These Violent Delights

Chapter One

The human heart has hidden treasures,
In secret kept, in silence sealed;
The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures,
Whose charms were broken if revealed. -Emily Bronte

The ancient trees that rose above the cottage creaked and moaned in the slight breeze, the only company in Edward's solitude. Yes, the forest Carlisle had promised would provide him with the distance he needed was just that-remote and void of human inhabitants. Exactly what he desired. After what he'd done . . . yes, it was better this way. Better for his family and better for him.

Edward closed the door to his one-room hideaway and stepped out onto the front porch, breathing deeply though he had no need. The night air was fragrant and fresh, holding just a hint of danger. He leapt gracefully onto the leafy forest floor below and headed out down a dark path.

His new home was passable; he'd lived in much worse places over the years, especially during those times he was last separated from the Cullens. If only it wasn't so terribly boring. The only excitement had come from his chance encounters with other magical creatures, some familiar and expected and some exceedingly strange. A unicorn had passed through the clearing near his abode on the second day of his sojourn and Edward had refused to inhale, knowing from lore this most innocent of beasts possessed a particularly tempting essence which would be difficult to resist. The night before Edward had had a far less pleasant experience when he'd stumbled upon a colony of giant spiders, a meeting he had no desire to repeat in the near future. Though nearly invulnerable in the human world, Carlisle had warned his adopted son of dangerous potentialities should he tangle with the wrong mythical animal. Fortunately, there was also a prevalent supply of wild deer, red fox, and badger; while Edward preferred mountain lions and larger predatory game, such prey had long been extinct on the British Isles. He'd have to make due.

As he continued down the footpath, Edward kept his ears keenly locked onto any sound of movement in the forest. Not long into his venture he discerned the footfalls of a young whitetail. In a flash he'd seized the animal and latched his teeth into its tender, musky throat, draining the carcass dry in mere seconds. It was a start, Edward thought, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he discarded the body, but far from assuaging his hunger. The burden was always there, a sometimes fierce and sometimes dull void at his center. One that would never be filled again.

Edward didn't mind the chill in the air; temperature extremes didn't affect him, and he preferred colder weather. It reminded him of his old home . . . ah, but thinking of that wouldn't do. He'd broken the pact, sealed his fate, and now had to live with the repercussions of his curse. Alone. Turning his attention to more pleasant thoughts, Edward considered taking a trip to London to replenish the sparse collection of books at the cabin. Most of the ones he'd found were medical. And ancient. Which made sense; Carlisle was, after all, a doctor, and had lived here on and off throughout the first hundred years of his existence. And now that Edward had gotten his hunger under control, he could afford to go into the city . . . if only for the day. He wouldn't speak to anyone unless absolutely necessary. Just as he'd begun to think about the particulars of the trip, he inhaled sharply.

A scent-so sweet, so seductive, so utterly . . . perfect . . . assaulted his nostrils with force. He almost felt, rather than heard, the luxurious pulse of blood throb through the air, igniting such a violent craving in him, Edward nearly moaned. No, no, no! There weren't supposed to be humans in this area. Carlisle had told him . . . Carlisle had promised . . .

He couldn't complete the thought. His mouth filled with venom. Without volition, Edward's body crouched into attack mode as the human neared-a male, by the smell of him. And oh, his scent. Spicy, hot, silky. Edward breathed and breathed, his cock hardening at the thought of the lush nectar filling him up, filling the void. The snap of twigs and forest detritus grew more audible as his prey approached. Edward extended his mind, listening for the tenor of the human's thoughts. Yes, take him. Drain him and take him.

Pain. Anger. Fear. Rage. Edward could barely understand the jumbled thoughts or the images that flashed with them. But the emotions swirled, dark and inarticulate, striking him with such startling voracity that the titillating effect of the smell dissipated. Only fractionally, but that bit was enough for Edward to recall himself. He glanced down at his body—knees bent, arms extended, prick hard and tightening his pants-and muttered silently with disgust. After all he'd been through in the past few weeks, he'd utterly failed when confronted by his first temptation. Go to London, indeed! He couldn't even live in an isolated forest without disgrace. Edward stood in haste, adjusting himself quickly before turning to retreat. Of course his discomfiture made him careless. He stepped on a largish branch, splitting it in two with an audible crack.

"Hello?" A smooth, tenor voice rang out into the night. "Is anyone there?" Edward saw a light glow from the periphery of his vision and froze, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself. He didn't know if he'd be able to maintain his control should he actually come face to face with the owner of such alluring blood.

"Speak!" the voice commanded, its authority taking Edward by surprise. The human's emotional state seemed at odds with his firm tone. Edward searched out the other's mind, finding it frustratingly blank. He couldn't even get a vague sense of the thoughts now; it was as if the human had purposefully blocked Edward from hearing them. But how? The steps grew nearer and Edward knew he should run before he was discovered, but something kept him locked in place . . . curiosity. He turned his head.

There, not twenty paces away, stood a tall human male cloaked in black. He held a wand of some sort, which glowed at the end, casting a soft light around them. When he saw Edward, he froze, his eyes widening for a moment before the face regained its composure, settling into a defiant sneer. Edward felt unsettled as he probed forward again, and still came away with nothing.

"Trying to get into my head, are you? Don't bother."

Edward held his breath before he spoke. How in the world had the human detected his mind reading capabilities?

"That's ridiculous."

"What rot. I can feel it," the other boy replied, coming closer. His hair was an almost shocking blond, which, against the backdrop of the night, seemed almost ethereal. Had Edward stumbled upon an angel?

"Who sent you? Snape? My father? Did He send you? You better tell me before I hex your bollocks off." Perhaps he was more a devil; the blond's voice seethed with barely tempered rage.

"I have no idea who or what you're talking about," Edward shot back, turning to face his opponent. That much was the truth, at least. "I was simply out for a walk." Then he smirked. "For all I know, you're following me."

The other boy rolled his eyes and scowled, ignoring Edward's final comment. "A night's stroll, hmm? In the Forbidden Forest? Ha! You're either a bloody liar or an idiot."

Edward couldn't argue with either of those suppositions. He straightened his shoulders and crossed his arms, feeling strangely defensive before this insignificant human. Why was he out here, then, if the forest was so dangerous?

Before Edward could say anything else, the blond spoke again, the same harsh edge to his voice. "Listen, whoever it was that sent you to spy on me, tell them to shove off. And if I catch you following me again, I won't give you another warning before I curse you. Even if you are unarmed." He made a significant gesture with his wand and Edward finally began to understand-he'd come across wizards often enough in America to know how to spot one, but he'd never met one with blood so . . . appealing before. What this insolent boy didn't understand was, even if Edward didn't own a wand, he did have other, deadly weapons at his disposal: himself.

"I'm not following you," Edward said softly. "I swear it."

"Well, who are you then?"

Something about the human's demeanor had shifted-he seemed almost desperate now, some of his earlier bravado fading. At first Edward suspected that he'd sensed something off, as humans often did, their survival mechanisms kicking into gear when he was around despite his visual appeal. But the blond didn't seem afraid of him. No, he may have been afraid of something, but it wasn't Edward. And in spite of his caustic words, Edward wanted to assure him. Comfort him. How strange.

Edward shrugged. "No one."

"You don't go to Hogwarts. I would have seen you around." The wizard gave him an appraising look that Edward almost interpreted as appreciative before his face hardened once more.

"What's Hogwarts?" The question was born out of genuine interest, and seemed to take human by surprise.

"You really are daft," he muttered dismissively, moving as if to turn away.

"Wait!" Edward called, not really understanding his own eagerness. "Don't go yet." The solitude must really be getting to him if he wanted this boy-this very abrasive, though admittedly attractive boy—to stay with him.

His tone seemed to catch the human's attention. He turned back to Edward with an unreadable expression.

"I have to get back before I'm missed," he explained. "It's well past curfew."

Curfew?

"Then Hogwarts is a school?" Carlisle hadn't told him there were any schools nearby; in fact, now the omission seemed suspect. He'd known Edward was trying to get away from humans, after all. And even if this boy was a wizard, he was still a human. A very delectable one, despite his caustic demeanor. Edward resisted the temptation to inhale, thankful he no longer had the physiological need to breathe.

"Obviously." The boy spoke as if Edward were a bit slow. "The best in the country for witchcraft and wizardry, or so they say." He flicked his wand listlessly, as if bored by their interaction.

"Oh," Edward replied. "I had no idea. I'm not from around here, you know."

"You're an American."

Edward nodded, then remembered the wizard's earlier slight. He channeled the other boy's derisive tone. "Obviously."

The other boy hesitated again. "So if you don't go to Hogwarts and you're not a spy, you must be a . . ." His eyes gained an awareness that confused Edward. Did he know Edward's secret?

"A what?"

"A Muggle."

Edward had heard this term before used to refer to non-wizarding humans, but never directed at himself. It didn't bother him in the slightest if that was what the young man thought; at least he hadn't said vampire. The last thing Edward needed was to be found out and have this boy announce his whereabouts to local authorities or school officials. Then again, if he was out here in the so-called Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night, he might not even give it a second thought. He was probably used to much stranger things than vampires. Perhaps. But Edward wasn't sure he could trust him. He decided not to affirm or deny the other's supposition.

"Wonderful, "he scoffed. "An American Muggle. But that doesn't make sense . . ." the boy continued, talking to himself now more than Edward. "I could have sworn you were in my head for a second . . ." He seemed to realize he was speaking out loud and attempted to cover his tracks. "Nevermind . . . Listen, I really do need to go. And I believe you, about not being sent to follow me. Just forget you ever saw me out here, that we ever had this conversation." Something rustled nearby and the boy whirled around, rattled. He seemed to be searching for something in the night, the early fear that Edward had detected in his thoughts written clearly on his face.

Edward nodded, though such a request seemed impossible. He was more intrigued than ever. And when the other boy came forward to stand directly in front of Edward, the latter nearly couldn't stem the flood of venom that threatened to overflow his mouth at the former's tempting proximity.

"If you keep this a secret, you'd be doing me a great favor." The serious tone of the human's voice, coupled with his intense eyes-Edward could now see they were an unusual shade of bluish grey-struck a chord in him. He seemed almost vulnerable, anxiety rolling off of him in waves. Perhaps he was trustworthy after all.

"I would appreciate the same courtesy. I live out here, and I'd like to remain undisturbed."

"You live out here? Where?"

The disbelief in his tone made Edward cringe. He shouldn't have given away his location so easily; but still, he couldn't bring himself to lie. "Yes," he admitted. "A little ways off."

"Okay, well, that's . . . odd. But yeah, I won't say anything."

"Thanks."

The wizard nodded abruptly, his eyes darting down to Edward's lips and away again so quickly that if Edward hadn't had vampire reflexes, he would have missed the movement. A strange feeling overcame him, a mixture of pleasure and discomfort so acute as to be nearly painful. He took a step back, wondering if he'd removed the last traces of blood from his mouth.

His movement seemed to startle the other boy; perhaps it had been too quick.

"Right then," the boy said. "Goodbye."

It sounded so final-Edward didn't like it. Before he could stop himself, he'd blurted out his name in some sort of bizarre delayed introduction. At first he didn't think the other boy would reciprocate, but he defied Edward's expectations once again.

"I'm Draco," he said quietly, reaching out to shake Edward's hand. "Malfoy."

If Draco Malfoy found Edward's cold skin surprising, he didn't show it. His face remained impassive. Edward, embarrassingly enough, could not say the same for himself; the searing heat of the palm connecting with his, the wrap of the long, slender fingers, nearly destroyed him. If he could have felt light-headed, he would have.

Draco nodded again before releasing him and left without another word. And Edward stood staring out into the darkness for a long, long time.

Chapter Two

Days turned to weeks and Edward found himself hunting in the forest each night, though he didn't need to feed. He justified his actions using boredom as a rationale because anything else was preposterous-and impossible. So why did he still to listen for a certain set of footfalls, only to be disappointed again and again? Why did he hope to happen upon a dark cloak and shock of blond hair?

Weariness and ennui; no more, no less. Edward would have been equally interested in any human who'd been walking out in the woods at night alone.

But the blood, that scent-he'd never encountered anything like it in his long life. Even the memory was potent enough to fill his mouth with cursed venom. Best never to see the other boy again.

There was only one thing to be done. He needed an occupation-something to distract him from his solitude and unnatural longing. Without his piano or any electricity to listen to music or operate a computer, many of his usual creative outlets were unavailable. Instead, he took to writing, filling page after page with useless, self-indulgent drivel. One day he grew frustrated with himself and tore an entire notebook full of ramblings to shreds. Useless apologies, now that the people who deserved them were dead. He'd postponed his trip to London after the nearly disastrous encounter with Draco in the forest, so new books would have to wait. Clearly his control had been badly damaged by the incident in Seattle; he needed to get it back if he were ever to live in a more populated area again.

In an effort to break the monotony, he went on long runs through the forest. He learned to stay out of particular areas, especially the Centaur colony, as the creatures were territorial and easily irritated. During the full moon he came face to face with a true werewolf, not kin to the shapeshifting wolves he'd known in America, and just barely escaped without being mauled. He didn't doubt that such an attack would be devastating at the very least.

That was the same night he finally glimpsed Hogwarts; he'd been running on the outskirts of the forest when the lighted turrets had come into view. Such an arresting, medieval looking place, and much larger than he'd imagined. The stone facade looked to be nearly a thousand years old, if not older-surely Carlisle knew it existed. The fact that he'd omitted this crucial detail weighed heavily on Edward as he returned to his own abode, so humble in comparison.

A few days later, Edward found himself back near the edge of the forest as evening approached. He could hardly remember what day it was, or even what month for that matter, but the leaves on the deciduous trees seemed to indicate mid-fall. He leaned against a tree and listened dispassionately to the distant sounds of students filtering down the expanse toward the forest. He did not envy them their lot, though he supposed magical education was likely much more interesting than anything he'd learned in human or, as Draco would say, Muggle school. He wondered what life was like for Draco in the castle, and if the boy had ever thought of him again.

Just as the thought entered his mind, a figure appeared in the distance headed directly toward the tree line. Edward's keen eyesight determined almost immediately it was Draco; his lithe, forceful strides indicated a purposefulness that Edward both hoped and dreaded had something to do with him. There was only one way to find out. Darting quickly between trees, Edward made his way back to the clearing where he'd met the wizard on that earlier occasion. He didn't want to be caught out in his current position, which made it seem as if he was waiting for Draco's return.

It didn't take long for the other boy to approach, but by the time he'd arrived, night had fallen. He did, however, seemed surprised to see Edward. The two of them stood facing each other, arms crossed, both assessing.

"Hello again." Edward spoke first.

"You really do live here." The words seemed to be said as a sort of self-confirmation.

"Yes."

Draco whispered lumos; the charm immediately lit the end of his wand and gave Edward a better look at his face. He stared, surprised . . . the other boy appeared thinner than he had the last time, and dark circles under his eyes indicated he hadn't been sleeping. Still, the face was unconventionally handsome-the jaw, sharp but well-formed, the lips sensual but not overly full. Edward cleared the strange thoughts from his head; he'd always preferred men, but he hadn't found anyone attractive in years.

"Ha! I almost thought I was dreaming," Draco muttered to himself, moving closer. The words could have been plucked directly from Edward's mind; was it possible the wizard could read thoughts as well as block others from reading his? The grey eyes moved over Edward, making him feel ill at ease. He tried not to breathe, lest he inhale some of that intoxicating scent and lose control again. He was not expecting what happened next.

"So you're a vampire," Draco said nonchalantly, not looking Edward directly in the eye. The casual way he'd spoken made Edward start, though he tried not to show it.

"How interesting. I've never met a vampire before." Draco drew his hand to his face and tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I thought you'd be more . . . Well, you're not very frightening, now are you?"

Edward snorted. If Draco only knew how frightening he could be, he likely wouldn't be standing so close. Why was he standing so close? It was unnerving, but Edward stood his ground. He wouldn't let himself be bested by a snarky boy with an inflated ego.

"That's a pretty active imagination you have there," Edward said dismissively. "But I'm no more a vampire than you are."

"Please, don't patronize me. I don't appreciate it," Draco snapped, closing his eyes in irritation. "I do have an imagination, but not even it could conjure up such a perfect explanation. Truth, as they say, is stranger than fiction."

"You're awfully sure of yourself."

"I'm always sure of myself," Draco drawled, making a delicate movement with his wrist. The light on his wand got brighter. "And I also have access to one of the world's finest magic libraries. My research skills have been described as preternatural."

"How modest of you."

"I didn't say I described them that way, now did I?" Draco smirked and moved to sit on the log near Edward's feet. He patted the space next to him as one would invite a cat, dog, or small child to be seated; it didn't please Edward in the least. He remained standing.

Draco continued, unfazed. "I also have eyes. You move more quickly than any human I've ever seen and your hands are ice cold. You live alone in the forest and don't particularly seem fond of company. And when I saw you that night, you had blood on your mouth."

So he had made a mess of himself, after all. Edward groaned aloud at his irresponsible behavior-talking to a human just after a feeding. What an idiot. He deserved to be found out.

"So I'm right, then." Draco seemed pleased with himself. "Won't you sit?"

Feeling as though his legs were about to give way under him, Edward finally assented to the invitation. "So if what you say is true, you must have a death wish. You do know what vampires eat, don't you?" He tried to ignore how close their bodies were to one another; he could feel Draco's warmth and experienced the most irritating urge to move closer still.

"I'm not afraid."

"That's pretty stupid of you."

"If you were going to kill me, you'd have done it the first night we met."

"I might still," Edward remarked truthfully. Draco didn't need to know how strongly his blood called to Edward, especially since that knowledge might give him another advantage in this already strangely imbalanced relationship.

"You won't. And if you do, you'll be doing me a favor." His expression darkened as he looked out into the night, and Edward heard his pulse rate increase. He was afraid. Maybe he did have a death wish.

Edward remembered back to their first meeting, the anguish he'd felt in Draco's thoughts before the wizard had expelled him from his mind. The boy's mercurial moods seemed to change according to the breeze-first angry and defiant, then frightened, confident and brash, then almost vulnerable. And now the enigmatic suggestion that he'd welcome his own death? It didn't add up. Edward tried again to reach into Draco's mind and thus solve the riddle, but like the last time it remained frustratingly, tantalizingly closed.

"Won't get anywhere like that," Draco said snidely. "You might as well try talking to me instead."

That Draco could feel Edward's intrusion was strange; no one ever had before. He had to know how he was doing it. "How can you tell?"

"Occlumency. I've learned to block people from reading my thoughts, to protect them. It's . . . necessary in this day and age." He didn't elaborate on his enigmatic statement, and Edward decided to let it be. For now.

"Can you read minds as well?" Edward asked.

"I'm not as proficient at it, but yes, to an extent. What about you? Are all vampires telepathic?"

"Not all-a few. When the . . . change happens, some of us seem to hone special traits that we possessed in a less perfect form during our human lives." Edward had no idea why he was speaking so freely with this human, as it was strictly forbidden by vampire code of law. But would the same rules apply to wizards as to humans? He didn't know.

"How fascinating. None of that was in the literature of vampire lore." Draco's eyes gleamed in the light of his wand. If he found such interest in research, he must be a good student.

"No, it wouldn't be. We like to keep our secrets to ourselves. I actually shouldn't be telling you any of this," Edward admitted.

"Why are you?"

"I have no clue."

"Don't worry about it. No one would believe me anyway."

"You did."

"Yes, but as I've said, I have an active imagination. The people I associate with," Draco said with a grimace, "not so much."

"So you attend a magical school next to a forest filled with giant spiders and three-headed dogs, yet none of you have ever seen a vampire?"

Draco smirked. "When you put it like that, it sounds a bit odd." Then his frown returned. "You've seen Fluffy?"

Edward gave him a puzzled look.

"That's the dog's name. If you can call that brute a dog. Someone up there," Draco gestured towards the school, "has a terrible sense of humor. I'd stay away from him if I were you. Nasty bugger."

"Plan on it," Edward agreed.

"So, Edward the vampire; I know you're probably unfazed by the cold, being undead and all, but I could use a bit of warmth and a cuppa. Where do you live?"

Surprised by the unexpected turn of events, and Draco's shift in demeanor, Edward turned toward him. The wizard was trembling, his lips faintly tinged with blue. Edward hadn't noticed it before, having been too wrapped up in their conversation. While his instinct was to offer the wizard his coat, he wasn't wearing one, and to draw him closer would only increase his chill. Not that he had any intention of getting closer.

"You want to come to my house?" Edward couldn't keep the incredulity from his voice.

"I do believe I just invited myself."

"I don't have tea," Edward confessed. He tried to imagine Draco in his house, Draco at his table, Draco's scent filling the air.

"Do you have heat?"

"There's a fireplace." He'd never used it.

"Good enough for me." Draco stood and extended his hand. Edward eyed it reluctantly before popping up to his feet on his own. The wizard really did have a death wish.

Chapter Three

Draco filled the space with his presence; Edward couldn't understand how such a skinny person could be so . . . everywhere. As soon as he'd entered the cabin, Draco had removed his robes, revealing a slim cut (and very flattering) black suit. Edward tried not to stare as the wizard bent over the fireplace, igniting the wood with a whispered spell. Soon, the fire roared and crackled behind the grate. Satisfied, Draco stood and rubbed his hands together, letting out an audible sigh. Neither of them had spoken in minutes.

"Interesting," Draco muttered, glancing round the room. While his face remained impassive, Edward saw the space anew through his eyes and how it left much to be desired. A simple, single person cot lined one wall, not that Edward had much use for it as he didn't sleep or have sex. On the other side of the cabin was a small table and two chairs, and next to that the floor to ceiling bookshelf filled with Carlisle's outdated books. Edward didn't have use for a kitchen, and neither had Carlisle, but there was a small bathroom at the back of the cabin. The indoor plumbing was nonexistent; in any case, he only used the tub for baths, which he drew from the well outside of the house. It hadn't seemed all that terrible when he was on his own, but now that another person was here, well . . . Edward's face flushed with shame. His embarrassment and unease at Draco's continued silence caused him to lash out.

"What did you expect, a castle and a moat?" Edward snapped. "Perhaps some coffins lined with silk? I've none of that, as you can see."

Draco's brow furrowed, and Edward waited for the inevitable barbs. None came.

"This is rather better, I'd say." Draco dragged a chair in front of the fire, and then did the same to the second. "Merlin, it's bloody cold. How do you stand it?" He sat down and lifted his hands to the flame.

"Undead, remember?" Edward smiled grimly and sat down opposite Draco. It actually felt nice to be sitting with someone else for a change. Why hadn't he lit the grate before? Even though vampires usually avoided fire, the warmth did much to lift his spirits.

"Of course. So no coffins and no moats."

"None."

"How disappointing," Draco replied in a teasing tone. "No silk?"

Edward didn't know quite how to take the last comment. Was this boy . . . was this boy flirting with him? If he'd had a heart, it would have thudded in his chest. He remembered the feel of Draco's hand, the warmth of his skin as it connected with his. Like silk. And his blood would be just as smooth. Edward's mind began to travel down a strange and unnerving path, imagining the luxury of tasting him. But he didn't want to hurt him, not really. A vision of Draco tangled in silken sheets hit him with astonishing force. No, it couldn't be. Sexual relations between vampires and humans were impossible. Yet an undeniable and exhilarating stirring tightened his pants; it had been years since he'd gotten an erection from anything but bloodlust. Edward crossed his legs abruptly, hoping Draco hadn't witnessed his embarrassment. When Edward didn't reply, Draco cleared his throat.

"So are you going to tell me what in the world you're doing here in the middle of this miserable hellhole, Edward the vampire?"

"Will you please stop calling me that?"

"What, Edward?" Draco eyed him with faux innocence.

"You know what I mean," Edward nearly growled.

"Okay, I won't say it out loud. But you can't stop me from thinking it."

"This is all very amusing for you, isn't it?"

Draco returned his gaze to Edward; little did the wizard know, his strange grey eyes only served to exacerbate Edward's predicament.

"Not at all. I'm just curious why someone like you is here . . . in a place like this."

"And how am I supposed to interpret that?"

"Hogwarts is filled with traitors and morons, and this forest is a noxious wasteland."

"It didn't seem that bad too me," Edward rejoined, thinking of the school he'd glimpsed earlier. "At least on the outside."

"What are you talking about?"

"The school."

"You saw Hogwarts?" Draco's brow furrowed.

Edward didn't want Draco to presume he'd been looking for him, so effected an offhanded air. "Yes . . . I may have . . . come across it."

"How fascinating. Perhaps the enchantments aren't effective on vampires." Noticing Edward's puzzled look, Draco explained. "The castle is protected from Muggle eyes by protective magic. It's supposed to be Unplottable."

"Oh."

"I wonder if the same holds true for all vampires or if. . ." Draco trailed off before recalling the original track of the conversation. He shook his head. "Anyway, I can't believe anyone would want to live here of their own volition, much less a . . . " He trailed off, scowling at the fire.

"Much less a what?"

"You're a relatively . . . attractive bloke. And there isn't much here by way of . . .well, you know." The hint of a blush bloomed on Draco's cheeks, and his unintentional stutters made his discomfort apparent. Edward liked this fragile, softer side of Draco. The bouquet was just too tempting. Against his better judgment, Edward leaned forward and inhaled tentatively. Sharp thirst nearly bowled him over as Draco's heady scent filled his nostrils; he gulped back the venom, cursing his mistake. He'd underestimated the potency of the wizard's blood once again.

Holding his breath, Edward leapt from his seated position and retreated to the far end of the cabin, willing his body to calm. His erection was rock-hard now, and more from the smell of the blood than from any emotion. He was sure it'd been visible during his retreat. Draco would know his shame and never return again.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, standing. He took a step toward Edward.

"Don't come any closer," Edward beseeched, looking down at the floor. He hated himself for his weakness, for his desire, and he hated Draco for exposing both of those traits.

"I won't . . . I'm sorry." Draco repeated, backing away. As Edward met his eyes, he saw fear there for the first time since they'd met. Fear inspired by him.

For a long while both of them remained silent. Finally, Edward felt himself relaxing, his body calming as the venom flow abated. He stood from his crouched position and quietly made his way back to the fire.

"I apologize; I don't know what came over me . . . I'm not used to visitors, I suppose." He spoke softly with his eyes on the flames.

"I shouldn't have presumed . . ." Draco sounded remorseful. "I only meant to . . . find out more about you."

"Why?"

"Because you're interesting. And you seemed . . . like me." It was almost impossible to misinterpret the loneliness in his voice.

"Like you?" Edward could hardly believe it. How could this human boy be like him? He wasn't a murderer. He wasn't a freak. It didn't make sense. But then he recalled Draco's swirling, angry thoughts. Though he didn't know what lay at the root of them, he could understand. Everyone had their own disguises, after all.

Draco didn't answer, but took his seat once again.

"Do you want to kill me?" he finally asked.

"Yes." Edward's eyes locked on Draco's, daring him to look away. To his credit, the wizard met his stare evenly, though Edward noticed his Adam's apple dip with a delicious gulp.

"So you weren't kidding."

"No, I wasn't."

Draco nodded, and Edward felt the need to further explain. After all, he didn't really want to kill Draco. Not really. He wanted to taste his blood, that was true, but the thought of ending his life seemed abhorrent. He could never do it.

"I don't drink from humans . . . anymore. Well, not recently. Ah . . . it's one of the reasons I moved here."

"You killed someone." It wasn't really a question. Edward nodded and looked away. "How many?"

"Many. Innocent people . . ." Edward clamped his eyes shut, the pain washing over him in waves. "A child." He didn't want to remember that night, didn't want to remember the sweet, euphoric taste of the girl's blood as it coursed down his throat. And then the aftermath of it all . . . Edward leaned forward and rested his head in his hands. He didn't want to love the taste of death.

"So that's why you're here."

Thankfully, the wizard didn't ask for details. Edward could live with that. He lifted his head and smiled wanly. "That's why I'm here."

"What do you eat, then, if not . . ." Draco trailed off.

"Animals-deer, boar, whatever. It's not important."

"And that's satisfying?"

"Not very."

"What does it taste like?"

The boy apparently had a morbid curiosity.

"What, animal blood?"

Draco nodded.

"Shit."

His answer brought a smile to the Draco's face-perhaps the first genuine smile Edward had seen.

"So why do you do it? If it's in your nature to kill humans, why resist?" Draco posed the question so simply, as if perhaps Edward could be satisfied living the life of a killer without remorse or guilt.

Edward snorted with bitter laughter. "Because I can hear their thoughts. I can see their loved ones when they die. I see the way they look at me in their last moments, like I'm the devil. And at that moment, I am. I don't want to be a monster."

Draco listened silently, then nodded.

"I think I may understand your predicament more than you know."

Edward looked closely at the wizard, as if clearly seeing him for the first time. He was much more of a man than a boy. His youthful features were tempered by a weary sadness that at this moment predominated his whole being. All pretenses gone, Draco stared at Edward, then back at the fire. His profile was distinguished, Edward decided-a strong, noble nose and high forehead, which balanced out his more delicate features. His eyes and arched brows. His lips. Edward tore his gaze away and added another log to the grate.

When he settled back down, Draco turned to him.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Seventeen."

Draco snorted and rolled his eyes. "Me too. How old are you really?"

"Ninety-seven," he answered quickly, the math coming easily, as everything always did.

"You look good for your age. For anyone's age." The corner of Draco's mouth turned up and once again Edward wondered if the wizard-he could no longer refer to him as a boy-was flirting with him. But how could that be true, despite his bloodlust, despite his undeniable vileness . . . how could this beautiful creature find anything attractive about him?

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

"How did you . . ."

"How did I die?" Edward completed the question. "Spanish Influenza took my parents, then me. Well, not me, as you can see."

"Did it hurt?"

"I don't remember dying, but the change-yes, it hurt." Edward winced at the memory. "I wish I could forget."

"I don't want to die," Draco said, more forcefully than necessary. Before Edward could ask him what he meant, Draco rose abruptly from his chair and made his way towards the bookcase. He perused the titles in the dim light, a small frown marring his flawless skin. Then he turned back to Edward.

"Quite a collection you have here. Anything from the last century?" The sarcasm wasn't lost on Edward, even as weary as he was. He decided not to take it to heart.

"They're not mine. I don't have the chance to get out much, as you may have guessed," Edward replied drily.

"I'll bring you some books, if you like." The offer was made completely without pretense or guile, or so Edward hoped. Draco's expression seemed innocent enough. Edward's embarrassment and shame returned again, though, as he considered what Draco must think of his surroundings-how utterly barren and devoid of life they were. How uninteresting. For a moment he considered telling the wizard no, not to bring him anything out of charity, but then he thought of his loneliness. Draco would never come back if he insulted him. And Edward wanted him to.

"I would like that," he said finally. "Thanks."

Draco nodded stiffly, his eyes glancing toward the door.

"I really should get back now. I got caught the other week, and Salazar knows I don't get any special treatment."

"You were caught?" Suddenly Edward felt worried for Draco . . . for his new friend, if that's what he was. The emotion was evident in his tone.

"It's no matter," Draco rejoined, his bravado returning. Then he smirked darkly. "It's not like they can really punish me."

Another enigmatic statement. Edward wanted to press him for more information, but he didn't want Draco to get into additional trouble because of him. He didn't want him to leave, either.

Draco strode towards the door, but lingered. Before he knew what he was doing, Edward was by his side.

Neither of them said a word, but Draco surprised Edward by planting a kiss-a very soft, very chaste kiss-on his cheek. It burned. Edward's stomach lurched, his groin returning to life. He wanted to grab Draco and press him against the wall. He wanted to suck and lick and feed and fuck and make him come, but he had no idea what the other man wanted.

"I'll be back soon," Draco said simply, the hand that had taken Edward's at some point pulling away. Edward watched him retreat into the night, his heart full, yet confused.

Chapter Four

Edward never expected Draco to come back. But he did, and only three days later. As always, the visit occurred under cover of night, but this time Draco returned to the cabin. His soft footfalls rustled in the distance and Edward stilled in anticipation. He'd become relatively accustomed to Draco's lingering scent and hoped the desensitization would help him maintain his control tonight.

A few seconds later, a knock sounded on the door. Edward left his place in front of the fire, which he had taken to lighting regularly, and forced himself to walk slowly to open it, when he really wanted to move at vampire speed.

Draco stood outside holding a backpack, which seemed incommensurate with his formal attire. He was dressed all in black, his blond hair combed neatly to the side. He nodded in greeting, but his grey eyes reflected a certain wariness. Edward stood staring for longer than necessary.

"Going to let me in, hmm?" Draco asked finally. Edward stood to the side and the wizard swept in, bringing with him the night air and his own spicy, rich bouquet. Once inside, he hefted the pack from his shoulder to the table and immediately waved his wand, whispering an incantation. A stack of books appeared, some of them classical works of literature, a few contemporary novels, and even several magical books. Edward picked up one of the latter and read the binding: A Beginner's Guide to the Wizarding World. Better than an Idiot's guide, Edward supposed. Draco smirked when he noticed Edward's selection.

"I figured you might want to know a bit more about . . ." He seemed to be struggling for word choice. "Things." Had he been about to say me?

Edward hadn't forgotten the unexpected kiss; indeed, every detail of that moment had run through his mind again and again thanks to his perfect recall. Unfortunately, he was no closer to understanding Draco's motivation now than he'd been then; the only thing that made sense was the wizard felt sorry for him. He'd seen Edward at his most desperate and offered a comforting gesture. But Draco didn't seem like the kind of man to give consolation easily, especially to vampiric strangers. Though he'd brought all of these books and seemed eager for Edward to learn more about his life-another contradiction Edward couldn't quite reconcile.

Realizing his silence might be mistaken for rudeness, Edward forced his conflicted thoughts from his mind. "Thank you for all of this," he said, gesturing to the pile. "You have no idea how utterly bored I've been."

"You and me both," Draco murmured. "I see you've lit another fire." The wizard moved towards the grate and took a seat in the chair he'd inhabited on his previous visit. Edward shrugged and settled down next to him.

"I hadn't thought of it before." He didn't add he'd hoped Draco would return and find the atmosphere welcome. "It was a good idea."

"I'm full of them," Draco quipped, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms behind his head. The movement elongated his body and gave Edward a glimpse of his slim waist and narrow hips. He realized he was staring just a moment too late.

"See anything interesting?"

Edward's eyes snapped to Draco's eyes, simultaneously alarmed and intrigued by his lazy, seductive tone. Draco's eyes were partially closed, his lips curled in a sleepy grin. That, coupled with his positively sinful posture, initiated a growing problem in Edward's pants. How could such simple gestures arouse him so easily? Clearly, he'd have to work on controlling his physiological responses when the wizard was around.

He didn't answer. Draco looked almost disappointed for a second.

"I didn't think you'd come back," Edward confessed.

"Why, because of a silly little thing like you wanting to kill me?" He seemed in good spirits tonight.

"That, among other things."

"I've known plenty of murderers, Edward," Draco said offhandedly, shocking Edward with his bluntness. "As far as killing me goes, let's just say you're not the first to want to do so, and you certainly won't be the last."

This time, Edward decided to press him for more information. He couldn't get into Draco's mind, but comments like these frustrated him beyond belief. Despite Draco's best attempts to remain dispassionate and ironic, Edward had caught more than enough glimpses of the wary, frightened man beneath the hard shell to know something was going on with him-something serious. He needed to know more, but how?

"I did hear your thoughts . . . for just a minute. That night in the forest, before we met."

Draco blanched, and then, as always, quickly composed himself. "I thought so. What did you hear?"

Edward thought back to that night, trying to remember any concrete thought patterns. There were a few he hadn't understood at the time, but now, in the light of Draco's subsequent statements, they made more sense.

"You were worried about . . . a mission. And you were afraid. Angry about something you'd done over the summer. And I saw an image . . . a skull and a snake. I don't know what it means, obviously, but it must have something to do with the rest. It seemed to be some kind of symbol—dark one."

Draco's face remained impassive as Edward spoke. At his final mention of the dark symbol, however, Draco's pale expression became faintly tinged with green. Edward immediately regretted his admission.

"I did right to get you out of my head," Draco said. "Bloody telepathic vampire. I should have Obliviated you when I had the chance. I still could. But for all I know that spell wouldn't even work on vampire memories. It'd probably rebound on me . . ." Draco trailed off, lost in thought. What he'd said irritated Edward. His defenses rose, erasing his regret.

"I can't help hearing people's thoughts; it's just a reflex. Usually, I don't even have to try. You don't know how annoying it is to be forced to listen to every menial, sordid detail of people's lives. One of the reasons I left America was to escape all that."

"But it wasn't the only reason."

"No, as I've told you."

"You didn't tell me much."

Edward grimaced, remembering the screech of metal against pavement, the smell of acrid smoke. "I . . . can't talk about it."

"Nor can I, about . . . what you saw. But I . . ."

