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暮光之城 4 Breaking Dawn 破晓
Copyright 2008 by Stephen^ Meyer All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright
Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by
any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system,
without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Little, Brown and Company
Hachette Book Group USA 237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Visit our Web site at
m
FirsteBook Edition: August 2008
Little, Brown and Company is a division of Hachette Book Group USA,Inc. The Little, Brown name
and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group USA, Inc.
Epigraph for Book Three from Empire by Orson Scott Card. A Tor Book. Published by Tom Doherty
Associates,LLC. Copyright 2006 by Orson Scott Card. Reprinted with permission of the author.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or
dead, is
coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN: 978-0-316-03283-4
Contents
BOOK ONE: BELLA
Preface
1. Engaged
2. Long Night
3. Big Day
4.Gesture
5. Isle Esme
6. Distractions
7. Unexpected
BOOK TWO: JACOB Preface
8. Waiting For The Damn Fight To Start Already
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9. Sure As Hell Didn't See That One Coming
10. Why Didn't I Just Walk Away? Oh Right, Because I'm An Idiot.
11. The Two Things At The Very Top Of My Things-I-Never-Want-To-Do List
12. Some People Just Don't Grasp The Concept Of "Unwelcome^"
13. Good Thing I've Got A Strong Stomach
14. You Know Things Are Bad When You Feel Guilty For Being Rude To Vampires
15. Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock
16. Too-Much-Information Alert
17. What Do I Look Like? The Wizard Of Oz? You Need A Brain? You Need A Heart? Go Ahead.
Take Mine. Take
Everything I Have.
18. There Are No Words For This.
BOOK THREE: BELLA Preface
19. Burning
20. New
21.First Hunt
22. Promised
23.Memories
24. Surprise
25. Favor
26.Shiny
27. Travel Plans
28.The Future
29. Defection
30. Irresistible
31. Talented
32. Company
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33. Forever
34. Declared
35. Deadline
36. Bloodlust
37. Contrivances
38. Power
39. TheHappily EverAfter
Vampire Index Acknowledgments
This book is dedicated to my ninja/agent, Jodi Reamer Thank you for keeping me off the ledge.
And thanks also to my favorite band,
the very aptly named Muse,
for providing a saga's worth of inspiration.
BOOK ONE
bella
CONTENTS
PREFACE
1.ENGAGED
2. LONG NIGHT
3. BIG DAY
4.GESTURE
5. ISLEESME
6. DISTRACTION
7. UNEXPECTED
Childhood is not from birth to a certain age and at a certain age
The child is grown, and puts away childish things.
Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies.
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Edna St. Vincent Millay
PREFACE
I'd had more than my fair share of near-death experiences; it wasn't something you ever really got used
to.
It seemed oddly inevitable, though, facing death again. Like I really was marked for disaster. I'd
escaped time and time again, but it kept coming back for me.
Still, this time was so different from the others.
You could run from someone you feared, you could try to fight someone you hated. All my reactions
were geared toward those kinds of killers—the monsters, the enemies.
When you loved the one who was killing you, it left you no options. How could you run, how could you
fight, when doing so would hurt that beloved one? If your life was all you had to give your beloved, how
could you not give it?
If it was someone you truly loved?
1. ENGAGED
No one is staring at you,I promised myself. No one is staring at you. No one is staring at you.
But, because I couldn't lie convincingly even to myself, I had to check.
As I sat waiting for one of the three traffic lights in town to turn green, I peeked to the right—in her
minivan, Mrs. Weber had turned her whole torso in my direction. Her eyes bored into mine, and I
flinched back, wondering why she didn't drop her gaze or look ashamed. It was still considered rude to
stare at people, wasn't it? Didn't that apply to me anymore?
Then I remembered that these windows were so darkly tinted that she probably had no idea if it was
even me in here, let alone that I'd caught her looking. I tried to take some comfort in the fact that she
wasn't really staring at me, just the car.
Mycar. Sigh.
I glanced to the left and groaned. Two pedestrians were frozen on the sidewalk, missing their chance to
cross as they stared. Behind them, Mr. Marshall was gawking through the plate-glass window of his little
souvenir shop. At least he didn't have his nose pressed up against the glass. Yet.
The light turned green and, in my hurry to escape, I stomped on the gas pedal without thinking—the
normal way I would have punched it to get my ancient Chevy truck moving.
Engine snarling like a hunting panther, the car jolted forward so fast that my body slammed into the black
leather seat and my stomach flattened against my spine.
