Twilight 4 - Breaking dawn (38 page)

I heard the sound of the others, breathing again now that I did. Their breath mixed with the scent that was something just off honey and lilac and sunshine, bringing new flavors. Cinnamon, hyacinth, pear, seawater, rising bread, pine, vanilla, leather, apple, moss, lavender, chocolate.… I traded a dozen different comparisons in my mind, but none of them fit exactly. So sweet and pleasant.

The TV downstairs had been muted, and I heard someone—Rosalie?—shift her weight on the first floor.

I also heard a faint, thudding rhythm, with a voice shouting angrily to the beat. Rap music? I was mystified for a moment, and then the sound faded away like a car passing by with the windows rolled down.

With a start, I realized that this could be exactly right. Could I hear all the way to the freeway?

I didn’t realize someone was holding my hand until whoever it was squeezed it lightly. Like it had before to hide the pain, my body locked down again in surprise. This was not a touch I expected. The skin was perfectly smooth, but it was the wrong temperature. Not cold.
After that first frozen second of shock, my body responded to the unfamiliar touch in a way that shocked me even more.

Air hissed up my throat, spitting through my clenched teeth with a low, menacing sound like a swarm of bees. Before the sound was out, my muscles bunched and arched, twisting away from the unknown. I flipped off my back in a spin so fast it should have turned the room into an incomprehensible blur—but it did not. I saw every dust mote, every splinter in the wood-paneled walls, every loose thread in microscopic detail as my eyes whirled past them.

So by the time I found myself crouched against the wall defensively—about a sixteenth of a second later—I already understood what had startled me, and that I had overreacted.

Oh. Of course. Edward wouldn’t feel cold to me. We were the same temperature now.
I held my pose for an eighth of a second longer, adjusting to the scene before me.
Edward was leaning across the operating table that had been my pyre, his hand reached out toward me, his expression anxious.

Edward’s face was the most important thing, but my peripheral vision catalogued everything else, just in case. Some instinct to defend had been triggered, and I automatically searched for any sign of danger.

My vampire family waited cautiously against the far wall by the door, Emmett and Jasper in the front. Like there
was
danger. My nostrils flared, searching for the threat. I could smell nothing out of place. That faint scent of something delicious—but marred by harsh chemicals—tickled my throat again, setting it to aching and burning.

Alice was peeking around Jasper’s elbow with a huge grin on her face; the light sparkled off her teeth, another eight-color rainbow.

That grin reassured me and then put the pieces together. Jasper and Emmett were in the front to protect the others, as I had assumed. What I hadn’t grasped immediately was that
I
was the danger.

All this was a sideline. The greater part of my senses and my mind were still focused on Edward’s face.
I had never seen it before this second.

How many times had I stared at Edward and marveled over his beauty? How many hours—days, weeks—of my life had I spent dreaming about what I then deemed to be perfection? I thought I’d known his face better than my own. I’d thought this was the one sure physical thing in my whole world: the flawlessness of Edward’s face.

I may as well have been blind. For the first time, with the dimming shadows and limiting weakness of humanity taken off my eyes, I saw his face. I gasped and then struggled with my vocabulary, unable to find the right words. I needed better words.

At this point, the other part of my attention had ascertained that there was no danger here besides myself, and I automatically straightened out of my crouch; almost a whole second had passed since I’d been on the table.

I was momentarily preoccupied by the way my body moved. The instant I’d considered standing erect, I was already straight. There was no brief fragment of time in which the action occurred; change was instantaneous, almost as if there was no movement at all.

I continued to stare at Edward’s face, motionless again.

He moved slowly around the table—each step taking nearly half a second, each step flowing sinuously like river water weaving over smooth stones—his hand still outstretched.

I watched the grace of his advance, absorbing it with my new eyes.
“Bella?” he asked in a low, calming tone, but the worry in his voice layered my name with tension.

I could not answer immediately, lost as I was in the velvet folds of his voice. It was the most perfect symphony, a symphony in one instrument, an instrument more profound than any created by man. . . .

“Bella, love? I’m sorry, I know it’s disorienting. But you’re all right. Everything is fine.”

