𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒

Chapter 14

Time was a peculiar thing, Edward thought. There had been days during his vampire life that had stretched out interminably, each second ticking like a bomb. Then there were weeks, months, even years that passed in a flash. Of course, time moved most quickly when he was happy, and since his confrontation with Draco in the cabin, it had flown. Perhaps it was strange to be happy during such a time. He hadn't told Draco of his true parentage, not wanting to interrupt the relative calm their relationship had settled into. For his part, Draco appeared reticent to bring up heavier matters as well.

That didn't mean reality wasn't always there, hovering. It was just a matter of time before things came to a head. Sometimes, during a long extended silence, Edward realized just how much they were probably keeping from each other. At least Draco had finally seemed to accept that Edward wasn't going to allow the wizard to push him away, not unless Draco truly didn't want him.

Edward had begun to work out a plan. If he could learn some basic protective spells, perhaps he could get close enough to Voldemort to attack without being injured himself. Otherwise, he knew Draco would never agree, and he needed Draco to get close. Just thinking of the lives the Dark Lord had already taken and those he still would, Edward was more and more convinced that eradicating him was the only way Draco and his family—and everyone else he threatened—would finally be free.

He didn't have any idea whether or not it was possible to learn even the most basic magic; aside from his telepathy, he'd never felt so much as a spark before. True, he didn't know what it would have felt like, but he was sure he'd have been aware of at least something. From the things Draco had told him, magic was impossible to repress.

Edward loved hearing stories of Draco's childhood. As a baby he'd unintentionally changed an entire case of his father's most prized firewhiskey into pumpkin juice because he didn't like the smell on Lucius's breath. Though his father had been irritated, he'd also been quite pleased his only son displayed his gifts at so young an age. Draco smiled when he related that bit, his own pride fetchingly coloring his cheeks. It made Edward think of his own father—the strange disruptions he may have caused in the small Illinois farm community where he grew up. It only seemed to give even more credence to Alistair's theory.

Weeks passed, and it was with some surprise that when Edward opened the door to the cabin one morning in early March, he noticed crocuses pushing up through the last of the remaining snow.

He inhaled with purpose, tasting the air. The scents of magical creatures lingered on his tongue along with his more standard prey. Yes, it would be a good day for a hunt.

Draco had promised to come by later that afternoon, so Edward ran the length of the Forbidden Forest, making sure to skirt the centaur colony, as his last run in with the head of the clan hadn't gone at all pleasantly. In a cave system he'd yet to explore, he encountered a couple of giant, blind rodents with sharp teeth and claws that actually damaged his skin. It was a good fight, though, as he made his way back to the cabin, the blood he'd drunk healed the wounds the creatures had inflicted.

When evening fell and Draco still hadn't arrived, Edward began to worry. By the next night, his concern had morphed into a full-fledged panic. He paced the cabin, nearly wearing a track in the floor. Since Draco couldn't visit at night, they always made plans in advance. And, because he knew Edward worried, Draco had taken to sending an owl to the cabin with a note if he was unable to make it for some reason. Over twenty-four hours had passed without any correspondence. Which could only mean one thing: something was wrong.

A knock finally broke the silence at just before midnight. Edward snatched the door open, unsure if he wanted to kiss Draco or kill him for being so thoughtless. His eyes widened in surprise before he could do either.