"Arg!" I gasped as I fumbled for the brake. Keeping my head, I merely tapped the pedal. The car
lurched to an absolute standstill anyway.
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I couldn't bear to look around at the reaction. If there had been any doubt as to who was driving this car
before, it was gone now. With the toe of my shoe, I gently nudged the gas pedal down one half
millimeter, and the car shot
forward again.
I managed to reach my goal, the gas station. If I hadn't been running on vapors, I wouldn't have come
into town at all. I was going without a lot of things these days, like Pop-Tarts and shoelaces, to avoid
spending time in public.
Moving as if I were in a race, I got the hatch open, the cap off, the card scanned, and the nozzle in the
tank within seconds. Of course, there was nothing I could do to make the numbers on the gauge pick up
the pace. They ticked by sluggishly, almost as if they were doing it just to annoy me.
It wasn't bright out—a typical drizzly day in Forks, Washington—but I still felt like a spotlight was
trained on me, drawing attention to the delicate ring on my left hand. At times like this, sensing the eyes
on my back, it felt as if the ring were pulsing like a neon sign: Look at me, look at me.
It was stupid to be so self-conscious, and I knew that. Besides my dad and mom, did it really matter
what people were saying about my engagement? About my new car? About my mysterious acceptance
into an Ivy League college? About the shiny black credit card that felt red-hot in my back pocket right
now?
"Yeah, who cares what they think," I muttered under my breath.
"Urn, miss?" a man's voice called.
I turned, and then wished I hadn't.
Two men stood beside a fancy SUV with brand-new kayaks tied to the top. Neither of them was
looking at me; they both were staring at the car.
Personally, I didn't get it. But then, I was just proud I could distinguish between the symbols for Toyota,
Ford, and Chevy. This car was glossy black, sleek, and pretty, but it was still just a car to me.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but could you tell me what kind of car you're driving?" the tall one asked.
"Urn, a Mercedes, right?"
"Yes," the man said politely while his shorter friend rolled his eyes at my answer. "I know. But I was
wondering, is that… are you driving a Mercedes Guardian?" The man said the name with reverence. I
had a feeling this guy would get along well with Edward Cullen, my… my fiance （there really was no
getting around that truth with the wedding just days away）。 "They aren't supposed to be available in
Europe yet," the man went on, "let alone here."
While his eyes traced the contours of my car—it didn't look much different from any other Mercedes
sedan to me, but what did I know?—I briefly contemplated my issues with words like fiance, wedding,
husband, etc.
I just couldn't put it together in my head.
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On the one hand, I had been raised to cringe at the very thought of poofy white dresses and bouquets.
But more than that, I just couldn't reconcile a staid, respectable, dull concept like husband with my
concept of Edward. It was like casting an archangel as an accountant; I couldn't visualize him in any
commonplace role.
Like always, as soon as I started thinking about Edward I was caught up in a dizzy spin of fantasies. The
stranger had to clear his throat to get my attention; he was still waiting for an answer about the car's make
and model.
"I don't know," I told him honestly.
"Do you mind if I take a picture with it?"
It took me a second to process that. "Really? You want to take a picture with the car?"
"Sure—nobody is going to believe me if I don't get proof."
"Urn. Okay. Fine."
I swiftly put away the nozzle and crept into the front seat to hide while the enthusiast dug a huge
professional-looking camera out of his backpack. He and his friend took turns posing by the hood, and
then they went to take pictures at the back end.
"I miss my truck," I whimpered to myself.
Very, very convenient—too convenient—that my truck would wheeze its last wheeze just weeks after
Edward and I had agreed to our lopsided compromise, one detail of which was that he be allowed to
replace my truck when it passed on. Edward swore it was only to be expected; my truck had lived a
long, full life and then expired of natural causes. According to him. And, of course, I had no way to verify
his story or to try to raise my truck from the dead on my own. My favorite mechanic—
I stopped that thought cold, refusing to let it come to a conclusion. Instead, I listened to the men's voices
outside, muted by the car walls.
"… went at it with a flamethrower in the online video. Didn't even pucker the paint."
"Of course not. You could roll a tank over this baby. Not much of a market for one over here. Designed
for Middle East diplomats, arms dealers, and drug lords mostly."
"Think she's something?" the short one asked in a softer voice. I ducked my head, cheeks flaming.
"Huh," the tall one said. "Maybe. Can't imagine what you'd need missile-proof glass and four thousand
pounds of body armor for around here. Must be headed somewhere more hazardous."
Body armor. Four thousand pounds of body armor. And missile-proof glass? Nice. What had
happened to good old-fashioned bulletproof?
