When I woke up that morning, the sun was already out, so bright it hurt my eyes, even inside the tent.
I almost couldn't believe it after how freezing I'd been during the night, but I was sweltering—uncomfortably so. Jules still had her arms around my back, and I realized she was fast asleep.
I put my hands on her shoulders and carefully tried to disentangle myself without waking her. But if anything, her arms only tightened around me unconsciously. Try as I might, I realized I wasn't going to get free without help.
I turned my head, squinting at the light, and saw a dark figure crouched motionless beside the entrance flap. As my eyes adjusted, Edythe's face came into focus. Her expression was smooth as she met my gaze. Perfectly devoid of emotion, the way it always was when her emotions were at their most dangerous and she didn't want me to see them.
"Um," I said, extremely conscious of the fact Jules was pressed against me, and still had her arms around my back. "I don't suppose it's any warmer out there, is it?"
"I don't think you'll be in any danger of hypothermia today," she said evenly.
I awkwardly tried to reach around Jules to get to the zipper, but she had one of my arms pinned, and the other I couldn't seem to make use of at such an awkward angle.
"Like some assistance?" Edythe asked politely.
"Um, yeah," I said. "Thanks. I think I'm going to get heatstroke."
Edythe reached over and unzipped the sleeping bag in one swift, abrupt movement. Jules fell out unceremoniously, her bare arms and legs coming into contact with the icy floor of the tent.
Jules gasped in shock and her eyes flew open. On instinct, she flinched back from the cold, rolling back onto the sleeping bag and right onto me, her elbow driving right into my stomach. I gasped, taken by surprise as always by her incredible weight.
What happened next was too quick for me to see. Very suddenly the weight on me was gone, and I felt the entire tent shudder as something hit one of the poles hard. I sat up as quickly as I could to find Edythe crouched in front of me, and I glanced at the side of her face to see that her lips were curled back from her teeth, expression livid.
I saw that the impact had been Jules, her back hitting the side of the tent. She had instantly scrambled into a crouch, an almost animalistic fury in her face as a snarl ripped itself from her throat. Outside the tent, I heard a wolf's angry snarls, too—Sarah, no doubt.
Jules and Edythe had never liked each other, and were always threatening fights, but this was probably the closest I'd ever seen them to one.
I scrambled around Edythe, putting myself physically between them. "Okay," I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. "Okay, everybody just cool it."
Jules had been shaking all over, like she did when she was about to phase, but she took a deep breath through her nose, and the shaking slowed. However, she still glared daggers at Edythe for a long minute before she finally turned her eyes to me.
"Are you okay?" I asked, concerned. The sound of Jules slamming into the pole was still ringing in my ears.
"Fine," Jules muttered, looking away.
I turned to look at Edythe, frowning.
Edythe still wasn't totally under control. Her gold eyes were so narrow they looked black, and her breathing was coming a little too fast. She didn't look entirely like herself—strands of her bronze hair hung in her face, and she looked about as riled as I remembered seeing her.
I realized last night couldn't have been easy for her, and her nerves must be about frayed to the limit. I'd have to do something to try to make it up to her later.
I waited for her breathing to even out and her furious expression to smooth slightly, though her eyes were still hard. Her gaze shifted to Jules.
"If you want to fight, just say it," Jules said, clenching her fists. "I'm ready any time you are. Unless you think you've got a better chance attacking me when I'm half asleep."
Edythe's reply was cold as ice. "Be more careful next time where you swing your gorilla's arms. I don't care if you're awake or asleep, if you're so careless as to hurt Beau again—"
"Hey," I said sharply, unable to quite curb my frustration. I looked between the two of them, my eyes finally settling on Edythe. "I'm just fine. It was obviously an accident." I added before I had time to think about it, "You could have gotten her off me without starting a fight." My stomach probably would have a nice large bruise tomorrow, but I wasn't much worried about that right now.
Edythe looked momentarily stricken by my reproach, eyes dropping to the ground, before her expression smoothed again, concealing her emotions. She raised her eyes slowly, unwillingly to Jules, and muttered stiffly, "I apologize, dog. I may have...overreacted."
"Whatever," Jules said, still sounding annoyed, though she looked at me with some surprise.
