528Long Night's Journey into Day
Beta: Alice's White Rabbit
Summary: A dark and difficult journey leads Bella to her soulmate and to a new family, but how long will they have before more powerful forces intervene and threaten their very existence?
Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable characters herein. No copyright infringement is intended.
The girl frowned as the loud knocking noise coming from underneath the hood of her old truck grew louder. Glancing around at her location, she became uncomfortably aware of just how lost she was and, worse, just how ... insalubrious were her surroundings.
Just as that thought slithered unpleasantly into her mind, her truck discharged an explosive backfire and lurched to a grinding, rattling halt.
"No, no, no, no," she muttered. Whispering a soft prayer, she turned the key in the ignition. A flat, quiet click confirmed her worst fear—the engine was dead. Desperately, she tried again, hoping against all reasonable hope that the engine would at least turn over but, once again, there was only the hollow click of the starter.
A sharp, whooping cry rang out, followed by the loud clang of metal on metal from beside her as someone hit the truck, and wretched dread rose in the young woman's throat as she lifted her eyes to look through the windshield.
Ahead of her, three men stood around the hood, and, as her gaze met that of the man in the middle, a slow, wide grin spread across his face.
So intent was she on the three men before her that she failed to notice a fourth man standing on the driver's side. It was only when her door was wrenched open and a strong hand encircled her upper arm that she truly understood the danger she was in.
Despite her best efforts, it took only moments to drag her struggling and screaming from her vehicle and she watched in horror as his three companions moved nonchalantly to join their friend as he held onto the squirming girl.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" It was the middle guy, the one who had smiled so creepily at her; he was clearly the leader. The fourth man had now moved behind her, restraining her arms, and the leader stopped just a couple feet in front of her. His eyes raked slowly, salaciously, up and down her slender form, making her skin crawl and leaving no doubt as to his intentions.
"Please, I have a phone, a few dollars, you can take it ... just ... please, let me go."
"Oh, we're gonna take whatever you have, sweetlips", the man drawled. "And then, if you're very, very good, maybe we'll keep you around for a repeat performance." He leered at her as he said this, and the girl thought she might well vomit.
Again, she struggled impotently, letting out a shocked scream as the man who held her captive whipped her around to face her truck's open door and pushed her forward, propelling her down over the bench seat. She tried to scream again, but the hard, brittle vinyl robbed her of her voice, and she knew then that the best she could hope for was to survive.
High above the dark street, the scene playing out below did not go unobserved. A man dressed all in black squatted on the parapet of the crumbling warehouse building overlooking the shabby, blighted neighborhood, his eyesight unimpeded by such human concerns as distance or darkness. He took in every detail of the vile act unfolding a hundred feet below and smiled. He would eat well tonight—as ever, these mean streets offered up a veritable feast. The girl might be a problem, though—she was, he thought, an innocent, but he couldn't afford to leave a witness to his activities. He could, of course, try elsewhere, but it was almost three weeks since he'd fed, and these were prime pieces of meat.
As he dithered, he heard a shout, and the man who had pushed the girl into her wreck of a truck stumbled back, cradling his hand. The pungent, enticing aroma of his blood lit up the senses of the man in black, instantly aiding his decision. Without another thought, he vaulted over the parapet and leapt elegantly to the ground, landing silently on the balls of his feet and streaking, unseen, to the site of the young woman's torment.
The first to feel his deadly touch was the fourth man, who was still holding his injured hand where the girl's teeth had drawn blood. In an instant, the man in black had rendered him unconscious, leaving him to crumple to the ground. Next, he grabbed the second and third man, cracking their heads together. Thefinal miscreant—the leader, he thought—was still standing in place, trying to understand the whirlwind of activity that had left his three friends seemingly lifeless on the ground. Just as the back part of his brain engaged his fight or flight reflex and opted for the latter, a hand shot toward him at dizzying speed, steel fingers wrapped around his neck, and he found himself nose to nose with a stranger. Under the anemic sodium streetlight, he stared into the blackest, most fathomless eyes he had ever encountered. Even as the gangbanger tried to make sense of what was happening, the stranger was pushing his head to one side, exposing his neck and sinking razor sharp teeth into his throat. With his heart beating a wild staccato rhythm, he tried to scream as searing heat raced through his veins, paralyzing him, and the man in black sucked his life from him. Within seconds, he was limp and lifeless, an empty husk, and the stranger discarded him like a used condom.
