Prologue

I'd never given much thought to how I would die, though I'd had reason enough in the last few years. But dying in the place of someone I loved, seemed like a good way to go.

The pale moonlight shone through the tiny slit in the blinds, I looked at my roommate, Rosalie. Her gold hair framed her beautiful face, her long eyelashes just brushing the tops of her cheekbones.

It seemed impossible, but I would miss her. I would miss this cozy space on the University campus; I would miss my human friends; I would miss grabbing coffee's with Alice, Elena and Bonnie; lounging in the beautiful green, grassy quad before classes. I would miss sneaking off and cutting class with Edward. Oh, Edward! He's the one I'd miss the most.

I wished I could feel his strong arms around me now, so hard yet so comforting. I wished I could feel his sweet breath on my hair. What I wouldn't give to look into those golden eyes just one more time.

But I can't. Tonight was the night I would give my soul away to the dark vampire, who'd torture and kill my loved ones, torture and kill Edward, if I didn't. This dark vampire, who I had made a deal with years ago to save myself, was finally coming to collect.

It all started in seventh grade, when I had first moved to Forks, Washington.

It was another dreary day, I found myself continuously rubbing my hands together to keep warm. The other seventh grade kids were joyously playing around the playground; I kept close to the low fence of the parking lot, waiting for that bell to ring.

The little red-haired girl named Bonnie McCullough who always laughed a little too loud was chasing around baby-faced Mike Newton. Jessica Stanley was watching with wide eyes and kept whispering to her best friend Lauren Mallory, until Eric Yorkie snuck up on them with a vine, pretending it was a snake. The girls' screams and giggles echoed through the playground.

In the corner of the field, sitting on their coats and sweaters were the Cullen's. I let my eyes drift over them, watching them suspiciously. The Cullen's never played games, never came to Birthday parties, and didn't bother putting their hands up in lessons- almost like they were too good or something.

Or because they had a secret.

"Not your cup of tea?" The new male teacher asked me, staring at me with satiny black eyes. He had apparently moved here from Italy with his brother and uncle, they were staying in a huge house in the woods. My father had never let me into those parts of the woods, he said monsters lived there, and I believed him. I was suspicious of this new teacher, too.

I shrugged with child-like innocence. "I wish I could, Mr. Salvatore," Then pointed at my bum leg. I had broken it on a cold, rainy day like this one while playing a game we called Grounders with some of the other kids. Jessica, Lauren, Eric, Angela and Mike- the Cullen's were, of course, invited, but none of them came. We had all voted on who should be "It" and Lauren was initially chosen, but she cried. Finally I said I wouldn't mind and closed my eyes, spun around and counted to 10. I stopped and roamed around the play structure, my hands stretching aimlessly in front of me. Suddenly someone pushed me from the side and I went falling to the sand in the playground, my leg twisting under me. The other kids said they didn't see who pushed me, but I had my suspicions it was Lauren. For some reason she had really hated me when we were kids.

Mr. Salvatore's voice called me back; his keen dark eyes were on me again as he spoke, slowly drifting over my face, then walking away. I didn't hear what he said, I wished I did, but my ears were more tuned into the sudden squealing happening behind me. I looked over my shoulder and my eyebrows shot up.

A tiny silver car was spinning out of control through the parking lot and heading straight toward me. I willed my feet to move, but I wasn't fast enough. I just felt the feel of the bumper against my knees, suddenly aching, and my head snapped backward, making a horrible noise, and I was pulled under the car. The coldness of the grass and distant screaming was all I was aware of before slipping into blackness.

When I woke up again I was lying in a room full of white things. White bed sheets, white pillow, white walls, white floors. In the crook of my arm was a tube, connected to a machine. There were tubes on my face too, and a wire connected to my hand. There was another tube that disappeared under the blanket near my abdomen; I didn't want to think where that one led.

My head was pounding, and I felt like I could sleep some more but I hadn't a clue how long I had been sleeping before. I couldn't move anything, like there were cinder blocks tied to me, holding me to the bed. My legs felt heavier than the rest of my body, I wondered why. My whole body ached like I had been burned, the burning in my neck and legs worse than anywhere else.

Suddenly one of the many machine's beside me started beeping. A pretty, middle-aged nurse came bustling in, her soft blue eyes turned grave and sad when she saw me. "My dear child," she murmured, then went to a machine and pressed a button to stop the beeping.

She turned back to me. "I'm nurse Dawly, dear. If you need anything you can try and press this button. Can you move your fingers, dear?"