I was already feeling guilty and a bit shocked at myself. I couldn't remember if I'd ever spoken to Edythe that way—like I was telling her off for doing something wrong. It seemed out of place, somehow. I felt like I should be more understanding, considering the night she probably had. Though I'd had that strange dream she and Jules were almost to the point of getting along...
I suddenly shivered and sneezed. It wasn't as cold as the night before, but it was still chilly enough.
The tense moment passed, and Edythe immediately went and retrieved Jules's parka from the corner of the tent. It seemed to have thawed, and resembled a coat again, rather than a block of ice.
"Here," she said, putting it around my shoulders over top of my jacket. Her voice was once again gentle and perfectly normal, the tension gone from her posture.
Jules stretched and yawned. And to my surprise, she retreated back to the sleeping bag, flopping back down and pulling it over herself. "Wake me up in ten minutes," she said, stifling another yawn. "I didn't get a whole lot of sleep last night, you know, what with Beau mumbling in my ear all night."
She grinned, looking suddenly smug. A moment before she had looked on the verge of sleep, but now she rolled onto her side, head propped up on one elbow. "By the way, how was your night?" she asked, taunting eyes on Edythe. "In spite of the lack of sleep, mine really wasn't so bad."
Edythe's smile was tight. "I suppose it wasn't the worst night I've ever had."
"Top ten?" Jules asked, grin widening. Clearly she was deriving a perverse pleasure out of this.
"Possibly."
"Okay!" I said, cutting in, glaring at Jules. "We're finished. This conversation is over. Done." I took Edythe's arm and tried to pull her in the direction of the tent flap. Even though I knew it would probably be colder out there, I thought I would do just about anything to separate them. I didn't think I could take much more of this.
Jules sat up, climbing up into a crouch. "Fine, fine," she said. "I'll go. You can stay here. It's probably still chilly out there. I probably should go talk to Sam anyway."
Jules went around us and pulled down the zipper.
Something icy suddenly dropped in my stomach. It suddenly hit me—she was about to go back with Sam, fight a horde of bloodthirsty newborns. This could be the last time I would ever see her.
Before I knew what I was doing, I reached out and seized her by the wrist. I wanted to tell her to stay. I wanted to get down on my knees and beg. But I couldn't get the words out, so I only gripped her wrist harder, so hard my knuckles were white. I looked down and thought she was trembling slightly, until I realized it was me.
"See you later, Beau," she said, without turning around. "Try to relax, okay?"
She carefully freed herself from my grip, then stepped out of the tent, zipping if up behind her. I listened for the sound of her footsteps carrying her away, but there was nothing. She moved in silence now.
I slowly curled the fingers she'd pulled out of into a fist, then sat back down on the cold tent floor. With Jules gone, it felt colder in here than I'd thought it was.
Edythe was watching me. Her eyes flickered my down to hand, then she came to sit beside me. We were both quiet for a moment.
"How much longer?" I asked at last, and my voice sounded hollow, bleak.
"Archie told Sam it should be an hour or so," Edythe said softly.
I nodded, rocking back and forth a little unconsciously, my hand still clenched.
Edythe put an arm around my shoulders, and her touch didn't feel quite so cold through Jules's parka. "Don't worry," she said softly. "They know how to handle themselves. Everything will be fine."
"Sure, sure," I muttered. I still stared straight ahead, at the flap where Jules had gone.
Edythe's brows were pulled together, looking concerned. Then she smiled a little, though her eyes continued to study my face, and she reached up to run a finger lightly along my jaw. "Would you like me to...distract you?"
At the chill of her touch, I gave an involuntary shudder, and she drew her hand back sharply.
"Maybe...maybe not right now," she said, answering her own question. She laughed a little, and maybe I was imagining it, but I thought the sound came out a little uneasy.
I finally sighed and looked away from the tent flap, meeting Edythe's worried gaze.
"I know how you can distract me," I said.
"A way that won't induce a case of hypothermia?" she asked.
I smiled. "Yeah, something else. Although I might be willing to risk the hypothermia if you were."
Edythe laughed softly, and she seemed a little less tense than she had been a moment before. "Maybe we had better try your other method first."
I shrugged. "Maybe we could just talk for awhile. Like...if you've been keeping track of the ten worst nights of your life, what are the ten best?"
Edythe laughed again. "You really always find the strangest questions to ask, Beau. Try to guess."
I frowned. "There's almost a century of nights I don't know anything about."
