Preface

I'd had more than my fair share of near-death experiences; it wasn't something you ever
really got used to.

It seemed oddly inevitable, though, facing death again. Like I really was marked for
disaster. I'd escaped time and time again, but it kept coming back for me.

Still, this time was so different from the others.

You could run from someone you feared, you could try to fight someone you hated. All
my reactions were geared toward those kinds of killers--the monsters, the enemies.

When you loved the one who was killing you, it left you no options. How could you
run, how could you fight, when doing so would hurt that beloved one? If your life was
all you had to give your beloved, how could you not give it?

Chapter 1

If it was someone you truly loved?

1. ENGAGED
No one is staring at you, I promised myself. No one is staring at you. No one is staring
at you.

But, because I couldn't lie convincingly even to myself, I had to check.

As I sat waiting for one of the three traffic lights in town to turn green, I peeked to the
right--in her minivan, Mrs. Weber had turned her whole torso in my direction. Her eyes
bored into mine, and I flinched back, wondering why she didn't drop her gaze or look
ashamed. It was still considered rude to stare at people, wasn't it? Didn't that apply to
me anymore?

Then I remembered that these windows were so darkly tinted that she probably had no idea if it was even me in here, let alone that I'd caught her looking. I tried to take some
comfort in the fact that she wasn't really staring at me, just the car.

My car. Sigh.

I glanced to the left and groaned. Two pedestrians were frozen on the sidewalk, missing
their chance to cross as they stared. Behind them, Mr. Marshall was gawking throughsaid the name with reverence. I had a feeling this guy would get along well with Edward
Cullen, my... my fiancé (there really was no getting around that truth with the wedding
just days away). "They aren't supposed to be available in Europe yet," the man went on,
"let alone here."
While his eyes traced the contours of my car--it didn't look much different from any
other Mercedes sedan to me, but what did I know?--I briefly contemplated my issues
with words like fiancé, wedding, husband, etc.

I just couldn't put it together in my head.

On the one hand, I had been raised to cringe at the very thought of poofy white dresses
and bouquets. But more than that, I just couldn't reconcile a staid, respectable, dull
concept like husband with my concept of Edward. It was like casting an archangel as an
accountant; I couldn't visualize him in any commonplace role.


Like always, as soon as I started thinking about Edward I was caught up in a dizzy spin
of fantasies. The stranger had to clear his throat to get my attention; he was still waiting
for an answer about the car's make and model.

"I don't know," I told him honestly.

"Do you mind if I take a picture with it?"

It took me a second to process that. "Really? You want to take a picture with the car?"

"Sure--nobody is going to believe me if I don't get proof."

"Um. Okay. Fine."

I swiftly put away the nozzle and crept into the front seat to hide while the enthusiast
dug a huge professional-looking camera out of his backpack. He and his friend took
turns posing by the hood, and then they went to take pictures at the back end.
"I miss my truck," I whimpered to myself.

Very, very convenient--too convenient--that my truck would wheeze its last wheeze
just weeks after Edward and I had agreed to our lopsided compromise, one detail of
which was that he be allowed to replace my truck when it passed on. Edward swore it
was only to be expected; my truck had lived a long, full life and then expired of natural
causes. According to him. And, of course, I had no way to verify his story or to try to
raise my truck from the dead on my own. My favorite mechanic--

I stopped that thought cold, refusing to let it come to a conclusion. Instead, I listened to
the men's voices outside, muted by the car walls.

". . . went at it with a flamethrower in the online video. Didn't even pucker the paint."

"Of course not. You could roll a tank over this baby. Not much of
a market for one over
here. Designed for Middle East diplomats, arms dealers, and drug lords mostly."

"Think she's something?" the short one asked in a softer voice. I ducked my head,
cheeks flaming.
"Huh," the tall one said. "Maybe. Can't imagine what you'd need missile-proof glass
and four thousand pounds of body armor for around here. Must be headed somewhere
more hazardous."

Body armor. Four thousand pounds of body armor. And missile-proof glass? Nice. What
had happened to good old-fashioned bulletproof?

Well, at least this made some sense--if you had a twisted sense of humor.

It wasn't like I hadn't expected Edward to take advantage of our deal, to weight it on his
side so that he could give so much more than he would receive.

I'd agreed that he could
replace my truck when it needed replacing, not expecting that moment to come quite so
soon, of course. When I'd been forced to admit that the truck had become no more than
a still-life tribute to classic Chevys on my curb, I knew his idea of a replacement was
probably going to embarrass me. Make me the focus of stares and whispers. I'd been
right about that part. But even in my darkest imaginings I had not foreseen that he
would get me two cars.

The "before" car and the "after" car, he'd explained when I'd flipped out.

This was just the "before" car. He'd told me it was a loaner and promised that he was
returning it after the wedding. It all had made absolutely no sense to me. Until now.