Well, at least this made some sense—if you had a twisted sense of humor.
It wasn't like I hadn't expected Edward to take advantage of our deal, to weight it on his side so that he
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could give so much more than he would receive. I'd agreed that he could replace my truck when it
needed replacing, not expecting that moment to come quite so soon, of course. When I'd been forced to
admit that the truck had become no more than a still-life tribute to classic Chevys on my curb, I knew his
idea of a replacement was probably going to embarrass me. Make me the focus of stares and whispers.
I'd been right about that part. But even in my darkest imaginings I had not foreseen that he would get me
two cars.
The "before" car and the "after" car, he'd explained when I'd flipped out.
This was just the "before" car. He'd told me it was a loaner and promised that he was returning it after
the wedding. It all had made absolutely no sense to me. Until now.
Ha ha. Because I was so fragilely human, so accident-prone, so much a victim to my own dangerous
bad luck, apparently I needed a tank-resistant car to keep me safe. Hilarious. I was sure he and his
brothers had enjoyed the
joke quite a bit behind my back.
Or maybe, just maybe,a small voice whispered in my head, it's not a joke, silly. Maybe he's really that
worried about you. This wouldn't be the first time he's gone a little overboard trying to protect
you.
I sighed.
I hadn't seen the "after" car yet. It was hidden under a sheet in the deepest corner of the Cullens' garage.
I knew most people would have peeked by now, but I really didn't want to know.
Probably no body armor on that car—because I wouldn't need it after the honeymoon. Virtual
indestructibility was just one of the many perks I was looking forward to. The best parts about being a
Cullen were not expensive cars and impressive credit cards.
"Hey," the tall man called, cupping his hands to the glass in an effort to peer in. "We're done now.
Thanks a lot!"
"You're welcome," I called back, and then tensed as I started the engine and eased the pedal—ever so
gently—down___
No matter how many times I drove down the familiar road home, I still couldn't make the rain-faded
flyers fade into the background. Each one of them, stapled to telephone poles and taped to street signs,
was like a fresh slap in the face. A well-deserved slap in the face. My mind was sucked back into the
thought I'd interrupted so immediately before. I couldn't avoid it on this road. Not with pictures of my
favorite mechanic flashing past me at regular intervals.
My best friend. My Jacob.
Thehave you SEENthis boy? posters were not Jacob's father's idea. It had been my father, Charlie,
who'd printed up the flyers and spread them all over town. And not just Forks, but Port Angeles and
Sequim and Hoquiam and Aberdeen and every other town in the Olympic Peninsula. He'd made sure
that all the police stations in the state of Washington had the same flyer hanging on the wall, too. His own
station had a whole corkboard dedicated to finding Jacob. A corkboard that was mostly empty, much to
his disappointment and frustration.
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My dad was disappointed with more than the lack of response. He was most disappointed with Billy,
Jacob's father—and Charlie's closest friend.
For Billy's not being more involved with the search for his sixteen-year-old "runaway." For Billy's
refusing to put up the flyers in La Push, the reservation on the coast that was Jacob's home. For his
seeming resigned to Jacob's disappearance, as if there was nothing he could do. For his saying, "Jacob's
grown up now. He'll come home if he wants to."
And he was frustrated with me, for taking Billy's side.
I wouldn't put up posters, either. Because both Billy and I knew where Jacob was, roughly speaking,
and we also knew that no one had seen this boy.
The flyers put the usual big, fat lump in my throat, the usual stinging tears in my eyes, and I was glad
Edward was out hunting this Saturday. If Edward saw my reaction, it would only make him feel terrible,
too.
Of course, there were drawbacks to it being Saturday. As I turned slowly and carefully onto my street, I
could see my dad's police cruiser in the driveway of our home. He'd skipped fishing again today. Still
sulking about the
wedding.
So I wouldn't be able to use the phone inside. But I had to call___
I parked on the curb behind the Chevy sculpture and pulled the cell phone Edward had given me for
emergencies out of the glove compartment. I dialed, keeping my finger on the "end" button as the phone
rang. Just in case.
"Hello?" Seth Clearwater answered, and I sighed in relief. I was way too chicken to speak to his older
sister, Leah. The phrase "bite my head off was not entirely a figure of speech when it came to Leah.
"Hey, Seth, it's Bella."
"Oh, hiya, Bella! How are you?"
Choked up. Desperate for reassurance. "Fine."
"Calling for an update?"
"You're psychic."