Draco leaned forward and rested his chin on his hands, looking into the fire as he spoke. "It's complicated. Sometimes I wish I could talk about it, but I can't. There's a war going on." A little frown creased Draco's smooth brow, making him appear much older than his seventeen years. Edward wanted to smooth it away with his lips.

"A war?" He wanted to know more, but realized he probably wouldn't get much information from Draco. From the stricken look on his face, whatever it was looked to be eating him alive.

"Yes. And believe me, you don't want to get involved."

"If you want to talk about it with someone, why not me?" Edward proposed. "I'm not connected to either side, and I have no intention of getting involved. I'm completely impartial." For some reason, he wanted Draco to share his burden with him, perhaps as repayment for his own kindness in visiting Edward and bringing him books. After all, he'd been under no obligation to do so.

"That's true. But perhaps I don't want you to know." He scowled, his features clouding over.

"Why?"

"You'd think of me differently. I'm not exactly a blameless party." He punctuated his comment with a derisive snort, as if it were the understatement of the year.

"I'm hardly one to judge someone for their moral failings," Edward said bitterly.

"Why won't you tell me about what happened with the child, then?" Draco challenged. That desperate look was back, the expression of a cornered fox.

Edward thought for a moment, realizing his fear was almost identical to Draco's. He didn't want the other man to think less of him. Draco already knew Edward was a murderer; he didn't need to know the sordid details behind it.

"I suppose because I'm a hypocrite."

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." The arch of Draco's eyebrow indicated he'd meant the comment to be interpreted with its evocative subtext. Edward met his gaze evenly, but shook his head.

"I can't."

"Good. I can't either. I just wanted to see if you'd crack."

"Is this a game to you?" Edward demanded.

"No, it's not a game. It's my life. It's my bloody awful ridiculous excuse for a life." The misery in Draco's words erased Edward's irritation. He sat silently, not knowing how to respond.

"I just don't want to think about it," Draco murmured. "Just for five blasted minutes. Can we please talk about something else?"

"That might be the best solution given the circumstances."

The heat from the fire seemed to increase right along with their angry words, charging the air between them. Neither seemed to know what to say. Finally, Draco met Edward's stare with glittering grey eyes.

"I have a rather importune question." In light of their previous conversations, this hardly seemed surprising. By the way Draco was smirking, Edward had a feeling he'd come to regret his assent. Still, he gave it.

"Go ahead."

"Can vampires have sex?"

Draco posed the question with his typical offhanded ease, but Edward nearly choked. He felt completely out of his element. While of course vampires had sex, and often, Edward himself did not. Yes, he often got erections and took matters into his own hands after particularly satisfying feedings, but he was, for all intents and purposes, a virgin. And he wasn't sure he wanted Draco to know.

The wizard stretched out again, his long legs extended lazily as he waited for Edward's answer. When it came in the affirmative, his smirk grew wider.

"How very interesting."

Edward pretended to look bored, and thus hoping to reroute the conversation. But his body, unfortunately, was taking a particular interest in the subject.

Of course, Draco wasn't so easily distracted.

"What's it like?" he asked.

"What's what like?"

"Sex with a vampire?"

Edward knew where this was going, and the potential for disaster was high. "You mean for a human?"

"Yes."

"Dangerous."

Though he'd intended it as a warning, the answer only served to intrigue Draco more. His gaze drifted down Edward's body, making his cold skin feel burning hot.

"Because of the blood lust?" Draco's voice had taken on a quieter tone. It went straight to Edward's cock.

"That's part of it," Edward admitted, clearing his throat. "But vampires are very strong and humans are fragile." To demonstrate, Edward reached down and grabbed a log from the box at the side of the fire. It easily disintegrated in his firm grip. "And sex, well, sex complicates matters. It's easy to lose control."

"It sounds like you have experience."

"Not really," Edward muttered, glancing into the fire. The situation in his pants had become almost unbearable. He almost wished Draco would leave so he could relieve himself. And he wished something else-something that made him groan. He imagined Draco's lips wrapped tightly around his cock, sucking his length deep down his throat. Fuck. Edward shifted in his seat, trying to make himself more comfortable, hoping his intent wasn't obvious. Why had he allowed Draco to ask in the first place? He shifted again, certain his misery was evident as well as his interested cock.

When he finally got the courage to look at Draco again, the wizard regarded him with a curious expression. His cheeks were tinged with pink and his breathing came in labored bursts through parted lips. And there, not the least concealed by the thin fabric of his trousers, was the bulge of his erection.

Edward muttered to himself, his own arousal becoming unbearable as the smell of Draco's heated blood filled the room. The situation could become dangerous in an instant due to Edward's rapidly disintegrating control.

Draco's eyes sought out Edward's, unashamed.

"Touch me."

"Fuck," Edward muttered, "I can't."

"I think you can."

"No."

"You don't want to?"

"I do," Edward confessed, his eyes growing large as Draco spread his legs and palmed himself. Edward's prick jerked, grew, and jerked again.

"Then come here."

"I'll kill you," he whispered, his words full of remorse. If he went to Draco now, as aroused as they both were-he'd never be able to resist his blood. Never.

Draco's lust filled eyes now focused on Edward's hand, which had somehow come to rest on his own cock.

"Well, then you won't mind if I go take care of this situation, hmm?" Draco asked, making as if to stand.

"No. Do it. Do it here." He couldn't believe the words had come out his mouth, or the desperate tone to his voice.

No more urging was necessary. Draco's hand immediately sprung to his fly, releasing his prick and exposing it to Edward's view. Edward's mouth flooded with sickly sweet venom at the sight of the substantial arousal, his own cock now painfully full. Draco took himself in his hand and groaned, then looked over to where Edward watched.

"You're a very naughty vampire, aren't you?"

"Apparently," Edward said, palming himself.

Draco seemed satisfied and sighed, starting to work himself over. His hand traveled over his shaft, gripping and squeezing, and then running up and drawing the foreskin over the purpled head. Soon, he'd gained a rhythm, nearly thrusting his hips off his chair with each stroke. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, losing himself in the pleasure. The sight was mesmerizing. Edward had begun rubbing himself more vigorously now, feeling his own building release.

"Merlin," Draco murmured, twisting his fingers around his length. His eyes darted from his own cock to Edward's moving hand. "Care to join me? I'm fine with exhibitionism, but I much prefer being a voyeur."

Too far gone to consider the consequences, Edward had his cock out in an instant and began pumping it with inhuman speed. Draco's eyes widened as they took in the display, his own hand working in a much slower, grinding rhythm. Soon, both men were nearing the edge, gasping and moaning with their eyes focused on the other. Edward licked his lips and imagined Draco's hand fisting him, imagined licking the underside of the wizard's prick, feeling the outline of the tender vein with his tongue.

That last thought put him over the edge; he came, erupting in thick, long spurts which coated his hand and, Lord help him, his shirt and trousers too. Draco's own cry of pleasure occurred seconds later, and Edward's eyes snapped open, in time to catch the blond in the throes of his orgasm. A heady, musky scent filled the air, which Edward recognized as significantly Draco. His mouth watered as Draco's hand slowed, milking the last of his release from his body with an easy, practiced motion.

Before he was aware of what he was doing, Edward was kneeling on the floor before Draco, who sat watching this new development with bemused interest.

"A little late, aren't we?" Draco remarked, but then Edward's tongue shot out and licked the head of his softening penis, catching the last few drops of his come. The bitter, salty, and slightly sweet taste surprised Edward, who leaned forward to lap more. Draco carded his fingers through Edward's hair in a soothing, encouraging gesture. Though the call of Draco's blood was strong, Edward resisted, focusing instead on this other provocative taste.

"If you don't stop that," Draco finally muttered. "I'll be ready to go again."

That didn't sound too terrible to Edward, who was actually quite pleased with himself. He hadn't hurt Draco. He'd even tasted him without losing control. It was a most unexpected development. Perhaps the fact that he'd already come had helped him prevail despite his other, less savory instincts. With one final lick, Edward sat back on his heels, finally regaining awareness of himself. His softening cock hung out of his pants, while the venom he'd expelled dried on his clothes in a most unbecoming manner. Before he could move to tuck himself in, Draco whispered Scourgify. The spell immediately erased the sticky traces of the venom.

"It's a clean up spell," Draco explained, stifling a yawn. His eyes drooped with tiredness and sated pleasure. "Most helpful for life in the dorm."

Edward grinned. "I can see that."

Once both of them had ordered themselves, they stood. Having never masturbated in front of another man before and then licked him clean, Edward wasn't sure about the protocol. Draco broke the awkward silence between them.

"You didn't kill me."

"Not this time."

"Are you always so pessimistic, Edward?" The teasing Draco was back.

Edward smiled, thinking of his sister Alice; she'd often accused him of the same thing, even before Seattle.

"Usually."

"Well, it's a good thing I enjoy watching you toss off."

"Indeed." Edward felt a little put out at the remark.

Draco's grey eyes softened a little. He extended his hand to tentatively touch Edward's arm. "I'm just having a laugh, you git."

"I know. Sorry, I'm not the most uplifting company these days."

"You're fine company; better than fine." Draco emphasized the last few words to underscore his sincerity, and Edward nodded. He didn't want Draco to leave, but he suspected the wizard had already stayed out far later than he should. "I . . . had a good time."

"Me too." The words seemed completely inadequate given what had transpired.

The two of them stood for another minute, regarding the floor, their hands, the ceiling, anything but each other. Edward's anxiety returned, and with it, a desire to ensure Draco would come back again. He didn't want this to be over, whatever it was.

"I best go," Draco said. The regretful tone of his voice marginally cheered Edward.

Once Draco had gathered his things, leaving the books, of course, he turned again. "Let me know if you think of anything else you need." The words came out in a rush, as if Draco was embarrassed by them.

"I'm fine for now. But I will, thanks."

And Edward watched Draco slip back out into the night.

Chapter Five

Days passed without a word from Draco. Edward became increasingly sure as the hours ticked by that whatever had happened had scared him off. It was for the best-nothing good would come of the incipient fascination he had with the wizard. He never should have lost control like that . . . touched him like that. The loneliness consumed him again and, with it, shame. He spent his days reading the books Draco had brought him and his nights roaming the forest trying not to brood.

At least he had new books. Edward pored over them, soaking up every bit of information. He learned that even the wizarding world had its prejudices-not all wizards were born from entirely magical stock, and those who weren't were looked down upon by some pure wizards . Mudbloods, they were called-a reference to their "muddied," impure blood. And humans without magical powers received even more derision. Edward tisked in disgust and turned the page; he'd faced enough discrimination in his life to feel affronted. Of course, vampires often saw humans as mere food, valued only for the sustenance their blood provided. Which attitude was worse?

Edward wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to his own question.

Other topics inspired less problematic questions. Quidditch, the wizarding world's premiere sport, fascinated him. He wished he could watch the wizards and witches careening in the air on their brooms, being beaten with bludgers, and chasing the golden snitch. So much more interesting than human sports, none of which had ever intrigued Edward. Apparently, Hogwarts had four teams based on its house system-and Edward couldn't help wondering to which house Draco belonged.

Apparently, two men and two women with strange surnames had established the school in the tenth century: Salazar Slytherin, Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, and Rowena Ravenclaw. Each had stressed a different importance regarding wizarding and sought students who exemplified the qualities they preferred. But the founders had quarreled. Slytherin had held an elitist view, wanting to maintain the blood purity of the student body. The others hadn't agreed. Divisions between the houses had been maintained until the present day, and each first year student was sorted into a house depending on personality traits, though the book argued that students had the ability to contest the sorting if they strongly disagreed. Edward supposed it made for rousing sport, but not much else.

He clapped the book shut with a sigh, setting it down on the table and sliding it away. The fire roared furiously in the grate and Edward gazed at it impassively, wondering when he'd ever learn to live with this isolation. When he'd first made the decision to leave, he hadn't cared where he went, just as long as it was far away. Carlisle's proposal of a cabin in the Scottish forest had seemed just as good a place as any. Alice assured him it would be safe, and he'd relied on her gift of foresight often enough in the past. But he also knew that Alice's visions changed depending on the decisions people made; she wasn't an infallible seer by any means. Had she seen this? Had she seen Draco?

On the next night, Edward heard light footsteps hours after the sun had set. His dead heart lurched as he hopped to his feet and swept the door open. Draco nearly tumbled inside, poised as he'd been to knock. His body collided against Edward, who steadied him without releasing his hold.

"How did you know I was-" Draco began, confused. The two were around the same height, but the wizard's face was lowered, and Edward couldn't see his expression. The muscles of his arms tensed under Edward's grasp.

"Vampire hearing."

"Good to know." For a moment the only sound was the rustling of the wind in the trees overhead and Draco's quick breathing. Edward still couldn't believe he was here-and couldn't understand how glad he felt because of it.

"Where have-" Edward stopped; he'd almost asked Draco where he'd been, but at the last moment changed his mind. It was none of his business, after all. Perhaps Draco had someone else . . . a real lover. A grimace flashed across his face at the thought. He released his hold and stepped backwards carefully.

"I couldn't get away until tonight. I've been . . . busy," Draco said, answering though Edward hadn't continued. He straightened up and adjusted his collar, his eyes finally meeting Edward's. In the ghostly light of the moon, Edward was almost shocked at how drawn Draco looked: deep circles under his eyes stained his otherwise flawless skin, and there was such a profound tiredness in their depths, it seemed as though the wizard hadn't slept in days. Draco seemed to notice Edward's critical assessment and steeled his gaze, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smirk. "What, did you miss me?"

Edward shrugged, not willing to give the other the satisfaction of an affirmative answer.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, are you going to let me in, you twat?"

"Pushy, pushy."

The warmth of the cabin elicited an inadvertent sigh from the blond when the two stepped inside. Edward was just about to offer him a chair when he found himself face to face with Draco, the wizard's body not a hair's breadth from his. Edward stood completely still, willing himself not to breathe, and willing away the traitorous erection that had already begun to swell. He shifted his pelvis away, but the motion didn't escape Draco's notice.

"I think you did miss me," Draco muttered, his hand reaching out to stroke Edward between his legs. Edward hissed at the contact, and a low growl emerged from his chest. Draco's mouth descended onto his exposed neck, nipping against the hard skin. Somehow, he'd allowed himself to be guided up against the wall of the cabin while Draco continued his onslaught, rubbing Edward's now fully erect cock through his jeans.

Powerless. He was powerless to resist while the wizard deftly unfastened his zipper and yanked down the boxers, drawing out his prick and wrapping his hand around it before beginning a fast, almost brutal stroke—how he liked it. Edward moaned and allowed himself to be manhandled, trying not to thrust his hips or to gaze at the sweetly pulsating vein in the wizard's neck as his head rested against Edward's shoulder. Draco's own erection pressed against Edward's hip as the wizard kissed Edward again, avoiding his lips but peppering his neck and collarbone with small, wet sucking bites. Soon, the room was filled with the sounds of their passion-Edward's low and animalistic, Draco's whimpering and needy.

And then Draco was on his knees in front of Edward, licking the head of his cock before sliding it inside his warm, wet mouth.

"What are you doing?" Edward gasped, digging his hands into the wall behind him and feeling the wood splinter under his fingertips.

Draco looked up at Edward with focused grey eyes, leaning back to free his mouth for a second. "I'm obviously sucking your cock. So shut up and enjoy it."

Before Edward could protest, not that he planned to, Draco's mouth descended again, the warmth and pressure more exhilarating than anything Edward had ever felt. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Draco sucking him, and he knew he was playing a dangerous game. If he so much as thrust too forcefully, he could kill him. That sobering thought helped Edward maintain control even as he felt himself unraveling, his balls tightening while Draco drew him deeply inside, teeth and tongue and lips working in perfect synchronicity. That wasn't the most arresting sight, however. Draco had somehow managed to draw his own erection out and was busily pumping it while he continued to suck and stroke Edward. His murmurs of pleasure sent waves of delight from Edward's cock throughout his entire body. The wizard's full, pink lips wrapped around his tip once again and Edward cursed, feeling the approach of his imminent orgasm.

It was almost impossible to pull out of Draco's mouth, but Edward did it with a grunt, worrying about the effect of the venom should the other ingest it. Draco gave a displeased murmur, licking at Edward while he worked his own cock quickly.

"Fuck," Edward gasped, his head slamming back against the cabin, causing the walls to shake as he started to come, his erection kicking in his hand as he fought to stay on his feet. All thoughts vanished as he was overwhelmed by the waves of bliss that crashed over his body as all thoughts vanished. It was the best climax he'd ever had. He barely realized that Draco was back on his feet, his cock sliding against Edward as he surged and began to come with a moan. Edward's arms wrapped around the Draco, pulling him closer as gently as possible as they both rode out the final pulses.

"Merlin," Draco whispered, his heart beating an erratic tattoo against his chest as he sagged against Edward, nothing between them but a wet, sticky mess.

"You can say that again."

The wizard whispered Scourgify, and Edward felt the cooling sensation of a cleaning spell. Draco had already moved away and begun refastening his trousers, his back to Edward. Edward did the same, still in a daze from the unexpectedness of what had transpired. The awkwardness he'd felt the other night returned, infusing the room with tension. He had no idea what to say.

"So," Draco said, turning back to Edward as if nothing had happened. "What have you been up to in my obviously unwelcome absence?"

Edward ran his hands through his hair, a nervous gesture he'd apparently carried over from his human years. Walking to the table with its stack of books, he gestured to the pile.

"I did some reading."

"You can't possibly have read all of those." Draco's eyes narrowed skeptically.

"I can, and I have. Vampire speed, remember? And I don't sleep."

"Ever?"

"Ever."

"I'd read that, but I wasn't sure if it was true." Draco looked around the room, eyeing the bed.

"I do lie down sometimes. As a change of pace."

"Hmm. Good to know." Draco turned his attention back to the books. "So, what did you think?" Edward assumed he was talking specifically about the wizarding books. He picked one up from the pile.

"I found some sections extremely interesting. Which house are you in, by the way?"

Draco smirked. "Isn't it obvious?"

Though Edward didn't know him that well, Draco projected a certain sense of authority and a shrewdness that he suspected marked him decidedly Slytherin. And his aristocratic demeanor seemed to suggest his blood was pure, or at least mostly so. He wondered how the wizard felt about all of those purity issues but suddenly felt afraid to ask.

"It is, now that you mention it."

Edward took a seat on one of the chairs near the fire, surprised when Draco ignored the other and stretched himself out on the long, narrow bed. "I bet you're displeased."

"No," Edward said truthfully. He knew too little of the wizarding world to feel he had a handle on it, even after reading the books. He did, though, feel a little uneasy about the house's historical connection to dark magic.

"It's truly the only acceptable house," Draco affirmed, sounding affronted despite Edward's answer. "Some Ravenclaws are decent, but thank Salazar I'm not forced to associate with Hufflepuffs, or worse, those self-righteous Gryffindors." He wrinkled his nose at the last utterance, pronouncing the word as if it were a disease. "Slytherin gets a bad rap just because we want to maintain the integrity of the wizarding world. It's a fact of life; the Gryffindors get the glory, even when they are the most reckless and arrogant bunch of prats you could meet."

Draco seemed to be talking to himself more than Edward, his voice rising several decibels. "Un-bloody-fair, but what is in this world?" He turned over on his side and propped his head up, blond hair glowing in the firelight. He looked almost dangerous, a brooding frown marring his features. But when his eyes met Edward's again, they seemed more sad than angry.

"Has something happened?" Edward asked after a pause.

"Oh yes." Draco laughed mirthlessly. "Always." He didn't offer anything more, resting his head instead resting on the pillow. When he spoke again, his voice was no more than a whisper. "I'm so bloody tired."

"Haven't you been sleeping?" Edward found himself sitting near the foot of the bed. He longed to reach out and touch Draco's leg, but wasn't sure such a gesture was appropriate.

"Can't."

Edward snorted. "Well, neither can I."

"We're quite a pair."

Those words gave Edward a secret thrill, though his face remained impassive.

"Tell me something about your life," Draco said, his voice softer now. The fire seemed to have gone out of it, at least for the time being.

"What do you want to know?"

Draco shrugged, the movement raising his shirt to display just a small sliver of skin. It looked good enough to eat, but Edward tore his eyes away. He had a lot of stories-many of them unpleasant. But there were some good ones as well. His family as they used to be. . . no, that was too painful. He searched his mind for something funny. For some reason, he wanted to make the other boy smile.

"I sparkle in the sunlight."

The wizard's eyes widened and he barked a laugh. "You're taking the piss."

"I'm afraid not. It's one of the reasons I can't really go out during the day, at least not among humans."

Draco seemed pleased, and he did look quite beautiful when he smiled. "That's rich." Then he rolled his eyes again. "I can't believe I tossed off in front of a sparkly vampire."

"Twice," Edward reminded him. Draco raised his eyebrows.

"Will you let me see?"

Now it was Edward's turn to tease. "You just did."

"That's not what I mean, git."

Edward considered his request. "Maybe. If you ever come by during the day."

"I'll have to do that," Draco murmured, suppressing a yawn. "That is something I absolutely cannot miss. What else?"

"About my life?"

"Mmm hmm."

Edward told Draco what he remembered of his human life-how he'd wanted to be a soldier, how his most vivid memory of that time period was his mother folding sheets. He told of learning to play the piano and attending medical school just to have something to do. Draco listened without interrupting, a horrified laugh escaping his lips when Edward informed him he'd gone through high school fifteen times.

"What torture." He yawned again.

"Indeed."

As Edward spoke, Draco's eyelids drooped and his breath evened out until finally-finally-he slept.

Draco's face looked so much younger in rest, though a small frown tugged slightly at his lips. He murmured and moved slightly, and Edward retrieved a blanket from the foot of the bed, covering him.

At one point, Draco began to dream about an older man with hair as blond as Draco's—his father? Preserve the Malfoy name. Was it an admonition or a dictate? The images and thoughts were confused, as dreams always are, and Edward forced himself to tune them out, not wanting to eavesdrop with Draco at his most vulnerable. Though he could block Edward from his thoughts during the day, he had no such control at night. The temptation, however, was difficult to resist.

He didn't know how long he sat watching. Even though it might be considered creepy, he couldn't help himself. Draco's lips parted and relaxed, his body settling more deeply into rest. Edward had never seen anything so lovely.

Chapter Six

Edward sat tending the fire all night, at war with himself whether he should wake Draco or let him sleep. While his initial impulse was to rouse him, since he'd indicated his nocturnal sojourns had already attracted attention from school authorities, Edward remembered the circles under Draco's eyes and his confession he hadn't been sleeping. Yet here he was. Knowing better than to read anything into it, yet ultimately unable to stop himself from wondering if it might have something—just a little something—to do with him, Edward remained indecisive as the hours passed.

At about quarter past five, the boy on the bed stirred.

"Bloody hell, what time is it?"

Edward turned in the direction of Draco's voice, unable to keep from smiling when he noted the wizard's uncharacteristically disheveled appearance. Blond hair that normally swept to the side in a smooth wave was tousled in some places, plastered flat in others.

"It's after five," Edward replied.

"Merlin's bollocks!"

Draco sprang from the bed and glanced around to locate his jacket, grabbing it with one hand while he smoothed his hair with the other. Edward watched bemusedly, trying not to smile.

"Will you get in trouble?"

"Probably," Draco muttered, fiddling with his collar. Then he murmured something under his breath that he obviously didn't intend Edward to hear. "It'll be a wet dream for Potter."

Edward didn't understand the reference. Who was Potter?

"You should have woken me," Draco said, casting his eyes to the ground. Edward stood a couple of paces away, folding his arms as he watched the wizard attempt to tame his matted hair.

"And miss this morning panic? Not on your life." He didn't tell Draco how he'd enjoyed watching him sleep, how he'd hoped to allow him some much-needed rest. Such sentiments would probably go unappreciated.

Draco snorted. "Git."

Edward took the insult good-naturedly, knowing it was just Draco's way. There wasn't any fire behind the word. He glanced at the smooth bit of skin exposed just at the base of Draco's throat and longed to press his lips to the hollow there. Of course, such a gesture would be too intimate—certainly for the morning. He forced himself to remain still.

The blond's eyes latched onto his again, a brief flicker of something that Edward couldn't name emerging from their grey depths. "Thank you . . . for not waking me. I . . ." He huffed and brushed the lapels of his coat. "I'd better go."

The faintest glimmer of light had already begun to filter in through the curtains.

"Will you be back?" He couldn't stop himself from asking the question, even as a warning voice sounded at the back of his mind not to push the issue.

Draco stepped toward him and the tension that filled the room made every second an eternity of wanting. Edward forced his eyes away from Draco's lips, trying not to remember them swollen from use after they'd sucked his cock. So warm, so wet. He wanted to lean in and press his own lips against them, but restrained himself. They hadn't yet kissed and Edward didn't know if they ever would, if Draco wanted to. He had absolutely no idea where he stood with the wizard.

Draco cleared his throat.

"I'll try and pop by again soon," he said softly, avoiding Edward's eyes.

"Okay."

Edward felt entirely at a loss as Draco slipped out of the cabin and into the early morning light. After his late night vigil, he hardly knew what to do with himself. Now that he'd read all of the books and Draco had gone, he returned to the strange limbo he'd inhabited ever since he'd left his family. With Draco, it was easy to pretend the last five months hadn't happened. But alone again . . . he'd never felt so alone. It was almost easy to forget how much he deserved it.

His hunger seemed more under control, so he considered the potential trip to London. He'd managed to keep himself together despite Draco's tantalizing blood, even while being intimate with him. It was more than he'd ever expected in such a short period of time. He had plenty of money—that was never an issue. All he needed to do was leave the forest. But something stopped him; he examined his feelings and concluded it was an unwillingness to miss Draco again if he happened to stop by while Edward was gone. Something stronger than desire, but less definable. In any case, it kept Edward waiting, taut as a bowstring and just as ready to snap.

Several more days passed before Draco returned again-this time, his footfalls hesitated before approaching the cabin. Edward wondered if perhaps the wizard was having second thoughts, and so he opened the door, furrowing his brow as he took in the sight before him.

Standing about twenty paces away from the cabin, Draco stood murmuring softly, holding his wand in his right hand as his eyes fixed upon the air. His lips moved and whispered Latin words that Edward understood as spells. Not wanting to disturb him, Edward watched instead, entranced by the surety in Draco's movements. His wrist flicked once, then again, and he moved to another spot, performing the same incantation.

When he finally finished and approached Edward, stowing his wand inside of his robe, his face remained impassive.

"What are you doing out here?" Edward asked.

A faint rush of blood colored Draco's cheeks. "It's ridiculous for you to live out here without the minimal protections. Especially burning that fire every night. You could be . . ." The wizard paused, his eyes becoming guarded. "I simply added some wards for protection. Now you won't have any unwanted visitors, and you can feel free to sparkle all you like." He punctuated the last statement with a cheeky smirk.

"Thank you." Edward felt touched, despite Draco's obvious attempt to downplay his concern for him.

"It's nothing," Draco muttered.

Inside the cabin, Draco unveiled several more books with a flick of his wand, stacking them neatly next to the old pile.

"I feel like a bloody librarian," he said, trying and failing to appear put out. Edward laughed.

"A potential career choice, perhaps?"

Draco's slight smirk faded. "Not likely." Then he turned to Edward. "How have you been?"

"Fine. I'm actually getting used to living here . . . I think I could learn to live with it." He smiled ruefully. "At least learn to exist."

"Famous last words." Draco sighed, looking tired again; his face was decidedly paler than usual and the circles under his eyes resembled bruises. He closed his eyes and then turned back to Edward. "Miss me much?"

"Maybe a little."

"A little?" Draco scoffed. "Not sure how I feel about that."

"Did you miss me?"

"I came here tonight, didn't I?" Draco performed a dramatic eye roll. "Wanker."

"What was that?" Edward moved so quickly, Draco didn't have time to respond. He pressed his body against the wizard's, days of need and desire and loneliness driving him to action before he could even think.

"Wanker," Draco whispered again, eyes widening as Edward latched his gaze upon his throat.

"Hmm. We'll see."

Without another word, Edward pressed a firm kiss against Draco's neck, allowing his mouth to open and his tongue to taste. He bit softly with his lips, never allowing his teeth to graze the flesh he'd so long coveted, but wanting to indulge in the movement just the same. Draco sighed and his head lolled to the side, a pant escaping his lips along with the word yes. His fingers tangled through Edward's hair, tugging gently, and Edward murmured against the soft pulse of Draco's throat . . . more. Harder. He couldn't get enough of this, of being so close to someone so alive—to Draco. He'd missed him; it was true.

Who knows how long they stood standing, locked in one another's arms? But suddenly Edward felt Draco's legs weaken, his arousal hot and heavy against Edward's thigh. Edward growled and lifted Draco, heading toward the bed. Despite what he'd told the wizard before, he'd never really lain there. He'd never had a need, until now.

"Salazar," Draco said breathily as Edward unbuttoned his shirt. "Please."

Edward feasted his eyes on the wizard's bare chest, all creamy skin lightly smattered with honey blond hair, nipples hardening in the cool air of the cabin. Edward bent his head and took one of them between his lips, sucking and pulling as gently as he could muster despite his feverish arousal.

Draco gasped. "Make me . . . make me forget."

The words hit Edward with force, and he looked up at the wizard's flushed face.

"Forget what?"

"Everything."

Edward didn't try to press, knowing he wouldn't get any answers. Instead, he went to remove Draco's shirt completely. The wizard froze underneath him, his breath now coming in short, panicked bursts.

"Leave it on."

"Why?" He could already see everything else except for Draco's arms, anyway.

Draco's eyes narrowed imperceptibly, gripping Edward's shoulder with what must have been some force, though to Edward it felt like a gentle caress.

"Just leave it."

Edward nodded, realizing with some alarm his willingness to comply with whatever Draco wished. He could see the wizard's heart thumping against his ribs, feel and smell the increased blood flow to his cock. His hand drifted to the fly of Draco's trousers, arching his eyebrow in a questioning gaze. Draco nodded with parted lips.

It was very difficult to remove the rest of Draco's clothes, excepting his shirt, without ripping them, but Edward did his best, knowing they were the only things the other boy had to return to the castle in. His own garments weren't so lucky; in his haste to be rid of them, Edward tore his jeans in two. Finally free and unencumbered, he turned his attention to Draco's mostly naked form, drinking in the sight.

Draco's cock jutted thickly from between his hips, the shaft twitching and leaking under Edward's hungry gaze. He'd never seen another erection so up close before, aside from his own, and he watched fascinated as his touch elicited another strong jerk and a moan from Draco. He touched the head of the cock and the sticky wetness at the tip, swirling his finger around and tracing the thick vein that lined the underside. Draco whimpered and lifted his hips, seeking friction.

"I can't suck it," Edward said as he dipped his head. He still feared his desire to bite. "But I can do this." He licked at the head of Draco's prick, loving the now familiar salty tang of come, the musky scent of arousal. Sliding back the foreskin and lapping at the sensitive skin underneath, he encircled the rest with his hand and pumped gently, willing himself not to panic as his mouth flooded with venom. Edward's own cock was painfully hard, his balls heavy and aching, and he imagined driving into Draco, fucking him until they both came and the wizard gave up his sweet, spicy blood . . . but he couldn't do that. He had to care for this man beneath him—this human, whose life he could so easily snatch.

Draco moaned as Edward's motions became quicker and stronger, his lips teasing Draco's cock and the foreskin, his tongue dipping into the slit and around the slippery head.

So vulnerable, it could be over in an instant. And he'd never be alone again.

No. No matter what, he could never take another person's life again—and most certainly never condemn another sentient being to a lifetime of hunger, a body and mind without a soul. Never.

Draco's body shook underneath him, and Edward placed one hand on Draco's hips, urging him to thrust and move as he pleased. The wizard swiveled his pelvis wantonly on the bed, completely lost to the abandon of the moment. Edward felt his own orgasm building, though he hadn't even touched himself. His arousal had everything to do with the pleasure of giving to Draco.

Draco pulled on Edward's shoulders and at first the latter didn't understand what was being asked of him, but then the wizard called his name and pulled again.

He released Draco and moved on top of him, allowing their cocks to slide together. The feel of Draco's warm body under his was almost too much, but when Draco slid his hand down to encircle and stroke both of their erections together with his hands, Edward emitted an inhuman growl. Before he knew what he was doing, Edward started rutting, the primal impulse to fuck obliterating all rational thought. It was skin and hands and stomachs and legs as the two moved together, both seeking the slippery friction of sweat, precome, and venom.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuck. " Draco arched off the bed and Edward felt the pulse of his cock emptying between them. That was enough to make him come—the whole world went blissfully dark as his cock spasmed, mingling his essence with Draco's.

After the last shudders wracked his body, Edward fell to the side, not wanting to crush Draco with his weight. He glanced over at the wizard, alarm building when he took in the sporadic bluish bruises dotting Draco's chest, his hips. Even in the faint light from the fire, he could see how he'd marred the usually perfect flesh.

"That was bloody brilliant," Draco finally said with a sigh, a contented smile creeping onto his face before being replaced with his usual stoic mask.

"I'm sorry . . .I shouldn't have . . ." Edward could barely look at the other boy. He was so filled with disgust at himself—that he'd let himself lose control like that—he could have . . .

He couldn't even finish the thought.

Before Draco had even cast the cleansing spell, Edward was off the bed with inhuman speed.

"Hmmm," Draco said offhandedly as he reached for his trousers. "Never had that reaction before."

Edward couldn't even reply. Draco stretched and Edward looked away guiltily as the wizard finally noticed the angry spots, which by this time were turning purple.

"Is this what you're upset about?" His fingers lightly brushed a particularly severe looking bruise on his side.

"I hurt you. Fuck. I'm sorry. I should never—" All he could think about were those he'd hurt before—he'd done much worse. And this could have been worse. This could . . .

"You didn't."

"I did."

"You didn't, you daft twit! I quite like that you left them," Draco said enigmatically.

Edward sighed. "That's ridiculous."

"Why? Why is it ridiculous? Now when I go back to that shoddy excuse for a school, I have reminders of a bloody good shag—well, almost shag. What's not to like?" Draco seemed so blasé Edward almost believed him for a second. But when he winced as he drew up his trousers, the shame flooded him again.

"You are hurt."

"Listen," Draco said, turning serious. "I don't mind a bit of soreness. In fact, I like it. Perhaps I'm perverse, but I do. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not delve too deeply into my penchant for rough sex. Just be assured that I'm fine. You did nothing wrong. And I happened to enjoy it."

Not knowing what to say, Edward nodded, and then stared back at the fire.

After a few minutes, Draco joined him near the grate. His blond hair glowed in the flickering light, but that same brightness made the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced.

"I'm tired," he said finally.

"What's going on?" Edward asked.

"I can't . . . I can't tell you." There was a quaver of fear in Draco's tone, but the predominant emotion seemed to be regret.

"Do you want to stay here?"

"I shouldn't."

"I'll wake you in a few hours, if you like. Remember, I don't sleep."

Draco seemed to consider the offer, leaning against the wall next to the fireplace with a tired, indecisive expression. Finally, he seemed to acquiesce.

"No longer than two."

Edward nodded and watched as Draco returned to the bed, unfastening his trousers once again and folding them at the crease. He lay down and stared up at the ceiling, crossing his arms behind his head.

The choice was clear—he could join Draco on the bed or stand vigil again near the fire. Either way, he had to make his decision now.

Draco did it for him.

"Are you coming?"

Without wasting another second, Edward approached the bed and lay beside the wizard. Though he couldn't sleep, he didn't want to miss this chance to be close to Draco. Of course he couldn't resist one last check-in concerning Draco's physical well being.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Bloody hell, yes," murmured a sleepy Draco. "You really are a sodding Gryffindor."

That night Draco's dreams came violently. Edward tried to tune them out, but he caught glimpses—a man cloaked all in black with a face like a snake. A woman with blond hair, her face streaked with tears. Mum. And the most blinding, agonizing pain.

You have chosen well, young Malfoy. Now step into the circle.

Another face—a young man wearing glasses with a shock of nearly black hair. The boy who lived. Potter.

A young Draco holding out his hand in friendship.

So disappointed.

Draco whimpered and curled closer to Edward, who wrenched his mind away from the troubling dreams. But it was too late—he had already seen too much. And he was filled with fear

Chapter Seven

Nights ran cooler and brought a crystallized layer of frost. The ground crackled under Edward's feet as he sped through the forest searching out prey—mostly deer, but sometimes wild boar. Neither whetted his appetite, and Edward longed for the more difficult quarry he'd known in America. The perfunctory feedings barely mollified his hunger; still, he no longer wished to be away from the cabin for long.

He told himself he wasn't waiting for Draco, but was no longer foolish enough to believe the lie.

