The kitchen smelled of nothing—it always did now—but the marble counters gleamed under the soft afternoon light, and somewhere upstairs, Rosalie was pointedly ignoring the fact that Edward was bringing a human home for dinner.

He pushed off the counter and moved behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. His voice dropped to a playful murmur.

Outside, the forest was too still. Edward was coming. And with him, the human girl whose heart would beat like a war drum in a house full of predators.