and we walk after (alt version) - edward cullen x reader
taglist: @dilfsandtherapy @eddiemunsons-lover @anongirl007 @wintersolstice24 @hvneyxbumblee @phoenixgurl030 @staaarhin @goosy-goose @noodle81937 @serapinaxx @cyberdejos2 @devilslittlehelper @urdeftonesgrrrl @princesskatxo @zzma-rs @meeeeeeee-stuff
You couldn’t go into master bedroom without him being there.
Instead, you drifted to the library. You didn’t turn on the main light, letting the moonlight stream through the tall windows. It silvered the spines of thousands of books Edward had collected. You ran your fingers along the leather, not reading titles, just feeling the texture.
Your body felt restless, thrumming with an energy that had no outlet. The day with Eliza had filled your heart but had done nothing to soothe the deeper, physical ache Edward’s departure had ignited.
You leaned against a bookshelf, your forehead pressing against the wood. You were bored. You imagined him traveling, moving faster than sight through ancient, dark places. Was this how Edward in his eternity felt before he met you? You sighed as you wait until the sun came up.
Tucked not among the ancient leather bound tomes or the modern novels, but on a small, separate shelf beside the deep armchair Edward favored, was a neat, new stack of graphic novels. The spines were bright, the art stylized and modern. You drifted closer, frowning. Scott Pilgrim, Volume 1. Scott Pilgrim, Volume 2. You pulled the first one out. It was pristine. On the inside cover, in Edward’s precise, elegant script, was an inscription.
I thought you might appreciate the nostalgia. —E
A sound escaped your throat. It was halfway between a laugh and a sob. As a mortal, you loved these comics, the vibrant, chaotic energy of them, how you always guiltily imagined what it would be like to have a boyfriend of your own to fight your nonexistent exes. How you turned Edward onto this series even when you didn’t know of his immortality because you thought it was weird that a “seventeen” year old didn’t know it. So much has happened then.
The careful, loving thoughtfulness of his gesture broke through the cold shell of your sadness. You clutched the book to your chest, sinking into the armchair. For a moment, you let the tears come, silent, venom filling your sight but yet, not falling. Not just tears for his absence, but for the sheer, overwhelming weight of being known so completely, of being loved in such meticulous detail.
When the tears finally stopped piling, you opened the book. Your vampire mind consumed it hastily, the panels flashing by, the dialogue absorbed in seconds. The quirky fights, the video game logic, the earnest romance, it was a perfect, ridiculous antidote to the tension of the night. You finished the first volume, set it aside, and picked up the second. You read it just as happily, a smile tugging at your lips at Ramona’s different dyed hair, at Scott’s clueless charm. You read it slowly to savor it.
By the time you set the third volume down, the sky outside the tall windows was softening from black to deep indigo. Dawn was coming. Eliza would be up soon. The thought was a lifeline.
The hunt was a swift, silent affair. Eliza, was a focused little shadow. Your unique gift, the calming aura that soothed wildlife, made it disturbingly easy. A young tapir, drawn curiously from the undergrowth, stood placidly as Eliza watched with wide, solemn eyes as you moved with impossible speed, a quick, painless end.
Afterward, with the thirst sated and the evidence buried deep, the mood lightened. The morning sun was now fully up, filtering through the canopy in bright, dappled shafts. The air was warm and heavy with the scent of blooming orchids and damp earth. Eliza was fanning her face with a large leaf.
You looked at your daughter’s flushed cheeks, “You know what we haven’t done yet?”
“Swim in our own river…By the waterfall.” you smile.
Eliza’s eyes lit up like twin suns.
The stream that fed the waterfall widened into a deep, clear pool not far from the villa, shaded by towering ferns and smooth, sun warmed rocks. The water was cool and inviting.
The shock of the cool water was delicious for Eliza. Eliza squealed, then immediately launched a splash attack. You laughed, the sound echoing off the rocks, and appropriately splashed back. For the next hour, you two were just a mother and daughter playing in the water. You both raced from rock to rock and after teaching Eliza, you both floated on your backs looking at the sky. Looking at the shapes that clouds formed. Eliza practiced her handstand, her half vampire strength making it easy for her legs to hold steady.
The camera came out again after you fished it out of your pant pocket of your loose shorts. The “picture game” was renewed with aquatic fervor. You sat in a crouch on one of the rocks and captured Eliza mid cannonball, a blur of limbs and joyful spray. Eliza’s turn was next and she leaned in really close to your face and snapped a blurry picture of your surprised smile, comically up close to the camera. You both laughed until her sides ached, the absence of Edward forgotten in the simple, sun drenched pleasure of the moment.
Back at the villa, with towels wrapped around her, you ran a bath for Eliza. The large, sunken tub filled with warm water and a capful of scented bubbles. Eliza played with the foam, making bubble beards and crowns, displaying unadulterated childish delight.
After the bath and wrapped in soft pajamas, Eliza padded into the media room. The villa had a small, cozy space with a large screen and shelves of DVDs and streaming capabilities. Edward, ever thorough, had stocked it with everything from nature documentaries to classic films.
You scanned the shelves, your eyes skipping over the titles. As the movie played, Eliza never took her eyes away. The credits were near and Eliza finally slumped back against you, her energy spent. Her eyes were drooping.
“Did you like it?” you whispered, stroking her hair.
Eliza nodded, already half asleep. She yawned massively. You gathered your sleeping daughter into your arms, carrying her to bed. As you tucked her in, Eliza was already asleep, a small smile on her lips, doubtless dreaming of the movie she just watched.
You didn’t move, watching her colorful dreams as you held her palm to your cheek. The aching loneliness for Edward, it was all still there, a cold knot in your stomach that sat like a heavy rock. But over it lay the warm, fragile blanket of the day you’d built: the laughter in the water, the shared pictures, the movie, the peace of a sleeping child.
You turned and walked back through the silent villa. You didn’t go to the library. You went to your bedroom. The bed was still too big, too empty. You only wore his shirt. You climbed into bed.
Hugging the pillow that smelled like him, you closed your eyes. In your mind, you replayed the day as you laughed with Eliza, the clear water, the weight of the graphic novel in your hands.
You lay in the center, Edward’s scent was fading by the hour and the fabric felt hollow. The emptiness wasn’t just physical, it was a void in your chest, a sucking vacuum where his presence had been. You turned over, burying your face in his pillow, but the cotton was all you found.
A sob broke from your throat, raw and unexpected. You sobbed with unshed tears until your mind was exhausted, the emotional storm leaving you drained and shivering despite your immortal warmth.
“This is ridiculous.” you thought, wiping your face with some of your shirt. He’s only been gone a day. A day in this new, precarious life felt like a century. You couldn’t stay there. The master suite was a monument to absence.
Moving on instinct, you slipped out of the bed, his shirt hanging loosely on your frame. You padded silently down the hall, the tile silent under your footsteps. The door to Eliza’s room was ajar, as always. Moonlight spilled in, painting silver stripes across the floor and over the roomy bed where your daughter slept.
Eliza was curled on her side, one hand tucked under her chin. Her bronze hair fanned out across the pillow, a beautiful, chaotic halo. Her breathing was deep and even, her face smooth with the perfect peace of childhood sleep.
You stood watching for a long moment. Then, without a sound, you crawled onto the bed. You were careful not to disturb the blankets, slipping in beside Eliza’s small form. You lay on your back, staring at the ceiling, but the simple proximity was a balm. The warmth of your daughter’s body, the soft sound of her breath, the innocent trust in her slumber, it grounded you. The frantic, lonely ache in your chest began to soften, to dissipate into the quiet dark.
You just lay there with your eyes closed, listening, protecting, until the jungle outside began to lighten with the first hints of dawn. She was so warm and perfect in your arms, dreaming peacefully. You worried so much about Eliza’s speeding age, worried that she would only have little over a decade of life. When Eliza stirred, blinking her large eyes open, you were still there, listening to the faint roar of the waterfall.
Eliza whispered, rubbing her hand on your cheek, her voice thick with sleep, “Did you have a bad dream, mommy?”
You slowly opened your eyes as you smiled softly, a real one this time, she had mature concern on her face, “No, bad dreams. I just wanted to be near you.”
Eliza nodded, accepting this without question. She snuggled closer, her small head resting on your chest and within minutes, she was asleep again.
You stayed until full morning light filled the room. Then, you slipped out, leaving Eliza to wake naturally. You changed into soft clothes and started the day.
You slowly walk to the stereo in the living room. Clicking it on, sound came out. The first song burst forth, synth and drums bouncing off the walls. Eliza, who had been quietly drawing at the table, froze. Her head tilted. Then, a smile broke across her face, wide and brilliant. She dropped her marker, stood up, and began to move.
She grew a bit taller since the previous night. Instead of a small two year old, she looked to have been well into two years old. You secretly were glad that pictures were taken from the picture game.
It wasn’t choreographed. It was pure, joyous expression. She twirled, her arms flying out. She jumped, her feet leaving the floor. She shuffled side to side, her hair swinging. It was the uninhibited dance of a child lost in the moment.
You grabbed the digital camera from the side table. You started snapping pictures, capturing the fleeting moments of pure happiness. Eliza spinning, her face alight with laughter. Eliza leaping, a blur of motion against the green view through the window. Eliza pausing, giving a silly, exaggerated pose.
The frozen images on the screen were bursts of joy, antidotes to the night’s loneliness. Then, mid spin, Eliza stopped. She ran over, her small hand reaching out not for the camera, but for your wrist. She insisted, pulling with surprising half vampire strength. She wanted you to dance with her.
You laughed, a sound that felt foreign and wonderful in your own throat, “I’m taking pictures!”
“I’ll take them!” Eliza started grabbing the camera. It was still a bit too big for her hands, but she clutched it with determination, “You dance!” She waited patiently. It reminded you so much of Edward.
You hesitated for only a second. You let the music, the sunlight, your daughter’s infectious joy, wash over you. It was awkward at first, your movements self conscious. Eliza’s grinning encouragement was a powerful tonic. You swayed, you smiled, you spun. You let your body remember what it felt like to be careless, to be free. It was therapeutic in a way, dancing the turmoil away.
Eliza, meanwhile, was clicking the camera with wild abandon. She didn’t frame the shots. She just pointed and pressed. The results, when you glanced at the screen later, were a chaotic, beautiful mess: blurry flashes of your smiling face, a streak of your tank top as you turned, a captured moment of your hands in the air, fingers splayed.
You both held hands and danced until the radio cycled to a slower song. You both dramatically collapsed together on the floor, breathless and giggling, the camera discarded beside you two. Eliza leaned against you, her small body warm and vibrating with leftover energy.
Eliza sighed, contentedly. She thought it was fun.
“Yeah..It was the best.” You agreed, wrapping an arm around her.
The peace of the moment was profound. It felt like a shield, a tiny fortress of happiness you had built together. Then, a sharp, electronic ring shattered it. You both turned synchronously. The sound came from the old, corded house phone sitting on a table in the hallway, a relic Edward had insisted on for landline reliability. Its ring was loud, persistent, and utterly unexpected.
Eliza’s eyes widened, she scrambled up, “Can I answer? Can I?”
“No, I got it.” you said, your voice calm but firm. You had no idea who it was. You felt a fierce protectiveness. You stood up, your body tense, “Let me.”
You walked to the phone, every step measured. Your hand hovered over the receiver. The ringing persisted, demanding. You picked it up.
“Speak.” you said lowly, your voice hesitant, guarded.
A beat of silence. Then, a voice, smooth and familiar, flowed through the line, “Hello, darling.”
The relief was so sudden, so intense, it was like a physical blow. Your shoulders slumped, a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding rushed out of you. A smile broke across your face, so wide it felt like it might crack your marble cheeks.
“Edward.” you breathed, the name a prayer.
Eliza, who had crept close, whispered, “Is it Daddy?”
You nodded, your eyes shining. You crouched down, bringing the phone to Eliza’s level, “It’s Daddy. Say hi.” you said, your voice thick with emotion. You clicked the speaker button.
“Eliza?” Edward’s voice came through, clear and warm.
“Hi, daddy.” Eliza leaned close to the phone on the table, “I love you. I miss you.”
A soft, heartfelt chuckle came from the speaker. “I love you too. I miss you more than the moon misses the sun.”
Eliza giggled at the poetic turn. Then, her eyes sparkled with a mischievous light, “Um..Are you having fun on your adventure? Because… me and mommy…we are having so much fun. Maybe you should stay longer!”
Your jaw drops and Eliza covers one hand with her mouth as she does a horrible job at stifling her mischievous giggle as she sees the look on your face.
There was a pause. Then Edward’s voice came back, perfectly timed with comically exaggerated shock. “What? You want me to stay away?”
“Umm…Maybe?” she says innocently but mischievously.
You laughed at her humor, “Oh my gosh, don’t say that.”
Eliza, delighted with the reaction, scampered away, her laughter ringing as she resumed her dancing in the great room, another repetitive pop song came on, now with the added thrill of having teased her father.
You picked up the phone, holding it to your ear as you wandered away from the noisy great room, toward the quieter library. The connection was crisp, no static. He must be somewhere with excellent satellite coverage.
“She’s so cheeky.” You said, your voice softening into a private, intimate tone.
“She’s perfect,” Edward replied, his voice dropping to that low, velvet register that was only for you, “And so are you. How are you holding up, my love?”
The simple question unlocked the floodgate. You leaned against a bookshelf, the solid wood grounding you, “The days are fine. We play, we explore, take pictures, we… dance. But the nights…” You swallowed, the vulnerability stark in your voice, “The nights are… lonely not going to lie... The bed is too big. The quiet is too loud.”
You heard a soft intake of breath on the other end, “I know,” he murmured, the ache in his own voice mirroring yours, “The nights are the worst…I think of you constantly.”
“I miss you,” you whispered, the words simple and devastating, “I miss the weight of you. The silence of you just sitting next to me. I miss… everything.”
“I miss the scent of your skin,” he said, his voice a hushed confession, “I miss the way you sigh into my neck when you’re well spent.. I miss the geometry of your body against mine.”
A warm, mushy feeling spread through your chest, sweet and aching. You smiled into the phone, a private, tender smile, “You’ll make me cry again.”
“You’ve been crying?” he asked gently in shock.
“Yeah. I told you the nights are hard.” you whispered sadly.
“Then I’ll kiss the sadness away when I return,” he promised, the words a soft vow, “The nights are long and hard for me too…And it won’t be long. The work is… progressing. I’m finding paths. Answers.”
“That’s good.” you said, needing to believe it.
“And,” he continued, his tone shifting to something lower, more intense. A promise not of comfort, but of anticipation, “The loneliness… it won’t last. When I am back, our bed will not feel big. That quiet will be filled. I will make sure you… remember.”
The implication was clear, heated. It wasn’t just a promise of presence, it was a promise of reclamation, of a physical reunion that would erase the empty nights. A slow, warm spark spread across your skin, starting at your lower stomach and radiating outward. You felt it in your fingertips, in the base of your spine.
“I’ll..I’ll hold you to that.” you breathed, your voice barely audible.
“I expect you to.” he replied, you could hear a hint of his playful smirk in the tone.
