“Yaha Uta described what had happened: he and his brothers had found the creature, who looked like a man but was hard as a granite rock, with the two Makah daughters. One girl was already dead, white and bloodless on the ground. The other was in the creature’s arms, his mouth at her throat. She may have been alive when they came upon the hideous scene, but the creature quickly snapped her neck and tossed her lifeless body to the ground when they approached. His white lips were covered in her blood, and his eyes glowed red.

“Yaha Uta described the fierce strength and speed of the creature. One of his brothers quickly became a victim when he underestimated that strength. The creature ripped him apart like a doll. Yaha Uta and his other brother were more wary. They worked together, coming at the creature from the sides, outmaneuvering it. They had to reach the very limits of their wolf strength and speed, something that had never been tested before. The creature was hard as stone and cold as ice. They found that only their teeth could damage it. They began to rip small pieces of the creature apart while it fought them.

“But the creature learned quickly, and soon was matching their maneuvers. It got its hands on Yaha Uta’s brother. Yaha Uta found an opening on the creature’s throat, and he lunged. His teeth tore the head off the creature, but the hands continued to mangle his brother.

“Yaha Uta ripped the creature into unrecognizable chunks, tearing pieces apart in a desperate attempt to save his brother. He was too late, but, in the end, the creature was destroyed.

“Or so they thought. Yaha Uta laid the reeking remains out to be examined by the elders. One severed hand lay beside a piece of the creature’s granite arm. The two pieces touched when the elders poked them with sticks, and the hand reached out towards the arm piece, trying to reassemble itself.

“Horrified, the elders set fire to the remains. A great cloud of choking, vile smoke polluted the air. When there was nothing but ashes, they separated the ashes into many small bags and spread them far and wide — some in the ocean, some in the forest, some in the cliff caverns. Taha Aki wore one bag around his neck, so he would be warned if the creature ever tried to put himself together again.”

Old Quil paused and looked at Billy. Billy pulled out a leather thong from around his neck. Hanging from the end was a small bag, blackened with age. A few people gasped. I might have been one of them.

“They called it The Cold One, the Blood Drinker, and lived in fear that it was not alone. They only had one wolf protector left, young Yaha Uta.

“They did not have long to wait. The creature had a mate, another blood drinker, who came to the Quileutes seeking revenge.

“The stories say that the Cold Woman was the most beautiful thing human eyes had ever seen. She looked like the goddess of the dawn when she entered the village that morning; the sun was shining for once, and it glittered off her white skin and lit the golden hair that flowed down to her knees. Her face was magical in its beauty, her eyes black in her white face. Some fell to their knees to worship her.

“She asked something in a high, piercing voice, in a language no one had ever heard. The people were dumbfounded, not knowing how to answer her. There was none of Taha Aki’s blood among the witnesses but one small boy. He clung to his mother and screamed that the smell was hurting his nose. One of the elders, on his way to council, heard the boy and realized what had come among them. He yelled for the people to run. She killed him first.

“There were twenty witnesses to the Cold Woman’s approach. Two survived, only because she grew distracted by the blood, and paused to sate her thirst. They ran to Taha Aki, who sat in counsel with the other elders, his sons, and his third wife.

“Yaha Uta transformed into his spirit wolf as soon as he heard the news. He went to destroy the blood drinker alone. Taha Aki, his third wife, his sons, and his elders followed behind him.

“At first they could not find the creature, only the evidence of her attack. Bodies lay broken, a few drained of blood, strewn across the road where she’d appeared. Then they heard the screams and hurried to the harbor.

“A handful of the Quileutes had run to the ships for refuge. She swam after them like a shark, and broke the bow of their boat with her incredible strength. When the ship sank, she caught those trying to swim away and broke them, too.

“She saw the great wolf on the shore, and she forgot the fleeing swimmers. She swam so fast she was a blur and came, dripping and glorious, to stand before Yaha Uta. She pointed at him with one white finger and asked another incomprehensible question. Yaha Uta waited.

