That I wasn't mad at . Can't you see that Bella?" He was suddenly intense, all...

That I wasn't mad at . Can't you see that Bella?" He was suddenly intense, all trace of teasing gone. "Don't you understand?"
"See what?" I demanded, confused by his sudden mood swing as much as his words.
"I'm never angry with you - how could it be? Brave, trusting . . . warm as you are."
"Then why?" I whispered, remembering the black moods that pulled him away from me, that I'd always interpreted as well-justified frustration - frustration at my weakness, my slowness, my unruly human reactions . . .
He put his hands carefully on both side of my face. "I infuriate myself," he said gently. "The way I can't seem to keep from putting you in danger. My very existence puts you at risk. Sometimes I truly hate myself. I should be stronger, I should be able to-"
I placed my hand over his mouth. "Don't."
He took my hand, moving it from his lips, but holding it to his face.
"I love you," he said. "It's a poor excuse for what I'm doing, but it's still true."
It was the first time he'd said he loved me - in so many words. He might not realize it, but I certainly did.