Never, ever did I, in my wildest dreams, believe I'd write up a Twilight story. I detest the films, love the books, and overall enjoy the ideas that came to be, but...this? For me to write this? Unthinkable, unfathomable.

But it happened, and here you are, reading my travesty of a story.

Yay.

So, onto story news; Basically, Bella is one of the oldest shape shifters in existence, she's OOC as hell, and this story is a femslash one; interested? Good, then keep reading.

This is the only A/N for the rest of this story, by the way.

I don't own Twilight, 'cause if I did, Alice and Bella would be totally canon, and Bella would be a badass, cold ass bitch.

Have fun.

(^^^^^^)

545 AD

Screams are the first thing I hear, flooding my senses from the outside world beyond my home's little wooden door with horror, pain, death. Getting up was a chore in and of itself; being the village's lead healer I had no choice but the run out and deal with the wounded forms limping around whatever village had decided to attack us next; Uncivil was one word for it.

I had to drag myself to the small area made of wood and tied together twigs that was the 'restroom', as some had taken to calling it. A small bucket filled with murky water to my left, a shattered piece of reflective glass on my right, and in the middle was a wooden tub, air tight and sturdy, for when we need to heal a patient through what I call 'Water therapy': Quite self explanatory really; I use soothing hot water to ease a patient's stiffened joints and muscles, then while they dry off, introduce freezing cold waters to open the pours on the skin.

I splash some of the bucket's water into my face; it stings my eyes momentarily, gathering salted tears standing at attention in my tear ducts, ready and waiting to be released. The smell of smoke fills my nose, and I just know this isn't a usual, every other week daytime attack. Well, for starters, it was night-time, around about midnight, to be fairly exact.

I sprinted now awake to the door of my single roomed cottage, flinging it open so harshly that I heard a splinter erupt from the side. No matter; I glanced down at it noncommittally before looking upwards at the fires raging around, men and women screaming as other men and women ripped them apart limb by limb. This definitely was not what I had come to know as routine; even the other villages, as primitive as they were, would not dare sully the memory of these sacred grounds by defilation such as this. While unspoken, a general law was passed around throughout the villages, warring or allied; dismemberment, murder and pillaging were all frowned down on, but simple raids were allowed: Disgusting when you think about it.

That's probably why I don't.

I didn't even register the speed of which the man that had been tearing apart a young village girl moved towards me; so quick it was that I fell straight on my backside before he hoisted me upwards, holding me by my throat with something inhuman in his grip. My hands shot towards my attacker's face, clawing, hoping to get free. I could feel the wind leaving my lungs, the rush of air mixed with blood suddenly stopping.

As my fist flew towards his nose, though, he flew, literally flew, backwards from me, releasing his grip. I fell to my feet, but something was off, something wrong, something different.

My feet weren't large paws, pitch black and clawed. My body didn't have jet black fur smoothing down my sides. I most definitely was not a massive five foot panther with glowing yellow eyes and feline ears atop my head.

And I most definitely was not about to rip this man's head from his shoulders. But I was when I saw who the man had killed, glancing downwards and freezing at the sight.

Jenny. Her name was Jenny- or for her full name, Jennifer Margot; Half French. She was my best friend, someone I had confided to in my darker days, the times when I felt the world was too violent for me and trying to suffocate my already feeble will to live in it, the times when suicidal thoughts sounded pleasing to my addled brain. We were close, but the village elder had discovered, and kept quiet, much to my relief, that we were closer. Friendship meant little a month ago to us. We had decided to keep it a secret, to hide it as long as possible, lest the religious men and women of this sickening village burn us at stakes, accuse us as hedonist witches and dunk us in rivers or more of the...pathetic ways of seeing to God's wishes. I lost my maidenhood to her, the memory still vivid in my mind as we made love, the act itself feeling heavenly, as if God himself would approve if only He had felt it.

When I was born, I was immediately made orphan; someone thought it funny to allow the wandering guards around our village to spend the night in the local inn; a tawdry little place with splinters and ragged beds with rough customers, ranging from travelling story tellers to old men with horrid pasts; very little meaning on the word 'inn'. Anyway, as the guards slumbered off one night, dousing their barely-existing troubles in ale and honey mead, some visitors paid my village a visit; well, my house, to be more exact.