You both stayed like that for a few more minutes, speaking in soft, murmured exchanges that were more about sharing the space between words than the words themselves. The logistics of his travel, the practicalities of you and Eliza’s days, all that was unimportant. You both just connected, across the vast distance, through the thin thread of the phone line.
Finally, with a shared, reluctant sigh, you both said your goodbyes, “Alright well…Please be safe. Please. And I love you.” You whispered.
“Im always safe and…I love you more..” he answered.
The click of the call ending was a small, sharp loss. You stood in the library, the phone still in your hand, the warmth of his voice lingering in your ears. The mushy, tender feeling inside you blossomed into a sharper, more focused longing.
The afternoon sun slanted through the library’s tall windows, painting warm, lazy rectangles across the rug. Eliza sat at the low table, her small brow furrowed in concentration as she guided a green crayon across a large sheet of paper. She was drawing the jungle, but her jungle was full of impossible, wonderful things, a frog wearing a crown, a tree with piano key bark, a waterfall that flowed upward into a smiling sun.
You sat across from her, a sketchpad open on your own lap, a piece of charcoal held loosely in your fingers. You were trying to draw the curve of Eliza’s cheek, the way her dark lashes fanned against her skin when she looked down. But your mind was elsewhere, a low, persistent hum of worry and longing that you couldn’t silence. It was a quiet homesickness for a person, not a place. Edward’s voice on the phone had been a balm, but it had also reopened the wound of his absence.
As you gazed at your daughter that warm blanket sensation began to seep out of you. It wasn’t intentional. Your unique gift, the calming morphine aura that could soothe wildlife, sometimes leaking when your emotions were high, a soft, shift in the air. Today, in the enclosed, sun drenched room, it had nowhere else to go.
Eliza’s hand, moving the crayon in broad, green strokes, suddenly stilled. Her large eyes, fixed on her drawing, went distant. She blinked slowly, then her head turned. She looked not at your face, but at the space around her, as if seeing a shimmer in the air.
“Momma?” she whispered, her voice soft with curiosity, not fear.
“Yes? What’s wrong?” you asked, setting your charcoal down. You hoped she didn’t feel weird but you weren’t quite sure on how to actively control your effect just yet.
Eliza didn’t answer with words. She pushed her chair back, the legs scraping softly on the tile. She walked around the table, her movements deliberate. She stopped before you and with a tenderness that belied her young age, placed her small, warm hand on your cheek.
The touch was a connection, a circuit closing. It was a memory. Eliza’s.
The library dissolved. It was back to the Cullen living room. Back to the night Eliza was born.
You watched as Rosalie hummed softly to the baby as she masked her worries, she heard the oncoming hard pounding paws that were making their way to their property. You froze as she was finally showing you what really happened the night of her birth.
Edward stood at the edge of the Cullen property, his body rigid, his clothes stained dark with your blood. It clung to him, your scent that was sharp, metallic, wrong. Too much of it, far too much. The wolf could smell it.
Your chest ached as you heard as Paul slams into Edward with enough force to shatter bark and splinter earth, sending Edward flying through a stand of trees like a broken doll. Wood cracks. Stone fractures. Edward hits the ground hard enough that the shockwave ripples outward.
Alice moves first, too fast, too instinctive. Paul turns on her with terrifying speed.
His jaws snap inches from her throat, the force of the near miss throwing her violently aside. Jasper goes for Paul’s flank, claws digging in but Paul whips around and throws him off, the wolf’s bulk sheer and unstoppable fury. Paul attacks Edward again as they tumble in the snow.
Edward wrenched his broken arm free, ignoring the way it hung uselessly, and drove his other fist into Paul’s jaw.
The words of Edward trying to tell Paul that you weren’t dead but still alive, meant nothing. Paul shook him like prey. He slammed Edward into the ground again, jaws snapping, teeth grazing Edward’s throat.
Edward struggles to rise. His ribs crushed inward, several already shattered through ruptured marble skin. He barely has time to get his feet under him before Paul is back on him, jaws closing around Edward’s shoulder and tearing. Marble flies. Paul growled and snarled as he roared into Edward’s face beneath him.
Teeth and claws ripping through marble hard skin like it’s paper. Edward can hear bones snapping, can feel his body failing in ways it hasn’t in a century. Paul rears back, jaws opening aiming for Edward’s throat.
The command hits like thunder. Sam’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and absolute, the alpha command slamming into Paul’s mind with brutal force.
Carlisle and Esme break through the trees at the same moment. Carlisle launches himself at Paul’s still wolf form, gripping fur and flesh, forcing the violent wolf back. Esme is right behind him, her face twisted with horror as she sees Edward’s torn body barely holding together.
Edward doesn’t move. Carlisle is at his side instantly.
Edward’s body is torn open, skin split, fractures everywhere. He’s barely conscious, golden eyes dim and unfocused. Carlisle doesn’t waste time. Venom is already working with his hands, sealing wounds, forcing marble back into place, knitting Edward together with surgical precision born of centuries.
“They’re fine. She’s healing. She will be okay.” Carlisle whispered to a worrying Edward. Once Edward is stabilized, Carlisle moves with Esme, you see through the baby’s eyes as they enter the room upstairs where you were laid in.
“She’s changing.” Esme whispered.
“Yes,” Carlisle says softly, “But slowly. Her ability is cushioning it. Protecting her.”
The wolves retreat under Sam’s command.
The memory, Eliza’s perception of it, lingered like a poison. The bliss of Eliza’s birth, the consuming love, had been violently spliced with the horror of that attack. You had known, abstractly, that there had been an incident. Edward had proof, the scars earned but he hadn’t let Eliza shown you when she was trying to. He had been characteristically vague, minimizing it.
He had never let you see the brutal reality of it. Chunks of his skin bitten off. The visceral, savage detail of it. Paul hadn’t just fought him. He had tried to kill him, to tear the immortal beauty from his frame out of sheer, possessive spite.
A wave of what almost felt like nausea, rolled through you followed by a sorrow so profound it felt like a physical weight on your chest. Your eyes filled with unshed tears.
Eliza was watching you, her small face solemn when she slowly took her hand away. She seemed older now, burdened by the knowledge she’d just shared. She didn’t understand the full context of the rivalry, the possessive desire. However, she understood pain.
“It was quiet after.” Eliza said softly, picking up her green crayon again. She looked down at her drawing, where the happy frog now sat.
You reached out, your hand trembling, and brushed a strand of hair from Eliza’s face, “Um…Thank you…F-for..for showing me,” you managed to say, though the gratitude was tangled with grief, “Even the scary parts.”
Eliza just nodded, her attention shifting with the mercurial speed of childhood. The dark memory was forgotten as she focused on giving her crowned frog a friend, a bright yellow bird with a big beak. The profound, painful intimacy of the shared memory was shelved, packed away in the face of present, simple creation.
You sat in the silence, the sunshine feeling suddenly cold. The scars Edward carried, they weren’t just marks like he tried to downplay them to be. They were a monument to how close you both had come to losing everything before it even began.
“Can we play dolls?” she asked, her tone shifting to bright expectation.
It was the perfect distraction, offered by a child who was blissfully, mercifully oblivious to the tectonic shift in you.
“Yes,” you said, your voice finding strength, “We can play dolls.”
You both settled on the woven rug in the great room, the jungle light streaming in around them. Eliza arranged her dolls with solemn importance, a mother doll, a child doll, a father doll she placed a little distance away, “He’s traveling.” she explained, mimicking the earlier words.
You picked up the mother doll, your fingers tracing its simple face. You let Eliza lead the story, letting your daughter’s imagination dictate the narrative. They were in a house. The mother and child were having a party and dancing. The father was away, but he would come home soon.
Eliza’s world was one of simple needs and immediate joys. There were only dolls, braids, and imaginary scenarios. In that world, you found a temporary refuge. Your sadness for Edward was still there, a quiet ache in your chest, but it was muffled now, layered under the sound of your daughter’s voice and the feel of yarn hair between your fingers.
The question was innocent, yet it pierced through the layers. You looked at your daughter, at the open, trusting face.
“Yes,” you said, leaning forward to kiss Eliza’s forehead, “I am always happy when I’m with you.”
After hunting, you both made it through the jungle, the path familiar. The sun was high, beating down through the canopy in dappled patches. The hunt, the feeding, had taken the edge off of your own restlessness, the ache of Edward’s absence that had been simmering beneath your skin.
Eliza, skipping ahead on the path, suddenly stopped and looked at the small, clear stream that ran beside the home. It was a tributary of a larger river, wide enough to swim, shaded by overhanging trees.
“Can we go swimming, Mommy? Please?” she asked, turning her hopeful face toward you. “It’s hot.”
“Yes,” you said, smiling. “We can swim.” The water looked inviting.
You both stepped into the water, Eliza squealed, a pure, happy sound, and splashed her hands, sending droplets flying.
You laughed, the sound feeling foreign and good in your throat. You sank into the water, letting it envelop you. You both swam, not with purpose, but with joy. Eliza showed off her newfound skill, tumbling in the water, doing clumsy somersaults. Then, with a serious expression, she announced, “I can do a longer handstand.”
“Show me, then.” you challenged but teased.
You watched, intrigued. Eliza moved to a shallower part where the sandy bottom was firm. She planted her hands, kicked her legs up, and held the position. It wasn’t perfect, her legs wobbled, her balance was precarious. But she held it for a count of three, four seconds before splashing down.
“Did you see it! I did it!” she exclaimed, her face shining with triumph.
Your chest swelled with pride. “Whoa. You did! You’re so cool, Eliza!” You swam closer, kissing her cheek.
You both played more, diving under to chase imaginary fish. Eliza’s laughter echoed off the trees, a bright counterpoint to the jungle’s constant hum.
Then, as you both floated on your backs, after you taught her how to, looking up at the patches of sky through the leaves, Eliza pointed to a cluster of small, silver fish darting near the bank. “They’re scared of us.” she observed. She was almost sad.
You watched the fish. They were skittish, darting away from their shadows.
“Maybe we can make them not scared.” You said, your voice soft.
Eliza turned her head in the water, her eyes curious. “How?”
“We just..Have to be nice and still.”
It was quiet besides the sounds of nature.
You focused. You let the familiar, soothing energy, the effect Edward called your morphine gift, unfold from your chest. It wasn’t a push, it was a gentle release, a soft, calming wave that emanated from you into the water around you two. You strained a bit as you focused really hard and directed it toward the cluster of fish.
The effect was almost instantaneous. The frantic, darting movements slowed. The fish stopped fleeing. They drifted closer, their small bodies moving with a languid, curious grace. One, a little larger than the others, ventured right up to Eliza’s face, floating near her cheek.
Eliza giggled, a sound of pure delight. “It’s looking at me!”
The fish, emboldened by your calming aura, nudged closer. Its tiny mouth touched Eliza’s cheek, a soft, brushing contact. Then another fish came, touching her chin. It looked, for a moment, like the fish were kissing her, gentle, aquatic pecks against her skin.
Eliza’s laughter bubbled up, free and joyous. “They’re kissing me! Mommy, look!”
You watched, her smile wide and effortless but you tried to hold it as long as you could. Her joy was worth it all. Your daughter’s face, lit with wonder, the silver fish dancing around her like affectionate, living jewelry, it was a scene of such profound, simple beauty that it stole your breath. You held the aura, maintaining it, letting this tiny miracle unfold.
Eliza reached out a hand, slowly, carefully. The fish didn’t dart away. One allowed her finger to stroke its side. “They’re so pretty.” she whispered.
You both stayed like that for long minutes, floating in the stream, surrounded by fearless fish. The world was reduced to this: water, light, laughter, and magic. The gnawing worry for Edward, the constant background fear of discovery, the weight of their immortal secrets, all of it faded, washed away by the stream and your daughter’s joy.
Eventually, you let the aura fade. The fish, slowly regaining their natural caution, drifted back into the deeper shadows. Eliza sighed, a contented sound. She declared, that was the best.
You both swam a little more, then climbed out dripping. The sun was starting to set now. Eliza skipping ahead, humming a tuneless song.
After helping her get fully dry and dressed, Eliza, energized and happy, ran ahead into the great room, declaring she wanted to draw the fish she’d seen. You followed, your steps slower.
The villa was profoundly silent. The memory of Edward’s injuries played behind your eyes like a haunting film reel.
Eliza stood, her sketchbook in hand. “I’m drawing the kissing fish,” she announced. “Will you draw with me?”
You sat with Eliza at the table, helping her capture the memory of the silvery fish, their gentle touches. Your daughter’s concentration was absolute, her small hand moving the pencil with careful strokes.
As Eliza drew, your gaze drifted to the window. The jungle stretched out, green and endless. Where is he now? you wondered. Is he safe? Is he close to finding the ancients?
Eliza finished her drawing, a simple but charming depiction of a girl with fish kissing her face. She held it up proudly. “For Daddy,” she said. “When he comes back.”
“He will love it.” you said, your voice soft as you stared at the drawing. You didn’t draw as good as her until you were eleven years old.
When evening fell, and Eliza was bathed and dressed in her purple pajamas, you felt the solitude of the night approaching like a physical weight. You tucked Eliza into bed, listening to her soft, sleepy chatter about the fish, about the handstand, about the fish again.
“Will daddy be back tomorrow?” Eliza asked, her eyes already closing.
“I don’t know about tomorrow,” you whispered, stroking her hair. “But soon, okay?”
Eliza nodded, accepting this with the easy trust of a child. She fell asleep quickly, her breath becoming slow and even.
You stood in the doorway of her room, watching the small, peaceful form in the bed. The love you felt was a fierce, protective flame.
The days passed, a soft blur of routines and gentle laughter. Edward’s absence was a hollow space in the villa, but Eliza, with her boundless energy and simple needs, filled it with color and motion. You clung to that, letting Eliza’s world become your own.
You both played dolls in the great room, on the floor by the large windows overlooking the jungle. Eliza had a collection of hand carved wooden figures from Esme who packed them.
You made note to call her. You wondered what the others were doing.
You sat with her, your immortal grace making your movements slow and deliberate, your voice soft as you answered Eliza’s questions and added to the narratives.
“The momma doll is going to the market,” Eliza declared, moving the mother figure across the rug. “She needs to buy bread.”
“What kind of bread?” you asked, leaning back against a cushion.
“Sweet bread,” Eliza decided, her brow furrowed in concentration. “For a party.”
“For the daddy doll, when he comes home.”
The words, innocent and hopeful, struck you with a quiet ache. You smiled, reaching out to adjust the father doll, placing him near a carved house. “He will love the sweet bread.” you said.
Eliza beamed, then launched into a new story about a lost kitten.
After play, there was drawing. Eliza’s sketchbook filled with images of the kissing fish, of the capybara, of the jungle trees, and increasingly, of a man with bronze hair and golden eyes. She drew Edward with a child’s simplicity, a smile too wide, eyes like suns. She would hold up each picture, asking, “Is this how Daddy looks?”
“It’s perfect.” you would say every time, your chest swelling with a mix of pride and sorrow.
Evenings were for reading. You would sit on the large couch, Eliza curled against your side, a book of fairy tales open on your lap. You read aloud, your voice a steady, melodic stream in the quiet room. Eliza would listen as long as it wasn’t the same story she’s heard before, her head resting on your shoulder, her small hand sometimes reaching up to touch your cheek.
