The alarm on Veer's phone buzzed at precisely 6:15 AM, dragging him from dreams that had been surprisingly peaceful given the previous night's activities. For a moment, he lay still in the predawn darkness, his enhanced senses automatically cataloging the sounds of the Swan house beginning its daily routine—Charlie's heavy footsteps in the bathroom down the hall, the groan of old pipes protesting morning use, and the distant rumble of what sounded like a garbage truck making its rounds through Forks' quiet streets.
His body felt surprisingly good despite having channeled divine power through mortal physiology for several hours. No muscle soreness, no lingering fatigue, just the pleasant awareness that came from having used his capabilities exactly as they were designed to be used. Apparently eliminating supernatural threats counted as appropriate exercise for divine avatars.
*Plus,* he reflected as he swung his legs out of bed, *I got almost three hours of actual sleep. That's basically luxury by cosmic protector standards.*
The morning shower was a careful affair, requiring strategic maneuvering to avoid examining too closely the various minor abrasions and forest debris that had somehow survived last night's stream washing. Nothing serious—his enhanced healing had already addressed anything that might have raised questions—but enough residual evidence to remind him that running through wilderness at supernatural speeds while wearing minimal clothing came with minor consequences.
The hot water felt phenomenal against his skin, washing away the last traces of forest adventure and divine transformation. As steam filled the small bathroom, Veer found himself processing the previous night's events with the kind of calm analytical distance that only came after adequate rest and physical comfort.
He'd killed three vampires. Beings who had existed for decades or centuries, who had accumulated knowledge and experience that dwarfed his seventeen years of mortal existence. He'd eliminated them with the kind of systematic efficiency that should have been disturbing but instead felt like fulfilling his fundamental purpose.
*Because that's what I am,* he reflected as he dried off with one of Charlie's practical but slightly scratchy towels. *Divine protection given form. Cosmic justice delivered with precision. The thing that stands between innocents and those who would harm them.*
The realization didn't trouble him as much as he'd expected. Maybe because his divine nature made certain moral calculations feel less like choices and more like natural law. Or maybe because three vampire sisters had witnessed his capabilities and chosen to stay, support, and help with cleanup rather than flee in terror.
Either way, he felt more settled about his identity than he had since his reincarnation began.
Dressed in jeans and a comfortable flannel shirt that seemed appropriately Pacific Northwest, Veer made his way downstairs to tackle the day's first major challenge: making breakfast impressive enough to justify the cooking reputation he'd accidentally established last night.
The kitchen was still mostly dark, morning light just beginning to filter through the windows in that pre-dawn grayness that made everything look slightly unreal. Veer moved through the space with practiced efficiency, his enhanced senses allowing him to navigate without turning on lights that might wake Bella prematurely.
First priority: coffee.
He retrieved the bag of Indian Monsooned Malabar beans from their cabinet, inhaling deeply as he opened the seal. The aroma was rich and complex—earthy, slightly spicy, with undertones that reminded him of monsoon rains and distant cities. It was a scent that carried memories of his previous life in Mumbai, though those memories felt increasingly distant compared to his growing connection to this new existence.
The coffee grinder made its characteristic whirring sound as it reduced whole beans to the proper consistency for moka pot brewing. Veer measured carefully, remembering Mike Newton's advice about grind size and the importance of precision in coffee preparation. Too fine and the grounds would clog the filter. Too coarse and the water would pass through without proper extraction.
As he assembled the moka pot—water in the bottom chamber, grounds in the filter basket, top screwed on with careful pressure—his phone buzzed with the kind of notification pattern that had become familiar over the past twelve hours.
Group chat notification from "Jessamyn," "Eleanor," and "Edythe."
Despite the early hour, Veer couldn't help but smile as he pulled out his phone.
Jessamyn: "Good morning, sugar. Hope you got some sleep after your evening adventures."
Eleanor: "And that you made it back into your room without Charlie discovering evidence of supernatural forest expeditions!"
Edythe: "We've been researching Narasimha mythology as requested. The theological complexity is fascinating."
Veer set his phone on the counter as he lit the stove and positioned the moka pot over medium heat. The responding text required careful thought—how to acknowledge their messages while maintaining appropriate boundaries at six-thirty in the morning.
Veer: "Good morning to all three of you. Made it back safely and got a few hours of actual sleep. Currently making breakfast and trying to pretend last night was just an interesting dream. How was your evening after we parted ways?"
The response came back almost immediately, suggesting that at least one of them had been actively monitoring her phone.
