"What would you like?"
"You could tell me about your ten best nights," I suggested. "I'm curious."
He laughed. "Try to guess."
I shook my head. "There're too many nights I don't know about. A century of them."
"I'll narrow it down for you. All of my best nights have happened since I met you."
"Really?"
"Yes, really-and by quite a wide margin, too."
I thought for a minute. "I can only think of mine," I admitted.
"They might be the same," he encouraged.
"Well, there was the first night. The night you stayed."
"Yes, that's one of mine, too. Of course, you were unconscious for my favorite part."
"That's right," I remembered. "I was talking that night, too."
"Yes," he agreed.
My face got hot as I wondered again what I might have said while sleeping in Jacob's arms. I couldn't remember what I'd dreamed about, or if I'd dreamed at all, so that was no help.
"What did I say last night?" I whispered more quietly than before.
He shrugged instead of answering, and I winced.
"That bad?"
"Nothing too horrible," he sighed.
"Please tell me."
"Mostly you said my name, the same as usual."
"That's not bad," I agreed cautiously.
"Near the end, though, you started mumbling some nonsense about 'Jacob, my Jacob.'" I could hear the pain, even in the whisper. "Your Jacob enjoyed that quite a lot."
I stretched my neck up, straining to reach my lips to the edge of his jaw. I couldn't see into his eyes. He was staring up at the ceiling of the tent.
"Sorry," I murmured. "That's just the way I differentiate."
"Differentiate?"
"Between Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Between the Jacob I like and the one who annoys the hell out of me," I explained.
"That makes sense." He sounded slightly mollified. "Tell me another favorite night."
"Flying home from Italy."
He frowned.
"Is that not one of yours?" I wondered.
"No, it is one of mine, actually, but I'm surprised it's on your list. Weren't you under the ludicrous impression I was just acting from a guilty conscience, and I was going to bolt as soon as the plane doors opened?"
"Yes." I smiled. "But, still, you were there."
He kissed my hair. "You love me more than I deserve."
I laughed at the impossibility of that idea. "Next would be the night after Italy," I continued.
"Yes, that's on the list. You were so funny."
"Funny?" I objected.
"I had no idea your dreams were so vivid. It took me forever to convince you that you were awake."
"I'm still not sure," I muttered. "You've always seemed more like a dream than reality. Tell me one of yours, now. Did I guess your first place?"
"No-that would be two nights ago, when you finally agreed to marry me."
I made a face.
"That doesn't make your list?"
I thought about the way he'd kissed me, the concession I'd gained, and changed my mind. "Yes . . . it does. But with reservations. I don't understand why it's so important to you. You already had me forever."
"A hundred years from now, when you've gained enough perspective to really appreciate the answer, I will explain it to you."
"I'll remind you to explain-in a hundred years."
"Are you warm enough?" he asked suddenly.
"I'm fine," I assured him. "Why?"
Before he could answer, the silence outside the tent was ripped apart by an earsplitting howl of pain. The sound ricocheted off the bare rock face of the mountain and filled the air so that it seared from every direction.
The howl tore through my mind like a tornado, both strange and familiar. Strange because I'd never heard such a tortured cry before. Familiar because I knew the voice at once-I recognized the sound and understood the meaning as perfectly as if I'd uttered it myself. It made no difference that Jacob was not human when he cried out. I needed no translation.
Jacob was close. Jacob had heard every word we'd said. Jacob was in agony.
The howl choked off into a peculiar gurgled sob, and then it was quiet again.
I did not hear his silent escape, but I could feel it-I could feel the absence I had wrongly assumed before, the empty space he left behind.
"Because your space heater has reached his limit," Edward answered quietly. "Truce over," he added, so low I couldn't be sure that was really what he'd said.
"Jacob was listening," I whispered. It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"You knew."
"Yes."
I stared at nothing, seeing nothing.