
==================================
ABC Amber LIT Converter v2.05
==================================


Eclipse

Twilight Book 3

Stephenie Meyer



To my husband, Pancho,

for your patience, love, friendship, humor,

and willingness to eat out.


And also to my children, Gabe, Seth, and Eli,

for letting me experience the kind of love that people freely die for.



Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what Ive tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

Robert Frost



PREFACE

ALL OUR ATTEMPTS AT SUBTERFUGE HAD BEEN IN VAIN.

With ice in my heart, I watched him prepare to defend me. His intense concentration betrayed no hint of doubt, though he was outnumbered. I knew that we could expect no help  at this moment, his family was fighting for their lives just as surely as he was for ours.

Would I ever learn the outcome of that other fight? Find out who the winners and the losers were? Would I live long enough for that?

The odds of that didnt look so great.

Black eyes, wild with their fierce craving for my death, watched for the moment when my protectors attention would be diverted. The moment when I would surely die.

Somewhere, far, far away in the cold forest, a wolf howled.



1. ULTIMATUM

Bella,

I dont know why youre making Charlie carry notes to Billy like were in second grade  if I wanted to talk to you I would answer the

You made the choice here, okay? You cant have it both ways when

What part of mortal enemies is too complicated for you to

Look, I know Im being a jerk, but theres just no way around

We cant be friends when youre spending all your time with a bunch of

It just makes it worse when I think about you too much, so dont write anymore

Yeah, I miss you, too. A lot. Doesnt change anything. Sorry.

Jacob

I ran my fingers across the page, feeling the dents where he had pressed the pen to the paper so hard that it had nearly broken through. I could picture him writing this  scrawling the angry letters in his rough handwriting, slashing through line after line when the words came out wrong, maybe even snapping the pen in his too-big hand; that would explain the ink splatters. I could imagine the frustration pulling his black eyebrows together and crumpling his forehead. If Id been there, I might have laughed.Dont give yourself a brain hemorrhage, Jacob, I would have told him.Just spit it out.

Laughing was the last thing I felt like doing now as I reread the words Id already memorized. His answer to my pleading note  passed from Charlie to Billy to him, just like second grade, as hed pointed out  was no surprise. Id known the essence of what it would say before Id opened it.

What was surprising was how much each crossed-out line wounded me  as if the points of the letters had cutting edges. More than that, behind each angry beginning lurked a vast pool of hurt; Jacobs pain cut me deeper than my own.

While I was pondering this, I caught the unmistakable scent of a smoking burner rising from the kitchen. In another house, the fact that someone besides myself was cooking might not be a cause for panicking.

I shoved the wrinkled paper into my back pocket and ran, making it downstairs in the nick of time.

The jar of spaghetti sauce Charlied stuck in the microwave was only on its first revolution when I yanked the door open and pulled it out.

What did I do wrong? Charlie demanded.

Youre supposed to take the lid off first, Dad. Metals bad for microwaves. I swiftly removed the lid as I spoke, poured half the sauce into a bowl, and then put the bowl inside the microwave and the jar back in the fridge; I fixed the time and pressed start.

Charlie watched my adjustments with pursed lips. Did I get the noodles right?

I looked in the pan on the stove  the source of the smell that had alerted me. Stirring helps, I said mildly. I found a spoon and tried to de-clump the mushy hunk that was scalded to the bottom.

Charlie sighed.

So whats all this about? I asked him.

He folded his arms across his chest and glared out the back windows into the sheeting rain. Dont know what youre talking about, he grumbled.

I was mystified. Charlie cooking? And what was with the surly attitude? Edward wasnt here yet; usually my dad reserved this kind of behavior for my boyfriends benefit, doing his best to illustrate the theme of unwelcome with every word and posture. Charlies efforts were unnecessary  Edward knew exactly what my dad was thinking without the show.

The wordboyfriend had me chewing on the inside of my cheek with a familiar tension while I stirred. It wasnt the right word, not at all. I needed something more expressive of eternal commitment. . . . But words likedestiny andfate sounded hokey when you used them in casual conversation.

Edward had another word in mind, and that word was the source of the tension I felt. It put my teeth on edge just to think it to myself.

Fiance. Ugh. I shuddered away from the thought.

Did I miss something? Since when do you make dinner? I asked Charlie. The pasta lump bobbed in the boiling water as I poked it. Ortry to make dinner, I should say.

Charlie shrugged. Theres no law that says I cant cook in my own house.

You would know, I replied, grinning as I eyed the badge pinned to his leather jacket.

Ha. Good one. He shrugged out of the jacket as if my glance had reminded him he still had it on, and hung it on the peg reserved for his gear. His gun belt was already slung in place  he hadnt felt the need to wear that to the station for a few weeks. There had been no more disturbing disappearances to trouble the small town of Forks, Washington, no more sightings of the giant, mysterious wolves in the ever-rainy woods. . . .

I prodded the noodles in silence, guessing that Charlie would get around to talking about whatever was bothering him in his own time. My dad was not a man of many words, and the effort he had put into trying to orchestrate a sit-down dinner with me made it clear there were an uncharacteristic number of words on his mind.

I glanced at the clock routinely  something I did every few minutes around this time. Less than a half hour to go now.

Afternoons were the hardest part of my day. Ever since my former best friend (and werewolf), Jacob Black, had informed on me about the motorcycle Id been riding on the sly  a betrayal he had devised in order to get me grounded so that I couldnt spend time with my boyfriend (and vampire), Edward Cullen  Edward had been allowed to see me only from seven till nine-thirty p.m., always inside the confines of my home and under the supervision of my dads unfailingly crabby glare.

This was an escalation from the previous, slightly less stringent grounding that Id earned for an unexplained three-day disappearance and one episode of cliff diving.

Of course, I still saw Edward at school, because there wasnt anything Charlie could do about that. And then, Edward spent almost every night in my room, too, but Charlie wasnt precisely aware of that. Edwards ability to climb easily and silently through my second-story window was almost as useful as his ability to read Charlies mind.

Though the afternoon was the only time I spent away from Edward, it was enough to make me restless, and the hours always dragged. Still, I endured my punishment without complaining because  for one thing  I knew Id earned it, and  for another  because I couldnt bear to hurt my dad by moving out now, when a much more permanent separation hovered, invisible to Charlie, so close on my horizon.

My dad sat down at the table with a grunt and unfolded the damp newspaper there; within seconds he was clucking his tongue in disapproval.

I dont know why you read the news, Dad. It only ticks you off.

He ignored me, grumbling at the paper in his hands. This is why everyone w