Draco's visits became irregular. Sometimes Edward wouldn't see him for days at a time, and others he'd knock at the cabin door on an almost nightly basis. Every visit, however, was tinged with the lust and want of the first few—they couldn't seem to get enough of each other, especially after long stretches spent apart.

"Where have you been?" asked Edward one evening. It had been almost two weeks since he'd seen his lover, and they'd just spent hours sucking and pawing and frotting. Finally, Edward didn't even think he could will an erection despite his brief vampire refraction period. Nor could Draco. He lay sprawled out on the bed, his spent penis softening on his thigh.

Draco's brow darkened. "School."

"Yes, I know that," Edward replied, trying not to roll his eyes. "That's not what I meant."

"You know I can't tell you."

"But why?"

Edward ran his hand down Draco's ribcage, noticing how it seemed so much more pronounced than just weeks ago. He pressed a kiss just under the curvature of the bone where a slight bruise was blossoming, wanting to remove the blond's shirt completely, but knowing by now that Draco would never let him. There was something he didn't want Edward to see.

"I can't."

"That's what you keep saying."

"Because it's true, isn't it?" Draco snapped, sitting up on the bed and reaching for his briefs.

"You can trust me."

"Just like you trust me with your story, hmm?" The wizard stood, fastening the button on his trousers.

Edward growled in frustration. He didn't want Draco to leave, not when he didn't know if he'd be back. Or when. But they'd reached an impasse.

"Are you going?" he asked, unable to keep the sullen tone from his voice.

Draco turned his back and buttoned his shirt.

"I can't stay tonight."

"I see."

"It's not . . ." Draco paused, his expression softening a bit. "It's not because of what you asked. I think I'm being followed."

"By whom?"

Draco shook his head, glancing at the door. "Doesn't matter."

"You're being followed and it doesn't matter?"

"I'm not worried . . . the person doesn't really represent a threat. It's . . . complicated."

"When will you be back?"

"Dunno."

"Right. Well, I'll see you later then," Edward replied bitterly. "Don't mind me. Maybe I'll see you again one of these days." He intended the words to burn. He was being selfish, but he didn't care.

Edward had never asked Draco if he had another lover. Clearly the wizard had more experience than he when it came to sex, but then again, most people did. He wrenched the thought from his mind, knowing if he dwelt on it too long he'd go mad with jealousy. But even that though was more palatable than his greatest fear—that Draco was in danger.

Draco's voice drew him out of his reverie. Edward turned and found him staring morosely at the fire.

"I'm . . . I don't . . ."

"What?"

His face had grown pale, shadows flickering over sharp features in the firelight, but he wouldn't meet Edward's gaze. "Why do you want me to come back?" he asked. His voice wavered even as he tried to hide it.

"I . . ." Edward chose his words carefully. He knew Draco wasn't keen on expressions of sentiment, but he also didn't want the wizard to think all he was interested in was getting off. "You're not bad company," he joked. Draco was his only company, after all. "But . . . I care about you."

It didn't seem to be the right thing.

Draco's eyes flashed, his expression dangerous. "You shouldn't."

Edward didn't bother shutting the door after Draco left. Instead, he let the winter wind tease and finally extinguish the fire.

The next night, the footsteps outside came as surprise, jolting Edward out of his gloomy solitude.

The cabin door opened and Draco nearly flew into Edward's arms. His body trembled with cold and something else—fear. Edward could sense it despite the other's blocked mind. He inhaled, allowing the rich, spicy scent of Draco's blood to fill his lungs, ignoring the pooling venom.

"What happened?" he asked. Despite his residual anger from the night before, Edward wrapped his arms around Draco, a small smile playing on his lips when Draco hugged him back. The other boy shuddered against him and Edward moved them both quickly toward the bed, not wanting to relinquish his hold even for a moment.

"It's all gone wrong. Just . . . I can't do this." Draco murmured to himself more than to Edward, his slight frame shaking.

"What?"

Draco didn't answer, but his grey eyes seemed focused on something in the distance, something Edward couldn't see. His body shook again.

Edward hadn't bothered lighting the fire since he hadn't expected any visitors, and the cabin was uncharacteristically cold. He wrapped Draco in a blanket and moved to light some tinder, stoking the grate until it was strong enough to feed larger logs.

When he finally turned back to Draco, he found the wizard supine on the bed, staring morosely at the ceiling. He seemed calmer, but still uneasy. His eyes drifted to Edward when he stood.

"About yesterday . . ." Draco began.

"Don't worry about it."

Draco's trademark smirk slipped into place, but there was an uncharacteristic ruefulness to the expression. He scooted over so Edward could sit.

"Malfoys rarely apologize," Draco informed him. "Are you really giving up this once in a lifetime opportunity?"

"For now."

"It may never happen again."

"I can live with that."

Draco barked out a laugh and Edward realized what he'd said. He smiled and shook his head.

"Well, I am sorry," Draco said simply. "There. I said it. It's just . . . there are certain things I can't speak about." He still wouldn't meet Edward's gaze.

Edward's shoulders tensed when Draco uttered the words. Whatever secrets Draco was keeping . . . could they be worse than what Edward had done? He doubted it. And maybe if he could just make the other see . . . maybe if he could just unburden himself. The girl's face streaked with blood as she called for her mother. And Rosalie . . . the adopted sister he'd never truly learned how to live with . . . how could he ever face Rosalie again?

He almost confessed everything . . . but Draco turned his glittery grey eyes on him and the words died on his tongue.

The blond's lips parted slightly, showing just a glimpse of his teeth. Edward held his breath as the blood started pounding more hotly in Draco's veins. The pulse at his neck thrummed.

"What would happen if you bit me?" Draco asked.

"What?" Edward nearly croaked out the reply. "If I bit you?"

"You want to."

"I . . ."

"I can see it in your eyes." Draco's tongue darted out to wet his lips, and Edward's cock responded instantly. His hunger for blood was quickly being overridden by other impulses. Still, Draco's observation unnerved him. He glanced away.

"If I bit you, I'd most likely drain you dry. Or . . . I'd stop and you'd change." He highly doubted the latter outcome.

"Into a vampire." Draco didn't give anything away with his tone.

"Yes."

"Hmmm. Have you ever done it before?"

"Changed someone? No. I don't . . ." He could never force someone into this life. "I couldn't."

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, and when Edward finally got the courage to look back at the other boy, he gasped.

Draco's heavy-lidded eyes were latched onto Edward, his mouth open and inviting. His hand snaked down to press lightly on his growing arousal. He closed his eyes and moaned.

Edward dipped his head and kissed the soft skin of Draco's throat. The pulse fluttered lightly against his lips, warm, inviting him in. He would only need to widen his mouth, cut his teeth into the flesh and the liquid heaven would sate his thirst.

"Fuck me." Draco nearly panted the words. Somehow Edward's hand had replaced the one stroking his cock through his trousers.

Edward froze. He'd imagined it . . .far, far too many times since he'd met the wizard. But he didn't have the control yet. Most of his fantasies involved drinking deeply from Draco's vein as he came inside of him—a quick, ruthless fucking that would almost certainly result in death.

He pulled away, disgusted with himself.

"Edward?" Draco's voice was heavy with unfulfilled desire.

"Not tonight."

"Okay . . . just please. Bloody touch me." Edward allowed Draco to grasp his hand and drag it back to his crotch. His own prick leapt at the feel of Draco's straining under the layers of fabric.

He unzipped Draco's trousers and quickly sought his erection. It leaked in Edward's hand as he stroked it slowly, tantalizing the blond with controlled movements. In the past few weeks, he'd learned to control the pressure he exerted on the other boy; while Draco didn't mind the bruises, Edward did.

"More . . . harder," Draco panted, but he'd underestimated Edward's patience. He edged him toward his orgasm, backing off when he suspected the sensation became too much. Soon Draco was whimpering with mindless need. He clamped down on his bottom lip with his teeth and Edward quickly eased his jaw with his free hand, worried that the action would draw blood.

That was the last thing he needed.

He finally allowed Draco to release, heavy spurts of come warming his hand as the blond cried out and arched off the bed, his face and neck wet with perspiration from the prolonged arousal.

Edward kissed the moisture off of Draco's skin, spending extra time near the hollow at Draco's throat. He kissed Draco's softening cock and wiped the come from his skin before tucking him back inside his trousers. His eyes drifted again to those lips . . . pink, soft . . .

He wanted so much to kiss them, but noticed bemusedly that Draco's breath had already evened out. He was fast asleep.

What was it like to sleep? For the conscious mind to completely release? Edward no longer remembered. But from the dreams he'd seen, rest was anything but peaceful for his lover. Edward drew closer, then pulled the blanket around them, gently brushing aside his hair from his forehead. He stirred slightly, but didn't wake.

A flash came as Draco's hold on his thoughts relaxed.

Draco walked alone through a strange room. He passed desks and chairs and boxes. A couch covered with pillows, blankets, and a life-sized doll with a missing leg. A broken mirror smashed into pieces on the floor. Bottles of perfume and an ancient gilded birdcage. His breath came more heavily. Books and rolled up newspapers, piles of parchment strewn haphazardly. The entire room seemed filled with the unwanted.

Hidden things.

Work. Work. Work.

In front of Draco stood a gigantic wardrobe or cabinet of some sort.

You have to work. You have to work. Work, for fuck's sake. Bloody work.

Draco placed a small bird inside the cabinet and closed the door, resting his head on the solid frame. He tried to calm his racing heart. The bird chirped inside its wooden prison.

Please work.

Edward could feel the blood pounding in his veins. He knew he should retreat from Draco's head, but he couldn't stop watching. He wanted to help . . . Draco needed it, but he'd never tell him what was going on. The dream pulled him further in.

Please work.

Draco opened the cabin, his mouth opening in a silent scream.

No no no no! Oh Salazar! Merlin help me. Please.

The bird had disappeared, and in its place rested a head, severed from its body. Blood soaked through the long white blond hair and ran out of the cabinet, pooling around Draco's feet. The sunken cheeks were smeared with sticky, black blood. Draco leapt back to avoid the puddle but it was too late. It had already stained him, already soaked through his shoes. The head lolled to the side with an audible thunk.

Father.

The eyes opened, voice gurgling.

You've failed. You've failed us. Your mother is next, Draco. You best not fail again.

A searing pain shot up Draco's left arm. He clutched it with his other hand and whimpered.

The mark . . . it burned. The skull and snake symbol writhed and twisted, a horrible perversion of a tattoo, running all the way to the bone.

Do not fail ussss again.

This time the voice came as a hiss. The head had morphed into something dark and terrifying—a cloaked figure with red slit-like eyes.

Edward was jolted out of the dream as Draco surged to wakefulness beside him, groping frantically for his wand. He grabbed it from the floor next to the bed, then sat up, eyes darting round. His hand shook violently.

"Draco?"

The wizard nearly leapt at the sound of his name—obviously he was still lost in the nightmare. He turned toward Edward, his face white as a sheet.

"Were you in my head?" he asked quietly. The words wavered despite his attempt to control them. Edward's eyes darted to Draco's arm.

"You were having a nightmare."

Draco laughed, a harsh, mirthless sound. "Right."

"So it's the truth? Did that really happen?"

He thought again of the gruesome bloody head—Draco's father. Oh God—was he truly dead? Or was his death a projection, brought on by Draco's fear of whatever task he needed to perform.

"I trusted you."

Edward tried to explain. "I couldn't help it. You were—"

"I trusted you, and you—"

"—dreaming. I wanted to see if I—"

"—just watching like it's some sort of entertainment, is that—"

"—help you. You have to let me help you."

Both of their voices had risen, but Edward wanted, needed, the other boy to understand. His final plea hung in the room, unanswered.

Draco stood, his expression cold.

"No one can help me."

Chapter Eight

Edward started keeping track of the days after Draco left.

The solitude he'd originally welcomed as punishment had become oppressive, and waiting around for someone who might never come back—would never come back—struck him as decidedly pathetic. He still had some semblance of pride left. When the desire to go searching for Draco became too strong, he resolved to take the long delayed trip to London instead.

But his pride hadn't stopped him from running over a million different scenarios regarding the images he'd seen in Draco's dream. It seemed probable that Draco bore the skull and snake tattoo on his arm, and whatever task he had to perform (likely under duress, considering how fearful he'd appeared) was somehow related to the mark. Moreover, his family was threatened, making the situation that much more volatile. That was a reality with which Edward was all too familiar.

And his pride hadn't stopped him from missing Draco.

He sighed as he locked the cabin, though he wasn't really worried about break-ins, especially with the protections Draco had put in place. If they still held. For all Edward knew, the wizard had taken them down when he left. In any case, there wasn't much of worth at the cabin to steal.

The hour-long journey to the train station passed without incident, and Edward found himself on a platform, surrounded by humans for the first time in months. A young woman with a stud in her nose smiled at him and he gave he a curt nod, unaccustomed to social niceties. In the woods it was easy to forget how to play human. Draco didn't seem to mind Edward's vampire qualities. When he moved too fast, made sounds that unnerved most people, the wizard didn't flinch. He even seemed to like it . . .

Edward ground his fingers into his palm and stepped onto the train. It wouldn't do to think of that now. Draco wasn't coming back.

Being in London after the silence of the forest overwhelmed Edward's senses. At first he almost welcomed the cacophony in his head. It seemed oddly normal, the banal concerns and desires of people as they hurried from place to place. Despite the thousands of beating hearts, his thirst remained under control. He'd already survived the ultimate temptation. None of the blood he smelled held a candle to Draco's.

He checked into a hotel in Bloomsbury and took a warm shower, his body relaxing under the heat. Bathing in cold water at the cabin was much less pleasant. He washed, giving his insistent erection a quick release, but knowing it wouldn't sate his need. Ever since he'd first been with Draco, that hunger had grown exponentially, so much so that he could no longer remember a time when he didn't feel the pull of his body's most basic human desires. After a few harsh tugs, his cock spurted jets of venom down the drain, however, the orgasm was far from satisfactory. Ironically, now that he'd allowed himself to indulge, his own touch was no longer enough.

Once he'd dried and dressed, he made his way into the city. He stopped at the National Portrait Gallery and the British Museum, spending an especially long time at the latter. Priceless objects: so many of them spoils of war or colonialism, taken from their countries of origin and put on display. Detached from the Parthenon, the Elysian Marbles, though beautiful, left him feeling decidedly melancholy.

He left and decided to purchase the things he'd come for—books, batteries, a small music player, CDs, and clothes—but he hadn't expected such crowds. Christmas was only days away and he hadn't even known. He added a calendar to his list.

The stores were decorated with lights, wreaths, candles and ornaments, and filled with irritating holiday shoppers—including a man who plowed into Edward in a desperate attempt to purchase a coveted toy. Dazed at the impact, the stranger gave Edward a funny look and hurried away. A normal human reaction, but one which made Edward long to finish his errands in a hurry. Shopping had never been an activity he relished, and until now Alice had picked out most of his clothes. Edward smiled, thinking of Draco's immaculate appearance; he'd probably enjoy shopping with the wizard. He imagined the two of them together in London, but immediately put the ridiculous thought out of his head.

Of course there was another reason he'd come to the city . . . one that had been put off for far too long.

He regarded the phone booth intently, fingering the long distance calling card in his pocket. With a grim smile of determination, he enclosed himself inside and picked up the phone.

His sister answered on the first ring.

"Hello, Edward," she said. Her careful tone didn't give anything away.

"Hi, Alice."

"We've been waiting for you all day. Took you long enough."

"Sorry . . . I had a few things to take care of." He cringed at the lame excuse. Of course Alice would've seen him calling, but wouldn't have known what time to expect.

"I know . . . doing a little shopping, right? I like the blue shirt you picked out. But those black pants are too long."

Edward rolled his eyes. "Thanks."

Alice spoke quickly, chattering about what the family had been up to, picking and choosing her words carefully. They planned to spend the upcoming holidays with the Denali clan, another 'vegetarian' vampire coven in Alaska. She didn't mention Rose at all, and Edward was afraid to ask.

"So, how have you been?" she asked finally.

"Don't you know?" Edward asked. "Isn't Draco the reason Carlisle suggested Scotland?"

"Oh, his name is Draco! He's handsome, by the way. Very blond. You have good taste."

If Edward could have blushed, he would have. "You didn't answer my question."

"He isn't the reason. I didn't see Draco until you decided to go."

Edward thought back to the conversation months earlier. Alice had gone from resistant to enthusiastic as soon as he'd agreed. "And I'm sure he had nothing to do with you basically packing my bags and kicking me out of the house."

Alice sighed. "I saw you happy, which was good enough for me."

Happy. As if he deserved happiness. He almost protested, but knew better than to argue with Alice.

"What else did you see?" He felt a little guilty asking, since using Alice's gift to learn more about Draco seemed like more spying. But he had to know if he'd ever see the wizard again.

"It's strange . . ." she began. He could hear the hesitation in her voice. "I get lots of flashes, but nothing definite. It's like he's trying to make up his mind and can't . . ."

Edward snorted. Sure sounded like Draco.

She went on. "And because I don't really know him, and you both are so far away it's . . . vague. I think it might have something to do with him being a wizard, too. Like the wolves. I'm sorry." Edward hated the guilt in her voice; Alice couldn't see anything involving the wolves. She blamed herself, in part, for what had happened all those months ago.

"Don't be." Edward almost felt thankful she couldn't see; he wasn't sure he wanted to know what the future held. "Alice—"

"I do see some things, though, Edward. And . . . it's dark."

"Dark?"

"The path he's on right now. It's dark."

Edward almost felt his dead heart pounding in his chest. "Can I help him?"

"Maybe. I . . . it's so up in the air right now."

Edward's jaw tensed. "Yeah. Well, not that up in the air. I'm pretty sure he hates me. I . . . he can block his thoughts, but I kinda watched his dreams and he got angry . . ."

Alice giggled. "You're such a sneak."

"I couldn't help it!" His defenses rose even though he'd admitted to himself he shouldn't have been poking around where he wasn't wanted. "Anyway, he left and I haven't seen him since. I probably won't see him ever again."

"You will."

"I thought you said you couldn't really see his future."

"I can see where it intersects with yours, at least in the short term, and I know that you'll see him again. Soon."

Edward relaxed his grip when he realized he'd started to bend the receiver.

"You saw that?"

"Yes!" Alice laughed, a bright, sweet sound he hadn't realized he'd missed. "You know what else I saw?" The suggestive lilt to her voice made him grimace.

"Shut up."

"I'm happy for you! I mean, all of these years . . . to finally lose your vir—"

"Alice!" Edward caught her before she could go further. One thing he didn't miss about his family was their constant interference in his sex life, or lack thereof. Living with a house full of happily mated couples had never been easy. And now Alice was insinuating he was about to lose his virginity with Draco, the man who was currently furious with him.

She giggled again. "Fine, sorry. Anyway, Carlisle wants to talk to you."

"Okay."

"And don't be such a stranger. We all miss you, you know." Her voice wavered. "Despite what you might think."

"I'm sorry I didn't call sooner. It's just . . . it's difficult."

Her voice quieted. "I know."

"I'll call again as soon as I can."

"Merry Christmas, Edward."

There was a bit of muffled noise before a male voice replaced Alice's.

"Hello, son. How are you?"

Edward tried to find his voice. Carlisle still thought of him as his son, even after . . .

"I'm fine," he said.

"And the cabin?"

"Still standing."

"Good, good."

Edward fingered the phone cord in his hand, steeling himself for the question he'd wanted answered for so long. "Carlisle, I need to know the truth. Did you know there was a school nearby?"

The other man stayed silent for a moment. "Yes," he said.

"But you told me there was no one around for miles."

"The school isn't supposed to be visible to outsiders; but yes, I knew it was there. To be honest, I didn't think you'd run into any of the children. The forest is generally considered off limits. How interesting that you could see it . . ."

Edward was far more interested in his adopted father's motives. "You lied to me. That night . . . I could have . . . I almost . . ." He choked back the venom that flooded his mouth at the memory of Draco's scent.

"I'm sorry. It wasn't my intent to deceive you. In all the years I lived there, I never once came across a Hogwarts student."

His apology only fueled Edward's frustration. "Did you know what . . . did you know who Alice saw?"

Carlisle sighed. "After I made the suggestion and you assented, Alice shared what she'd seen with me, yes."

"After everything that happened . . . you knew what I wanted. I can't believe you two." He was fuming now, close to breaking the glass of the booth.

"Edward, listen to me. You still feel guilty over what happened, and your need to exile yourself is part of whatever penance you think you need to perform . . . but we love you, son. We want you to be happy. You deserve to be ha—"

Edward growled. "Don't tell me what I deserve, Carlisle."

"Okay. I'm sorry. You have a right to be angry with me, but I never meant to hurt you." Neither of them spoke for a minute as Edward tried to gain control of his emotions—this was the man he'd considered his father for almost a hundred years. No matter how much it pained him to have been deceived, he couldn't stay mad at his family. They had only done what they thought was right, which was more than he could say for himself.

"So, um. . . . How long are you staying in London?" Carlisle's awkward attempt to change the subject brought a small smile to Edward's face.

"Just another day or so. I've gotten most of what I need." He paused again, hating how stilted he sounded.

"Any plans for Christmas?"

"Yeah. Find and drink a reindeer."

Carlisle chuckled and a bit of the tension dissipated. "You could come with us to Denali."

The suggestion, though made lightly, held serious implications. Edward had never understood how Carlisle could so easily forgive him after all he'd done. His unworthiness made him cringe.

"I'm sorry. I . . . can't."

The other man exhaled deeply. "I know."

After the call ended Edward gathered his purchases and headed back to the hotel, his heart heavy. Wet snow began to fall in thick white clumps, settling in his hair and on his skin. He missed Carlisle, Alice, Jasper . . . but he hadn't really known how much until this moment. Could he ever go back? Would he?

As he passed a shop he'd seen earlier, something caught his eye. Through the dimly lit display case, amongst a rather haphazard spread of children's toys and games, he spied a Magic Eight Ball—Alice had one of them in the '80s. She used to annoy Edward, haranguing him to ask the stupid thing questions to which it provided equally ridiculous answers: Outlook good. Signs point to yes. Cannot predict now.

It was just a silly toy, but he smiled, thinking Draco might find it amusing. He hadn't planned on getting the wizard a present, given the circumstances, but in light of Alice's revelation perhaps it wasn't a bad idea.

He went inside and quickly purchased the item, wondering when he'd become such an idiot.

Edward arrived back at the forest after nightfall on Christmas Eve. A blanket of white carpeted the forest floor, occasional tracks of footprints interrupting the otherwise untouched expanse. He ran quickly, loving the rush of the wind through his hair, the satisfying crunch of snow under his boots. As he neared home, he slowed to a more human pace. After all, there really was no reason to rush.

But as the cabin came into sight, so too did a familiar figure. Dressed all in black, Draco stood not twenty paces away, his back towards Edward. His blond hair stood out against his dark clothes, nearly as pale as the snow. Edward stopped breathing.

"Draco," he said. It was barely a whisper.

The blond turned quickly, his eyes frightened until they settled on Edward's still form.

His mouth twitched into a wistful smile. "You're always here. I thought you'd gone."

"I had. To London." He unslung the pack from his shoulder and motioned toward it.

"Oh." Draco looked at the bag with a determination Edward suspected had more to do with a fear of meeting Edward's eyes than any interest in its contents.

"I didn't think you'd come back," Edward said, keeping his voice even.

"Neither did I."

Fortified by Alice's vision, Edward took a chance and advanced toward the blond. Even when they were barely a foot apart, Draco still wouldn't meet his eyes. His gloved hands clenched and unclenched in a mesmerizing rhythm. Edward took them in his and Draco stiffened. Finally, he raised his head. The circles under his eyes shocked Edward—they'd gotten much darker, and, if it were possible, his face appeared even thinner. Despite all of that, Draco was beautiful. His lips exhaled puffs of vapor into the air.

"Edward, I—"

Before he could get out his sentence, Edward did what he'd wanted to do for weeks. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Draco's—all softness, all velvet. The wizard resisted for a moment, but then his head tilted, welcoming Edward's lips, then his tongue, hard and probing. Draco's mouth tasted of oranges and cinnamon, as if he'd been drinking spiced cider—it wasn't repellant at all—but the most provocative flavor was Draco's own.

The kiss quickly turned from tentative to demanding, and Edward drew Draco's body against his, hoping he had the restraint not to injure his lover after all this time apart. The taste of Draco's mouth and the fervor of his kisses threatened to completely erase all self-control. When Edward felt Draco's cock respond, hard and needy against his own, he growled. He thought possessively, mine.

Chapter Nine

How had he managed to stay away from Draco for so long, Edward wondered, running his hands down the wizard's back, pressing closer. Draco's arms wound themselves around Edward, and he silently thrilled at the warm feel of hands as frantic as his own. No one had ever touched him with such want. He groaned, pulling away from Draco's mouth to kiss his throat. The wizard responded with a quiet gasp.

"How long were you waiting?" Edward murmured, pausing to nuzzle against the soft skin with his lips and nose.

"Not long."

"I'm glad I caught you." The words hung heavy in the air along with the steam of Draco's breath. Edward wanted to tell the wizard many things—how he hadn't wanted to leave, how he'd missed him—but decided not to voice the sentiments.

"Indeed," Draco replied. "I don't like to be kept waiting." He ground his cock into Edward's hip to emphasize his meaning. "Can we go inside?"

Still reeling from their kisses, Edward grabbed his bag and hoisted it on his shoulder; only then did he realize Draco had a bag with him as well. A secret thrill shot up Edward's spine. Could he be planning to stay?

"Let's go."

Once inside the dark cabin, Draco illuminated his wand. With a quick flick of his wrist and a muttered incantation, the fire roared in the grate. Edward stood to the side, suitably impressed. The two considered each other as the room began to warm. The fervor of their reunion settled into awkwardness amidst all the words left unspoken.

Edward didn't know what to say; luckily, Draco broke the silence first.

"Why did you go to London?"

"I had a little shopping to do," Edward motioned to the bag. "It was nice to be in the city for a change . . . but I'm glad to be back." He added the last bit as an afterthought, wanting Draco to understand that Edward had missed him, even if he couldn't say it out loud.

"Oh, I'm sure," Draco drawled. "It must have been positively painful being separated from this splendor." He gestured around to indicate the setting, but Edward knew the wizard well enough by now to understand he was fishing.

Edward smirked. "Oh, this place isn't all bad. It has its perks." He glanced back at Draco meaningfully, but the blond didn't take the bait.

"Hmm. Somehow I find that difficult to believe."

"Don't."

Draco glanced away from Edward's gaze, and the latter swore he detected a hint of color redden his lover's cheeks.

"But what are you doing here? Why did you come back?"

"I recognized I was being a bit . . . unreasonable." Draco's shoulders rose and fell with a barely audible sigh. "And frankly, you're about the only one I can stand being around at the moment."

"High praise." Edward rolled his eyes.

"You also give fantastic hand jobs," Draco replied, not missing a beat.

Edward chuckled and stepped closer. He was pleased Draco no longer seemed angry with him, but recognized his own culpability. "I shouldn't have let myself watch. I'm sorry. I just found it difficult to look away—"

"You are a nosy git, but never mind about it. I'm sure I'd have done the same." Draco began unfastening his cloak. So he was planning on staying, at least for now. Once he'd divested himself of his outerwear, he returned his gaze to Edward. His parted lips beckoned—lips that needed to be kissed and sucked and made to moan. The thought brought Edward's arousal back in a demanding rush, his cock filling with venom. It hardened almost instantly and Draco's eyes darted down, a small smile appearing on his lips as he noticed the obvious excitement.

Recognition passed between them—talking could wait. Edward didn't know who moved first, but arms and mouths reached for each other, fastening, licking, groping. Their lips met again and Edward made a concerted effort to control his movements, fearing if he moved too quickly he'd seriously injure the other. He couldn't get enough of Draco's taste and the way his tongue moved in slow, languid strokes.

Never in his hundred years did Edward imagine kissing could be like this—he'd never understood the human inclination in the first place. But now his entire body vibrated with sensation, the long-neglected nerves of his lips wanting more. More. Edward brought his hands to Draco's face and traced the line of his jaw, gently angling the wizard's head to the side to deepen the kiss.

"Merlin," Draco gasped, breaking away. "Some of us have to breathe, you know."

"Sorry." Edward grinned sheepishly.

"Breathing's overrated, anyway." He leaned forward again and nipped at Edward's lips, darting his tongue out in a biting kiss. His hand reached down, gripping Edward's arousal and giving it a firm squeeze.

"I want you to fuck me."

Edward groaned. "Believe me, I want to. I just . . . " The blond's eyes focused on him, his expression a challenge.

"If you want to, then do it."

"I've . . . I've never . . ." He could barely admit his inexperience, though he expected Draco already knew.

"Neither have I." Draco rubbed Edward's cock. It twitched under the rough material, seeking release.

"What?"

"I've been with blokes before, but I've never fucked anyone. There was once . . . well, there's never been . . ." His voice drifted off and Edward wondered what Draco would have said. Damn the wizard for blocking his thoughts!

"And you want to do this . . . with me?" He could barely think coherently with the way Draco was rubbing up against him.

"Yes."

So simple. So easy. Edward found his resistance melting away. He could . . . perhaps he could do this. He wanted to. God, he'd never felt such want. But he had no idea where to begin.

Draco guided Edward's hand to the fastening of his trousers and moaned when Edward's fingers pressed against the tip of his cock. "Yes, fuck."

Surrender.

Resisting the urge to sweep Draco into his arms, Edward backed the wizard toward the bed, his hands nimbly undoing buttons and zippers and all that lay between them. Draco allowed Edward to remove his trousers and pants, his long, pink cock slapping against his stomach. Emboldened, Edward straddled the blond and leaned down to lick the sticky fluid leaking from the tip.

"Fuck."

"What do you want me to do?" Edward's tongue lapped again, tracing the edge of the retracting foreskin. He swallowed back the flood of venom that filled his mouth at the first taste of Draco's arousal.

"Salazar . . ." The blond groaned again and thrust his pelvis, and Edward was sure he'd never seen such a delicious sight.

"I'm sorry," he teased. "I don't quite understand."

"Suck it." Draco's demand sent a new flood of lust through Edward's body. Suddenly aware of his unnecessary clothes, Edward made quick work of them as Draco watched, eyes heavily lidded. He didn't protest when Edward unbuttoned his shirt, though the latter didn't try to remove it completely, knowing Draco didn't want him to see the mark he knew must be imprinted on his arm.

But perhaps, just perhaps, Edward could convince him it was safe. He wouldn't stand in judgment of anyone but himself.

Ridding his mind of the untimely thoughts, Edward returned to Draco's supine form and sucked just the head of his cock into his mouth, fearing if he went too far, he'd be tempted to bite. He kept his sharp teeth behind the shield of his lips and worked the base of Draco's prick with one hand, his tongue stroking the darkened head. When he dipped into the slit, Draco hissed and bucked his hips.

Edward looked up and met Draco's eyes . . . no fear, just pure want. They followed Edward's movements as he took the cock deeper into his mouth, rubbing the foreskin against the sensitive glans.

Strange, how oddly human Edward felt in the moment—whereas slow movements usually frustrated him beyond belief, he enjoyed the lazy cant of his lover's hips, the soft, warm glide of his cock. He allowed his mouth to travel lower, licking and sucking at the sack as his finger sought the pucker of Draco's entrance. He'd seen enough in people's minds to know how to prepare a man for penetration. But actually doing it was another matter all together.

Draco gasped at the first tentative prod and Edward gently tilted his legs upwards, exposing the tight, ridged flesh. It pulsed and Edward reached out again, mesmerized by the way it contracted at his touch. He pressed again, more firmly this time, and the tip of his finger entered. Draco moaned and reached for his neglected cock.

"I think . . . we need . . . um."

"Lube," Draco supplied. He smirked a little at Edward's hesitation.

"Yeah. That. I don't have any."

"I do. A Malfoy always thinks ahead." Draco murmured an incantation and a small phial whisked through the air, hovering before Edward. He took it in his hand and a spark jolted through him. His cock hardened more fully against his thigh and he gave it a firm tug to relive some of the pressure.

"How did you do that without your wand?"

"Wandless magic. I've been practicing."

"Wow. That's . . . amazing."

The wizard smiled smugly. "It is, isn't it?"

Edward dipped his fingers into the liquid, which heated at the contact despite his cool touch. His questioning glance at Draco only increased the wizard's expression of self-satisfaction. The silky, viscous substance seemed to be some kind of oil. Edward rubbed his fingers together and brought his hand to his cock again, sighing at the warm slickness.

All the while, Draco watched with a hungry look on his face, his own hand toying with his cock. "Touch me," he said.

He didn't have to ask twice.

Abandoning his own pleasure for the moment, Edward dipped his fingers again, and then set the phial aside. He spread Draco's legs and moved between them, giving his prick a slow stroke before trailing his hands down to his tight hole. Now when his fingertip slid inside, it did so easily, and Draco's moan of pleasure indicated he didn't mind the invasion in the least. Edward began slowly working his finger inside, taking care not to go too quickly. When his finger was buried to the knuckle, he started to retreat again, fisting Draco's cock to the tempo of the glide of his finger.

"More," the wizard keened. His cock twitched in Edward's hand, leaking more sticky precome. "Use another finger."

"I don't want to hurt you."

Draco scoffed. "Of course you don't. You won't. I've done it myself scads of times, believe me. Use a bit more of the oil."

Edward's eyes widened at this revelation; he hastened to do as Draco asked, slicking his fingers again before working one, then a second, inside. He marveled at the way the tiny hole accepted the penetration, his prick surging with the animal need to fuck.

"Oh, yes." Draco's hips surged eagerly. "Another."

"I don't think . . ." Edward couldn't possibly see how another finger would fit, much less his cock. He worried about tearing Draco—what if he bled? Though he liked to believe he could maintain control, he didn't want to test himself unnecessarily, especially if Draco was involved.

Alice hadn't mentioned anything bad happening, though, which allayed his worries to some extent. Surely she would have warned him if this was too dangerous.

"Just do it, please."

Edward smiled at Draco's unconscious entreaty. He leaned down to kiss the sensitive skin at the juncture of the wizard's thigh, letting his tongue slide out to tease the underside of his sack again. Draco's muscles were so relaxed a third finger slipped in surprisingly easily. A growl rumbled in Edward's chest at the sight.

"Like what you see?" Draco's breathy question held more than a hint of desperation.

"You have no idea."

"Oh . . . ohhhh." The low, drawn out moan Draco emitted when Edward pressed against something inside him told Edward he'd found the right spot. He rubbed against it, working his fingers more quickly. If he didn't get inside soon . . .

Draco seemed to have the same idea. "Stop," he panted. "I'll come." He reached up for Edward, who allowed himself to be drawn atop Draco's body. Their mouths met again in a needy tangle of tongues and lips.

"How should we . . ."

"Like this."

"Okay."

Nearly frantic now, Edward reached for the phial again and liberally coated his prick, rearing up and adjusting Draco's legs over his shoulders. He used one hand to guide his cock to Draco's hole, resisting the urge to thrust in quickly. At the first hint of pressure, Edward ground his teeth together. Fuck him. Fuck him hard. The eager, seductive voice of the killer invaded his mind and he shuddered.

"Do it. Fuck me."

Edward pushed forward and felt his prick encased in hot, tight heat. He let go of Draco's legs and gripped the sheets, knowing it would be so easy to tear his lover's flesh. The sensation was nearly too much already and he was barely inside.

"Maybe," he grit though closed teeth, "maybe you should be on top."

"No. I want you to do it." Draco lifted his hips, causing Edward to breach him more completely.

"God . . . it's too good. I'll hurt you."

"I don't care."

Those words shredded the fragile pretense of Edward's control. He snapped his hips forward, driving in his cock to the root.

Draco gasped. "Bloody hell. Yes."

Their pace started slowly, but soon gained momentum. Edward made sure to keep his hands and mouth away from Draco, though he wanted nothing more than to lick and suck at the warm, inviting flesh. He watched his cock slip in and out of his lover, and angled for that spot inside Draco that had made him moan. The wizard fisted his erection, still slippery with oil, and met Edward's hips thrust for thrust. His eyes had closed and his mouth emitted a continuous stream of carnal sounds. Yes. Hard. Fuck me. Yes. The pink flush of arousal on his cheeks, his chest, drove Edward to distraction, a reminder of the thin barrier between predator and prey. Blood rushed through veins, a dull, wet roar to Edward's sensitive ears. He licked his lips and drove deeper.

Draco's hand moved more quickly over his flesh, and his moans became even louder as his orgasm approached. Edward longed for something—anything to bite. He tried to look away as Draco's cock exploded and his hole spasmed, sharp contractions that squeezed Edward's prick like a vise. Excruciating pleasure surged through Edward's body. He quickly withdrew and pumped his cock twice, crying out as his own release mingled with Draco's on the blond's pale stomach.