Moving more swiftly than the human eye could follow, he transferred his attention to the other three, draining them just as quickly. He then gathered up their bodies as if they were four rag dolls and ran over to the abandoned warehouse from where he had first observed his prey. The boarded-up door offered no resistance, and he tore up a rickety stairway to the next floor, where he dumped the bodies in a dark corner and covered them with some old pallets and a filthy, brittle tarp. They would probably remain undiscovered for weeks, maybe more, by which time the rats and decomposition would make it near impossible to pinpoint cause of death.
Returning to the street, he knew he needed to check on the girl. If she had seen what had just gone down, he would need to eliminate her. He balked at the thought of killing an innocent young girl with her whole life ahead of her, but needs must when the devil drives, as the saying went. With luck, the girl had locked herself in her truck and kept her head down. If so, he would tell her he was just passing and offer to call her a cab—because, clearly, her junk-heap of a vehicle was going nowhere. If it transpired that she had, in fact, seen her four attackers being taken out—and even if she denied it, he would see it in her thoughts—then he would do what had to be done ...
The stranger paused. He cocked his head to one side, as if listening for something. He stared intently at the truck. The girl was definitely inside, he could hear her too-rapid heartbeat. He moved closer and cocked his head the other way.
He could hear nothing other than the normal muted cacophony of human existence.
The stranger was rarely confused. His brain worked at a speed that humans couldn't comprehend and he could access parts of his brain that, even in the 21st century, remained a mystery to the finest neuroscientists. But he was confused now. In more than one hundred and sixty years he had never met anyone whose thoughts weren't an open book to him. His ability to read minds was both a blessing and a curse—it had saved him from catastrophe once or twice, but he sometimes longed for silence, longed for a respite from the constant noise in his head. He could, of course, retreat to his lakeside house in the mountains, but he was a city boy at heart, and, even though his nature demanded that he live a somewhat reclusive lifestyle, he still enjoyed the sounds of a city, the buzz, the vibe, the culture—and the convenient access to his natural food source.
At the sound of movement inside, the ugly truck drew the stranger's attention, forcing him to focus once again on the matter of the girl. He must find out if she'd seen something she shouldn't have.
But what then? Her silence was too intriguing to ignore and required further investigation. But not here. He didn't want to hang around any longer than necessary, and he needed to take her with him. He would decide her fate when he had all the facts.
He heard the dull click of the ignition key being turned and smiled at this evidence of the girl's utterly misplaced optimism. He walked at a human pace to the driver's door. The girl had dropped her head to the steering wheel, and her eyes were closed.
He knocked lightly on the glass.
Immediately, her heart went into overdrive. Her head shot up and swiveled so quickly he was worried she'd given herself a whiplash injury. Huge, fearful brown eyes, set in a pale, heart-shaped face, stared out at him.
He took a step back, raising his hands, palms out, to indicate he wasn't a threat.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
The girl continued to stare at him mutely, biting her lip.
"Um, my name's Edward. I was just passing and you seemed to be having a spot of car trouble. This really isn't a good place to hang around. Do you need a ride?"
She blinked—at last—and shook her head a little, as if trying to clear her thoughts.
Her thoughts! What the hell was she thinking? He had to know.
"Go away; I've called the cops!" she shouted.
She said no more, and Edward could see her lip trembling. For the first time, he gave some thought to how she must be feeling. Before he had intervened, it was quite obvious she was about to be gang-raped and probably murdered, and now, despite the fact that her attackers had miraculously disappeared, she was alone in a broken-down vehicle, surely fearing that her attackers might return at any moment. It was a long time since Edward had felt vulnerable in any way, but he discovered, to his surprise, that he could still empathize with how terrifying this whole situation must be, and he felt a sudden and inexplicable wave of compassion.
Whether it had anything to do with the fact that she was quite the prettiest little thing he'd seen in a very long time was a question for another day.
