It was effortless as biting into butter. My teeth were steel razors; they cut through the fur and fat and
sinews like they weren't there.

The flavor was wrong, but the blood was hot and wet and it soothed the ragged, itching thirst as I drank
in an eager rush. The cat's struggles grew more and more feeble, and his screams choked off with a
gurgle. The warmth of the blood radiated throughout my whole body, heating even my fingertips and
toes.

The lion was finished before I was. The thirst flared again when he ran dry, and I shoved his carcass off
my body in disgust. How could I still be thirsty after all that?



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I wrenched myself erect in one quick move. Standing, I realized I was a bit of a mess. I wiped my face
off on the back of my arm and tried to fix the dress. The claws that had been so ineffectual against my
skin had had more success with the thin satin.

"Hmm," Edward said. I looked up to see him leaning casually against a tree trunk, watching me with a
thoughtful look on his face.

"I guess I could have done that better." I was covered in dirt, my hair knotted, my dress bloodstained
and hanging in tatters. Edward didn't come home from hunting trips looking like this.

"You did perfectly fine," he assured me. "It's just that... it was much more difficult for me to watch than it
should have been."

I raised my eyebrows, confused.

"It goes against the grain," he explained, "letting you wrestle with lions. I was having an anxiety attack the
whole time."