Edythe smiled. "Well, all my best nights have been since I met you, so that should narrow it down."
"Huh." I wasn't quite sure how else to respond. However, my cynical side made me ask a minute later, "How about the ten worst nights of your life?"
Edythe hesitated, then admitted, "Well, yes, those too."
The last thing I wanted was to make Edythe relive the ten worst nights of her life, but now I was curious.
Edythe read my expression and she sighed slightly. "My very worst night is still the the night I spent in Italy, thinking you were dead. After that...the night I left Forks, following your unfortunate birthday. There were many very bad nights in between those. Besides that...there was that day, when you went to find Joss, and I wasn't sure we would make it in time. I saw in Archie's head the vision where he saw...saw you die..."
Edythe shivered, as if from the cold.
"Anyway," she said in a slightly brighter tone, "this is getting too depressing."
"What about last night?" I asked. "Was it really...one of the worst?"
Edythe shrugged, putting on an admirable mask of indifference. "It certainly was not the happiest night I've ever spent. But...I don't know. I admitted it might be mainly to placate her, as I knew she would derive great satisfaction from it."
"Sorry," I said. "I should have just told her to go. She acts like such a jerk sometimes, and I don't know what to do about it."
Edythe's expression was hard to read. "That's not your responsibility, Beau." She added, "And, I suppose it was better than seeing any of your fingers or toes turn black. You may consider them expendable, but I don't."
I shook my head, though I smiled a little.
I paused then, not sure if I should ask this, but unable to help myself. "Was I...really talking in my sleep? What did I say?"
Edythe hesitated, and I didn't miss the suddenly wary look on her face.
"Is it that bad?" I said, starting to feel a bit panicky.
Edythe sighed and shook her head. "Mostly you said my name. Like you always do."
I felt my face color a bit. Even though I knew by now, it was still a bit embarrassing to hear about.
I added cautiously, "And...what else did I say?"
Again, Edythe's voice was light as she answered, eyes focused very hard on the tent flaps straight ahead. "Toward the end, you were saying another name."
I tried not to show anything on my face, but I could have kicked myself.
"She enjoyed that quite a bit," she continued in the same light voice. "I think she took it as a sign...your subconscious is still a bit split."
I snorted, looking away. "Some people will do just about anything to delude themselves," I muttered. "I say my mom's name in my sleep, too, but that doesn't mean I'm secretly in love with her. Course I'm going to think about people who are like family to me a lot."
Edythe smiled a little, though there was some reservation in her eyes.
Wanting to change the subject, I asked again, "So what about your ten best nights?"
Edythe laughed softly. "Why don't you tell me a few of yours first? Maybe they're the same."
I blinked, frowning. I'd never thought about it before and it took me a minute to wind back.
"Well, there was that night...that night you first told me the truth. About everything."
Edythe frowned, almost disapproving. "I don't know if I would put that one on my list. You were almost shot by gangsters. And I had some anxiety the entire night you would come to your senses and try to avoid me like the plague, even though I knew that would be the best outcome."
It was true, it was an odd night to pick. At the time I wasn't really sure what Edythe's feelings were for me just yet. But it was the first night where it felt like she really opened up—more completely than ever before. And the night where I was certain for the first time that I loved her.
"Um," I said. "That first night when you...stayed."
Edythe smiled again. "That's one of mine."
"Flying home from Italy," I added. Now that I had my mind going, I could think of a lot more than I thought.
Edythe raised an eyebrow. "That one's on my list, too," she said slowly. "But I am surprised it's on yours. You seemed to be under the ludicrous impression that I was acting from a guilty conscience, and I was going to slip away back to my nonexistent distractions at the first opportunity."
I shrugged. "But I was just happy you were there, even if it was just for a little while."
Edythe laughed and took my hand, though she held it through both the coat and the parka.
"The night after Italy," I continued. I watched Edythe out of the corner of my eye. I wouldn't have been surprised if that one made one of her ten worst nights. She'd had a kind of breakdown, and then it was also the night the others had voted to turn me into a vampire.
Edythe smiled again. "That one's one of mine, too. Though maybe not for all the same reasons."
"What are your reasons?" I asked.
Edythe leaned closer, her shoulder pressing against mine. "Well, that was when I felt like I was finally able to convince you that I really did love you and you weren't dreaming. And that made me feel a little forgiven, even if I could never forgive myself."