Eleanor: "Family debriefing session that lasted until dawn. Everyone's very impressed with your capabilities, though Emmett is devastated he missed the action."
Jessamyn: "Jasper wants a complete tactical breakdown of your combat techniques. Apparently systematic nomad elimination is his idea of fascinating dinner conversation."
Edythe: "And Alice has compiled approximately forty pages of research on Hindu avatars and their theological significance. She's very thorough."
The moka pot began making its characteristic burbling sound, announcing that the brewing process was underway. Veer watched the dark liquid begin to fill the upper chamber while composing his response.
Veer: "Tell Emmett I'm sorry he missed it, though honestly it was more educational demonstration than actual combat. And Alice's research will be very helpful when we have time for proper theological discussions."
He paused, then added: "What time are you planning to arrive at school? Want to coordinate so I'm not ambushed by Lauren Mallory before you can provide supernatural interference?"
Eleanor: "😂 Don't worry, Lauren's been... educated... about appropriate social boundaries. She won't be a problem."
That particular phrasing made Veer wonder exactly what had transpired during the sisters' mysterious conversation with Lauren yesterday, but he decided that some questions were better left unasked.
The coffee finished brewing with a final burst of steam, filling the kitchen with aromatic complexity that made even his enhanced senses appreciate the quality of properly prepared caffeine. Veer poured himself a cup, adding just enough milk to achieve the perfect balance, and took that first glorious morning sip that made early rising worthwhile.
*Okay,* he thought as divine-enhanced taste buds registered layers of flavor that ordinary palates would miss. *This is definitely an improvement over Charlie's recycled cardboard method.*
With coffee secured and the morning routine established, Veer turned his attention to the more challenging task: pancakes that would justify his accidentally acquired reputation as family chef.
The ingredients were basic—flour, eggs, milk, sugar, baking powder, salt, and a touch of vanilla extract he'd found hiding behind Charlie's beer collection. Nothing fancy, nothing that required exotic technique or specialized equipment. Just solid fundamentals executed with the kind of careful attention that separated adequate cooking from genuinely good food.
As he mixed the batter, his phone buzzed with another message, this time from Jacob.
Jacob: "Morning! Dad wants to confirm you're still coming for dinner tomorrow. Also, the guy with the Jeep says he can meet us Saturday morning at 9 AM if that works for your schedule. Fair warning: Dad's planning to tell embarrassing stories about Uncle Charlie's teenage years."
Veer grinned as he whisked the pancake batter to just the right consistency—smooth but not over-mixed, which would make the final product tough rather than fluffy.
Veer: "Definitely still on for dinner, and I'm looking forward to hearing whatever stories will make Charlie regret his youth. Saturday at 9 works perfectly. Should I bring anything besides enthusiasm and questionable mechanical skills?"
Jacob: "Just bring yourself and maybe some of those cooking skills Bella mentioned. Dad's breakfast game is solid but his dinner repertoire is basically 'whatever fits in a frying pan.'"
The griddle was heating on the stove, reaching that perfect temperature where water droplets would dance and sizzle without immediately evaporating. Veer tested it with a few drops, nodded with satisfaction, and began ladling batter onto the hot surface.
The first pancakes hit with a satisfying sizzle, immediately beginning their transformation from liquid batter to golden breakfast perfection. Veer watched the edges carefully, waiting for that moment when bubbles formed on the surface and the edges looked set enough for flipping.
His phone buzzed again, this time with a photo request from the group chat.
Jessamyn: "Sugar, you can't talk about making breakfast without providing photographic evidence. We're living vicariously through your culinary adventures, remember?"
Eleanor: "Plus we want to see if you're maintaining the same level of presentation quality as last night's curry!"
Edythe: "Ignore them. Though if you do happen to take photos, we wouldn't be opposed to viewing them."
Veer laughed quietly as he flipped the first batch of pancakes, revealing golden-brown surfaces that would have made IHOP jealous. The kitchen was filling with that distinctive breakfast aroma—butter, vanilla, caramelizing sugars—that made even supernatural beings with limited food appreciation recognize something delicious was happening.
Using his phone's camera, he captured a shot of the griddle with perfectly circular pancakes in various stages of completion, the morning light streaming through the kitchen window providing natural illumination that made the scene look almost professional.
Veer: "Photographic evidence as requested. Though I should mention that vampires who can't actually eat food developing this level of interest in cooking photos is both flattering and slightly concerning."
