“Do I have to send a petition around to get you to believe? Shall I tell you whose names would be on the top of the list? You know a few of them, but some might surprise you.”
I shook my head against his chest, grimacing. “You’re just trying to distract me. Let’s get back to the subject.”
He sighed.
“Tell me if I have anything wrong.” I tried to sound detached. “Your demands are marriage” — I couldn’t say the word without making a face — “paying my tuition, more time, and you wouldn’t mind if my vehicle went a little faster.” I raised my eyebrows. “Did I get everything? That’s a hefty list.”
“Only the first is a demand.” He seemed to be having a hard time keeping a straight face. “The others are merely requests.”
“And my lone, solitary little demand is —”
“Demand?” he interrupted, suddenly serious again.
“Yes, demand.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Getting married is a stretch for me. I’m not giving in unless I get something in return.”
He leaned down to whisper in my ear. “No,” he murmured silkily. “It’s not possible now. Later, when you’re less breakable. Be patient, Bella.”
I tried to keep my voice firm and reasonable. “But that’s the problem. It won’t be the same when I’m less breakable. I won’t be the same! I don’t know who I’ll be then.”
“You’ll still be Bella,” he promised.
I frowned. “If I’m so far gone that I’d want to kill Charlie — that I’d drink Jacob’s blood or Angela’s if I got the chance — how can that be true?”
“It will pass. And I doubt you’ll want to drink the dog’s blood.” He pretended to shudder at the thought. “Even as a newborn, you’ll have better taste than that.”
I ignored his attempt to sidetrack me. “But that will always be what I want most, won’t it?” I challenged. “Blood, blood, and more blood!”
“The fact that you are still alive is proof that that is not true,” he pointed out.
“Over eighty years later,” I reminded him. “What I meant was physically, though. Intellectually, I know I’ll be able to be myself . . . after a while. But just purely physically — I will always be thirsty, more than anything else.”
He didn’t answer.
“So I will be different,” I concluded unopposed. “Because right now, physically, there’s nothing I want more than you. More than food or water or oxygen. Intellectually, I have my priorities in a slightly more sensible order. But physically . . .”
I twisted my head to kiss the palm of his hand.
He took a deep breath. I was surprised that it sounded a little unsteady.
“Bella, I could kill you,” he whispered.
“I don’t think you could.”
Edward’s eyes tightened. He lifted his hand from my face and reached quickly behind himself for something I couldn’t see. There was a muffled snapping sound, and the bed quivered beneath us.
Something dark was in his hand; he held it up for my curious examination. It was a metal flower, one of the roses that adorned the wrought iron posts and canopy of his bed frame. His hand closed for a brief second, his fingers contracting gently, and then it opened again.
Without a word, he offered me the crushed, uneven lump of black metal. It was a cast of the inside of his hand, like a piece of play dough squeezed in a child’s fist. A half-second passed, and the shape crumbled into black sand in his palm.
I glared. “That’s not what I meant. I already know how strong you are. You didn’t have to break the furniture.”
“What did you mean then?” he asked in a dark voice, tossing the handful of iron sand to the corner of the room; it hit the wall with a sound like rain.
His eyes were intent on my face as I struggled to explain.
“Obviously not that you aren’t physically able hurt me, if you wanted to . . . More that, you don’t want to hurt me . . . so much so that I don’t think that you ever could.”
He started shaking his head before I was done.
“It might not work like that, Bella.”
“Might,” I scoffed. “You have no more idea what you’re talking about than I do.”
“Exactly. Do you imagine I would ever take that kind of risk with you?”
I stared into his eyes for a long minute. There was no sign of compromise, no hint of indecision in them.
“Please,” I finally whispered, hopeless. “It’s all I want. Please.” I closed my eyes in defeat, waiting for the quick and final no.
But he didn’t answer immediately. I hesitated in disbelief, stunned to hear that his breathing was uneven again.
I opened my eyes, and his face was torn.
“Please?” I whispered again, my heartbeat picking up speed. My words tumbled out as I rushed to take advantage of the sudden uncertainty in his eyes. “You don’t have to make me any guarantees. If it doesn’t work out right, well, then that’s that. Just let us try . . . only try. And I’ll give you what you want,” I promised rashly. “I’ll marry you. I’ll let you pay for Dartmouth, and I won’t complain about the bribe to get me in. You can even buy me a fast car if that makes you happy! Just . . . please.”
His icy arms tightened around me, and his lips were at my ear; his cool breath made me shiver. “This is unbearable. So many things I’ve wanted to give you — and this is what you decide to demand. Do you have any idea how painful it is, trying to refuse you when you plead with me this way?”
“Then don’t refuse,” I suggested breathlessly.
He didn’t respond.
“Please,” I tried again.
“Bella . . .” He shook his head slowly, but it didn’t feel like a denial as his face, his lips, moved back and forth across my throat. It felt more like surrender. My heart, racing already, spluttered frantically.
Again, I took what advantage I could. When his face turned toward mine with the slow movement of his indecision, I twisted quickly in his arms till my lips reached his. His hands seized my face, and I thought he was going to push me away again.
I was wrong.
His mouth was not gentle; there was a brand-new edge of conflict and desperation in the way his lips moved. I locked my arms around his neck, and, to my suddenly overheated skin, his body felt colder than ever. I trembled, but it was not from the chill.
He didn’t stop kissing me. I was the one who had to break away, gasping for air. Even then his lips did not leave my skin, they just moved to my throat. The thrill of victory was a strange high; it made me feel powerful. Brave. My hands weren’t unsteady now; I got through with the buttons on his shirt this time easily, and my fingers traced the perfect planes of his icy chest. He was too beautiful. What was the word he’d used just now? Unbearable — that was it. His beauty was too much to bear. . . .
I pulled his mouth back to mine, and he seemed just as eager as I was. One of his hands still cupped my face, his other arm was tight around my waist, straining me closer to him. It made it slightly more difficult as I tried to reach the front of my shirt, but not impossible.
Cold iron fetters locked around my wrists, and pulled my hands above my head, which was suddenly on a pillow.
His lips were at my ear again. “Bella,” he murmured, his voice warm and velvet. “Would you please stop trying to take your clothes off?”
“Do you want to do that part?” I asked, confused.
“Not tonight,” he answered softly. His lips were slower now against my cheek and jaw, all the urgency gone.
“Edward, don’t —,” I started to argue.