Ha ha. Because I was so fragilely human, so accident-prone, so much a victim to my
own dangerous bad luck, apparently I needed a tank-resistant car to keep me safe.
Hilarious. I was sure he and his brothers had enjoyed the joke quite a bit behind my
back.

Or maybe, just maybe, a small voice whispered in my head, it's not a joke, silly. Maybe
he's really that worried about you. This wouldn't be the first time he's gone a little
overboard trying to protect you.

I sighed.

I hadn't seen the "after" car yet. It was hidden under a sheet in the deepest corner of the
Cullens' garage. I knew most people would have peeked by now, but I really didn't want
to know.

Probably no body armor on that car--because I wouldn't need it after the honeymoon.
Virtual indestructibility was just one of the many perks I was

looking forward to. The
best parts about being a Cullen were not expensive cars and impressive credit cards.

"Hey," the tall man called, cupping his hands to the glass in an effort to peer in. "We're
done now. Thanks a lot!"

"You're welcome," I called back, and then tensed as I started the engine and eased the
pedal--ever so gently--down. . . .

No matter how many times I drove down the familiar road home, I still couldn't make
the rain-faded flyers fade into the background. Each one of them, stapled to telephone
poles and taped to street signs, was like a fresh slap in the face. A well-deserved slap in
the face. My mind was sucked back into the thought I'd interrupted so immediately
before. I couldn't avoid it on this road. Not with pictures of my favorite mechanic
flashing past me at regular intervals.

My best friend. My Jacob.

The HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY? posters were not Jacob's father's idea. It had been my
father, Charlie, who'd printed up the flyers and spread them all over town. And not just
Forks, but Port Angeles and Sequim and Hoquiam and Aberdeen and every other town
in the Olympic Peninsula. He'd made sure that all the police stations in the state of
Washington had the same flyer hanging on the wall, too. His own station had a whole
corkboard dedicated to finding Jacob. A corkboard that was mostly empty, much to his
disappointment and frustration.

My dad was disappointed with more than the lack of response. He was most
disappointed with Billy, Jacob's father--and Charlie's closest friend.

For Billy's not being more involved with the search for his


the plate-glass window of his little souvenir shop. At least he didn't have his nose
pressed up against the glass. Yet.

The light turned green and, in my hurry to escape, I stomped on the gas pedal without
thinking--the normal way I would have punched it to get my ancient Chevy truck
moving.

Engine snarling like a hunting panther, the car jolted forward so fast that my body
slammed into the black leather seat and my stomach flattened against my spine.

"Arg!" I gasped as I fumbled for the brake. Keeping my head, I merely tapped the
pedal. The car lurched to an absolute standstill anyway.
I couldn't bear to look around at the reaction. If there had been any doubt as to who was
driving this car before, it was gone now. With the toe of my shoe, I gently nudged the
gas pedal down one half millimeter, and the car shot forward again.

I managed to reach my goal, the gas station. If I hadn't been running on vapors, I
wouldn't have come into town at all. I was going without a lot of things these days, like
Pop-Tarts and shoelaces, to avoid spending time in public.

Moving as if I were in a race, I got the hatch open, the cap off, the card scanned, and the
nozzle in the tank within seconds. Of course, there was nothing I could do to make thenumbers on the gauge pick up the pace. They ticked by sluggishly, almost as if they
were doing it just to annoy me.

It wasn't bright out--a typical drizzly day in Forks, Washington--but I still felt like a
spotlight was trained on me, drawing attention to the delicate ring on my left hand. At
times like this, sensing the eyes on my back, it felt as if the ring were pulsing like a
neon sign: Look at me, look at me.

It was stupid to be so self-conscious, and I knew that. Besides my dad and mom, did it
really matter what people were saying about my engagement? About my new car?
About my mysterious acceptance into an Ivy League college? About the shiny black
credit card that felt red-hot in my back pocket right now?

"Yeah, who cares what they think," I muttered under my breath.

"Um, miss?" a man's voice called.

I turned, and then wished I hadn't.

Two men stood beside a fancy SUV with brand-new kayaks tied to the top. Neither of
them was looking at me; they both were staring at the car.

Personally, I didn't get it. But then, I was just proud I could distinguish between the
symbols for Toyota, Ford, and Chevy. This car was glossy black, sleek, and pretty, but it
was still just a car to me.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but could you tell me what kind of car you're driving?" the
tall one asked.

"Um, a Mercedes, right?"

"Yes," the man said politely while his shorter friend rolled his eyes at my answer. "I
know. But I was wondering, is that... are you driving a Mercedes Guardian?" The man

Chapter 2

sixteen-year-old "runaway."
For Billy's refusing to put up the flyers in La Push, the reservation on the coast that was
Jacob's home. For his seeming resigned to Jacob's disappearance, as if there was
nothing he could do. For his saying, "Jacob's grown up now. He'll come home if he
wants to."

And he was frustrated with me, for taking Billy's side.

I wouldn't put up posters, either. Because both Billy and I knew where Jacob was,
roughly speaking, and we also knew that no one had seen this boy.