Right now, he needed to get her out of there. And whether he could get her to trust him enough to open her door and let him take her to safety was a question that demanded an immediate response. If she had called the cops, their arrival would be a complication he could do without. Whether the local PD would rush to such a crime-infested locale was questionable, but he still didn't want to hang around to find out if this might be the exception.
His eyes were the main problem. They were scarlet with his victims' blood; not a good look. It was unlikely she'd noticed yet—humans were remarkably unobservant—but she soon would.
He debated with himself how best to approach the problem. The quickest and easiest thing to do would be to yank the door off the truck, pull her out and break her neck. Swift and efficient—merciful, too. She would hardly have time to register what was happening before she died, and she would feel no pain. If the police turned up, they would attribute it to a random robbery-murder, make cursory enquiries in the neighborhood and then file it away with all the other unsolved murders.
Yes, that was definitely the best way to deal with this situation.
But ...
Edward knew himself well. He'd lived a very long life and had spent much of it in self-imposed solitude. His was a personality that tended toward introspection—vague memories of his former life as a human confirmed that this was so. It was inevitable, therefore, that the curiosity he felt about this young woman would gnaw away at him, like a rat chewing a cable, and he would know no peace until he solved the riddle of her silent mind.
He nodded to himself, his mind made up. One way or another, the girl was coming with him, and he would have to make it quick. He could hear sirens, but they were still far away. They could, of course, be going anywhere, and, certainly, it was a sound that provided a constant soundtrack to life in this city, especially at night.
He couldn't afford to take a chance though.
He depressed the door handle and pulled. The ancient locking mechanism offered no resistance and a second later the door was wide open.
And that's when it hit him.
A scent so extraordinary, so delicious, so ... intoxicating, it overwhelmed him, befuddling his mind.
He gasped, taking an involuntary step back, even as the girl scooted furiously across the bench seat toward the opposite door. He could barely think straight, but his vampire brain operated on many levels, processing myriad thoughts and actions at inhuman speed, and the predator in him reacted instinctively to the fact that his prey was trying to escape. As she threw open the passenger door and practically fell out of the truck, Edward was waiting to catch her.
Wrapping steel arms around her, he held her close, all the while forcing himself to ignore both her delicious aroma and an almost primeval drive to bite, bite, bite.
Meanwhile, within Edward's iron embrace, the girl struggled weakly, ineffectually, her arms trapped and useless. She kicked at his shins as she dangled above the ground, but she may as well have used a feather duster. As she continued to wriggle, he couldn't help but grin at her feeble attempts to escape. She was a fighter, he'd give her that. An optimist and a fighter—quite the combination.
"Calm down, little girl. I don't want to hurt you."
She paused in her struggle, looking into his eyes for the first time. He knew the exact moment she registered the deep scarlet of his irises, and her thumping, overworked heart notched up to yet another level, pounding in her chest to such an extent he was sure he could actually feel it. It was an odd feeling, almost as if his own dead heart had started beating again.
He dismissed the thought immediately. He had no time to squander on such fanciful nonsense. It was time to go, and the best way to facilitate a quick, clean, and, most importantly, unobserved exit was to render the girl unconscious. Carrying a terrified, screaming woman through city streets was just not an option.
Reaching behind her, Edward flicked shut the door of her truck before setting her on her feet and leaning her against it.
"Shh, everything's going to be okay", he murmured, leaning in and letting his lips brush her ear. Then, because he just couldn't resist, he slid his nose down her neck, inhaling her incredible fragrance, until his lips were over her wildly throbbing pulse.
Groaning softly, he imagined for a moment what it would be like to taste that thick, warm, ambrosial blood, to swirl it around his mouth and feel it slide down his throat. Then, because the thought was impossible to deny, he wondered what it would be like to experience that sweet, sweet pleasure at the moment of orgasm.
He felt her shiver, the tremor seeming to spread throughout her entire body, and he wondered if she could feel his arousal. It had been a while since he'd had sex and even longer since he'd had sex with a human. But that wasn't what this was about.
At least, that's what he told himself.
