AUTHOR'S NOTE: Back in 2012, I asked for a prompt to try to pull myself out of the writing slump I was in, and Einfach Mich gave me this: 'Bella finds a note on the windshield of her truck. It's from her secret admirer.' Though the idea it sparked in me was probably nothing like anyone would have expected from a prompt like that (it's just how I roll ... *smirk*), I liked it and immediately set to work. I'd made a sizable start on this story before I ended up on a five-year writing hiatus, and when I came back to it all these years later I was surprised to find the story was still alive and vivid in my head. So I went ahead and finished what I'd started, and here it is. Enjoy!
WARNING: This story is rated M for mild coarse language, dark themes, and suggestive adult content. Again, this is kinda dark. If you have any aversions or triggers, please keep this in mind if you choose to read on. Feel free to ask me what's up if you're concerned or unsure.
DISCLAIMER: The Twilight series, its characters, and world are the intellectual property of Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended by this fanfiction story, or by my twisted imagination.
– Shadowed –
(Bella)
It's raining buckets as I turn off the road and into the parking lot of the old, weathered brick building. My truck's tires squeak, its brakes squealing loudly with the copious amounts of water splashing up as I pull to a stop in my usual spot. I can't even see out the windshield once the wipers stop swiping, and I pull my raincoat even tighter around me as I prepare to make a mad dash for the laboratory door.
I'm grateful that my night job means I can wear pretty much whatever I want for footwear, so I'm not forced to puddle-hop the deep potholes all the way to the back entrance. I trudge through the muck to the heavy steel door, and wave the card hanging from my keychain in front of the sensor. It takes three swipes to get it to recognize through the rain pouring over the lock.
Once I'm finally inside, I allow myself to breathe and shake the water from my now drenched hair. Even my dark red raincoat with hood couldn't keep the relentless deluge of water from seeping into every crevice it could find. My sweater is damp around the neck and my pants are soaked up to the knees. Great.
This building never gets warm, not even in the summer. I'm already shivering by the time I reach the staff room, a stark white, windowless cell in the farthest recesses of the basement. My lab is three doors before it, just as white, windowless, and cold. I hang my coat and backpack in the small locker assigned to me, bringing a bottle of water as I head back up the hall to my workstation. I'm even more freezing than I when I first got here, and I consider popping into the restroom and standing under the hand-dryer for a few minutes before I remember that it's been broken for the past week.
It's going to be a long, shivery night.
The room is dark as I enter, so I switch on the lights. As usual, I'm the first one to arrive for this shift. Eric should be here any minute, though; he's usually following pretty close on my heels. I begin the routine of readying myself and my station for the night's work: pulling out and switching on my microscope, arranging the samples left in my tray, making sure I have all the necessary forms and paperwork within reach, finally slipping into a fresh white coat and snapping a pair of new latex gloves onto my hands. The noise echoes around the empty room.
The last thing I do is turn on the small radio in the corner, sliding down the volume so it's barely audible. I've worked at Weber Labs for six months and I still don't like being alone in here, especially not with my back to the door so anyone can sneak up and scare the bejeebers out of me. It's happened before, and I am definitely not the 'fool me twice' type. I listen carefully for any sounds of approach as I begin to work.
Within minutes the click-clack of heels on tile alerts me to Rosalie's arrival. She strides quickly into the room, nodding once before turning her back to me and settling at her desk. As is customary, she won't speak for the first hour or so of our shift, so I don't expect anything more. I nudge up the volume on the radio now that there's another soul in the room, and begin to lose myself in my duties.
It's all very routine, what I do here. Open the specimen bag. Take a small scraping or swab from the specimen and smear it onto a slide. Examine the sample through my microscope and determine if there are any abnormalities or markers per the requisition form. Record my findings, store the slide with my paperwork, and leave it for pickup in the morning. Then I clean my station and tools with an antiseptic wipe and start all over again.
It's very easy to get lost in my work. So easy that I jump when a throat clears to my right, signaling someone's arrival. But not Eric's... With a quick glance at the clock, I suddenly realize he's more than an hour late and my head whips around to see who's here in his place.
It's Banner, the night supervisor. And he's not alone.
The man with him is … is… There are no words to adequately describe this man. His hair is a halo of bronze fire, his alabaster face all sharp angles and planes. His eyes are so green they almost glow, while his full, deep-red lips curve with the slightest hint of a grin. My stomach twists in a way that I've never felt before. Not fear, not excitement, not attraction. It's almost like a boiling mixture of all three, plus something … else. I can't pinpoint exactly what it is I'm feeling, but I kind of like it. And that startles me most of all.