You know, the little cottage barely holding together that I live in? Yeah, that one; they knocked, entered and slit my mothers throat. No reason, no method, just drew a small dagger, one slice, and then walked away as if nothing had happened, as if I hadn't been forced to grow up on the streets until I showed an extraordinary talent for healing my wounds.

The elder, Elijah- took his name from the Bible, and they call me a sinner?- happened upon me fixing my self up one dark night, tending my wounds with nothing but a cloth, some herbs and a bucket of water. Needles to say, he thought I was crazy. Well, that is until the cut began scabbing over two days later, and after a week, was simply a small patch of barely-there bruised skin that would disappear over time. He demanded to know what I was, thinking me some sort of witch; seriously, religion and witches? My village was the oddest.

I showed him which plants did what, having learned through tedious trial and error- the errors still showed their ugly scars- and he became instantly impressed; he offered me a chance to work as a village healer- good food, a warm bed...my old home. Needless to say, I accepted.

The village mothers hated me because I 'healed' their children of disease and lice and other sorts of disgusting manner, simply because they had been too inept in the art of healing to actually bother to look. One such child showed up on my doorstep, bleeding, heavily wounded, marks all over her; I began to suspect she was simply trying to see if I was as good as I say I am- of course I am- but one look into her fading eyes showed me what I needed to see.

This girl was injured, and I helped her, as was my duty.

The elder stood, tensed and alarmed, as he and the other villagers watched as I carefully wrapped damp cloth around the girl's exposed torso; I really did try to ignore the village boys whispering about how she and I would make excellent wives for them one day. I simply tended to my patient, as always with the same care a mother would give her crying child. As the cloth, damp and now stained with blood, began to suck out the red life liquid, I sprinkled salt on her wounds. She let it be known that it hurt, and I had done this many a time before.

I knew exactly what she would do next.

She screamed, loud and wailing, piercing my ears in a way never did I ever once think possible. She thrashed and sputtered, begging and pleading through sobs and tears, but I continued on; the elder was even tenser, and I considered allowing him to use the water tub; but I digress. She eventually calmed, and a measly three days later, when I peeled the wraps off of her unconscious torso, the elder was amazed as he saw the results; Nothing but bruises.

It was then that she, the patient of mine, was assigned under strict watch- my watch, of course- and supervision. But obviously I cared a little too much, watched a little too much, and she fell for me and me, her.

She made me smile, laugh, cry and giggle like a small girl with a wooden toy. She made me happy and sad and actually be able to feel emotions.

She made me live.

This man took that away from me, too quick, too fast, too unnecessary. It hurt, like daggers in my spine, or needles stabbing my heart. It hurt like a thousand rapiers drilling my torso, salt being slathered on my wounds and the repeat rinsing itself once more. It was...it hurt.

I was angry, I was pissed, I was...hurt. Beyond measure was I hurt, the emotion of rage building, climbing. It scaled my body, hitting me in the heart with how cruel this man must be to kill an innocent girl.

My blood boiled, and I charged.

Not one of the invaders stood when I was finished, a flurry was all I was to them. blurs, after-images and low hisses and growls were the only things seen and heard as I lay waste to the intruders upon my home; but alas I was too late. My village, my people, were all dead, all burnt with the fires of murder and rampant destruction: Slaughtered like cattle, like pigs, like cows; Slaughtered in their own homes, with their children and wives.

So I did what my heart told me to do, what I felt was right, what I knew was right.

I ran.

(^^^^^^)

1979

I run. It's what I'm good at; I was built for it, shaped for it, made for it. Most whine and cry about not being able to run when they're confined to their homes and cottages, lit by scarcely available torches hanging from walls and chandeliers. But I love it; a life without running for me would be hellish, nightmarish...

...Especially considering I would have died if I had not run.

