Chapter 1
Bella Swan had heard more than the average human’s share of strange and unsettling noises in her so-far-short life, but there was something especially upsetting about the death rattle of an old truck.
Or perhaps she was just projecting, because it was the death rattle of her truck, her sole means of transportation and only possession of value, and she had the misfortune of hearing it while she was on a dim stretch of two-lane highway in the middle of nowhere. Dim because of all the trees forming a corridor on either side. It was in fact broad daylight, and until she’d reached this stretch of forest the afternoon had actually been unseasonably hot under the October sun. Bella was in fact sweating through her flannel. That couldn’t be good for her. She reached for her water bottle, but--empty.
“Fuck!” she shouted, hitting the steering wheel as hard as she could in frustration. The horn still worked, and it sent birds scattering above her.
As if her life falling apart hadn’t been enough, now her truck had to go and fall apart too. If she couldn’t do anything else right, she should at least have bothered to get an oil change, like, ever. Jake was gonna be so pissed. If he even had it in him to care after the news she was going to deliver.
Well. The news she was going to deliver if she got a tow, scraped up the money for repairs, and actually made it back to Forks. In retrospect, she should have bothered to tell somebody she was coming home. If not Charlie, then at least Jess or Angela. Someone should have known where she was. This was how horror movies started.
Bella would know.
With a vocal-cord-shredding groan, she dug into her glovebox, finally laying hands on what she needed: a paper napkin on which Charlie, bless his fussy and emotionally distant self, had scrawled the numbers for the Forks police station and for Triple A. She flipped her phone open and dialed Triple A. Since Charlie didn’t know she was coming, maybe he didn’t need to know about this delay. She really didn’t need a lecture on vehicle maintenance atop all the concerned glances and disappointed sighs she’d been racking up the last few months. Last few years, really.
While she waited for her tow, Bella leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes so she wouldn’t have to dwell on the trees. She’d never exactly been the outdoorsy type, but ever since she’d moved in with her dad, the forest had been the site of the worst kinds of memories. Both terrible and exhilarating ones. It was never a good idea to wallow in those, but today of all days, she had to shrug all that off and stay present. She needed to get home as fast as possible, and then she and Jake had a serious conversation ahead of them.
The tow truck arrived, and she rode in its passenger seat to the mechanic’s shop. It was a hidden place, a long tree-lined driveway standing between it and the highway. The tow truck driver told Bella they were on the outskirts of a small town, but to Bella’s eyes, they may as well have been approaching a secluded gingerbread cottage. Was she imagining the chill in the air?
Then the trees parted to reveal a large clearing, all neatly mown grass, with a small paved parking lot in front of a series of gleaming garage doors, all closed. There was a little office attached to the garage, and, down a little garden path behind it, a mid-size house. All were clearly new construction, but done up in a cohesive midcentury modern theme.
“This is weird,” she said. “Nice,” she added quickly, “but weird.”
The truck driver grunted his agreement, then hopped out of the cab without another word. She let herself out, approaching the little office. There was no bell on the door; it opened swiftly on greased hinges. The office was empty, but there was plenty to occupy Bella’s attention while she waited for the obviously eccentric mechanic. There was a steel counter with two red-and-chrome stools in front of it for customers, plus a low vintage couch and a coffee table scattered with magazines. On a small table in the corner was a bafflingly modern coffee machine, its retrofuturist design and hot-rod-red accents mirroring the rest of the room to perfection. An upbeat Ella Fitzgerald number came from hidden speakers.
“What the fuck,” muttered Bella fervently.
“I could ask the same of you,” came a voice from behind her. A dreadfully familiar voice. Bella whirled around to face the counter again, and there, impossibly, was a face she’d hoped never to see again.
“No,” was all she could manage to say, taking in the glaring features of Rosalie Hale.
She looked vicious and perfect, hair French-braided away from her face, a smudge of engine grease on her forehead, a simple tank top showing off her deceptively soft-looking arms. And, of course, there were her eyes. How it hurt Bella to see that exact shade of gold again.