I really wish I didn't look like a drowned rat right now.
"Isabella," Banner begins, and I instantly twitch at his formal use of my first name. "Eric's come down with Mononucleosis and will be out for a least a week."
Mono?! Isn't that horribly contagious? My throat immediately begins to tingle uncomfortably but I try to ignore it. Eric and I don't work that closely together.
"Anyhow, we put out an ad for a temp and luckily caught one right away. This is Edward Cullen."
My stomach reels again as his name bounces around my head. It sounds like something centuries old, but suits him all the same. "Er, hi," is all I can manage to say.
A small smile twists one corner of his mouth and he nods ever so slightly. "Hello."
His voice is both hot and cold at the same time, like melted wax dripping over ice. I'm shivering again, though I'm certain the temperature in the room has gone up twenty degrees. My face feels like it's on fire.
Banner is talking again—or still, I can't be sure—and I tune back in to hear him say, "…knows his way around a lab, but I'll just need you to give him a quick once over of our procedures and show him where to find everything, all right?"
"Um, yes." I choke out. Edward Cullen is staring at me, but his face is completely unreadable—it could be carved out of marble. Exquisitely beautiful, with a spark of something wicked. It unnerves me a little. Okay, a lot. I clench my hands to stop their shaking, but the tremors just make their way up my arms until I'm practically convulsing.
Banner eyes me warily. "Isabella, are you okay?"
"Um, yes. Yes," I wheeze, shaking my head slightly. What the hell has come over me?
I glance over to where Rosalie has turned around in her chair, watching our exchange. She raises one eyebrow at me and it's obvious I'm acting like a lunatic. I clear my throat and turn back to Banner … and Edward.
"Yes, I'm fine. That's fine. I mean, yes, I can show him around. No problem."
Banner grimaces at me but doesn't say anything more. He turns to Edward, gives him an almost apologetic look, and leaves the room. I hear Rosalie's chair turn back around and then it's just Edward and me. He hasn't moved an inch, and he's still staring. Just looking at me through completely unreadable eyes.
"Um … have you seen the staff room?" I ask, grasping for something to say.
Edward nods slightly, his gaze never wavering. "Yes."
"Okay. Um, and did Banner show you the supply room?"
"No."
"Oh. All right, then. Uh, let's go there. Er … and you'll need a coat."
I lead the way down the hall to the fourth door on the right. It's more of a closet than a room, really, and Edward and I are forced to stand nearly toe to toe as I point out the many shelves of supplies. "Paper, tissues, swabs, tubes..." My voice is a little bit shaky, but if he notices he doesn't show it. His eyes follow my finger to each named supply.
"And um, back here…" I shuffle slightly further into the room. "…is where we keep the fresh coats. Um, freshly laundered I mean. You'll probably get one with your name on it eventually and then the cleaners will leave it at your station every day. But for tonight you can wear one of these."
I look back to him and take in his physique. Tall and slender, but with rather wide shoulders—he's probably a large. My cheeks prickle with warmth when I realize my own double entendre. Thank god I didn't say it out loud.
"Here," I say, grabbing a coat from the back of the rack. "This should fit."
His hand ghosts mine as he takes the jacket from me, and I instantly pull back, flustered. His skin is much like his voice—inexplicably both hot and cold—freezing and burning me at the same time. I rub my fingers where we touched, an almost electric tingle left in his wake.
"Uh … do you have any questions?"
He shakes his head ever so slightly. He's just looking at me. I'm starting to wonder if maybe I have something on my face, and rub my cheek self-consciously.
"Okay then. Let's go back and I'll show you your work area."
Edward follows me out of the supply room and back into our lab. He doesn't say anything as I lead him to Eric's station, meticulously clean and sterilized, as always. I start pulling out everything he'll need and laying it out just as I would at my own table. I explain what his duties will be, running through one specimen work-up while he watches silently. When I'm done I step back, allowing him to move into his workspace.
"So, uh … that's it. I'll just be over here if you need me. Er-r-r, if you have any questions, I mean. Uh … okay?"
He just nods slightly, his eyes never leaving mine until I turn away. My knees are a little weak as I walk the few steps to my own station. Something about this guy is just … wow. I feel off kilter, like I've been drugged. Could he have slipped me something? I wonder, and then realize how ridiculous that is. I've been in his presence for no more than fifteen minutes, and other than our little brush in the coatroom, I've had zero contact with him or anything to eat or drink.
I shake my head to try to clear the spell he's left me under, and get back to work. It's going to be a long night.