“You have a soft face, Momma.” she murmured one night, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw.
You paused your reading, looking down at your daughter. “Do I?”
The childish comparison made you laugh, a genuine, warm sound that felt good in your chest. You kissed Eliza’s forehead, “Your face is soft too.”
As the days stacked, a new ritual emerged. Eliza, who had always slept soundly in her own bed, began to resist being alone at night. The first time, she stood at the doorway of your bedroom, her doll clutched tightly.
“I can’t sleep.” she whispered, her large eyes wide and pleading.
You, who had been staring at the empty side of your own bed, felt a surge of empathy. “Okay. Come here.” you said.
Eliza padded over and climbed into the bed, settling against your side. She fell asleep quickly, her breath evening out into a soft rhythm. You lay awake, listening to it, feeling the small weight of her body.
The next night, Eliza came again. Then, she didn’t even ask, she simply walked in and curled up. You didn’t protest. You welcomed it. The bed felt less empty, less cavernous, with Eliza’s small form occupying the space where Edward should be.
Eliza, already half asleep, turned onto her side facing you. In the dark, her small hand crept out, searching. It found your cheek. Her palm rested there, warm and gentle. You froze, surprised by the touch. Eliza’s fingers relaxed, her hand simply cupping your face, a gesture of pure, unconscious affection.
A whisper of color, a flicker of shape, danced at the edge of your consciousness. It was faint, like a reflection in a pond disturbed by a breeze. You simply let your own mind stay open, receptive. Slowly, the colors solidified. The shapes formed.
Tears, silent, welled in your eyes. You didn’t move, didn’t disturb Eliza’s hand on your cheek. You let the images wash through you, let the love emanating from your daughter’s dream state fill your own hollow spaces. It was a gift more precious than any answer Edward might bring from the ancients. It was proof, in the purest form, that you and his life, you and his choice, you and his love, had created this.
Your hand was on the door handle of your bedroom when you heard it. You only wanted to roam the quiet villa while Eliza was in bed sleeping in your bed.
A sound from the front of the house made you freeze. Not the threatening scrape of a predator testing locks. This was a key. The soft, precise click of the deadbolt turning. Then the faintest creak of the heavy teak door swinging inward on well oiled hinges.
A familiar draft swept down the hall, carrying with it the scent of high altitude air, ancient stone dust, and him.
You was moving before you could think. A vampire’s speed, a silent blur down the hallway, through the great room. The front door was just closing. A tall, lean silhouette stood in the dim foyer.
“Edward.” his name was a breath, a sob, a prayer torn from your lungs.
Moonlight from the high windows caught the planes of his face, the tousled bronze hair, the sharp cheekbones, the golden eyes that widened, then burned with an intensity that stole the air from the room. He looked weary, travel stained, but whole. So beautifully, perfectly whole.
You didn’t walk. You dashed, crossing the space in a heartbeat, and launched yourself at him.
He caught you effortlessly, his arms wrapping around you so tightly you felt your ribs almost creak. You buried your face in the fabric of his shirt, inhaling the real, present scent of him, feeling the solid, unyielding reality of his chest against hers. No memory, no ghost. Him.
“You’re here,” your voice muffled against his collar, “You’re really here.”
His hands came up, one cradling the back of your head, the other splaying across your spine, holding you as if you might disappear, “I told you it wouldn’t be long.” he murmured into your neck, his voice rough with emotion.
You pulled back just enough to see his face, your hands flying up to cradle his jaw, your thumbs tracing the arch of his cheekbones, the line of his lips, as if memorizing him anew. The images from the memory, the torn skin, flashed before you, but here was his perfect, marble skin, smooth and warm under your immortal touch. The scars were there, hidden under his shirt, but he was here, alive, holding you.
“I missed you,” you breathed, the words tumbling out in a frantic, desperate stream, “I missed you so much it hurt. The bed was too big, the quiet was too loud, and Eliza showed me… she showed me…” The tears came then, never spilling over, “What he did to you. I saw it.”
His expression softened, a flicker of pain in his golden eyes, “Shhh,” he whispered, dipping his head to kiss your cheeks. His lips were achingly gentle, “That was a lifetime ago. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” you insisted, your fingers tangling in his hair, “It matters to me. You could have…”
He silenced you with a kiss. His mouth found yours with a hunger that mirrored your own, a pent up need that exploded at the point of contact. You kissed him back with a desperate relief into the meeting of your lips.
You both broke apart, only to come together again and again. You kissed him over and over, each press of your lips to his a punctuation to your rushing words, “I missed you,” kiss. “I love you,” kiss. “Don’t leave again,” kiss. “Never, never leave.”
He answered each one, his hands sliding from your back to your waist, pulling you flush against him, “I’m here,” he murmured against your lips, “I’m not leaving. I have you.” His mouth traveled from your lips to your jaw, to the sensitive spot just below your ear, making you shiver, “My love,” he breathed, the words a vibration against your skin. “My heart. Let me feel you.”
His mouth was back on yours, and the world, the ache of loneliness, dissolved into a single, focused point of sensation. Your fingers tightened in Edward’s bronze hair, pulling him closer, drinking him in. When you both finally broke apart, your foreheads rested together, your ragged, unnecessary breaths mingling in the silent foyer.
Then, with a shared, unspoken understanding, you two moved. He carried you toward the bedroom.
Inside your shared room, the bed was still occupied with Eliza’s sleep, she managed to take over the bed. Edward looked at her with fondness. You two sat on the the bed, facing each other.
He looked at you, his golden eyes searching yours. “You’re well?” he whispered, his thumb brushing your cheek.
“How has she been? Has she been good?” Edward whispered, his voice a hushed vibration.
Yes,” you said. “Eliza is… she’s wonderful. We’ve been… we’ve been good.”
“Is this an every night thing?” he glanced at her sleeping figure.
He nodded, accepting this. Then his gaze grew more intense. “I found them. I think they will help us with answers. They’re friends of Carlisle,” he said, his voice low. “A coven. Deep in the Amazon, where the maps end.”
Hope, bright and sharp, bloomed in you, “That’s… that’s everything, Edward. That’s what we needed.”
“It is…Though, I’m not sure they will come.”
“They will. You have to have faith.” you whispered, refusing to play into his doubt. You lean in to attach your lips to his.
He broke the kiss after a long moment, pulling back just enough to look at you. His golden eyes were molten, full of a love so intense it was almost painful to behold. “I love you,” he whispered, the words a vow carved into the quiet room. “Every choice I’ve made has been for you. For us.”
“I love you too.” you said, your voice sincere but quieter than his.
Edward reached over and lightly brushed a curl from Eliza’s forehead. His expression softened.
“I know I had to leave but she grew. She’s different already.”
“Well..She didn’t suddenly become fifteen. The growth was only subtle. We took a lot of pictures.”
“Still changes…I wasn’t here to see them…I keep thinking about how many moments I missed.”
“She learned a skill,” you shrugged, “She can hold a handstand for like four seconds now.” The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. For a moment you two simply sat together in the quiet.
You then stood beside the bed and leaned down. One arm slipped beneath Eliza’s shoulders, the other beneath her legs. You carried her to her bedroom, crossed to the bed and carefully lowered Eliza beneath the blankets.
You looked at Eliza’s sleeping face for another long minute. You padded out of Eliza’s room, across the hall, to the threshold of your own bedroom.
Edward was already there, sitting on the edge of the bed. The moonlight through the window painted his bare skin in silver and shadow. He was completely naked, his lean, sculpted frame a study of restrained power. His bronze hair was tousled, his golden eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your stomach tighten.
The first light was a gentle thief, stealing the darkness from the room and leaving them exposed. You lay sprawled across Edward, your body a boneless, warm weight against his marble. The frantic energy was gone, replaced by a deep, liquid contentment. You was a puddle of sensation, every nerve humming with a soft, post climax glow.
His hand moved, a slow stroke from your shoulder down the length of your spine. It was a possessive, soothing motion. You sighed, nuzzling into his chest.
He shifted, rolling you gently onto your side so he could loom over you. His eyes, gold and hungry, traced the lines of your face. Then he lowered his head.
His mouth found your shoulder first, a soft, closed mouth kiss. Then your collarbone. Then the swell of your breast. Each touch was a whisper, a promise. He was mapping you, rediscovering the territory he’d so thouroughly claimed.
When his lips finally brushed your nipple, it was with the tip of his tongue, a slow, kittenish lick that traced the areola. The sensation was so tender, so unexpected, it made you gasp.
He did it again. A lick, then a soft, open mouth kiss where he simply held the warmth of his mouth against your skin. He was tasting you, savoring you. It was worship.
He moved lower. His tongue painted a line down your sternum, over your belly. He lingered at the dip of your navel, tracing it with slow, deliberate circles. You were melting into the sheets, your limbs heavy, your mind blank. You were nothing but a receptor for this soft, relentless attention.
You didn’t realize how addicted you was until he stopped. He pulled away, rising up on his knees to look at you. The absence of his mouth was like a sudden, shocking cold. The need for that soft, wet pressure roared back, a silent scream in your dead veins. You reached for him, your hand finding his arm.
He saw the desperate flicker in your eyes. He smiled, a dark, knowing curve of his lips. He leaned down again, but this time his mouth found yours. It was a deep, silencing kiss, one that swallowed the protest you hadn’t even voiced.
Your hand slid from his arm to his chest, then lower. Your fingers traced the hard line of his abdomen, then dipped into the valley between his hips. You found him. He was already hard again, a smooth, resilient length against your palm. The feel of him, so ready after such tenderness, made you moan into his kiss.
You stroked him. A slow, exploratory glide from root to tip. He shuddered, his kiss turning ragged. He was melting into your touch, his body yielding to your lazy exploration.
You guided him. Your hand curled around him and gently directed him back to your center. You were swollen, sensitive, open. The touch of his tip against you was an electric jolt.
But Edward pulled away. Not from your body, but from the kiss. He broke it, his head turning sharply toward the door.
A sound. Not a creak. A thump. Then the patter of small, running feet.
His reaction was instantaneous. In a blur of motion, he grabbed the sheet from the bed, the one you’d kicked aside in your earlier frenzy and flung it over you both. It was snug around his waist. It covered around your head like a hoodie, it warped and covered you from shoulders to thighs, a thin, white veil.
Eliza stood there, her large eyes wide and bright. Her hair was a messy halo around her face. She wore a simple nightdress, one foot still bouncing with the energy of her entrance. She blinked in surprise looking at Edward, who was now sitting upright, looking perfectly composed, and at you, who was shrouded under the sheet.
“Daddy!” Eliza exclaimed, her voice a sunny beam cutting through the room’s intimate gloom. She didn’t wait. She ran forward and launched herself onto the bed, landing between you two on top of the sheets with a small bounce.
Edward patted her leg, “Hey, little one. I’m so happy to see you.” he said, his voice warm and fatherly, a perfect mask.
Eliza squeezed his fingers back, then turned and scrambled over to you, who had managed to wrap her arms around your neck as she was on her knees at your side. Eliza kissed your cheek, which made you twitch a smile, “You were both so quiet,” she said, matter of factly, “I thought you were still sleeping.”
Your heart, which didn’t beat, felt like it was trying to, “We were just… talking.” you said, your voice a little rough, “It’s a good thing we weren’t sleeping. Daddy’s snores are very noisy.”
Edward pretended to snore deeply and obnoxiously. It genuinely even made you laugh a bit.
Eliza looked over, giggling loudly at him, “I’m glad you’re home, Daddy,” she said, looking at Edward who smiled at her, then she looked at you as if you were the world itself.
The day unfolded slowly, lazily. You told her to get her brush and while she out of the room, you and Edward quickly dressed. You all moved from the bedroom to the great room.
You and Eliza sat on the floor, the digital camera between you two. You tried to guide her.
“Look,” you said, scrolling through the pictures, “This one is of you dancing. Daddy would love to see it. He missed you so much.”
Eliza leaned against your side, her head resting on your shoulder. She didn’t look at the camera. She looked at your face. “He can see it later,” she said, her tone dismissive, “Show me the one with us swimming. The one where we had fun and you smiled.”
You continued scrolling, showing Eliza the pictures, but the girl’s interest was only in the ones where you was present, where you was the focus. He kissed your forehead as he passed by you.
The afternoon sun began to slant through the windows. Eliza, finally tiring of the pictures, tugged on your hand. She wanted you to draw with her.
You agreed. As you both walked away, Edward’s eyes followed you two.
He found you sitting on the floor, a sketchpad open before you. Eliza was beside you, already scribbling with a crayon. Edward entered, his presence a shadow in the room. Eliza glanced at him, then back at her drawing.
Edward knelt beside you, not between you and Eliza, but close to you. His hand found yours on the floor. His fingers interlaced with yours. It was a silent, firm reclaiming.
Eliza saw it. She saw your hand being taken. She didn’t say anything. She just colored more vigorously, her small body leaning a fraction closer to your side. Edward leaned in. His lips brushed your ear.
“I was thinking… perhaps I could give you a piano lesson today. Would you like that?”
Eliza’s gaze flickered from you to Edward. The offer of a lesson was a known delight. Her voice softened, with a spark of interest. “Yes.” she said, her voice small but clear. She detached from your side, walked to the piano bench, climbing onto it.
Edward got up and sat beside her, his posture perfect, his focus ostensibly on his daughter. But his senses were split, fractured. One part of him was explaining the basics of a C-major scale, his fingers demonstrating on the keys with a gentle, precise touch. The other part of him was entirely, utterly fixed on you.
You stood then, looking out at the awakening jungle, your profile silhouetted against the light. His fingers stumbled on the keys, hitting a wrong note.
Eliza glanced at him, her brow furrowing. “That was wrong.”
“My mistake,” he said quickly, forcing his attention back to the keys. He corrected the note, his voice steady as he continued the lesson. “Now, try this sequence.”
But his eyes kept drifting back to you. You was almost leaning against the window frame.
Eliza finished the sequence and looked up at him, her eyes shining. “Did I do it right?”
“Perfectly,” he said, his voice a little strained. He cleared his throat. “Now, let’s try it with both hands.” He demonstrated, his own hands moving over the keys with practiced ease. He focused on the piano keys, on Eliza’s small, waiting hands. “Your turn.” he said to his daughter, his voice carefully neutral.
Eliza began to play, her concentration absolute. The music was simple, sweet, a child’s earnest attempt at beauty. The lesson continued. Edward explained chords, demonstrated finger positions. Eliza listened, practiced, her love for the instrument growing with each successful note. She was falling into the rhythm of it, the logic of it. Just the sight made your gift unfold.
Edward smiled at Eliza, a genuine, warm smile that cracked through his internal tension. “You’re a natural, Eliza.” She smiled back, swinging her feet on the bench.
His gaze flicked back to you. You had turned now, fully facing the room. Your expression was openly dreamy. Your eyes were half lidded, your lips parted. You were watching him watch you. He watched, his senses split, as you turned from the window. Your movements were liquid, dreamlike, as you drifted toward the hallway that led to the private wing.
Eliza’s thoughts pulled him back. She was looking at him, her large eyes curious. She wanted to play it again.