“My sentiments exactly,” said Rosalie. “What are you doing here?”
“Um.” Bella swallowed. “My truck. It, uh, broke down.”
“I’m surprised it took this long.”
“I can go somewhere else,” Bella said, hackles raised.
Rosalie snorted. “No, you really can’t. There’s nothing else for miles.”
“Christ,” said Bella. “Maybe I should just walk to Forks.”
“Good to know you haven’t gotten any smarter.”
“It was a joke,” said Bella. “I know you don’t have a lot of experience with those--”
“It’s a little tasteless,” Rosalie snarled, “to try and joke about going into the woods alone when you smell like that.”
“And what exactly do I smell like?” Bella snapped.
“You smell like--” Rosalie’s eyes widened, as if her conscious mind was just catching up to what her hindbrain had already accepted as fact. “You smell like you’re pregnant.”
“Well done, Sherlock,” said Bella. “Now, if you would give me an estimate, I’d like to smell like someone with a functioning vehicle.”
Rosalie frowned. “I’m not going to charge you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Bella. “You hate me!”
“You’re pregnant,” said Rosalie, as if that explained everything.
Bella growled in frustration. “That’s why I need to get home. As fast as possible. Please, just, fix my truck so I can leave and never see you again.”
“You girls know each other, huh?” came the truck driver’s voice as he stepped through the door.
“I don’t see how that’s your concern,” said Rosalie frostily.
“Okay, okay,” said the man, hands in the air. “I get it. I just wanted to make sure I’m good to head out.”
“Please do.”
Bella hadn’t had the chance to say anything, so when the man turned his back on them to return to the tow truck, she flipped him off. Rosalie snorted, though whether in contempt at the man’s nosiness or Bella’s own immaturity, Bella didn’t know.
“I suppose I’ll need to assess the damage to your truck,” said Rosalie. “Can I trust you not to cause any trouble if I leave you here for fifteen minutes?”
“I don’t see how that’s your concern,” Bella muttered. Rosalie just huffed and went through the door to the garage.
Bella had thought to use her first few minutes in the mechanic’s waiting room to get a good cry out before she embarrassed herself on hearing the estimate. But after seeing Rosalie, she was too overwhelmed for that. Her brain was buzzing with the absurdity of it all, like static on an old TV.
Christ on a bicycle, she thought. If Edward could see me now. Only, she realized, it wasn’t at all funny, because Edward was sure to know her situation momentarily. If Rosalie wasn’t already on the phone with him. If he wasn’t already here.
Bella honestly didn’t know how she would react to seeing him again. She figured she’d be angry. Whenever she thought, honestly thought, about the way he had treated her, she got angry. She’d probably be embarrassed. Haha, yeah, I handled our breakup so well I fell in with a pack of werewolves and had sex with my best friend even though I didn’t return his feelings. And now I’m pregnant and I’m thinking of dropping out of college. So really it’s going swell, how’s your fall break?
But would she be heartbroken all over again? That, she didn’t know. The pain of it all had faded after about a year of walking around like a zombie. Usually, now, when she thought of Edward, the bitter regret she felt was at the lost chance for an immortal life, not for the loss of him. Would seeing him change that? She never wanted to find out.
She swallowed, her mouth so dry it was almost painful. With a determined frown, she stood up and made an attempt at the coffee machine. There were a few cups to the side of it—real cups, of course Rosalie wouldn’t use disposable—so that, at least, was easy enough. But she didn’t see the coffee. Or the spot to put the coffee in. Or any buttons. She quickly decided that she would have to take a look inside this mysterious machine to discover its secrets.
As she pried up the top, she felt a breeze on the back of her neck, heralding Rosalie’s silent arrival.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Okay,” Bella huffed, “but I do need to figure out how it works, and this seemed like the easiest—“
“No,” said Rosalie, “I mean, it’s ready to go. All you have to do is turn it on.”
