I looked at my wife, my companion. Pretty, pretty pixie. How could she think I didn't know? I knew emotions just as well as I did war (once a soldier, always a soldier). And she had the temerity to think she and piano boy could fool me. Hadn't touched her for years and she though it was because of my marks. As if I would be ashamed of something that proclaimed me strong enough to kill hundreds. The God of War.
But I stayed, not because of the Cullens (never would look at them and see family, at least not the doctor and the wife, certainly not my 'wife' - but dear sister and her boy were McCartys far as I was concerned), not because of the diet (they always regretted each death. Guilt, yes, he felt, but never regret, it would mean that their deaths were in vain, and his mama taught him to never disrespect the dead.), but because his brother and child (child by the venom and brother because he saved the rest of his sanity and then returned to save his life - Peter) said that, if he stayed, one day he would have his own mate, a brunette with amber reptile eyes and emotions strong enough to match his, his own Charlotte.
And as I looked away from liar (Pretty, pretty, dumb Alice) and saw doe brown eyes that one day would be amber, I knew it was all worth it. My mate. My goddess of War.