Sighing, he allowed himself to press his lips to her fluttering pulse, and then pulled back slightly. Her wide, frightened eyes were, he observed, the color of oak-aged cognac, which, even in her panicked state, spoke of warmth and kindness.
"P-please ... if-if you're gonna kill me, just do it quickly" she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"Shh," he cooed, sliding a hand into her hair and cupping the back of her skull. Dipping his own head and allowing venom to flood his mouth, he pressed cold lips to hers, a kiss she couldn't escape in his lethal embrace. Her lips parted in a futile attempt to draw much needed oxygen into her heaving lungs, but what she got was cold, venom-saturated air as he breathed directly into her mouth.
For a moment, the girl felt a sort of swooning euphoria before everything went black as she slipped into unconsciousness.
~o0o~
Edward settled the comatose girl on the huge king-sized bed in his loft apartment, dropping the backpack and purse he had retrieved from her truck on the floor near the foot of the bed. Using a thumb to lift one eyelid, he estimated that she would be out for at least another hour. He had forced a considerable amount of his breath into her lungs, more, indeed, than he would normally administer. He had only ever used it sparingly in the past—a short puff during a light kiss would render human women oblivious to his more supernatural attributes, but he had seldom had cause to use the technique.
The situation was very different with this brown-eyed girl however. Having left his car at home, he needed to carry her a considerable distance, and he really needed her to be unaware and incapable of any kind of resistance. Her weight, of course, was of no concern, but to transport an unwilling woman on foot meant that Edward had to travel mostly via rooftops and dark side streets, away from the prying eyes of night-owls, so it was important the girl remain immobile and quiet. Slung over his shoulder, fireman's lift style, made for a much easier journey.
Now, in the privacy of his home, he was, at last, able to study her more closely. He opened her purse, deciding to use the time while she slept to learn a little more about her.
Sitting on the edge of the bed beside her, he went through her wallet. In it he found 42 dollars and change, a piss-poor amount to be carrying when she was clearly going on a long trip of some kind. Next was a photograph of a younger version of herself being hugged from behind by a brown-haired man with an impressive mustache who could only be a relative, judging by the family resemblance—her father, he suspected. She looked to be about 14 or 15—a skinny adolescent—and was grinning widely. Edward gazed long and hard at the picture, finding himself envying the ease and the obvious love between father and daughter. His human memories were vague and faded, like an old sepia photograph, but he recalled enough to know that he and his father had not been close—quite the opposite, in fact.
He shut off the memories and continued his search. In a clear plastic pocket was a driver's license. It displayed the girl's picture—a rather glum likeness—and identified her as Isabella Marie Swan, a resident of Washington State, just 19 years old.
Edward stared hard at the electronically generated photo. Long, dark hair framed a too pale face and, although applicants are told not to smile, he sensed that there was more going on in this image than just the need to project a poker face. The apparently blank look in her eyes seemed, on closer examination, to be imbued with sadness, and the tight line of her mouth told him that she was holding something in, something painful, although what that could be in one so young was impossible to surmise from a single snapshot.
He turned his attention from the picture to the real thing—a much more enjoyable activity. Deeply asleep as she was, her features had settled into a much more relaxed visage. Looking at her now, in the warm light of the bedside lamp and free of the fear she had been projecting since they first met, he could see that what he had originally considered to be a pretty face was, in fact, ethereally beautiful. Her pale skin was almost translucent, her mouth full and slightly pouting, and her eyes, which he knew to be a warm shade of brown, were fringed with long, luxuriant lashes.
As for her body, well, what he had at first considered to be thin and androgynous now proved to be slender but shapely. This was clearly a girl on the cusp of adulthood, her body changing from that of a coltish teenager to the curves of a lovely woman.
Edward was far from immune to her appeal, even without the enticing scent that emanated from her. But this was not why she was here, his attraction to her was not the reason he had risked so much to bring her to his home.
At least, that's what he told himself.
He needed her to wake up now. He needed to decode the mystery of her quiet mind. Once he'd solved that puzzle, he would let her go. As yet, she knew nothing of his secret. He had already put in the green contact lenses he wore when mingling with humans. He would tell her she fainted and that he carried her to his car a short distance away before driving her to his apartment to recover. He would insist she stay for a day or two to recuperate and would study her closely. He was sure an answer would present itself quickly, and he could then send her on her way, none the wiser, and forget about her.
