I was a predator. She was my prey. There was nothing else in the whole worldbut that truth.

　　There was no room full of witnesses—they were already collateral damage in myhead. The mystery of her thoughts was forgotten. Her thoughts meant nothing, for shewould not go on thinking them much longer.

　　I was a vampire, and she had the sweetest blood I’d smelled in eighty years.

　　I hadn’t imagined such a scent could exist. If I’d known it did, I would have gonesearching for it long ago. I would have combed the planet for her. I could imagine thetaste…Thirst burned through my throat like fire. My mouth was baked and desiccated.

　　The fresh flow of venom did nothing to dispel that sensation. My stomach twisted withthe hunger that was an echo of the thirst. My muscles coiled to spring.

　　Not a full second had passed. She was still taking the same step that had put herdownwind from me.

　　As her foot touched the ground, her eyes slid toward me, a movement she clearlymeant to be stealthy. Her glance met mine, and I saw myself reflected in the wide mirrorof her eyes.

　　The shock of the face I saw there saved her life for a few thorny moments.

　　She didn’t make it easier. When she processed the expression on my face, bloodflooded her cheeks again, turning her skin the most delicious color I’d ever seen. Thescent was a thick haze in my brain. I could barely think through it. My thoughts raged,resisting control, incoherent.

　　She walked more quickly now, as if she understood the need to escape. Her hastemade her clumsy—she tripped and stumbled forward, almost falling into the girl seated infront of me. Vulnerable, weak. Even more than usual for a human.

　　I tried to focus on the face I’d seen in her eyes, a face I recognized with revulsion.

　　The face of the monster in me—the face I’d beaten back with decades of effort anduncompromising discipline. How easily it sprang to the surface now!

　　The scent swirled around me again, scattering my thoughts and nearly propellingme out of my seat.

　　No.

　　  My hand gripped under the edge of the table as I tried to hold myself in my chair.

　　The wood was not up to the task. My hand crushed through the strut and came away witha palmful of splintered pulp, leaving the shape of my fingers carved into the remainingwood.

　　Destroy evidence. That was a fundamental rule. I quickly pulverized the edges ofthe shape with my fingertips, leaving nothing but a ragged hole and a pile of shavings onthe floor, which I scattered with my foot.

　　Destroy evidence. Collateral damage….

　　I knew what had to happen now. The girl would have to come sit beside me, andI would have to kill her.

　　The innocent bystanders in this classroom, eighteen other children and one man,could not be allowed to leave this room, having seen what they would soon see.

　　I flinched at the thought of what I must do. Even at my very worst, I had nevercommitted this kind of atrocity. I had never killed innocents, not in over eight decades.

　　And now I planned to slaughter twenty of them at once.

　　The face of the monster in the mirror mocked me.

　　Even as part of me shuddered away from the monster, another part was planningit.

　　If I killed the girl first, I would have only fifteen or twenty seconds with herbefore the humans in the room would react. Maybe a little bit longer, if at first they didnot realize what I was doing. She would not have time to scream or feel pain; I wouldnot kill her cruelly. That much I could give this stranger with her horribly desirableblood.

　　But then I would have to stop them from escaping. I wouldn’t have to worryabout the windows, too high up and small to provide an escape for anyone. Just thedoor—block that and they were trapped.

　　It would be slower and more difficult, trying to take them all down when theywere panicked and scrambling, moving in chaos. Not impossible, but there would bemuch more noise. Time for lots of screaming. Someone would hear…and I’d be forcedto kill even more innocents in this black hour.

　　And her blood would cool, while I murdered the others.

　　  The scent punished me, closing my throat with dry aching…So the witnesses first then.

　　I mapped it out in my head. I was in the middle of the room, the furthest row inthe back. I would take my right side first. I could snap four or five of their necks persecond, I estimated. It would not be noisy. The right side would be the lucky side; theywould not see me coming. Moving around the front and back up the left side, it wouldtake me, at most, five seconds to end every life in this room.

　　Long enough for Bella Swan to see, briefly, what was coming for her. Longenough for her to feel fear. Long enough, maybe, if shock didn’t freeze her in place, forher to work up a scream. One soft scream that would not bring anyone running.

　　I took a deep breath, and the scent was a fire that raced through my dry veins,burning out from my chest to consume every better impulse that I was capable of.

　　She was just turning now. In a few seconds, she would sit down inches awayfrom me.

　　The monster in my head smiled in anticipation.

　　Someone slammed shut a folder on my left. I didn’t look up to see which of thedoomed humans it was. But the motion sent a wave of ordinary, unscented air waftingacross my face.

　　For one short second, I was able to think clearly. In that precious second, I sawtwo faces in my head, side by side.

　　One was mine, or rather had been: the red-eyed monster that had killed so manypeople that I’d stop counting their numbers. Rationalized, justified murders. A killer ofkillers, a killer of other, less powerful monsters. It was a god complex, I acknowledgedthat—deciding who deserved a death sentence. It was a compromise with myself. I hadfed on human blood, but only by the loosest definition. My victims were, in their variousdark pastimes, barely more human than I was.

　　The other face was Carlisle’s.

　　There was no resemblance between the two faces. They were bright day andblackest night.

　　There was no reason for there to be a resemblance. Carlisle was not my father inthe basic biological sense. We shared no common features. The similarity in our coloring was a product of what we were; every vampire had the same ice pale skin. Thesimilarity in the color of our eyes was another matter—a reflection of a mutual choice.

　　And yet, though there was no basis for a resemblance, I’d imagined that my facehad begun to reflect his, to an extent, in the last seventy-odd years that I had embracedhis choice and followed in his steps. My features had not changed, but it seemed to melike some of his wisdom had marked my expression, that a little of his compassion couldbe traced in the shape of my mouth, and hints of his patience were evident on my brow.