"But I told you I didn't need to forgive you," I said, my brows coming together. "Because I was never mad." I paused. "Well, I guess I was a bit mad about that, 'it'll be as though I never existed' thing. Like that was even what I wanted."
Edythe slid her arm through mine. "So you did have to forgive me," she said, smiling. After a moment, she added, "The other reason...is that it's also the night you agreed to marry me after graduation." She closed her eyes, still smiling. "Even if it was a bit reluctantly."
I hesitated, my own irrational terror at the idea of an actual wedding warring with my new resolve after what Archie had said. After a minute I sighed, and smiled.
"Speaking of which, when are we going to set the date?"
"We still have to tell your parents," she reminded me. "I won't feel totally assured this is actually going to happen until then."
I took my hand out of the coats to take her hand directly, in spite of the cold. I pressed it to my chest, intertwining our fingers together.
"I love you," I said softly. "This is just a part of that. We're going to be together forever. I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy. From the beginning, I chose you."
Edythe gazed up at me. "I love you, too, Beau," she said softly. "More than I think you could ever realize. And...I hope you'll be able to forgive me a second time."
I frowned a little, confused. I opened my mouth to voice a question— and that was when the silence outside was ripped apart by an earsplitting howl of agony.
The sound seemed to go on forever, ricocheting off the bare rock face of the mountain and filling the air so it seemed to come from every direction. I felt the vibration of it, the pain of it, resonate deep in my chest. The agonized howl of a wolf that was almost a human sound—a scream, a sob.
When the sound finally ended, choking off into a low whine, it left behind a silence more terrible and more complete than the howl had been.
In an instant, I knew what had happened. I'd assumed she was long gone, but—she had stayed behind. She'd heard everything of our conversation just now. And now...now.
"I think she's reached her limit," Edythe murmured.
I turned my eyes to her. "You knew," I whispered. It wasn't a question.
"Yes," she said quietly.
The world spun around me. I felt sick. The sound of the wolf's howl kept echoing in my mind like a scream. I knew where she was—racing blindly through the woods, desperate to get away. Away from me.
"I've told you before I don't fight fair," Edythe said quietly. "I know that was a cruel trick, but—I thought she deserved to know."
I lurched to my feet. My eyes were wide with horror, and my breathing came in hitched gasps. I realized my eyes were burning. At the look on my face, some of Edythe's composure melted away. "Can you forgive me?" she whispered, her eyes wide.
I stood there, frozen. I could still feel the screaming howl in my chest. Finally, my wide, horrified eyes went to Edythe, and at the guilt in her face, I had to say something.
"It's not—not your fault—" I managed to choke out. "All this time, it's been all my—how could I have been so—"
I couldn't finish. My breathing was uneven, ragged. The tears burned in my eyes. Tears of guilt. Did it matter, that supposedly Jules knew what she was doing? That I had tried to tell her over and over that she was just a friend to me, that I had chosen Edythe? Just by being around her at all, of course she would keep fighting, of course that would give her some hope, no matter how small it was. All this time, I'd been doing nothing but hurting her—over and over again. She didn't deserve that.
"I—" I choked out. "I've got to—"
I blindly grabbed my boots from the floor and yanked them on, then turned for the flap. I fumbled for the zipper for a minute.
Edythe was at my side, a gentle hand on my bent back.
"It's cold out there," she said softly. "And she's miles away by now."
"I've—I've got to—" But I couldn't force out the words to explain. I couldn't just sit here, not after what I'd done. I had to do something.
My shaking hands fought with the zipper for a moment longer, until at last I ripped it down and stumbled outside, straightening.
The light was bright outside and I had to squint and look away for a minute. I felt the chilly air against my face, and I shrugged out of Jules's parka, letting it fall to the ground. I wanted to feel the cold to the fullest—I deserved that and worse.
The land was empty in all directions, barren—even after yesterday's storm, there was almost no snow, probably blown away by the wind. What little snow there was reflected the bright sunlight painfully, and I had to avert my eyes. It took me a minute before I noticed a sand-colored wolf lying curled up on some dry pine needles some ways away. Sarah Clearwater's eyes were on me, staring at me with what I imagined was accusation.
I knew there was no hope of catching up to her, but I staggered forward regardless, toward the trees.
Edythe followed behind me, silently, and though I didn't turn to look, I saw out of the corner of my eye the colors playing off her skin in the bright sunlight.