His plan in place, he became impatient for her to awaken. He placed a cold hand to her cheek, bending over her to whisper in her ear. "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, wake up."
He didn't actually expect an immediate response, so he was surprised when her heartbeat stuttered and then picked up its rhythm. As he drew away, he felt her eyelashes flutter softly against his cheek and he knew she was awake.
Faster than the eye could follow, Edward removed himself from the bed and settled into a large, wing-backed armchair by the window. It was where he liked to sit to read and it was where Isabella's gaze found him a few seconds later. What she saw was a breath-takingly handsome man quietly turning the page of a large volume and she frowned in confusion. She could have sworn someone was sitting close to her on the bed, leaning over her even, but she figured she had been dreaming as it was clearly impossible that the man could have removed himself so swiftly from her side to a chair 10 or 12 feet away with his nose in a book.
Feeling her eyes on him, Edward looked up, as if only just realizing that the girl in his bed had regained consciousness. He smiled at her quizzical expression and closed his book, placing it on the small table next to his chair.
"Hello, Isabella. How are you feeling?"
Her frown deepening, she hauled herself into a sitting position, her back against the padded leather headboard. She glanced around her before turning her head to meet his eye. With a remarkably steady voice and a somewhat defiant upward tilt of her chin, she finally spoke. "Where am I? And how do you know my name?"
Edward couldn't help his small smirk. She was brave; he would add that to the list of her qualities. He recalled now how she'd kept fighting her attackers even when it must have seemed hopeless, and now here she was, waking up in a stranger's apartment and demanding answers.
He chuckled to himself, which earned him a rather delightful scowl. He watched as Isabella scooted around so she was sitting on the edge of the bed and looking straight at him.
"Don't laugh at me. I think I have a right to know what the hell is going on." Damn, but he's good looking. The thought annoyed her.
With an effort, Edward composed his features and met her angry gaze.
"I apologize, that was rude of me. Please, let's start again. My name is Edward Masen. I know you're Isabella Swan and that you're from Washington because I took the liberty of checking your wallet for ID and to see if I could find a next of kin I should contact, as you had been unconscious for some time."
He paused, waiting to see if she would respond, but she was now looking away from him, out through the window where dawn's early light was just beginning to filter through. An odd, unfamiliar emotion caught him unawares. He'd felt a hint of it the night before—like an uninvited visitor turning up. But now it seemed the visitor might be angling for a prolonged stay.
Compassion.
It had snuck up on him again, and he found that disturbing.
"I'm not sure if you remember, but I found you last night in a very shaken state—"
Her moment of quiet introspection interrupted, she turned her head sharply.
"I do remember—I'm not likely ever to forget! What happened to those men? How were you able to fight them all off? I mean, I'm grateful ... really, really grateful, of course I am. But there were four of them. Where did they go?"
Edward shrugged. "I guess they ran off when they saw me approaching. I don't know where they went."
"Yeah, right, because four armed gangbangers were ... what? Intimidated by your good looks and sartorial flair?" Sarcasm dripped from her every word as she crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow at him.
"They were armed?" he asked disingenuously, choosing to ignore her remark about his looks.
Isabella rolled her eyes. "Of course they were armed—they were fucking gangbangers!" She shook her head in disbelief at his apparent naïveté.
Edward suppressed a smile. Pretty feisty for a girl who'd woken from unexplained unconsciousness in a stranger's bed, with said stranger sitting watching her.
"Okay, fair point, well made. But what I was going to say is I don't want you to feel threatened or afraid—although it's rather obvious you feel neither." He gazed at her for a moment, wondering if she would disagree, but she just rolled her eyes again and looked away.
"Okay, then. So, I just wanted you to know that I brought you here for your own safety—"
"Did the cops show up?" she demanded.
He frowned. "Uh, no ... well, I don't know, to be honest. I just thought it was best to get out of there in case—"
"What were you doing there?"
He sighed at this further interruption. "Like I said, I was just passing. I was hungry, and I'd heard there was a great fried chicken place in the area—"
"Fried chicken?"