"Not hardly. I'm no Alice—you're just predictable," he joked. Among the Quileute pack down at La
Push, only Seth was comfortable even mentioning the Cullens by name, let alone joking about things like
my nearly omniscient sister-in-law-to-be.
"I know I am." I hesitated for a minute. "How is he?"
Seth sighed. "Same as ever. He won't talk, though we know he hears us. He's trying not to think human,
you know. Just going with his instincts."
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"Do you know where he is now?"
"Somewhere in northern Canada. I can't tell you which province. He doesn't pay much attention to state
lines."
"Any hint that he might…"
"He's not coming home, Bella. Sorry."
I swallowed. "S'okay, Seth. I knew before I asked. I just can't help wishing."
"Yeah. We all feel the same way."
"Thanks for putting up with me, Seth. I know the others must give you a hard time."
"They're not your hugest fans," he agreed cheerfully. "Kind of lame, I think. Jacob made his choices, you
made yours. Jake doesn't like their attitude about it. 'Course, he isn't super thrilled that you're checking
up on him, either."
I gasped. "I thought he wasn't talking to you?"
"He can't hide everything from us, hard as he's trying."
So Jacob knew I was worried. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Well, at least he knew I hadn't
skipped off into the sunset and forgotten him completely. He might have imagined me capable of that.
"I guess I'll see you at the… wedding," I said, forcing the word out through my teeth.
"Yeah, me and my mom will be there. It was cool of you to ask us."
I smiled at the enthusiasm in his voice. Though inviting the Clearwaters had been Edward's idea, I was
glad he'd thought of it. Having Seth there would be nice—a link, however tenuous, to my missing best
man. "It wouldn't be the
same without you."
"Tell Edward I said hi, 'kay?"
"Sure thing."
I shook my head. The friendship that had sprung up between Edward and Seth was something that still
boggled my mind. It was proof, though, that things didn't have to be this way. That vampires and
werewolves could get along just fine, thank you very much, if they were of a mind to.
Not everybody liked this idea.
"Ah," Seth said, his voice cracking up an octave. "Er, Leah's home."
"Oh! Bye!"
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The phone went dead. I left it on the seat and prepared myself mentally to go inside the house, where
Charlie would be waiting.
My poor dad had so much to deal with right now. Jacob-the-runaway was just one of the straws on his
overburdened back. He was almost as worried about me, his barely-a-legal-adult daughter who was
about to become a Mrs. in just a few days' time.
I walked slowly through the light rain, remembering the night we'd told him___
As the sound of Charlie's cruiser announced his return, the ring suddenly weighed a hundred pounds on
my finger. I wanted to shove my left hand in a pocket, or maybe sit on it, but Edward's cool, firm grasp
kept it front and center.
"Stop fidgeting, Bella. Please try to remember that you're not confessing to a murder here."
"Easy for you to say."
I listened to the ominous sound of my father's boots clomping up the sidewalk. The key rattled in the
already open door. The sound reminded me of that part of the horror movie when the victim realizes
she's forgotten to lock herdeadbolt.
"Calm down, Bella," Edward whispered, listening to the acceleration of my heart.
The door slammed against the wall, and I flinched like I'd been Tasered.
"Hey, Charlie," Edward called, entirely relaxed.
"No!" I protested under my breath.
"What?" Edward whispered back.
"Wait till he hangs his gun up!"
Edward chuckled and ran his free hand through his tousled bronze hair.
Charlie came around the corner, still in his uniform, still armed, and tried not to make a face when he
spied us sitting together on the loveseat. Lately, he'd been putting forth a lot of effort to like Edward
more. Of course, this revelation was sure to end that effort immediately.
"Hey, kids. What's up?"
"We'd like to talk to you," Edward said, so serene. "We have some good news."
Charlie's expression went from strained friendliness to black suspicion in a second.
"Good news?" Charlie growled, looking straight at me.
"Have a seat, Dad."
He raised one eyebrow, stared at me for five seconds, then stomped to the recliner and sat down on the
very edge, his back ramrod straight.
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"Don't get worked up, Dad," I said after a moment of loaded silence. "Everything's okay."
Edward grimaced, and I knew it was in objection to the word okay. He probably would have used
something more like wonderful or perfect or glorious.
"Sure it is, Bella, sure it is. If everything is so great, then why are you sweating bullets?"
"I'm not sweating," I lied.
I leaned away from his fierce scowl, cringing into Edward, and instinctively wiped the back of my right
hand across my forehead to remove the evidence.
"You're pregnant!" Charlie exploded. "You're pregnant, aren't you?"