I was a few paces into the shadow of the forest when Edythe finally reached out and caught my left wrist—the wrist with the leather bracelet and carving of the wolf.
I stopped walking, but I continued to stare out into the forest. The trees seemed to blur together.
"You can't go," Edythe said quietly. "It's almost time. It'll have to wait until after."
A thrill of horror shot through me as I suddenly remembered the fight ahead. What if something happened to her? What if she was so upset that she wasn't able to concentrate, and...
The pain and fear was suddenly too much, and I bowed my head, shaking all over. A wild desperation suddenly seized hold of me. I couldn't let her go there—not like this.
Before I really had time to think about it, I planted one foot, and with all my might, I pulled against Edythe's grip. But of course, I couldn't pull free—instead, I felt her thumb gouge into my skin.
Edythe immediately let go, looking shocked, and her eyes flickered down to her hand.
I stumbled forward a few steps, off balance. I glanced back at her still horrified face, and I felt my stomach twist. "Sorry," I managed to whisper through my closed throat, and then I turned back—coiling my muscles in preparation to run.
I suddenly felt Edythe behind me, her arms around my waist. I felt as she pressed her face into my back.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she whispered, quiet anguish in every inflection. "Let me see if I can bring her back—there's still time. Please, just wait here."
I didn't try to fight her grip this time, just stood still where I was. I felt like I needed to say something—Please, don't be sorry, it's not your fault, it's mine. But my throat had completely closed, and I couldn't get out another word if I tried. At last, I simply bowed my head, a single nod.
Edythe disappeared. She moved so fast that I felt her arms around me one moment, and the next they were gone. A light breeze rustled through the trees in her passing and an involuntary shiver wracked my frame.
I slowly sank to my knees. I knew it wasn't just Jules I had hurt now. I was hurting Edythe, too. So much. I had chosen Edythe, from the beginning—so if I was any kind of man at all, I'd have simply have let Jules go with composure, knowing it was the right thing. Jules hadn't overheard anything that wasn't true. I should have just told her myself long before now, so she didn't have to find out this way.
I closed my eyes. Edythe might not be able to bring Jules back. Might not catch up with her, or else might not be able to convince her. If that happened—I'd accept it. Jules was strong, she wouldn't let herself get distracted in the fight. And, if Edythe was able to bring her back—I'd finally tell her what I should have told her long ago.
It was better for us to break. Once and for all. To not be friends anymore. I could see now that all my efforts to keep us friends had just been pure selfishness on my part—underneath all Jules's bravado and tough talk, she'd been in agony all along, and I'd only made it worse. And I had to do it in order to stop hurting Edythe, too. So she wouldn't have to keep worrying, feeling threatened or insecure—it was wrong, as it had been all along.
I kept my eyes closed, concentrating on getting my composure. When Edythe brought Jules back, if she was able to, we had to talk plainly. We would break as friends, and then everything would be as it should be. Jules would finally have the chance to begin to heal, and Edythe and I would be together, with nothing coming between us.
It hurt—every time I thought about it, I felt my stomach churn, far more I knew than it would cutting things off with any other friend I had, McKayla, or even Allen. I didn't know why exactly, when there was only one thing in this world I really wanted above all else, enough that I had decided I was willing to give up all else for it—even as I tried not to think it, to feel it, this was harder, somehow.
But that didn't matter. For the sake of everyone involved, there needed to be a resolution. An end. And I would make sure there was one.
I returned to the small clearing. I didn't even look at Sarah as I headed over to the tent. Finding the canteen hanging beside the tent door, I mechanically unscrewed the lid and tilted my head back, feeling the icy water race down my throat. I rinsed out my mouth, then hung the canteen back up.
The minutes of silence seemed to stretch, and I began to pace back and forth restlessly. I could feel Sarah's eyes following me, but I didn't turn to look at her.
I jumped slightly when I heard a low whine, and I turned to see Sarah climbing to her feet, eyes on the forest. She was tense all over, and though she was in wolf form, I could feel the anxiety radiating off her.
"What is it?" I asked in a hoarse voice. However, the possibilities were already unfolding in my mind. Maybe the newborn attack had happened earlier than expected. Maybe Jules and Edythe had come too close and Edythe had decided to join in the fight after all.