Bella rounded on her. “How?” She demanded venomously.
Rosalie raised her eyebrows and reached around Bella to indicate the cleverly hidden start button. When she pressed it, the coffee machine gurgled to life immediately.
“Um,” said Bella, “thanks.”
She didn’t sound grateful, and Rosalie didn’t say she was welcome. They stood in awkward silence for a moment, Bella trying to focus on the scent of the coffee instead of Rosalie’s unique vampiric perfume, which was, unfortunately, delicious.
“That truck really is a heap of junk,” said Rosalie.
“So you keep saying.”
“It’s unfortunate that you’re in such a hurry, though, because I’m going to have to rebuild it.”
“I can’t afford—“
“You’re not paying,” Rosalie insisted.
“I’m not Tiny Tim,” said Bella. “People get pregnant all the time. They still have to pay for their cars.”
“Well, you don’t.”
“I could have gotten a different car,” Bella added defensively, “but I like this one. It’s my truck. It’s got good bones.”
Rosalie nodded contemplatively. “And Jacob Black fixed it up for you,” she said slowly, “so it has sentimental value.”
Bella hissed through her teeth. “Can you smell—“
“No,” said Rosalie, “but I figured it had to be someone from the—“ she cut herself off. “From the Quileute reservation.”
“It’s okay,” said Bella. “I know they’re werewolves.”
“Well, technically they’re wolf shifters. True werewolves—“
Bella held a hand up to stop her. “I know. I know, and I don’t care. ‘Werewolf’ is more convenient to say and way, way funnier.”
“Funnier.”
“Ch-yeah! Oh my god, after Jake told me, I picked a werewolf movie every time it was my turn to choose for like six months. The Wolfman. An American Werewolf in London. Blood and Chocolate. It was great.”
“Huh,” said Rosalie.
“What?”
“Two of those are actually really good picks.”
“I know, right?” Bella picked up her coffee, which had finished brewing. “But my favorite is definitely Ginger Snaps.”
“I like that one, too,” said Rosalie—and was she almost smiling? “I think my pick would have been The Werewolf Must Be Destroyed, though.”
“None of that,” said Bella. “Jake told me all about the werewolf-vampire beef. Which, despite it being hilariously cliche, I am totally not here for. I felt shitty enough after—” she cleared her throat, and figured she didn’t need to clarify—“after all that, without him lecturing me constantly on the horrors of the undead. Which, as far as I’ve been able to tell, are really only that you’re all unfairly hot and you smell nice.”
“Thank you,” said Rosalie.
“No, not—like, you don’t—well, of course you do, you know you do—but I just meant—“
“Bella. Relax. I was teasing.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“You don’t know me.”
And. What was Bella supposed to say to that? She didn’t, not really. She only knew that Rosalie was her ex’s adoptive sister, that she liked cars, and that she hated Bella. Which, hey, Bella hated Bella some days. So they had that in common.
“You’re right,” she admitted. “We don’t know each other, not really. I’d offer a fresh start, but frankly there’s a metric fuckton of shared baggage between us, so that would be. Um. What’s the word. Disingenuous. I’m so tired, I’m sorry, do you remember what it’s like to be tired? I mean, no wonder you think humans are stupid, when we get like this. To be honest, humans are a little stupid. Or, I am. I’m humans.”
Rosalie had actually cracked a smile. “Stop rambling, or you’ll force me to like you. And it would be inconvenient to befriend a member of the wolf pack.”
“No,” said Bella, “I refuse to be affected by territorial disputes between mythical creatures. If we want to be friends, we’ll be friends. In fact, let’s. Think how much Edward would hate that.” She smiled blissfully at the thought, a smile that slid off her face as she thought about who she was talking to. “That is—I’m not—I mean, I get it, he’s your brother—“
“He isn’t a consideration,” said Rosalie sharply.
“Oh.”