"Jesus, woman, if you'd just let me finish a sentence—"
"I smell bullshit, Mr. Masen, big rancid piles of it. You were there to score drugs, weren't you?"
His barked laugh made her jump and she narrowed her eyes at him.
"My dad was a cop, so don't think you can fool me."
Chuckling, he just shook his head at her.
"Oh, Isabella, if only you knew. I can tell you, hand on heart, that I was honestly there to get something to eat."
He couldn't help but smile to himself at the fact that, for once in his life, he was telling the absolute truth to a human.
"A fried chicken place ... there? That can't possibly be true."
He shrugged. "Clearly, I was misinformed. But none of that matters now. You're here, you're safe, and I'd really like to understand how you came to be there, where you were going and what your story is."
"Why?"
He cocked his head to one side, not expecting such a direct and uncompromising response.
"Uh, well, if the address on your driver's license is current, then you're a long way from home. You were travelling in a clearly ancient and unreliable vehicle with a large bag of clothes and possessions—"
"Hey, where is my bag? Did you bring it?" she asked, looking around.
Clamping his jaw, Edward stood, crossed to the end of the bed and hoisted the large backpack up. He dumped it unceremoniously next to her, making her jump and giving him a slight and somewhat wicked sense of satisfaction.
Damn the girl, she was infuriating.
He returned to his chair and sat down, transferring his gaze to the ceiling in an attempt to calm his irritation. He was beginning to think it had been a stupid idea to bring her here. She was just going to drive him crazy, and he probably still wasn't going to find out what made her tick. He should cut her loose and put her out of his mind.
"Thanks, Edward," she said softly, biting her lip.
"You're welcome, Isa—"
"It's Bella, actually … I prefer Bella. No one has ever called me Isabella."
Edward fisted a hand in his thick hair and squeezed his eyes shut. It would do no good to get angry with her. She had obviously never been taught any manners, and perhaps it wasn't her fault she was so fucking annoying!
"Sorry, I guess that was rude. I don't mean to keep interrupting, I just … I mean … look, I'm sorry, okay. I won't interrupt again. Please, carry on."
"Well, thank you, that's so kind of you," he snarked. "Anyway, as I was saying—"
At that moment, Bella's stomach made a loud churning noise, like water going down a drain. It seemed to echo around the apartment and she immediately wrapped her arms around her middle in a vain attempt to stifle it. Wide eyed, she stared in horror at Edward as color rushed to her cheeks, staining them a vivid red, and her teeth clamped down on her lower lip.
Seated opposite, Edward was equally horrified, but not because he was embarrassed. Bella's blush was like catnip ... and that lip! And it wasn't just the visual aspect that had him fighting to stay in his chair—her scent, which he had forced himself to get used to over the last hour or so, now assaulted his every sense. He may have satiated himself on the young hoodlums just a few hours earlier, a feast that would normally keep him satisfied for two or three weeks, but as he watched Bella's rich, intoxicating blood suffuse her entire upper body, he felt a hunger like nothing he'd ever known. His throat was on fire as venom pooled in his mouth, and he knew he must immediately leave the room, the apartment, the street even, or take everything from her. He'd fucked women in this place, both vampire and human, but he had never taken a life here, and he certainly didn't want to start with Bella Swan.
Without another word, Edward stopped breathing and stood up. He walked at human speed to the door and left the room.
Bella watched in confusion as he left, hearing the apartment door open and close a moment later.
She continued to look at the bedroom door for another five minutes, wondering what the hell had just happened and expecting him to walk back in, but all was quiet. She waited another minute or two before wandering into the main living room—a huge space with a large, modern open-plan kitchen. A long breakfast bar served as a divider, and she moved around it to the cupboards. She was thirsty, and hoped she could find some cookies or crackers, or maybe some cereal to eat. The first overhead cupboard she opened was empty, which was odd, so she opened the next one. That, too, was empty, and the next and the next. In fact, all the cupboards were empty; there wasn't a plate, a cup, a knife or fork, nor any cooking pans or utensils. There was a refrigerator, but it, too, was empty, and there was no microwave and no coffee maker. Nothing. She could understand a single guy not being able to cook—God knows, her dad had been hopeless in the kitchen—but this was nuts.