What a silly question, I found myself thinking. But when I started lifting my pointer finger toward the yellow button she showed me, nothing happened. I tried again but my finger stayed in the same place. I started panicking; trying to move any part of me, but nothing would cooperate.

Nurse Dawly nodded grimly and patted my hand. "It's alright, dear." Then she went to the foot of my bed and pulled off a tiny clipboard from there. As she was reading it the frown lines on her face became more pronounced, and when she turned to leave, I found I couldn't form the words to ask her what my chart had said.

I had woken up several times after that, feeling worse, yet better, every time. Sometimes when I woke, my father would be there, clinging to my hand with his head buried in my covers. Each time the machine beside me would begin beeping and nurse Dawly would enter my room as my father perked up, eagerly awaiting good news. Each time I would try to greet her, but the dryness in my throat, that no cup of water could cure, stopped me. Each time I would try to move something, as instructed, but nothing would happen. Then my father would rub his swollen eyes and nurse Dawly would leave the room looking like she'd seen death.

Maybe she had.

When I woke up the last time I found it hard to open my eyes, and when I did they were tiny slits. I realized my father was no longer with me, I was completely alone. Everything in the room looked blurry, or maybe that was because the room was dark in many places except for where the moonlight hit the window.

The machine I was sure monitored my heart rate was beeping very slowly. Breathing came slowly, too, and made horrible wheezy sounds as it came out. With every breath it felt like my chest was getting heavier.

I could barely feel anything anymore. My limbs were just there for show, I couldn't feel the roughness of the sheets or the weight of the blanket nurse Dawly must have put on me. The only thing I felt was the pounding in my head and the soft beating of my heart.

Then I saw him, standing as still as a pouncing lion in the shadows of my hospital room. At first I wasn't sure, but after a moment he became clear.

I barely had enough energy to be frightened anymore. I acknowledged him wearily, fighting to keep my eyes open. I tried to speak, again, but found it impossible.

"You look terrible," Mr. Salvatore whispered, something about his tone made it sound like he was enjoying watching me suffer.

But I wasn't suffering; I could barely feel anything at all.

I knew I looked pretty bad. Once, after I had woken and after nurse Dawly fed me, she pulled something from a bag she had and presented it to me. It was a mirror. She asked if I wanted to look and I responded that I did with the jerk of my chin. It was all I could do to not burst when nurse Dawly held up the mirror. The reflection of the girl staring back at me wasn't what I had been expecting.

There was a thin bandage around her neck and a metal-like brace; it looked like her head might fall without it. That wasn't all; her hair was shaved to her head, dark circles that looked like bruises were under her eyes, her lips chapped and cut, and around her head was a bandage. All over her face were cuts and bruises.

At least I'm not dead, I thought. But I knew that very soon, I would be. The doctors were humouring themselves, keeping me alive. My father foolishly clinging to what little of me he had left. They should have, as the term goes, pulled the plug.

I let out three wheezing breaths before Mr. Salvatore spoke again.

"I came to help you, Isabella."

If I could have talked, I would have called him mad, and then asked him to call me Bella. No one could have helped me.

"I can see in your face you don't believe me, Bella." He stepped closer, out of the shadows. "I'm not a cruel man, I'm not a civil man, and I don't do the right thing, but even I know when something has to be done."

The curiosity must have been clear in my eyes.

Mr. Salvatore smirked. "You will not die today, Bella. I'm going to save you."

I mustered up enough strength to speak, even then I barely made any sound and the word was coarse, "How?"

He leaned his head back extending his arms in front of him. There was a buzz in the room suddenly, I could feel it. The room was pulsing with energy. The machines attached to me went wild. My heart began to beat faster and I closed my eyes because this sudden feeling was euphoric. I could feel life flowing into my veins, almost like the morphine felt, but this was curing me, it was better. I felt the life trickle down my legs and to my feet, through my arms to the tips of my fingers. Soon my head wasn't pounding, my heart rate was normal. I felt more alive than ever in my lifetime.

"Appreciate the rest of your life, Bella. And please, call me Damon."

Foot falls pounded down the hall, coming toward my room. I opened my eyes, searching for Mr. Salvatore- Damon- but he was gone.

The door was just flinging open when I heard a whisper inside my head. It was Mr. Salvatore's voice.

Someday, I will come to collect. Be expecting me...

From that day on I never stopped thinking about his last words to me, his threat. The dark angel who saved my life never left my mind even for a moment.

That was seven years ago. Seven years ago he gave me life, now he's finally coming to collect.

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A/N As always, take a moment to leave a review please, at least so I can thank you for reading. I love talking to fans! :) Thanks for reading! XOXO - Simmy