He added the image to the group chat and returned his attention to the griddle, flipping the second batch and starting a third round of pancakes. The rhythm was meditative—pour, wait, flip, transfer to warming plate, repeat. His enhanced coordination made the process almost automatic, freeing his mind to process other concerns.
Like how he was going to navigate another day of high school while being cosmically bonded to three supernatural beauties, possessing divine powers that could reshape reality, and carrying the knowledge that he'd eliminated three nomad vampires less than six hours ago.
*Just another typical Tuesday in Forks,* he reflected with dark amusement.
The immediate response to his photo was enthusiastic and slightly alarming in its intensity.
Eleanor: "Those are PERFECT. Look at that golden color! The uniform size! The way they're stacked!"
Jessamyn: "I am experiencing genuine regret about vampire dietary restrictions right now. Those look incredible."
Edythe: "The presentation is excellent. Though I have to ask—are you naturally this competent in the kitchen, or is this another manifestation of divine enhancement?"
Veer considered the question as he poured more batter onto the griddle. Was his cooking ability enhanced by his Narasimha nature, or was it just accumulated skill from years of helping Renee navigate her various culinary experiments?
Veer: "Honestly not sure. I've always enjoyed cooking, but whether my current competence is natural talent plus practice or divine coordination applied to breakfast preparation is unclear. Either way, Uncle Charlie's about to have a significantly better morning than his usual cereal routine."
As if summoned by the mention of his name and the irresistible aroma of fresh coffee combined with cooking pancakes, Charlie's footsteps sounded on the stairs. His timing was impeccable—the latest batch of pancakes was just reaching perfect doneness, and the moka pot had produced enough coffee for a proper serving.
"Is that actual coffee I'm smelling?" Charlie's voice carried the kind of hopeful disbelief of someone who'd been drinking substandard caffeine for years and was just discovering better options existed.
"Fresh brewed," Veer confirmed, flipping the last pancake with practiced precision. "Same beans as last night, same moka pot method. Your morning coffee experience is officially upgraded."
Charlie appeared in the kitchen doorway, still in his pajamas but clearly drawn by the combined siren song of proper coffee and something that smelled infinitely better than his usual breakfast routine.
"Kid," he said with genuine appreciation as he surveyed the scene—perfectly stacked pancakes, fresh coffee waiting in the pot, and his nephew moving around the kitchen with the kind of comfortable efficiency that suggested he actually knew what he was doing, "you're going to completely ruin my ability to appreciate regular breakfast."
"That's the plan," Veer replied with satisfaction, pouring Charlie a generous mug of coffee. "Drink that while I finish the last batch, and then we can properly corrupt your morning meal standards."
Charlie accepted the mug with the reverence usually reserved for sacred relics, taking a careful sip that made his eyebrows rise with immediate appreciation.
"Okay," he admitted after a moment of savoring the complex flavors, "this is definitely better than my usual routine. Where did you learn to make coffee like this?"
"Internet research and experimentation," Veer said, which was technically true even if it omitted the supernatural enhancement factor. "Plus, having watched Renee go through about fifteen different coffee phases, I've learned what works and what's just expensive marketing."
He transferred the final pancakes to the warming plate and began setting the table with the kind of casual competence that came from years of handling family breakfast duties.
"So," Charlie said, settling into his usual chair with his coffee and the morning paper that had been delivered to the doorstep, "how was your evening? Get enough sleep after all the excitement of your first day?"
Veer managed to keep his expression neutral despite the loaded nature of that question. His evening had involved divine transformation, systematic elimination of supernatural threats, and helping three vampire sisters dispose of nomad remains in forest clearings. But Charlie was asking about normal teenage activities, not cosmic justice missions.
"Slept fine," he replied honestly. "Though I have to admit, Forks at night is a lot quieter than Phoenix. The silence takes some getting used to."
"Wait until you experience a proper Pacific Northwest storm," Charlie said with the fond tone of someone who'd lived through countless weather events. "Then you'll understand that 'quiet' is relative."
As Veer plated the pancakes—three perfect stacks with butter and syrup on the side—his phone buzzed with one more message from the group chat.
Jessamyn: "See you at lunch, sugar. Looking forward to continuing our conversation about theological complexity and reality manipulation."
Eleanor: "And maybe discussing whether divine avatars can attend spring dances! Because I have OPINIONS about formal events."
Edythe: "Eleanor, let the man eat breakfast before you start planning his social calendar."
Veer smiled at his phone, then set it aside to focus on more immediate concerns. Like explaining to Charlie why he was suddenly interested in automotive restoration projects.
