TWILIGHT NEW MOON BOOK PDF FREE

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Meyer, Stephenie, —New Moon a novel / b) Stepheme Meyer—1st ed p cm different if she weren't trapped by the brilliant sunlight; only I was free to run. New Moon is a fantasy novel by author Stephenie Meyer, and is the second novel in the Twilight series. According to Meyer, the book is about losing true love . sunlight—the kind of blinding clear sun that never shone on my drizzly new . He lifted his free hand and traced one cool fingertip around the outside of my lips.


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I'd never had much money, and that had never bothered me. Renee had raised me on a kindergarten teacher's salary. Charlie wasn't getting rich at his job, either—he was the police chief here in the tiny town of Forks. My only personal income came from the three days a week I worked at the local sporting goods store.

In a town this small, I was lucky to have a job. Every penny I made went into my microscopic college fund. College was Plan B. I was still hoping for Plan A, but Edward was just so stubborn about leaving me human… Edward had a lot of money—I didn't even want to think about how much. Money meant next to nothing to Edward or the rest of the Cullens. It was just something that accumulated when you had unlimited time on your hands and a sister who had an uncanny ability to predict trends in the stock market.

Edward didn't seem to understand why I objected to him spending money on me—why it made me uncomfortable if he took me to an expensive restaurant in Seattle, why he wasn't allowed to download me a car that could reach speeds over fifty-five miles an hour, or why I wouldn't let him pay my college tuition he was ridiculously enthusiastic about Plan B.

Edward thought I was being unnecessarily difficult. But how could I let him give me things when I had nothing to reciprocate with? He, for some unfathomable reason, wanted to be with me. Anything he gave me on top of that just threw us more out of balance.

As the day went on, neither Edward nor Alice brought my birthday up again, and I began to relax a little. We sat at our usual table for lunch. A strange kind of truce existed at that table. The three of us—Edward, Alice, and I—sat on the extreme southern end of the table. Now that the "older" and somewhat scarier in Emmett's case, certainly Cullen siblings had graduated, Alice and Edward did not seem quite so intimidating, and we did not sit here alone.

My other friends, Mike and Jessica who were in the awkward post-breakup friendship phase , Angela and Ben whose relationship had survived the summer , Eric, Conner, Tyler, and Lauren though that last one didn't really count in the friend category all sat at the same table, on the other side of an invisible line. That line dissolved on sunny days when Edward and Alice always skipped school, and then the conversation would swell out effortlessly to include me.

Edward and Alice didn't find this minor ostracism odd or hurtful the way I would have. They barely noticed it. People always felt strangely ill at ease with the Cullens, almost afraid for some reason they couldn't explain to themselves. I was a rare exception to that rule. Sometimes it bothered Edward how very comfortable I was with being close to him. He thought he was hazardous to my health—an opinion I rejected vehemently whenever he voiced it. The afternoon passed quickly.

School ended, and Edward walked me to my truck as he usually did. But this time, he held the passenger door open for me. Alice must have been taking his car home so that he could keep me from making a run for it. I folded my arms and made no move to get out of the rain. I climbed in the opened door, wishing he'd taken the other offer. Edward played with the radio while I drove, shaking his head in disapproval. I didn't like it when he picked on my truck.

The truck was great—it had personality. Drive your own car. I was hardly ever bad-tempered with Edward, and my tone made him press his lips together to keep from smiling. When I parked in front of Charlie's house, he reached over to take my face in his hands. He handled me very carefully, pressing just the tips of his fingers softly against my temples, my cheekbones, my jawline. Like I was especially breakable. Which was exactly the case—compared with him, at least.

His sweet breath fanned across my face. His golden eyes smoldered. As he intended, no doubt, I forgot all about my worries, and concentrated on remembering how to inhale and exhale. His mouth lingered on mine, cold and smooth and gentle, until I wrapped my arms around his neck and threw myself into the kiss with a little too much enthusiasm. I could feel his lips curve upward as he let go of my face and reached back to unlock my grip on him.

Edward had drawn many careful lines for our physical relationship, with the intent being to keep me alive. Though I respected the need for maintaining a safe distance between my skin and his razor-sharp, venom-coated teeth, I tended to forget about trivial things like that when he was kissing me. He pressed his lips gently to mine one more time and then pulled away, folding my arms across my stomach.