Only then did Edward realize he'd gouged giant holes into mattress on either side of Draco. He hadn't even known. Shame interrupted the aftermath of pleasure, making him scowl.

The wizard had retrieved his wand and performed the cleansing spell. He sat watching as Edward gloomily considered the damage.

"Reparo."

Magic sent a thrill though the air, and Edward watched, transfixed, as the bedding knitted back together.

"See?" Draco motioned to the bed. "Good as new. Well, as new as this horrible old mattress can be. And I don't really care to hear any prattle about how you barely managed to avoid making me your dinner. I'm fine, and I'm feeling quite nice at the moment."

Edward didn't know how to reply. He smiled grimly as he surreptitiously eyed Draco's body for bruises. Not noticing any particularly severe ones, he relented.

"I suppose I can save my prattle for a later date."

"Excellent news."

Draco began buttoning his shirt and Edward went to throw another log on the fire, not bothering with clothes. When he returned, Draco looked away, embarrassed. Edward realized the wizard had been watching him. He grinned.

"Would you mind if I stayed for a couple of days?" The question hung in the air, reminding Edward of the date.

"But it's Christmas."

"Oh, really? I hadn't realized." Draco's snide reply was tinged with hurt.

"I'd like for you to stay, of course. But why aren't you going home?"

Draco's face paled. "Mother wanted me to stay at school."

"Why?"

"She thinks it's safer," he replied. The carefully blank expression on his face gave nothing away.

"Safer from what?"

"You're not going to let this be, are you?"

Edward didn't answer. Instead, he moved to sit on the bed next to Draco, surprised when the wizard moved closer. Their arms wound around each other and Edward smiled when he felt a light kiss pressed on the side of his neck.

The path he's on right now . . . it's dark. Alice's words repeated themselves over and over again in Edward's head, a devastating mantra. But paths could be changed.

Chapter Ten

Morning came and with it Draco's protests of it being far, far too early to wake. The two had stayed up late into the night, talking little but touching often. Edward hadn't wanted to pressure Draco into unburdening himself, especially as he was still unbelievably grateful the wizard had returned at all. He could leave again and decide not to come back for good this time, and that was the last thing Edward wanted.

Unlike many humans he'd known over the years, Draco wasn't given to unnecessary chatter, so the silence was comfortable. Edward appreciated his pensive demeanor—it was another thing they had in common—though of course he craved to learn the thoughts masked by those impenetrable grey eyes.

Draco murmured again and tucked his head into the crease between Edward's arm and the pillow. It must have been rather uncomfortable, given that Edward's arm was as pliable as stone.

"Good morning," Edward said. He'd kept vigil all night without indulging himself with a glimpse of Draco's dreams. The protectiveness he'd felt had increased a hundred-fold since they'd had sex—even if that meant defending Draco from himself. Perhaps especially. He remembered the feel of Draco's skin against his own, the barely restrained urge to bite. True, he hadn't bitten. But he could have.

"It bloody well isn't good," came the muffled retort.

"It is for me," Edward said, lifting his arm. Draco squinted up at him and Edward leaned down, brushing his lips across the other's forehead before hopping out of bed. He didn't want to make Draco uncomfortable by being too affectionate in the light of day.

"And why's that?" The blond sat up and pulled the covers around him. The fire had died in the night and needed stoking.

"Oh, no reason." He shrugged, bent over the grate, and added a log. "Perhaps because it's Christmas." Of course that was only part of the truth. Draco would be staying at least for another day.

"Hmm. I suppose it is."

When Edward turned around, the wizard seemed lost in thought. The dark circles under his eyes had lightened, but they still made his face look tired. And too thin. Edward realized with chagrin that he had no food to offer. That is, unless Draco had a penchant for venison, which he very much doubted.

"Draco?"

At the sound of his name, Draco shook his head as if to clear it. Then his eyes met Edward's, flashing dangerously before the shutters closed.

"Right. Christmas. I suppose we should do something to celebrate then, shouldn't we?"

"I suppose we should."

Draco swung his legs around and reached for his trousers. His tousled hair made Edward grin, recalling how it had become so disarrayed. A tightening in Edward's pants announced his cock remembered, too.

"Accio satchel." At Draco's words, the bag he'd brought whisked through the air and landed gracefully on the bed beside him. He peered inside and flicked his wand hand, murmuring Latin under his breath. Edward watched with barely concealed wonder as several small objects rose into the air, growing larger as Draco muttered a second incantation.

In a matter of minutes, the cabin was transformed—paintings, one Edward recognized as the work of Brueghel—adorned the previously barren walls. Another of them seemed reminiscent of Hieronymus Bosch, but he'd never seen the particular print before.

"They were wizards," Draco said by way of explanation. "Didn't you know?"

Edward shook his head, wondering whether the paintings were real or facsimiles. If the former, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"You'd be surprised how many wizards have been mistaken for Muggles of genius over the years."

"I guess so. Shakespeare?"

"No, the man didn't know a thing about wizards," Draco replied before standing and muttering another incantation. In a matter of seconds a larger bed covered with a sumptuous green duvet and several large pillows replaced the previously Spartan sleeping accommodations.

Draco smirked. "If I'm spending the night, I'd like to do it a bit more comfortably."

He saved the best for last. The most astounding item of all to emerge from Draco's bag was a gleaming baby grand piano, which took up nearly a quarter of the living space once it reached full size. Draco moved a bookshelf out of the way and the piano slid into place in the corner, looking exceedingly incongruous amidst the humble surroundings, which, truth be told, weren't so humble anymore. Edward's fingers swept over the ivory, and he shook his head again.

"This is too much."

"You do like to play, don't you?"

"Yes. But it's . . ." He thought of the foolish gift he'd purchased Draco in London—a child's toy—and instantly regretted it. "I don't deserve all this."

"My family has loads of money, Edward. It was nothing." Draco flicked his wrist once more to unveil an apple. He took a bite of the fruit and chewed, his mouth working in quick, efficient movements. "The acoustics in this place are probably abysmal, in any case," he added once he'd swallowed. "It'll probably sound horrible."

Despite Draco's offhanded tone, Edward detected vulnerability in his voice, as he often did. By now he understood—or thought he did—that Draco avoided discussing feelings and emotions to avoid being hurt as much as to preserve his highly prized dignity. Edward sensed that such techniques had been strictly ingrained in the wizard, either at school or by his parents. As he considered the ramifications of this revelation, Edward's fingers moved of their own volition, gently coaxing sound from the keys. He was unsurprised to find the instrument perfectly tuned.

He turned back to discover Draco eyeing him cautiously.

"Thank you," he said. "This is incredible . . . I certainly never expected you to get me a present, let alone . . ." He swept his arm to indicate the gifts.

"Like I said, it was no matter." Draco shrugged and went back to his apple, but the faint blush of pleasure that tinged his cheeks gave him away.

"Right. No matter at all." Edward rolled his eyes. "But I'm definitely not giving you my gift after all this."

"You bought me a gift?"

"I did."

"What is it?" Draco's eyes filled with curiosity.

"It's ridiculous."

"I could do with a bit of ridiculousness after this past week . . ." he trailed off, taking another bite of apple.

"You'll laugh." Edward regretted not purchasing something expensive—something worthy of the wizard. He had a good deal of money, after all, and could easily have bought a more significant gift.

"Me? Never. Let's see it, you git." Draco's eyes latched onto the bag Edward hadn't bothered unpacking. "Is it in there?"

With a sigh of resignation, Edward moved quickly to retrieve the Magic Eight Ball.

Draco came to stand next to him, peering over his shoulder. Edward passed him the box, smiling in spite of himself as Draco unwrapped it with care. He fished out the ball and cocked his head to the side.

"What is it?"

"It's a Muggle toy . . . it's for fortune telling. You ask a question that can be answered with 'yes' or 'no,' and the thing gives you an answer. My sister used to have one. I thought you'd find it funny."

Brow furrowed, Draco shook the ball and raised it to his ear. Edward laughed.

"Not like that. Like this." Edward took the toy and held it so the "eight" faced up. He made a show of closing his eyes and rubbing one of his hands over the ball. "Will Draco stay for Christmas despite this horrible present?"

He rubbed once more for good measure and then flipped it over, waiting for the die to rise to the window.

"Most likely," Draco announced. "Hmm. Good answer."

"Better than an outright 'no,' I suppose," Edward said, chuckling. He was just about to ask another question when Draco snatched the ball from his hands.

"It's my present, and it's my turn." Draco closed his eyes and rubbed his hand over the "eight." A little smile raised one corner of his mouth, making Edward long to kiss him.

Seemingly satisfied, he opened his eyes and turned the ball upside down.

"It is certain," Edward read. "What was your question?"

The blond's smile grew wider, and he barked out a laugh. "I'm sorry, but that's a private matter."

"No fair. I asked mine out loud."

"You did, and it was a rather silly question."

Edward pouted.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic."

When Edward reached to take the ball again, Draco held it out of reach. "If you wanted one so badly, you should have bought one for yourself. I'm not done yet." Of course Edward could easily have snatched it, but he was pleased that Draco seemed to be enjoying himself.

After asking several more questions, none of which he shared with Edward, Draco's smile became a smirk. "Muggle toy it may be," he said, "But I can assure you it's more precise than the Divination teacher at Hogwarts."

"So you like it?" Edward tried, and failed, to modulate his eager tone.

Draco nodded curtly. "Don't be daft."

Edward took that as a confirmation, and smiled as the wizard whispered another question.

After the gift exchange, Draco spent the morning lounging about the cabin while Edward left to hunt. When he returned a couple of hours later, he found Draco dozing, his wand clutched tightly in his hand. The blond's lips parted slightly and his breathing came deep and even; Edward moved about the room silently, settling down in front of the fire with a book.

It didn't hold his attention, though; he found his gaze alighting on Draco's supine form more often than it did on the pages in front of him. Finally, he gave up and went to the bed, sliding gently into place beside Draco. As if sensing his presence even in sleep, Draco moved closer, resting his head on Edward's chest. He didn't appear to mind the hardness.

Edward watched the top of Draco's head—he'd obviously tamed his hair during Edward's absence. Unable to resist, he let his hand feather over the fine strands. Though Draco still smelled delectable, it was with some pleasure Edward noticed his bloodlust had all but abated.

"I feel that, you know," Draco mumbled against Edward's chest.

"Sorry." He removed his hand.

"I didn't tell you to stop."

Grinning at the ceiling, Edward resumed his stroking, his fingers delving deeper, scratching at Draco's scalp gently. The wizard murmured in contentment and rubbed his own hand against Edward's abdomen, feeling for the hem of his shirt. Touches that started hesitantly grew bolder, and Edward gasped when he felt Draco's hand brush over his nipple. His already semi-erect cock grew hard and uncomfortable in his pants.

Draco's own hips began to cant, seeking friction against Edward's hip.

"Want you to fuck me again," he whispered.

"I . . . aren't you sore?"

"I was, a little," Draco said, his hand moving down to massage Edward's cock through his trousers. "But I did a healing charm while you were out."

"Oh." Edward couldn't concentrate on anything but the sensation below. Draco had somehow unzipped his pants and slipped his hand inside. Warm skin and the strong tugs of Draco's fist erased all reason.

They wasted little time in divesting themselves of their clothes.

This time, Draco covered Edward's body with his own, sliding their cocks slickly together with more of the heated oil. Mouths met in slow, deep kisses, a tangle of tongues, hot against cold. Edward moaned as his prick teased Draco's tight entrance. The wizard seemed to be fighting two conflicting urges—to rut against Edward or press down onto his cock.

He muttered a spell and Edward was startled as another pass against Draco's hole began to draw him in. Worried they hadn't properly prepared, Edward pulled back.

"Um . . . but we didn't."

"Magic," Draco explained, "It's okay. I'm ready."

With a growl more animal than human, Edward thrust up, fully seating his prick inside. The hot channel squeezed and fluttered around him and his eyes latched onto Draco's face, his expression a mingling of pleasure and pain. He wanted to erase the pain.

Releasing Draco's hips, he drew the wizard's mouth down to his, reaching for his flagging erection and stroking it back to hardness. Draco grunted and started to move. Edward's cock slipped out, only to be drawn back in a scorching rush of pleasure.

He allowed Draco to set the pace, letting the wizard rock back onto his cock with a slow, methodical rhythm. Draco's own prick leaked sticky precome over Edward's hand, the balls drawing up into a tight, pink package as his release built.

"Merlin, yes. Right there," Draco panted, impaling himself more vigorously with each thrust of Edward's hips. He had never seen such a beautiful sight as his lover pistoning between hand and cock, his eyes screwed shut in ecstasy. Edward rubbed the head of Draco's prick and the blond cried out in pleasure, his come painting Edward's chest in hot, thick stripes.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Draco moaned, his hole clenching tightly around Edward, who wanted nothing more than to release inside. But not knowing what effect the venom ejaculate might have, he wrested himself from the still throbbing entrance and tugged himself to orgasm. It rocketed through him, spasms that coated his hand, Draco's back, and the blankets around them. He couldn't find it in himself to care.

Sometime later Edward realized that the entire room seemed bathed in a fuzzy haze. He sputtered as something landed on his tongue.

"Feathers?"

Draco, who at that point was still lying in the slick mess on Edward's chest, laughed. He drew himself up, white down fluttering around his head.

"I think you may have torn a pillow . . . or three." Edward glanced to the side and groaned, noticing the shredded material. "Fortunately, however, the damage is reparable."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Draco performed Reparo, and the pillows were back to new. "I quite like when you lose control. If you ever stop destroying things when we fuck, I think I may be offended."

Edward scoffed. "I'm sure it's awfully sexy."

"It is." There was no sarcasm in Draco's reply.

Hours later, Draco had finally eaten a full meal (to Edward's satisfaction), and snow had once again begun to fall. It coated the ground outside slowly at first, but soon morphed into a tremendous storm. The wind picked up, carrying the low howl of a wolf.

A werewolf.

Draco shuddered next to Edward. The two had drawn their chairs together in front of the fire, so Edward knew it wasn't from cold.

His face had paled and he seemed tired—the cocky, blasé attitude from earlier gone.

"It won't come here," Edward said, his hand resting on Draco's arm. The latter shook his head, gulping.

"I . . . yes. The protections will hold." He seemed to be saying it more for himself than to convince Edward.

The wolf howled again, a fearsome, menacing sound.

"It's Fenrir," Draco whispered.

"Fenrir? Who's that?"

"Fenrir Greyback . . . he's . . . let's just say he isn't someone either one of us wants to encounter. He's horrible."

"How do you know him?"

"He works for . . ." Draco trailed off, looking at Edward nervously. "I can't."

Edward rubbed Draco's arm, but his mind was racing. He knew the tentative openness they'd established could be easily shattered. And Draco wanted to tell him—he could see that now. All he needed to know was that he could trust Edward, really trust him.

That meant Edward needed to trust Draco.

"It was a car accident," Edward said, his mouth filling with bitter venom as the memories rushed back.

"What was?"

"The reason I'm here." He glanced at Draco and noticed the wizard watching him expectantly. "It all happened so fast."

The smell of delectable blood: hot, wet, pulsing with life. The pitiful sound of a girl crying.

With his eyes focused on the flames ahead, he uttered the words for the first time.

"I killed a family. They'd been in a terrible accident just outside of Seattle. I'd been visiting a friend and was on my way home when I came across the car—the father was badly injured, near death. I hadn't fed in so long. There was no food, for me, in Seattle. . . I tried to help them. But I . . ."

Edward shook his head, grimacing as the memory took hold. He'd reached the car—or rather, the smoking pile of twisted metal that had once been a car—and immediately saw the people inside. They were moaning, obviously injured. The driver's side door came off easily in his hands, and blood . . . there was blood everywhere. He pulled the man out, trying to ignore the gash in his side, the sweet blood leaking from his head.

Drink. Drink him. You'll end his suffering, the voice of the monster crooned in his ear.

"You tried to help them?" Draco's voice cut through the horrible scene.

"I pulled . . . I pulled the father out. His pulse was so weak . . . it was only a matter of minutes. And he was suffering . . . he was dying."

Edward's hands were covered in blood, his clothes soaked through.

Drink him, said the voice. Drink him and be full.

Back in the cabin, Edward clenched the arms of his chair, the wood easily disintegrating in his grip. "I gave in. I drank."

The memory of that hot blood—the first human blood he'd tasted in decades—assaulted his taste buds again. He'd drunk the man dry, felt the life drain out of him. And then he'd gone utterly mad.

"What happened?"

Now it was Draco rubbing Edward's arm, Draco's voice calling him back from the insanity of that night.

"Once I started . . . a frenzy I'd never known took hold of me. I couldn't stop. I couldn't. I didn't want to."

He could still see the mother's face as her eyes rolled in fear. Her repetitive thoughts swarmed his brain. Don't kill my daughter. Please, not my daughter. Please, please, oh God.

"I killed them," Edward whispered. "They were injured, but they would have lived if not for me. I killed the mother . . . a girl. I couldn't stop."

Edward's stomach roiled as he relieved the last stuttering breath that had escaped the girl's lips. Her last, quiet though. Why?

There he'd been, alone on a deserted highway, covered in blood, the bodies of three innocents strewn around him. Corpses. He'd done that.

Once the frenzied blood lust had abated, Edward wished for death. He'd wastefully purged the blood he'd engorged himself on, and then set on his trek home. To find the wolves.

"I wanted to die," Edward said. "I hated myself . . . more than I'd ever hated myself before." He couldn't bring himself to look at Draco, sure he'd see revulsion on his face. The wizard's comforting hand had stopped moving. "And so I went to find the wolves."

"I don't understand."

Edward explained to Draco about the shape-shifting tribe, how they existed to keep their people safe from the vampire threat. All the while he refused to meet the blond's gaze.

"We had a treaty with the Quileute," Edward explained. "As long as we stayed off their land and didn't drink from humans, they'd let us be. I knew they'd kill me. And so I went to La Push. But my sister . . . I didn't think of Alice."

"Alice?"

"You know how I can read thoughts? My sister—my adopted sister—can see the future. She saw what I'd decided and she enlisted the rest of my family to stop me. To save me." He scoffed, barely able to go on. The hand on his arm started stroking again and he grimaced, not wanting to enjoy the comfort it provided.

"What happened then?" Despite all of the horrible revelations, Draco's voice stayed surprisingly even.

Edward closed his eyes, remembering the sounds of familiar footfalls. Rosalie's irritation, Esme's concern. The flood of horror when he realized they'd all come to stop him. Carlisle called out through the forest. Edward, son. Don't do this.

"For some reason, Alice can't see the future when the wolves are involved . . . she didn't know what would happen," he continued. "The wolves came, just as I knew they would. I tried to convince my family that I wanted this . . . for them to let me die. But they wouldn't . . . Carlisle, my father—I guess you could call him my maker—tried to reason with the pack leader, but they smelled the blood. I was covered in it."

Behind closed lids Edward could see Sam's wolfish sneer. He'd been waiting for a moment like this—a reason to kill the vampires. Now he had carte blanche. There was something perverse in the way he didn't even attempt to disguise his thoughts.

"There was a fight." Draco seemed to understand where the story was headed.

Edward nodded, feeling the pain as keenly as the first time. A horrible ripping sound as vampire flesh was torn—and Rosalie's scream. He'd never forget her scream.

"They killed one of my brothers. Emmett. They killed him and it was all my fault."

"Bloody hell."

Edward sat silently, the weight of what had happened settling on him again. He'd never be free of it. And he didn't deserve to be. "I should have been the one to die. Emmett . . . Emmett was so full of life. He . . . he had a mate."

Neither of them spoke for some time, and Edward kept his gaze leveled at the fire. He heard Draco sigh and dug his fingers into the wood of the chair again, completely splintering it.

"I won't touch you again," Edward said. "You can feel free to stay until the storm clears. I won't . . . hurt you."

"I know you won't." Draco spoke softly. "And I'm not leaving."

"But why?" When Edward finally allowed himself to look at the wizard, what he saw shocked him. It wasn't disgust, or pity—or even sympathy. It was complete understanding.

"You trusted me and I . . . I trust you."

Edward thought he saw something beyond trust gleam in Draco's eyes.

Chapter Eleven

The storm let up the day after Christmas. Edward opened the cabin door and scanned the scene outside, still unsettled at the prospect of a dangerous werewolf in the vicinity. All appeared calm. Edward wished he felt the same.

"Going somewhere?" called a voice from behind. He turned to find Draco sitting up and stretching.

"No." Edward shut the door behind him and leaned against it. Though obviously Draco's question hadn't been meant existentially, it made him think. No. He wouldn't leave as long as Draco still wanted him. "I was just checking to see if the snow had stopped."

"And has it?" A yawn punctuated the question, making Edward smile.

"It has."

"Good. I'd like to see about this sparkling business."

Edward moved to stand tentatively at the foot of the bed. He hadn't tried to touch Draco since his revelation the night before, though he hadn't stopped the wizard from sleeping pressed up against him.

"I'm afraid it's still cloudy. No sparkling today."

"Ah, pity." Draco faked a pout.

Edward trailed his hand over the new bedpost, considering. It was strange—in some ways he felt unburdened; in others the weight seemed heavier than ever. While he'd initially thought his own story might inspire Draco to open up, the telling had been cathartic. Yet it had also made it real. Emmett was gone forever, Edward's relationship with his family permanently damaged. And now Draco knew the true horrors of which he was capable. He frowned.

Draco's expression sobered. "Come here."

Despite the instruction, Edward hesitated for a moment. If Draco'd ever doubted Edward's dangerousness before . . . well, he couldn't any longer. Yet he hadn't left. Edward moved to sit on the bed, searching grey eyes for hints of fear, or distrust. Just like last night, he saw neither of those emotions reflected back.

"You're worried I don't want you anymore," Draco said, his voice rueful. "But once you hear what I have to say, it's you who won't want me."

Shaking his head in protest, Edward watched Draco reach for his wand. With a flick toward the fireplace, he added another log.

"But no matter the repercussions, I suppose the time has come. It's been difficult . . . keeping you out of my head all the time."

Edward nodded, trying to restrain his trepidation as he waited for the other to go on. This was, after all, what he'd been waiting for.

"My father's in prison," Draco said. Edward's eyebrows shot up in surprise—he'd thought the man was likely dead.

"Wizarding prison isn't like Muggle prison," Draco continued. "The place he's in—Azkaban, it's called—is a true horror. It's guarded by bloody awful creatures that will suck the soul out of your body, leave you a shell." His voice wavered slightly, and Edward saw pain flash briefly in his eyes.

"What did he do?"

Draco sighed. And then he rolled up his sleeve.

On his pale forearm, the hazy image of a skull and snake—the one Edward had seen in the dream—writhed and twisted as if alive. Edward almost reached out to touch it, but Draco hastily re-covered his arm.

"I told you there was a war, didn't I?"

"Yes."

"We're on what you might call the wrong side." Draco laughed darkly, his handsome features settling into a scowl.

Edward kept his voice even—if he expressed too much worry, he risked never learning the truth. "I think you'd better start at the beginning."

"I will. But you'll never think of me the same way again." He fidgeted where he sat, running his fingers over the length of his wand. Then, with a weary sigh, he regarded Edward with steely grey eyes. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

While the fire burned in the grate, Draco told Edward a story that he'd never have believed if not for the serious cast of his lover's face.

A dark wizard with extraordinary powers had returned after being considered dead for over a decade. Draco's father, Lucius, had been a loyal follower during the Dark Lord's first reign of terror and had re-sworn his allegiance once his master had returned. The Dark Lord had begun to amass followers, some of whom, like Lucius and now Draco himself, had been initiated as trusted servants. Death Eaters. Edward found grim amusement in the name. It could just as easily apply to himself.

The Dark Lord promised to eradicate Muggle-borns and half-blooded wizards from the world, a plan which appealed to many purebloods who felt their way of life being threatened. Many felt the Dark Lord was too powerful to resist, and so pledged fealty out of fear or desire for a position in the new regime.

It was an age-old story, one that could be corroborated in the annals of human history, as one tyrant or another persecuted a particular group of people to consolidate his own power. But, according to Draco, never before had the world seen a threat this foreboding.

As he spoke, Draco kept his expression neutral, his eyes focused on a space over Edward's shoulder. There was very little emotion in his voice, though tension radiated off of his body, thicker than the air.

"He's unstoppable," Draco said, finally. His eyes latched onto Edward.

"How was he defeated the first time?"

"He threw a curse—a killing curse—and it rebounded. The person he was trying to kill was just a baby at the time. His parents were killed." Draco paused. "Harry Potter, the Twat Who Lived."

In execution, the words lacked the venom they implied.

While Draco had related most of the story dispassionately, he didn't seem fond of the Dark Lord, or proud to be his servant. In fact, the man, if he could be called a man, seemed to terrify Draco. So the question remained—why?

"So," Edward said, breaking the silence. "Why did you join?"

A wry smile twisted Draco's lips.

"My father was sent to Azkaban and I had to take his place," he said, not without a hint of bitterness. His smile faded. "But I was foolish. I didn't understand the Dark Lord then. I was honored to be inducted . . . thought it would make my father proud. I didn't know my joining was really meant for punishment. My father failed the Dark Lord, you see.

"But when I think back on it, I didn't really have a choice—not really."

"There are always choices."

"Are there?" Draco spat, standing and pacing the room in long strides. His pajama bottoms hung precariously low on his hips. Edward forced himself not to stare, aware of the impropriety of his ogling in the moment.

He'd never been asked if he'd wanted the change, but if Carlisle hadn't done it, he'd be dead. Perhaps the same was true for Draco.

Draco stood in front of him, folding his arms over his chest.

"I didn't know what it would mean. I'd heard rumors, of course, but I thought they were exaggerations. I never saw . . . until after. How he tortures people. How he . . . kills them. He wants them all dead."

"Extermination."

Draco shuddered, growing pale. "I . . . he made me. I had to . . ." He rubbed his arms as if to warm himself.

"You don't have to tell me."

"He made me torture a Muggle with the Cruciatus curse. I did it. I was terrified not to." His restless gaze flitted around the room from object to object, as if fearful that the Dark Lord might appear at any moment. Then he hung his head. "I'm a bloody coward. And that's not even half of it."

Before he knew what was happening, Edward found himself standing with his arms around Draco, the wizard's erratic heartbeat tattooing against his chest. He sought the warm lips and kissed them softly, relief nearly overwhelming him as Draco kissed him back. How strange—this urge to care for, to comfort. Of course he loved his family and felt protective of them, but never like this. Edward kept the kiss gentle, cupping the base of Draco's fragile skull.

And then he heard . . . faintly at first, but almost immediately growing louder . . . Draco's thoughts. Memories.

He stands in a dark room with a young Muggle man—a trembling, plump sort. Too terrified to blink, he regards Draco with wide, round blue eyes, his wrists straining against their bindings. Like Goyle. He looks like Goyle, maybe a couple of years older. Behind Draco, a dark hiss.

"Young Malfoy . . . Do it. Do it or he diesssss."

Draco swallows the bile rising in his throat and raises his wand, trying not to think of his friend.

"Crucio."

And then the room changes—Draco sits in his father's office. He's always loved this place. As a young child he'd play in the corner while Lucius conducted his business, mimicking the fire-calls and doodling fake Gringotts statements on old scrolls. But now Lucius is in Azkaban. Next to Draco, Aunt Bellatrix smiles grotesquely and apparates.

The Dark Lord steeples his hands from his seat across the room. Father's chair. How dare he sit there like he owns the place? Draco makes a point to keep his expression cool, though the snake-like features send a thrill of revulsion through him. But overpowering disgust—fear. This is the first time he's ever been alone with the Dark Lord, and it's terrifying.

"Albusss Dumbledore must die, and the Death Eaters must gain access to Hogwarts. I'm entrusting you with the task, Draco. Of course I don't need to remind you about the consequences should you fail."

A thin sneer curls its way onto the almost nonexistent lips. But Draco has already been told. My parents. My parents will be killed. And so will I.

Dumbledore. How can I possibly kill Dumbledore? Though he'll never admit it aloud, Draco has always admired the Headmaster, wished for his approval. But Dumbledore favors Potter. The old wizard demonstrates his preference for Gryffindor in the easy way he excuses Potter and his friends from punishment when they break rules, praises them when they act recklessly. In fact, Draco believes Dumbledore mistrusts him because he is a Slytherin and a Malfoy. Still, despite his jealousy, he doesn't want the old man dead. And he certainly doesn't want to murder him.

He nods his understanding, feeling sick. Black eyes look back at him, completely devoid of human emotion. It must be done. The price is too high.

Now at Hogwarts, Draco paces an empty corridor, wand in hand. He stares at the wall and concentrates until a door appears. Inside the Room of Requirement he moves purposefully towards the Vanishing Cabinet . . . he's been trying to fix the blasted thing for weeks. If he can't, how else will the Death Eaters infiltrate the school? The wards are too powerful . . . it has to work.

Draco shudders and runs his hand up the wooden frame. They'll wreak havoc. Maybe kill people. But if he doesn't do this, he'll certainly be killed. And his father and mother, too.

Potter will hate me for it.

Stupid Draco. He can't hate you more than he already does. It's never going to happen.

Yes. Yes, he can. And he will.

Draco's lips had stopped moving, and Edward found himself being pushed out of Draco's mind once again, the frantic thoughts and memories fading to silence. But Edward couldn't forget the last few thoughts—thoughts of Harry Potter.

"I . . . I didn't . . ." Draco's face pinked.

Instantly things fell into place. Draco had spoken derisively of Potter one day, suggesting the boy in question would be most pleased if Draco got in trouble for lateness. But then, in the dream, that anger had been absent. Potter wouldn't shake his hand, wouldn't be his friend, and the rebuff had keenly disappointed Draco. A hot bloom of jealousy unfurled in Edward's chest, a long-forgotten emotion that, once remembered, seemed impossible to control. They'd never established any boundaries, but the possessiveness that raged through him in that moment told him all he needed to know. He wanted Draco—only Draco. And he wanted Draco to want only him.

"I didn't mean for you to see that," Draco's hands gripped Edward's waist tightly, as if predicting he'd want to move away. "It's . . . it's not what you think."

Edward considered his question carefully. "You'd like to be friends with him?" The weight he gave the word friend would leave no mistake as to his true meaning.

"No, I wouldn't. Not anymore." A kiss pressed on his neck made Edward relax slightly, despite his misgiving that this revelation was probably one reason Draco didn't want to share his thoughts.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Draco said quietly, looking toward the fire. It was all that Edward wanted to hear but still didn't provide much comfort. "I'm sorry . . . I shouldn't have shown you any of that. It's not like you can help me. But now you know. I'm not a murderer. Yet. But I will be."

The defeat in his voice brought Edward back to life. Draco's safety was at stake, and petty jealousy wasn't going to benefit anyone.

"There has to be a way for you to get out of this without hurting anyone or getting yourself killed."

"Don't you think I've considered all of my options? There is no other way. I have to kill Dumbledore. If I don't, my family dies. It's clear as crystal."

"But . . ." The protest died on his tongue; he knew so little of the wizarding world. How could he stand in front of Draco and make such assurances without any concrete suggestions to add? But there had to be an alternative. There had to be. And a way to get Draco out of the Dark Lord's clutches.

"I don't want to do it." Draco released him and stepped toward the fire. "At the same time, I'm afraid I won't be able to."

"Draco . . ."

The wizard whirled around, frustration and defeat written on his handsome face. "Merlin, can't you see now? Can't you see why I don't want to talk about this, or even think about it? Not when I'm here."

"I understand." Of course he could; it was like the words had been taken from his mouth.

"And I can't talk to anyone . . . I don't have anyone! Just this role to play . . . it's a good thing I'm an impeccable actor. I always have been."

Edward tried not to let the words cut him, but they did. Draco must have noticed his sullen expression because he immediately looked contrite.

"I suppose I'm no one," Edward mused. He hunched his shoulders, wanting to flee from the cabin, but feet rooted to the spot.

"Don't be a tit. I didn't mean you," Draco said. "That's not what I meant at all. You're . . . the only thing good in my life."

He looked so helpless standing there, arms extended, hands empty, so full of aimless rage and fear. Perhaps this was the closest Edward would ever get to hear Draco say he . . . cared.

It was enough.

Because there was care in Draco's skin against his, care in the way his breath moved over Edward's lips. There was care in Draco's kiss and the way his teeth nipped gently over impenetrable skin.

He felt care in the trust of Draco's eyes when he rocked inside, and when he came on tangled sheets and mauled bedding, he heard care in the whispered spells that took it all away.

And there was care in the secrets Draco had entrusted with him, and in the acceptance he'd found in return. No, Edward didn't need words.

He wrapped his arms around the wizard and let him sleep.

It was nearing midnight when a knock sounded on the door. Startled, Draco's eyes darted open, widening further when another, louder, rap followed.

"Stay here," Edward instructed, hoping Draco wouldn't mind the authority in his tone. He approached the door and listened.

Foolish boy. Going to get himself killed.

The stranger's irritation came through in his thoughts, but behind that lay genuine concern. The Visitor didn't seem to wish either of them harm. But just as he'd begun to read the thoughts, the mind closed. How interesting. Perhaps this wizard could also sense his gift.

A drawling, nasal voice interrupted Edward's thoughts. "Open up if you know what's good for you. Mr. Malfoy, I know you're in there. Don't waste my time."

Draco inhaled sharply. "It's Snape."

"Should I . . . is he . . ."

"You'd best open the door."

Draco rose from the bed and came to stand beside Edward, hastily fastening his trousers as he walked.

Outside, a man dressed all in black with greasy, shoulder-length hair of the same hue stood glowering at the two of them. When his eyes lit on Draco, his mouth curled up into a smirk.

"Consorting with vampires, Mr. Malfoy? What would your father say?"

The younger wizard's expression grew stormy. "Are you going to tell him?"

Snape gave a dark chuckle. "No, indeed. I'm certain the news would be much more amusing coming from you."

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but Snape held up his hand. "Save it. There is no time for sniveling. Do you understand the difficulty your unannounced absence has caused? Foolish boy."

"I'm very sorry my absence has proved such a hardship. I didn't think I'd be missed."

"Oh, really?" The black-haired man looked about to take Draco over his knee. Edward didn't like it. Before he could stop himself, he growled, hunching into a crouch in front of Draco. Snape eyed him warily and he realized what a sight he must seem.

"Edward," Draco said. "It's okay."

Snape treated them both to a roll of his eyes as Edward straightened, regaining his composure.

"I worried the vampire would be a danger to you. I see at least that perception is unfounded. But do spare me such histrionic displays of young love. This is neither the time nor the place. Draco, your presence is . . . requested." From the look on Snape's face, it was clear the request was an order. The Dark Lord's.

"How did you know I was here?" Draco asked. A hint of trepidation crept into his voice, mirroring Edward's feelings exactly.

"I've know you were leaving the castle at night for some time," Snape said with a weary sigh. "Very little escapes my attention. I thought you had some business . . ." He trailed off, eying Edward cautiously, " I wasn't privy to. I must say this certainly wasn't what I expected."

Did Snape know Draco was gay? And if he didn't, would it mean trouble for Draco now that he knew? Though he hadn't heard anything about this man before, Edward suspected that he too was a Death Eater. He's never asked Draco how the wizarding community regarded same-sex relationships.

But perhaps Snape's displeasure had more to do with the fact that Edward was a vampire.

Draco looked more nervous now, his hands balled into fists. If Snape noticed the pair's discomfiture, he didn't comment on it.

"Some matters arose, and I needed to speak with you. You can imagine your mother's surprise when I floo-called earlier today."

Draco groaned. "Bollocks."

"Indeed. I performed a simple tracking spell," Snape continued, "which led me here. The wards you set were easily broken through." He gestured casually in the general vicinity of the protective spells. "I suggest you strengthen them."

"How did you know I was a vampire?" Edward's sudden question drew both wizards' attention.

"I'd heard reports from the Centaurs that a vampire had taken up habituation in this cabin. Of course I didn't know for certain until I opened the door. And a mind reader," he mused, drawing his finger to his chin. "How very interesting."

Draco squeezed Edward's hand, making him realize their fingers had somehow twined together. The older man regarded this with a sneer.

"Enough of the drawn out introductions. Draco, we have business to attend to. Say your goodbyes."

Draco heaved a sigh. "Are you going to watch?"

Snape rolled his eyes again and gave an equally dramatic huff. "Indeed not. I'd like to retain the innocence of my eyes. And my dinner." He turned on his heel. "Two minutes."

Once they were alone, Edward regarded Draco worriedly.

"It's not a big deal. I'll be fine," Draco said. He was lying though his teeth, of course, which Edward appreciated and resented at the same time.

"I . . ." There were so many things Edward wanted to say. He didn't want him to go. The thought of Draco leaving for some sort of dangerous meeting would drive him mad. But he couldn't say those things. Draco had to protect his family, and he was doing it the only way he knew how. If Edward could have saved Emmett, he'd have done . . . anything.