"So, Uncle Charlie," he said as he delivered perfectly plated pancakes to the table, "Jacob and I are looking at a Jeep this weekend. CJ-7, needs work but has good bones according to Billy. I'm thinking it could be a good project for us to work on together."
Charlie's expression shifted from appreciation of breakfast to the kind of paternal assessment that came from years of watching teenagers make questionable decisions.
"A project vehicle," he repeated carefully, cutting into his pancakes and taking a bite that made his eyes widen with immediate approval. "These are incredible, by the way. But back to the Jeep—how much work are we talking about?"
Veer pulled up the photos Jacob had sent on his phone, swiping through images of a forest-green CJ-7 that looked exactly as advertised—rough around the edges but structurally sound, with the kind of character that came from decades of honest use.
"Engine turns over but doesn't start," he explained, showing Charlie the photos with the kind of enthusiasm that wasn't entirely manufactured. "Probably fuel pump or electrical issues. Body's got some rust but nothing structural. Interior needs attention but the frame looks solid."
Charlie studied the images with the practiced eye of someone who'd evaluated countless vehicle situations in his professional capacity.
"That's not a bad starting point," he admitted. "CJ-7s are pretty straightforward to work on—everything's mechanical rather than computerized, parts are easy to find, and they're forgiving of amateur mechanics learning as they go."
"That's what Jacob said," Veer confirmed, finding himself genuinely excited about the project despite the supernatural complexity of his actual existence. "Plus it'll give me an excuse to spend time at the Black's place, learn some practical skills, and have my own transportation that doesn't involve borrowing Bella's truck."
"Speaking of which," Charlie said with growing interest, "how much is he asking for it?"
"Three thousand as-is," Veer replied. "Figure another two or three to get it really nice, depending on how ambitious we get with upgrades."
Charlie's expression suggested he was running mental calculations about teenage finances and responsible spending decisions. "That's reasonable if the frame's solid and the engine's rebuildable. You have that kind of money saved up?"
"Between what I've saved from part-time work in Phoenix and some of the inheritance from my parents, yeah," Veer said carefully. The inheritance was real—his mother had left him a modest trust that had been growing for years. "I figure if I'm going to be in Forks permanently, having my own vehicle makes sense. Plus it's a good learning experience."
"And Billy's comfortable with you and Jacob taking this on?" Charlie asked, his protective instincts clearly engaged despite his appreciation for the project's educational value.
"Billy actually suggested it," Veer confirmed. "Said Jacob's been wanting to do a ground-up restoration for a while, but they couldn't justify it financially. This way we split the costs, share the work, and both learn something useful."
The sound of footsteps on the stairs announced Bella's arrival, though the shuffling, half-awake quality suggested she was operating on minimal consciousness and maximum coffee need.
"Is that pancakes I smell?" she mumbled as she appeared in the kitchen doorway, her hair slightly mussed and her eyes barely open. "And actual coffee?"
"Fresh made," Veer confirmed, already preparing her a plate. "Charlie and I were just discussing the Jeep project Jacob and I want to tackle."
Bella settled into her chair with the grateful slump of someone who hadn't quite achieved full wakefulness. When Veer placed perfectly prepared pancakes in front of her along with a mug of properly brewed coffee, her expression shifted to something approaching religious gratitude.
"Veer," she said after her first bite, her voice gaining clarity as sugar and caffeine began doing their work, "you are officially the best cousin ever. Like, Hall of Fame level family member."
"I aim to please," he replied with satisfaction, claiming his own plate and settling in for breakfast.
Charlie was still examining the Jeep photos with obvious interest, occasionally showing images to Bella and explaining various features that might need attention. The conversation naturally evolved into automotive discussion—engine specifications, potential upgrade paths, the relative merits of different tire choices for Pacific Northwest conditions.
It was perfectly, beautifully normal. Three family members having breakfast together, discussing practical projects and daily logistics, with no mention of divine powers, vampire romance, or supernatural threat elimination in forest clearings.
*This is what protection actually looks like,* Veer reflected as he enjoyed pancakes that had turned out even better than expected. *Not just eliminating threats, but preserving the normal moments. The family breakfasts and project vehicle discussions and morning routines that make life worth protecting in the first place.*
His phone buzzed one more time, and despite his resolution to focus on family breakfast, he couldn't resist checking the message.
Alice: "Vision update: Today's lunch period is going to be very interesting. Prepare for significant social attention. Also, Emmett wants to know if divine avatars can participate in arm wrestling competitions, because apparently that's his new obsession."