The thought nearly sent me reeling. How could I have let Edythe go, now of all times?
I suddenly felt sick with dread anew as a second possibility occurred to me. Maybe they weren't fighting the newborns—maybe they were fighting with each other.
But, surely they wouldn't do that. And yet...if the wrong words were said... How close had they come to a fight just this morning, when all Jules had done was accidentally elbow me in the stomach? Had I underestimated how close the two of them had been to settling their differences with claws and teeth once and for all?
My agitated pacing had me sweating under my coat, and I discarded it, throwing it into the tent. I folded my arms against the sudden chill and kept going.
Sarah had settled back down briefly, but now she leaped to her feet again, on alert. I spun, trying to see what she saw, but I saw nothing.
Then my sweeping eyes fell on a couple of figures, approaching slowly from the western edge of the clearing.
"It's just us," Jules called from a long ways off. "Relax, Sarah."
I stared at her for a second.
Then, involuntarily, I felt myself relax, a flood of relief seeping from chest to the tips of my fingers.
Stupid. I was about to tell her we couldn't be friends again. That this was our final goodbye.
So, I wondered why it was, I felt my heart had begun to pound strangely in my chest—anxiety, that's what it had to be. The anxiety of what I was about to do.
Edythe emerged from the trees after Jules, a few steps back and to the side. The sunlight shimmered off her skin, refracting a thousand colors like light through a prism. Her face was smooth, betraying not the slightest emotion.
Sarah trotted over to them, and to my surprise it was Edythe she went to first.
Edythe paused, then nodded. "Somehow, I'm not surprised," she murmured. "The timing is going to be very close... Ask Sam to ask Archie to look again, and try to nail down the schedule more exactly."
Sarah dipped her head once in response.
I blinked, and suddenly Edythe was right beside me. She gazed up at me, nothing but concern in her eyes. "Beau," she said softly. "There's been a bit of a complication... Sarah and I are going to go to try to help straighten it out." She added softly, "I won't be far away. But I won't be listening, either. I think it's better for you to have some privacy, no matter which way..."
Edythe's face was still perfectly composed, but she couldn't seem to finish the whispered words, and she looked sharply away.
No matter how well she hid it, I knew I was hurting her. I had to promise myself I would never do something like this to her again. I had to do this—I had to put an end to this once and for all.
I took her by the hand. "Hurry back," I said softly. "Okay?"
Edythe turned to look up at me one last time, and her smile was sad. She leaned up and pressed her icy lips lightly to mine, then she turned and disappeared into the forest, Sarah a second behind her.
Jules hadn't moved from the shadow of the trees. I could see her arms were folded, but I couldn't make out her expression. We stared at each other across the clearing for a long minute.
At last, slowly, mechanically, I moved forward, step by step. I didn't stop until I came to stand in front of her, not two meters away. I could see her face now. Her dark eyes were flat—devoid of hope, no more fight left.
"Go ahead and say it," she said dully. "I'm kind of in a hurry."
I swallowed, and my throat was suddenly bone dry. The words were there, right there, but I couldn't seem to make them come out.
"Just say it," Jules said again. And there was a bitter edge to her voice this time. "Say it and be done."
I swallowed again. "I—I'm sorry." My hoarse voice cracked. "I'm sorry, I've just...screwed everything up. From the beginning I should have—"
My throat closed up and I couldn't keep going.
"A clean break?" Jules guessed, her eyes studying me. "That's what you want to say, isn't it? We shouldn't be friends anymore, we should just break it off, you go away and I don't see you again."
I hesitated, surprised to hear her put voice to my own thoughts. I managed to force myself to nod—once, very slight.
Jules sighed. "It's not going to work."
"It's what's best," I finally managed to get out in a whisper. "It might hurt now, but in the long run—"
Jules gave a derisive laugh, devoid of humor, then her eyes locked with mine. "It won't work," she said again, more fiercely this time. "It won't work because it's what neither of us really wants. You don't want to be a martyr and give up on us as friends, and you won't be able to keep it up when you realize that the last thing I want is for you to be a martyr. That I'd rather experience this pain a thousand times than see you try to force yourself to stay away."
I opened my mouth—to argue—but she cut across me.