“Of course,” he said, his voice remarkably even. He formed a gentle smile. “You practice that piece. Play it until you know it by heart and come and get me when you do. I’ll be right back.” He gestured to the music sheet he’d placed before her, a simple arrangement of scales that would keep her occupied.
He didn’t wait for her response. He was already moving, a blur of vampiric speed that was a silent scream of need. In the space between one of Eliza’s hesitant notes and the next, he was down the hall, through the door of the shared bedroom, and closing it softly behind him.
“Hey. What’s wrong?” he whispered.
“I don’t know.” Your voice came out smaller than intended, almost embarrassed, almost confused. “I feel strange.”
His expression sharpened immediately as he took in the sight of you, slumped as you stood near the bed, “What kind of strange?”
You searched for words. “Tingly.”
“I know how that sounds.”
A faint smile touched his lips despite his concern. You pressed a hand against your chest.
“It feels like my gift is doing something.” you whispered. That immediately got his attention. The smile vanished.
You meet him where he was. It was like your nerves were exposed. You melted against him immediately. Your arms looped around his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft bronze hair at his nape. You both kissed. A low, needy moan vibrated from your throat into his. You kissed him back with a shocking ferocity. Your hips pressed forward, grinding against the hard, unmistakable ridge of his erection straining against his trousers. It seemed to make it better.
The friction, even through the layers of fabric, was electric. Edward groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down your back to grip the lush curves of your backside.
You were insistent, your movements becoming a frantic, grinding rhythm against his trapped length. The haze made you bold, shameless. You broke the kiss, your lips traveling to his jaw, his throat. “Edward,” you breathed, the word slurred with want. “Please.”
He tried to gentle his grip, to pull back.
“We… we should wait. Eliza could come at any minute. You’re… you’re not clear.”
“I’m clear enough.” you whispered, your mouth finding his earlobe, sucking it gently. The sensation shot straight to his groin.
Panic threaded his voice. He caught your wrists, his grip firm but not painful. “Love, listen to me. We can’t. Not like this. Not with you like this.”
The words acted like a shock to your system. Your eyes widened, the fog of pleasure clearing for a moment as a stark, parental terror took hold. You scrambled away him, your movements frantic. The separation was abrupt, a physical severance that left him feeling exposed. You stood on the floor trembling, looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time.
“Damn..I’m so sorry. What was I thinking?” you whispered as you pressed a hand to your forehead. You couldn’t believe how careless you were.
“It’s fine, you weren’t clear..We’ll talk later.” he reassured as he wanted to rub your arms soothingly but he didn’t know it that was a safe thing to do.
He opened the door, Eliza was running down the hallway. She stopped at the doorway.
Her focus immediately to you. “I finished the piece,” she announced, her tone shifting to excitement. “I played it all by myself, without any mistakes! I want to show you.”
The relief that washed over Edward was profound. He watched as Eliza, oblivious to the tension, walked forward and took your hand. Her small fingers wrapped around yours.
“Come on, come listen.” Eliza insisted, tugging gently.
You looked down at your daughter’s hand, then up at Edward. Your eyes held a silent apology, a shared guilt. You were still floating, but the child’s touch was grounding you, pulling you back toward reality. You nodded, your wobbly smile becoming more genuine. “Okay,” you whispered. “Let’s go listen.”
Edward followed you two out of the bedroom, his senses on high alert. He watched your gait. You walked slowly, carefully, as if each step required concentration. The haze was still there, a glaze over your movements, but Eliza’s guiding hand was a steadying force.
You returned to the great room. The piano stood silent, the music sheet still open. Eliza climbed onto the bench eagerly and gestured for you to sit beside her. You lowered yourself onto the bench. You sat close to your daughter, your body leaning slightly beside Eliza’s small frame.
Edward remained standing a few feet away, a sentinel. His gaze was fixed on you, watching for any sign of instability, any slip that might betray you. He saw the slight tremble in your hands as you placed them on your knees. He saw the way your eyes struggled to focus on the piano keys.
Eliza, unaware, placed her small hands on the keys. She straightened her posture just like Edward has taught her, a picture of earnest concentration. “It’s the song Daddy taught me,” she explained, her voice filled with pride. “The one with the story.”
You nod at once. She began to play.
The melody was simple, a basic progression of notes, but she played it with a clarity and confidence that was remarkable for her age. Each note was clean, precise. There was no hesitation, no stumble. She played it flawlessly.
As the music filled the room, something shifted in you. Edward saw it happen. Your hazy eyes, which had been drifting, suddenly focused on Eliza’s hands. The innocent, beautiful sound seemed to pierce the fog in your mind. The haze, which had made you sensual and reckless, now seemed to transform, to merge with the music.
You listened. Your body relaxed into the bench. Your trembling stopped. A soft, awe filled smile touched your lips. The music wasn’t just notes to you, in your altered state, it was a physical experience. You could feel the vibrations in the air, the harmony in your bones. The simple melody became a tapestry of sensation, weaving through the lingering euphoria in your nerves.
When Eliza finished, she turned to you, her eyes shining with anticipation. She reached and touched your cheek. She wanted to know if you liked it. She was too shy to ask the question out loud.
You didn’t speak at first. Instead, you wrapped your arms around Eliza, pulling you into a tight, warm hug. You buried your face in your daughter’s hair, inhaling the clean, childish scent of her. The hug was fierce, full of a love that was both overwhelming and tender.
“It was so perfect,” you whispered into Eliza’s hair, your voice thick with emotion. “You played it so beautifully. I could feel it.”
Eliza giggled, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy. She squirmed in the hug, but not to escape, to lean into it. “I practiced so much,” she said, her voice muffled against you, “I wanted it to be perfect just for you.”
Edward watched, his own heart aching with a complex mix of feelings. There was pride for Eliza’s talent.
"Are you proud of yourself?" you ask.
"Im proud of you. Very proud." you said.
Eliza beamed. The approval, coming from you, was everything. She didn’t look at Edward for validation, her focus was entirely on you.
“Play it again,” you encouraged, smoothing Eliza’s hair. “Let me feel it again.”
Eliza happily obliged, turning back to the keys and playing the piece once more. Her small fingers moved with surety, creating the same sweet melody. You listened, your eyes closed now, a serene expression on your face. You was feeling the music, letting it wash over the lingering physical sensations in your body, blending them into a single, beautiful experience.
Edward stood there, a spectator to this intimate moment. He was simultaneously inside it and outside it.
When Eliza finished the second rendition, she looked at you again. “Can I learn another one? A harder one?”
You opened your eyes, you nodded to Eliza. “Of course, you don’t have to ask me. Daddy will teach you.”
Edward stepped forward then. He sat on the bench on Eliza’s other side, his larger frame contrasting with her small one. “What would you like to learn?” he asked, his voice gentle.
Eliza considered, her small face serious. “Hmm…Something with… more story.” she decided.
Edward smiled, a genuine one this time. “Then let’s find a story in the notes.” he said, and he began to explain a more complex chord progression, his fingers demonstrating on the keys.
You remained seated beside Eliza, your body leaning slightly against your daughter’s. You listened to Edward’s teaching, watched his hands move over the keys.
The jungle’s twilight symphony of insects and distant birds began its evening song as you settled onto the deep, cushioned sofa in the great room. Eliza, freshly bathed and in her favorite pajamas, snuggled into your side, a soft fleece blanket drawn up to her chin. The large screen mounted on the wall flickered to life with the opening credits of an animated film, a recent favorite.
“It’s starting.” Eliza whispered, as if it were a secret.
“I see, sweetheart.” you murmured, wrapping an arm around your daughter’s small shoulders. You breathed in the clean, powdery scent of her hair.
Edward moved through the space with a vampire’s silent grace, dimming the main lights until only the soft glow from the screen and a single, distant lamp illuminated the room. He didn’t sit on one of the other chairs. Instead, he came to the large sofa and sat on Eliza’s other side.
For the first twenty minutes, it was peaceful. Eliza was entranced, her eyes wide, occasionally commenting on the bright colors on screen. You was so focused on the film, on Eliza’s warmth, that the first touch took you by surprise.
Fingers brushed the back of your neck, just above the collar of your shirt. It was a ghost of a touch, hidden from Eliza’s view by the sofa’s high back. A shiver, delicious and immediate, danced down your spine. You didn’t turn. You kept your eyes on the screen, but your breath stopped.
The rest of the movie passed in a tense, silent bubble. Edward didn’t touch you again. The playful, sneaking intimacy was gone, replaced by a heavy awareness. The dragon found its family on screen, but in the room, a tiny, unspoken rift had formed.
When the credits rolled, Eliza was quiet. “Bedtime, sweet girl.” You said, your voice overly bright.
The routine was usually smooth with pajamas, teeth, and a story. But tonight, Eliza was a knot of contrary energy. She wasn’t tired. She wanted another story. Then she remembered a question about the stars. Each request was a delaying tactic, a small hand reaching out to keep you anchored in her room, in her world.
Finally, tucked under her duvet, Eliza looked up with those soulful eyes. “Stay with me, Mommy. Just for a while. Talk to me.”
“We can’t talk. You have to sleep.” you whispered.
“Please?” she dragged sadly.
Your chest squeezed. From the doorway, Edward’s voice cut through the gentle narration, low and taut. “Y/N. She needs to learn to sleep on her own.”
His tone was stern, the voice of a parent establishing order. Beneath it, you heard the strain of his own hunger, the frustration of a predator being denied its mate. It sparked a flicker of defiance in you, but a larger part of you knew he was right.
“Daddy’s right, love,” you said softly, brushing Eliza’s hair back. “It’s time to close your eyes.”
“No!” Eliza’s protest was instant, her lower lip trembling. “Don’t go!”
“Eliza you don’t have to yell.” you cooed.
“Eliza,” Edward said calmly, stepping into the room. His silhouette was tall and imposing in the dim nightlight. “You have to go to sleep. Nighttime is for sleeping, not playing.”
Eliza’s face crumpled. A single, fat tear rolled down her cheek, followed by a quiet, heart wrenching sob. “I want Momma to stay.” she hiccuped.
The sound of her cry was a physical blow to you. All logic, all shared glances with Edward, evaporated. The maternal instinct was a primal, overwhelming force. “Alright, okay. Shhh, it’s okay,” you soothed, lying down and gathering Eliza close. “I’m here..”
You held your crying daughter, guilt and love warring inside you. Slowly, Eliza’s sobs subsided into hiccups, then into quiet, shaky breaths. She didn’t ask for more stories. She just clung to your shirt.
After a long while, Eliza’s small hand came up. Her index finger, soft and warm, touched your cheek. She traced the line of your eyebrow, the curve of your nose, the bow of your upper lip. The touch was infinitely gentle, a blind, loving exploration in the near darkness.
You stayed perfectly still, letting your daughter map your face until the tracing slowed, the breaths evened out, and finally, deepened into the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. You waited another ten minutes before carefully, millimeter by millimeter, you extricated yourself from the bed.
You crept from the room, pulling the door closed until it clicked with the softest of sounds. The hallway was dark. You leaned against the wall for a second.
He was there instantly. A presence in the darkness, a hand wrapping around your wrist. Edward didn’t speak. He simply pulled you away from Eliza’s door, down the hall, into the shared bedroom. He drew you inside and the door sealed behind you two.
In the soft, ambient light, you could see his face. The stern father was gone. In his place was the vampire, his eyes black with hunger, his expression stripped raw of all patience.
The muted gray of dawn filtered through the single, high window of their soundproofed sanctuary, painting the world in soft, sleepy hues. You were still straddling Edward, your body a slack weight against his marble, sculpted chest. Your movements were languid, a slow, lazy rocking of your hips that was more instinct than intention. The friction was gentle, a soothing slide of flesh that stirred a low, persistent thrum of pleasure deep within you.
Your eyes were closed. The morphine haze, the lingering, blissful fog from your cascade of climaxes still clung to your thoughts, softening everything into a dreamy, sensual landscape. In this state, sensation was amplified, but time was blurred. The sharp, demanding need of the night had melted into a slow, syrupy want. You moved against him because it felt good, because it felt right.
Edward was perfectly still beneath you, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. He watched your face, your closed eyelids, the faint, satisfied expression that touched your face as you rocked. He loved you like this. Your vulnerability was a gift, your openness a sacred trust. He could feel the slow, rhythmic squeeze of your inner muscles around him, a lazy, welcoming pulse that echoed your gentle motion. He was comfortable, more than comfortable. He was content, buried in the warm, living heart of his wife while the world outside slept.
But unfortunately, his other senses were always at work. Beyond the scent of your shared sex, beyond the sound of your shallow breaths, he could hear the distant, subtle shift in the house down the hall. The rustle of sheets. The soft sigh of a child stirring from sleep.
His perfect stillness fractured. A tension, minute but undeniable, threaded through his muscles. He knew you both had to move. You both had to tend to her. The dawn was here, your time in this private cocoon was ending.
Yet, looking at your peaceful face, he hesitated. He didn’t want to interrupt you. He didn’t want to pull you from this warm, floating place. The selfish part of him, the part that was still a vampire, wanted to stay here forever, locked inside you, feeling your slow, sleepy movements.
He tried a compromise. A gentle thrust upward, a subtle increase in the pace to perhaps hasten a quiet, mutual satisfaction before you both had to disentangle.
You reacted immediately. Your eyelids fluttered open, your gaze unfocused but pleading. Your hands, which had been gripping on his shoulders, tightened. “No,” you whispered, your voice slurry with pleasure and haze. “Slow. Please. Slow.”
The word was a soft command, a plea from your drugged like state. It melted him. His attempted thrust softened into a mere flex, a yielding to your rhythm. He leaned forward, capturing your lips with his. The kiss was deep, slow, a mirror of the movement of your hips. He tasted the night on your tongue. He let himself sink into it, into you, into the gentle, grinding pace you set.
Your hips rolled. A slow, circular motion that made him groan softly. He kissed you deeper, his hands sliding up to cradle your face, holding you as you moved against him.
His hearing, always a traitor to his desires, picked up the sounds with crystalline clarity. His body screamed to stay, to let you continue your sensual ride. His mind, his duty, demanded action.
With a sigh that was part regret, part resolve, he broke the kiss. “She’s waking.” he murmured against your lips.
“No,” you protested, your voice a little stronger, a little more desperate. Your hips kept moving, a stubborn, slow grind. “Not yet. Stay.”
“We can’t.” he said, his voice firm even as his hands gentled on your cheeksbones. He began to withdraw, pulling himself slowly, carefully out of your body.
The loss was a shock to your system. A hollow emptiness replaced the warm, perfect fullness. Your body clenched around nothing, a reflexive, needy spasm. “Edward, please.” you whimpered, your hands clutching at his shoulders. The haze made the loss feel like a betrayal, a cruel severing.
“I know, love,” he whispered, his voice thick with his own reluctance. “But we have to.”
He was moving now, the vampire speed a necessity. He lifted you off him, setting you to the side. He got out of bed, you followed him to the closet. Your legs wobbled, unsteady. The haze made your coordination sluggish. He had to hold back his amusement of a sluggish vampire. He held you upright, his hands firm on your shoulders. “Get dressed. Quickly.”
You stared at him, your expression dazed and hurt. The pleasure fog was receding, replaced by a sharp frustration. “I don’t want clothes.” you mumbled as you shoved on a nightgown. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and the idea of fabric covering your skin felt wrong, like a denial of what you’ve just shared.