Though the question was clearly meant for me, he was glaring at Edward now, and I could have sworn I
saw his hand twitch toward the gun.
"No! Of course I'm not!" I wanted to elbow Edward in the ribs, but I knew that move would only give
me a bruise. I'd told Edward that people would immediately jump to this conclusion! What other
possible reason would sane people have for getting married at eighteen? （His answer then had made me
roll my eyes. Love. Right.）
Charlie's glower lightened a shade. It was usually pretty clear on my face when I was telling the truth,
and he believed me now. "Oh. Sorry."
"Apology accepted."
There was a long pause. After a moment, I realized everyone was waiting for me to say something. I
looked up at Edward, panic-stricken. There was no way I was going to get the words out.
He smiled at me and then squared his shoulders and turned to my father.
"Charlie, I realize that I've gone about this out of order. Traditionally, I should have asked you first. I
mean no disrespect, but since Bella has already said yes and I don't want to diminish her choice in the
matter, instead of asking you for her hand, I'm asking you for your blessing. We're getting married,
Charlie. I love her more than anything in the world, more than my own life, and—by some miracle—she
loves me that way, too. Will you give us your blessing?"
He sounded so sure, so calm. For just an instant, listening to the absolute confidence in his voice, I
experienced a rare moment of insight, i could see, fleetingly, the way the world looked to him. For the
length of one heartbeat, this news made perfect sense.
And then I caught sight of the expression on Charlie's face, his eyes now locked on the ring.
I held my breath while his skin changed colors—fair to red, red to purple, purple to blue. I started to get
up—I'm
not sure what I planned to do; maybe use the Heimlich maneuver to make sure he wasn't choking—but
Edward squeezed my hand and murmured "Give him a minute" so low that only I could hear.
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The silence was much longer this time. Then, gradually, shade by shade, Charlie's color returned to
normal. His lips pursed, and his eyebrows furrowed; I recognized his "deep in thought" expression. He
studied the two of us for a long moment, and I felt Edward relax at my side.
"Guess I'm not that surprised," Charlie grumbled. "Knew I'd have to deal with something like this soon
enough."
I exhaled.
"You sure about this?" Charlie demanded, glaring at me.
"I'm one hundred percent sure about Edward," I told him without missing a beat.
"Getting married, though? What's the rush?" He eyed me suspiciously again.
The rush was due to the fact that I was getting closer to nineteen every stinking day, while Edward
stayed frozen in all his seventeen-year-old perfection, as he had for over ninety years. Not that this fact
necessitated marriage in my book, but the wedding was required due to the delicate and tangled
compromise Edward and I had made to finally get to this point, the brink of my transformation from
mortal to immortal.
These weren't things I could explain to Charlie.
"We're going away to Dartmouth together in the fall, Charlie," Edward reminded him. "I'd like to do that,
well, the right way. It's how I was raised." He shrugged.
He wasn't exaggerating; they'd been big on old-fashioned morals during World War I.
Charlie's mouth twisted to the side. Looking for an angle to argue from. But what could he say? I'd
prefer you live in sin first? He was a dad; his hands were tied.
"Knew this was coming," he muttered to himself, frowning. Then, suddenly, his face went perfectly
smooth and blank.
"Dad?" I asked anxiously. I glanced at Edward, but I couldn't read his face, either, as he watched
Charlie.
"Ha!" Charlie exploded. I jumped in my seat. "Ha, ha, ha!"
I stared incredulously as Charlie doubled over in laughter; his whole body shook with it.
I looked at Edward for a translation, but Edward had his lips pressed tightly together, like he was trying
to hold back laughter himself.
"Okay, fine," Charlie choked out. "Get married." Another roll of laughter shook through him. "But…"
"But what?" I demanded.
"But you have to tell your mom! I'm not saying one word to Renee! That's all yours!" He busted into
loud guffaws.
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I paused with my hand on the doorknob, smiling. Sure, at the time, Charlie's words had terrified me. The
ultimate doom: telling Renee. Early marriage was higher up on her blacklist than boiling live puppies.
Who could have foreseen her response? Not me. Certainly not Charlie. Maybe Alice, but I hadn't
thought to ask her.
"Well, Bella," Renee had said after I'd choked and stuttered out the impossible words: /Worn, I'm
marrying Edward. Tm a little miffed that you waited so long to tell me. Plane tickets only get more
expensive. Oooh," she'd fretted. "Do you think Phil's cast will be off by then? It will spoil the pictures if
he's not in a tux—"