“It was a close fight. She was not the warrior her mate had been. But Yaha Uta was alone — there was no one to distract her fury from him.

“When Yaha Uta lost, Taha Aki screamed in defiance. He limped forward and shifted into an ancient, white-muzzled wolf. The wolf was old, but this was Taha Aki the Spirit Man, and his rage made him strong. The fight began again.

“Taha Aki’s third wife had just seen her son die before her. Now her husband fought, and she had no hope that he could win. She’d heard every word the witnesses to the slaughter had told the council. She’d heard the story of Yaha Uta’s first victory, and knew that his brother’s diversion had saved him.

“The third wife grabbed a knife from the belt of one of the sons who stood beside her. They were all young sons, not yet men, and she knew they would die when their father failed.

“The third wife ran toward the Cold Woman with the dagger raised high. The Cold Woman smiled, barely distracted from her fight with the old wolf. She had no fear of the weak human woman or the knife that would not even scratch her skin, and she was about to deliver the death blow to Taha Aki.

“And then the third wife did something the Cold Woman did not expect. She fell to her knees at the blood drinker’s feet and plunged the knife into her own heart.

“Blood spurted through the third wife’s fingers and splashed against the Cold Woman. The blood drinker could not resist the lure of the fresh blood leaving the third wife’s body. Instinctively, she turned to the dying woman, for one second entirely consumed by thirst.

“Taha Aki’s teeth closed around her neck.

“That was not the end of the fight, but Taha Aki was not alone now. Watching their mother die, two young sons felt such rage that they sprang forth as their spirit wolves, though they were not yet men. With their father, they finished the creature.

“Taha Aki never rejoined the tribe. He never changed back to a man again. He lay for one day beside the body of the third wife, growling whenever anyone tried to touch her, and then he went into the forest and never returned.

“Trouble with the cold ones was rare from that time on. Taha Aki’s sons guarded the tribe until their sons were old enough to take their places. There were never more than three wolves at a time. It was enough. Occasionally a blood drinker would come through these lands, but they were taken by surprise, not expecting the wolves. Sometimes a wolf would die, but never were they decimated again like that first time. They’d learned how to fight the cold ones, and they passed the knowledge on, wolf mind to wolf mind, spirit to spirit, father to son.

“Time passed, and the descendants of Taha Aki no longer became wolves when they reached manhood. Only in a great while, if a cold one was near, would the wolves return. The cold ones always came in ones and twos, and the pack stayed small.

“A bigger coven came, and your own great-grandfathers prepared to fight them off. But the leader spoke to Ephraim Black as if he were a man, and promised not to harm the Quileutes. His strange yellow eyes gave some proof to his claim that they were not the same as other blood drinkers. The wolves were outnumbered; there was no need for the cold ones to offer a treaty when they could have won the fight. Ephraim accepted. They’ve stayed true to their side, though their presence does tend to draw in others.

“And their numbers have forced a larger pack than the tribe has ever seen,” Old Quil said, and for one moment his black eyes, all but buried in the wrinkles of skin folded around them, seemed to rest on me. “Except, of course, in Taha Aki’s time,” he said, and then he sighed. “And so the sons of our tribe again carry the burden and share the sacrifice their fathers endured before them.”

All was silent for a long moment. The living descendants of magic and legend stared at one another across the fire with sadness in their eyes. All but one.

“Burden,” he scoffed in a low voice. “I think it’s cool.” Quil’s full lower lip pouted out a little bit.

Across the dying fire, Seth Clearwater — his eyes wide with adulation for the fraternity of tribal protectors — nodded his agreement.

Billy chuckled, low and long, and the magic seemed to fade into the glowing embers. Suddenly, it was just a circle of friends again. Jared flicked a small stone at Quil, and everyone laughed when it made him jump. Low conversations murmured around us, teasing and casual.

Leah Clearwater’s eyes did not open. I thought I saw something sparkling on her cheek like a tear, but when I looked back a moment later it was gone.

Neither Jacob nor I spoke. He was so still beside me, his breath so deep and even, that I thought he might be close to sleep.