My pulse was thudding in my ears. I put one hand over my heart. It drummed hyperactively under my palm. I rolled my eyes. When I perched on the edge of the sofa in front of him, he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me against his chest. It wasn't exactly as comfortable as a sofa cushion would be, what with his chest being hard and cold—and perfect—as an ice sculpture, but it was definitely preferable.

He pulled the old afghan off the back of the couch and draped it over me so I wouldn't freeze beside his body. Romeo was one of my favorite fictional characters.

Until I'd met Edward, I'd sort of had a thing for him. And then, a few minutes after their wedding, he kills Juliet's cousin. That's not very brilliant. Mistake after mistake. Could he have destroyed his own happiness any more thoroughly? The movie eventually captured my interest, thanks in large part to Edward whispering Romeo's lines in my ear—his irresistible, velvet voice made the actor's voice sound weak and coarse by comparison.

And I did cry, to his amusement, when Juliet woke and found her new husband dead. All you have to do is throw down one tiny vial of plant extracts…" "What? I'm not even sure how many ways Carlisle tried to kill himself in the beginning… after he realized what he'd become…" His voice, which had grown serious, turned light again.

Like I said, it's not as easy for me as it is for a human. I could see it all so clearly—the blinding sun, the heat waves coming off the concrete as I ran with desperate haste to find the sadistic vampire who wanted to torture me to death. James, waiting in the mirrored room with my mother as his hostage—or so I'd thought. I hadn't known it was all a ruse.

Just as James hadn't known that Edward was racing to save me; Edward made it in time, but it had been a close one. Unthinkingly, my fingers traced the crescent-shaped scar on my hand that was always just a few degrees cooler than the rest of my skin. I shook my head—as if I could shake away the bad memories—and tried to grasp what Edward meant. My stomach plunged uncomfortably. Abruptly, I was furious. They are the closest thing our world has to a royal family, I suppose.

Carlisle lived with them briefly in his early years, in Italy, before he settled in America—do you remember the story? The most vivid, most wildly colorful canvas there, the largest, was from Carlisle's time in Italy. Of course I remembered the calm quartet of men, each with the exquisite face of a seraph, painted into the highest balcony overlooking the swirling mayhem of color.

Though the painting was centuries old, Carlisle—the blond angel—remained unchanged. And I remembered the three others, Carlisle's early acquaintances.

Edward had never used the name Volturi for the beautiful trio, two black-haired, one snow white. He'd called them Aro, Caius, and Marcus, nighttime patrons of the arts… "Anyway, you don't irritate the Volturi," Edward went on, interrupting ray reverie. My anger turned to horror. I took his marble face between my hands and held it very tightly. I thought we'd established that all the bad luck is my fault? He chuckled.

I'm not really that interesting. Abruptly, he pulled himself up into a more formal posture, shifting me to the side so that we were no longer touching. Edward smiled.

After a moment, I heard the sound of the police cruiser pulling into the driveway. I reached out and took his hand firmly. My dad could deal with that much. Charlie came in with a pizza box in his hands. Thanks, Dad. He was used to Edward passing on dinner. I looked at Charlie hopefully. Maybe he had some concept of birthdays as stay-at-home, family affairs—this was my first birthday with him, the first birthday since my mom, Renee, had remarried and gone to live in Florida, so I didn't know what he would expect.

He ought to know better than that—I'd always been coordinationally challenged. The camera glanced off the tip of my finger, and tumbled toward the floor. Edward snagged it before it could crash onto the linoleum. You know how your mother gets—she'll be wanting to see the pictures faster than you can take them. I turned the camera on Edward, and snapped the first picture. Hey, say hi to Alice for me. She hasn't been over in a while. Charlie was crazy about Alice.

He'd become attached last spring when she'd helped me through my awkward convalescence; Charlie would be fore'ter grateful to her for saving him from the horror of an almost-adult daughter who needed help showering.

You kids have fun tonight. Charlie was already edging toward the living room and the TV. Edward smiled, triumphant, and took my hand to pull me from the kitchen. When we got to the truck, he opened the passenger door for me again, and this time I didn't argue. I still had a hard time finding the obscure turnoff to his house in the dark.