She looked around, confused. After a moment, she turned on the faucet and cupped her hands to drink. It took a few handfuls, but she was at least able to take the edge off her thirst. There was no hand towel or paper towels to dry herself, so she wiped her mouth on her sleeve and went in search of the bathroom, which was attached to the bedroom. Here, she found towels but, crucially, there was no toilet paper.
Who doesn't have toilet paper?
There was no glass for a toothbrush—in fact, there no toothbrush at all. There was no razor nor shaving cream, despite the fact that Edward was clean-shaven, no toothpaste, nor much else of what you would normally find in a single man's bathroom—like condoms. Surely, a single man as attractive as Edward needed condoms. Unless, of course, he was a careless, selfish asshole. There was, however, shower gel and shampoo in a little nook in the large walk-in shower, and there was a cupboard under the basin. Bella now fully expected this, too, to be empty, but it wasn't. On the top shelf was a silvery box marked TTDEYE. Picking it up, she saw that it contained colored contact lenses—Comet Green, to be precise.
Green? That was weird. Surely, someone with his russet coloring would already have green eyes ... wouldn't they?
She frowned, thinking back to the attack and the point when Edward pulled her into his arms. Her memory felt a little hazy, but she was sure he'd had ... no, wait, that couldn't be right ... his eyes were ... red?
She swung around, her urgent gaze alighting on each strange thing in that bathroom. She looked at the box in her hand again and threw it back in the cupboard, slamming the door shut. She ran into the living room and quickly scanned the impersonal space. There were no family photos, no personal adornments of any kind.
Okay, that wasn't so odd in a single guy's apartment.
The walls were lined with bookshelves, which were jammed full. There was also a large shelf unit full of vinyl records—there must have been over a thousand albums. She looked longingly at the books for a moment, but then crossed the room quickly and started examining the record sleeves. There she discovered music from every decade, including this one, with some dating back to the early part of the 20th century—the earliest ones were brittle shellac 78s.
She turned away, examining the room again. There was a beautiful antique escritoire desk under one of the windows that she thought might yield something useful. With a nervous glance at the door, she went over and lowered the slanted front onto its supports to form a writing desk and expose the multiple cubby holes and little drawers within.
She knew she had no right to snoop, but something wasn't right here and she needed to know how much danger she was in. She could leave, of course, but with nowhere to go, little money, no transportation and a massively heavy bag, she didn't want to go off half-cocked. So far, Edward had been a perfect gentleman—well, apart from rushing off without a word. He had undoubtedly saved her from a fate worse than death, and possibly death itself. He had brought her to his home, put her in his bed, but clearly not laid a hand on her. If this was, indeed, a brief sanctuary of sorts she wanted to cling to it for as long as possible.
And maybe, despite her suspicions, she wasn't yet ready to leave Edward.
With another look toward the door, she turned back to the desk and started rifling through the contents, opening the small drawers and searching for any clue to who her knight in shining armor might be.
Her search seemed, at first, fruitless. There were utility bills, maintenance invoices and other such mundane paperwork, but nothing out of the ordinary. She was about to give up when she remembered that her Grandma Marie had owned a similar piece of furniture—not as nice or, she suspected, as valuable but much the same design nevertheless. And Grandma's desk had had a secret drawer behind the letter slots at the front. It had always intrigued and excited her as a child, and she loved to play with the hidden catch which released the fascia and revealed the secret compartment. Bella opened the drawer on the left and felt inside.
And there it was, a tiny lever. With her heart in her mouth, she hooked her finger around it and pulled. It gave a satisfying click, and the front portion of the desk sprang forward slightly, allowing her to pull it away. Behind it, just as she suspected, was a long, shallow drawer, which she pulled open.
Inside were several handwritten letters.
The paper was expensive vellum and was covered in old-fashioned, cursive script that looked like it had been written with a fountain pen. There were seven letters, the most recent one dated June 1997 and the oldest one dated October 1932.
Each of them began 'Dear Edward'.
"Well, aren't you the clever one, discovering my secret stash."