A Singer's Smile, a twilight fanfic

Author's Note: Welp, this is my first *ever* fan fiction... kack! I am so inspired by the incredible writers here and have been working up the nerve to dip my toes in for a few months now. I'm not a writer, so take it easy on me but I will accept and be humbly grateful for all proffered critiques.

Disclaimer: 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. I just like to play.

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Bella crouched low, her chest heaving as she curled her bare toes into the musky undergrowth. Though the dampness of the forest floor usually soothed her, now anxiety radiated from her in shimmering waves. How could he have followed her here? This was her sanctuary, the single place where she didn't have to beat back the relentless instincts burning beneath her collar bone. It just wasn't possible. Perhaps she had misjudged the scent… a harsh sound escaped through her clenched teeth; it would have been laughable if things weren't so terribly, awfully wrong. Of course it was him. It couldn't be anyone in the world but him. That same oppressive stench violated her nostrils each time he was near: pure, unadulterated liquid ambrosia. He smelled like mulched cedar and wood-smoke and vanilla and boy. She wanted to taste his chest, and his mouth, and his salt, and most especially, his throat.

She listened to his progression upwards as a breath of fresh air gave her a brief respite from his scent. She indulged in the momentary distraction of his footsteps. Remarkably graceful for a human, he walked with a careful confidence that she had come to expect from him. He avoided the brittle debris on the path and if not for the whispered impaction of the soil beneath his feet and the percussion of his heart, his approach might have gone unheard. He did not look up as he walked; his steps were not urgent or seeking. His heart beat heavily with exertion, but there was no nervous tension in its rhythm. Could it be that through some freak, godless coincidence he had found himself on her path, in her path?

She followed her prey silently, gliding through the forest, a deadly specter on predator wings. He led her to the one place she wished he'd never go: her meadow. She would kill him in her meadow and the peaceful haven that she had found would be lost to her forever. He paused at the edge of the clearing.

It took every ounce of steel she possessed not to lay him down right there in the moss and the bracken and those ridiculously cheerful wildflowers and have her way with him. He wouldn't object; the fool had been watching her for weeks, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment and arousal each time she allowed herself to make eye contact. He was striking; there was no question of that. In the night, as she sat motionless and cool, his deep green eyes would flash before her, fading away into the darkness as she contemplated their intrusion.

He bit his lower lip until it bled, sitting in a dim corner of the library. He had a perpetual ink stain on the first knuckle of his left middle finger. His wisp of a dark haired sister fit perfectly under the crook of his arm, yanking playfully on his earlobe when his face sunk towards brooding. He took detailed notes in exquisite handwriting, and carried a monogrammed pocketwatch that he would remove from his jeans and stroke lovingly when he thought he was alone. He forgot to eat lunch most days, and yet his lean body had sculpted itself into marble-worthy beauty despite his neglect.

Bella turned these carefully catalogued observations of his precious humanity over and over in her mind, her fingernails digging crescents into her unyielding palms as she fought to remember why he ought to live.

He moved forward, throwing himself onto his back in the grass, his arms above his head in a childlike gesture of oblivious surrender. Bella's muscles tensed and boundless power rippled through her body as it prepared itself to pounce. He was alone, ignorant, weak, and hers for the taking. If she did take, however, he would be gone. The thought stopped her cold. Her chest contracted, curling inwards on itself to protect a heart that would have skipped a beat, had it a beat to skip. Everything about him called to her- his blood, yes, and his hair and his stupid grin and his foolish blushes and his sadness and his sweetness … Bella reveled in his loveliness there in her meadow, ephemeral with his death angel hovering so near. The drum of his heart- her siren call- slowed. His eyelashes closed over his disturbing eyes and he slept. She stared, fascinated by the ease with which he allowed himself to slip into vulnerable unconsciousness. As she watched, his movements became restless, his breathing hitching in his chest. His foot twitched, distressed, and his brow furrowed as his hands fluttered up in front of him, grasping for something out of his reach. "Come- to me", he whispered, disjointed and pleading, "please come to me…". A bitter ache erupted in her belly. He was dreaming of someone. Someone for whom to live, not die. Not Bella. He should not die for her, and he could not live for her.

Her feet betrayed her logic and she found herself moving to his side, hungry, always so hungry.

His eyes opened slowly. Standing above him was the glorious axis of his dreams, having materialized in his waking life a thousand times more terrible and perfect than in sleep. He always dreamt of her here, in his meadow. Bella, black eyes framed by a tangle of wild chestnut hair, barefoot and fierce, a goddess of ice and passion and death and- maybe- something more. Bella, Bella, Bella, "...Bella…". Her face betrayed her struggle, a raging battle of craving and desire.

Bella felt the glands in her cheeks swell as venom poured into her mouth. She swallowed, freeing her tongue. She had made her choice; it was never really hers to make. Tender, remorseful, slow, she lowered her face to his. "…Edward…", his name ghosted from her mouth of its own accord, responding, aching in its promise. Edward tilted his chin up to meet her, and smiled.

Thank you so much for reading! This is where I beg for reviews, so tell me... did she do it?!

P.S. If you haven't already, you should read: 'Poughkeepsie' by MrsTheKing, 'Mr. Horrible' by algonquinrt, Edward Wallbanger by 'feathersmmmm', The Office by 'tby789' and 'Faking It' by spanglemaker9. They're my current faves.