Edward drove north through Forks, visibly chafing at the speed limit enforced by my prehistoric Chevy. The engine groaned even louder than usual as he pushed it over fifty. A nice little Audi coupe. Very quiet, lots of power…" "There's nothing wrong with my truck. And speaking of expensive nonessentials, if you know what's good for you, you didn't spend any money on birthday presents.

Cut us a little slack, and don't be too difficult tonight. They're all very excited. Don't worry, she'll be on her best behavior. Like I could just not worry, that easy. Unlike Alice, Edward's other "adopted" sister, the golden blond and exquisite Rosalie, didn't like me much.

Actually, the feeling was a little bit stronger than just dislike. As far as Rosalie was concerned, I was an unwelcome intruder into her family's secret life. I felt horribly guilty about the present situation, guessing that Rosalie and Emmett's prolonged absence was my fault, even as I furtively enjoyed not having to see her Emmett, Edward's playful bear of a brother, I did miss. He was in many ways just like the big brother I'd always wanted… only much, much more terrifying.

Edward decided to change the subject. He obviously wished he'd stuck to the subject of Rosalie. It felt like we'd had this argument a lot today.

We were pulling up to the house now. Bright light shined from every window on the first two floors. A long line of glowing Japanese lanterns hung from the porch eaves, reflecting a soft radiance on the huge cedars that surrounded the house. Big bowls of flowers—pink roses—lined the wide stairs up to the front doors. I moaned. Edward took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He came around to get my door, and offered me his hand. He helped me out of the car, pulled me up the stairs, and was still laughing as he opened the door for me.

They were all waiting in the huge white living room; when I walked through the door, they greeted me with a loud chorus of "Happy birthday, Bella! Alice, I assumed, had covered every flat surface with pink candles and dozens of crystal bowls filled with hundreds of roses. There was a table with a white cloth draped over it next to Edward's grand piano, holding a pink birthday cake, more roses, a stack of glass plates, and a small pile of silver-wrapped presents.

It was a hundred times worse than I'd imagined. Edward, sensing my distress, wrapped an encouraging arm around my waist and kissed the top of my head. Edward's parents, Carlisle and Esme—impossibly youthful and lovely as ever—were the closest to the door.

Esme hugged me carefully, her soft, caramel-colored hair brushing against my cheek as she kissed my forehead, and then Carlisle put his arm around my shoulders. Rosalie didn't smile, but at least she didn't glare. Emmett's face was stretched into a huge grin. It had been months since I'd seen them; I'd forgotten how gloriously beautiful Rosalie was—it almost hurt to look at her.

And had Emmett always been so… big? He laughed, "I have to step out for a second"—he paused to wink conspicuously at Alice—"Don't do anything funny while I'm gone. Jasper smiled, too, but kept his distance. He leaned, long and blond, against the post at the foot of the stairs. During the days we'd had to spend cooped up together in Phoenix, I'd thought he'd gotten over his aversion to me.

But he'd gone back to exactly how he'd acted before—avoiding me as much as possible—the moment he was free from that temporary obligation to protect me. I knew it wasn't personal, just a precaution, and I tried not to be overly sensitive about it. Jasper had more trouble sticking to the Cullens' diet than the rest of them; the scent of human blood was much harder for him to resist than the others—he hadn't been trying as long.

She put her cool hand under my elbow and towed me to the table with the cake and the shiny packages. I put on my best martyr face. The box was so light that it felt empty. The tag on top said that it was from Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper.

Selfconsciously, I tore the paper off and then stared at the box it concealed. It was something electrical, with lots of numbers in the name. I opened the box, hoping for further illumination. But the box was empty. Jasper laughed. I heard his booming laugh from my truck, and I couldn't help laughing, too. She held a small, flat square in her hand.

I turned to give Edward a basilisk glare. He pushed in behind Jasper, who had also drifted closer than usual to get a good look. He brushed a strand of hair from my face, leaving my skin tingling from his touch. I inhaled deeply and turned to Alice. Emmett chuckled with delight.

I took the little package, rolling my eyes at Edward while I stuck my finger under the edge of the paper and jerked it under the tape. A single drop of blood oozed from the tiny cut. It all happened very quickly then. He threw himself at me, flinging me back across the table.