Edward’s gaze softened. He was fully dressed but stayed close, his arm still around your waist, as your daughter bounded into the room.
Eliza, in her pajamas with little yellow stars, ran across the floor and wrapped her arms around your legs, her large eyes shining with happiness.
Your heart squeezed with a mixture of love and a sudden, sharp guilt for the passion you had just been indulging in. You leaned down and scooped Eliza up into your arms. The child was warm and soft, a bundle of trusting innocence. You kissed her temple.
Eliza giggled and immediately reached for the necklace you wore, a simple chain with a small, polished obsidian pendant Edward had given you from his travels. Eliza fiddled with it, her small fingers tracing the smooth surface.
Edward, standing beside you two, “Eliza,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s… not a good idea.”
Eliza’s face fell. Her lower lip trembled. You felt the tug in her chest. You hugged Eliza closer. She placed a palm on your cheek as she had an idea. “Aww..It’s okay,” you said, looking at Edward, “We can put down a big sheet. I’ll clean it up. It’s just glitter.”
Edward’s brows drew together. He said your name, just one word, laden with meaning, subtly shaking his head.
You heard the shock in it, the disbelief. You met his gaze, holding Eliza tightly, “It’s okay..I’ll clean it up.”
“That’s not the point.” Edward said, his voice low, meant only for you.
He simply watched as you carried Eliza out of the bedroom, the child already chattering about the pictures she would make.
An hour later, the great room’s floor was covered with a large, old bedsheet. Eliza sat in the center of it, bowls of iridescent, multi colored glitter open around her like a rainbow arsenal. You sat beside her. You watched your daughter’s careful, earnest attempts to pour the glitter onto a large sheet of paper.
Eliza, looking over at Edward, who stood leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, watching with a quiet, unreadable expression. She was trying to prove to him that she was not going to make a mess. Determined to do so. Edward gave a small, noncommittal nod.
You focused on Eliza’s happy face, the way her little fingers sprinkled pinches of glitter to create a sun, a tree, a smiling face. It was beautiful, her joy. No mess was made.
Glitter, by its very nature, was chaos on paper. It clung to the sheet. It sparkled in the morning light filtering through the high windows, a thousand tiny, disobedient stars.
After a while, Eliza’s picture was complete, a vibrant, sparkly jungle scene with a glittery jet in the corner. She was satisfied. You helped her wash her hands, then settled her on the large, cushioned sofa in the living area. “Let’s watch a movie,” you said, picking a colorful animation from the limited selection. “You can watch while I clean up, okay? Will you be good for me?”
Eliza nodded, already captivated by the opening song.
You turned to the mess. you began by carefully keeping the paper flat, trying to contain the glitter within it so it could dry.
Edward approached. He moved silently, but you felt his presence like a shift in the air pressure. He stood beside you, watching you stare at the art. For a minute, he just observed.
Then he spoke, his voice a low, controlled murmur meant not to reach Eliza’s ears. “You’re spoiling her.”
You didn’t pause your stare, “I’m not. Our life is… unconventional. She deserves some normal childhood mess.”
“It’s not about the mess,” he said, his tone still quiet, “It’s about the precedent. I said the glitter it wasn’t a good idea. You dismissed me. In front of her. You let it be okay that my word as her father didn’t matter and she’s going to get used doing that if you’re doing that.”
You finally looked at him, “I’m sorry if I came off like that but it wasn’t intended,” you said, “I just wanted her to be happy. You were being… rigid.”
“Rigid?” he repeated, a faint, incredulous smile touching his lips. “You think boundaries are rigidity? If you keep giving her everything she wants, every time she whines, you’re going to turn her into a child who cannot handle disappointment. A brat. A child who believes her desires override all else. You’re going to turn her into a brat.”
“A little glitter is a small thing to give her. I don’t think she’s going to turn into a brat because of the little glitter.”
“It’s not a small thing,” Edward countered, stepping closer. “It’s a pattern. You are teaching her that your comfort, your desire to avoid her tears, is more important than our shared authority.”
“…I just..I want to make her happy.”
His voice was dropping even lower, becoming almost intimate in its intensity, “We both want her to be happy. I just want to prepare her for a world that will not always give her what she wants. A world that, for her, could be particularly cruel. We cannot cushion her from every hardship with glitter and yeses.”
Your eyes fell to the paper.
You later joined Eliza on the sofa, pulling her into a hug. “Did you like the movie?”
Eliza nodded, snuggling against you, “I liked the glitter more,” her voice a little whisper, “But the movie was fun too.”
You kissed her head, “Maybe next time we can use the glitter on the porch, on the stone outside. To avoid the mess inside.”
Eliza brightened as you held your daughter close, watching the colorful animation flicker on the screen.
The jungle twilight seeped into the villa, painting the stone floors and woven rugs in deep shades of violet and gold. Eliza’s laughter had echoed through the halls all afternoon, a bright, bubbling sound that had lifted your heart, it never frayed your nerves. Now, the day was winding down into the soft rituals of evening.
You filled the large, sunken stone tub in Eliza’s bathroom with warm water. She chattered about the glitter, you never got tired of it. Her smile and rambling was worth it.
“Your smile…” you leaned closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as you dried her off with a towel before dressing her in her pajamas, “Your smile is the most beautiful thing in the whole world. It makes the sun jealous.”
Eliza giggled, a pure, delighted sound, “You’re silly, Mommy.”
When you led her to the bed, Eliza climbed in and immediately turned, her eyes pleading, “Lay with me? Just for a little bit? Until I fall asleep?”
Your heart melted. The request was so innocent, so filled with the need for comfort. You looked at the doorway, half expecting Edward to appear, but he wasn’t there. You nodded, “Just for a little bit.”
You lay down on the bed beside Eliza, on top of the covers. Eliza instantly curled against you, her small body fitting perfectly into the curve of your side. She put her head on your shoulder, her hand coming up to rest on your cheek again. Her fingers were warm but soft.
Eliza’s breathing slowed, deepened. Her hand slipped from your cheek and nestled against her own chest. Within minutes, she was asleep, a soft, peaceful expression on her face.
You lay there for a long while, watching your daughter sleep.
Finally, when Eliza’s sleep was deep and steady, you slid off the bed. You adjusted the blanket over her, kissed her forehead once more, and crept out of the room.
The villa was quiet, the great room lit only by the fading twilight through the high windows and the soft glow of a single lamp in the kitchen. You walked through the living area. You saw Edward standing in the kitchen, his back to you. He was at the sink, looking out the window into the darkening jungle. His posture was rigid, his shoulders set in a line of tension.
You came up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his back. His body was unyielding.
“She’s asleep,” you whispered into the fabric of his shirt. “She asked me to lay with her. She was so sweet.”
After a moment, he spoke, his voice low and flat, “You’re still spoiling her.”
Your arms tightened slightly. You felt a defensive flare rise in your chest, tempered by the softness of the moment you’d just left, “It’s not spoiling,” you said, your voice muffled by his shirt, “It’s just comforting her. I comfort you when you’re upset.”
“Was all of this happening while I was away?”
“Edward, it’s not a big deal-”
Edward turned then, slowly, forcing your arms to loosen as he moved. He faced you, his golden eyes hard, his expression unreadable, “You are undermining everything Im saying .”
“It wasn’t whining or anything. It was a request. A soft, sleepy request. She just wanted comfort.”
Edward shook his head, a slow, dismissive motion. He took a step back, out of your embrace, “I’m tired of you not trusting my judgment. You’re going to end up making me the rigid, cold parent while you are the warm, forgiving one. It’s a division.”
“Edward, it’s not like that,” you said, stepping closer again, “I trust you. I do. But sometimes… my instincts as a mom are just different. They’re not against you. They’re just… with her.”
He looked at you, “That is not partnership. That is you doing your own thing.”
He turned away from you, walking out of the kitchen toward the hallway.
You followed him, “Come on, let’s talk about this.”
He didn’t stop. He walked into the library, followed him into the room, the door swinging shut behind you with a soft click. The library was dim, lit by a single candle on the desk. The shadows made the room feel intimate, charged.
“There’s no point in talking about it,” Edward said, his voice echoing softly in the book lined space. “If you’re going to go off and do your own thing regardless of what I say, then talking is just noise.”
You approached him, “It’s not like that. I hear you. I do. But… we’re here now. We’re safe. It’s just us. We can love each other in peace. We can figure this out in peace.”
“I don’t like being the disciplinarian you constantly undermine.”
“I’ll work on it,” you promised, your voice earnest. “I’ll try harder. To be a united front. I promise.”
He stared at you for a long moment.
“Your promises are empty when your actions contradict them,” he said, his voice finally losing its control, letting the frustration bleed through. “You promise in the moment, to soothe me, to get what you want. Then you do the opposite when the moment passes.”
“I’m not trying to soothe you to get what I want,” you said, “I’m trying to… to love you and talk to you. To show you that we’re still us. Even when we disagree.”
Edward’s jaw tightened. He looked away from you, back to the table. “Love isn’t a tool to bypass disagreement,” he said quietly. “It’s the foundation that should make disagreement manageable. You’re using it as a shortcut. And it’s not working.”
He turned and walked away from you, toward the door of the library.
With a heavy sigh, you walked to the bookshelf. Your fingers trailed over the spines of novels, histories, and atlases before settling on a thick, glossy volume: Vogue: A Century of Fashion.
You flopped into a large armchair by the window, the one farthest from Eliza’s room and the library. The night was fully dark now, the jungle outside a black tapestry punctuated by the occasional chirp of a night creature. You opened the book, the pages smooth under your fingertips.
The images were a world of color and shape, models in impossible gowns, avant-garde designs from Paris, street style from Tokyo. You traced the lines of a silk dress from the 1920s, its hem fringed and daring. You studied the sharp angles of a modern suit, the fabric cut like a blade. It was a world of artifice and beauty, a world with no room for supernatural politics or parenting disputes. It was a world where a woman’s worth was measured by the cut of her clothes, not by her ability to keep her half vampire daughter safe or her immortal husband happy.
You read until the sun began its slow, relentless creep over the horizon, painting the sky first a deep indigo, then a soft lavender, then a pale gold.
You just sat, turning pages, absorbing the silent, beautiful escapism of another world.
When the first true rays of sunlight pierced the windows, casting long, sharp beams across the stone floor, you heard Eliza stirring in her room. The sound of small feet padding across the floor, the gentle rustle of sheets. You closed the fashion book, setting it aside.
Eliza emerged from her room, her hair tousled from sleep, her butterfly pajamas rumpled. She blinked in the morning light, her large eyes scanning the room.
She left and came back with all of her dolls. You blinked and widened your eyes a bit as Eliza padded across the floor, coming to stand before you, “Are we going to play dolls now?”
“I want to play dolls now.” she says firmly.
“Eliza, we have to get you ready for today before we can even think about dolls. Now let’s go clean your teeth.”
Eliza stamped her foot. A small, sharp tap on the stone.
Your gaze finally shifted, landing on Eliza’s face. You saw the frown, the crossed arms, the stomping foot. Her arms remained crossed, but her frown deepened, her brows knitting together. Eliza’s lower lip trembled.
You sigh lightly, “Fix your face, Eliza,” you said calmly, “I don’t play dolls with bad kids.”
“I’m not bad.” she mumbled as she rolled her eyes. You didn’t speak for a moment as she looked just like her father when she did that.
“Then stop acting like it.”
Guiding her out of the bathroom from brushing her teeth, she stared at herself in the mirror as she sat at her vanity as you stood behind her and brushed the tousle out of her hair. Eliza looked like she’d been personally wronged by the universe.
The frown was so deep it almost looked painful.
“My goodness.” You brushed another section, “Who’s that grumpy little girl in the mirror?”
Eliza continued staring at her reflection. Her lower lip pushed forward slightly.
“Stop being mean, Eliza.”
“You don’t want to play dolls.” she grumbled.
“I told you already. We’ll play later.”
Eliza’s expression immediately soured again.
“We’re going to hunt first. Besides, you like getting your hair brushed.”
Her frown in the mirror doesn’t go away.
The brush caught on a tangle.
Eliza immediately let out an exaggerated gasp, "Ow, mommy you hurt me!"
You kissed the top of her head, "Im sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll be more gentle, okay?"
Eliza folded her arms again.
Mean little thing. you thought to yourself as you gently brushed out a tangle from the very, very bottom of her hair shaft. The bedroom door opened. Edward appeared, already dressed and looking entirely too amused. His eyes flicked between Eliza and you.
"Everything alright in here?"
"No," Eliza announced, "Momma is mean."
Edward looked at you and you looked at Edward. Edward fought a smile.
"You know," he said carefully as he knelt beside her seated figure, "I have a feeling there may be another side to this story."
"Mommy won't let me play dolls." she spoke quietly.
You nearly dropped the brush. Edward shook his head. You groaned under your breath.
"No, Eliza that isnt true. Your mother loves you very much. I love you very much." he cooed and pressed his palm to the side of her head to bring her head to his lips. He stood straight when her frown wavered. She looked up at him with a tender expression. He sighed lightly to himself as he moved closer to you.
"See?" you say lowly and only for his ears as you stifle a smile as you got back to work.
Edward pointed at himself, "I spoil her?"
"Interesting accusation." Edward leaned close to your ear before pressing an open mouth kiss to your ear, which made you smile sappily as you paused your movements.
The tiny hybrid immediately tried to slide out of the counter due to your distraction.
You caught her by the waist before her feet touched the floor.
Eliza groaned dramatically, “You never let me do anything."
Edward raised an eyebrow. "Eliza, you never showed me your trick. I heard you can hold a handstand for three seconds."
"It's four seconds." she muttered.
"You're not going to show me?" Edward asked softly.
She shrugged and then started to squirm.
“After you brush my hair, can we play with dolls?” she asked in a very sweet voice.
Edward laughed outright. You shot him a glare. "You're supposed to help."
Edward grinned. Eliza's expression softened just for a little.
The three of you moved through the forest beneath a pale gray sky. Rain from the previous night still clung to the leaves. Everything smelled fresh.
Edward paused near a fallen cedar. “Can you smell that?”
Eliza shrugged. You glanced over at her. Edward’s eyes narrowed slightly.
There was a pause. Then finally, “Yes.”
The answer came flat and disinterested.
“Maybe she’s tired.” you speak lowly to only Edward’s ears. Edward’s gaze flicked briefly toward you. Eliza kicked a pinecone hard. It flew into the underbrush.
Edward watched the movement silently. “There’s a deer trail half a mile east.”
Usually that statement would’ve started a competition. Usually, Eliza would’ve immediately declared she would find it first.
Several minutes later you all reached a clearing with Eliza marching forward, arms crossed. She kicked another pinecone with enough force to launch it halfway across the clearing. The scent was strong, but Eliza never moved.
A squirrel darted through the trees nearby, any other day Eliza would’ve noticed but she was too busy being upset. She went disappeared behind a tree.
A second later Edward appeared beside the tree, then immediately scooped Eliza into his arms. The little girl gasped.
She squirmed. Edward simply held her against his chest.
"You don't get to be mean."
"I wasn't." she spoke in an innocent tone.