Veer barely suppressed a laugh, which made both Charlie and Bella look up from their breakfast with curious expressions.
"Everything okay?" Bella asked.
"Just Jacob confirming details about Saturday," Veer lied smoothly. "Apparently Billy's breakfast standards are going to make proper cooking a requirement for family visits."
"Well, if your pancakes are any indication," Charlie said with obvious satisfaction, cutting into his second serving, "I think you'll exceed whatever culinary standards the Blacks might have."
As they finished breakfast and began the morning routine of preparing for work and school—dishes cleaned, lunches packed, appropriate clothing selected for Pacific Northwest weather—Veer found himself caught between multiple layers of existence.
On the surface, he was Veer Dwyer, seventeen-year-old high school student, making breakfast and discussing vehicle restoration projects with his family.
Beneath that, he was Narasimha, divine avatar with reality-warping capabilities and cosmic authority to eliminate supernatural threats.
And threading through both identities was the growing complexity of his relationship with three vampire sisters who found his cooking photos more interesting than they probably should and who were planning theological discussions about Hindu mythology during lunch period.
*Just another day in Forks,* he thought as he gathered his backpack and prepared to face whatever fresh complications awaited him at school.
Though judging by Alice's cryptic warning about "significant social attention," those complications were going to be more interesting than usual.
At least he'd face them on a full stomach and properly caffeinated.
Some advantages, it turned out, transcended supernatural hierarchy entirely.
—
The drive from Forks to the Denali compound in Alaska had taken Edward Cullen exactly fourteen hours of sustained high-speed driving, during which time he'd composed approximately six terrible poems about tragic fate, questioned every life decision that had led to this moment, and discovered that even vampire reflexes couldn't make the Canadian highway system any less tedious.
The Denali residence emerged from the Alaskan wilderness like a monument to refined taste and excessive wealth—all modern architecture harmonizing with pristine landscape, floor-to-ceiling windows offering views of snow-capped peaks, and the kind of elegant isolation that came from owning several thousand acres of protected wilderness.
It should have been a refuge. A place to gather his thoughts, process his reaction to Bella Swan's devastatingly appealing blood, and develop some kind of strategy for managing supernatural attraction that threatened his century of carefully maintained control.
Instead, as Edward pulled his Lexus into the circular driveway and cut the engine, his telepathic abilities immediately informed him that he'd traded one form of torture for something potentially worse.
Tanya's mental voice hit his consciousness like a tidal wave of extremely detailed fantasy.
*Oh, Edward's here. Finally. Look at him stepping out of that car—all tense shoulders and brooding energy. I wonder if he's still holding onto that ridiculous celibacy commitment, because I have several ideas about how to help him reconsider...*
The accompanying mental images were explicit enough to make Edward's marble cheeks flush with something that would have been embarrassment if vampires were capable of such physiological responses. Tanya's imagination, honed over centuries of experience, was painting scenarios that would have made adult entertainment directors take notes.
*Stop,* Edward thought desperately in her direction, though he knew from experience that telepathic communication didn't work that way. He could receive thoughts, not transmit them—which meant he was essentially a captive audience for whatever mental programming Tanya decided to broadcast.
The front door opened before he'd even gathered his luggage, revealing the Denali matriarch herself. Tanya Denali possessed the kind of supernatural beauty that had launched a thousand mortal obsessions—strawberry blonde hair that caught sunlight like spun gold, golden eyes that promised both sophistication and decidedly unsophisticated activities, and a figure that would have made classical sculptors weep with inadequacy.
"Edward," she purred, her voice carrying layers of welcome that transcended mere hospitality. "What a delightful surprise. When Carlisle called to say you were coming, I immediately began planning all the ways we could... reconnect."
The mental images accompanying her greeting featured significantly less clothing than current reality and a disturbing amount of creative uses for the Denali compound's various architectural features.
"Tanya," Edward managed, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining composure while his telepathic abilities forced him to witness her increasingly elaborate fantasies. "Thank you for the hospitality. I need some time to think, to process—"
*To process what it would feel like if I just walked up to him right now and—*
"Please stop," Edward said aloud, though he immediately regretted the words when Tanya's expression shifted to something between amusement and predatory satisfaction.
"Stop what, darling?" she asked with false innocence, though her mental voice was painting scenarios involving the expensive leather sofa visible through the front windows.