I don't even know how long I've been running, especially given the changes around me happening before my very eyes. I've been alive for so long, watched as people changed and shifted before me; the era evolved from daggers made of iron to those made of steel. Then from daggers to swords, swords to muskets, muskets to funny looking, smaller muskets- they seemed to be able to wield them in one hand- and then, finally, evolved past that completely with factories, moving metal cans containing a number of humans, and funny looking machines held in their hand as they...pressed their fingers into them repeatedly, or held them to their ears.

I ran from that village, leaving everything behind all those years ago, and discovered a small pride, of which I now live; turns out I'm not the only shape shifter around here. Also turns out those people murdering villagers and hunting humans are Cold Ones; vampires.

Now, while one may suggest to me that, after I told them my tragic tale, I go see someone to put a cannon to my face, I would agree; vampires though? It made perfect sense from the legends, what with me being created by He-who-is-such-an-ass God to hunt them down as my sole purpose in life.

Well, not life, un-death; you see, I have heard about shifters, after me and my pride roamed around, being able to live through their change. The fact is...the first shifters- me and my pride- die once the change is complete, very similar to those of the vampire nature. We go through immense pain when shifting, and some of us found it easier to simply stay in our forms, whatever they may be.

Of course, while I thought this, my Alpha threw me a lewd thought of one of the shifters being able to turn into a...very phallic shaped object. Regardless to say me and the other females of the pride threw our own thoughts out there, and some of the males laughed; my new best friend though, Margaret, looked as if she were about to throw up.

My village healing abilities didn't go unnoticed by my Alpha, so I was assigned the rather daunting task of becoming the pride's healer; first village and now for the pride? God really did hate me.

The Alpha snickered as he strolled off, his golden main shining as he swished his tail from side to side. I ignored him, gliding my way over to Margaret. She forgot her last name, as did most of the pride, when they changed. For some reason, those placed under stress and high amounts of panic felt their memories return to them in time. I had my memories from the start.

'Margaret?' She was always such a sensitive soul, never wanting to hurt any living creature, evil or no. It was a wonder why God, the big douche-bag in the sky, decided to turn her into...what we were.

'I'm fine, just something I ate.' I clearly didn't believe her, and it must have shown on my face, for she shot me a cougar's attempt of a smile, flashing a row of pearly white teeth and pointed canines that stretched just beyond her top lip, protruding slightly.

'Oh yeah, don't worry, I totally believe you'. I smirked in my mind when I heard some of the males balking in laughter; some of them wolf whistling- literally- while others simply sniggered while projecting random thoughts such as 'I wonder who'll be the next member' or 'I wonder if I'd kill the next leech'.

Males were always those with a one track mind.

I sighed mentally, the Alpha telling me to hurry up; they'd spotted some leech shooting around as fast as lightning, trying to get away from some other Cold Ones. Naturally, that interested me, for me nor the others have ever heard of a leech chasing another leech.

'Are you certain of what you saw?' scepticism didn't get me very far in the pride, me almost being labelled an Omega by my own Alpha, but my healing capabilities held them all from banishing me; they needed me, so until they didn't, which would be never, they'd simply allow my thoughts to run wild.

But even the Alpha seemed unsure, growling in frustration. 'Yes, but we need you to catch them. We want the leeches chasing her dead, and the female brought to me'.

I didn't ask why, already knowing the answer; she was to be interrogated to see if there was a nearby coven, a family of vampires, living in our land.

Soundlessly I blurred through the forest surrounding me, feather soft footsteps never once crunching under the dead leaves of Fall. Being the fastest meant I could keep up with or even surpass the natural speed of a vampire, allowing me to sprint to the location my Alpha had ordered me to go to without noise.

It was when I got there, stopping and crouching to observe from the shadows, did I see what my Alpha meant.

A female vampire, barely taller than me in my animal form, was fighting off two newly 'blooded' vampires; newborns. I hated them, their strength only able to surpass my own by an inch. I was the strongest and fastest, but what I made up for in speed, wisdom and strength, not to mention intelligence, I lacked for the departments of beauty, authority and instinct. My pride instinct was all but disappearing as of late, and I as well as the others knew it; I was hated, but to have your instincts slowly removed from you until you became nothing more than emotionless and cold was something that not even an Alpha would wish on an Omega.