　　All those tiny improvements were lost in the face of the monster. In a fewmoments, there would be nothing left in me that would reflect the years I’d spent with mycreator, my mentor, my father in all the ways that counted. My eyes would glow red as adevil’s; all likeness would be lost forever.

　　In my head, Carlisle’s kind eyes did not judge me. I knew that he would forgiveme for this horrible act that I would do. Because he loved me. Because he thought I wasbetter than I was. And he would still love me, even as I now proved him wrong.

　　Bella Swan sat down in the chair next to me, her movements stiff and awkward—with fear?—and the scent of her blood bloomed in an inexorable cloud around me.

　　I would prove my father wrong about me. The misery of this fact hurt almost asmuch as the fire in my throat.

　　I leaned away from her in revulsion—revolted by the monster aching to take her.

　　Why did she have to come here? Why did she have to exist? Why did she haveto ruin the little peace I had in this non-life of mine? Why had this aggravating humanever been born? She would ruin me.

　　I turned my face away from her, as a sudden fierce, unreasoning hatred washedthrough me.

　　Who was this creature? Why me, why now? Why did I have to lose everythingjust because she happened to choose this unlikely town to appear in?

　　Why had she come here!

　　I didn’t want to be the monster! I didn’t want to kill this room full of harmlesschildren! I didn’t want to lose everything I’d gained in a lifetime of sacrifice and denial!

　　I wouldn’t. She couldn’t make me.

　　  The scent was the problem, the hideously appealing scent of her blood. If therewas only some way to resist…if only another gust of fresh air could clear my head.

　　Bella Swan shook out her long, thick, mahogany hair in my direction.

　　Was she insane? It was as if she were encouraging the monster! Taunting him.

　　There was no friendly breeze to blow the smell away from me now. All wouldsoon be lost.

　　No, there was no helpful breeze. But I didn’t have to breathe.

　　I stopped the flow of air through my lungs; the relief was instantaneous, butincomplete. I still had the memory of the scent in my head, the taste of it on the back ofmy tongue. I wouldn’t be able to resist even that for long. But perhaps I could resist foran hour. One hour. Just enough time to get out of this room full of victims, victims thatmaybe didn’t have to be victims. If I could resist for one short hour.

　　It was an uncomfortable feeling, not breathing. My body did not need oxygen,but it went against my instincts. I relied on scent more than my other senses in times ofstress. It led the way in the hunt, it was the first warning in case of danger. I did notoften came across something as dangerous as I was, but self-preservation was just asstrong in my kind as it was in the average human.

　　Uncomfortable, but manageable. More bearable than smelling her and notsinking my teeth through that fine, thin, see-through skin to the hot, wet, pulsing—An hour! Just one hour. I must not think of the scent, the taste.

　　The silent girl kept her hair between us, leaning forward so that it spilled acrossher folder. I couldn’t see her face, to try to read the emotions in her clear, deep eyes.

　　Was this why she’d let her tresses fan out between us? To hide those eyes from me? Outof fear? Shyness? To keep her secrets from me?

　　My former irritation at being stymied by her soundless thoughts was weak andpale in comparison to the need—and the hate—that possessed me now. For I hated thisfrail woman-child beside me, hated her with all the fervor with which I clung to myformer self, my love of my family, my dreams of being something better than what Iwas… Hating her, hating how she made me feel—it helped a little. Yes, the irritation I’dfelt before was weak, but it, too, helped a little. I clung to any emotion that distracted mefrom imagining what she would taste like…  Hate and irritation. Impatience. Would the hour never pass?

　　And when the hour ended… Then she would walk out of this room. And I woulddo what?

　　I could introduce myself. Hello, my name is Edward Cullen. May I walk you toyour next class?

　　She would say yes. It would be the polite thing to do. Even already fearing me,as I suspected she did, she would follow convention and walk beside me. It should beeasy enough to lead her in the wrong direction. A spur of the forest reached out like afinger to touch the back corner of the parking lot. I could tell her I’d forgotten a book inmy car…Would anyone notice that I was the last person she’d been seen with? It wasraining, as usual; two dark raincoats heading the wrong direction wouldn’t pique toomuch interest, or give me away.

　　Except that I was not the only student who was aware of her today—though noone was as blisteringly aware as I was. Mike Newton, in particular, was conscious ofevery shift in her weight as she fidgeted in her chair—she was uncomfortable so close tome, just as anyone would be, just as I’d expected before her scent had destroyed allcharitable concern. Mike Newton would notice if she left the classroom with me.

　　If I could last an hour, could I last two?

　　I flinched at the pain of the burning.

　　She would go home to an empty house. Police Chief Swan worked a full day. Iknew his house, as I knew every house in the tiny town. His home was nestled right upagainst thick woods, with no close neighbors. Even if she had time to scream, which shewould not, there would be no one to hear.

　　That would be the responsible way to deal with this. I’d gone seven decadeswithout human blood. If I held my breath, I could last two hours. And when I had heralone, there would be no chance of anyone else getting hurt. And no reason to rushthrough the experience, the monster in my head agreed.

　　It was sophistry to think that by saving the nineteen humans in this room witheffort and patience, I would be less a monster when I killed this innocent girl.

　　  Though I hated her, I knew my hatred was unjust. I knew that what I really hatedwas myself. And I would hate us both so much more when she was dead.

　　I made it through the hour in this way—imagining the best ways to kill her. Itried to avoid imagining the actual act. That might be too much for me; I might lose thisbattle and end up killing everyone in sight. So I planned strategy, and nothing more. Itcarried me through the hour.

　　Once, toward the very end, she peeked up at me through the fluid wall of her hair.

　　I could feel the unjustified hatred burning out of me as I met her gaze—see the reflectionof it in her frightened eyes. Blood pai............