A/N: There are no words. Sorry. Short chapter, but more to come. I'd promise, but those don't mean much, do they?

As always, Stephenie Meyer owns everything.

That girl. She angered me. Maddened me. Infuriated me. Yet, as I watched her curl her body into an even tighter ball in my bed, moaning as she did so, I felt more. She did more to me than that. She interested me. Intrigued me. Fascinated me. I wanted to know more about her. I watched her eyelids flicker as she slept, wondering what she was dreaming about. Human dreams were my favourite part of the...gift...I had. While my ability to read minds plagued me every day of my existence; making me privy to things that I had never wanted to know, when it came to dreams, I loved it. Sleep is the thing I missed more than any other facet of my mortal life, more than warmth, or food or the ability to enjoy sunlight in the company of others. Sleep. I sighed. Much as I denied it to my family, I had often spent nights poised outside of strangers windows, watching their dreams inside my own head. Impossible situations, joy, ecstacy, pain, fear, grief...the entire compendium of human emotion expressed in one dream. Deepest desires revealed. And as her eyelids continued to flicker, and she continued to experience the contents of her dreams, I wished more than anything that I could hear her, that she could reveal her deepest desires to me.

I shook my head, rocking slightly in the chair that sat in the corner of the room, cast in shadows. I smirked. In the shadows, where I belonged. That's where I had run to the night she had first come. I thought of that night, only a week before. I felt like years. The truck that had so angered me on the silent evening now stood proudly in my driveway, a symbol of something I couldn't even begin to comprehend. As the monster inside me had fought to free itself from the decades old cage I had trapped it in, the girl had explored the rooms that I had called home. And never had the word 'home' applied to it more than when she took her first hesitant steps around the dilapidated space. Of course I followed her, intoxicated by her scent and crazy with bloodlust. It took every ounce of my self control not to spin her around, to sink my teeth in that creamy neck and drain every ounce of the liquid that gave her life. So insane was I with the internal battle I was waging, I failed to notice the most mind-boggling thing that had happened to me in the many, many years since I had awoken to this new life. The silence in my head remained. It wasn't full of teenage ramblings. I had no explanation for the puffiness of her eyes or the scent of salt water that tainted that floral fragrance. My thoughts were still just that, mine.

Mine. That word is so entwined with the girl now, it is almost impossible to separate them. She is mine. She was the moment she walked in that door, and she will be no matter how many times she walks out it. Mine. Mine.

But while she might be mine, would she ever know it? I was not used to being shut out from someone's private thoughts, and being denied that access to the inner workings of her mind was putting me at a disadvantage. Perhaps if I could hear her, I would be satisfied with this one-sided relationship, but I couldn't hear her, and after a week sitting near her like a pervert, I still knew no more about her than the first night. I had found myself hatching plans, following her, watching her during the day, and in my most daring day dreams, talking to her...

Another moan wakened me from my reverie, low and feminine in her throat. That moan; the things it did to me...I felt the now familiar tightening in my trousers. Seven nights she had stayed here, and seven nights I had fought to keep this side of myself under control. I could fight no more. Certainly her scent was past believable, and to taste her blood would be a kind of heaven, but there was more to her than that. My thirst was easy to control when compared with the different kind of thirst that I was now experiencing. The thirst for her body. I wanted to feel her silky soft skin under my hand, to run my fingers over every part of her body. I wanted to breathe her scent in directly, to see if she tasted the way that she smelled; like fresh linen and hyacinths. Taste. How I wanted to taste her, to gorge myself on her, to lick her neck, and the pale stomach that I had caught glimpses of, to run my tongue over her warmth. Over where it was warmest. My muscles tensed, poised to try, and I fought them, remaining where I was. Until that infuriating crease appeared between her eyebrows again, and I was beside her in an instant, over her. I inclined my head slightly, my lips were so close. I revelled in her scent, her breath coating my face, as I brushed my mouth ever so slightly over that crease. And that's when she stirred.

Her beautiful brown eyes were stunned, gazing up at me sleepily. And then she did something which stunned me. 'You' she murmured, flinging the comforter back, a silent invitation which I was powerless to deny. And so, as the battles I was becoming so used to raged on inside me, I climbed into warm sheets, and wrapped stone cold arms around my own personal angel.

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