It fell, as I did, scattering the cake and the presents, the flowers and the plates. I landed in the mess of shattered crystal. Jasper slammed into Edward, and the sound was like the crash of boulders in a rock slide. There was another noise, a grisly snarling that seemed to be coming from deep in Jasper's chest. Jasper tried to shove past Edward, snapping his teeth just inches from Edward's face.

Emmett grabbed Jasper from behind in the next second, locking him into his massive steel grip, but Jasper struggled on, his wild, empty eyes focused only on me. Beyond the shock, there was also pain. I'd tumbled down to the floor by the piano, with my arms thrown out instinctively to catch my fall, into the jagged shards of glass. Only now did I feel the searing, stinging pain that ran from my wrist to the crease inside my elbow.

Dazed and disoriented, I looked up from the bright red blood pulsing out of my arm—into the fevered eyes of the six suddenly ravenous vampires. Centuries of experience in the emergency room were evident in his quiet, authoritative voice. Edward's face was whiter than bone as he wheeled to crouch over me, taking a clearly defensive position. A low warning growl slid from between his clenched teeth. I could tell that he wasn't breathing.

Rosalie, her divine face strangely smug, stepped in front of Jasper—keeping a careful distance from his teeth—and helped Emmett wrestle him through the glass door that Esme held open, one hand pressed over her mouth and nose. Esme's heart-shaped face was ashamed. A second passed, and then Edward nodded slowly and relaxed his stance. Carlisle knelt beside me, leaning close to examine my arm. I could feel the shock frozen on my face, and I tried to compose it.

He shook his head. He twisted it around my arm above the elbow to form a tourniquet. The smell of the blood was making me dizzy. My ears rang.

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If he took me to the hospital, there would be no way to keep this from Charlie. Edward lifted me effortlessly, while Carlisle kept the pressure steady on my arm. Edward's face was like stone. Alice was there.

Carlisle's black bag was already on the table, a small but brilliant desk light plugged into the wall. Edward sat me gently into a chair, and Carlisle pulled up another.

He went to work at once. Edward stood over me, still protective, still not breathing. But his jaw was rigid; his eyes burned with the intensity of the thirst he fought, so much worse for him than it was for the others. Get some fresh air. Carlisle decided to intercede. I'm sure he's upset with himself, and I doubt he'll listen to anyone but you right now. Edward's eyes narrowed as we ganged up on him, but, finally, he nodded once and sprinted smoothly through the kitchen's back door.

I was sure he hadn't taken a breath since I'd sliced my finger. A numb, dead feeling was spreading through my arm. Though it erased the sting, it reminded me of the gash, and I watched Carlisle's face carefully to distract me from what his hands were doing. His hair gleamed gold in the bright light as he bent over my arm. I could feel the faint stirrings of unease in the pit of my stomach, but I was determined not to let my usual squeamishness get the best of me.

There was no pain now, just a gentle tugging sensation that I tried to ignore. No reason to get sick like a baby. If she hadn't been in my line of sight, I wouldn't have noticed Alice give up and steal out of the room.

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With a tiny, apologetic smile on her lips, she disappeared through the kitchen doorway. His relaxed calm was only more amazing set in direct contrast with everyone else's reaction. I couldn't find any trace of anxiety in his face.

He worked with quick, sure movements. The only sound besides our quiet breathing was the soft plink, plink as the tiny fragments of glass dropped one by one to the table. Though the rest of them had given up the traditional diet of vampires just as absolutely as Carlisle had, he was the only one who could bear the smell of my blood without suffering from the intense temptation.

Clearly, this was much more difficult than he made it seem. And weren't around any blood? I was surprised at how much glass there seemed to be in my arm. I was tempted to glance at the growing pile, just to check the size, but I knew that idea would not be helpful to my no-vomiting strategy.

It didn't make sense to me—the years of struggle and self-denial he must have spent to get to the point where he could endure this so easily. Besides, I wanted to keep him talking; the conversation kept my mind off the queasy feeling in my stomach. His dark eyes were calm and thoughtful as he answered.

What I enjoy the very most is when my… enhanced abilities let me save someone who would otherwise have been lost. It's pleasant knowing that, thanks to what I can do, some people's lives are better because I exist. Even the sense of smell is a useful diagnostic tool at times.