Gritting his teeth, he swallowed back the words. "Your things."

"Keep them. I'll be back soon."

"Be careful," he said, gently squeezing Draco's hand. He had the mad desire to ask Draco to take him along, but knew such a request would be impossible. The Death Eaters meetings were certainly members-only affairs.

Draco nodded and squeezed back, looking like he too wanted to say more. But Snape was in hearing distance. Whatever he wanted to tell Edward would have to wait.

As Draco walked out into the night to meet Snape, Edward's world narrowed into an indelible point, vanishing when Draco disappeared into the forest.

Chapter Twelve

There must be something. . . some way to help. Edward paced in front of the cabin, his eyes trained on the forest. For a moment he'd considered following Draco and Snape, but knew they'd already apparated to their destination. Without magic, Edward was helpless in a way he hadn't been in almost a hundred years. The feeling of abject powerlessness in the face of an unknown threat unsettled him, made him tense and peevish. If only there was someone else he could turn to, someone with more knowledge of the wizarding world who could give him a better idea of the threat this Dark Lord represented. But Edward was, for all intents and purposes, a Muggle. No wizard would provide him with that kind of information, except for Draco. And Draco wouldn't want Edward to get involved, not at the risk of his parents' lives.

He kicked at the snow until he reached solid ground, dislodging a rather large stone and sending it flying through the air. The loud crack that sounded somewhere off to the right did little to alleviate his frustration.

Later that day, after he'd hunted, Edward returned to the cabin. It still smelled of Draco, and he gripped the bedpost, resisting burying his head in still-tangled sheets. Draco was surprisingly messy for someone so fastidious about his person. Edward picked up a discarded shirt and folded it, and then gathered the rest of Draco's belongings together. He found the Magic Eight Ball on Draco's side of the bed and smiled, weighing it in his palm.

A question popped into his mind without really meaning to—will Draco be okay? At least this time the answer was an unequivocal yes. Feeling a little foolish, he set the thing aside. He'd better find something to do with his time, or he'd go mad.

The reality of the situation didn't get any easier to accept. After all, this wasn't the first time Draco had met with the Dark Lord, and it wouldn't be the last. Draco was losing himself and there was nothing Edward could do. He was bound.

The piano. He sat at the bench and raised the protective cover, letting his fingers glide over the smooth ivory. It really was a beautiful instrument, nicer than the one he'd owned in Washington. Of course Draco had dismissed its importance, as was his way, but he'd known what the gift meant to Edward. With a sigh, Edward stretched his fingers and began to play. The beginnings of a melody had been whispering in his mind for weeks now. It started in a soft minor key, but quickly became louder, more insistent. The notes ran together, light and dark, angry, then subdued. As always, his mind ran blank as the music washed over him, so loud as to probably alert the entire forest of his whereabouts. None of that seemed to matter anymore.

He found himself seated at the piano the next day as well, this time making notations on a blank sheet of paper as he played. Though his vampire recall was perfect, he didn't want to forget the song; it seemed too important to belong only in his head.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't know how much time had passed when he suddenly sensed a warm pressure on his shoulder that felt like a hand. He shook his head and focused on the keys—perhaps he really was going mad.

The hand squeezed. "What are you playing?"

Edward stopped and looked up in disbelief.

"What are you doing here? I thought—"

Draco placed his free hand on Edward's other shoulder and leaned forward, cutting his speech off with a kiss. His lips were chapped and rough from the cold.

"I can't stay long," Draco said. "But I needed to see you." His lips pressed again, the tips of his of tongue slipping into Edward's mouth.

Edward pushed off the bench and stood, heady with the rush of relief. Draco was here and he was okay. Still, Edward touched his shoulders, his chest, his arms, just to make certain. Perhaps they could leave together . . . he could protect Draco, keep him and his family safe. He let the fantasy run rampant as their mouths moved together.

"What happened?" he asked, breaking away and trying not to let the anxiety he'd felt shine through.

Draco's grey eyes flit away from his, the tension returning to his stance. His shoulders stiffened under Edward's hands.

"The Dark Lord wanted to celebrate Christmas," he said quietly. "Ha. What a laugh. He certainly has an interesting interpretation of what that means."

"Did you . . . have to . . ." Edward couldn't bear to ask the question, wasn't sure why he'd even started. He didn't want to know what horrible rites Draco had participated in—been forced to participate in—but, at the same time, he couldn't not know.

"I didn't have to do anything but watch." Draco still wouldn't meet his eyes. "But it was enough. He's getting stronger."

"I was worried." Edward brushed his lips against the pale cheek, wondering if Draco would get irritated with his concern and turn away. He didn't, but he didn't look Edward in the eye, either.

"I won't be able to come as often," Draco said. "Snape's made it perfectly clear my extracurricular activities aren't to continue."

The words burned; Edward had gotten so used to Draco's nocturnal visits, the thought of them discontinuing sent a shock through him. How could he bear being alone here, not seeing Draco?

"I see." The clench of his jaw was almost painful. "I suppose that's for the best."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You do?"

"No, I don't."

"Stop being such a girl. I'll come during the day . . . when I can get away." A tentative kiss pressed against Edward's ear felt almost unintentional, but it melted a bit of Edward's reserve. He turned his head to find Draco's mouth, not wanting to possess, just touch.

"Unless you don't want me to," Draco added.

"Of course I want you to." I always want you, thought Edward. Even now, the steadily growing evidence of his arousal lay trapped between their hips. "He doesn't approve of . . . this. Snape."

Edward didn't know what to call their relationship, though he wanted to call Draco his. Of course he could never say the words aloud. As it was, Edward's statement elicited a huff from Draco.

"I don't particularly care if he approves or not. In any case, I think it has more to do with school rules than anything else. It's ironic, isn't it, that I've been entrusted with murder and yet I still have a blasted curfew?"

"There has to be something I can do . . ."

He hated not being able to offer a concrete alternative; it was shameful, really, not to be able to help the one you cared about.

"I told you that nothing can be done. Trust me."

"But there must be . . . If I could get close enough . . . I could . . . I could kill him." He'd never thought quite in those terms before, but now it seemed obvious. He was a vampire, after all, and the Dark Lord was still mortal, powerful as he was.

"Edward, listen." Draco so rarely said his name aloud, the word sounded strange. "You don't understand. It wouldn't be that easy. He's impossible to locate at any time—I don't even know where he is or how we get there during our meetings. And even if I could get you near him, there's no way you could get close enough to hurt him."

"And if I could?"

"I can keep you out of my head, right?" Draco looked at Edward.

"Yes."

The other boy squinted and raised his wand.

"Levicorpus."

Instantly, Edward grew weightless, legs splayed in midair. He kicked for leverage and Draco laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Ha ha. Now put me down," Edward said drily, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. He had absolutely no control over his body, the light tingle he now associated with magic running along the length of his spine. With another whisper from Draco, he began moving through the air. He crossed his arms, glaring down at the wizard and thinking of ways to get back at him. Finally, after one last twirl, Edward found himself gracelessly deposited onto the bed with a thunk. The frame shuddered, but didn't break. Draco laughed again and made to shove Edward over so he could sit.

"I'm glad you found that so amusing." Edward reluctantly moved over to give him some room.

"It was . . . it really was." Draco smirked. "I haven't had that much fun in ages."

Edward snorted.

"Oh, don't be put out," Draco said. "I was trying to make a point."

"And what point might that be? Clearly I'm doing something wrong if you haven't had that much fun in ages." He mimicked Draco's haughty tone, but took the opportunity to run his hand up Draco's thigh. He paused just shy of his crotch and squeezed, watching Draco's eyes track his movements. Draco sighed and parted his legs.

"Now you're distracting me," Draco added in half-hearted protest.

"Good." He continued to massage Draco's inner thigh, feeling the muscles loosen, watching as his arousal grew and tightened his pants. By now he was sure what Draco's point had been—but he didn't want the wizard to follow through with the train of thought. He'd never let Edward help if he thought it was dangerous for him.

Draco's eyes closed when Edward's fingers brushed lightly against his cock, but instead of leaning into the touch, he pushed at Edward's hand.

"I know what you're doing," he said, his voice strained. "But we both know you're just as susceptible to magic as a human. Vol—the Dark Lord wouldn't hesitate to hurt you."

Feeling a little daring, Edward shot out of bed; the cabin shook as he rushed to the opposite side in what would have appeared little more than a blur to Draco's eyes. Once there, he lifted the piano as if it were a paperweight, then turned back to Draco.

"Impressive," Draco admitted, before whispering another command. Instantly, the piano was insupportable; his arms strained to hold the weight, but the insistent pressure was too much. He released it, expecting it to crash to the floor as he'd crashed onto the bed. Instead, however, it settled lightly. Irritation washed over him at Draco's one-upmanship and, though he realized it was quite immature, he retained the strong desire to prove himself.

He looked around the cabin, imagining things he might do . . . perhaps take the door off the hinges? He even regretted the fact he couldn't allow Draco to be with him when he hunted. That would show him.

"The killing curse, Avada kedavra. . . it doesn't work on vampires."

It took a few seconds for Edward to realize Draco was talking to him—and what he'd said. He turned around and noticed that Draco's face had changed once again . . . he looked utterly miserable.

"Well, that's a good thing, right?" Edward said. "Why do you look so disappointed?" He almost added planning on offing me—but stopped himself in time as he realized the connotation.

"I'm not disappointed . . . twat." Draco added the insult softly, gesturing for Edward to come closer. "Do you remember what I told you about the Dementors of Azkaban? How they suck away your memories, your soul?"

Yes, of course he remembered—the creatures were brutal, not even really alive. They destroyed their victims' happy memories, leaving nothing behind but a vacant shell. He nodded and drew toward the bed, unable to stay away.

Draco sat up and swung his legs around, sitting with his elbows resting on his knees. "I did some research. It's only been documented a couple of times, but the killing curse has the same effect on vampires as the Dementor's kiss—it's a fate worse than death."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take," Edward said. Draco frowned at him, his eyes narrowing.

"Don't be daft. You have no idea what you're saying."

"I'm serious. If it means getting you out of this—and getting rid of this madman for good—the risk is worth it to me."

"No," Draco said. His jaw clenched, he spoke in a hiss. "I won't allow it. And your hero complex is absurd, you know."

"I don't have a hero complex," Edward said, trying to use a reasonable tone even as Draco grumbled complaints of much worse than a sodding Gryffindor. Draco was the one being absurd; he was dismissing the idea outright when they hadn't even worked through its possibilities.

Draco shook his head. "I know why you're doing this. You think that by helping me . . . you can what, atone for . . . what happened? It doesn't work that way." The words weren't said unkindly, but Edward didn't appreciate the insinuation. He wanted to help Draco because he . . . he cared . . . not because of his guilty conscience.

"That's not why I want to do this," Edward nearly growled, yanking at Draco's shoulder. "Don't you see . . . I . . . "I love you, you complete idiot. As the thought occurred to him, his whole body knew it as the truth. Yes, Draco was his, but he was Draco's. He'd never be anyone else's.

Draco's expression stopped him from speaking the words aloud—but he must have seen. How could he not? It was everywhere, etched on his skin. The grey eyes shot a warning look and the declaration died on Edward's tongue. They weren't to speak certain things out loud. If Edward needed a reminder, this was it.

Expecting Draco to pull away, Edward was surprised by the wizard moving closer and leaning his head on his shoulder. The soft weight of it made everything so much more real.

"I told you everything because I thought you'd understand. Please tell me you won't get involved and do anything foolish."

How could he promise such a thing? How could he stand by and let Draco become a murderer when he knew the horrible toll such a decision would take on his soul? And the other option was unthinkable. Even if Draco completed the task and somehow survived, he'd still be under the Dark Lord's thrall as long as his family was at risk. Would Draco still be the same person after he'd killed?

Was Edward?

"Promise me," Draco said again, sliding his arms around Edward as he spoke.

Edward sighed and did the same. "I'll promise—under one condition."

"And what might that be?"

Edward rubbed the tense muscles of Draco's back, trying to soothe the wariness away.

"That you let me speak to Carlisle . . . my father. Let me see if there's anything that can be done. Let me at least try to come up with another plan."

While Carlisle didn't know much about wizards, Edward couldn't think of anyone else to turn to . . . perhaps Alice could help as well. Maybe she'd seen something else by now.

Draco gave a long-suffering sigh and nuzzled into Edward's neck. "You won't. But all right."

The nuzzling became more like kissing—playful nips and licks meant to distract him. Edward turned his head and Draco kissed him, a movement that became greedy. Though by human standards they might have been considered rough, the tugs at his hair made his scalp come alive. He moaned and pressed Draco down against the mattress, sucking at his neck just hard enough to leave a mark—he wanted everyone at Hogwarts to know that he was taken, even if they didn't know by whom.

It was a dangerous game, the motion so close to biting, but he couldn't stop himself. Draco made a noise of complaint and tugged at Edward's shirt; they pulled apart just long enough to rid themselves of their clothing. Their cocks slid together, already hard and leaking, and Edward groaned as Draco wrapped his hands around both of their pricks, his warm skin lighting a fire under Edward's.

"I don't want you to go," Edward said between open-mouthed kisses. He couldn't get enough of touching Draco, tasting him.

"Don't think about it now." He shivered, and Edward realized how cold it was in the cabin—Draco's nipples had pebbled to small, hard points.

When he pointed out the obvious, Draco shrugged.

"I'll do a warming spell." With another whispered word, a warm blanket of air surrounded their bodies. Draco's gooseflesh subsided almost instantaneously.

"Wait," Edward said, remembering. "That night when we met in the forest . . . you said you wanted to come back here to warm up."

"Yes, well, I was cold." Draco tried to sound blasé, but his cheeks pinked with embarrassment.

"Mmm hmm. And you could have done the spell then."

"I forgot."

"Ha." Edward laughed at the lame excuse, unable to keep his cock from grinding against Draco's hip. "You wanted me."

When he leaned down to kiss Draco, the wizard let out a breathy laugh and turned his head away.

"Prat," he scolded. "A little full of yourself, aren't you?"

"Admit it."

"Never."

Draco's cock twitched between them, rendering his denial moot; still, Edward wanted to hear him confess.

Grinning wickedly, he moved down the bed, licking a stripe up the straining erection, swirling around the head with his tongue before pulling away. Draco whimpered and hunched off the bed, but Edward held his hips firmly.

"Admit it."

"No." The objection was weaker, but it still wasn't good enough.

He lifted Draco's legs, bending them for better access. Edward rubbed Draco's sack, then moved lower to tease his hole, allowing just the tip of Draco's needy cock into his mouth. He gave it few firm sucks, making Draco keen and cant his hips, but then released him. Draco swore and Edward smiled against the skin of his thigh. The wizard couldn't fight his way out of Edward's grip, away from the merciless onslaught of tongue and lips, alternately licking at his cock and tonguing the juncture between his legs.

"You bloody tease," Draco protested. His cock lay neglected and leaking as Edward stroked at the ridged flesh of his entrance, letting the tip of his finger enter and move in slow circles.

Edward just hummed and resumed his actions. "Fuck . . . fuck . . ." The sounds Draco was making had his own cock unbearably hard, but he wouldn't give in until he got what he wanted. He wrapped his hand around Draco and massaged the skin around the head, dipping his tongue lightly into the slit. When Draco got too vocal, Edward freed him, reveling in the tease.

Frustrated Draco reached for his prick, Edward restrained Draco's hands, licking more gently, a change of pace that had Draco gasping with frustration.

"Why can't you admit it?" Edward asked softly, sliding his finger more fully inside, searching.

"I . . . I . . ."

"I wanted you," Edward conceded first, releasing Draco's hands. They fisted in the sheets as Draco's eyes met Edward's. Of course he didn't remind Draco he'd wanted his blood as well as his body—given the activities that were taking place, it didn't seem like an appropriate time. Finally, he found the spot that made Draco buck against his hand, adding his tongue to the mix. He probed deeply, licking and sucking and prodding, loosening Draco's hole until his body hummed with unreleased tension, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his chest.

"I . . . just . . . don't stop."

Edward removed his finger and held Draco wide, flicking his tongue rhythmically against that sensitive, secret place. He flattened his tongue against it, then pushed forward as slowly as possible, rutting into the mattress to relieve the pressure in his own cock as he fucked Draco with his mouth. The pulsing contractions spurred him on, the musky, salty taste better than anything save blood.

Draco grabbed onto his head and pulled shamelessly. Edward allowed himself to be led, feeling his orgasm build, sliding his cock along the smooth sheets. With a few final licks he came, spurting onto the sheets with his tongue buried in Draco's flesh.

He pulled back as the final waves subsided, watching as Draco writhed on the bed, his own prick twitching with arousal. The sight was enough to make Edward's waning erection harden in an instant.

Thank God for quick vampire refraction. It was one of the few perks of being undead.

"So . . . that night?" Edward asked, his fingers trailing over the blond curls near Draco's base, planting light kisses on his abdomen.

"Fine. Salazar . . . yes," Draco panted. "I wanted you. I want you. Please . . . just fuck me."

Edward grinned and skimmed his way up Draco's body, mouthing a trail as he went. Their lips met again in a slow, languid kiss that would have stolen Edward's breath if he had any. Draco turned onto his stomach, whispering a lubrication spell as Edward positioned himself, sliding inside with a hiss.

"All you had to do was ask."

It was like he hadn't just come—the intensity of being inside Draco made Edward lose his mind. They fucked quickly, too far gone to be tender. Edward clenched his fists behind him, knowing if he held on the way he wanted to, he'd do serious damage. Instead, he watched his hips slap against Draco's, his cock appearing and disappearing inside the tight channel. Draco's incoherent grunts told Edward he was close, and he fisted his own cock as Edward rode him.

It was over quickly, but Edward couldn't hold back. At the first ripple around his cock, he pulled out and came with a hoarse cry, emptying himself onto Draco's back. He fell to the side, watching Draco's face contort with pleasure, as he shuddered and collapsed, burying his face into Edward's shoulder, pressing small, hesitant kisses there.

They felt too much like goodbye.

Chapter Thirteen

"It's good to hear from you so soon, Edward." Carlisle sounded sincere, but there was an audible tension in his voice. Perhaps Alice's visions had gotten stronger . . . or changed.

Edward hadn't seen Draco in over a week. He'd hoped the wizard would return for New Year's, and when he didn't show, Edward had done his best to contain his disappointment and worry, though he hadn't been extremely successful at either.

"Yes. I . . . there's something I need to talk to you about." As Edward spoke, he glanced to the left, where a woman shopping in the small general store stood watching him curiously. He'd spent the last few days trying to think of a solution to Draco's predicament, imagining every angle, every possible outcome, even going so far as to consider bringing Draco and his family back to Forks. Of course he'd quickly realized the ridiculousness of that idea, but it had become increasingly clear he needed Carlisle's perspective. He'd left the cabin at dawn, determined to seek counsel. But the inhabitants of the small Scottish village he'd come to apparently weren't used to outsiders—and this very public pay phone had been the only one he'd been able to find.

"I know." Carlisle's voice echoed over the bad line.

"Alice?"

"Yes, she said you'd call. She's out hunting with Jasper at the moment, but there's . . . there've been a few developments I'd like to discuss with you."

"Developments? What kind of developments?" Edward fiddled with the cord, speaking softly and quickly so his audience of one wouldn't overhear.

"Something you said last week made me curious," Carlisle continued. "How you are able to see the wizarding school despite the spells in place to protect it. It struck a chord. After we spoke I did a bit of research . . ." The excitement nearly buzzed through the phone, Carlisle's eager thoughts almost audible despite the distance. "I think there might be a reason."

"Right. Let me guess . . . I'm a wizard," Edward joked.

A shuffling movement nearby distracted him; the woman was still staring. Never seen him before. Such a young bloke. And good-looking too. He almost looks like a statue. Greek and all that. Edward relaxed his rigid posture, leaning against the phone cubicle to appear more casual—more human. When she realized she'd been caught spying, she turned back to the shelf, still glancing occasionally at Edward out of the corner of her eye. Humans tried so hard to be covert in their interest, and it rarely worked. But he needed to do a better job acting the part.

Carlisle chuckled a bit. "Actually, yes."

"What are you talking about?" The cord between his fingers nearly snapped.

"I have every reason to believe that your father, Edward Masen, was a wizard."

Edward snorted. He could barely remember his human father, but he was pretty sure he'd recall if he'd ever wielded a wand or flew on a broom.

"I think that's highly unlikely."

"How much do you know about your father's history?"

Edward had never really known much of his extended family—couldn't recall meeting grandparents, aunts, uncles. And once he'd been changed, his attachment to his human life had quickly faded. He'd never bothered to find out more information.

"Not much," he admitted.

"Did you know he disappeared for seven years?"

"What? When?"

"Your father was born in 1874 in rural Illinois. There's not much information about his parents—your grandparents, Elinor and Robert Masen. They lived in a farming community, very insular, but they did have a community paper. Some interesting reports began surfacing a few years after he was born—unexplained weather disturbances, wild animals acting strange, becoming tame—"

"Wait a second." Edward cut Carlisle off, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice. This was just too absurd. "You think weather disturbances and some probably rabid animals prove my father was a wizard?"

Carlisle sighed. "Not exactly. You haven't let me finish. All of these reports cluster around the first years of Edward Masen's life. While they might not be significant in and of themselves, they add credence to the theory. Here's the most important point: when he was ten years old, your father disappeared."

"What do you mean he disappeared?"

"I mean vanished, gone without a trace. His parents reported him missing and a search was called, but he was never found. They eventually gave up. No one heard from him for seven years. And then, one day, he reappeared. Caused quite a stir. Your grandparents had already passed away at that point—people died very young in those days, as you know."

Whispers behind Edward distracted him—the woman who'd been watching him before was speaking with the man behind the counter.

Didn't come in a car . . . just walked into town. Their thoughts were louder than their voices. Edward tried to shut them out, concentrating on the conversation at hand.

"All of this was in the local newspaper? Why?"

"As I said, it was a small community, and people had a different concept of newsworthy items back then, I suppose." Carlisle chuckled, sounding pleased with himself. The loud, curiously wary thoughts of the strangers behind him seemed to confirm Carlisle's point. Edward's head was spinning.

"So what do you think happened to him?"

"Now here's where it gets interesting. Once I'd learned this much, I called the one person I knew would have more information: Alistair—you remember him, of course." Edward had met the English wizard once before when he'd come for a short visit back in the seventies. He'd kept to himself most of the time, only speaking to Carlisle and occasionally Esme. When he left, Carlisle joked they wouldn't see him for another thirty years. To say he was misanthropic would be putting it lightly; he was a complete recluse.

"Of course," Edward replied.

"His parents were both wizards—did you know?"

"I didn't."

"Yes, well, Alistair was born during the Plantagenet dynasty. His father was a wealthy baron and a relatively powerful wizard, but he wanted political power, and Edward the Second's reign was weak. He and Alistair's older brother plotted with some other barons to overthrow the king, but they were caught before they could perform the coup. Alistair's brother was executed, which left Alistair his father's only hope. But you see Alistair was born without magic—a Squib. It's a terrible term."

Edward had read enough wizarding texts to be familiar with the expression, and Draco had mentioned a cousin of his who'd basically been outcast from the family because of his lack of power. It was seen as a travesty and an embarrassment to the pure-blooded line. This whole thing was starting to make sense, and he wasn't sure if he was delusional, or Carlisle was.

Edward listened, fascinated, as Carlisle related the rest of the story—how Alistair's father had been so desperate for both revenge and to install his remaining son on the throne, he'd found a vampire to change Alistair against his will. He'd thought that by granting his son immortality—and a thirst for blood—he'd be unstoppable. But his plan backfired. Once Alistair was changed, he accidentally killed his father, escaping only to find that the rest of his family had disappeared. He then discovered he'd developed a power he'd never had while human—an ability to track a target from an extremely vast distance.

"So," Edward said once the older man had finished, "how does this relate to my father? And to me?"

"Well, you know that Alistair's not exactly the most . . . social of all of my acquaintances. He's spent centuries researching vampire and wizarding history all over the world, and he told me that it used to be common practice to take young wizards from their homes if they had non-wizarding parents and bring them to schools to be educated. Usually this was done on or near the child's tenth birthday, and it was done without the parent's knowledge."

"That's horrible."

Carlisle murmured his agreement. "A very inhumane practice, which is why it was reformed."

"So . . . you think my father was taken away to one of these schools?"

"Yes. After speaking with Alistair, I was entirely convinced . . . and it makes sense in relation to the rest of his theory."

"Which is?"

"That, pardon the expression, squibs, who are turned to vampires develop powers they didn't have in their human lives. Alistair gained his ability to track . . . and you, you gained the ability to read minds."

"You're saying I'm a Squib."

"Well, now not so much. Somehow during the change, your latent power was tapped. You'll never be a wizard, but . . . you're not entirely without magic."

Look at how still he's standing. And his eyes—never seen eyes that color. So pale.

Realizing he was still the subject of fascination irritated Edward. He needed to leave soon, but there was no way he was finished with the conversation.

"What about Alice?"

"Very likely she is from wizarding stock as well."

"But . . ."

The whole thing boggled the mind. Sure, Edward had always wondered why some vampires possessed powers once they were changed and some didn't—he'd always ascribed to the common theory that the change brought out powers hidden within, but he had never even considered the possibility that it had something to do with wizarding parentage. So many of their acquaintance had unusual gifts—certainly not all of them could have wizarding blood.

As if sensing the tenor of his objection, Carlisle continued.

"Wizards are much more common than you might imagine. And Alistair believes that there is also a high correlation between the strength of a vampire's power and the potency of the lineage. Not all those with powers have wizarding parents—but they do have a wizard somewhere in their heritage. Some, like Alice, even exhibited those powers before the change."

Edward's initial resistance had begun to morph into excitement. If he had wizarding parentage, he wasn't as far removed from Draco's world as he'd originally thought.

"So you told Alistair about me being here, near Hogwarts?"

"Yes. And I told him you'd seen the school. He assured me it would be quite impossible if you had no wizarding blood."

"Well, that's . . . convincing. What did Alice say?"

"As you might imagine, Alice was very excited." Carlisle chuckled. "She's looking into purchasing a wand."

Edward rolled his eyes; he'd be surprised if she didn't get a broom and a pointy hat while she was at it. But something was still bothering him.

"I still don't understand. This theory sounds credible, but why doesn't everyone know about it? Why hasn't he told everyone?"

"Alistair is wary of drawing too much attention to the connection . . . you see, if a Squib—" Edward could hear the wince over the phone. Carlisle hated all forms of discrimination. "If a non-magical or very weak wizard who is changed taps into their latent powers, just imagine what happens when an extremely talented wizard becomes a vampire."

"Their powers would increase exponentially." Edward winced, immediately thinking of Draco. He'd never before considered changing him . . . not consciously, anyway. But if he did, what would the effect be? Draco would use his powers for good, wouldn't he? Carlisle's next words brought him out of his head.

"Yes. You see, it is actually quite rare for a wizard or witch to be changed—Alistair's only come across a couple instances of it. And of course that's because most wizards are wary enough of vampires not to find themselves . . . you know. In such a compromising position."

As vampire dinner, Edward thought grimly. Again, he thought of Draco—how carelessly he tempted death every time he kissed Edward.

"And they also have their magic to protect them. A wizard would basically have to seek out the change for it to occur. And once it did . . ."

"They'd be immortal," Edward finished.

"And extremely powerful."

Yes, it made complete sense why Alistair wouldn't want to disclose such information to the vampire and wizarding communities. A wizard like that would be nearly unstoppable . . . the Dark Lord. Just imagining what he'd do with that knowledge made Edward's unmoving heart freeze. He was so lost in thought, he forgot Carlisle was still speaking. Apparently, Alistair was all too aware of what was going on in wizarding Britain.

" . . . of a dark wizard named Voldemort. He's amassing followers, and he's dangerous. Alice seems to think there's some relationship between your . . . er . . . young man and this wizard."

So the Dark Lord's name was Voldemort. Ridiculous, but fitting. Draco never spoke the word aloud, always stopping himself. Edward wondered why.

"There is." Edward remembered to shift on his feet. He let out a sigh and rubbed his hand over his jaw, making the little human movements he'd lately fallen out of practice performing.

He related, as quickly as possible, everything that had unfolded during the last couple of weeks, leaving out the intimate details. Alice had probably seen everything, anyway. Carlisle murmured quietly every so often but didn't interrupt. When he'd finally finished, describing his final promise to Draco not to interfere, the line stayed silent.

"It sounds very serious between you two," Carlisle said. Even over the distance Edward could imagine the older vampire's face—the pensive, very human frown he always wore when he grew thoughtful.

His words startled Edward because they were true. It was serious, at least for him. And he couldn't believe it wasn't for Draco as well, despite the fact they'd never exchanged those words.

"It is."

"Tell me, son, what do you plan to do?"

"I don't know," Edward replied. "That's what I was hoping to talk to you about."

Carlisle let out a sigh. "I'm afraid I don't have any answers at this time. But think carefully. Lives are at stake here. Alistair was very concerned."

Edward nearly growled with frustration. "I know lives are at stake—no matter what Draco does, someone will die. If he doesn't kill the headmaster, Voldemort will kill him. I . . . can't bear that."

"Are you thinking about changing him?"

"I . . ." His mind raced—no, he could never destine Draco for this life. He belonged among the living, with his own kind. And given what he'd learned in the past few minutes, perhaps changing Draco would have even more dangerous effects. What if he chose the wrong side permanently? But how could he think such things of the one he loved—when he'd seen his goodness, his vulnerability?

And when it came down to it, would he be able to let Draco go? The idea of his death was inconceivable.

"Whatever you choose to do will have far-reaching consequences, and not just for the two of you," Carlisle finally said, his voice grave. "It may be unwise to interfere."

"But there has to be something I can do . . . I can't just let him . . . I can't."

"Are you in love with this boy?"

"I can't imagine a world where he doesn't exist." Despite his embarrassment of having to discuss . . . that . . . with his father, he couldn't deny it.

"So Alice was right."

"What do you mean?"

"Alice believes Draco to be your mate."

His mate? Like Carlisle and Esme? Alice and Jasper? Rosalie and . . .

Edward worked hard to find his voice. "Has . . . she seen our future at all?"

"It is still unclear, son. I'm sorry."

Though it should have left him discomfited, Edward found himself strangely calmed. The future hadn't been decided yet. There was still time to make it right.

Edward's senses picked up as he reached the cabin. The door was ajar, and Draco's scent was everywhere . . . but the wizard was nowhere to be found.

He searched frantically, combing the woods at breakneck speed; Draco's footprints were fresh. Once he reached the edge of the forest, he growled in frustration—the tracks led back to the castle. With the darkening light, Edward knew it was past curfew. He wouldn't be coming back.

The fact Draco had seemingly left in a hurry unsettled him, and that worry only grew when he found a hastily penned note. Draco's usually elegant scrawl roved messily over the parchment, confirming its writer's agitation.

E,

I came to see you as soon as I could get away. Things aren't going well. I can't do this. I won't be able to and . . . well, we know what will happen. I'm not the man you hope I am. If you only knew what I've done, what I was about to do, you'd hate me.

D.

Edward read the note again and again, willing the words to make sense. They didn't. Surely Draco didn't think Edward could possibly hate him, not after everything he'd shared. Clearly, he hadn't been in his right mind when he'd written it.

Frustrated beyond belief that he could do nothing, he crumpled the paper in his hand and stalked outside, his need to hunt building. Draco always pulled back when they started getting closer—trusting one another. Or so he'd thought. He broke into a run, focused now as a wild boar came into sight, all of his senses honed. It was such easy prey—all of the animals he'd been feeding on were. As the dark, musky blood coursed down his throat, he longed for a more challenging kill, something that tasted more . . . human.

As he dropped the mutilated carcass at his feet, he shook his head with disgust. If anyone deserved hate, it was he.

The next day, Draco burst in through the door without even knocking. Edward raised his head from the book he was reading, surprise, pleasure, and irritation battling for supremacy in his reaction; all of those sentiments vanished, however, when he noticed Draco's haggard appearance. His shirt was untucked at the front, and his eyes were wild . . . hunted.

"I was going to stay away. I was going to . . . but I needed to see you." His words came in a rush, sliding together. And then Edward found himself wrapped in desperate arms.

"What's wrong?" Edward willed himself not to be distracted from the kisses raining down on his neck, the hands pulling at his clothes, palming his cock.

"I need . . . I need . . ." The words vibrated on his skin, warm lips sucking. And then the sound of a zipper being lowered. He managed to get ahold of himself and trap Draco's hand before it reached its goal. Draco let out an irritated sound and tried to wriggle free, which of course was impossible.

"We're not doing this," Edward said, his meaning clear in his words. "Until you tell me what the hell is going on. I come home yesterday to find my door open and an ambiguous note that sounded a lot like you weren't planning on coming back. And now this?"

"I can't . . . it's . . . I just want you to fuck me." The words sounded so abject they broke Edward's heart. Draco had stopped struggling, but he wouldn't meet Edward's gaze.

Edward wasn't in the mood to let things go. All of the worry and frustration he'd been feeling poured out. "Is that all I am for you, then? Just someone to fuck when you want to forget? I'm sorry, but that doesn't work for me."

Draco sagged against Edward's chest. "I just . . . I can't . . . you'll hate me and I just want to . . . one last time."

"What have you done?" Thoughts whirled through Edward's mind, none of them pleasant. Perhaps he'd done it . . . perhaps he'd actually done it.

"I poisoned someone. Okay? Like a blasted coward." Draco laughed harshly, and stepped out of Edward's grip, which had relaxed with shock.

"What are you talking about?"

"I can't get the cabinet to work. I . . . poisoned some wine. It was supposed to go to Dumbledore, but someone else drank it. A student. He nearly died." Draco's voice grew soft. "I did it because I'm a coward and I know I'll never be able to face him . . . I'll never be able to do it and there's no other choice."

"You poisoned someone." The statement felt distasteful in Edward's mouth, but he did his best to hide it.

"Yes. I told you. I said you'd hate me . . . you, you're so bloody noble. You made a mistake you were willing to die for. But not me. I want to live, and I'll do anything to stay alive. Even kill."

"You're wrong," Edward said, remembering his thoughts the previous day. "I'm not noble. And you're wrong about yourself, too. You're trying to protect your family."

Draco whirled around, his grey eyes nearly black with anger. "You think I'm some kind of poor martyr—you think you can fix this absurd situation? I'm not, and you can't. Listen to the words I'm saying. I poisoned someone, Edward. I'm not a good person and I never will be. You don't want to be with me."

"Why don't you let me decide who I want to be with?"

The wizard ignored Edward's interjection. "That's not the only thing I've done, either. A couple of months ago I cursed a necklace—again, it was supposed to be delivered to Dumbledore, but it was intercepted. The girl who touched it nearly died as well."

Edward listened to the words, knew they were true, but didn't want to believe them. He shook his head.

"You're in such denial." Draco scoffed. "What do you think of me now?"

"Why are you telling me this, then? Do you want me to hate you?"

"Maybe."

"Why?" Edward couldn't conceal his bafflement, or the pain in his chest that flared at Draco's reply.

"So I can do this without feeling . . . I can't do this feeling . . . you'll be disappointed in me." He sighed. "I suppose you'll hate me in the end, anyway."

"I won't ever hate you."

"You will. Someday, you will." His words held a surety that made Edward want to disprove them, want to show Draco his feelings ran deeper than that.

"Did you want to hurt those students?"

"No. Of course not."

"You're not a killer." Edward took a measured step, weighing his words carefully. "I know that."

"Yesterday before I came here, I'd decided to pack it all in. Tell the Dark Lord to just to off me and get it over with."

"No."

Draco nodded. "Yes . . . well, I was seriously considering it at least. But then I thought about my family. My mother." He paused and a hint of a blush appeared on his cheeks. Edward heard his pulse increase. "I came here. And I found this."

Edward's eyes widened in surprise as Draco held up the sheet music he'd been composing on. He hadn't even noticed it was missing. And if he could have blushed, he would have. He'd doodled several potential titles on the top of the paper, all of them variations on Draco's name, and had apparently just left it sitting out for anyone to see.

"Oh . . . that . . ." he said, feeling foolish.

"No one's ever . . ." Draco trailed off, his face flaming. "I just thought . . . you see me so differently. I thought it couldn't be right."

And that, Edward realized, was where Draco was wrong. The music he'd composed held darkness as well as light. And he loved them both.

Chapter Fourteen

Time was a peculiar thing, Edward thought. There had been days during his vampire life that had stretched out interminably, each second ticking like a bomb. Then there were weeks, months, even years that passed in a flash. Of course, time moved most quickly when he was happy, and since his confrontation with Draco in the cabin, it had flown. Perhaps it was strange to be happy during such a time. He hadn't told Draco of his true parentage, not wanting to interrupt the relative calm their relationship had settled into. For his part, Draco appeared reticent to bring up heavier matters as well.

