't hungry, but now that I knew what Edward was, I wasn't that keen on letting him out of my sight long enough to go back after those men. I tried to let her know I was okay with a slight smile.
"Okay," Angela interjected, taking hold of Jessica's arm. "See you later, Sarah." She hesitated before adding, "Edward."
She pulled Jessica towards the car parked a little further way down the street. I watched until they were safely in, after a quick wave and curious look from Jessica. As they drove away, I turned back to Edward. "I'm really not hungry."
Edward aimed a look my way. It was demanding, and at a glance I could tell he wouldn't take no for an answer. "Humor me."
I realized I wasn't going to win this one. "I'll try," I warned more than assented, following him up and through the door as he held it open.
I glanced at him as I passed and slipped off my jacket, throwing it over my shoulder as I looked around. La Bella Italia was a small building, but in a way that felt quaint and cozy instead of cramped. There were little touches of Italian decor all around, such as the black iron light fixtures and paintings of Italian landscapes.
The Hostess glanced at me before her sights were glued to Edward. "Hello," she greeted him.
"A table for two." I couldn't tell if he was trying to make his voice so captivating on purpose. The hostess smiled and, after another dismissive glance my way, led us into the dining room.
The restaurant was far from full, but despite that, she led us towards a central dining table large enough to fit a family.
Edward didn't find it agreeable. "Something more private," he suggested, slipping her a tip.
She agreed readily after a surprised blink and led us towards a line of booths along the far wall, to the one in the furthest corner. "Better?"
"Very much," Edward approved with another bright, sparkling smile.
The hostess looked a little overwhelmed as she managed to say, "Your server will be out," before walking away.
I slid into a booth, setting my bag of books near the wall under my jacket. I watched as he seated himself across from me, his eyes intent as he watched me across the table.
I searched his face in return, searching his features for some sign of his true nature. But aside from the white pallor of his skin and the dark bruises under his eyes, he looked perfectly ordinary. Well, no. Edward could never be ordinary. But he didn't look like a blood thirsty monster.
"Are you feeling better?" I asked.
Edward seemed unsure what to say. Eventually, he wondered, "You're the one attacked, but you're worried about me?"
"You were angry," I pointed out, remembering the look on his face.
He looked aside, towards the rest of the restaurant's patrons, before turning back. "I'm better, now that you're safe."
It was a good thing our waitress appeared then, because I had no idea how to respond.
The waitress let her eyes linger longer than polite. Not that I could blame her. But Edward's gaze remained on me. "My name is Amber and I'll be your server," she said—only to him. "What can I get you to drink?"
He was still looking at me. An eyebrow rose.
"Coke," I answered.
"Two cokes," he said, finally shifting his gaze away from me long enough to meet our server's eyes.
She smiled warmly and tucked a lose strand of black hair behind her ear. "I'll be back with your drinks," she said, setting down two menus. She smiled at Edward again, but he was already back to his steady regard of me. But the waitress didn't seem that disappointed as she left.
"Are you alright?" Edward asked as I settled back in the booth.
I nodded.
"Not feeling cold or dizzy?"
"No."
He frowned, a furrow appearing between his brows as if he were puzzled. His stare lingered on me until the waitress returned with our drinks and a basket of breadsticks. "Are you ready to order?"
Edward again waited for my response, while she waited for Edward.
Shaking my head, I picked up the menu.
"A few more minutes to look, please," Edward asked.
"Alright," she said and once again left for what I supposed was the door to the kitchen.
I unwrapped my straw and stuck it in my glass. He continued to stare as I took my first sip. "What?" I asked.
"I'm waiting for you to go into shock." He sounded confused.
I flipped the menu open and skimmed it. "Why?" Nothing immediately caught my eye. "Except for some bruised knuckles and another bump on the head, I'm fine." I flipped the page.
Frustration tightened his voice, but it was still unbelievably alluring as he said, "You never respond like I expect."
Angling the menu lower, I met his exasperated expression. "I'm good at repressing." Instead of smiling, his mouth curved further downwards. I blew out a breath and laid the menu down. "You want me to say I was afraid? I was." His brows contracted. "But I'd rather not sit here and dwell on what could have happened." I picked the menu back up. "I'm fine," I restated, firmly, before returning to my search.
I found the meatballs, and despite not being hungry, decided to give them a try. I set the menu back down in time to catch Edward shaking his head. "Your Uncle was right. You do run towards trouble." His tone was censuring.
If he'd been hoping to raise my hackles, that did it. "I didn't ask to be harassed," I snapped.