I mulled that over while he poked around, making sure all the glass splinters were gone. Then he rummaged in his bag for new tools, and I tried not to picture a needle and thread. You didn't choose this kind of life, and yet you have to work so hard to be good. The smell was strange; it made my head spin. The syrup stained my skin. But I'm trying to understand what you were thinking…" His face was suddenly serious again, and I wondered if his thoughts had gone to the same place that mine had.

Wondering what I would be thinking when—I refused to think if—it was me. The smell of alcohol burned in my nose. I didn't understand what he was doing, even when he lit the match. Then he threw it onto the alcohol-soaked fibers, and the sudden blaze made me jump. But never, in the nearly four hundred years now since I was born, have I ever seen anything to make me doubt whether God exists in some form or the other. Not even the reflection in the mirror. Religion was the last thing I expected, all things considered.

My own life was fairly devoid of belief. Charlie considered himself a Lutheran, because that's what his parents had been, but Sundays he worshipped by the river with a fishing pole in his hand. Renee tried out a church now and then, but, much like her brief affairs with tennis, pottery, yoga, and French classes, she moved on by the time I was aware of her newest fad. It's a long shot, I'll admit," he continued in an offhand voice.

But I hope, maybe foolishly, that we'll get some measure of credit for trying. I couldn't imagine anyone, deity included, who wouldn't be impressed by Carlisle. Besides, the only kind of heaven I could appreciate would have to include Edward. Carlisle guessed the direction of my thoughts again. God and heaven exist… and so does hell. But he doesn't believe there is an afterlife for our kind. The lightbulb flicked on over my head. His strength, his goodness, the brightness that shines out of him—and it only fuels that hope, that faith, more than ever.

How could there not be more for one such as Edward? Could you take away his soul? If he'd asked me whether I would risk my soul for Edward, the reply would be obvious. But would I risk Edward's soul? I pursed my lips unhappily.

That wasn't a fair exchange. Carlisle sighed. He laughed, abruptly lightening the mood. You're going to have to work this out with him. I think, in most other ways, that I've done the best I could with what I had to work with. But was it right to doom the others to this life? I can't decide. I imagined what my life would be like if Carlisle had resisted the temptation to change his lonely existence… and shuddered. He stared unseeingly out the black windows.

I realized Carlisle's memory of them, despite the brevity of their contact, would be perfectly clear. Her name was Elizabeth. Elizabeth Masen. His father, Edward Senior, never regained consciousness in the hospital. He died in the first wave of the influenza.

But Elizabeth was alert until almost the very end.

Edward looks a great deal like her—she had that same strange bronze shade to her hair, and her eyes were exactly the same color green. She hurt her own chances of survival trying to nurse him from her sickbed. I expected that he would go first, he was so much worse off than she was.

When the end came for her, it was very quick. It was just after sunset, and I'd arrived to relieve the doctors who'd been working all day. That was a hard time to pretend—there was so much work to be done, and I had no need of rest. How I hated to go back to my house, to hide in the dark and pretend to sleep while so many were dying. I'd grown attached—always a dangerous thing to do considering the fragile nature of humans. I could see at once that she'd taken a bad turn. The fever was raging out of control, and her body was too weak to fight anymore.

The fever was so high, she probably couldn't even tell how unnaturally cold mine felt.

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Everything felt cold to her skin. Her eyes were hard, like stones, like emeralds. What others cannot do, that is what you must do for my Edward. She looked it me with those piercing eyes, and, for one instant, I felt certain that she knew my secret. Then the fever overwhelmed her, and she never regained consciousness.

She died within an hour of making her demand. Just one other creature who could really know me, rather than what I pretended to be. But I could never justify it to myself—doing what had been done to me. It was clear that he had only hours left. Beside him, his mother, her face somehow not yet peaceful, not even in death. I could see it clearly, too, as he spoke—the despair of the hospital, the overwhelming atmosphere of death.

Edward burning with fever, his life slipping away with each tick of the clock… I shuddered again, and forced the picture from my mind. How could she guess what I could do? Could anyone really want that for her son? Sick as he was, he was still beautiful. There was something pure and good about his face.

The kind of face I would have wanted my son to have. I wheeled his mother to the morgue first, and then I came back for him. No one noticed that he was still breathing.