My mind was a thousand years away. I was not thinking of Yaha Uta or the other wolves, or the beautiful Cold Woman — I could picture her only too easily. No, I was thinking of someone outside the magic altogether. I was trying to imagine the face of the unnamed woman who had saved the entire tribe, the third wife.

Just a human woman, with no special gifts or powers. Physically weaker and slower than any of the monsters in the story. But she had been the key, the solution. She’d saved her husband, her young sons, her tribe.

I wish they’d remembered her name. . . .

Something shook my arm.

“C’mon, Bells,” Jacob said in my ear. “We’re here.”

I blinked, confused because the fire seemed to have disappeared. I glared into the unexpected darkness, trying to make sense of my surroundings. It took me a minute to realize that I was no longer on the cliff. Jacob and I were alone. I was still under his arm, but I wasn’t on the ground anymore.

How did I get in Jacob’s car?

“Oh, crap!” I gasped as I realized that I had fallen asleep. “How late is it? Dang it, where’s that stupid phone?” I patted my pockets, frantic and coming up empty.

“Easy. It’s not even midnight yet. And I already called him for you. Look — he’s waiting there.”

“Midnight?” I repeated stupidly, still disoriented. I stared into the darkness, and my heartbeat picked up when my eyes made out the shape of the Volvo, thirty yards away. I reached for the door handle.

“Here,” Jacob said, and he put a small shape into my other hand. The phone.

“You called Edward for me?”

My eyes were adjusted enough to see the bright gleam of Jacob’s smile. “I figured if I played nice, I’d get more time with you.”

“Thanks, Jake,” I said, touched. “Really, thank you. And thanks for inviting me tonight. That was . . .” Words failed me. “Wow. That was something else.”

“And you didn’t even stay up to watch me swallow a cow.” He laughed. “No, I’m glad you liked it. It was . . . nice for me. Having you there.”

There was a movement in the dark distance — something pale ghosting against the black trees. Pacing?

“Yeah, he’s not so patient, is he?” Jacob said, noticing my distraction. “Go ahead. But come back soon, okay?”

“Sure, Jake,” I promised, cracking the car door open. Cold air washed across my legs and made me shiver.

“Sleep tight, Bells. Don’t worry about anything — I’ll be watching out for you tonight.”

I paused, one foot on the ground. “No, Jake. Get some rest, I’ll be fine.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, but he sounded more patronizing than agreeing.

“’Night, Jake. Thanks.”

“’Night, Bella,” he whispered as I hurried into the darkness.

Edward caught me at the boundary line.

“Bella,” he said, relief strong in his voice; his arms wound tightly around me.

“Hi. Sorry I’m so late. I fell asleep and —”

“I know. Jacob explained.” He started toward the car, and I staggered woodenly at his side. “Are you tired? I could carry you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Let’s get you home and in bed. Did you have a nice time?”

“Yeah — it was amazing, Edward. I wish you could have come. I can’t even explain it. Jake’s dad told us the old legends and it was like . . . like magic.”

“You’ll have to tell me about it. After you’ve slept.”

“I won’t get it right,” I said, and then I yawned hugely.

Edward chuckled. He opened my door for me, lifted me in, and buckled my seat belt around me.

Bright lights flashed on and swept across us. I waved toward Jacob’s headlights, but I didn’t know if he saw the gesture.

That night — after I’d gotten past Charlie, who didn’t give me as much trouble as I’d expected because Jacob had called him, too — instead of collapsing in bed right away, I leaned out the open window while I waited for Edward to come back. The night was surprisingly cold, almost wintry. I hadn’t noticed it at all on the windy cliffs; I imagined that had less to do with the fire than it did with sitting next to Jacob.

Icy droplets spattered against my face as the rain began to fall.

It was too dark to see much besides the black triangles of the spruces leaning and shaking with the wind. But I strained my eyes anyway, searching for other shapes in the storm. A pale silhouette, moving like a ghost through the black . . . or maybe the shadowy outline of an enormous wolf. . . . My eyes were too weak.