"You already know it won't work," she insisted. "When she left you, for your benefit, to try to make you fall out of love with her—tried to make a clean break—did it work? No. It made everything worse. And even if you make up your mind to stay away, you won't be able to. For a while I believed things might have been different if you hadn't jumped off that cliff—that she wouldn't have come back—but now I'm pretty sure she would have anyway. Because she couldn't stay away from you. She was obsessed with you—loved you too much. And you couldn't stay away from me either, when you saw how miserable I was, because—because you love me too, even if you don't realize it."
Before, when Jules would say those words, she always said them with a touch of smugness, and a spark of joy and hope would light her eyes. But now as she said it, I saw in her features nothing but despair.
Jules said softly, "I'm always going to be that person. A source of contention in your life...of guilt...guilt that you're causing her pain. You'll try to stay away for awhile... Then when you see how bad things are for me, you won't be able to help but come back to help me, and I won't be able to say no to that help, and then you'll feel guilty again... It'll just keep going like that. Unless I take that one step to stop it."
Jules's suddenly smiled, faintly, and for some reason the look sent a chill down my spine, far more than the look of despair.
She met my gaze, and her voice was stronger now, surer. "The only way to stop that from happening, the only way I can help you be happy without being held back, is for me to be completely out of the picture. Once and for all. Otherwise things will just keep going on as they have been, a circle, around and around. I don't trust myself, I know I can't stay away from you, even for your good. And I know you don't have the will to stay away from me, not when you know I'm miserable and how much I want—need to see you. I know you keep blaming yourself, but I'm the one who's been tearing you in two, Beau, and since I can't trust myself not to keep doing it, there's only one thing I can do."
She took a deep, steadying breath. Then she forced herself to smile. A gentle smile, kind...strong.
"I can't be the one to make you happy the way I wanted to. But I can at least do this for you. If I can give up something to help free you, help you be happy—then I'll be happy. Right up to the end."
She took a step back, still smiling with that smile that was at once sad and kind and strong. "I won't see you again, Beau. But I'll take as many of them down as I can. Who knows? Maybe it'll make things safer for the rest of your bloodsuckers."
She breathed, one last time. She whispered, "I love you."
A cold numbness had been spreading through me as she spoke, as the words sunk in one by one. I'd meant to cut her out of my life—forever. It was the best thing for everybody.
But as she turned her back on me, I felt the strength suddenly surge back into my limbs, frantic, wild—and I knew in that moment I would say or do absolutely anything to keep her from going. Because any pain was better than the pain of seeing her die.
Moving faster than I ever knew I could, so fast I felt for a moment like a vampire, I reached out and seized her by the wrist. My hand was closed so tightly I knew I would have hurt an ordinary girl. I felt a flicker of pain as my hand tightened, and I glanced down to see the bracelet with the wolf still on my wrist. There was a touch of dried blood staining the leather, from where it must have brushed against the spot where Edythe's thumb had gouged into my wrist.
"Don't," I whispered. "Don't go. Please."
Jules stared straight ahead at the forest. "Let go, Beau," she said quietly.
My grip tightened, and I wrapped my other hand around her arm too. I gripped so tightly my knuckles shone white through my skin, so tightly she'd have to break my hands to get free. "Don't go," I whispered. "Don't go. Don't leave. I'll do anything, I swear. Just...stay here."
Jules shook her head. "What do you expect me to do, Beau?" she asked quietly. "To play your best friend forever? To go to your wedding as...what? Your sister? I could try to live like that—but would you really want me to? You chose her, Beau. That's all there is to it. This is the best—the only option. When am I going to get a chance like this again? To be able to use what little is left of my life to the fullest and make my last moments mean something?"
"Please," I whispered, choking. "Please."
Jules took a step forward, trying to pull out of my grip—get me to let go.
I didn't. Instead, I stepped forward with her, tightening my grip even more. If she went, she was either going to have to drag me along, or else rip my hands off.
"Tell me," I whispered, my voice hoarse, almost wild, "tell me what I have to say. Tell me what I have to do so you won't do this."
She snorted softly. "You're so unfair," she muttered.
Jules turned around again to face me. Her dark eyes gazed into mine. She took a step forward, coming close to me. She moved closer until I could see the depths of brown in her irises, even in the shadows of the trees.
The way the sun was angled in the sky now, the light that hadn't reached into the forest was beginning to creep in. Where were stood, bits of sunlight were edging toward us, but still didn't quite reach, still blotted out by the shadow of the still branches above.
