B.I.T.E
DISCLAIMER: The Cullens are borrowed from the Twilight series of books by Stephenie Meyer. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter 1
The Ramones
I pull up to a large, old house at the end of a long, gravel drive through the forest. I open the car door and crunch a stilettoed heel onto the driveway. The five-inch heels are hardly necessary for my slender six-foot frame, but they make me look more imposing, and imposing how I like it. My heavy coal eyeliner and severely sculpted, ebony hair, harshly streaked with platinum, don't hurt either. I've considered a facial piercing, but it's a little too human Goth for my tastes.
The minivan I'm driving could unravel my carefully cultivated, bad-ass image, so I park far from the house where the Cullens won't see it. I was told by the pimply-faced youngster at the counter of the rental agency that this was the last car left on the lot. All my considerable powers of persuasion failed to produce another vehicle, so I had no choice but to believe him. At least it's a rich, bloody red.
I saunter toward the house in my tight, classic black dress. Every step I take clicks and crumbles. I'm not expecting a warm reception. Then again, when is anything ever warm when it comes to vampires?
I'm visiting the Cullens, a family of vampires. There are seven of them right now, but from what I hear, they will soon number eight. Not one of them is an actual blood-relation, so to speak. They've all adopted the Cullen surname as a show of unity. In that way they're sort of like the Ramones but not nearly as cool.
The Cullens are unusual vampires for two reasons. For one, the size of their group, or coven, is atypically large. We usually work alone or cluster together in twos or threes at the most. For two, all of the Cullens abstain from drinking human blood, the thing we vampires crave most of all. They control their desires by feeding instead on animals. Some of these animals are quite large, but from what I've learned, the vegan vampires' appetite is never quite satiated, making any contact with humans a constant challenge. That's why the Cullens have banded together so tightly; they gain strength from each other.
That's not how I roll.
Thank God.
I've always said American vampires are soft. I am blessed to have originated in Romania, land of Vlad the Impaler, the original Dracula. When you come from the land of Vlad the Impaler, you pull rank in the vampiring world. Of course Vladdy was just your run-of-the-mill psychotic, sadistic, power-mad, mortal ruler. Turns out he never was a vampire at all. But his legend is so strong and lasting among humans from generation to generation that he's something of an icon, even among real vampires.
I reach the large, oak front door and knock. As expected, Carlisle, the Cullens' father figure, answers. He gives me a friendly, yet reserved smile.
"So good to see you, Elie," he says.
"Hi, Carlisle," I say with a rare, genuine smile.
We clasp hands and he pulls me into a sort of half hug. Carlisle and I go way, way back. We're on fairly good terms, but he's wary of my interactions with his family. He should be.
I see his wife Esme peering at us cautiously from the background. Esme doesn't like me much. It's ridiculous. That whole thing with me and Carlisle happened, like, two hundred years ago. Ancient history, as the humans say. He still looks pretty good, though.
I slide my hand slowly from Carlisle's shoulder blade down to his waist, too slowly to be considered polite. Esme's glare turns poisonous, but her false, June Cleaver smile stays plastered on. Such a silly woman. Anyone can see that Carlisle is devoted to her. He won't give another vamp as much as a suggestive sideways glance. And you know us vampires, once we've committed to something, we're stuck. For life. Or whatever this is.
Emmett bounds into the house from the garage and stops dead in his burly tracks.
"I thought I smelled…er…hi…uh…how've you been?" he stammers, beaming a handsome, goofy grin on me and trying unsuccessfully to look casual.
Rosalie, Emmett's wife, comes in behind him and accidentally slams into his broad back after his abrupt halt. She doesn't like me much either. It's totally unfair, because nothing's ever even happened between me and Emmett. Not even close. I can't help it if the child gets tongue-tied around me.
"I've been fabulous, Emmett, thanks for asking. You're looking very buff," I say with an admiring glance. He responds with a stupid, guttural laugh.