Then there was a movement in the night, right beside me. Edward slid through my open window, his hands colder than the rain.

“Is Jacob out there?” I asked, shivering as Edward pulled me into the circle of his arm.

“Yes . . . somewhere. And Esme’s on her way home.”

I sighed. “It’s so cold and wet. This is silly.” I shivered again.

He chuckled. “It’s only cold to you, Bella.”

It was cold in my dream that night, too, maybe because I slept in Edward’s arms. But I dreamt I was outside in the storm, the wind whipping my hair in my face and blinding my eyes. I stood on the rocky crescent of First Beach, trying to understand the quickly moving shapes I could only dimly see in the darkness at the shore’s edge. At first, there was nothing but a flash of white and black, darting toward each other and dancing away. And then, as if the moon had suddenly broken from the clouds, I could see everything.

Rosalie, her hair swinging wet and golden down to the back of her knees, was lunging at an enormous wolf — its muzzle shot through with silver — that I instinctively recognized as Billy Black.

I broke into a run, but found myself moving in the frustrating slow motion of dreamers. I tried to scream to them, to tell them to stop, but my voice was stolen by the wind, and I could make no sound. I waved my arms, hoping to catch their attention. Something flashed in my hand, and I noticed for the first time that my right hand wasn’t empty.

I held a long, sharp blade, ancient and silver, crusted in dried, blackened blood.

I cringed away from the knife, and my eyes snapped open to the quiet darkness of my bedroom. The first thing I realized was that I was not alone, and I turned to bury my face in Edward’s chest, knowing the sweet scent of his skin would chase the nightmare away more effectively than anything else.

“Did I wake you?” he whispered. There was the sound of paper, the ruffling of pages, and a faint thump as something light fell to the wooden floor.

“No,” I mumbled, sighing in contentment as his arms tightened around me. “I had a bad dream.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

I shook my head. “Too tired. Maybe in the morning, if I remember.”

I felt a silent laugh shake through him.

“In the morning,” he agreed.

“What were you reading?” I muttered, not really awake at all.

“Wuthering Heights,” he said.

I frowned sleepily. “I thought you didn’t like that book.”

“You left it out,” he murmured, his soft voice lulling me toward unconsciousness. “Besides . . . the more time I spend with you, the more human emotions seem comprehensible to me. I’m discovering that I can sympathize with Heathcliff in ways I didn’t think possible before.”

“Mmm,” I sighed.

He said something else, something low, but I was already asleep.

The next morning dawned pearl gray and still. Edward asked me about my dream, but I couldn’t get a handle on it. I only remembered that I was cold, and that I was glad he was there when I woke up. He kissed me, long enough to get my pulse racing, and then headed home to change and get his car.

I dressed quickly, low on options. Whoever had ransacked my hamper had critically impaired my wardrobe. If it wasn’t so frightening, it would be seriously annoying.

As I was about to head down for breakfast, I noticed my battered copy of Wuthering Heights lying open on the floor where Edward had dropped it in the night, holding his place the way the damaged binding always held mine.

I picked it up curiously, trying to remember what he’d said. Something about feeling sympathy for Heathcliff, of all people. That couldn’t be right; I must have dreamed that part.

Three words on the open page caught my eye, and I bent my head to read the paragraph more closely. It was Heathcliff speaking, and I knew the passage well.

And there you see the distinction between our feelings: had he been in my place and I in his, though I hated him with a hatred that turned my life to gall, I never would have raised a hand against him. You may look incredulous, if you please! I never would have banished him from her society as long as she desired his. The moment her regard ceased, I would have torn his heart out, and drank his blood! But, till then — if you don’t believe me, you don’t know me — till then, I would have died by inches before I touched a single hair of his head!

The three words that had caught my eye were “drank his blood.”

I shuddered.

Yes, surely I must have dreamt that Edward said anything positive about Heathcliff. And this page was probably not the page he’d been reading. The book could have fallen open to any page.