There weren't enough hands, enough eyes, to keep track of half of what the patients needed.

The morgue was empty—of the living, at least. I stole him out the back door, and carried him across the rooftops back to my home. I settled for recreating the wounds I'd received myself, so many centuries earlier in London.

I felt bad about that later. It was more painful and lingering than necessary.

I've never been sorry that I saved Edward. He smiled at me. He came through the shadowy dining room, walking slowly for him.

His face was smooth, unreadable, but there was something wrong with his eyes—something he was trying very hard to hide. I felt a spasm of unease in my stomach. I looked down at my shirt; the light blue cotton was soaked and spotted with my blood. My right shoulder was covered in thick pink frosting.

You'd give Charlie a heart attack the way you look. I'll have Alice get you something. I looked at Carlisle anxiously. You being put in danger, because of what we are.

I couldn't agree with that. Carlisle offered me his hand and helped me up from the table. I followed him out into the main room. Esme had come back; she was mopping the floor where I'd fallen—with straight bleach from the smell of it. Alice and Edward came in the back doors.

Alice hurried to my side, but Edward hung back, his face indecipherable. Charlie wouldn't notice, I was sure. The long white bandage on my arm didn't look nearly as serious when I was no longer spattered in gore. Charlie was never surprised to see me bandaged. Even though we were upstairs, with the door closed, perhaps he could hear me. Her face tensed.

It's all so much more of challenge for him, and he hates feeling weak. You'll tell him that I'm not mad at him, not at all, won't you? As I got to the bottom of the staircase, he held it open without a word. She scooped up the two packages, one half-opened, and my camera from under the piano, and pressed them into my good arm.

I could see them stealing quick glances at their impassive son, much like I was. It was a relief to be outside; I hurried past the lanterns and the roses, now unwelcome reminders. Edward kept pace with me silently. He opened the passenget side for me, and I climbed in without complaint. On the dashboard was a big red ribbon, stuck to the new stereo. I pulled it off, throwing it to the floor.

As Edward slid into the other side, I kicked the ribbon under my seat. He didn't look at me or the stereo. Neither of us switched it on, and the silence was somehow intensified by the sudden thunder of the engine. He drove too fast down the dark, serpentine lane. The silence was making me insane.

I cringed at his remoteness. For what? If you'd cut yourself at Mike Newton's house, with Jessica there and Angela and your other normal friends, the worst that could possibly have happened would be what? Maybe they couldn't find you a bandage? If you'd tripped and knocked over a pile of glass plates on your own—without someone throwing you into them—even then, what's the worst? You'd get blood on the seats when they drove you to the emergency room? Mike Newton could have held your hand while they stitched you up—and he wouldn't be righting the urge to kill you the whole time he was there.

Don't try to take any of this on yourself, Bella. It will only make me more disgusted with myself. He glared through the windshield, his expression black. I racked my brain for some way to salvage the evening. When we pulled up in front of my house, I still hadn't come up with anything. He killed the engine, but his hands stayed clenched around the steering wheel.

One or the other. I breathed a silent sigh of relief. I've decided that I don't want you to ignore my birthday. I'll see you upstairs. He frowned. Carlisle and Esme spent money on you. He was out of the truck and by my side in less than a second. I reached up on my toes to make the kiss last longer when he pulled away. He smiled my favorite crooked smile, and then he disappeared into the darkness.

The game was still on; as soon as I walked through the front door I could hear the announcer rambling over the babble of the crowd. I held my arm close to my side.

The slight pressure burned, and I wrinkled my nose. The anesthetic was apparently losing its effectiveness. What was left of his curly brown hair was crushed flat on one side. Flowers, cake, candles, presents—the whole bit. It's nothing.

I shrugged into the matching tank top and cotton pants that I'd gotten to replace the holey sweats I used to wear to bed, wincing as the movement pulled at the stitches. I washed my face one-handed, brushed my teeth, and then skipped to my room. He was sitting in the center of my bed, toying idly with one of the silver boxes.

His voice was sad. He was wallowing. I went to the bed, pushed the presents out of his hands, and climbed into his lap. He took the gift from my hand and tore the silver paper off with one fluid movement. He handed the rectangular white box back to me. Inside the box was a long thick piece of paper with an overwhelming amount of fine print. It took me a minute to get the gist of the information.

