Summary: There is a hunt on, however repulsive the idea may be. Set after Breaking Dawn.
Disclaimer: Much as I would love to, I do not own the Twilight series. Well, except that battered copy on my bookcase, but unfortunately I'm not allowed to count that. All characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, I am merely borrowing them for obsessive fan-related reasons. Fingers crossed they will actually be returned in working order, dazzling-abilities still fully intact.
I am the true Lion
Jasper crept forward through the greenery, the curling tops of the ferns tickling his knees, black eyes transfixed on the big cat in the branches of a tree twenty feet ahead of him. He breathed in its scent, cloying in the still summer air, and forced himself not to wrinkle his nose in disgust. Foul. Truly, utterly unappetising. But still, far better than the stench of the deer Bella was chasing half a mile away.
Deciding that if he was going to be taking down yet another sub-standard meal he might as well attempt to make it fun, he growled softly, catching the mountain lion's attention. The whiskered face whipped round to face him, its slitted pupils dilating in terror before long muscles propelled the cat's body forward through the branches, the slick scraping of frantic claws scoring deep lines in tree bark sounding clearly in the vampire's superb hearing.
Jasper waited, muscles tensed. He wanted it to have a head start. No fun otherwise, no chase. Boring. He wanted blood. He wanted blood flowing down his throat and he wanted the thrill of it. He craved death.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Go.
He leapt forward, forest blurring around him in his speed, the sounds of the cat getting closer and closer as he honed in on it, a feral, barking snarl ripping deep from his chest as he gloried in the physicality of himself: that pure, unadulterated power that he was so infrequently permitted to give himself over to. He bounded over a fallen tree, one of the old kings of the forest, and grinned wildly as he heard the terrified yowling shriek of the lion.
One last lightning fast step, and he pounced.
Teeth sank into fur-covered flesh as Edward slammed into him from the side, trying to shove him off the struggling prey. The cat's shoulder bone snapped as Jasper turned in fury on the younger vampire, his iron grasp unmoving.
There would be no corner given. This was his prey, his kill, not a gift for a 1900s upstart who clearly had misunderstandings about the concept of hierarchy. Jasper pulled himself to his full height, grip dragging the twitching cat up against the back of his calves, and arched himself over the younger vampire, scarred neck straining as he hissed out the only warning.
Mine.
The topaz eyes glittering beneath bronze hair turned less wild and more wary, acknowledging that this target could no longer be his aim, and he slunk away silently, never turning his back on the fighter in front of him.
Deep in the woods, the green ground stained crimson as a leonine blond head dipped to rip at the mountain lion's throat.