Reader: Why Chedea, is this ANOTHER new story?

Chedea: Well, kind of. It is a long story.

R: I like your stories. Do tell.

C: Well, you see Reader, I wrote this story a while ago, just finished it recently actually. However, I wrote it under a different penname...

R: Why would you do that?

C: Because, it was my first try at M rated fiction, and I was a little nervous that it would be awful, and not up to par with my usual writing, so I decided ot publish it elsewhere, under the penname Alaryan. But, I like it so much now that I wanted to share it with my faithful readers, because I figured you would want to see it.

R: Well, yeah, I do actually. So, you are saying that this story and the one of the same title by Alaryan are the same story, but you didnt plagarize because Alaryan is actually the same person as you?

C: That is exactly what I am saying. I will keep it under both names for about a week, and then it will be published solely under this penname to eliminate any future confusion.

R: Okay, I think I understand. I'm going to go read now.

C: Excellent. Have fun!

That short conversation between myself and you, the reader (I inserted your lines, hope you don't mind) basically explains the situation. If you have any questions/comments/concerns, please, feel free to contact me however you see fit. This story is just another shot of inspiration. It is M because of a lemon coming up in a future chapter. I hope you enjoy it. A special thanks to my wonderful friend LaLaLovely47 for her continued support and encouragement.

Happy reading!

She was bound, a hand over her face, dirtying her rose colored mouth. She was tempted to bite the person whose grime and dirt covered fingers were preventing her from screaming, but she already had bruises as proof of what they would do to her if she tried anything like that. She wasn't about to incur another injury.

She walked as she was directed to walk, pressed close to another body as it walked her forward, forcing her on a path she couldn't look at because of the blindfold over her eyes. The blindfold was good. It meant that they might let her go later; they were making sure she wasn't able to see where they were taking her so she couldn't tell anyone about it. It made her hopeful. She hadn't been doing anything, had just been walking through the forest on a woods path near her house when all of a sudden there were crashing noises, loud and rampaging and suddenly men, men everywhere, surrounding her on all sides and she couldn't run. There was nothing she could do. So she put her hands up and said nothing as some of them descended on her, binding her hands with rope behind her back, and then placing the blindfold over her eyes. They had been walking for a few minutes when she heard other people, maybe the forces that were fighting the rebels. She screamed for help. She heard one of the men laugh before hitting her, on her back and stomach. Then she just got shoved forward and decided against anything else of the kind.

At first she hadn't realized what was going on, but as they were walking it occurred to her. She had been walking through a mostly abandoned part of the woods. This group must have been a scouting party. They found her and at first she thought that they just needed to get rid of anyone who had seen them in the forest, but they didn't kill her right away. She argued with herself that perhaps they were taking her somewhere her body wouldn't be found. But then she began to hear voices again getting louder with each of her steps.

Another ten steps perhaps and she was stopped, the hand over her mouth removed, the blindfold taken off of her face. The rope around her wrists however, stayed. Someone spoke of fetching the captain and she waited in disdain, knowing that things were not necessarily looking up for her, that she needed a miracle. But she found none as a man emerged, the captain, she knew, just by the way the atmosphere shifted. Soldiers stood at attention, stiffness filled the air around them. She felt tense as she was put on her knees. She bit back the urge to wince as the ground hit her knees and wounded her pride.

"What is this?" a voice asked. She looked in the direction it came from and found a man, one she didn't know quite what to do with. He was tall, not too broad but still solid. He wasn't ugly, just imposing. In fact, ugly was an awful word to describe him. He was too perfectly constructed for that. She could tell being rugged, living the life he had he was obviously a little rough around the edges, but she could see the true beauty of his person there lurking on the hazy boundaries on his face and his body, like an aura that floated along with him. There was hardness in his green eyes, flecks of soot from stoking a fire on his face, hands and in his hair, but she didn't care. She stared. She couldn't help herself. He looked back, but not in the same amazement. He looked upon her in annoyance.

"Why did you bring this woman here?" he asked, and his voice sounded like thunder, not that it was tremendously deep, only rich and thick and rumbling. The man who had been holding his hand over her mouth spoke up.

"She saw us while we were scouting. There weren't any troops to be found as far as the farms to the north, but there was this little thing wandering by herself. She could have reported us. But usually you have a policy about women and children…"

The man trailed off and his captain looked at him skeptically. There was a moment of pause.

"So you let this woman see you while scouting, and instead of taking care of the problem yourself by not getting caught in the first place, you kidnap her and take her to our camp instead. What an excellent idea you've had, James."

The condescension in his tone stung even her skin as the captain spoke and it wasn't even directed at her. James said nothing. The captain sighed.