"You kicked pinecones and everything." Edward stared at her. Eliza stared back. Edward looked down at his daughter, then Edward's expression softened.
His voice grew gentler, "We know you wanted to play dolls." The stubborn little face twitched, "We know you're disappointed...But being disappointed doesn't mean you get to hurt people's feelings." The fight slowly began leaving her. A little wobble in her lower lip, was one Eliza tried so hard to hide.
"I wanted dolls." The words came out tiny. Not angry, just sad. You immediately softened.
"I promised after hunting." you confirmed.
Eliza looked down, “I didn't wanna hunt."
Edward kissed the side of her head, "Unfortunately, you still need to eat."
The little hybrid sighed dramatically, then she finally wrapped her arms around Edward's neck.
The moment Eliza finally decided to cooperate, the hunt took less than fifteen minutes. The three of you headed home through the forest with the sunlight filtering through the trees. Eliza walked between you and Edward and she reached for Edward’s hand, causally sliding her tiny hand into his.
He squeezed her hand gently and the little girl squeezed back. The familiar shape of the home came into view and her mood improved greatly.
She consciously relaxed her features, letting the tension melt away as you all got settled inside. Edward let her cling to his hand. She looked at you, her eyes now pleading, but quietly, “Can we play dolls now, mommy? Please?”
“Yes,” you said, your voice warmer now, “Let’s get them.”
Eliza’s face brightened instantly, she ran to her room to fetch her doll basket.
Eliza returned, carrying a large woven basket filled with dolls. They were of various sizes and styles, some modern, some antique. She placed the basket on the floor in the center of the great room, the morning sunlight now bathing the area in a warm, golden glow.
Eliza touched your wrist, her thoughts now cheerful, the earlier conflict forgotten.
You knelt on the floor beside the basket. You looked at the dolls. There was one Eliza especially loved. It was her “good” doll,
You pointed to a simpler, cloth doll. “That one is nice.”
Eliza hesitated for a second. Then, with a decisive motion, she picked up the porcelain doll, the “good” doll. She handed it to you, “You can have this one,” she said, her voice generous. “She’s special. She’s for you today.”
You took the doll, its porcelain smooth in your hands. “Thank you. She’s very pretty, just like you.” you said, your voice finally softening fully.
Eliza smiled, a real, happy smile. She took a cloth doll for herself and sat opposite you on the floor. You two began to play. Eliza narrated a story about the dolls going to a magical market in the jungle. You followed along, adding details about the dresses the dolls wore, the food they would buy.
After a while, Eliza picked up a small wooden brush from the basket, “We should brush their hair,” she said. “Your doll’s hair is so long and pretty.”
You nodded. She held the porcelain doll carefully, while Eliza gently, meticulously, brushed the long, hair. The strokes were slow and careful. Eliza’s focus was complete, her little fingers working with surprising delicacy.
Eliza was happy now, lost in the simple ritual of caring for the doll. You picked up another brush and began to brush the hair of Eliza’s cloth doll, a tangle of synthetic fibers.
You both brushed in silence for a few minutes, the soft shhh sound of the brushes the only noise in the room. The jungle outside was fully awake now, but its sounds were muted by the villa’s thick walls.
Eliza looked up at her. “Momma, your doll’s hair is all smooth now.”
You looked at the porcelain doll’s hair, indeed sleek and shiny. “It is,” you said. “You did a good job.”
The sunlight moved across the room, marking the passage of time.
At bedtime, Edward read her a relaxing poem. She liked it. She listened as you sat at the end of her bed, a palm covering her blanket covered shin and Edward laid next to her on top of her blankets. She clutched to Edward’s shirt with her head on his chest until she fell asleep. Edward had to uncurl her hand before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.
When you two were alone in the safety of your bedroom, he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. It was a gentle kiss, coaxing and sweet.
Without a word, he reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling the black fabric over his head in one fluid motion. You stood frozen, rooted to the spot, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. You wanted to look away, but you couldn't. Your eyes were drawn to him, magnetic and helpless. He shed the rest of his clothes with movement that spoke of his ageless confidence, standing before you in his glorious, unabashed nudity.
Your gaze trailed down. He was magnificent, hard and ready, his arousal prominent and imposing. A flush of heat, fierce and sudden, swept through your body. He reached out, taking your hand. His fingers wrapping around your palm with a gentle firmness. He tugged, pulling you toward the bed. You followed blindly.
When your knees touched the edge of the mattress, he helped you shed the rest of your clothing and he turned you slightly, guiding you down onto the soft sheets. You lay back, the fabric forgotten on the floor. The vulnerability of being bare while he stood over you, fully exposed and powerful, sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.
He climbed onto the bed, moving with a predatory grace that made your pulse spike. He didn't cover himself, he let you look, let you see exactly what you did to him. He hovered over you, his weight supported on his arms, caging you in. Edward’s expression softened, the predatory edge blurring into something infinitely tender. He lowered his head, pressing his lips to your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.
He trailed his lips down your neck, you closed your eyes, surrendering to the sensation. Edward shifted his weight, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him. Before you could process the movement, you were straddling him, your knees on either side of his hips. The position left you feeling exposed, dominant, and incredibly vulnerable all at once.
You looked down at him. He was watching you with a hunger that stole your breath, his hands resting lightly on your thighs. You could feel him beneath you, hard and insistent. A boldness you didn't know you possessed, took hold of you. You shifted your hips, lowering yourself until you was flush against him.
The contact was electric. You gasped quietly, your head falling back as a jolt of pleasure shot through you. You began to move, riding against the length of him. It wasn't about penetration, not yet. It was about friction, about the slide of your sensitive flesh against his hardness.
Edward groaned, a low, guttural sound that resonated in his chest. His hands moved to your hips, his grip tightening as he guided your movements. You lost yourself in the rhythm as you felt very hazy. You could feel the wetness between your thighs increasing, coating him, making the glide effortless. Every drag of his erection against you sent sparks of pleasure ricocheting through your nerves, building a slow, inexorable pressure deep in your belly.
The morphine effect hugged you like a warm blanket fresh from a dryer. You cupped your own breasts, needing to touch, to feel the heightened sensitivity of your skin. But Edward’s hands soon replaced yours, his palms squeezed gently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples.
You moaned his name like a prayer, his hips bucking upward to meet your downward grind. The friction intensified, becoming almost unbearable. The humping only made you both more needy. The air grew heavy with the scent of each other’s arousal. Edward’s hands slid from your hips to your rear, cupping your rear, pulling you harder against him. He ground upwards, the head of his erection catching on your entrance, threatening to breach.
Edward reached up, his hand cupping the back of your neck. He pulled you down, crushing his lips against yours. The kiss was searing, wiping away your thoughts. He kissed you until you was breathless, until your mind was a blank slate filled only with him.
He rolled you both over, pinning you beneath him, finding yourself trapped under the weight of his body. He was heavy, solid against your skin. You liked the feel of him pinning you, it made you feel safe, held, cherished.
He hovered over you, supporting his weight on his elbows so he wouldn't crush you. He looked down at you, his eyes scanning your face as if memorizing every detail.
He lowered his hips, pressing his erection against your slick folds. He didn't try to enter you, instead, he rubbed himself against you, slow and deliberate. He glided through your wetness, the length of him stimulating your nub, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your system.
You moaned, your eyes rolling back. The sensation was overwhelming. You were in a daze, lost in the haze of pleasure. Your body was moving on its own, your hips lifting to meet his, silently asking for more. continued the agonizingly slow torture, teasing you, winding you tighter and tighter. You could feel the coil in your belly winding tighter, ready to snap.
With a trembling hand, you reached between your bodies. You found him, hard and velvet covered. You wrapped your fingers around him and guided him, positioning him at your entrance.
You didn't let him insert himself. You held him there, right at the precipice, feeling the throb of him against your sensitive opening.
Instead, you rocked your hips, rubbing the head of his erection against your nub. The sensation was sharp, intense. You moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders.
Edward shuddered. "You're torturing me."
"I'm torturing us both." you corrected.
He chuckled, a low, dark sound. He kissed you again, deep and demanding. He began to move, slowly grinding against you, letting you guide the pace.
The head of him pressed at your entrance. Not thrusting. Just pressing, a steady, patient pressure that asked your body to yield. The tip of him sank in a fraction of an inch, and your muscles clenched around the intrusion with a flutter that wasn't pain.
He withdrew. Pressed again. Deeper this time, another fraction, then retreated. Your hips tilted. Your thighs spread. Your hands found his shoulders and pulled.
He pressed deeper. The head of him left your entrance with a wet, reluctant sound that made your inner muscles clench around nothing. The ache of it throbbed through your core, and your hips lifted without permission, chasing him.
Edward groaned, feeling you spasm around him, even without taking you fully. He thrust against you, harder, faster, chasing his own release. He buried his face in your neck, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin.
He came with a powerful shudder, his cool essence spilling between her thighs, mixing with her own wetness. He collapsed against you, his weight heavy and welcome, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he tried to catch a breath he didn't need.
For a long time, you both lay there, tangled together in the aftermath. The room was silent. You stared up at the ceiling, your body humming with residual pleasure, your mind a swirling vortex of emotion.
Edward shifted slightly, propping himself up on his elbows to look at you. His hair was mussed, his eyes dark and sated. He opened his mouth to say something but you both freeze.
You both heard the footsteps were coming down the hall. They were not hesitant or sleepy, they were purposeful, quick. Eliza was awake, and she was moving toward your room.
The door opened just as you both settled into your positions, you standing near the bed, Edward sitting on it, both looking as if you two had been merely talking. Your arms were tightly crossed while you had your tied robe on. Edward only wore pants.
Eliza stood in the doorway, her dark hair a little messy, her butterfly pajamas still on. Her large eyes scanned the room, looking at her mother, then at her father. She seemed oblivious to the tension in the air, the rapid shift in energy.
“Eliza, what’s wrong?” you whispered.
She rubbed her eyes as she tried to get into bed but Edward scooped her up.
“Let’s get you back into bed.”
Eliza tiredly whined a bit, “I want to sleep with mommy.”
“Eliza, you’re a big girl now, you have to sleep in your own bed. I will tuck you in.”
She whined tiredly as Edward walked her back to her room. You sat and stared at the duvet as you had the urge to plead with Edward to let her just sleep in your bed. She did the pleading and crying for you. She fell asleep, but anytime Edward tried to leave, she clutched him tighter.
The afternoon light in the villa’s living room was soft and golden, filtering through the high windows and casting long, lazy shadows across the polished floor. Edward sat at the elegant piano, his posture perfect, his fingers poised over the keys. Eliza, perched on the bench beside him, fidgeted with the hem of her sundress.
“Now, watch,” Edward said, his voice calm and patient. He played a simple scale, the notes clear and precise. “You try.”
Eliza’s small hands hovered over the keys. She tapped a C, then a D, but her attention was clearly elsewhere. Her large eyes kept darting toward the far side of the room, where you sat at a low table surrounded by colored pencils and sheets of thick paper.
Edward’s expression remained serene, but a flicker of something, disappointment, perhaps, passed through his golden eyes.
“But drawing is fun,” she insisted, her voice taking on a petulant edge, “I want to draw too.”
You had been sketching a vague landscape, you looked up. You saw the tension in Edward’s shoulders, the longing in your daughter’s face. The peace from the morning felt fragile and you wanted to preserve it, “Daddy is teaching you something wonderful. You should listen to him.”
Eliza’s face crumpled, “It’s not wonderful. It’s boring.” she roughly swipes the music sheet with her adolescent hand and the paper tries to land on the floor.
Edward’s fingers stilled on the keys and grabs it before it floats to the ground. The silence was sharp. “Eliza.” he said, his tone dropping to a low, firm register but it was still calm.
The little girl’s chin jutted out. A spark of defiance, so rare in her usually sweet nature, glinted in her eyes.
Eliza twisted again to look at you, “Mommy.”
Before you could answer, Edward spoke, “No.”
Eliza’s face immediately scrunched as she jerked her body subtly as she didn’t like the sound of that word. He had her start from the beginning. Eliza hit the keys carelessly this time. It was discordant and purposely bad. Edward’s jaw tightened slightly but he was still patient.
“Eliza. Just do it the right way.”
“You liked it yesterday.”
“You’re being stubborn.” Edward muttered under his breath.
“Just finish your lesson,” you said, trying to inject warmth into your voice, “Then we can draw together, okay?”
Eliza’s defiance solidified into outright rebellion. “No!” she shouted, the word echoing in the spacious room. “I want to draw now!”
You were frozen in shock as you saw Edward close his eyes briefly, a sigh escaping his lips. It wasn’t a sigh of anger, but of profound weariness.
“Eliza, please, why are you doing this today?” You said tiredly, rising from your chair and approaching the piano.
Eliza cried, tears now welling in her big eyes. She scrambled off the bench and ran to you, wrapping her arms around you.
“You like piano. Just finish your lesson.” you cooed.
You knelt and gathered Eliza into your arms. She buried her face in your neck. She was crying softly now.
You rubbed Eliza’s back gently, “It’s okay.” Eliza shook her head stubbornly against your shoulder. You pressed a kiss into her hair, “You don’t have to cry.”
“I’m emotional.” Eliza mumbled tearfully. You laughed softly at her choice of words. You brushed the tears carefully from Eliza’s cheeks with your thumbs.
“Yes, you are emotional… You’re so cute.” you cupped her chin at her acknowledgement.
“It’s not funny mommy.” she sniffled.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry.”
Eliza sniffled as her eyelashes were elongated from the tears. She let you wipe them.
“Do you want a break?” you ask.
Eliza nodded silently this time.
You sat back down with Eliza curled in your lap while stroking her hair soothingly. Edward watched silently for another long second. He then finally stood from the piano bench.
The movement drew yours eyes upward.
You wanted to stop him but there was no use. You sigh lightly as Eliza leaned her body weight against you with her arm wrapped around your neck.
Eliza peeked up at you. You brushed your thumb softly beneath one of her eyes where tears still clung.
“I think you should apologize for screaming like that.”
Eliza’s face scrunched immediately. She placed a hand on your cheek. You squeeze her hand affectionately. But she wanted to draw.
“I know but you can’t act like that.” you said. You tilted Eliza’s chin upward softly. She felt like her dad wasn’t listening to her. Eliza frowned slightly. You then continued gently, “Your dad wasn’t trying to upset you or make you sad. He wanted to show you something cool. You have to finish what you start. You can still draw afterward,” you said softly, “But you shouldn’t scream and run away because you got frustrated.”
Eliza leaned her head against you again dramatically. Eliza stayed quiet for another moment. She then finally slid slowly off your lap. Eliza shuffled toward the doorway, still slightly pouty as she went off to find Edward.
The connection between Eliza and Edward was private, silent, seamless. You couldn’t hear Eliza’s side but you could hear Edward’s, softly and faintly like catching one side of a whispered phone call through a wall.
“It’s okay. Do you want to try again?”
“We can make it easier this time.”
“I know…You only got upset because you were frustrated.” he says with a knowingly, upbeat tone as he replied to her internal message.
“Are you sure?…..Yes, I believe you can do it.” he encouraged and it sounded like he was answering a question.