Edward's eyes narrowed. "I didn't say you had."
"You just—"
"It would be more precise to say that when trouble finds you, instead of running from it, you confront it."
My irritation quieted. I lifted my straw halfway from my coke, finger over the opening, then lifted it enough to watch the soda fall back into the glass. "I don't run."
"You should." He was frustrated again.
I ducked the straw back down, taking up more coke the next time I lifted it. "Maybe," I agreed. "But I'm not built that way."
Hands curling into fists, Edward turned his head to the side and glared out a nearby window. "This is more complicated then I'd thought," he murmured.
"What is?"
He shook his head.
Our waitress reappeared, and this time, her blatant staring irritated me. "Are you ready to order?"
I hardly thought we'd been given enough time, but gave a tight nod. "The meatball platter, please."
She wrote my order down on the pad before raising expectant brows at Edward. He declined with, "Nothing, thank you."
I fought to keep my face impassive as she asked if he was sure and he nodded. Dinner with a vampire. I swirled my straw in my drink and wondered why I didn't feel terrified at the prospect. In fact, I was glad to be sitting across from him, even as he brooded.
Angling to change the subject as she left, I wondered, "Why'd you come to Port Angeles?"
His sights shifted to me, meeting my eyes with his before falling away. A crease between his brows indicated this innocent question was more complicated than I'd intended for him. "What are you doing here?"
I felt the childish urge to point out I'd asked first. With what I felt was exceptional maturity on my part, I refrained and patted my bag instead. The plastic crinkled. "Books."
One of his brows climbed his forehead. "You came all the way here for books?"
"Yes." I took a sip of the coke before adding, "There isn't a bookstore in Forks."
He glanced at the bag. "What books."
It was my turn to deflect. "No, now it's your turn to answer my question."
He grimaced. "It's... complicated." At my silence, he admitted, "I heard you'd be here."
My stare continued as I processed the fact he'd followed me. I fought an absurd urge to smile at a rush of pleasure. I had to be twisted, because the fact a vampire had just admitted to following me all the way to another town should have been terrifying. Why did it make me happy?
"How did you even hear that?" I'd only decided to go this afternoon, and it was happenstance that Jessica and Angela came along.
He didn't seem to want to meet my eyes again. He looked down to his folded hands before glancing back up. "I saw you leave the house."
Now a bit of trepidation deflated the bubble of giddiness. "You were watching the house?" I questioned softly.
"I wanted to be sure you were—safe," he finally said by way of admission.
My first thought was for Edward's safety. If Dean found him lurking around—I wondered if he'd put two and two together just seeing Edward's unnaturally white skin. Hell, finding a boy lingering around would be enough reason for Dean to get suspicious and start looking for reasons he should stay away.
I should probably have been more worried that he was hanging around the house, watching me. I tried to muster up some concern for myself. Instead, all I could do was take in the apprehension shining in Edward's eyes as they met mine. He was worried I'd be upset. He should've been. I should've been.
I was still pondering the mystery of this as the waitress returned, gaze once more stuck on Edward even as she set a plate of meatballs as big as fists down in front of me.
"Are you sure you don't want anything?" she simpered.
"No, thank you," Edward replied. He was still watching me. Trying to judge my reaction, maybe.
The waitress took the hint and finally left with a, "Let me know if you change your mind."
I reached for the napkin wrapped silverware. Maybe he was right, I mused as I unrolled the cloth and took out the fork, maybe I did run towards trouble. Here was a monster that whole villages had feared. I used the side to cut into the nearest meatball before piercing it onto the tines and dipping it in the tomato sauce.
It was warm and tasted delicious. I chewed slowly, thoughtfully, as he watched.
"So you followed me around Port Angeles?" I finally settled on asking.
Edward was still observing me with utmost attention. "Not closely." He frowned. "In fact, I lost you after you left the department store."
I paused in the act of cutting off another sliver of meat, brows furrowed. I measured his expression. "I wasn't exactly going down any alleyways."
"Like I said, I wasn't following you closely. Just—close enough in case you were in danger." He didn't shift or fidget, but something in the stillness with which he sat somehow sent the same signals of unease. "But I underestimated how difficult it would be to find you when you're alone."
"Why would that make it more difficult?"
He looked aside, as if debating with himself. His eyes glanced back to mine. "You're—hard to read."
He said it as if he meant something more than my expressions. I set my fork down. "You don't mean how I look, do you?"
Edward had that same, strange stillness. Knowing what I knew now, I wondered if he was still breathing. "No."