Black, spiked hair slicked with water and dirt on one side, the other sticking up, almost giving her the look of a pixie; her small stature didn't do her any favours. Her face was smooth, as with all vampires, void of imperfections. Slim yet muscled, lean but not bulky. She almost looked like she belonged in the era of the World War with the way she fought; hands were up in a boxer's stance, yet her form was all wrong, as if she were expecting some sort of knife to the back or a pistol to be shoved in her face.

Her eyes were gold though, and how strange it was that I couldn't feel my Alpha's thoughts...or anyone's. I hope they're all fine, that they are simply watching silently from the brushes surrounding me. I was proven right when I saw Rebecca, another one of the pride, peek at me from across the clearing that the vampires were fighting in. But...she was giving me a pitying look, as if she knew this would happen, as if something bad had just occurred.

I flushed it to the back of my mind when I saw a newborn land a backhand across the pixie's cheek, sending her sprawling to the floor in pain.

Something happened though, a blur, another vampire, came shooting from the forest surrounding me, from somewhere, and smashed straight into the side of the offending newborn, ripping its head clean off in the process. So there is more than one? This would get complicated real fast.

But it didn't, because just as the pixie and the blur had appeared, they vanished, the only trace of their existences being small amounts of their scent left.

I memorised hers in the years to come, the scent of honey and lavender pushing me forwards, her golden eyes keeping me grounded. That is until I discovered why the pack left, why they upped without a trace.

A note, written by my Alpha- previous Alpha- Carlos.

'I never decided this, you were a good egg...decided that...too painful...strong...hate you...Omega.'

They were the words that I managed, amongst the rabble of other words coming to my watering eyes, to see through the haze of utter anguish. I may not have liked our Alpha, but I did like the rest of them, treating them as if they were my family, my very being within themselves. I fought Cold Ones alongside them, ripped animals to shreds with them, ate, slept and talked with them. They must have known of the utter anguish I was feeling, because I could tell Carlos hadn't officially branded me as an Omega to the rest of them just yet. The sick bastard was transmitting my feelings, thoughts, pain to each and every one of them, as if to tell them that it was explicitly his fault, as if I wasn't just made into their public enemy number one.

They were family, and they would hunt me down, rip me apart? I walked, head down and purring softly to myself, as I placed one paw in front of the other. Immediately as I stopped, I looked up to see the faces of those I've come to love as family, and as that thought came to mind, I could clearly see the etched pain slathered across their looks, their very souls burning with hatred for themselves for having to do this. Carlos, now human, didn't look nearly as sorry as he said so in the paper, but that was probably his aversion to any emotions other than perversity, strong dislike for me, or hatred for anything to do with me.

Rebecca almost whined like a dog when she saw me look at her with wide, light silver eyes and a broken heart; she was a good fiend, and I was on the verge of asking her to a date before all of this. I could see her bow her head sorrowfully as I thought that, and a small emotion was chipped away from my very being; love. I would never love again after this.

I then turned my head to Carlos, the all around father figure. I felt familial love from him, something that I had never given or been given before, and I saw his look of utter disdain cross his face as I thought this, and he sighed, irritably while running a hand over his mouth. Something fell away form me again, and as I tried to figure out what it was, it hit me like bricks; I would never feel friendship, love, hate...I would never feel any sort of emotion again.

I am truly broken now, something they used up and discarded when the time was right; a distraction, a thing to see as nothing more than an object. Never would I ever again feel anything for anyone, anything.

Carlos knew, for he smirked evilly, but with a regrettable sigh behind his voice as he issued the command every Omega eventually hears.

"Pride, Isabella Swan is now an Omega and she is now no longer one of us!" the pack howled, growled and hissed at me, but I simply stood, eyes unblinking. "Drive her off, and if necessary, kill her!"

I felt things back then, things that no one should feel before they get ripped away form your very being, your very soul. They get held out in front of you just to get ripped apart in front of your very eyes.

I felt empty as I did it, and I felt no remorse. I did what I was best at, what I was good at.

I ran.

(^^^^^^)

Chapter one is over, finally; well, it wasn't that long, but these chapters get longer and longer. Let me know if you want the story to stay in first person, or change to third; third is easier for me, but hey, the choice is there, right?