A few moments later, footsteps approached again. Eliza appeared first around the doorway. Behind her, was Edward. Eliza held his hand quietly, no tears, just lingering embarrassment.
He simply led Eliza back toward the piano bench. This time, Eliza climbed up willingly. You didn’t return to your drawing. Instead, you stayed curled at the end of the couch, watching quietly. Edward adjusted Eliza gently in front of the keys again.
She clearly did like piano. The moment of frustration was removed, she became focused again almost immediately. Her eyes followed Edward’s hands carefully while he demonstrated the progression. She even leaned forward slightly before pressing the notes herself. She worked through the mistakes. When she finally got them right, you smiled.
“There you are.” Edward murmured quietly.
Eliza tried to suppress the smile but failed. At the piano, Eliza played the small sequence again but correctly. She was talented when she was confident.
Edward’s hand rested lightly over hers for a moment, “Good.”
Eliza brightened instantly at the praise. Edward placed a warm squeeze on her shoulder with a kiss on her forehead before he rises up and walks towards the window at human pace. Eliza was too busy tinkering at the piano, repeatedly playing the song she had just learned. You get up and follow him.
You barely moved when he pulled you close but you were too busy looking out the window. And so was he.
“They actually came.” Edward spoke in awe. Your arm hugged his waist tighter.
A pair of unexpected friends emerged from the trees. The taller of the two very tall feline women greeted Edward when they arrived. Both of them seemed as if they’d been stretched, long arms and legs, long fingers, long black braids, and long faces with long noses. They wore nothing but animal skins, hide vests and tight fitting pants that laced on the sides with leather ties. It wasn’t just their eccentric clothes that made them seem wild but everything about them, from their restless crimson eyes to their sudden, darting movements. You’ve never met any vampires less civilized. You smile immediately.
“Zafrina and Senna.” Edward acknowledged, he brought out an arm and you walk closer to him and he wrapped the arm around your shoulder, “This is my wife.”
“Hi.” you warmly greet. They greet you back without words.
“Where’s Kachiri?” Edward asked. “I’ve never seen you three apart.”
Zafrina answered in the rough voice that matched her wild appearance. “It’s uncomfortable to be away from each other, but Kachiri very much needed to be somewhere else. That’s all she would tell us, except that there was a great hurry…?” Zafrina’s statement trailed off into a question.
“We wouldn’t involve you in this if we had any other choice.”
“Tell us about the danger, Edward,” Zafrina said quietly. “We’ll listen and we’ll be on your side for the sake of Carlisle.”
Edward took a deep breath. “I’d like you to witness for yourselves first. Listen, in the other room. What do you hear?” Just listen first, please.” Edward said. Zafrina and Senna glanced at each other.
It was quiet and then there was movement.
“What is that thrumming?” Zafrina asked. “Is that… some kind of a bird?”
“No, but remember what you’re hearing. Now, what do you smell?”
“It’s not human… but… closer to human than the rest of the scents here..”
Edward looked to you and you got the idea. Your legs felt strangely numb, but you knew that feeling was all in your head. You forced yourself not to hold back, not to move sluggishly. You wandered to Eliza’s room while she was brushing her doll’s hair. You remember when she first came and how she’s bigger. She looked to be going on three years old now.
“Eliza. There’s some nice people that I want you to meet, okay?”
She reached her hand against your cheek but no images in your head. She didn’t have pictures for her feelings now.
“What if they don’t like me?” she whispered and your eyes flashed to her face.
“They don’t understand you, Eliza, because they’ve never met anyone like you,” you quietly told her, not wanting to lie to her with promises that might not come true. “Getting them to understand is the problem.”
She sighed and in your head flashed pictures of all of you in one quick burst, even the rest of the Cullen family. Vampire. Even you as a human when she was born. She fit nowhere.
“You’re special, that’s not a bad thing, my little star. You wasn’t meant to be like anyone else.”
She gently puts her dolls down and takes your hand. She then tugged your hand and it was clear she wanted to get picked up. You picked her up and sat her on your hip and brought her out.
Despite their fierce appearance, they listened very calmly to you and Edward’s story, and then allowed Eliza to prove the point. They were every bit as taken with Eliza but you couldn’t help worrying as you watched their swift, jerky movements so close beside her. Senna was always near Zafrina, never speaking.
Senna and Zafrina were more like two limbs of one organism, Zafrina just happened to be the mouthpiece. Edward was thrilled to have the Amazons with you two, because Zafrina was enormously talented. You later on thought her gift could make a very dangerous offensive weapon.
You all went outside, so that she could show off her ability. You were only nervous with how the morphine effect would react to it.
“It’s a very straightforward illusion,” Edward explained when you asked. Edward’s eyes unfocused slightly as he continued. “She can make most people see whatever she wants them to see, see that, and nothing else. For example, right now I would appear to be alone in the middle of a dark rain forest. It’s so clear I might possibly believe it, except for the fact that I can still feel your hand.”
Zafrina’s lips twitched into her hard version of a smile. A second later, Edward’s eyes focused again and he grinned back.
Eliza was on your hip, warm and real in a way the rest of this world often wasn’t. Her small arm clung loosely around your neck, her weight familiar against you in a grounding way like she was the only thing keeping you fully tethered to the moment.
The forest didn’t just stay the forest. It became a vast field with green grass, colors deepening, light bending, shapes unfolding where there had been nothing a second before. It wasn’t an illusion in the way a trick was an illusion. It felt like Zafrina was revealing a version of reality that had been hidden behind the one you usually saw.
A river appeared where there was only ground. It shimmered like glass, running through impossible flowers that glowed faintly at their edges. Birds you didn’t recognize swept through the air in slow, graceful arcs, their wings leaving trails of light behind them. The canopy above seemed to open and close like a living breath.
You felt your own gift immediately immediately in your chest, in your throat. It softened everything inside you until the edges of your thoughts blurred, until the world stopped feeling sharp. Your grip on Eliza tightened slightly without you meaning to. Not out of fear, just instinct. Like your body didn’t fully know how to hold something so beautiful while staying intact.
Zafrina simply watched, her head tilted slightly. You had never seen anything like this.
Not in art, not in dreams, not even in the artistic moments when your imagination tried to build something beautiful and failed to reach this level of impossible detail.
The morphine effect deepened just enough to quiet the overwhelm. Instead of breaking you apart, it gathered everything. Emotion, perception, wonder, and held it still, like water becoming glass.
You didn’t want it to end. Not because you were escaping anything but because you had finally seen something that felt like it belonged in the same category as everything you loved most about existence. Everything was dreamy, fuzzy, and like heaven. Something that matched the way you saw color when you painted. Something that felt like it understood you back.
Zafrina’s gaze shifted to you then, more focused. Not invasive, just observant, and you realized she still didn’t know. She didn’t know that your reaction wasn’t just amazement.
The illusion around you shimmered, river light catching on invisible wind, impossible flowers bending toward you as if they recognized you.
Once the illusion faded and the forest returned to its normal weight of green and shadow, her sister, Senna moved closer with an easy curiosity, eyes flicking between you and Eliza, then to your hands when Edward mentioned you were an artist.
When you admitted it, almost shyly at first, that you painted, something in both of them shifted.
Zafrina’s gaze sharpened in interest. “You make images.” she said, like she was tasting the idea.
Senna tilted her head, approving in a quiet, instinctive way. “That is not different from what she does.” Edward said, nodding toward Zafrina.
Zafrina didn’t deny it. She just looked at you a little longer.
“That was…” you breathe out to compliment her gift. You focus your eyes again. Your effect humming steady under your skin like a leftover buzz.
Eliza was fascinated with the conversation, and she reached out fearlessly toward Zafrina.
“What would you like to see?” Zafrina asked.
Zafrina nodded and you watched anxiously as Eliza’s eyes stared blankly into space. A second later, Eliza’s dazzling smile lit up her face.
After that, it was hard to keep Eliza away from Zafrina and her pretty pictures. You worried, because you were quite sure that Zafrina was able to create images that were not pretty at all. But through Eliza’s thoughts you could see Zafrina’s visions for yourself, they were as clear as any of Eliza’s own memories, like they were real, and thus judge for yourself whether they were appropriate or not.
Though you didn’t give her up easily, you had to admit it was a good thing Zafrina was keeping Eliza entertained.
In truth, though you liked Zafrina very much and you knew she wouldn’t really hurt you, the wild woman was very cool.
You glanced over at Edward without thinking, the habit automatic like checking the weather before stepping outside. He was standing a little apart now, Eliza holding his arm, already moving toward the house. You caught the faintest look of focus on his face, the way he always got when something needed immediate attention.
He leaned down, speaking softly to Eliza as he went inside, likely toward the telephone. She liked Edward’s idea of calling her grandfather to wish him goodnight.
Zafrina’s gaze flicked back. “Show us your trick,” she said simply, as if it were already decided.
You blinked a bit, “My… trick?”
Her mouth curved slightly, “You have one. We can feel it. I just show the pictures, not feel it like I did. That wasn’t me.”
“Okay.” you agree quietly.
The deeper you walked into the forest, the more it opened around you. Zafrina and Senna followed without hesitation, moving with the ease of people who belonged to this world in a way you didn’t yet understand. Still, they watched you closely now, not skeptical, but attentive.
You stopped near the edge of the water. The sound of the waterfalls filled everything, steady and grounding.
The morphine effect was there again, soft at the edges of your perception. Not enough to dull you, just enough to take the sharpness out of everything like someone had turned down the volume on the world so you could finally hear yourself think. You closed your eyes to see if that would help you focus.
At first, nothing happened. Then slowly, like a door unlocking rather than opening, you let your awareness settle outward instead of inward. The forest didn’t change.
A bird landed nearby, then another. A rustle in the underbrush didn’t scatter into panic like it normally would around people. Instead, something small stepped into view, a forest animal, cautious but not fleeing, watching you.
Zafrina’s stillness sharpened, Senna leaned forward slightly, you opened your eyes and widened them. You shocked your own self as you were frozen stiff.
Slowly, carefully, you lowered yourself, extending a hand toward the animal. It didn’t run. It came closer instead, sniffing the air like it recognized something safe in you.
Its fur was warm, real, grounding in a way that surprised you. You gently lifted it into your arms, cradling it against your chest. It didn’t fight you, it didn’t panic, it just settled like it belonged there.
A small sound escaped you, half disbelief, half relief.
Behind you, Zafrina exhaled sharply. “The animals. It does not run from you.” she said, she was confirming something impossible. Senna stepped closer too, slower now.
You gave a small, slightly laugh. The morphine softness in your system made everything feel dreamlike at the edges, like you were wrapping yourself in a warm fuzzy blanket, but your hands were steady.
“Maybe it knows I don’t intend to hurt it.” you said.
Zafrina watched you for a long moment. Then, without asking, she reached out. The animal didn’t move away. Her and Senna’s wild eyes looked bewildered. Her fingers brushed its fur.
A breath of disbelief passed through her expression, not loud, not dramatic, but unmistakably real. Senna followed, touching it too, like she needed confirmation through sensation.
You stood and stared out the window with Edward’s arm wrapped around your waist as he tucked you to his side.
Three figures emerged from the trees, toward your home. The first was a tall, muscular female with wild dark hair, obviously Kachiri. She had the same elongated limbs and features as the other Amazons, even more pronounced in her case.
The next was a small olive toned female vampire with a long braid of black hair bobbing against her back. Her deep burgundy eyes flitted nervously around the scenery before her.
And the last was a young man, not quite as fast nor quite as fluid in his run. His skin was an impossible rich, dark brown. His wary eyes flashed across the gathering, and they were the color of warm teak. His hair was black and braided, too, like the woman’s, though not as long. He was beautiful.
As he neared you all, a new sound sent shock waves through the watching eyes, the sound of another heartbeat, accelerated with exertion.
Edward opened the front door, ushering them in.
“Hulien.” he greets as he couldn’t help himself.
“I am Huilen,” the woman introduced herself to you in clear but strangely accented English. As she continued, it was apparent she had prepared herself to tell this story, that she had practiced. It flowed like a well known nursery rhyme. “A century and a half ago, I lived with my people, the Mapuche. My sister was Pire. Our parents named her after the snow on the mountains because of her fair skin. And she was very beautiful, too beautiful. She came to me one day in secret and told me of the angel that found her in the woods, that visited her by night. I warned her.” Huilen shook her head mournfully. “As if the bruises on her skin were not warning enough. I knew it was the Libishomen of our legends, but she would not listen. She was bewitched.”
“She told me when she was sure her dark angel’s child was growing inside her. I didn’t try to discourage her from her plan to run away, I knew even our father and mother would agree that the child must be destroyed, Pire with it. I went with her into the deepest parts of the forest. She searched for her demon angel but found nothing. I cared for her, hunted for her when her strength failed. She ate the animals raw, drinking their blood. I needed no more confirmation of what she carried in her womb. I hoped to save her life before I killed the monster.
“But she loved the child inside her. She called him Nahuel, after the jungle cat, when he grew strong and broke her bones and loved him still…I could not save her. The child ripped his way free of her, and she died quickly, begging all the while that I would care for her Nahuel. Her dying wish. And I agreed.
“He bit me, though, when I tried to lift him from her body. I crawled away into the jungle to die. I didn’t get far, the pain was too much. But he found me. The newborn child struggled through the underbrush to my side and waited for me. When the pain ended, he was curled against my side, sleeping.
“I cared for him until he was able to hunt for himself. We hunted the villages around our forest, staying to ourselves. We have never come so far from our home, but Nahuel wished to see the child here.”
Huilen bowed her head when she was finished and moved back so she was partially hidden behind Kachiri.
Edward’s lips were pursed. He stared at the dark skinned youth.
“Nahuel, you are one hundred and fifty years old?” he questioned.
“Give or take a decade,” he answered in a clear, beautifully warm voice. His accent was barely noticeable. “We don’t keep track.”
“And you reached maturity at what age?” you blurt out. He shifted his eyes to you.
“About seven years after my birth, more or less, I was full grown.”
“You have not changed since then?” Edward asks.
Nahuel shrugged as he shifted his eyes back to Edward, “Not that I’ve noticed.”
“And your diet?” You asked to be sure. He shifted his eyes back to you.
“Mostly blood, but some human food, too. I can survive on either.”
“You were able to create an immortal.” As Edward gestured to Huilen, his voice was abruptly intense.
“Yes, but none of the rest can.”
Your eyebrows shot up, “The rest?”
“My sisters.” Nahuel shrugged again.
You stared wildly for a moment before composing your face.
“Perhaps you would tell us the rest of your story, for there seems to be more.” Edward says as you all sat in synchrony in the living room.
“My father came looking for me a few years after my mother’s death.” His handsome face distorted slightly. “He was pleased to find me.” Nahuel’s tone suggested the feeling was not mutual. “He had two daughters, but no sons. He expected me to join him, as my sisters had. He was surprised I was not alone. My sisters are not venomous, but whether that’s due to gender or a random chance… who knows? I already had my family with Huilen, and I was not interested”, he twisted the word, “In making a change. I see him from time to time. I have a new sister, she reached maturity about ten years back.”
“Joham is my father's name” Nahuel explained, “He considers himself a scientist. He thinks he’s creating a new super-race.” He made no attempt to disguise the disgust in his tone.