I still held her arm in my hands, but my grip was looser now. She shifted, and one of my hands fell back. I didn't move as I felt her wind an arm around my neck, like she had before outside her house at La Push. She pressed her other hand against my chest, and she gazed up into my eyes. I didn't look away, only stared back down into hers, my entire body perfectly still, unresisting.
She leaned her head to one side and whispered in my ear, "If you want me to come back, make me believe I still have a chance."
Then she shifted and I felt as she pressed her lips to mine.
I didn't try to fight her. I just stood there, like a stone statue, feeling the disconcerting soft, unfamiliar warmth, and wondering just how far I would go to keep her alive—to keep her from making some noble sacrifice and removing herself from a world where she was still so needed.
Jules pulled back. She was panting slightly, but there was no joy in her eyes, no more hope than a moment before. She smiled a little ruefully. "No chance," she said softly. "It's pointless. But I already knew that."
She started to pull away.
One of my hands flew up, seizing her by the shoulder, and the other locking around her waist. Refusing to let her go.
She glanced up, startled, then her face settled back into a blank mask. "Let go, Beau," she said quietly. She pressed both hands lightly against my chest. I knew she could have easily pulled free if she wanted to, but instead she only signaled, trying to get me to let go by my own choice.
But I didn't. Instead, I just glared down at her, suddenly angry. Furious—furious at the thought of her giving up on life, of her taking herself away from everyone who loved her, taking herself away from me. If she really loved me like she kept saying she did, why was she doing this to me? How could she think this would ever make things better for me?
Jules looked up into my face, her brow furrowed with an anger of her own. "I was wrong," she said quietly. "You don't love me. If you did, you would understand why I have to do this. But you don't."
For some reason, at that moment, as I gazed into her eyes and she said those words—an accusation that I didn't know until that moment would cut through me like a dagger—something shifted inside me. Like the shifting of rock on a mountain, sliding away to reveal something that had been buried deep underneath, concealed, underneath walls and walls of defenses.
Before I had time to recover, Jules's arm was around my neck again, and her hand was on my face. Her warm lips were suddenly against mine again, this time angry, almost forceful.
I don't know why she did it. Maybe she wanted one last memory before she went out in a blaze of glory, or maybe she thought it was the only way she might get me to let go.
But either way, it took me by surprise, her rough, raw emotion and passion pouring into me, catching me precisely at the moment when my defenses were gone.
Because I suddenly realized the truth—the truth that, as Jules had said, I hadn't been able to let myself admit, even to myself.
I stumbled backward, and suddenly we were both in the glittering sunlight. But I wasn't aware of it, or the brisk, wintry morning air. I felt like I was burning—burning where her skin touched mine, her lips against mine. My arm held her tightly against me, and my hand was in her hair.
In that moment, it felt like we were one person. Her pain was my pain, her joy was my joy. I wanted to help her bear her burdens, I wanted to make her happy... As love always did. Some part of me, the part I didn't know until this moment existed, didn't want this moment to end.
Because I knew, when it ended, her joy now would become the deepest pain, which would be my pain. I knew I deserved it, however bad it was. Because as much as I might love her, it wasn't enough. It didn't change anything—I loved her just enough to hurt her more than ever before.
Though I already knew how this would end, images flickered unbidden through my mind. For the first time, a future I'd never imagined opened up before me—a future I already knew without a shadow of a doubt would not happen. I saw myself at La Push, and Charlie and Bonnie and Sam. I saw the lines form around my eyes as the years passed, as time moved as it was supposed to, as I waited at home for her to return, ready with support and advice and love as she protected her family and the rest of the tribe. Her family—last of all I saw little ones, little kids with black hair. A son, a daughter. Who we'd love together, protect and teach, until they grew older, and the cycle of life continued.
Then the images faded. I felt something crack inside my chest, then tear away. And I knew it was the part of my heart that looked to this new vision of the future, not the one I'd already chosen. The part of me that longed for it.
Jules pulled away from me first. She gazed up at me, her eyes wide with shock and wonder. But they seemed to be dancing.
"I have to go," she whispered.
"No," I said, holding her more tightly.
She smiled. "I won't be long," she said softly. And then she leaned up and kissed me lightly, gently, before she pulled away from my weak grasp. She turned away, disappearing swiftly into the forest.
I watched her go, and then I felt my head bow.