Everything? My mind spun out, spiraling back to my last human hour. Already, the memory seemed dim, like I was watching through a thick, dark veil—because my human eyes had been half blind. Everything had been so blurred.

When he said everything was fine, did that include Renesmee? Where was she? With Rosalie? I tried to remember her face—I knew that she had been beautiful—but it was irritating to try to see through the human memories. Her face was shrouded in darkness, so poorly lit. . . .

What about Jacob? Was
he
fine? Did my long-suffering best friend hate me now? Had he gone back to Sam’s pack? Seth and Leah, too?
Were the Cullens safe, or had my transformation ignited the war with the pack? Did Edward’s blanket assurance cover all of that? Or was he just trying to calm me?

And Charlie? What would I tell him now? He must have called while I was burning. What had they told him? What did he think had happened to me?
As I deliberated for one small piece of a second over which question to ask first, Edward reached out tentatively and stroked his fingertips across my cheek. Smooth as satin, soft as a feather, and now exactly matched to the temperature of my skin.

His touch seemed to sweep beneath the surface of my skin, right through the bones of my face. The feeling was tingly, electric—it jolted through my bones, down my spine, and trembled in my stomach.

Wait
, I thought as the trembling blossomed into a warmth, a yearning. Wasn’t I supposed to lose this? Wasn’t giving up this feeling a part of the bargain?

I was a newborn vampire. The dry, scorching ache in my throat gave proof to that. And I knew what being a newborn entailed. Human emotions and longings would come back to me later in some form, but I’d accepted that I would not feel them in the beginning. Only thirst. That was the deal, the price. I’d agreed to pay it.

But as Edward’s hand curled to the shape of my face like satin-covered steel, desire raced through my dried-out veins, singing from my scalp to my toes.
He arched one perfect eyebrow, waiting for me to speak.
I threw my arms around him.
Again, it was like there was no movement. One moment I stood straight and still as a statue; in the same instant, he was in my arms.

Warm—or at least, that was my perception. With the sweet, delicious scent that I’d never been able to really take in with my dull human senses, but that was one hundred percent Edward. I pressed my face into his smooth chest.

And then he shifted his weight uncomfortably. Leaned away from my embrace. I stared up at his face, confused and frightened by the rejection.
“Um… carefully, Bella. Ow.”
I yanked my arms away, folding them behind my back as soon as I understood.
I was too strong.
“Oops,” I mouthed.
He smiled the kind of smile that would have stopped my heart if it were still beating.
“Don’t panic, love,” he said, lifting his hand to touch my lips, parted in horror. “You’re just a bit stronger than I am for the moment.”

My eyebrows pushed together. I’d known this, too, but it felt more surreal than any other part of this ultimately surreal moment. I was stronger than Edward. I’d made him say
ow
.
His hand stroked my cheek again, and I all but forgot my distress as another wave of desire rippled through my motionless body.

These emotions were so much stronger than I was used to that it was hard to stick to one train of thought despite the extra room in my head. Each new sensation overwhelmed me. I remembered Edward saying once—his voice in my head a weak shadow compared to the crystal, musical clarity I was hearing now—that his kind,
our
kind, were easily distracted. I could see why.

I made a concerted effort to focus. There was something I needed to say. The most important thing.

Very carefully, so carefully that the movement was actually discernible, I brought my right arm out from behind my back and raised my hand to touch his cheek. I refused to let myself be sidetracked by the pearly color of my hand or by the smooth silk of his skin or by the charge that zinged in my fingertips.

I stared into his eyes and heard my own voice for the first time.
“I love you,” I said, but it sounded like singing. My voice rang and shimmered like a bell.
His answering smile dazzled me more than it ever had when I was human; I could really see it now.
“As I love you,” he told me.

He took my face between his hands and leaned his face to mine—slow enough to remind me to be careful. He kissed me, soft as a whisper at first, and then suddenly stronger, fiercer. I tried to remember to be gentle with him, but it was hard work to remember anything in the onslaught of sensation, hard to hold on to any coherent thoughts.