"What am I supposed to do with her now? I cannot let her go back to where she was, now knowing where the camp is, but I don't desire to kill an innocent woman either," he said as if trying to explain his internal quandary.

"I would appreciate it if you did not talk about me as though I were not here," she said angrily. The captain looked at her, shock in his eyes and expression, as though he had assumed her mute.

"She speaks," he mused, mocking in his tone. She glowered.

"Correct, now, I would like to demand my immediate release, as well as the cessation of being bound. This rope is chafing most uncomfortably," she told him.

He stared at her, like she had spoken another language.

Then, he laughed. She glowered some more.

"That was not a joke."

"That is why it was funny."

She wanted to scream in frustration. She withheld because she was sure he would find it amusing. His mocking laughter was as abrasive as the ropes around her wrists.

"What is your name, little one?" he asked her, as though she were some kind of child.

"Bella Swan," she replied with a hiss. He nodded.

"Your father, he owns the mill two miles north, yes?"

She nodded.

"He supplies troops that kill my men," the captain said.

"Your men killed his brother, his best friend, and made my best friend's father into a cripple. Do not ask for sympathy when you offer none."

The captain looked at her.

"Bella Swan, my name is Edward Cullen. I have no idea what to do with you, and so I am going to contact my superior. He will tell me what I should do, and when he does, I will do what he says. Until he replies you will remain in this camp. You will not make trouble for my men. You will do what you are told. I do not like to harm women, but I will not tolerate insolence, do you understand me?"

Bella nodded. She had not the words to express her rage, frustration, and hate for this man. Her father would be worried now, wondering where she was. He would be pacing the kitchen, waiting for her to come home. He would get hungry without her; he didn't know how to cook. Bella felt desolate as the captain walked away. It didn't matter how attractive he might have been on the outside, the emptiness, the personality masked it and made him ugly. She watched his back as he retreated and oh how she hated him.

Days passed. Edward Cullen had sent out a letter to his direct superior the day she had arrived on the camp and since then she had been making herself scarce around him, not because she was afraid, but because she knew she would get so angry she was likely to grab a sword and run him through with it, even though she hadn't half an idea of how to use one.

She found ways to occupy her time, however. They had removed the bindings after she was told she was going to have to stay, and she had amused herself for a while trying to cook with the meager supplied available. She only saw Edward a few times from afar, and each time she did he gave her the same amused look he had given her after she spoke for the first time, like she was some toy he was about to get to play with for the first time and he wasn't quite sure how to make her work.

She detested him for it. That and a million other reasons made her hate him. So she just worked on trying to cook and fill her day with something other than boredom as she was filled with more hate and distrust every moment she stayed in their camp. She had to sleep on the ground, which was uncomfortable at best, and freezing cold unless she managed to get a spot right by the fire. She ate only what was left over, which left her feeling almost faint with hunger most days. And she was bored, endlessly, awfully, ridiculously bored.

The men had things to do that didn't involve food, they went on missions, raids, attacks, many things she didn't want to hear about but couldn't help when they boasted so loud she couldn't possibly close her ears off enough. She hated that she was even a part of this place enough to know what they were doing from day to day, much less living with the scoundrels. Luckily no one bothered her much, even if they made jokes about her, made comments about how much they would love just one night alone with her when the captain was away so they could amuse themselves. But they were all too scared to do something like that, she knew. They wouldn't try anything because even if Edward didn't like her, and she knew he didn't, he would flay anyone who tried to hurt her. He hadn't been even close to kidding about his women and children policy.

It was the fifth day she had been at the stupid camp of theirs when a group of men, Edward included returned from a raid to get food, scraped and banged from head to toe. They had the food they had set out for but it seemed they paid for it in injuries. Nothing too major, annoyances really, but enough to cause a flock of men to migrate to the medical tent.

"Those villagers can be vicious," one of them said when their comrades asked what had happened. They all laughed, like it was some inside joke. Bella scowled, but nonetheless she sat on the tree stump that she occupied most of the time by the fire near the medical tent and watched as each of the men in need of medical attention went into the tent and fetched bandaging and one of them a sling.

Edward just walked past her, nursing an ugly gash on his forearm. Bella thought it served him right for being such a self righteous bastard and keeping her hostage. But when he exited the tent and sat a little bit away from her, trying to wrap his injury, she sighed and rolled her eyes at his incompetence.

"You are doing that wrong," she said with a mocking bite in her voice. She honestly couldn't help herself. If she had one chance to be condescending with him she was going to take it. At first, Edward looked up as though he had no idea who had spoken to him, but when his eyes set on her, he smiled broadly.