– S –
I wake up the next day actually feeling hung over. I didn't sleep well, tossing and turning, waking up multiple times with that creeped-out feeling like I was being watched. I must have sat up and turned my lamp on half a dozen times, but it was always just me alone in my small bedroom, the window locked and the blackout curtains pulled tightly shut. I finally just left the lamp on, even though my night shift meant it was blazing daylight outside and I would normally be trying to keep light out as much as possible, but it comforted me enough to finally fall sleep for at least a few straight hours.
Still, I feel like a zombie. Or maybe I'm a vampire, alive by night while avoiding death by the sun, I think sardonically as I make my way down the hall, shielding my face from every speck of daylight attempting to creep into my tightly clenched eyelids.
I find my way to the bathroom by sheer habit, practically falling onto the toilet to take care of my necessities. Once I'm done, I manage to crack one eye open so I can wash up and brush my teeth, then make my way back out into the hallway and follow it to the kitchen.
I have the automatic timer on the coffeemaker set to 2:30 p.m., my usual after-shift wake up time, but with a glance at the clock I'm surprised to see it's four forty-five and the machine has long since shut itself off, leaving the coffee cold and bitter. I dump it out and start a fresh pot, watching in near desperation as it fills slowly, drip by agonizing drip.
Mug in hand and with a sip of lifeblood now making its way through my veins, I head into the living room and curl up on the couch, wrapping myself in a thick blanket as I switch on the TV. News, news, more news, blah, who cares… Ooh, The Princess Bride. I let the remote fall to the cushion beside me and settle in to waste the few hours I have before tonight's shift.
I wake some time later, neck stiff and legs cramped by my position, once again feeling like someone—or something—is there with me. Watching. Waiting.
Watching…
I sit up in mild panic, goosebumps exploding over my arms while an aching nausea creeps into my belly. I look around but no one is there; my apartment is too small for anyone to hide, and my view from the couch has me looking straight past the kitchen and down the hall into my bedroom. Unless some creep is actually hanging out in my shower, I think with a mild fright, but as I slink down the hall and see the chain still pulled across the door, while assuring myself that no one could realistically scale the five stories of flat wall up to my bedroom window, by the time I reach the bathroom I'm not surprised to find it empty.
My panic has subsided but my stomach is still heavy with nausea. With a glance at the clock, I realize it's likely because I haven't had anything but a cup of coffee in nearly fourteen hours. I've reached that point where I almost feel too sick to eat now, but I know that if I don't put something down there, work tonight will be pure misery.
I head to the kitchen and fix myself a light meal, eating at a measured pace so not to shock my now-gurgling stomach. Once it's done I shower, surprised to find I'm no longer feeling creeped out at all. Everything feels safe, normal, like home. I shake my head, opening and closing my eyes a few times to make sure I really am here in this reality, but again, it all just feels right, as it should be. Okay then… After taking my time in an attempt to wash away the last twenty-four hours' weirdness, I finally force myself out before the water runs cold, wrapping up in a fluffy towel and making my way to the bedroom.
My wardrobe is not especially varied, so it doesn't take long to choose an outfit: a light pink sweater with fitted grey dress pants. Back in the bathroom, I dry my hair and pull it up into a tight bun; it needs to be out of my way and also not interfere with any specimens. I apply my lotion, foundation, and some chapstick. I don't bother with eye makeup, because it's the middle of the night and it doesn't really seem worth the bother when I'll likely rub my eyes in fatigue at least a few times throughout my shift.
I pack a small snack: cheese, crackers, and an apple, filling my water bottle with cold sparkling water so I don't have to resort to the warm, stale stuff out of the broken cooler at work. With that I'm ready to go, so after a quick look around to make sure I haven't left any lights or appliances on, I'm out the door and on my way to yet another night in the lab.
The drive over is quick, with there being barely any traffic at 9:45 p.m. in our small city, and within ten minutes I pull my truck into its usual spot and make my dash for the door. It's not raining tonight but the air still feels thick and heavy with moisture, warm and cloying in my lungs, and I'm actually glad when I step into the stark chill of the lab and make my way to the far basement corner.
I'm startled to see the lights on in our room when I pass—I'm usually the first of our team to arrive—and my heart does a somersault when I see just who is in there: Edward Cullen. His back is turned to me as he sits at his station in the far back corner, but his head comes up in the brief second I'm framed by the door. I can't see his face, but I'm struck suddenly by the overwhelming feeling that he's smiling—that same small, crooked smirk that had me so flustered yesterday.
I practically run the last few steps into the staff room.