“In fact, we are—“ she paused, and if she were human, she might have cleared her throat—“estranged. At present. Myself and…well, everyone.”
“Oh,” Bella repeated. “I, um. I’m really sorry. That’s got to be hard.”
“In some ways.” Rosalie shrugged. “Luckily, it means I have no other obligations to prevent me from driving you to Forks.”
“Sorry, run that by me again?”
“Your truck could take weeks. You said you were in a hurry. I agree that the matter is urgent. I’ll drive you.”
“I…” Bella searched her mind for a way to refuse. She didn’t have any other option, though, and Rosalie knew it. “Okay. Thanks, I guess.”
“We’ll leave after sunset,” said Rosalie. “Come to the house. You should get some rest before then.”
With an urgency born of many months’ practice trying to keep up with Edward, Bella instinctively followed Rosalie to the house. There, she found immaculate vintage decor to rival the shop’s, with a massive TV and state-of-the-art speaker system the only nods to modernity.
“Wow,” said Bella. “Were the 50s just, like, a really good time for you, or something?”
“Not particularly,” said Rosalie. “The 50s were actually depressing. That’s why I used retail therapy to cope.”
Bella shrugged agreeably. She couldn’t fault that logic, even if she preferred the totally healthy coping mechanism of dissociating for months at a time. To each her own.
“The bedroom’s through there,” said Rosalie, pointing. “Do you need anything?”
“Um, I’m gonna need to get my bag from the car…”
“It’s on the dresser.”
“Of course it is,” Bella muttered. “Fucking vampires.”
“You need to rest,” Rosalie insisted.
“You’re being a little weird,” said Bella, “but you’re not wrong, I guess.”
And then she found the bedroom, and she had to laugh. For the most part, it was exquisite. More beautiful furniture, a window seat looking over the wooded lot, pristine matching linens in hot rod red with silver and black accents. But on the foot of the bed, there was a blanket, and though it was folded artfully as if it were cashmere, it definitely wasn’t. It was a slightly worn child-size fleece number, clearly from Wal-Mart, patterned with the grinning visage of Lightning McQueen.
“Emmett gave me that,” said Rosalie, appearing silently behind Bella yet again. “He said that movie was made with me in mind.”
“No it wasn’t,” Bella snorted.
“No,” Rosalie agreed, “it wasn’t. I found it incredibly boring. But…Emmett thought of me. He bought this just to make me laugh.”
“I know what you mean,” said Bella, thinking of Jake.
“I could never give him what he wanted,” Rosalie added softly. “But he never held it against me. He was a good friend—a good brother, I guess—always. He’s the only one of them I regret.”
“What happened?” Bella asked.
Rosalie grimaced. “We can talk family drama on the road. For now, you need to sleep.”
“Okay, okay.” Bella went to the dresser and unzipped the worn-out backpack that she had stuffed with fresh-ish sports bras, underwear, and flannels as she fled her dorm, barely remembering to stuff her toothbrush and comb into the front pocket. Now holding said toiletries, she waited awkwardly for Rosalie to leave her alone.
“The bathroom’s through there,” she said, pointing to the extremely obvious open door of the en-suite.
“I can see that.”
“If you need anything—”
“Just some privacy,” said Bella. When Rosalie’s face began to fall, she added, “I know I’m safe with you here. If anything happens, I’ll call you.”
“Okay. Then, I’ll just leave you to—?”
“Yeah,” said Bella. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” And Rosalie was gone.
The bathroom was, predictably, luxurious, and it was stocked with every imaginable grooming product. Vampires might be naturally perfect, but they still needed to clean up and primp. Seeing the huge sunken bathtub, Bella gave serious consideration to a bubble bath, but settled on a quick shower. Rosalie’s shampoo and conditioner were unscented (vampire nose, she guessed) but expensive, and Bella was sure her hair would be the softest it had ever been in the morning.
Hopefully Jake wouldn’t think she’d been replaced with a pod person.