"Is that right, Bella Swan? Well then, please, show me the correct way."

He said the words as though he expected her not to know, and to his defense he had no way of knowing that her close friend Rosalie had been a nurse to the troops and taught Bella almost everything she knew. So Bella walked over to Edward defiantly, and took the bandage in her hand. She wrapped it tightly and carefully around his injury, making sure there was enough pressure for it to stop bleeding, and then tied it above the gash to keep the pressure there until it was healed. It was neatly bandaged, and clean since her fingers were not covered in the same dirt his were. He looked up at her from where he was sitting, surprised to say the least, impressed to say the most.

"Were you a nurse?" he asked. She didn't know why he cared. She shook her head. She explained about Rosalie and he nodded in brief appreciation for her skills. He lingered one extra moment, a strange moment where his eyes were mysteriously impossible to read. He then rose, thanked her in a cursory way and walked off, leaving her to look at his back once again. He was an insensitive, arrogant bastard of a man and Bella wanted nothing more than to have bandaged him incorrectly and let him bleed to death in his sleep. But she didn't. She bandaged him correctly, regarded his flesh tenderly. She hated that she had helped him. Perhaps it would help her if she gained his trust; if she won him over he might not murder her. She wasn't sure, but he did not seem the type to be able to kill a helpless innocent woman. She hoped not, for her sake.

Another week passed, and Bella found that she could occupy herself in another way, by overseeing the medical care of the men at the camp. They had one medic, but he could only do so much and was busy with the more critical injuries or illnesses. She could look over minor cuts and scrapes to make sure they did not get an infection. She could make sure breaks and fractures were healing correctly and treat minor illness. It was, all in all, more satisfying than stirring a pot. If she wasn't mistaken there was even a sense of general respect that hung around her. Even though she knew she wasn't necessarily liked, one could hardly hate her for caring for their wounds and sickness.

It was after two weeks of being present in the camp that she had her second interaction with Edward since her arrival. She was just finishing setting a broken finger when she was tapped on the shoulder. When she saw Edward standing over her she nearly jumped out of her skin in surprise.

"Jumpy are we?" he asked smugly.

"No, I just do not particularly enjoy being snuck up upon is all," she answered. He smiled a little and then held up his arm.

"I need to be re-bandaged," he informed her. She looked at the bandage he already had, at how worn it had become, and dirty.

"That you do; sit down."

Edward sat and she slowly began the work of bandaging him again, careful not to disrupt the clotting and cause a new bleed to begin.

"You are awfully useful to have around, Bella Swan," he told her as he watched her work. She grunted.

"It is too bad, I have gotten the letter from my superior today," he said nonchalantly. Bella immediately looked up, hope in her eyes.

"Oh calm those doe eyes, I haven't read it yet. His messenger brought it to me just ten minutes ago. I thought I would come get my bandages changed and then we could discover your fate. I needed to retrieve you anyway."

Bella nodded and did a more hurried job than she normally would have. It didn't mean the work was not good, just that she wasn't quite as careful with him as she had been before. But he wasn't getting an infection and it was healing up nicely, she didn't feel the need to be tender. She just wanted to know what was going to happen to her now.

"Careful, Bella, I am an injured man," he said, wincing as she tied the bandage too tightly over the wound.

"You are being a child," she told him as she went and redid it, tightly but not to hurt him. He smiled and rolled his eyes at her and she felt the swell of dislike rise in her throat again, the one that made her want to slap him. But as soon as she had finished he rose and they both made their way to his private tent, his living space small but tidy. There was a cot in the corner, a small hand-made wooden table in the other corner and a fire in the middle, the smoke rising through a hole in the tent. On the table Bella could see the envelope with Edward's name on it, and she felt desperate to open it. She just wanted to go home. She needed to go home, a place where she wasn't followed by leers of some men and disdain by others. A place she belonged, where she felt safe.

So Edward must have noticed how eager she was, because he handed her the envelope and she tore the paper out of it. She read the beginning lines, about patriotism and chain of command and making the right decision asking for advice. She didn't care about any of that.

So she skimmed to the bottom and looked for something that would help her discern the answer to her prayers. And then she read a sentence. And then she dropped the letter. Edward picked it up and read it for himself, at the end of it he swore, reading the words that were now burned into Bella's mind like they had been branded into her, never to be forgotten.

She knows too much; you must kill her.

Kill her.

She felt sick, like all of her insides were gone, and simultaneously like they were all trying to force themselves out her throat.

She was going to die.

She was going to die.

And the man to kill her was looking at her across the tent, disbelief and something like panic in his eyes.

So what did you think? Review and let me know! :)