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It was a voucher for plane tickets, for both me and Edward. Renee is going to flip! You don't mind, though, do you? It's sunny, you'll have to stay inside all day. I thought you'd complain.

But I get to take you with me! I didn't realize that you were capable of being reasonable. He took it from me and unwrapped it like the first one.

He handed back a clear CD jewel case, with a blank silver CD inside. He didn't say anything; he took the CD and reached around me to put it in the CD player on the bedside table. He hit play, and we waited in silence. Then the music began. I listened, speechless and wide-eyed. I knew he was waiting for my reaction, but I couldn't talk. Tears welled up, and I reached up to wipe them away before they could spill over.

It's beautiful, Edward. You couldn't have given me anything I would love more. I can't believe it. It was his music, his compositions. The first piece on the CD was my lullaby. I wanted ice. I would have settled for his hand, but that would have given me away. Charlie wasn't exactly aware that Edward frequently stayed over.

In fact, he would have a stroke if that fact were brought to his attention. But I didn't feel too guilty for deceiving him It wasn't as if we were up to anything he wouldn't want me to be up to. Edward and his rules… "He won't catch me," Edward promised as he disappeared silently out the door. He had the glass from the bathroom and the bottle of pills in one hand.

I took the pills he handed me without arguing—I knew I would lose the argument And my arm really was starting to bother me. My lullaby continued, soft and lovely, in the background. He scooped me up off the bed with one arm, and pulled the cover back with the other. He put me down with my head on my pillow and tucked the quilt around me.

He lay down next to me—on top of the blanket so I wouldn't get chilled—and put his arm over me. I leaned my head against his shoulder and sighed happily. Another song began. I recognized Esme's favorite. He hesitated for a second before he told me. He laughed, and then sighed. The kiss began much the same as usual—Edward was as careful as ever, and my heart began to overreact like it always did.

And then something seemed to change. Suddenly his lips became much more urgent, his free hand twisted into my hair and held my face securely to his. And, though my hands tangled in his hair, too, and though I was clearly beginning to cross his cautious lines, for once he didn't stop me.

His body was cold through the thin quilt, but I crushed myself against him eagerly. When he stopped it was abrupt; he pushed me away with gentle, firm hands. I collapsed back onto my pillow, gasping, my head spinning.

Something tugged at my memory, elusive, on the edges. He frowned at me in the darkness. I really did feel exhausted. It had been a long day in so many ways, yet I felt no sense of relief at its end. Almost as if something worse was coming tomorrow.

It was a silly premonition—what could be worse than today? Trying to be sneaky about it, I pressed my injured arm against his shoulder, so his cool skin would sooth the burning. It felt better at once. I was halfway asleep, maybe more, when I realized what his kiss had reminded me of: last spring, when he'd had to leave me to throw James off my trail, Edward had kissed me goodbye, not knowing when—or if—we would see each other again. This kiss had the same almost painful edge for some reason I couldn't imagine.

I shuddered into unconsciousness, as if I were already having a nightmare. It didn't help my outlook that Edward's face was smooth and remote as he kissed my forehead quickly and ducked out my window. I was afraid of the time I'd spent unconscious, afraid that he might have been thinking about right and wrong again while he watched me sleep. Skip to main content.

Twilight Saga, Book 2: New Moon PDF.

View larger image. Stephenie Meyer Sign Up Now! Synopsis I stuck my finger under the edge of the paper and jerked it under the tape. A single drop of blood oozed from the tiny cut. It all happened very quickly then.

Dazed and disorientated, I looked up from the bright red blood pulsing out of my arm - and into the fevered eyes of the six suddenly ravenous vampires. For Bella Swan, there is one thing more important than life itself: Edward Cullen.

But being in love with a vampire is more dangerous than Bella ever could have imagined.I've never been sorry that I saved Edward.

Introduction to Analog And Digital Communications

It's sunny, you'll have to stay inside all day. Before this got any more out of hand. He walked me to my truck, and I steeled myself to make my demands. I was a rare exception to that rule. With a roll of nausea, I realized I'd misunderstood. Bright, harmless music tinkled from hidden speakers. But I still had to ask. It wasn't a pleasant prospect, not when life was perfect the way it was. She mimicked the movement exactly, mirrored it.