Still sitting very close to Zafrina and Senna, their fingertips interlocked. Like the half human Nahuel, in a hundred and fifty years Eliza would still be young and you would all be together.
Happiness expanded like an explosion inside you, so extreme, so violent that you wasn’t sure you'd survive it. You lifted your head and kissed Edward with a passion that might possibly set the forest on fire.
You wouldn’t have noticed. Neither would he.
“You must bring the child to see me,” Zafrina had insisted, “Promise me, young one.”
Eliza had pressed her hand to your neck, pleading as well.
“Of course, Zafrina.” you agreed.
“We shall be great friends, my estrelinha.” the wild woman had declared before leaving with her sisters.
Huilen and Nahuel were the ones who stayed, though you had expected those last two to go back with the Amazons. Edward was deep in fascinated conversation with Huilen. Nahuel sat close beside her, listening.
Instinctively, you held Eliza, asleep now on your lap, tighter in your arms. The hardest stare to ignore was also the most confusing one. It wasn’t like this half human, half vampire Nahuel was used to thinking of you in a certain way. For all he knew, you went around routing attacking vampires every day but the boy never took his eyes off you. Or maybe he was looking at Eliza.
He couldn’t be oblivious to the fact that Eliza was the only female of his kind that wasn’t his half sister. Eventually, the others ran out of questions for Edward, and the discussion dissolved into a bunch of smaller conversations.
You felt oddly tired after Edward wished the company farewell. You thanked them profusely. Not sleepy, of course, but just like the day had been long enough. You wanted some peace, some normality. You wanted Eliza in her own bed.
You looked at Edward and felt for a moment like you could read his mind. You could see he felt exactly the same way. Ready for some peace.
“That’s probably a good idea,” he agreed quickly.
You shifted your weight carefully so that Eliza was never jostled. You were deeply grateful to see her getting a sound sleep. It was time she got to be a child again, protected and secure. A few more years of childhood.
You bent and pressed kisses to Eliza’s forehead as Edward stood next to you. You nuzzled her cheek. It twitched.
“Our little girl will be fully matured in just six and a half years.” Edward whispered in awe.
You considered that for a minute. You gave him a tender expression and he brushed his thumb against your cheek.
“We have nothing to worry about.” you whispered.
“…I will say…I’m grateful to Nahuel for today, but all the staring, what was that about? Is it because she is the only half vampire he’s not related to?”
“Oh, he wasn’t staring at her, he was staring at you.”
“That’s… but that didn’t make any sense.” you softly chuckled, “Why would he do that?”
“Because you’re alive.” he said quietly.
“…You lost me.” you matched his tone.
“All his life,” he explained, “and he’s fifty years older than I am, he’s always thought of himself as an evil creation, a murderer by nature. His sisters all killed their mothers as well, but they thought nothing of it. Joham raised them to think of the humans as animals, while they were gods. But Nahuel was taught by Huilen and Huilen loved her sister more than anyone else. It shaped his whole perspective. And, in some ways, he truly hated himself.”
“Hm..That’s really deep.” you murmured with a thoughtful shake of your head. He gave one nod.
“And then he saw the three of us and realized for the first time that just because he is half immortal, it doesn’t mean he is inherently evil. He looks at me and sees… what his father should have been.”
“You are fairly ideal in every way.” you agreed.
He snorted and then was serious again. “He looks at you and sees the life his mother should have had.”
“Poor Nahuel.” you murmured and then sighed as you replayed the staring.
“Don’t be sad for him. He’s happy now. Today, he’s finally begun to forgive himself.”
You smiled for Nahuel’s happiness and then thought that today belonged to happiness. Edward gently tucked her in. She smiled as she slept.
Edward and you walked slowly to your room, swinging your arms between you two.
“A night for celebrations.” he murmured and he put his hand under your chin to lift your lips to his.
Tracing through your folds with a patience that pulled you in slow, disoriented increments. The room was still dark, that deep, velvet darkness just before dawn, when the rain had stopped and the glass walls held nothing but shadow. His tongue circled your clit and your hips lifted without permission.
His name came out as a croak and broken. Your hand found his bronze hair in the dark, fingers twisting into silk. He didn't answer with words. His tongue lapped through you again, slow and fat. The kind of stroke that gathered everything and drew it into his mouth like he was starving. The sound he made vibrated against your center, low and hungry.
Your head pressed back into the pillow. Your spine curled. The darkness made everything sharper, no visual to anchor to, just the wet glide of his tongue and the grip of his hands on your inner thighs. Your stomach dropped and your inner walls clench around nothing. He moaned against you.
The vibration of it traveled through your nub, your core, the places his tongue kept tracing with that impossible precision. Your fingers tightened in his hair. Your hips rolled against his face. His tongue dipped inside you. The stretch was nothing compared to last night. His tongue was softer than his fingers, curling to taste the place that still throbbed with the memory of being filled. Your back arched. A sound escaped your throat, breathy, broken, too loud for a house of a sleeping child and his hand lifted from your thigh. Pressed gently over your mouth.
Your hips bucked. Your thighs clamped around his ears. The orgasm that had been building since the first stroke of his tongue crashed through you in pulses that seemed to go on and on and on. He didn't stop. His tongue kept moving, slow circles now, gentle, drawing out every spasm until you lay limp and trembling beneath his palm.
You felt him move in the dark. The shift of his body sliding up mine. The press of his chest against your breasts. The hard length of him nudging your entrance, already leaking, already desperate, and you hadn't even touched him yet. The realization landed in your chest and spread there. Made you feel weak and boneless. You were pliant in the dark sheets as he settled between your thighs.
Your mouth fell open. No sound came out. The fullness was overwhelming, the width of him, the impossible depth he reached when your legs were wrapped around his waist. He withdrew. Thrusted back in slow, so slow. The rhythm languid, unhurried, his hips rolling with a patience that made your thoughts dissolve.
His forehead pressed to yours. His eyes found yours in the dark, those honey dark irises that saw everything, knew everything, held everything. His thrusts were deep and complete. Each one a full withdrawal and a full return. Each one pressing a soft, breathy sound from your throat that his palm, still hovering near your mouth, caught and held.
The room filled with the sounds of you two. The wet squelch of his length entering you. The soft creak of the bed beneath his rhythm. The ragged pull of your breathing and the low, rough sounds escaping his throat, sounds he couldn't control, sounds that made your inner walls flutter around him every time you heard them.
His groan made you clench. Your clench made him thrust deeper. His deeper thrust made you moan, and the moan, muffled against his palm, made him groan again. The sounds blurred together. Became a rhythm of their own. Wordless and primal. The quiet music of two bodies learning each other in the dark before dawn.
He shifted and rolled you two onto your sides without separating. The new angle pressed him against a place inside you that made your vision white out. Your leg hooked over his hip. Your back pressed against his chest. His arm wrapped around your front, his palm flattening against your stomach.
His hips rolled up into you slow and deep. His hand slid lower, over your belly, through the damp folds at your center and his fingers found your clit, circling and pressing. The dual sensation made your spine curl and your breath catch and your inner walls clamp down around his length. His rhythm quickened.
Not rough, but more. More urgent, more intent. His fingers circled faster, his thrusts deepened, his mouth pressed open against the curve of your shoulder. The sounds, the sounds you two were making, grew louder.
Your eyes rolled back. Your thoughts dissolved. There was nothing but the fullness and the friction and the weight of his arm across your stomach, holding you steady while he took you apart.
"We have to be quiet.” you managed. The words were barely air.
"I know." His voice was rough and broken. "I know."
But his rhythm didn't slow. His fingers didn't stop circling. And the sounds kept spilling from both of you, his low groans, your breathy moans, the filthy squelch of your joining that no amount of careful positioning could muffle.
You clamped your own hand over your mouth. Bit down on your marble palm. The tension in your core pulled tighter.
His hand pressed harder on your stomach. His thrusts grew deeper. His mouth found your ear, and the sound he made, low, guttural, utterly undone, pushed you over the edge.
The climax crashed through you in pulses that milked his length. Your inner walls clenched and released and clenched again, and the rhythm of it triggered him, his hips stuttering, his groan muffled against your shoulder, his release spilling inside you in endless pulses that mixed with your own climax and dripped down your thighs.
You both stayed there. Joined and trembling. His hand still pressed to your stomach, your hand still clamped over your mouth, his chest against your back. The darkness held you two. The silence, real silence, the silence of two people finally spent, settled over the room like a blanket.
His lips pressed to your shoulder soft and reverent.
Outside the glass walls, the first gray light of dawn began to seep through the trees. The rain had stopped. The house was still, but you didn't separate.
His arm still wrapped around your front, his fingers still resting on the damp folds at your center, his length still nestled inside you.
You rose from the bed, your limbs heavy with satisfaction and you get dressed for the day. You padded down the hallway to Eliza's room. The door was slightly ajar. You pushed it open gently.
Eliza was already awake, sitting cross legged in the center of her bed, her dark hair a wild tangle around her face with lines from sleep on her cheek. She was still wearing her pajamas, her small hands clutching a worn stuffed rabbit. Her large eyes lifted to meet yours.
"Hi, good morning, sweetheart.” you said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.
“Are we going to see Zafrina?” she asked in a raspy sleepy voice.
“Did you sleep well?" you place a hand on her knee.
Eliza shrugged, a gesture far too mature for her actual age.
You reached for the hairbrush on the nightstand and wiped sleep from her eyes. "Let's get you ready for the day. Would you like that?"
Eliza's shoulders shrugged again.
She clutched her stuffed rabbit as she sat at her vanity. You began to brush through the knots, your touch gentle despite Eliza's occasional winces. The girl's mood was strange today, sulky, withdrawn. She usually loved having her hair brushed, chattering about her dreams and her plans for the day. But this morning she sat in stubborn silence at the vanity, her body rigid under your ministrations.
You leaned down and kissed the top of her head anyway. "There," you said, setting the brush aside. "All done. You look beautiful."
Eliza touched her smoothed hair, her expression conflicted but she couldn’t help to hide her pleased expression at her hair. "Can I go color now?"
"Im going to color now." Eliza said. She slid off the chair before you could respond, padding to the small table in the corner where her colored pencils and paper were spread out. She took them and went down the stairs into the open room.
You watched her go. You zip to where she was.
"Eliza," you said softly, crouching beside her. "Are you okay?”
The girl didn't look up. "Yes."
“I want to see Zafrina again. I want to see the pretty pictures again.”
“Aw, I know..You’ll see her again. We promised her, alright?”
She nods like a good sport but she was still a bit upset.
You gave her her space. Eliza sat on the floor at the coffee table with crayons spread around her while you wandered around the kitchen area absentmindedly.
Edward stood nearby reading something, though his attention clearly wasn’t on the pages.
You looked up instinctively and he kissed you.
His hand slid from your shoulder to the back of your neck, his fingers against your skin. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. Then another to your cheek. Then, boldly, his lips found yours.
Edward only leaned closer, brushing his nose lightly against your cheek. Then he kissed just beneath your jaw.
You immediately went shy the way you always did when he got affectionate unexpectedly. Edward hummed softly against your neck, entirely unbothered. You laughed softly under your breath as Edward continued to quietly distract you.
His lips brushed the side of your neck.
Edward laughed softly against your skin. You felt another kiss. His golden eyes were bright with amusement. Your cheeks immediately sparked.
He leaned down again. You caught his shoulders.
“That was like three kisses ago.”
“I meant one more after those.”
You rolled your eyes and Edward smiled. Then kissed you anyway, long enough that you completely forgot what you were about to say. When you finally pulled back, Edward simply followed.
His hands found yours, holding them gently, keeping you from escaping. His expression was entirely too pleased with himself. You tried pulling away. He didn’t budge, not even slightly.
The difference in strength between you two wasn’t large anymore but Edward was clearly enjoying himself.
“You’re so ridiculous.” you warmly chuckled.
You tried stepping backward but Edward smoothly followed, still holding your hands, still smiling. You went to the table where Eliza was coloring. Eliza seen you approached and scooted over immediately.
You sat beside her and pulled over your sketchbook. Soon pencils and crayons covered the table. The familiar comfort of drawing settled over you almost instantly. Beside you, Eliza colored calmly.
Across the room Edward watched you both. Then eventually wandered over. You could practically feel his presence before he sat down next to Eliza. Edward’s voice became thoughtful.
“Have I seen your new trick yet?”
Immediately Eliza’s expression changed. You watched the excitement flash across her face before she tried to hide it.
“The one you’ve learned while I was away.”
Eliza’s smile was beginning to win, she tried to suppress it but failed, then crossed her arms, trying to recover. You watched the entire performance with amusement.Edward tilted his head.
The excitement finally escaped just a little. A tiny smile. A tiny bounce as she was clearly interested.
“Maybe.” she spoke in a small voice.
You looked down at your sketchbook to avoid laughing. Edward remained perfectly serious.
Edward considered this gravely, “Hmm…That’s unfortunate.”
“Because now I’m curious.”
Eliza immediately straightened. You could practically see the battle taking place inside her. Trying to remain cool, trying to remain nonchalant but, wanting to desperately to show off. The second desire won.
“Okay. But you have to watch.”
Edward sat forward. Edward somehow managed not to smile.
“No.” Eliza pointed at him, “You really have to watch, daddy.”
Edward held up both hands, “You have my complete attention.”
Eliza narrowed her eyes suspiciously making sure. Edward held up a pinky and she interlocked it. Then she looked toward you.
You immediately nodded, “I’m watching.”
Satisfied, Eliza marched into the center of the room. The confidence alone nearly made you laugh. Edward rested his chin on one hand, entirely focused. Eliza took her position and placed her hands on the floor.
Then she kicked upward. For a brief second she wobbled. You instinctively leaned forward but Edward clutched your arm for a second without taking his eyes off of her.
Then she steadied, perfectly. Both legs positioned to form in a stag handstand.
Edward looked genuinely impressed.
And Eliza saw it. Even upside down. You could tell because Eliza somehow looked smug while holding a handstand. A warm smile broke out of your face. You counted in your head.
Eliza immediately concentrated harder, determined to make it even longer.
Then finally she toppled sideways and landed in a heap on the rug. The second she hit the floor she jumped up again fluidly.
Practically vibrating. She smiled with her chest heaving.
“No, did you really see?”
The grin on Eliza’s face was enormous. Her giggle was purely the sound of joy. You couldn’t remember seeing her this excited all week. Eliza practically launched herself across the room, straight into Edward. He caught her effortlessly, pulling her into his lap.
“I held it for longer than four seconds.”
Edward nodded solemnly, “I noticed.”
Edward pretended to think, “Hmm.”
She touched his cheek impatiently.
You laughed again as Eliza grabbed his arm impatiently. Edward finally relented.
Eliza gasped. The reaction made Edward smile immediately.
You watched pride bloom across your her face. Edward wrapped an arm around her while she excitedly recounted every practice attempt she’d thought she made in secret. Edward listened to every word.
Soon the two of them were deep in conversation. Talking and talking. Discussing balance and practice. Future tricks.
Whether ten seconds was possible.
You smiled quietly and returned to your sketchbook. The sound of their voices filled the room. And as you listened to Eliza excitedly planning her next impossible accomplishment, You found yourself smiling at the page without even realizing it.