"Rosalie," I add with a sneer. She doesn't even make an attempt at a greeting but only glares at me through the slits she's made of her eyelids.
Behind them comes Edward in all his panther-like nonchalance. I don't care much for Edward. He's a pompous, little prick. Acts like he's better than us 'normal' vampires and refuses to give up his stiff, formal Victorian language patterns from when he was a human. It's not like any of us even remember our mortal lives very clearly. Carlisle is twenty times the vampire Edward ever will be, but you don't see him casting cold, judgmental glances on the rest of us.
And what's with the Edward? God forbid he shorten it to Ed. I'm from the seventeenth century for cripes sake and I go by Elie. I'm a sponge for modern culture. I always have been. I soak up the language and style of the day and spit it out gladly.
"Hi Eddie!" I chirp. You arrogant little prick, I add silently. I know he hears that last part, because Edward has a gift for reading minds. Unique sixth senses sometimes develop among vampires.
"Greetings, Elisabeta," Edward says formally with a forced smile.
"I hear you had an interesting visit to Italy," I say.
Edward looks at me quickly. He seems surprised that I know.
"When you live in the heart of our world, Ed, you hear things."
He stares at me and dares me to continue.
I chuckle and say, "You do have a flare for the dramatic, don't you." You melodramatic little prick, I add in my mind.
"What are you inferring?" he asks sharply.
"I'm inferring that if I had a sister who saw into the future, and I wanted to do myself some harm, I'd probably get on with it as soon as possible and not wait just long enough for her to arrive and save me," I tell him.
Edward glares at me and his lip curls.
Ooh, I'm so scared.
Hardly.
Just then Edward's sister Alice, the one whose sixth sense is seeing into the future, skips down the stairs, screeching, "Elie!"
I adore Alice, and by all appearances, Alice adores me. The little sprite jumps up on me with her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist. She's the only one in all this world that could get away with such a move. I grasp her around the waist and spin delightedly once around before setting her down and beaming at her.
"You look amazing!" Alice says.
"What did you expect?" I ask rhetorically as I regain my composure in front of the rest of the family.
Jasper, Alice's mate, saunters down the stairs behind her.
"Elie," he says with cool, casual nod.
"Jasper," I nod in return.
Jasper is the one I'm here to see. I'm working for the Blood-drinkers Institute of Transylvanian Existence (B.I.T.E.) to collect information for their archives. The Institute recently commissioned the development of a Vampirean Archive to house everything we know about vampires. Several new research projects are being conducted to populate the archive, and I am writing an encyclopedia on Vampire Diet, Eating Habits, and Rituals. As you can imagine, the Cullens make an interesting study. Today is Jasper's turn to be interviewed, but before I get down to business, I think I have time to throw out a few more zingers.
"So, Ed, I hear you've got a big day coming up," I say. I'm referring to his upcoming nuptials -- to a human. The conceited little prick thinks he's so much above every other vampire in the history of the world that he can handle a real relationship with a human. Of course, the plan is to turn her into a vampire, but still. I've heard all this through the grapevine, since no formal invitation to the wedding seems to have found its way to my door.
Edward's only response is an icy stare.
"You know, some consider it rude to play with your food before eating it, but I say, good for you," I tell him with both my long, crimson-tipped thumbs pointed up.
No one in the room knows what it costs me to make light of befriending humans before murdering them. Not even the mind reading prick.
I don't have any sixth sense, per se, but I do have an overdeveloped ability to compartmentalize my mind, keeping certain parts of my history tucked away so that others won't see it and I won't feel it. I think of my brain as having a brick and mortar wall down the center. In front of the wall is what you see – a smart alec, sometimes vicious, tough girl; behind it is where I store a tumult of pain and misery and something very tender and beautiful that is nobody else's business.
Behind the wall I still hear his anguished cries, his cold fury, and the rasp of his final, beautiful breath.