I stared. "This has to do with you lifting that van, doesn't it?" His gaze shifted away from mine before returning, but there was something within. I thought of the passage in my new book that talked about vampires. It had said they had powers besides the superstrength, speed, and senses. "What do you mean I'm hard to read, Edward?"
He pressed his lips together, a debate raging within his amber eyes. Finally, after a moment, he leaned forward and said, very softly, "I hear thoughts."
I had leaned forward to listen, but now sat back in my seat, eyes wide. I didn't question the truth of this, fantastic though it seemed. I could see it in his worried expression, as if he was saying too much. "Like, Professor X?"
That got a brief smile out of him. "Something like that."
I froze as real fear shot through me, paralyzing my limbs. I thought of the books in my bag—and then desperately tried to think of something else. But my thoughts kept sliding back to them, to what he was. "Then—you already knew why I'm here."
His brows contracted again. "No," he admitted, frustration deepening his words. He leaned forward again, his gaze intense. "I can read every mind in this room," he paused a moment before saying, "apart from yours."
I had no idea what to say to that.
Edward's gaze flickered around, to the other people sitting in the room. "Money. Sex. Money." His lips quirked briefly as his eyes landed on a man at least as big as Bobby, but with a big, bushy beard, "Cat."
I blinked, stunned as his golden gaze finally met mine. His lips pressed together, his eyes narrowed slightly, before he blinked and shook his head. "Nothing."
I could only think of one thing to ask. "Why?"
He contemplated his answer. "I don't know," he mused. "It's as if... I'm pushed out. Or maybe I don't quite fit." His brows were practically touching as he said it. They dipped even further as he added, "It's even worse with your brother." He frowned. "Trying to read his mind feels like... sticking my head into a fire."
"Sam?"
He nodded.
I leaned back, questions tumbling through my mind. But mostly I wanted to know why he'd tell me. "Why admit it?"
His amber gaze turned hooded. "I can't read your mind, but I could read your Uncle's," the way he said that made it clear he knew Bobby wasn't what he'd claimed.
Oh. Shit.
It was ironic he couldn't read my mind, because he seemed to hear that thought perfectly as he nodded. "Your father is a hunter."
I stilled. A lifetime of lessons about hiding who we were tackling me in that moment. I had to force myself to take a breath to say, "All the more reason not to tell me things like you can read minds."
"You didn't say anything about the van," he reminded me.
"Not to anyone at school, no."
Edward's mouth quirked up at a corner. "If you'd told your father, I have a feeling he'd be here now."
I couldn't stop the skeptical huff from escaping. "Don't count on it." At the furrowing of his brows, I forced my expression into something more neutral. "Dad's on a hunt. He won't be back till the job's done."
I only realized after I said it that I probably shouldn't tell the vampire stalking me that.
I forced myself to finish the one meatball. Revelations ran roughshod through my mind. A vampire that could read minds. One that knew what my dad did. I glanced up, wondering again if he was being honest about why he'd followed me. If he regretted saving me, before or tonight.
Setting my fork back down, I pressed my lips together. "If you knew that about my dad," I looked back up, meeting those honey-colored eyes, "why save me tonight?"
His jaw flared. "Haven't you been listening? I'm trying to protect you."
If he was watching me close enough to keep tabs on me today, how long had it been going on? I slid the rest of my coke away as I asked, "Is that what you were doing that first night in my room? Protecting me?"
Edward's eyes shuttered. "You should finish your meal."
The smell of the marinera sauce made me feel ill again. "I'm done."
Edward pulled out his wallet, pulling out a bill and laying it on the table. "I'll take you home."
"We need to wait for the check," I refused, feeling unaccountably guilty for having ruined the evening. Even though I had every right to know. My hands balled into fists, but the slight ache from my right knuckles helped me relax.
Edward was standing, staring across the room, away from me. "I've covered it."
I glanced at the table. A hundred-dollar bill sat where Edward had.
I picked up my jacket and my bag, wordlessly sliding out of the booth. We walked across the restaurant, and would have left, but he waited long enough for me to put my jacket on inside the receiving area. Holding open the door, he waited as I stepped back into the night.
The air still held a chill as we walked down the steps. It had settled into the car as we'd been inside, as I discovered after Edward pulled open my door and waited for me to sit before shutting it. I remained in the darkness, books gripped tightly in my hands, as his door opened. He settled inside and stared out the windshield for several moments. The silence grew into something tangible and heavy until his keys finally jangled as he fit them into the ignition.
The Volvo was quiet after turning over and glided into the street. That quiet didn't last.
"The night you shot me, I came to kill you."