It was like he’d never kissed me—like this was our first kiss. And, in truth, he’d never kissed me
this
way before.
It almost made me feel guilty. Surely I was in breach of the contract. I couldn’t be allowed to have this, too.
Though I didn’t need oxygen, my breathing sped, raced as fast as it had when I was burning. This was a different kind of fire.
Someone cleared his throat. Emmett. I recognized the deep sound at once, joking and annoyed at the same time.
I’d forgotten we weren’t alone. And then I realized that the way I was curved around Edward now was not exactly polite for company.

Embarrassed, I half-stepped away in another instantaneous movement. Edward chuckled and stepped with me, keeping his arms tight around my waist. His face was glowing—like a white flame burned from behind his diamond skin.

I took an unnecessary breath to settle myself.
How different this kissing was! I read his expression as I compared the indistinct human memories to this clear, intense feeling. He looked… a little smug.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” I accused in my singing voice, my eyes narrowing a tiny bit.

He laughed, radiant with relief that it was all over—the fear, the pain, the uncertainties, the waiting, all of it behind us now. “It was sort of necessary at the time,” he reminded me. “Now it’s your turn to not break
me
.” He laughed again.

I frowned as I considered that, and then Edward was not the only one laughing.

Carlisle stepped around Emmett and walked toward me swiftly; his eyes were only slightly wary, but Jasper shadowed his footsteps. I’d never seen Carlisle’s face before either, not really. I had an odd urge to blink—like I was staring at the sun.

“How do you feel, Bella?” Carlisle asked.
I considered that for a sixty-fourth of a second.
“Overwhelmed. There’s so
much.
. . .” I trailed off, listening to the bell-tone of my voice again.
“Yes, it can be quite confusing.”
I nodded one fast, jerky bob. “But I feel like me. Sort of. I didn’t expect that.”
Edward’s arms squeezed lightly around my waist. “I told you so,” he whispered.
“You are quite controlled,” Carlisle mused. “More so than
I
expected, even with the time you had to prepare yourself mentally for this.”
I thought about the wild mood swings, the difficulty concentrating, and whispered, “I’m not sure about that.”

He nodded seriously, and then his jeweled eyes glittered with interest. “It seems like we did something right with the morphine this time. Tell me, what do you remember of the transformation process?”

I hesitated, intensely aware of Edward’s breath brushing against my cheek, sending whispers of electricity through my skin.
“Everything was… very dim before. I remember the baby couldn’t breathe. . . .”

I looked at Edward, momentarily frightened by the memory. “Renesmee is healthy and well,” he promised, a gleam I’d never seen before in his eyes. He said her name with an understated fervor. A reverence. The way devout people talked about their gods. “What do you remember after that?”

I focused on my poker face. I’d never been much of a liar. “It’s hard to remember. It was so dark before. And then… I opened my eyes and I could see
everything
.”
“Amazing,” Carlisle breathed, his eyes alight.

Chagrin washed through me, and I waited for the heat to burn in my cheeks and give me away. And then I remembered that I would never blush again. Maybe that would protect Edward from the truth.

I’d have to find a way to tip off Carlisle, though. Someday. If he ever needed to create another vampire. That possibility seemed very unlikely, which made me feel better about lying.

“I want you to think—to tell me everything you remember,” Carlisle pressed excitedly, and I couldn’t help the grimace that flashed across my face. I didn’t want to have to keep lying, because I might slip up. And I didn’t want to think about the burning. Unlike the human memories, that part was perfectly clear and I found I could remember it with far too much precision.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Bella,” Carlisle apologized immediately. “Of course your thirst must be very uncomfortable. This conversation can wait.”

Until he’d mentioned it, the thirst actually wasn’t unmanageable. There was so much room in my head. A separate part of my brain was keeping tabs on the burn in my throat, almost like a reflex. The way my old brain had handled breathing and blinking.

But Carlisle’s assumption brought the burn to the forefront of my mind. Suddenly, the dry ache was all I could think about, and the more I thought about it, the more it hurt. My hand flew up to cup my throat, like I could smother the flames from the outside. The skin of my neck was strange beneath my fingers. So smooth it was somehow soft, though it was hard as stone, too.