"The... thoughts," Edward replied weakly, recognizing even as he spoke that asking Tanya to control her mental imagery was like asking the ocean to stop having waves.
"Oh, Edward," Tanya laughed, the sound like breaking crystal given voice. "You can't expect a girl to control her thoughts just because you happen to be eavesdropping on them. That's not how telepathy works."
She stepped closer, her movements carrying the fluid grace that marked all their kind but with an additional layer of deliberate sensuality that suggested every gesture was calculated for maximum impact.
"Besides," she continued, her mental voice now depicting elaborate scenarios involving the mansion's library, "you show up at my door looking all tortured and brooding after fleeing from some human girl, and you expect me not to have... opinions... about alternative stress relief methods?"
*The reading table would be perfect. Strong enough to handle vampire enthusiasm. Private enough that the others wouldn't interrupt. And Edward always did appreciate intellectual settings...*
"Tanya, please," Edward said, taking an involuntary step backward despite his vampire dignity. "I'm dealing with a complicated situation. The last thing I need is—"
"The last thing you need," Tanya interrupted with devastating accuracy, "is to keep torturing yourself over some mortal whose blood appeals to you. Edward, you've been celibate for over a century. That's not healthy even by vampire standards."
Her mental imagery had now progressed to scenarios involving the compound's hot springs, which raised questions about logistics that Edward desperately didn't want to contemplate.
"Carmen!" Edward called out with the desperation of someone seeking any possible intervention. "Eleazar! Anyone home?"
The response came not from the other Denali residents but from Tanya's mental voice, now depicting increasingly creative scenarios involving vampire flexibility and the architectural features of the compound's master suite.
*They're hunting. Won't be back for hours. Which means we have plenty of time to discuss your... situation... in detail.*
Edward felt genuine panic beginning to override his usual careful control. Being trapped in close quarters with Tanya while his telepathic abilities forced him to experience her extensive fantasy catalog was its own special form of torture—one that made confronting Bella's appealing blood seem almost simple by comparison.
At least with Bella, the threat was straightforward bloodlust that he could manage through distance and careful breathing techniques. With Tanya, he was facing centuries of accumulated desire, sophisticated seduction strategies, and mental imagery that suggested she'd spent considerable time researching creative applications of vampire capabilities.
"I'm going to my room," Edward announced with as much dignity as he could muster while being mentally subjected to scenarios involving the grand staircase. "To think. Alone. With doors closed and possibly barricaded."
"Of course, darling," Tanya agreed with obviously false acquiescence, her mental voice now exploring possibilities involving the shower facilities and vampire water resistance. "You take all the time you need. I'll just be down here, thinking my completely uncontrollable thoughts about all the ways I could help you forget about your human blood singer."
*Maybe if I start with that spot just below his ear. Vampires are sensitive there. Then work my way down his neck, across those ridiculously perfect shoulders...*
Edward fled toward the guest suite with vampire speed that would have been impressive if it weren't so obviously motivated by escape rather than efficiency. Behind him, Tanya's laughter followed along with mental imagery that suggested she found his discomfort more entertaining than discouraging.
As he reached the sanctuary of the guest room and closed the door with perhaps more force than strictly necessary, Edward reflected that he'd successfully traded one form of torture for another.
In Forks, he'd been tormented by blood that sang to him with the promise of perfect satisfaction mixed with the certainty of catastrophic consequences.
In Denali, he was being tormented by a centuries-old vampire whose mental voice was currently depicting scenarios involving the bedroom's four-poster bed and several positions that would have made Kama Sutra authors take notes.
*I could just drive back,* he thought desperately. *Face the blood singer, risk catastrophic loss of control, potentially murder the police chief's daughter—that might actually be preferable to this.*
But even as the thought formed, he recognized its absurdity. He'd fled Forks specifically to protect Bella from his dangerous attraction. Returning because he couldn't handle Tanya's enthusiastic mental fantasies would be admitting defeat on multiple levels.
From downstairs, Tanya's voice carried clearly to his enhanced hearing: "Let me know if you need anything, Edward! I'm very good at providing... assistance... with stress relief!"
The accompanying mental imagery featured the guest room's furniture being utilized in ways that definitely hadn't been intended by the original designers.
Edward collapsed onto the bed with the kind of melodramatic despair that had characterized his entire response to finding his mate, and contemplated whether a century of celibacy was worth this particular form of suffering.
Outside the window, the Alaskan wilderness stretched endlessly—beautiful, pristine, and completely indifferent to vampire romantic complications.
The evening was going to be very, very long.
---
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