The flyers put the usual big, fat lump in my throat, the usual stinging tears in my eyes,
and I was glad Edward was out hunting this Saturday. If Edward saw my reaction, it
would only make him feel terrible, too.

Of course, there were drawbacks to it being Saturday. As I turned slowly and carefully
onto my street, I could see my dad's police cruiser in the driveway of our home. He'd
skipped fishing again today. Still sulking about the wedding.

So I wouldn't be able to use the phone inside. But I had to call. . . .

I parked on the curb behind the Chevy sculpture and pulled the cell phone Edward had
given me for emergencies out of the glove compartment. I dialed, keeping my finger on
the "end" button as the phone rang. Just in case.

"Hello?" Seth Clearwater answered, and I sighed in relief. I was way too chicken to
speak to his older sister, Leah. The phrase "bite my head off" was not entirely a figure
of speech when it came to Leah.

"Hey, Seth, it's Bella."

"Oh, hiya, Bella! How are you?"
Choked up. Desperate for reassurance. "Fine."
"Calling for an update?"

"You're psychic."

"Not hardly. I'm no Alice--you're just predictable," he joked. Among the Quileute pack
down at La Push, only Seth was comfortable even mentioning the Cullens by name, let
alone joking about things like my nearly omniscient sister-in-law-to-be.

"I know I am." I hesitated for a minute. "How is he?"

Seth sighed. "Same as ever. He won't talk, though we know he hears us. He's trying not
to think human, you know. Just going with his instincts."

"Do you know where he is now?"

"Somewhere in northern Canada. I can't tell you which province. He doesn't pay much
attention to state lines."

"Any hint that he might . . ."

"He's not coming home, Bella. Sorry."

I swallowed. "S'okay, Seth. I knew before I asked. I just can't help wishing."

"Yeah. We all feel the same way."

"Thanks for putting up with me, Seth. I know the others must give you a hard time."

"They're not your hugest fans," he agreed cheerfully. "Kind of lame, I think. Jacob
made his choices, you made yours. Jake doesn't like their attitude about it. 'Course, he
isn't super thrilled that you're checking up on him, either."

I gasped. "I thought he wasn't talking to you?"

"He can't hide everything from us, hard as he's trying." So Jacob knew I was worried. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Well, at least he knew
I hadn't skipped off into the sunset and forgotten him completely. He might have
imagined me capable of that.

"I guess I'll see you at the... wedding," I said, forcing the word out through my teeth.

"Yeah, me and my mom will be there. It was cool of you to ask us."

I smiled at the enthusiasm in his voice. Though inviting the Clearwaters had been
Edward's idea, I was glad he'd thought of it. Having Seth there would be nice--a link,
however tenuous, to my missing best man. "It wouldn't be the same without you."
"Tell Edward I said hi, 'kay?"

"Sure thing."

I shook my head. The friendship that had sprung up between Edward
and Seth was
something that still boggled my mind. It was proof, though, that things didn't have to be
this way. That vampires and werewolves could get along just fine, thank you very much,
if they were of a mind to.

Not everybody liked this idea.

"Ah," Seth said, his voice cracking up an octave. "Er, Leah's home."

"Oh! Bye!"

The phone went dead. I left it on the seat and prepared myself mentally to go inside the
house, where Charlie would be waiting.

My poor dad had so much to deal with right now. Jacob-the-runaway was just one of the
straws on his overburdened back. He was almost as worried about me, his barely-a-
legal-adult daughter who was about to become a Mrs. in just a few

days' time.

I walked slowly through the light rain, remembering the night we'd told him. . . .

As the sound of Charlie's cruiser announced his return, the ring suddenly weighed a
hundred pounds on my finger. I wanted to shove my left hand in a pocket, or maybe sit
on it, but Edward's cool, firm grasp kept it front and center.

"Stop fidgeting, Bella. Please try to remember that you're not confessing to a murder
here."

"Easy for you to say."

I listened to the ominous sound of my father's boots clomping up the sidewalk. The key
rattled in the already open door. The sound reminded me of that part of the horror movie
when the victim realizes she's forgotten to lock her deadbolt.


"Calm down, Bella," Edward whispered, listening to the acceleration of my heart.

The door slammed against the wall, and I flinched like I'd been Tasered.

"Hey, Charlie," Edward called, entirely relaxed.

"No!" I protested under my breath.

"What?" Edward whispered back.

"Wait till he hangs his gun up!"

Edward chuckled and ran his free hand through his tousled bronze hair.
Charlie came around the corner, still in his uniform, still armed, and tried not to make a
face when he spied us sitting together on the loveseat. Lately, he'd been putting forth a
lot of effort to like Edward more. Of course, this revelation was sure to end that effort
immediately.

Impressum

Texte: BeeDung Books. Copyright 2011. Story by Rishikesh.
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 11.12.2011

Alle Rechte vorbehalten