That didn't mean reality wasn't always there, hovering. It was just a matter of time before things came to a head. Sometimes, during a long extended silence, Edward realized just how much they were probably keeping from each other. At least Draco had finally seemed to accept that Edward wasn't going to allow the wizard to push him away, not unless Draco truly didn't want him.

Edward had begun to work out a plan. If he could learn some basic protective spells, perhaps he could get close enough to Voldemort to attack without being injured himself. Otherwise, he knew Draco would never agree, and he needed Draco to get close. Just thinking of the lives the Dark Lord had already taken and those he still would, Edward was more and more convinced that eradicating him was the only way Draco and his family—and everyone else he threatened—would finally be free.

He didn't have any idea whether or not it was possible to learn even the most basic magic; aside from his telepathy, he'd never felt so much as a spark before. True, he didn't know what it would have felt like, but he was sure he'd have been aware of at least something. From the things Draco had told him, magic was impossible to repress.

Edward loved hearing stories of Draco's childhood. As a baby he'd unintentionally changed an entire case of his father's most prized firewhiskey into pumpkin juice because he didn't like the smell on Lucius's breath. Though his father had been irritated, he'd also been quite pleased his only son displayed his gifts at so young an age. Draco smiled when he related that bit, his own pride fetchingly coloring his cheeks. It made Edward think of his own father—the strange disruptions he may have caused in the small Illinois farm community where he grew up. It only seemed to give even more credence to Alistair's theory.

Weeks passed, and it was with some surprise that when Edward opened the door to the cabin one morning in early March, he noticed crocuses pushing up through the last of the remaining snow.

He inhaled with purpose, tasting the air. The scents of magical creatures lingered on his tongue along with his more standard prey. Yes, it would be a good day for a hunt.

Draco had promised to come by later that afternoon, so Edward ran the length of the Forbidden Forest, making sure to skirt the centaur colony, as his last run in with the head of the clan hadn't gone at all pleasantly. In a cave system he'd yet to explore, he encountered a couple of giant, blind rodents with sharp teeth and claws that actually damaged his skin. It was a good fight, though, as he made his way back to the cabin, the blood he'd drunk healed the wounds the creatures had inflicted.

When evening fell and Draco still hadn't arrived, Edward began to worry. By the next night, his concern had morphed into a full-fledged panic. He paced the cabin, nearly wearing a track in the floor. Since Draco couldn't visit at night, they always made plans in advance. And, because he knew Edward worried, Draco had taken to sending an owl to the cabin with a note if he was unable to make it for some reason. Over twenty-four hours had passed without any correspondence. Which could only mean one thing: something was wrong.

A knock finally broke the silence at just before midnight. Edward snatched the door open, unsure if he wanted to kiss Draco or kill him for being so thoughtless. His eyes widened in surprise before he could do either.

It was Snape.

"Good evening, Mr. Cullen," he said. Edward glanced over Snape's shoulder. He was alone. "I trust I'm not . . . interrupting anything?"

Edward raised his eyebrows at the way the older wizard drawled his last words; what did he expect, Edward to be having some sort of blood orgy?

"What happened?" Edward demanded. "Where's Draco?" He already felt riled, his body straining for action.

Snape sighed, and Edward noticed the tired lines around his eyes.

"I'm afraid there's been an . . . incident."

"What do you mean? What kind of incident. Tell me or so help me . . ."

"Draco has been the victim of a rather . . . nasty hex." An emotion resembling guilt flitted across Snape's face before being replaced by a calm, impassive expression.

Edward snapped. "What kind of hex?"

Despite his impassive demeanor, Snape took a step back. "The kind that can be very deadly. Draco was lucky . . . I was able to stop the bleeding in time. But it was quite severe. He's in the hospital ward now at Hogwarts recovering . . . he asked for you. Quite insistently. Of course I insisted he wait until after hours; as you may guess, vampires aren't normally permitted on school grounds."

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go." Edward shot out of the cabin at full speed, only remembering Snape as an afterthought. He'd need the wizard's help to get through the wards to the castle. With great effort, he slowed his pace and turned, listening for the other man's footfalls. The injury must have been very serious if Snape was willing to break school protocol.

"You'll have to remember not to draw attention to yourself," Snape said, his voice a harsh whisper. "And you can't stay long. Draco needs his rest."

Edward nodded and followed along, trying to control the rage welling in his chest. Pay, make them pay, said the voice inside him. The beast would show no mercy if it ever got its hands on the person who'd nearly killed his lover. His mate. Mine, it growled.

The rest of the journey occurred in near silence. Edward knew that Snape was Draco's godfather; he clearly cared for the boy. But Snape was also one of Voldemort's most trusted advisors. Draco had told him all about how the man's work as a double agent, highly trusted by both Dumbledore and the Dark Lord. Others mistrusted him on both sides, but Draco was relatively certain his true allegiance lay with Voldemort. In any case, he made Edward uneasy.

At the border to the school grounds, Snape whispered an incantation, allowing them to pass through. They crossed a footbridge and passed through a great courtyard, veering to the left up a stone staircase. If he hadn't been so worried about Draco, Edward might have appreciated the architecture, marveled at the paintings that seemed alive, though their inhabitants slumbered.

Snape held up his hand at the top of the stairs and Edward froze, waiting as a woman passed by. She was a mediwitch on her evening rounds, and Edward grimaced at the bent of her thoughts. Poor boy...going to leave such a scar...

Once she'd safely gone, Snape held his finger to his mouth. It almost made Edward laugh, as the wizard's cautious footfalls rang out more loudly than his own. He was a predator, after all, trained for stealth.

Even outside the ward Edward could smell blood—Draco's essence hung thickly in the air and in the halls though no visible traces remained. It didn't trigger a flood of venom; it made him feel ill . . . the thought of the blood spent. Draco's life. Not for the first time, Edward thanked God or the devil for magical cures, else he might have been mourning instead of visiting.

Finally, after what seemed eternity, Snape pushed open a tall, ancient door and gestured inside.

"One hour," he said, and then, with a flourish of his black cape, he disappeared.

Beds lined both sides of the room. Draco was alone, the white sheets pulled up high and tucked under his arms. He was sleeping, his breath rising and falling in fitful starts. If it hadn't been for that, Edward might have thought him dead. His usually pale face was ghostly, his pink lips dry and devoid of color.

Rage, heavy and hot, curled deep in Edward's gut. Pay. Make them pay. He stood at the foot of the bed, unsure whether to wake him or let him rest. Whoever had done this would be held accountable. Edward would see to that.

But now wasn't time. Draco had wanted to see him, and they only had an hour. He touched the covered foot, squeezing lightly. It felt so breakable in his hand.

Draco sighed and murmured, his eyelids fluttering open. His gaze lit on Edward, the dilated pupils indicating some sort of opiate had been administered to dull the pain.

"Hello," he said, trying to shift in bed. He winced and Edward shook his head.

"Don't move. Just rest."

Draco's eyes gleamed dully as his mouth quirked into a wry smile. "This wasn't exactly the way I wanted to spend this evening."

"Nor I." Edward trailed his hand lightly along the edge of the bed. He wanted to touch Draco all over but restrained himself, not sure the intrusion would be welcome. Or if he'd do more harm than good. As always, Draco's mind was closed off to his prodding, though Edward would have given anything to know what he was thinking. Tell me who did this to you.

"You came. I didn't think Snape . . ."

"Nothing could have kept me away," Edward said vehemently. Draco opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it, staring at him as if he were a curious enigma.

"I'm . . . so glad you're all right," Edward continued, trying to rein in his emotions.

"I'm okay," Draco replied. "I'm okay now." It was only then that Edward realized that somehow his fingers had become entwined with Draco's, the warmth of the wizard's hand reinforcing the truth of his words. He stroked his thumb gently against the palm. Draco was alive . . . he was okay.

A quiet settled in the room, just the sound of Draco's breath and the light hum of the wind against the window. There were no machines or monitors, which did offer some comfort. Draco was speaking, clearly on the mend. For the first time since Snape had shown up at the cabin, Edward relaxed.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Don't you already know?"

"Snape didn't tell me anything. Only that you'd been hurt badly and that he'd stopped . . . the bleeding in time."

Draco grimaced. "Torn open, is more like it." With his free hand he reached up and pulled down the sheet. His gown was open at the front, revealing a thick swaddling of bandages covering his torso . . . a chest injury. The flesh that was visible was swollen, irritated, though Edward suspected the bandages concealed far worse. How could they leave Draco alone in the hospital ward? What if whoever had done this decided to come back and finish the job? Edward glanced around, his protective instincts kicking into high alert.

"Who did this to you?" he asked with a growl, the abating fury mounting again. "Was it Snape?"

"No, it wasn't Snape."

"Who?"

"Doesn't matter," Draco said, shaking his head and moving to re-cover himself. He tried to disguise the effort it took, but he couldn't hide the pain that shadowed his eyes. Edward rushed to help, smoothing the sheet lightly and ignoring Draco's exasperated protest that he could do it himself and he wasn't a complete invalid.

"It does matter. Why . . . how could someone do this to you?"

"Very easily, apparently."

Edward muttered in disbelief.

"Outside of Slytherin, I'm not well-liked," Draco said, his voice toneless. When Edward made a sympathetic sound, Draco shot him a deadly look. "Don't fret about it. I never wanted to be."

"How can you not want to be liked?"

"It's more important for a Malfoy to be respected."

It sounded like something Draco's father would have said. Edward was used to such declamations by now, though he thought most of them ridiculous. In those moments, Draco sounded more like a parrot than himself, a child repeating his parents' sentiments without critical thought.

"Can't you have both?" he asked.

Draco snorted. "I wouldn't know. Apparently I have neither."

"Who, Draco?"

Obviously it was someone from another house—his peers in Slytherin wouldn't do this. Draco looked away, swallowing deeply. The flash of hurt in his eyes told Edward everything he needed to know.

"It was Harry Potter, wasn't it?"

When no reply came, Edward asked again. "Tell me."

"Fine. It was Potter. Are you satisfied?"

Edward shook, the control he'd maintained thus far stretched to breaking. He'd find Harry Potter and rip him limb from limb. No one . . . No one . . . hurt what was his and got away with it. Not anymore.

"Edward, stop. Edward?" Draco's voice drew him back out of himself. His grey eyes were more focused now, sharp. "You're not going to do anything to hurt him. Okay?"

"He hurt you . . ."

"Yes, he hurt me, and I was trying to hurt him. We were fighting. I . . . was getting ready to cast the Cruciatus curse when the spell hit me. If he hadn't taken me down, I would have taken him."

By now, Edward knew all about the unforgivable curses . . . the fact Draco tried to use one made him feel ill. "I don't understand."

Draco tried again to sit up. Edward went to help him but was batted away.

"We were fighting . . . in the bathroom. Potter came in and . . . embarrassed me, so I tried to hex him. And that's how it went, well, until he won."

"What were you doing in the bathroom? What do you mean he embarrassed you?" Edward's thoughts went all sorts of places, all of them completely indecent.

At least his questions elicited a laugh from Draco. "Your mind would go there, dirty boy." The arched brow he shot Edward indicated he didn't mind in the slightest. Then his expression sobered. "I was . . . he saw me." He sighed. "I was crying, okay?"

"Crying?"

"Yes, I was crying like a soppy little girl," Draco spat, some color returning to his pale cheeks. Edward waited for him to go on. "I was frustrated . . . I can't get the cabinet to work and it's all gone off. He's going to kill my family, and me, and there's not a damned thing I can do about it. Different day, same bloody story. I was feeling desperate, and so I went to the bathroom and, oh Salazar, I'm not going to say it again. But Potter walked in and . . ." he trailed off, clutching the sheets in his hands so that his knuckles shone whitely.

Draco had bottled his emotions up for weeks—for his entire life, really. It was no surprise he was embarrassed enough to do something stupid when he was observed at his weakest, especially by a rival. But why hadn't he come to Edward if things were that dire? Didn't they trust each other now?

"You could have talked to me," Edward said. Then he reminded himself that he'd been keeping his own secrets; it was a rather hypocritical statement, to say the least.

Draco sighed and nodded, seeming tired again. Edward felt guilty for making him relive all of this when he was still unwell. "I know. I know that . . . it's just these past few weeks have been . . . well, rather nice. I didn't want to ruin it."

"You wouldn't have." Edward's hand rested still on the cover beside Draco's hip, itching to touch. "After all this time, you must know that." It had been almost six months since the two of them had first met in the forest, Edward mused. He wouldn't have traded a second of it. He told Draco so.

A small smile played on Draco's lips. "Merlin, you're so . . ."

Edward cocked his head and smiled. "So . . .?"

"Such a prat, I was going to say. Sit down please and stop looming about."

Edward sat on the edge of the small bed with a chuckle. "I am not looming."

"You are."

"Fine. Maybe I am looming a little."

Draco seemed pleased, nodding sleepily. He closed his eyes as Edward rubbed small circles on his thigh. The hour was nearly up, and Snape would be returning at any moment, but Edward would refuse to leave. He missed watching Draco sleep, and he felt . . . needed. He was needed. Minutes passed before fingers tugged at Edward's arm. His eyes shot up in surprise as he thought Draco had been asleep.

"You're still too far away," came a tired mumble. "Lie down."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. Just . . . stay."

Maneuvering carefully so he didn't jar Draco, Edward fit himself alongside the wizard. There was barely enough room for the two of them, and Edward smiled when Draco pressed closely against him.

"I'm glad you're here," Draco said.

"Me too."

Again Edward thought Draco had drifted off to sleep.

"But promise me you won't do anything to hurt . . . him. Potter."

The way Draco said him made Edward grit his teeth.

He hadn't pursued the issue of Draco's feelings for the other boy, but right now he wished he had. Though Draco nuzzled his head into the crook of Edward's arm, jealousy cut him to the quick. Could he still want Potter?

On second thought, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Chapter Fifteen

"Are you sure it's not too much? We can wait . . ." Even as he uttered the words, Edward's hands roved over Draco's arms down to his waist, pulling him closer. It seemed like forever since they'd been alone. Draco's injury had kept him off of his feet for nearly a week, and while, thanks to Snape's grudging acquiescence, Edward had visited every night, they hadn't risked more than a brief kiss here and there. Not that Draco hadn't tried for more. Edward had resisted going further, afraid of doing something to set back the healing process, though Draco protested that the state of his sexual frustration threatened to do just that.

So it was no surprise when Draco ground his hips against his, slipping his hands inside Edward's back pockets and squeezing. Hard.

"No waiting," Draco said. "I'm fine."

Snape had explained to them that, even with the accelerated healing magic provided, the wound would take longer than usual to mend due to its severity. But Draco had been on his feet now for days without pain, and the way he was sucking on Edward's neck rendered thoughts of stopping irrelevant.

Draco sank down on the bed, the outline of his cock visible under tight black trousers. It twitched under Edward's hand, and he leaned forward, catching Draco's lips in a slow kiss. They didn't have to rush—they had the whole afternoon, and Edward wanted to make the most of it.

When he reached to unbutton Draco's shirt, the wizard muttered and clasped his arm.

"Don't. It's . . . not pretty," Draco said. The way he was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth made Edward's dead heart clench. Damned Harry Potter. He'd gotten away scot-free, it seemed, which only confirmed what Draco had said about the favoritism shown to Gryffindors (and Potter in particular). If Edward had his way . . .

In his embarrassment, Draco flushed. He didn't even need to explain for Edward to understand how he felt about it—another scar, another mark.

"It's okay." Edward let go of the shirt and brought his hands back to cup Draco's face, expecting to be batted away. He wasn't, and so he leaned in for another kiss. His anger at what Potter had done would never fade, but now wasn't the time to bring it up, not when Draco was still vulnerable—though he'd never admit it.

After another few minutes of kissing and tentative touches, Draco began to make frustrated sounds, rubbing his hips against Edward's, cock hard and straining to be released. It almost made Edward chuckle; the one place he could count on Draco to be entirely honest was in bed.

"Salazar . . . want you to touch me," Draco said, moving restlessly.

"Hmm . . . I think we can arrange that."

After that, there was no more talking.

A growl rumbled in Edward's chest as Draco freed his cock, taking it in his hand and stroking himself, looking up at him with sleepy grey eyes. The pink head glistened, just begging for a kiss. Edward darted his tongue out to lick as Draco's hand moved lazily. It was almost too much for him—the taste, being so close. Venom rushed, cool and slick down his throat. He pulled back and snapped his mouth shut, turning away as he removed his clothes so Draco wouldn't see the monster.

When he turned back, he gasped. Draco had removed his shirt and gazed at Edward with a guarded expression. A web of pink scar tissue spanned the width of his torso, a fine web of lines concentrated over his heart. Strangely enough, the skin appeared smooth. Never breaking eye contact, Edward moved his hand slowly, making his intent known. Draco didn't stop him from reaching out.

"You're still beautiful," Edward said, the words making him feel even more naked. The skin felt soft and new, like a baby's. Oh, he would be so careful now.

Then Draco did something Edward did not expect; he leaned forward and took Edward's flagging erection into his mouth, neatly ending the sentimental moment. He watched Draco's head bob, expertly coaxing his prick back to hardness.

"I want this inside of me," Draco murmured, his lips swollen. "Fuck me. Now."

"You should be . . . on top," Edward said. Draco's eyes widened.

"Really?"

Edward realized what he'd insinuated. Not that he hadn't thought about it; he just knew it was physically impossible for a human male to penetrate a vampire in . . . that way. He shook his head and lay down, coaxing Draco astride.

"Like this."

Draco nodded and whispered a now-familiar spell, then straddled Edward and leaned forward to prepare himself. Edward felt a warm liquid coat his prick, and he nudged at Draco's hole, feeling the first exquisite pressure of pushing inside. Draco took his time, sheathing Edward inch by inch. When he was fully seated, he rolled his hips and Edward groaned.

He let Draco use his body. Draco's erection bounced as he began to move with vigor, slapping between their stomachs with each downward plunge. It was so good . . . almost too good. Edward had to distract himself to keep from coming. Just like a human, he thought wryly.

He stroked the swollen cock, fisting it as he hit the spot inside Draco that made his face contort with pleasure. Reaching up, he drew Draco forward and kissed him, tracing the ridge of his spine, the sweat that slicked his lower back. Their tongues tangled in a frantic kiss that Edward ended prematurely, worried he was losing control, that his hips were driving too quickly, that his hands were gripping too tightly. He let Draco take over again, willing his body still though every molecule called out to mate, to fuck, to drink.

Seeming to understand what Edward needed but was afraid to do, Draco leaned back and closed his eyes, fucking himself onto Edward with abandon. He whispered dirty things as Edward gripped the mattress with both fists, shredding it while pleasure rushed through him, as devastating as fire.

Draco shuddered and moaned, his rhythm faltering as he started to spurt, clenching Edward in a slick vise. Unable to stop himself, Edward arched off the bed as his orgasm approached—inside, inside, said the monster—holding Draco's hips flush to him, feeling his cock start to kick in the heat. Yes, inside. Let it go. It was only when he opened his eyes and realized with horror what he was about to do that he lifted Draco off and came all over himself and the ruined mattress, swallowing down the venom that wanted to be ejected into Draco's body along with his poisonous seed.

When he'd finally calmed enough to dare open his eyes, Draco smirked and leaned down to kiss him.

"Welcome back."

"Sorry about that . . ." Edward began, feeling sheepish and still a little off-kilter.

"Why are you sorry? That was the most brilliant fuck I've ever had."

"Really?"

"Really." Draco turned and reached for his shirt, pulling it over his head. "I feel much better now."

The two of them set to cleaning up. As always, Draco took care of the damage Edward had caused without a word, which made him feel slightly better. No matter how embarrassing it would certainly be, he needed to discuss this issue with Carlisle—whether or not it was safe for Draco for him to release inside.

Aside from that, something still bothered him. Draco's reaction to his suggestion to be on top had been surprised. Edward couldn't tell if he had also been disappointed.

They had fallen into their sexual roles without discussion and, while Draco gave every indication he wanted and enjoyed what they did, Edward worried that perhaps it wasn't enough. Maybe he'd want something he couldn't have with Edward . . . that he could have with another human. Worst of all, he worried maybe that was for the best.

"You're broodier than usual," Draco said, cocking his head and drawing Edward out of his thoughts. "Usually you're quite pleasant after a good shag."

"I was just thinking."

"Don't injure yourself."

"Ha. I'll have you know I think extremely complex thoughts. Often. With ease."

"Indeed. That's half your problem."

Edward rolled his eyes and reached for his pants, but Draco didn't seem to be willing to let the subject go. "So what sorts of deep thoughts were you thinking?"

He turned and steeled himself to ask the question, which really shouldn't be so uncomfortable considering what they'd just done, but was.

"Before . . . you misunderstood me. When I said . . ."

"You wanted me on top." Draco smirked. "Yes, I remember."

"Well, I was wondering if that was something you'd like to do. If it's something you wanted."

A small frown drew down the corners of Draco's mouth. He shrugged. "I hadn't really thought of it. I suppose it might be nice . . . but I prefer the way we do things, if it's all the same to you. Unless you want to—" Now it was Draco's turn to be awkward. He tinged pink from his neck to the tips of his ears.

"It's not physiologically possible. For vampires and humans. . . that way." Edward grimaced, feeling very much a seventeen-year-old boy.

"But if I were a vampire . . ." Draco asked, hesitantly. Edward's head snapped up and he held his breath. Despite the conflicted emotions rushing through him at the mention of Draco becoming like him, he decided the simplest answer was probably best.

"If you were, then yes."

"Oh." The pensive look on Draco's face unsettled Edward . . . he couldn't really be thinking . . . he couldn't actually want . . .

"Draco—"

"Do you ever think about . . . changing me?"

Think about it? Since it had come up in his conversation with Carlisle, it had never been far from his thoughts. Sure, he fantasized about what it would mean to have a mate, to not have to watch Draco grow old and die, or leave. Such ideas were purely selfish, though; he knew that. To leave Draco soulless would be unthinkable. And now that he knew the risks associated with turning a wizard . . . no matter how much he might want to . . .

"Have you?" Edward needed to know the truth, if Draco had imagined it for whatever reason—an escape from his troubles, perhaps.

Draco nodded, regarding Edward seriously. "Yes. Would you do it?"

"I could never condemn you to this life—this miserable existence." Even if it means losing you someday.

"I don't see that your existence is worse than mine," Draco said. "If you hadn't noticed, my life isn't exactly full of kittens and rainbows." His eyebrows furrowed and he sighed. "Not that I'd want it to be. But you understand what I mean. My life is utter crap."

"You don't understand." Though he probably sounded patronizing, he needed to make Draco see. "I'm a monster. A few weeks ago you said I didn't really see you. That I idealized you in some way. Well, maybe that's true and maybe it isn't, but you do the same to me. I've killed people, Draco. I'm a murderer by nature. Anything is better than this life. Anything."

"So I'd be better off dead?" Draco asked, sarcasm slipping in. He slipped his shoes on and stood, starting toward the door.

Anything but that.

"You're notgoing to die." Edward sprung in front to block Draco's exit. He wasn't going to leave. Not this time.

"I am," Draco said. "If not this week, this year, then someday. But let's be realistic. The way things are going, I won't make it through this war."

"We're going to find a way to get you out of this."

"That's what you keep saying, but neither of us can come up with anything." Draco tried to push past, making a frustrated noise when Edward refused to budge. "And even if we did, and all of this was over, my life would still be miserable. I'm expected to marry; did you know that? A woman." Draco shuddered, wrinkled his nose in a way that would have been comic if not for the implications of his words.

"What? Why?"

"I'm a pure-blooded wizard. I'm an only child and to carry on the family line, I need an heir. Last I checked, buggering a man won't get you one, and thus I must marry a woman."

"But . . . your parents . . . they won't make you, not if you don't want—"

"What I want doesn't matter. I can do what I like on the side, of course, but still there must be a wife. Probably Astoria Greengrass. If I'm lucky."

The rules and mores of the wizarding elite weren't exactly news to Edward, but still, making someone marry against their will—without love? Draco's eyes widened and Edward realized that he'd gouged his fists into the mattress again.

"But that's unfair."

"Of course it is. When is life fair?" Draco snapped, hesitating with his hand on the door handle. "Maybe I best go."

"Stop trying to run away." Edward covered the hand with his, tugging gently. It was always like this, Draco getting angry, fleeing before they worked things through. Not this time.

"Fine. Well let me tell you how I see it. You say you're a murder and don't have a soul and all of that bloody nonsense. I've never met someone so . . . good. If you don't have a soul, no one does. You're many things Edward—a frustrating, mopey git, a twat—but you're not evil."

"Gee, thanks."

The hand he was holding pulled back, and he released it. "I think what it comes down to is you don't want me around that long."

Edward let out an involuntary laugh, feeling almost human in his disbelief. "That's all I want," he said. "You. Forever."

The shocked expression on Draco's face made Edward wish he could eat his words. He looked at the floor, readying himself for rejection, wondering what in the world had possessed him to say such a thing. He couldn't change Draco, and yet he'd just admitted to wanting him for all eternity. The hypocrisy wasn't lost on either of them.

"I don't have forever."

"I know."

"And you won't change me."

"You don't really want that. You can't."

Draco scoffed. "How do you know what I want?"

"You don't understand. You're seventeen. I'm talking about forever, Draco. You and me. When vampires . . . pair off," he couldn't bear to say mate, "they do it for eternity. You would be stuck with me . . . no one else. I don't . . . share."

"Neither do I. And don't patronize me. I might be seventeen but I certainly know my own mind."

"But you have feelings for someone else . . . for . . ."

Draco balked. "Edward—"

"And I understand, I really do, why you didn't want me to hurt him. I promise—"

"Edward—"

"—that's what you really want, I'll step aside—"

"Oy! Edward! Listen to me. I don't want Harry Potter. Not anymore. You complete, utter idiot."

Edward stopped rambling long enough for the words to sink in, checking his face for signs of insincerity. Draco regarded him impassively, but the telltale blush that always tinged his cheeks when he was embarrassed made Edward smile.

"Really?"

"Really."

"At the hospital you seemed very concerned about him."

Draco grimaced like he was pained, shaking his head. "Did you ever think for a moment that perhaps I was concerned about you? Attacking and killing a wizard on school grounds wouldn't exactly be conducive to our relationship continuing. Or to your already overburdened conscience."

"You . . . don't want him anymore?"

"Merlin's beard, you're such a girl sometimes! Can we please get out of this hovel and end this conversation? I'd enjoy some fresh air, and I'd like to see about this sparkling business."

During the day, the Forbidden Forest could be almost pleasant, as most of the dangerous creatures were nocturnal. Even so, Edward led Draco away from the cabin toward higher ground. Despite the heaviness of their earlier conversation, Draco seemed in a playful mood, asking Edward all manner of questions about his favorite music and art, mocking his tastes when they diverged with his own (which they rarely did). Nothing was settled between them, but Edward, too, felt lighter—Draco wanted him, not Harry. That was good enough, though the dismal future still loomed.

Eventually they emerged in a field he'd come across on one of his hunts, which gave a vantage over the valley below. They sprawled on the ground, carpeted with early spring growth, and watched the clouds overhead pass by and finally give way to sun.

Draco ran his hand down Edward's arm and barked out a laugh. "You really do sparkle."

"I told you."

The hand paused, moving in slow circles that warmed his entire body. Every electrode fired as it moved up, up toward his face, touching there for just a moment—so softly, so tenderly—and then drawing away.

"It's . . ."

"Ridiculous," Edward supplied.

"I was going to say it suits you. I think it's brilliant." Then he laughed. "I didn't even mean it as a pun."

Propping himself up on his elbow, Edward turned toward Draco, drawing closer. "As you can see . . . I can't exactly go out in the light of day without attracting attention."

"Hmm. It all makes sense now." The grey eyes glinted. "Does all of you sparkle?"

Edward smirked and lay back, spreading his arms overhead. "Why don't you find out?"

After they'd brought each other off again, this time with mouths and hands, teasing and languorous under the afternoon sun, Edward grew serious again.

"There's something I have to tell you," he said. "About my family."

Draco nodded, waiting for him to go on. Edward drew himself up and sat, arms circling his knees, scanning the horizon. It was nice to be up here, out of the forest. Calming. But perhaps not for long. He didn't know how Draco would react to the news he needed to share.

"When I spoke with Carlisle, he told me something about my past . . . about my father. He thinks my father may have been a wizard."

Chapter Sixteen

Draco regarded Edward absently for a moment before laughing and shaking his head, his hands trailing through the new spring grass. "That's hilarious."

"It's not meant to be. I'm not joking," Edward said. He'd expected as much from Draco's initial reaction; it still sounded strange to his own ears. "I hardly believe it myself."

"What exactly did he tell you?" Draco leaned forward, his sober expression urging Edward on. Edward stretched his legs out, pressing one alongside Draco's just because. It was comforting, the connection. Edward didn't know when it had happened, but somehow over the past few months he'd grown dependent on it. He shook his head to clear it of the distracting thoughts and started at the beginning.

To his credit, Draco listened without interrupting, though the stoic cast of his face didn't allow Edward much insight into his thoughts. When Edward described Alistair's theory of vampirism tapping into latent wizarding power, however, Draco's eyes widened, flashing with something unsettling before being masked once again.

"That's how you got your ability to read minds?"

"It's part of the theory, yes."

"Hmmm. How interesting. I suppose it makes sense, though it's surprising I haven't heard of it before."

Edward tensed, remembering Carlisle's warning. "It's . . . there's some fear that the knowledge might be misused."

Draco nodded.

"You're taking this well. So you believe me?"

"It accounts for your talent. And I'd always wondered why you could see Hogwarts," Draco said. "But you've never shown any other abilities?"

"No," Edward admitted. "I've never felt anything beyond the telepathy. I wondered . . . if maybe . . ." Feeling suddenly foolish, he lowered his head. What did he want, Draco to teach him magic? It didn't exactly seem like something that could be learned, from what Draco had told him of his childhood.

"What?"

"I don't know . . . it's . . ."

"You want to learn magic?"

"No. Maybe. I thought if maybe I could learn how to deflect curses . . ."

"You want to try to off the Dark Lord," Draco spat. He glanced around, drawing attention to the fact that while they might appear alone, the threat of being overheard was very real. Edward lowered his voice accordingly, leaning forward and trying not to get distracted by the very close proximity of Draco's lips.

"The thought had crossed my mind. Wasn't your main objection that I'd be at risk? Well, if that's the case, then if I learned to deflect the spells . . ." Of course Edward still didn't believe that Voldemort would pose a threat should he get close enough, but Draco would never consent unless he had additional protection.

"You're not a wizard, Edward," Draco said. "I'm sorry, but this isn't going to work."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know, hmm? You haven't seen. You don't know what he's capable of."

"Maybe you don't know what I'm capable of."

He knew he'd set himself up, but he still wasn't completely ready for next question. Draco looked at him slyly.

"And what of those who aren't squibs?" Draco asked. He was far too clever not to deduce those with magic would potentially inherit greater powers once they were changed.

Edward hesitated, curling his hands against his thighs. Whatever he said now might have devastating repercussions. He could either lie to Draco, thus endangering their relationship, or tell him the truth, thus potentially providing Voldemort with sensitive information should Draco decide—or be forced—to share it.

"Edward?"

He glanced up, catching the look of hurt on Draco's face.

Doesn't trust. He doesn't trust me.

The thoughts entered Edward's mind with a shock; it had been so long since he'd heard Draco's thoughts, for a second he didn't even realize what was happening. Draco grimaced, flustered, shaking his head.

Bloody nosey telepathic vampire. Get out of my head.

And just like that, the thoughts vanished once again.

"I wasn't trying to hear," Edward said, feeling a bit snappish at the accusation. "It just happens. You should do a better job hiding your thoughts."

"I will. In the future."

"Good."

"So, are you answering my question, or not?" Draco's voice sounded almost bored; Edward recognized the carefully schooled tone now. It was one of Draco's primary defense mechanisms, feigning disinterest, and a profoundly frustrating one at that. It didn't escape his notice that Draco had also moved his leg away.

Edward drew a long breath, filling his lungs with unnecessary air and then blowing it out.

"It's almost inevitable, Alistair believes, for a wizard's powers to gain strength after the change occurs."

"I see." Draco nodded, a careful movement that drew his eyes away from Edward toward the forest. Shadows of trees, made long in the late afternoon sunlight, had begun to stretch toward them. "How long have you known this?"

"Since after Christmas," Edward said, feeling abashed. "I was going to tell you . . ."

"Of course you were." Draco stood and crossed his arms, glaring down at Edward. "Of course."

"Draco—"

"That's the real reason you don't want to change me, isn't it?" Draco ran his hands though his hair, mussing it. His blond fringe had grown longer in the past couple of months, Edward noticed, whether from lack of attention or intent, he didn't know.

"What? No, I—"

"You think I'll become the worst sort of monster."

"I don't think that." But the horrible truth was the thought had crossed Edward's mind; he'd imagined Draco's powers magnified, the destruction he could wreak if he chose to maintain his loyalty to Voldemort.

Draco laughed mirthlessly. "You're probably right."

"No," Edward said, standing so quickly Draco blinked back his surprise. "I don't think that."

"I think I've fixed it," said Draco, so quietly that if Edward hadn't had vampire hearing, he wouldn't have been able to discern the words.

Edward shook his head, his hands rubbing on Draco's arms. "What do you mean?"

"The cabinet. To let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts."

"Draco . . ." He moved even closer, feeling helpless.

"Edward, don't."

"You don't need to hide from me." Edward's mind raced. If Draco'd fixed the cabinet, he was one step closer to fulfilling Voldemort's orders. There couldn't be a way for this to end well.

"He killed a Muggle family—even the children. I can still hear their screams." The blood had fled from Draco's face, his expression a twisted grimace.

"You were there?"

"Just before I got hexed. Let's say it was a warning, and I heard it quite clearly." A slight tremor ran through Draco's body, eyes far away.

"If you do this, more innocent people will die."

"And if I don't, my family and I will."

Edward fought the urge to growl; they were, after all, back to square one. It looked like Draco's plans hadn't been altered at all. He'd obviously been working at this all along, without telling Edward. It shouldn't have come as a surprise, but it did.

"If you change me," Draco said, his eyes suddenly becoming bright. "I could destroy him."

"You know I can't do that."

"You said you wanted me."

"I do," Edward said quietly. Perhaps he should regret speaking those words, but he couldn't. "I still can't subject you to this fate, a life without a soul."

"I'm not sure I have one now."

"You'd wind up hating me."

"No, I wouldn't. It would be my choice, and the consequences would be mine as well."

"Even if I consented, what then? As a newborn vampire you'd be bloodthirsty, strong, impossible to control. I'd have to take you far away from civilization until you gained restraint. In all likelihood, Vold—" Draco eyed him menacingly, and he quickly modified his words. "The Dark Lord would think you've run off and probably kill your family anyway."

"I could restrain myself," Draco said. "Malfoys have impeccable self-control."

Edward rolled his eyes; Draco had no idea what hunger was like, especially directly after the change.

"Yes, just like today," he said, advancing, feeling predatory, "when you begged me to fuck you."

"I did not beg." Draco turned his chin up with a haughty sneer.

"You did. Perfect recall, remember?" He tapped his skull. "It's one of the few perks."

"Is the other perk being a prat?"

Edward drew his thumb along his lover's bottom lip, smiling when Draco opened his mouth to nip at him.

"See? You can't even resist biting now, and you're still human. Just imagine what you'd be like if your entire body was burning, and the only thing that could slake your thirst was human blood. You'd drain half the school before you even got a chance at V—the Dark Lord." Draco drew Edward's thumb into his mouth, sucking gently, his eyes narrowed to challenging slits. Edward's stomach tightened with want, imagining how beautiful Draco would look with golden eyes, his partner forever. Aware of the effect he was having, Draco smiled, curling his tongue roughly against the smooth pad of Edward's finger.

"Stop trying to distract me," Edward said, reluctantly pulling his hand away. "This is serious."

"I know it's bloody serious. And it looks like we've reached an impasse. You won't change me, and I need to do whatever I can to protect my family."

Draco sighed gazing around the field; the darkness was falling more rapidly now, heedless of their unresolved conversation.

"I have to get back."

For a bizarre minute, Edward saw it unfold before him. Maybe he'd distract Draco from the pain with a long, slow fuck before he bit into Draco's throat, letting the blood mingle with venom on his tongue as they rode out their climaxes. And then the excruciating wait, watching as Draco writhed in pain, his body changing, dying and being made anew before he opened his eyes. Blood red.

Then the image shifted. He imagined Draco hunched over a fresh kill, feral and ravenous as he sucked the last life-blood from his victim before letting the man drop to the ground.

You did this to me. I hate you.

Edward was finally drawn out of his daze by a warm hand on his shoulder. "Let's go," Draco said.

Their walk back through the forest was quiet, both lost in their own thoughts. Edward wanted to drag out every footstep, not wanting Draco to leave while everything was so unresolved, afraid that if he did, he'd never come back. Why couldn't he see what he was asking was impossible?

Finally, they reached the edge of Hogwarts' grounds, both standing idly, not knowing what to say.

"Let me help you do this," Edward said. "If you can just get me to the place where he is, it doesn't matter that I don't know magic. They'll never see it coming; we'll have the benefit of surprise. You won't have to kill anyone; your family will be safe and so will the rest of the world. Draco, it's the only way—"

"I can't do that," Draco said, cutting him off with a harsh whisper. "You do recall what I told you, hmm?"

Edward was about to demand a more convincing explanation when his thoughts were interrupted.

Stubborn bastard. Don't you understand? If anything happened to you, it would be just as bad as losing my family.

Edward was stunned by the admission. He stretched his mind for more, but Draco smiled ruefully as silence descended once again.

"I feel the same," Edward said, finding his voice hoarse. "I can't bear seeing what this is doing to you."

Draco closed his eyes and sighed. "I know. Which is why I think it would be better if we ended this now."

"What?"

"We're not getting anywhere, Edward." He opened his eyes again and turned, and Edward saw his resigned expression. "We have the same argument again and again. There's no other way."

"We can figure out another way."

"We've exhausted all of the options. I know what I have to do. And I have to do it alone." His voice was devoid of emotion, and it made Edward ache. How could it come to this, after Draco had very nearly admitted he loved Edward?

"Don't say that."

"Change me."

"Draco—" Edward clenched his jaw, frustrated. He reached out, but Draco stepped back, his footfalls crackling the underbrush.

"Please understand. I want to remember you like this, thinking fondly of me. You'll see me differently after it's all over, and I'd rather not be there for that."

"That's a bit cowardly, isn't it?"

"I never said I wasn't a coward."

Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted, a mournful sound that reminded Edward what it was like to be alone. How could he live here with Draco so close and yet unreachable? The thought was maddening.

"You're not. And haven't we come too far for this kind of thing? Aren't you tired of running away?"

"I'm not running."

"Could've fooled me."

"We don't have a future together. You said as much yourself."

Edward thought he detected a bit of a crack in Draco's composure, hesitation in his voice. He decided to push against the crack, see if he could break through.

"We can have a long life together even if you're human."

"Oh, and I'm sure you'll fancy me when I'm old and wrinkled."

"I will."

"People would think I was your grandfather."

"Let them."

"That's horribly disgusting. You're an utter pervert." Draco's lips fought a grin, his eyes meeting Edward's, and for a moment everything was fine. They weren't going their separate ways, after all. Draco would admit he was being an ass and come back the next day, and they'd work out how to properly defeat Voldemort. There had to be a way.

Edward took advantage of the momentary lightness to step forward and gather Draco into his arms. The wizard went stiffly, but willingly, relaxing a little when Edward kissed him. "I love you," Edward said, pressing a second kiss against Draco's temple, feeling the flutter of his pulse under the thin barrier of skin. "I always will, no matter what you do or how you look. Even if you go bald."

For a second, nothing happened, and Edward almost thought Draco hadn't heard him.

"I was just joking," he said, mussing Draco's hair. "You probably know a spell for that, anyway."

"Don't," Draco nearly gasped, trying to wrench away. Of course he couldn't escape unless Edward released him. He did, trying not to be hurt by the terrified look on Draco's face and failing utterly. Draco took another step back, shaking his head. "Just don't."

"Draco—"

"Believe me when I tell you love will only get you killed."

I'm already dead, Edward thought as he watched Draco walk away.

Chapter Seventeen

The belongings Draco left behind were what really drove Edward mad. An Advanced Potions book with careful annotations in the margins written in Draco's elegant script, the sweater he'd been wearing the day he'd left, discarded because of the early spring warmth before their walk to the meadow. The Magic Eight Ball.

He gathered them together and set them on the table, an absurd shrine in a room that already bore Draco's mark everywhere—in the gifts he'd given Edward, in the memories which, thanks to cursed vampire recall, would never fade. Were these the sorts of things one left behind when it was over? If they lived in the regular Muggle world, perhaps Edward would pack the items in a box and deliver them to his ex-lover with a note, or maybe no word at all. As they did not, Edward kept them, hoping one day they'd draw Draco back. They didn't, and the cabin became oppressive.

So he took to spending less and less time there and more time roaming the forest, especially the periphery, hoping to find a way into the Hogwarts grounds, knowing one day very soon, Draco would undertake the task he'd been assigned. On occasion, students would approach closely enough for Edward to hear their thoughts. He drank them in like a starving man, listening for any indication that something horrible had happened at the school, but the thoughts were always banal—about summer holidays, classes, crushes, and friends. So Draco was still safe, for now. There was no way of knowing whether or not he'd be successful, and even if he was, what would happen to him. Edward knew enough of evil men to understand they weren't held by any moral obligation to keep promises. Whether or not he wanted to admit it, Voldemort could decide to expend Draco's life even after he'd fulfilled his duty. The realization crept over him with a chilling horror, and he wondered if he'd made the right decision after all.

The days had grown warm and pleasant, the nights cool and softly rainy. Some of the creatures in the Forbidden Forest were undergoing the mating rites of spring, and some had already had their young. He watched with awe as a week old Hippogriff took to the sky with its mother, its first few fumbling wing flaps awkward, the forest echoing their call and response. He found himself smiling and vowed he would never harm one of the beasts; like the unicorns, they were too special, too magical to ever become a meal. Soon, the little one got its bearings and disappeared over the canopy of trees, followed by its proud parent, leaving silence once again.

Vampires could go mad at the death of a mate—Rose had very nearly been lost to her bereavement when Emmett had been killed—but Draco had never really been his mate. Not really. He'd made the decision easily enough to leave, and seemed to have no regrets. Alice had certainly been wrong about the two of them, so why was Edward staying around, hoping for a reunion that would never come?

"Edward," Alice said, her voice betraying her worry, "I'm so glad you've finally called."

He was back at the general store in the little town, getting the same stares and hearing the same thoughts from the customers as he had the last time.

"Yeah, well." He didn't know what to say.

"He's gone."

"Yes."

"Edward, I'm so sorry. I thought . . ."

"You thought wrong, obviously," Edward said. It was very difficult not to crush the phone in his hand, but that would only draw more attention to him. Not that it really mattered anymore. Edward was starting to think he might welcome the Volturi's wrath at this point. If he was discovered, the guard would exercise their right to eradicate the problem—namely him—thus ensuring humans remained ignorant of the existence of their kind. He shook his head, clearing it of the dark thoughts. Not while Draco was still alive. Perhaps, if he was killed . . .

"Don't you dare do that," Alice whispered. "Don't you dare. I won't lose another one of my family."

"I don't know what to do."

Alice sighed. "We've been talking. Edward, we want you to come home."

"I . . . don't think—"

"We miss you. And Rose is doing much better. She misses you, too. Carlisle thinks it's for the best. You can't keep living alone in that cabin."

"I can't leave."

"I don't see him in your future anymore, Edward," she said. The words, though expected, burned bitterly, leaving him hollow. Wasn't that what he was, anyway, just an animate body, a shell? At least he felt the part now.

"I see," he said, barely recognizing his own voice.

"Edward, come home. Please."

He left the phone dangling on the cord, Alice's voice still pleading on the end of the line.

Packing up the cabin was one of the hardest tasks he'd ever performed. But finally, it was finished. Still, he lingered for days, his mind waffling. What if Draco needed him? What if he returned after Edward had gone? How could Edward leave without knowing Draco was safe and alive? The thoughts were enough to keep Edward in the most painful kind of stasis, torn between the life he'd sworn he'd never go back to and dreams of a life he'd never lead.

And so the weeks passed.

One afternoon, nearly two months after Draco had gone, Edward was hunting at a distance from the cabin when the scent hit him—Draco. Mine. He tore off through the forest, skirting over boulders and almost knocking down trees in his haste, greedily sucking the air into his lungs, the taste he'd missed for so long. Finally, he reached the trail where the scent was freshest, his excitement tempered by alarm when Draco's scent mingled with an unfamiliar smell, also male. His stomach tightened painfully, and he slowed his pace, grimly determined.

The trail was new, and Edward was an excellent tracker. It didn't take him long to recognize where it was headed. He found himself skirting round the field where they'd spent their last day together, shocked when he saw them.

They were facing each other, wands drawn. Draco was the taller of the two, but the other boy had a quiet strength about him. His dark hair stood a messy contrast to Draco's neat blond, and when he turned his head, Edward detected a slight defect on his forehead—a scar. The boy's glasses framed narrowed green eyes, and Edward knew exactly who he was.

Harry Potter.

The rage Edward had felt when Draco was hexed returned, and a quiet growl escaped his lips. Potter's wand was extended, the hand that held it, steady. Confident. Edward took a few steps forward, ready to spring at the first sign of danger. Draco, however, did not seem worried in the slightest. His mouth was quirked in a rather indulgent smirk as he regarded the other boy. The familiar expression cut Edward to shreds.

"You had no right to follow me, Potter," Draco said, his voice tired, though not entirely unkind.

"I have every right," came the reply. "I know what you're up to, Malfoy." If only I could prove it.

"Oh, do you?"

You have no idea, and if you did, what would you do? Would you be jealous? I think you might be, Potter. I think now, you just might be.

With some shock, Edward realized he could hear Draco's thoughts as well as Harry's. Perhaps he was so engrossed in the confrontation, he couldn't sense Edward's presence. Edward gripped his fists tightly together, trying to control the jealousy that lit his body aflame. Had something happened between them?

"I think it's best you lower your wand," said Harry. Edward followed his thoughts as he assessed the situation. Harry couldn't understand what Draco was doing here, had imagined maybe that he was meeting some of the Death Eaters. He'd followed Draco using his Invisibility Cloak, but Draco had easily discovered him when he'd stepped on a twig. Clumsy.

Draco arched an eyebrow. "You must understand why that's not really an option, hmm? Or have you forgotten you nearly killed me?" But it was an impressive spell, all the same.

Harry's grip faltered, and his wand lowered slightly. "I'm sorry for that. I didn't know what it would do. I didn't mean to . . ." And why was he suddenly thinking about Malfoy's eyes? How in this light they shone more blue than grey?

"Well you did. And only a fool uses a spell he's never tried before." But every time I see that scar, I remember Edward looking at me as if it didn't even matter.

Edward froze. Draco was thinking about him?

The dark-haired wizard nodded. Even from this distance, Edward thought with a pang, Harry was quite handsome, despite the glasses and unruly hair. Perhaps because of them.

"I know," Harry said. And I'll always regret it, because you're not really one of them, are you, Malfoy? Not really."How about we both lower our wands at the count of three?"

Draco reluctantly agreed to the proposition, and Harry counted aloud.

When both wizards had stowed their wands away, Harry sighed. "So what are you doing out here, Malfoy?" Besides looking strangely attractive and oh for the love of Merlin, I'm not gay. Ginny. I'm in love with Ginny. Malfoy is a Death Eater and a complete ponce. I'm not gay, even if there was that one time with Oliver Wood after Quidditch.

Why is he looking at me like that? Certainly unexpected. "I'm sorry to have disappointed you, Potter. If you were expecting a Death Eater orgy, I'm afraid I can't oblige. They're invitation only, for future reference."

Harry scowled.

At the rate the emotions and thoughts sped through Draco's mind, Edward could barely process them—regret, irritation, relief, loneliness. As always, Draco kept his face perfectly devoid of any emotion, and Edward remembered the many times he'd been on the receiving end of that same, schooled look. He'd always suspected deeper emotions had lain under the surface.

"So you admit you are one?"

"I admit nothing," Draco said, raising his chin haughtily.

"Hmm. So I'm supposed to believe you just fancied an evening stroll?" He hates the Forbidden Forest, always has. It makes no sense.

"To be honest, I don't really give a tit what you believe, but yes, I did fancy a stroll."

Harry's mind was full of the enigma of Malfoy, and Draco's was curiously blank. For a moment Edward thought perhaps Draco had sensed him and put his Occlumency shield in place. His discomfort grew as Harry's thoughts bounced from attraction to repulsion, and he closed his eyes, willing himself calm. Witnessing this encounter probably wasn't the most intelligent move, because if something did happen between them, he didn't know if he'd be able to control himself. He couldn't imagine a situation that ended without Harry's body mutilated beyond recognition.

"In the Forbidden Forest? You're daft." Harry's voice encouraged Edward to re-focus his attention on the unfolding scene.

"Perhaps," said Draco. "But I quite like it up here."It's the only way I can stay sane without him.

Edward stiffened, gripping a sapling so tightly its bark crumbled to dust. Draco missed Edward, and that was why he'd come to this place. Perhaps he'd even known that Edward would follow him—perhaps that's what he wanted.

Harry didn't know how to respond to the genuine answer. His confused thoughts were reflected on his face, and Draco considered making a snide retort about Harry wearing his emotions on his sleeve, but checked himself at the end. It didn't seem worth it, not when Harry would hate him once he killed Dumbledore, anyway. The cabinet was ready, and it was time to take action, no matter how he dreaded it.

Edward's stomach clenched, fear again replacing joy.

"It is . . . nice," Harry said, looking uncomfortably around. Who knew that Malfoy was into nature? Figured him as more of a castles and caviar type.

"It reminds me of someone. A good . . . friend." Draco gave the last word an emphatic inflection, and for a second Edward thought he felt the wizard's eyes directly on him. But that was impossible; he was too concealed. If he did know Edward was there, Draco's thoughts didn't give anything away.

"Oh," Harry said, again shocked into silence. He wasn't aware Malfoy had friends—not real ones, at least. He must be under some sort of not-being-a-giant-prat spell. It really wasn't helping to end this awkward non-attraction. "Someone I know?"

"No, you don't know him." Let Potter think on that for a moment.

"Oh." Harry was at a loss once again. Did Malfoy have some sort of secret boyfriend? Oh Merlin. He shook his head and glanced around, as if half-expecting someone to materialize out of the forest. Edward was tempted.

Mine.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're quite a conversationalist. This has bee a lovely chat, Potter, but I . . ."

The startling entry of a third person distracted Edward from the rest of Draco's statement; he immediately recognized the dry, irritated tenor of Severus Snape's thoughts, full of promises of detention and painful punishment. The older man's footfalls rang though the forest, though they were inaudible to Draco and Harry. For a second Edward considered warning them, but then Snape was there, striding across the clearing with a murderous glare on his face.

The two boys turned, their faces twinned expressions of surprise.

"Professor—" Harry began, but Snape cut him off.

"What have I told you two about leaving school grounds without authorization?" Snape enunciated the last word with precision, leaving no doubt of his irritation. "And did you, or did you not, understand the terms of the no-contact order? We're heading back to the castle immediately."

The two younger wizards clutched Snape's robes and vanished with a disconcerting snap, leaving the field empty and silent. Edward stepped out into the clearing, his mind replaying the scene again and again, though he chose to edit out the bits where Harry was obviously attracted to his boyfriend.

That didn't matter. Draco missed him. There was still a chance.

One thing was for certain: Edward wasn't going anywhere until he found out.

Edward paced the floor of the cabin, still high from the elation of seeing Draco the day before. As the hours passed, he'd become more and more convinced Draco had meant for him to overhear the confrontation with Harry. Surely Draco had felt Edward's presence in his mind—he'd been close enough. One thing bothered him, though; if Draco actually was missing him, why hadn't he come back?

Was his pride keeping him away? Or had nothing really changed?

He'd have to figure out a way to get word to Draco; maybe he could summon an owl to send a message . . .

Nothing had actually changed, he told himself. They were still in the same situation, neither of them willing or able to allow the other to sacrifice themselves.

But, another, less scrupulous voice asked, is that really true? Now that you know what it is to live without him, if Draco asked to be changed again, would the answer still be no?

A rustling outside the cabin made Edward start. He flew outside, noting with surprise that night had already begun to fall. The silent figure of Severus Snape was approaching, his mind drawn tightly closed.

The older wizard assessed him, his eyes flashing cautiously, a hint of fear there. It was unsettling to see that emotion on the otherwise stoic face. Just like Draco, Edward thought absently.

"Is Mr. Malfoy here?" he asked, glancing toward the door which Edward had left ajar in his haste.

"No, he's not." Edward regarded Snape warily. He hadn't forgotten the man's split allegiances and Draco's fear that he wasn't to be trusted.

"Has he been here today?"

The demanding tone rankled Edward. He crossed his arms and glared back. "No. As a matter of fact, he hasn't been by in some time."

"I see." Recognition flashed in Snape's eyes. His eyes flicked once more to the door, and he gave Edward a curt nod. "Thank you."

"Wait," Edward called after his retreating form. He darted from the cabin steps and positioned himself in front of Snape, not letting him pass. "Why? What's happened? Where's Draco?"

"That's what I'm attempting to determine," Snape replied, irritated. "I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a hurry, so if you wouldn't mind releasing me," his wand hand flicked to where Edward held the edge of his robe, "I'll be on my way."

"Not until you tell me what's happened."

Snape sighed dramatically, another mannerism that reminded Edward of Draco. His dead heart clenched, filled with fear.

"You care about my godson," Snape said. It wasn't a question. Edward nodded, unwilling to let go of the robe lest Snape apparate without him. The older wizard glanced around, and then whispered an incantation that Edward recognized as a silencing spell. "Do you have any knowledge of his plans?"

Edward froze, unsure of what to do. He didn't know much, but what he did know might either condemn Draco or save him, depending on which side the man before him was allied with. Snape must have felt his hesitation. He placed his hand on Edward's forehead and, with a rush that was a lot like falling, Edward found himself enveloped in a series of thoughts and memories, as crystal clear as if he'd been there himself.

A woman, Draco's mother, clasped Snape's hand. Please. He's only a boy.

Make the unbreakable vow, said another woman—the crazy aunt Edward recognized from Draco's memories. A sinister smile snarled her lips as Snape's face grew ashen. Do you, Severus Snape, vow to watch over and protect Draco from harm as he attempts to fulfill the Dark Lord's wishes?

I do.

Edward felt the weight of magic as it enclosed Snape, binding him to his promise. To fail to honor it would mean death. So Snape knew about Draco's task, after all.

"You're sworn to protect him," Edward said, gasping as he was finally released from the memory. He'd never experienced anything so visceral—Snape's power was great indeed.

"I am."

"But I—"

"I have reason to believe that Draco will not be able to fulfill his task. My godson has faults, but he's not a murderer. If you know anything, Mr. Cullen, anything at all, I beg of you to tell me now, before it is too late."

"How can I trust you? Draco said—"

"There are many things that Draco does not know," Snape said, "for his own safety as well as mine." He paused, assessing Edward.

Snape stood with an older, grey-haired wizard. Dumbledore. The headmaster. His eyes had the look of a much younger man, though his face was wizened. And his hand—it was black, diseased-looking. A deadly curse.

"How long, Severus?" Dumbledore asked.

"Perhaps a year." There was no pity in his voice, but there was a deep sadness.

"And Voldemort has tasked the Malfoy boy to kill me?"

"Yes."

"You must do it, Severus. Promise me that when the time comes, you must kill me."

This time, when Snape released him, Edward reeled back, sick and angry at the way they appeared to be toying with Draco's life.

"All this time? You let him carry this burden when you planned to do it in the end?"

"I had to," Snape nearly growled. "It was for his own protection."

"Protection? You don't know what he's suffered," Edward spat back, livid with rage.

"I understand more than you can imagine, Mr. Cullen. But no one must know my position—the future of the entire resistance depends on it. Do you understand how utterly I've placed myself in your trust?"

Edward nodded, understanding beginning to dawn. If Voldemort ever learned Snape had made that promise to Dumbledore, his cover would be blown. But if Snape killed Dumbledore, Snape would finally earn Voldemort's complete trust. Voldemort would never more suspect his closest advisor was a spy.

"If you hurt him . . ."

"If I hurt him, my life would be forfeit. The unbreakable vow is unforgiving. Rest assured I have Draco's best interests at heart."

Edward sighed, resigning himself. If Snape proved traitor, though, he wouldn't wait for retributive magic. He'd kill Snape himself.

"There's a cabinet, in a room in the castle. Draco's fixed it and is planning on letting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts." If Snape was surprised, he kept the emotion hidden. Edward was about to add what he'd heard the day before when Snape clutched his arm, glancing toward the sky, an incredulous look breaking through his stoic mask.

When Edward followed his gaze, a frisson of fear shot down his spine. Just barely visible through the tops of the trees, ghostly in the moonlight, was a smoky, writhing snake and skull. Someone had cast the Dark Mark over Hogwarts.

"It's happening now."

Chapter Eighteen

"Now? Where?" Edward tore his eyes away from the Mark in the sky, frantic.

"I must go," Snape said, a flourish of his cape indicating his imminent departure as he turned on his heel. The breeze from the movement snapped Edward to attention. If tonight was the night, Draco was most certainly in danger, and there was no way he was staying idly behind to let something terrible happen.

"I'm coming with you."

The wizard frowned, his black eyes narrowing. "Very well. I don't have time to argue. But you must do as I say. Speak to no one, and stay out of sight if you can help it."

It seemed an easy enough promise to make in the heat of the moment. Edward nodded, trying to control the urge to take off at a run and leave Snape behind. His feet kicked at the dirt and a growl forced its way out of his throat.

"Hold onto my robe," Snape instructed. Edward did as was commanded, a thrill of excitement briefly overriding his panic. They were going to apparate. He grabbed the material again, tendrils of magic tickling lightly at his skin before he felt his body compressing, his vision going black, as a force a hundred times stronger than the grip of the strongest vampire sucked the breath right out of him. As quickly as the constriction had begun, he was released with a pop, finding himself sprawled on the ground outside Hogwarts. He stood, regaining his bearings with a curt nod to Snape, who seemed to be restraining himself from making a wry comment.

Edward chanced a glance upward, noting that here the Dark Mark was even more sinister than it had appeared from the forest. There it had been partially obscured by trees, but here it had the clarity and form of a live thing. From the distance came unmistakable shouts and screams.

"They're here," Snape said. "Quickly."

Edward's single-minded focus as he followed Snape's lead was more acute than he'd ever felt hunting. His ears were tuned to tiniest sounds, his eyes scanning restlessly as they moved through unfamiliar, darkened corridors.

"This way," Snape said, leading him up a steep stairwell that smelled faintly of mold and wet granite. It rose and twisted, taking them closer to sounds which, Edward feared, could only mean battle. Though Snape's mind was currently closed to him, the thoughts of other people began filtering in the closer they rose—a cacophony of frightened students; worried professors; and, most terrifyingly, the cool and murderous thoughts of the Death Eaters.

"Severus!" shouted a dwarf-like man with a distinguished moustache as they emerged into a broad hallway. He held his wand extended—it was easily as long as his arm—as he glanced from side to side, nervous. According to his thoughts, a battle had broken out on the upper floors and he'd been charged with corralling the students, mostly to no avail. A couple of his charges fled down the hall, distracting him for a moment.

"Back to your houses!" he called after them. Edward knew from hearing the students' thoughts that they hadn't heeded. They were heading to battle.

"Flitwick," Snape said. "What's happened?"

"I was coming to find you," the little man said. "The astronomy tower is blocked off—the Death Eaters are here. And Dumbledore. The Malfoy boy . . ."

He's one of them.

The ominous tenor of the thought startled Edward, and he made an inadvertent sound—something between a moan and a growl. Flitwick's thick brows traveled up his forehead, eyes widening in recognition.

A vampire?

Snape raised his hand to stall the oncoming question. Just then, more students racing through the corridor sidetracked Flitwick. "Back to your houses!"

Snape and Edward took the opportunity to slip off without another word, hurrying with purpose towards another stairwell at the end of the hall.

A sinister looking man with an impressive mohawk and strange tattooed writing covering his bare arms stood seemingly immovable in the entranceway—not a Death Eater, but loyal to Voldemort's cause. When he saw Snape, his face relaxed with recognition.

"Professor," he drawled. Edward discerned that the man had been instructed to allow Snape through the barrier once he arrived. He was less sure about Snape's friend, however. "Who's he?"

"That's no matter."

"But I've been instructed not to—"

"Don't. Try. My. Patience." Snape gave him a glare and the man's bloodshot eyes narrowed. Something was happening above—something momentous. Their thoughts confirmed that Draco had disarmed Dumbledore.

Straining to listen, Edward heard other voices, other minds. Draco's rang clearest of them all, honed as Edward was to its cadences. He was afraid, his voice trembling.

"I can't. He'll kill my family. I have to do this".

"Draco," said a kind, soft voice. "You're not a killer. Join us. The Order will protect you, your whole family."

A harsh cackle erupted, followed by a woman's voice. She sounded unhinged. Edward knew who it was in an instant—the mad aunt, Bellatrix LeStrange.

"Kill him, kill him," she taunted. "Or can't you do it, wittle Dwaco?"

Not able to stand the tension any longer, Edward snarled, baring his teeth at the one who stood between him and Draco. The mohawked man expressed alarm at the change in demeanor, fear overriding his desire to obey orders. Despite his fierce demeanor, he was a coward at heart.

Snape and Edward pushed through the barrier of Death Eaters and into the stairwell, taking the final flight up to the astronomy tower. Edward froze, taking in the scene before him. It was a surprisingly large room, he noted, but he didn't have time to inspect it.

The light of the moon streaming in from one of the tower's windows illuminated the eerie tableau. Draco stood with his back toward them, flanked to the left and right by a group of Death Eaters. The thoughts of the woman Edward recognized as Bellatrix roiled in childlike madness. She wanted Draco to kill the headmaster just for the pure joy of it, imagining the rapturous look on her Lord's face when he learned the news.

But she wasn't the most disturbing sight. Edward's nose wrinkled at a familiar, dangerous smell, his gaze drifting towards a hulking figure. The werewolf stood closer to Draco than Edward could tolerate, its glare trained on the man Draco faced.

Dumbledore was elderly, but his demeanor exuded authority despite the fact he was obviously at the mercy of the other wizards. Edward felt a surge of sympathy as the old wizard's tired eyes came to rest on Snape. Relief flashed briefly before he schooled his visage; the wizards wouldn't have been able to detect the fleeting expression, but Edward had. The headmaster's thoughts confirmed his relief—Snape had arrived before Draco had done the deed. Then his eyes settled on Edward.

Draco's lover. How curious that he would have chosen a vampire. And a mind reader. But perhaps not curious at all. Take care of the boy.

By this time, the rest of the group had noticed Dumbledore's attention had shifted. They turned, one by one, and regarded the newcomers. Draco was the last.

His face was all sharp angles and shadows. "Edward?"

I can't do this. Please. I can't. I'm sorry. I've been such a fool.

Edward clenched his hands into fists, the desire to go to Draco overwhelming. But if he did, he knew he'd make things worse.

Things happened quickly after that.

Snape raised his wand and pointed it at the Headmaster.

"Severus. Please," Dumbledore whispered. The plea was ambiguous enough not to give the plan away, but at the same time it was an assent.

Snape stepped forward, full of regret though his face remained impassive.

Goodbye, old friend, he thought. You'll be missed.

Later, Edward would think that Dumbledore played his part well. He held his hands up and stepped backwards toward the window, a carefully choreographed dance. Strange it had to end this way, thought Dumbledore. Better at the hands of a friend than the enemy. And Draco will be spared.

During his time as a vampire, Edward had heard more dying thoughts than he cared to remember. But none had ever been so calm. Thank you, Severus.

And then Snape spoke the words. "Avada Kedavra."

All hell broke loose. The Death Eaters lunged toward the window, through which Dumbledore had fallen just seconds before. Their thoughts were loud—some furious they hadn't been the ones to do the deed, some relieved, but all selfish and cruel. Snape began ordering them out of the tower.

Draco stood as if stricken, his eyes focused on the spot where Dumbledore had been only seconds before. His wand dropped from his slackened grip.

Unexpectedly, Harry Potter's presence made itself known. Edward scanned the room and could just discern Potter in the shadows, where he'd been concealed and under the enchantment of a Body Bind curse, his thoughts masked until now. The boy lunged into the light towards Snape, livid with rage.

"Snape!" he shouted, his voice hoarse. "You murderer!"

Snape was quick to react. He deflected a curse from Potter's wand and said, "Get Draco out of here. Quickly."

Edward didn't need to be told twice. The rest of the room was in a flurry of movement as the Death Eaters fled the tower. The Order had broken through the barrier below and hexes now flew left and right. Draco was in the middle of it all.

"Come with me," he said, taking Draco's arm. He nodded, though by the shocked look on his face, Edward wasn't sure Draco had really heeded him at all. "We have to move. Now!"

Edward tugged Draco out of the way just in time to miss a stinging hex. They fled down the stairwell and into the corridor, now teeming with students, professors, Death Eaters and members of the Order. Edward blocked Draco with his body, protecting him from the melee, though the screaming thoughts in his head made it almost impossible to concentrate.

"Edward," Draco said, just as a student collided with him from behind, falling down stunned. "Where are we going?" His panicked eyes glanced helplessly around, watching as his classmates battled with the malicious men and women he'd given access to the school.

"Out of here. I told Snape—"

"No. I have to stay. I did this . . . I . . . "

Edward made the mistake of letting go of Draco's arm. He retreated a few steps, his blond head shaking. "Leave me. I have to fight."

There was no way Edward was leaving. He advanced, reaching out as Draco pulled away.

"I told you it was over between us," Draco said, his voice surprisingly firm. "It's over. Go, now, while you still can. Please."

The words were like a kick to the gut, paralyzing. Draco didn't want him, and his mind was closed to Edward again. Nothing had changed. It took Edward a moment to realize that even so, he had promised Snape to protect Draco, and he would whether Draco wanted him to or not.

By that time Draco had already fled down the hall toward a group of dueling wizards. Just as he was upon them, he reached for his wand and froze, turning back to Edward with a panicked expression.

In their hurry to get out of the Astronomy tower, they'd left Draco's wand behind. He was completely unarmed.

"Draco, run!" Edward shouted, suddenly blocked on all sides by bodies. He flung several people aside, narrowly missing a curse aimed at him, whether from a Light or Dark wizard, he couldn't tell.

Edward heard the man's thoughts, but by that time it was too late. They were a frenzy of anger and desire for revenge.

Dumbledore's dead . . . I knew Malfoy was a Death Eater. Now he'll pay.

Draco stood stunned as the curse hit him, thrown not by a man after all, but a boy—a Hogwarts student. He seemed surprised by what he'd done, standing uncertainly as Draco gaped, reached for his neck.

Eyes widened, Draco stumbled and fell backward, his head barely missing the stone wall as Edward caught him, cradled in his lap. His attacker had already fled.

The smell of the blood was instantly overpowering. Where once he'd imagined Draco's blood to be sweet nectar, an ambrosial fluid worth killing for, now the scent sickened him. He knew what it meant.

"No. No." Edward chanted the word again and again, looking down into Draco's shocked, pale face. He inspected the damage to find an artery in his neck had been severed. He was bleeding out. Quickly.

"Someone help us!" Edward cried, glancing around frantically. No one seemed to notice the blond wizard who had fallen and lay dying. Perhaps no one cared. Draco groaned and tried to move, but Edward restrained him; any movement would only hasten blood loss.

"Snape! Help us! Someone!"

Not wasting another second, Edward carefully lifted Draco's body, settling him in a side alcove out of the way of trampling feet. He had to find Snape, get him to fix this. He pressed his hands against the wound helplessly, torn between searching out Snape and staying with Draco, knowing all the while that his indecision could cost Draco's life.

"It's going to be okay," Edward whispered, wiping away a trickle of blood from the edge of Draco's pale lips. "You're going to be okay. I promise."

Draco's thoughts were too shocked for pain, and he was getting weaker. Edward had seen enough death to know when it was close, how much blood a person could lose before it stole in quietly. It was his fault. If he'd just carried Draco to begin with, run with him . . . But there was no time for guilt now.

"What's happened?" The voice filtered into Edward's consciousness—Harry Potter was kneeling beside him, face sheet-white.

"Stay with him," Edward said, "Please. I have to find Snape."

Don't leave me, you git, Draco thought. He smiled feebly. I didn't mean it. What I said before. Don't leave me.

"Snape's gone," Harry said. "He fled with the others, the coward."

"I need someone to perform a healing spell. Can you? Please. He's dying."

Harry shook his head. He didn't need to speak for Edward to hear how crap he was at healing, how he worried he'd make things worse. Despite his anger at Draco for nearly killing Dumbledore, he didn't want the prat to die. He cared. Until this moment he hadn't known how much.

"Shit, shit, shit," Harry said.

Draco's eyes widened, moved from Harry to Edward. The pain was starting to seep into his consciousness now, his thoughts becoming urgent.

Change me. I don't want to die.

Edward's chest constricted. From the sound of Draco's weakened pulse he knew he only had minutes before he wouldn't be able to make the choice. "Are you sure, love?"

Draco nodded, grimacing with the effort. Edward pressed harder, his hands slippery with blood.

"Sure about what?" Harry asked.

"He wants me to change him."

"Change him? What do you mean? How do you know what he wants?"

"I can read his thoughts."

For the first time since he'd joined them, Harry realized he'd never seen Edward before. He certainly wasn't a student at Hogwarts. Then he remembered Draco's enigmatic comment during their walk in the woods, just before Snape had caught them. Could this be Draco's boyfriend? Jealousy ripped through him despite the inappropriateness of the situation. He was handsome, handsomer than Harry.

Edward ignored Harry's thoughts. "I'm a vampire. I can . . . save him."

"You're a what?" Harry glanced at Draco, but Draco's eyes had started to close. There was so much blood. Harry's thoughts became panicked, the reality of the situation finally hitting him. Draco was going to die.

"We're losing him. I have to do it." Edward pressed his palm against Draco's ruined neck. He couldn't bite there; it would be too painful. "I can't live without him." His own voice sounded hollow.

"You can't mean make him a vampire," Harry said, mind racing. If Draco was a vampire . . . he'd never . . . there would never . . . But he watched the boy kneeling beside Draco, saw the look on his face. It was clear that he loved Draco. Perhaps Draco loved him, too.

"I don't have any other choice."

Draco made a little, pained sound and Edward felt pressure on his knee. Draco's hand rested there, squeezing lightly.

"Please, do it," Draco whispered, just loud enough for Harry to hear. Blood burbled out of his mouth, making Edward panic. It was in his lungs. There was no time.

"Hurry," Harry said, his voice cracking. They could consider the consequences later.

Willing himself not to think, Edward tore the front of Draco's shirt, exposing his pale torso. The faint scar from the Sectumsempra curse seemed insignificant now. Harry saw it and cringed, knowing he'd put it there, and how close Draco had come to death then. It was like the whole nightmare was happening again.

"You'll have to tell everyone that Draco is dead," Edward told Harry quietly. He leaned his head down and listened to the slow beat of Draco's heart under his ribs. Then, unable to help himself despite the audience, pressed a soft kiss there.

Draco grunted.

My mother, Draco thought sluggishly. It will kill her. Tell Potter. Tell him.

Edward swallowed back the venom that had begun to pool in his mouth, his body's automatic preparation for what he was about to do. He glanced up at Harry.

"He wants you to tell his mother he's alive, if you can manage it. He won't be able to see her for some time. But maybe . . . someday . . ."

"Promise, Har-," Draco rasped, the effort causing his body to heave.

Harry nodded. "I promise." It was only then that Edward realized Harry was holding Draco's other hand. He was crying.

"I'm so sorry, love," Edward said, stroking Draco's hair away from his face, bloodying it. This had to work. He prayed to God that it would. That Draco hadn't already lost too much blood to keep his heart pumping so the venom would spread. That Draco would still love him. That Draco would survive.

He closed his eyes and bit.

Chapter Nineteen

Edward's first fear—that the venom hadn't taken—faded by the time they got back to the cabin. Draco's heartbeat became stronger, erratic in the way that signaled the change. He moaned softly while Edward arranged the bed as comfortably as possible, aware that nothing he could do would assuage the fire that had begun to rage through Draco's entire body.

Draco whimpered and gasped, eyelids fluttering as Edward removed his ruined clothes and washed away the blood from his skin. For the first time, he felt no arousal at the sight of Draco's nakedness—his only desire was to make Draco whole again. Of course, that was the one thing he couldn't do. Draco was lost in that space just below consciousness; he'd suffered too great a trauma to be fully awake, and for that, at least, Edward was grateful. The wound at his neck was already healing.

Working quickly, Edward dressed Draco in some of his own clothes, marveling at the almost precise fit. A faint sheen of sweat had broken out on Draco's brow, his pulse racing now, the heartbeat louder and more insistent.

It was only once he'd finished the preparations that Edward realized he could still hear Draco's thoughts. They were delirious, a mixture of dream vision and pure sensation, but pain predominated all.

"I'm so sorry. I know it hurts," Edward whispered close to Draco's ear, brushing back the blond fringe. It was more for his own sanity than for Draco's, since the wizard didn't seem to register his presence.

Burning. Burning. Burning.

Draco lurched off the bed, his body locked in a struggle against the poison that was ending his life and beginning it anew. He screamed and Edward recoiled, not against the sound, which was more animal than human, but against the thoughts that accompanied it.

Die. Let me die.

"No," Edward whispered, curling around Draco in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "It'll all be over soon. I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He paused and pressed a kiss to Draco's forehead. "I'm sorry, but I'll never let you die."

On the second day Edward heard familiar steps approaching the cabin. Draco was quieter now, but occasionally he'd scream and thrash and Edward would have to hold him still until it was over. His heartbeat was astonishingly rapid, as if the organ understood its imminent demise and was working hard to eke out a last moment's resistance.

"Snape's here," Edward told Draco, smoothing down the fresh sheet around the wizard's inert body. It was the second time he'd had to change them since they'd returned. "And from the sound of it, he's not too pleased with me."

The older wizard didn't bother to knock.

"What have you done?" he growled, approaching the bed. The angry thoughts that had accompanied his approach were already concealed. He addressed the question to Edward, his eyes focused on Draco, who had become restless again, fisting the sheet and whining in a pained, high-pitched tone.

"I had no choice," Edward said. "He was dying."

"You should have come to find me." Without another word, Snape hovered over Draco and felt for his pulse, his mouth set in a thin line. He performed a cursory examination while Edward stood by, trying to control his unease at having anyone else touch his mate.

"He's far along," Snape said, replacing the sheet and smoothing it with a surprisingly loving touch. "It's done."

"Yes. There was no other way. No one would help us. Draco asked . . ."

Edward trailed off as Draco's eyes opened, his body snapping upwards in a seizure. Snape forgotten, Edward rushed to Draco's side and held on as the convulsing eased, peering down into unseeing, cloudy eyes.

"Shh, shh," he said, "Draco, I'm sorry. I'm here. Shh." It was nearly impossible to look away from the blank stare until the lids fluttered shut again. If he could have cried, he would have. Out of all the transitions he'd witnessed, this was the most awful. Love made it so.

Still holding Draco's hand, he finally turned back to face Snape. The older wizard was regarding him with a curious expression.

"You truly do . . . love the boy." He grit out the last phrase as if it caused physical pain.

"Of course I do."

"You will care for him when this is over?"

"I'm his maker. He's my responsibility."

"What if Draco doesn't wish to stay with you?"

"Then," Edward said, stroking the hand that clenched his own. It had begun to grow cold. "I will let him do as he wishes."

The statement seemed to appease Snape. He set the satchel he was carrying down in front of Edward and began unpacking it. "As soon as he wakes you'll have to travel. The forest is not safe, and nor are the Hogwarts students with a newborn vampire in the vicinity."

Edward sighed, nodded. Of course Snape was right, but he hadn't yet worked through the complications this presented. They couldn't travel with humans, so mass transit was out of the question. And then there was the matter of where to go.

"I see you haven't thought this through," Snape said in response to Edward's silence, a grim smile twisting his mouth.

"It wasn't exactly planned," Edward retorted. "Forgive me if I haven't booked a cruise."

"Yes, well, happily enough for you I've had some thoughts on the matter. I . . . take it you plan on encouraging Draco to sustain your . . . vegetarian lifestyle."

Edward snorted, but then he froze. He hadn't even considered the idea that perhaps Draco would decide he'd rather engage in traditional feeding methods. They'd never talked about it because until now, Draco's vampirism hadn't been a possibility Edward was willing to consider.

"You don't think he—"

"I know my godson well," Snape said, cutting him off. "I don't believe he'll be entirely happy abstaining from, what I understand, is the only substance to truly assuage the thirst of one of your . . . kind. But Draco is also very accomplished at restraining himself."

Edward looked down at the floor, sure his indecent thoughts could be read on his face.

"In some regards," Snape finished, his tone dry.

"I don't think Draco will want to kill people," Edward said.

"Perhaps. But until he is able to make that decision for himself, maybe it will be best to limit his options, yes?"

Edward murmured his assent. As a newborn vampire, Draco's instinct to kill would override any other impulse. He wouldn't have the clarity of mind to stop himself, and might ultimately regret what he'd done. "Do you have someplace in mind?" Edward asked, remembering the difficulty he'd had accepting a non-human diet when faced with more succulent alternatives.

With a wave of his wand, Snape drew out a map from the opened satchel on the floor and flattened it out in midair. Upon closer perusal Edward discerned the coast of Scotland and tiny dots that represented the many uninhabited islands of the Hebrides.

"I do hope you enjoy seal, Mr. Cullen."

Snape left after placing stronger protective wards around the cabin, promising he'd be in touch soon.

Edward waited, never leaving Draco's side for a moment, though his urge to feed was strong and Draco's pain was almost unbearable to witness.

He did, luckily, have much to occupy his thoughts. Snape's visit had startled him out of the immediacy of the moment and forced him to consider the future. They'd settled on a plan to explain Draco's disappearance; Edward had furnished Snape with Draco's bloodied clothes, which Snape would produce for Voldemort in order to deflect suspicion. The older wizard believed it would be enough to confirm Draco's death for the Dark Lord, but at the same time would provide a modicum of comfort for Draco's parents, giving them hope Draco was still alive. Edward hadn't told Snape about Harry's promise to Draco, not wanting to alarm him unnecessarily, aware that there was no love lost between them. He hoped that if the time came that Harry did convey the message to Draco's mother, he'd do it in such a way as to keep Draco's existence a secret from everyone but her.

Harry. He'd come through in the end, provided Edward with the last bit of strength he needed to do what needed to be done. Edward would never forget the way he held Draco's hand as Edward bit. It was a lot like saying goodbye to what you never had.

Now Draco was Edward's . . . if he still wanted to be.

Draco was transforming into a beautiful creature as the venom worked its terrible magic. The hollows of his cheeks, made worse by weeks of low appetite, filled out, his jaw growing more defined and leaving his still-angular face chiseled. His blond hair gleamed and lengthened until it just barely grazed the nape of his neck. Edward tried to ignore the way Draco's body changed, the muscles of his arms becoming hard and lean, his chest and stomach developing attractive definition under the thin cotton shirt. He was still thin, but now his frame also promised lethal power. Skin that had always been blemish-free and smooth grew even more so, paling slightly as the bloodless lips became full and pink.

On the third day, Edward was startled out of his reverie when the bed lifted off the floor. It hovered for a moment about three feet in the air before landing with an ungraceful thunk. Draco was completely silent, though his mouth twisted in a grimace of pain.

The paintings Draco had gifted at Christmas, left hanging when Edward packed up the rest of the cabin, rattled, and Edward stared in amazement as various items rose from the ground, some floating and bobbing, others whizzing through the air and crashing against the walls.

Draco was performing wandless magic and he wasn't even conscious.

Not bothering to ponder what this might mean in terms of his new vampire abilities, Edward ignored the chaos around him and turned his attention back to Draco, who had begun to move and writhe on the bed, his heart thundering. Small gasps of breath escaped his parted lips, his eyelids fluttering as his body jerked.

It was happening.

Everything faded except the sound of Draco's heart. Beats as fast as a hummingbird's and a thousand times as loud pulsed through Edward's ears.

And then, silence.

Draco lay as still as death, his breathing ceased.

"Draco?" Edward said, reaching out and touching skin that no longer felt hot under his fingertips. He kissed Draco's cheek and stepped back. "Come back to me, love."

It seemed he stood there forever, but only a beat later, Draco's eyes opened, blood red and surprising in his handsome face.

Before Edward could say anything else, Draco was on his feet with movements as quick and lithe as a dancer. His eyes widened, glanced around the room, then back at Edward. He crouched. Edward waited for the inevitable growl.

It didn't come.

"Draco," he said, not knowing what else to say. The distance between them seemed too vast to breach, especially since he could no longer hear Draco's thoughts—at all—and it didn't seem as if Draco was intentionally silencing them. Perhaps the change had rendered them permanently obscure. He reached out his hands in a gesture of placation.

"It's going to be all right . . . you're okay."

Draco looked from Edward down to the stance of his own body and immediately straightened up.

"I know it's strange. A vampire sees and hears and experiences sensations thousands of times more acutely than a human. It can be very disconcerting, but it gets easier. I swear—"

"Edward," Draco said, his voice soft and rich. It was tinged with a seductive edge that made Edward leave off his rambling.

"Yes." He took an instinctive step back as Draco advanced, but forced himself to stay his ground. When Draco was just a foot away, Edward was able to fully appreciate his beauty for the first time. He was unreal, as magnificent as a god. It made Edward want to pull him close, taste and bite the sweetness of his skin without the threat of breaking it.

"Edward," Draco said again, as if testing it on his tongue.

"Yes. Do you remember?" Edward waited, dreading the response. It could be that Draco didn't recall his human life at all, or that he himself was nothing more than a vague recollection.

Draco cocked his head to the side and reached out, touching Edward's side. "I remember you."

"Do you remember anything else?" Edward asked, secretly thrilled at the way Draco was touching him, his fingers inquisitive and bold.

"I remember everything."

"Everything?" Edward couldn't stop himself from sounding incredulous. He'd never met a vampire that remembered much of his or her human life; he only remembered tiny fragments of his own.

"I remember the battle . . . I left my wand. Potter was there. You." He moved closer. "You came for me. After everything I did to you. You saved me."

"Of course."

"I probably didn't deserve it." Draco glanced down at his hands gripping Edward's hips. "You're warm," he said.

"You're like me now. So yes, I'm warm . . ." Draco squeezed—just a tad too roughly. Newborn vampires didn't know their strength or how to control it, but Draco was being surprisingly gentle.

"Soft, too . . ."

Edward would have laughed, but Draco was nuzzling at his throat now, his lips just a whisper away from his skin.

"You smell good. Better than I remember."

"Oh, thanks," Edward said, attempting to joke. If Draco pressed a bit closer, he'd see just how much his teasing actions were affecting Edward, and now probably wasn't the best time for that. For one, Draco had to feed . . . for another, they had to talk . . . for another . . .

"You smelled good before. But now . . ." Draco trailed off, and then his lips did touch Edward's skin, his tongue darting out to lick.

"Draco," Edward said, the note of protest in his voice at complete odds with the cock straining at his fly.

"Mmm. You taste good." Draco flicked his tongue against Edward's Adam's apple and then brought his lips there to suck.

"Dammit," Edward murmured, his control slipping. It had been so long. "If you keep doing that, I'll . . ."

"You'll what?"

"I'll have to fuck you." He couldn't believe he'd said the words, but he had. He felt Draco grin against his throat.

"I've missed you fucking me."

Edward opened his eyes, which he hadn't realized were closed, and stared into unfamiliar red irises. They were so bright, like everything else about Draco now. Draco's mouth curled up into a familiar smirk.

"We shouldn't," Edward said.

"Why? You don't want me anymore?" Even as he said the words, Draco pressed his crotch against Edward's. God, he was hard, too. It felt so nice Edward let out a soft moan.

"Everything feels so good," Draco said, voicing what Edward was thinking. "It's . . . you're so . . ." He dropped one hand from Edward's hip to squeeze his erection—a little too firmly. Edward winced.

"Sorry," Draco released him, hands falling to his sides. "I . . ."

"You're strong now," Edward said. "You can't use all your force with me."

Draco nodded and pressed closer again, his mouth trailing a path across Edward's cheek toward his lips. They met in a slow kiss, which soon became harder, open-mouthed and wet. Draco drew Edward's tongue into his mouth and sucked on it, the sweetness of his new venom tingling. Their bodies tangled together, arms and hands that had been lonely and wanted to remember.

Edward reached between them and rubbed Draco's prick through his jeans—Edward's jeans. He'd never seen Draco in Muggle clothes before and that, combined with his intensified beauty, made him irresistible. All of the reasons why they shouldn't be doing this vanished, and he returned Draco's kiss with renewed intent.

"I heard you," Draco said, so softly Edward almost thought he'd misheard. "I . . . knew you were there."

"What?"

"When I was burning."

Before Edward could reply, Draco's mouth returned to his—so different and so familiar, molding to his in a way that had never been possible before. They fell back against the wall, rattling the cabin with the force of their combined strength.

Edward let himself be manhandled, remembering how much pent up energy he'd had after he'd been changed.

"I want you," Draco murmured. His voice had grown deeper, more melodic. Edward's cock responded as Draco rutted against him, still flirting with the line between just right and too much. It felt as desperate as their first times together—as unpracticed and urgent—and neither of them would last long enough to get out of their clothes. Edward grunted against Draco's shoulder, hands trailing over the graceful curve of his back, the muscles rippling with the rapidity of his movements. Draco fucked against his thigh, their mouths clashing together in another rough kiss, and Edward screwed his eyes shut tight and held on, letting his body be carried away by the sensation until he pulsed in his jeans.

Draco pulled his mouth away and buried his head in the crook of Edward's neck, grasping too tightly as a low growl rumbled out of his throat. It was the most feral, unrestrained sound Edward had ever heard issue from Draco's mouth, and it made his spent prick twitch, start to harden again. He imagined fucking Draco like this—with no worries about his fragile human body—just the two of them, of equal power and stamina. Well, after the newborn strength wore off.

As if to remind him just how dangerous Draco could be, Edward felt sharp teeth pierce the flesh at his neck. He grimaced, resisting pushing away when they didn't sink any deeper. Draco's growls reverberated where they were joined, the jerks of his pelvis becoming strong and erratic and signaling his climax.

Pain forgotten, Edward reached down between them to feel the last jerk of Draco's cock in his hand, giving it a firm squeeze to finish the job. Draco growled again, then pulled back, eyes wide.

"I bit you."

"Don't worry about it." Edward rubbed at the spot on his neck. It had already started to knit, and it would be completely healed after they'd fed. "It's fine. I hardly felt it," he lied.

Draco watched the movement, seemingly unconvinced. "I . . . growled."

"Yes, you'll do that. It's natural."

"Merlin's beard . . . that's . . . embarrassing."

"I do it too, remember?" Edward didn't bother to remind Draco how much he seemed to enjoy Edward letting out his more animalistic side.

Draco cocked his head. "That's right." He smirked and leaned in for another kiss, which Edward put a very unenthusiastic stop to, turning his face aside.

"You need to feed."

Draco's face clouded a bit, his hands automatically reaching for his throat. "Feed?"

"Yes. Like I do. You said you wanted to see me hunt, right?"

The anxiety reflected back at him made Edward's chest clench. "I'm . . . it burns."

"I know. I'll show you how," Edward said. "But you won't really need me. It's . . . instinctual." He hated to use the word because it completely represented all of the things Draco disdained—his lineage and place in wizarding society were nothing now compared to his baser physical needs. Draco didn't seem to notice or care. He just nodded, looking lost, still clutching at his throat.

"Okay."

The two of them left the cabin under cover of nightfall, Edward wary of journeying too far from the cabin and the protective wards. He led Draco away from Hogwarts towards the higher terrain where he'd recently been successful finding deer, hoping that Draco wouldn't hate the taste too much. They were only about a quarter a mile from home when they picked up a fresh trail.

Draco sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. "It doesn't smell particularly appealing."

"Believe me, I know. But you get used to it."

Draco sighed and looked into the distance, making up his mind.

"This way," he finally said. Edward grinned his assent and took off at a run.

Draco had been graceful as a human, but now he moved with a truly astonishing ease. He kept close to Edward's side at first, soon pulling in front, as the burn in his throat led the way towards prey. He was quicker even than Edward and seemed to revel in the fact, running faster when Edward got too close. It was an exhilarating game; Edward almost forgot they'd come to the forest with another purpose in mind.

When they sighted a mother and two nearly grown fawns, Edward's long suppressed thirst awoke with a vengeance. He fell upon the largest of the young, latching onto its throat and draining it in under a minute.

He looked up from his kill to find Draco bent over the carcass of the mother, his teeth buried in the warm, musky flesh. The scene sent a fresh shock of lust through Edward's body.

Realizing he was under surveillance, Draco dropped the body of the deer and stood, wiping away the blood that had trickled down his chin, licking it from his finger.

"So . . ?" Edward asked.

"It wasn't . . . completely horrible."

Edward didn't bother to comment that the seals would be far worse. Draco didn't need to know that—yet.

"Good."

Draco regarded him sheepishly, his eyes following after the trail the third deer had taken through the underbrush.

"I wouldn't object to another."

"By all means."

When they'd both sated their thirst, they returned to the cabin. The excitement of hunting with a companion had made Edward giddy. He couldn't tear his eyes away, and was aware he was smiling much more than was normal for a vampire.

"What did you do in here, hmm?" Draco asked, noting the destruction inside for the first time. "Temper tantrum?"

Edward scoffed. "I didn't do anything. It was you."

"Me? I certainly don't recall it." He picked up one of the paintings that had fallen off the walls, fingering the torn canvass.

"You weren't awake," Edward replied. "It happened during . . . the change."

"Oh," Draco said. "Ohhh."

"I told you your powers might increase . . . I think this is evidence maybe they have."

"Wandless magic."

"While unconscious. And I can't hear your thoughts anymore. Are you blocking me?"

Draco stared at him. "No. Actually . . . I'm not."

It confirmed Edward's suspicions. He looked around the room, taking in the mess and feeling not at all bad about it. Draco could certainly defend himself now, at least.

"We'll have to tell Snape," Edward said. "See what he suggests. He brought your wand." Edward gestured to the bag on the floor. "But it seems you may be able to get along without it."

Draco started toward the satchel, but before he did, his wand flew up and neatly into his hand. "Salazar!" he exclaimed, staring at it as if it had grown a face and spoken to him.

"What happened?"

"I just thought . . . I thought I wanted my wand and . . . there it was."

"Have you ever done that before?" Edward asked.

"Yes. But never unintentionally. I almost always use accio."

"I see." The implications of this were serious. If Draco's magic was operating unconsciously, they'd have to work on a way for him to restrain it. They'd better get to Snape's island as quickly as possible. Draco seemed to have reached a similar conclusion.

"I will learn to control it," he said.

"I know."

"Wait, Snape was here?" Draco asked, remembering Edward's earlier revelation.

"Yes . . . there are some . . . things I need to tell you."

"Go on."

It took a while for Draco to calm down after he'd learned Snape and Dumbledore had intentionally misled him. Edward couldn't blame him, of course, and didn't miss the irony when a few choice wand blasts had the entire room filled with feathers.

"Sorry," Draco said, once his rage had subsided. Aside from the pillows, he'd succeeded in breaking the bed as well as the door to the cabin, and left a decent sized hole in the anterior wall.

But, for a newborn vampire, and one with intensified magical powers, Edward figured Draco had been successful in restraining himself. They were both still in one piece, and that was all that really mattered, he supposed.

"Sorry," Draco said, back turned toward Edward. "I did muck things up a bit."

"A bit," Edward said, leaning forward to blow feathers out of Draco's hair. "But we don't really need the bed anyway."

Draco sat down next to Edward on the cluttered floor, still not looking at him. He picked up his wand and sighed. "I'll fix it."

"You'd better," Edward teased. He let his hand drift to Draco's thigh and squeeze gently. Draco had taken the news about their upcoming island trip stoically, but he hadn't seemed overly enthusiastic. If he didn't want to be with Edward, they needed to hash it out now, before Edward let himself get lost in a fantasy of eternal life together. Though it was probably too late for that.

"So," Edward said after a while. "You don't have to . . . be with me . . . on the island. If you don't want to . . . It would still be okay for us to go there. Until you get . . . all this under control. But I'll understand . . ."

"What in the love of the four Founders are you talking about?"

"You don't seem too pleased about going. You know, with me. And so—"

"I'll admit I don't fancy the thought of six months of seals. But that's not what was bothering me. Being with you isn't the problem."

"Okay . . ."

"I was thinking about my parents. They believe I'm dead. My mother. She won't take it well."

Draco held his wand and whispered a spell, and the room began to repair itself. But that wasn't what Edward was marveling over. Draco remembered his human life, the emotional connections he'd had in it. It certainly was a rarity. In the end would that be a blessing or a curse? "Harry will tell her. He promised."

Draco placed his hand over Edward's. "Yes. That's true. Potter did come through in the end."

They stayed silent for a moment, both lost in thought. Edward didn't ask Draco if he had regrets, because some things are best left unknown. Draco sighed again and picked at the fabric of his jeans. He seemed to have easily retained many of his human mannerisms—it was endearing. Edward wondered whether they would fade with time. He hoped not.

Then Draco pulled his sleeve up and grimaced at his arm. The Dark Mark was still there—not moving as it once had—but as clear and threatening as ever.

"I feel responsible," Draco said. "For so many things. I shouldn't leave. They're still not safe."

"You have no choice, I'm afraid," Edward replied, keeping his tone even. He needed Draco to see the threat he posed without making him feel worse about the situation. "I'm sorry."

"I don't think I could kill anyone."

"You haven't smelled human blood yet."

And that was the simple truth.

More long minutes passed, and Edward wondered what was going on in Draco's mind, whether he'd gotten through to him.

"I want to be with you," Draco said quietly. "I'm sorry . . . you still don't understand. It's my fault because . . . I've never told you that . . . bloody hell." He stood up and began pacing, moving with smooth, measured steps. "This is difficult for me."

Edward smiled ruefully. "I know."

Draco stopped and turned on his heel, training his blood-red gaze on Edward—even feeding on the deer had done nothing to dilute the color. It was both terrifying and incredibly sexy.

"I . . . care about you," he said, gritting the words out.

Edward leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms, cocking his head in a challenge. "Oh? Tell me more."

The wizard let out a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes, causing one of the repaired paintings to shudder against the wall. Edward reined in a laugh. No matter his newfound power, the man in front of him was still very much Draco.

"I love you, you prat," Draco whispered, turning away.

The words made Edward's stomach clench. He was on his feet in a moment. "I'm sorry. I didn't quite catch that?"

"You utter twat, I know you did."

"Hmm. How do you know?" Edward moved closer.

"I can hear the bloody mice skittering in the field outside, so I know you bloody well heard me."

"Well, if you said it once, it couldn't hurt to say it again."

"It could." Draco allowed Edward to herd him against the newly repaired cabin door.

"I could make you say it again." Edward breathed the words against Draco's collarbone, punctuating the sentence with a brush of his lips. He smelled incredible. Mine.

"Oh, really?"

"Would you like me to show you?" Edward cupped Draco's face in his hands and turned it aside, sucking a kiss into his neck.

"Bloody manipulative vampires," Draco said, pressing closer.

Edward smirked. "Takes one to know one."

Chapter Twenty: Epilogue

"What does it say, love?"

The owl had come almost an hour before, but Draco hadn't moved from his position by the window overlooking the water. Edward had watched him, curious, as he'd opened the letter and read it quickly, a peculiar look crossing his face at the message inside, but Draco hadn't said anything. Most likely it was a note from Snape—they came often these days, filled with vague statements about the ongoing wizarding war. One thing was certain, however; Voldemort's side was gaining strength in numbers and Draco was worried about his family's position.

"Draco?"

There was still no reply, and Edward let it go, trying, and failing, to turn his attention back to his novel. He knew better than to press Draco when he was thinking. The blond would come to him when he was ready.

The owl, a scraggly creature with knowing yellow eyes, perched on Draco's chair next to the fire, warming itself from its undoubtedly tiring journey. The winters were harsh here. Luckily, by unspoken agreement, Edward and Draco usually kept the fire burning during the long, cold nights.

The cottage was comfortably furnished in a plain but tasteful style, with a breathtaking view of the rocky shoreline of one of the Outer Hebrides' most remote uninhabited islands. Though the land was stark, low-lying, and relatively barren, the arrangements were nicer than the cabin in the Forbidden Forest they'd set out on foot from six months before. Things had almost gone badly when Draco had caught the scent of human campers. Luckily, they'd been far enough away that Edward had been able to regain control of Draco before he attacked, but he'd gotten his arm wrenched out of the socket in the process. After the bloodlust had abated and they'd moved downwind of the humans, Draco had been contrite and had apologized in his own way by fussing over Edward, though by then the injury had already nearly healed. It was impressive Draco had been able to resist at all, and Edward told him so—foolishly, perhaps, because Draco never tired of reminding him again, and again, and again.

Draco's accidental magic had been more difficult to master, but he'd made substantial progress in the past couple months. Edward only very rarely wound up levitating during sex these days, and weeks had gone by without the ceiling caving in. Still, Draco would need training, and he was eager to flex the untapped power they both knew he possessed.

Draco's light tread drew Edward's eyes from the page he'd been pretending to read. He held out the letter.

"It's from Potter," he said.

Surprised, Edward took the paper and looked it over.

D,

I hope this letter finds you well, if it finds you at all. My own owl has been killed, you see, and you never know with these rentals.

Anyway, you're probably wondering why I'm contacting you. There's no use denying we've never been friends, but things are different now, at least for me.

I think we might have a job for you—with your bloke, if he still is—but I can't elaborate more given the circumstances. If you're interested, send an affirmative reply and we'll set a place and time to meet.

H.P.

"A job," Edward said, re-reading the letter and finding it frustratingly absent of detail. "With the resistance fighting Voldemort?" He tried not to focus on the phrase "if he still is" and the jealousy that threatened his composure. It no longer bothered him to be jealous, especially since the revelation that Draco was even worse than he. About two months before, Alice and Jasper had visited and stayed for a week. It had been over a year since Edward had seen them, but the slight initial awkwardness had given way quickly, and soon it was as if no time had passed. Yet despite their best efforts to include him, Draco had maintained his distance, sullen and moodier than usual. When Edward asked what was wrong, he'd received a characteristically snippy retort. One day Draco had flown into a rage as Edward and Jasper roughhoused on the beach, using his magic to drag Edward's brother off and toss him into the water nearly a mile from the shore. Jasper had swum back with little problem and laughed it off, but it hadn't exactly ingratiated Draco with him. Still, Edward hadn't been able to stay angry, replaying what Draco had said as Jasper dangled from one ankle as if held by an unseen hook: Get your hands off my mate.

After many assurances that Draco had absolutely nothing to worry about from Jasper of all people—Jasper, who was happily mated to the girl Edward considered his sister—Draco had relaxed and apologized. The incident had also led to some of the best sex they'd ever had, a frantic coupling in the rocky surf. Just thinking about it had Edward shifting in his chair.

"I would imagine that's what it means, yes," Draco said, plucking the note out of his hand and folding it before sliding it into his pocket. "Though it is rather vague."

Edward crossed his arms, looking up at his lover—it was still sometimes difficult to focus on anything aside from Draco's beauty. He'd grown even more handsome since they'd come to the island, well fed as he was on seal (though he abhorred it). Edward didn't particularly enjoy the limited diet, either, and in recent weeks they'd discussed leaving, though no definite plans had been made.

"What do you think?"

"I don't know," Draco replied, moving to sit opposite Edward. The casualness of his tone belied the obviously serious thoughts he must have been having while staring silently at the sea for over an hour. The owl ruffled its feathers and hooted softly, skirting to the far end of its perch as if aware of the danger.

"Well, obviously he was worried about interception. Are you sure it's from him?"

"I'd recognize that abhorrent penmanship anywhere." Draco fished out the note again and examined it, nodding.

The owl hooted again, obviously wanting to be off. Draco silenced it with a flick of his wrist, producing a treat.

Edward smiled. Draco's wandless magic was still a wonder to behold. "What are you going to reply?" He suspected Draco wanted to return to the wizarding world, and wondered if this was the catalyst that would set things in motion.

Draco's eyes met his, the redness faded now to a vibrant burnt gold. "I think we should go."

"You think you're ready? It will be very . . . different from here. It's hard to deal with the temptation, even for an older vampire." Edward didn't bother to mention that Harry's interest in Draco didn't seem to have faded much over time. He didn't exactly relish the idea of the two of them working closely together, even if it was for the right cause.

"Like you?" Draco teased.

Edward shot him a mock-glare. "Ha."

"I never imagined I'd be mated to such a testy old man."

Edward rolled his eyes at the jibe while secretly thrilling at the other words. Draco was his; they were bound together with a force stronger than one Harry could ever exert.

"You weren't complaining an hour ago," Edward said.

Draco raised his eyebrows and said, "Touché," making it easy to imagine the faint blush that would have pinked his cheeks if he were still human. It was the one thing Edward missed.

"I need to make sure my family is safe," Draco said, becoming serious. "I know I can't reveal myself to them. . . . yet. But maybe I could do something."

"You want to help defeat Voldemort?" Draco was certainly much more powerful now; there was little reason to fear he'd be easily hurt. If he wanted to use those powers for good, to atone for the things he'd done, Edward understood.

Draco's face clouded, his fine eyebrows drawing together. He sat staring at the fire for some minutes before he spoke again.

"Ridiculous," he said, curling his hands against his knees. "Utter nonsense."

"What is?" Edward asked, confused.

Draco didn't seem to hear him. "To think I could . . . it's just impossible."

"Hey," Edward said, "What are you talking about?" Sometimes Draco wanted to be left alone with his troubles, and sometimes he wanted them coaxed out. In the past six months Edward had learned enough to know this was an example of the latter instance.

"I can't go back there."

"Draco—"

"Listen to me . . . It's not a good idea. My parents, if they see me—Edward. I'm a . . . a . . ." The last few words hung in the air, but the meaning was clear. Draco looked away. "They'll despise me."

A pang shot through Edward's chest. A monster, Edward thought gloomily. He'd believed the same for so long, but Draco had made him see a different side of himself. Something more. Now Draco was feeling that same self-loathing . . . and it was Edward's fault. He'd done this.

"I see," he mustered, trying to mask the hurt in his voice. He couldn't say anything else.

Draco's eyes met his, widening in understanding. "No, that's not what I meant. I was trying to say . . . it's my parents; they'll not understand. I wanted this, and I'm happy." Draco's voice grew more desperate. "You have to believe me."

Edward tried to repress his dark thoughts. Draco had, after all, grown up in a society where blood was all, where his parent's hopes rested on him carrying on the family line. How ironic, now, for blood to be the one thing he truly craved, but didn't have, and that the family dynasty would continue, perhaps for eternity, but not in the way the Malfoys intended.

"Okay," he said softly.

"I was just trying to say, badly, that I don't think they'll ever . . . they won't accept me, like this. And I'm not sure I can—I'm not ready to—have them hate me."

"They won't," Edward said, and not only because he couldn't imagine ever hating Draco. He knew how much the Malfoys doted on their son, and it was more than him just being their heir. He'd seen the way Narcissa looked at him; she loved Draco and would accept him in any form. He suspected that even Lucius, in time, would grow to accept the change—especially when he learned of Draco's newfound power. But that couldn't happen while Voldemort was still alive.

"You don't understand. You don't know them. I—"

"If your parents are cold-hearted enough to wish you dead rather than . . . what you are . . . then I say good-riddance. Listen. You're still you—the same person you were, inside. They'll love you no matter what."

Draco's eyes widened, making him look more fragile than he'd seemed since he'd been changed. "But that's part of the problem," Draco said, "I don't think I want to be the same person. I was so afraid before—and Salazar knows I'll never be a bloody Hufflepuff, but . . . I did terrible things. It would be nice to be on the right side. For once."

"You already are," Edward said, feeling the coldness recede from his chest when Draco smiled. "It might take some time, but your parents will understand. They'll be happy to have you . . . er . . . alive. And surely their loyalty to you will overshadow their loyalty to Vol—the Dark Lord."

"Voldemort," Draco said. Edward raised his eyebrows, surprised. Draco shrugged. "It's just a name, isn't it?"

"Yes. It's just a name. So . . . we're doing this?"

Draco nodded, looking back at the fire. "Yes. Though I don't particularly wish to work with the sodding Gryffindors . . . even if Harry isn't as terrible as I once believed."

The utterance of Potter's given name had Edward stiffening in his chair. it was even more shocking than his use of Voldemort's. Draco glanced back, an assessing glint in his eye. "You're jealous," he accused.

"No."

"You are," Draco said, his smirk returning, growing wider as he stood. The movement startled the owl, which flew to the opposite side of the room and landed with a disgruntled hoot on the never-used kitchen counter. "Don't hide it. You know I like it when you're a little jealous."

Edward smiled as Draco climbed into his lap and settled there, pointedly grinding his hips.

"You don't need to sweeten me up, you know," Edward said, his own interest growing evident despite his words. "I'll go with you, if that's what you want to do. But we'll have to take it slowly, not move immediately into highly populated areas."

Draco hummed, skimming his lips over Edward's neck. "You'll help restrain me?"

"If I must. But hopefully you won't need to be restrained."

"What if I want you to restrain me?"

Desire ran sharply up Edward's spine; the next time Draco canted his hips, he caught and stilled them. "I think that can be arranged."

Sex was nothing like it had been while Draco was human—preparation wasn't strictly necessary anymore, though often Edward enjoyed taking the time to open Draco up with his tongue and his fingers before he took him. This wasn't one of those moments. And though they'd only fucked a couple of hours before, Draco's body would be tight. Edward growled at the thought.

He pushed Draco to the floor and held his hands above his head, pressing them down with more effort than he'd ever admit to. As a newborn Draco was still much stronger, but this was the game he wanted to play.

"You don't want to fuck me this time?" Edward asked. He knew what the answer would be, what Draco's preference was, but he wanted to hear it.

"No," Draco said. He grimaced. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Merlin's bollocks, you're a prat. I asked nicely."

"You're awfully greedy today." Edward squeezed Draco's erection through the fine wool, and then let his hand drift lower.

"Fuck, Edward." Draco let out an impatient whine as Edward stroked lightly, making Edward chuckle.

"Well, since you did ask nicely."

They kissed viciously, teeth clashing in an effort to get closer until clothes became a frustrating obstacle. With a quick tear that had Draco cursing—he loved those trousers and was tired of mending them—Edward flipped Draco over and braced himself behind, lining his cock up and plunging inside. Draco's spine curved like a cat's at the force of it, arching into the rhythm as Edward thrust deep, just barely moistened by the venom he'd slicked himself with. He set a punishing pace, his cock growing harder with the friction of the tight grip.

Draco tilted his head back for a kiss, and Edward paused, leaning forward carefully to keep himself inside as their mouths met again, this time slowly, a tangle of wet tongues.

Edward opened his eyes as their lips separated, and the expression on Draco's face would have caught his breath in his throat, had he had any. He had to look away, nuzzling into Draco's neck to whisper the words he needed to say but couldn't say loudly—not at that moment—because they were too soft. No one had ever given this to him before, this feeling of completeness, and it wasn't just the sex, not anymore; it was everything Draco accepted in him—the darkness that he shared and fought, the light that could have been snuffed out, almost was, but each had at last saved in the other. Draco moaned and moved his hips, saying dirty things that drove Edward mad, sweet things that would make him scoff if Edward reminded him later. He meant them just the same.

Finally, with a shudder and a growl, Edward fell forward, bracing himself out of habit as he pulsed deeply inside, completely spent and more alive than he'd ever felt, even from his time as a human. Draco was working his own cock quickly, hand trapped by the floor and splintering the wood. Edward rolled to the side and drew Draco against his chest, reaching down to claim those last moments for himself. Draco was always beautiful, but never so much as now, head thrown back and teeth bared, looking for someplace to bite. Sometime Edward would give him his neck, not caring about the scars.

Later, after the owl had been sent away with the reply, a short and simple Yes, we'll come, Edward sat down at the piano. Draco had shrunk it and snuck it in his luggage—so you'll have something to keep you out of my hair, he'd said. Edward knew the real reason was because he loved to hear Edward play.

He'd fallen into the rhythm of the music when Draco entered the room and came to sit beside him.

"Don't stop on my account," Draco said, but his voice made Edward still his hands. He turned and saw immediately that something was wrong.

"Are you all right? Any problem mending the trousers?"

The blond snorted and shook his head. "They're fine . . . I don't suppose I can ask you to please stop tearing them. But—"

"Nope." Edward interrupted. Draco gave him a peevish look and continued.

"I just, I was thinking. Before I sent the owl, I didn't ask what you wanted to do. If you wanted to . . . come with me. I just assumed."

It didn't bother Edward that Draco had assumed, not really, but he decided to play a little. He frowned. "Yes, that's true. You did."

"If you don't . . . I mean, well . . . I don't know. I need to do this, but I want you, too. I just—"

"Draco," Edward said, cutting him off. "You didn't let me finish. What I was going to say is that before when you assumed, you assumed correctly."

"I did?"

"Yes."

"You'll come with me?" Draco asked, his hand slipping easily into Edward's. His eyes seemed to shimmer in the low light of the cabin, a darker, more intense gold than he'd ever seen. Edward leaned forward and kissed him soundly.

"Of course I'll come," he said. "I'll stay with you forever."