Every hair on my body is standing on end as I stash my coat and bags in my locker. He is undeniably … completely … just so … GAH. And I'm beyond frustrated and annoyed by his effect on me. I feel like a mouse before a cat. A deer caught in his headlights. Paralyzed by shock and fear and … something. I don't even know what. All I know is that if I have to go into that room and be in there with him alone, I might just come undone and that in itself scares me the most.
I take a few deep breaths as I secure my locker, shaking my hands out at my sides, and within a minute I'm composed. Calm. Determined. I can do this. He's just a man. An incredibly handsome, enigmatic, gah man, but still just a man. And no man has ever held one up over Bella Swan.
With a newfound confidence blazing within me, I turn and march resolutely into the lab room with my head held high. Newfound confidence or not, I still say a silent prayer of thanks to every god I can think of when I see Rosalie is in there, too. She turns to look at me as I enter, but Edward does not. Neither his head nor his hands stray from his task, and I watch in surprise as he ignores me completely.
I'm … disappointed? And definitely confused.
Why was I freaking out a second ago? He's just … sitting there. And I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing but the absolute normal of the night shift at the lab. What the hell is going on here?
My head is spinning. In my stupor I don't realize that I've come to a dead stop just inside the doorway, and suddenly Banner rounds the corner, crashing full body into me from behind. I have about a millisecond to recognize the horrible awkwardness of him pressed firmly against my backside, his squawk of shock as he literally propels me forward with his belly and groin, and then I'm falling, stumbling, careening like a drunken giraffe … right into Edward Cullen's arms.
How…?
It couldn't have been more than a second. A second from when Banner knocked me half way across the room to this instant, where I'm suddenly staring up into Edward's fire and ice green eyes.
This can't be right.
I'm locked in his gaze, his arms like thick cords of steel around me, and I'm wondering now if I hit my head. If I blacked out and he picked me up and I'm just coming to, minutes later.
Because that makes sense.
"Whoa," Rosalie says to my left. "Nice reflexes."
Never mind, then.
My brain feels like it's slogging through mud, straining toward a rational conclusion but its shoes keep getting stuck in the muck and it just can't … move … forward. My thoughts are mired, sinking deeper and deeper into this ridiculous idea with no clear way to free themselves.
My body on the other hand is in a state of cataclysm. All at once I'm in shock, confusion, embarrassment, and wholly inexplicable lust. It's like that buzz, the tiny spark that tingled with electricity when our hands briefly touched yesterday, only multiplied by a billion. Fire and ice. Burning me. Freezing me. Over and over again in waves of sensation that threaten to pull me under right here in his arms.
I am nearly undone, and he hasn't even kissed me. Damn it, I was afraid of this.
"Holy fuck," Banner wheezes, staggering further into the room. "Bella, are you okay?"
He never calls me Bella, is the first thing my muddled mind registers. He calls me Isabella even though he knows I hate it, because for some ridiculous reason he thinks it makes him sound authoritative. I think it makes him sound like an ass. He also dropped an f-bomb in there—he must be seriously freaking out.
Who isn't?
I can't take my eyes from Edward's, can't move, can't speak. His gaze is bright and excited, unholy fire burning so hotly I can feel it all the way into my bones. Green fire, like someone poured poison on it. I am mesmerized, his toxic stare pulling me deeper and deeper until I'm on the verge of drowning. I may never surface, lost in the depths of his eyes forever, and I'm terrified to realize that in this moment there is nothing I want more.
"Bella?" Banner repeats.
Just as suddenly as I fell, Edward lifts me to my feet and releases me to my own senses again, and I'm spinning. Spinning like the world has just turned upside-down and righted itself in a matter of seconds. Which I suppose it has.
I think I might pass out.
Rosalie rolls a chair up behind me and I collapse into it in a stupor. I feel weak, and stupid, and most of all … no hint at all of the raging desire I was nearly overcome with just a few seconds ago. Like a ten-thousand watt lightbulb was just switched off inside me, leaving me feeling … nothing. Absolutely nothing at all. What the hell is going on?
Banner is talking again but I barely register it. "If you want to go home…" he says, but I shake my head. I don't trust myself to be alone right now. Yes, Edward is here but so are half a dozen other people, so if I start foaming at the mouth or something, I have a chance of being saved.
"I'm okay," I reply. My voice is a bit wobbly but at least it's working again so that's a start. "That all just happened really fast. I need a second to process, but I'm okay."
"If you're sure…" Banner says, sounding wholly relieved. I look at his face for the first time in all this and he's a startling shade of magenta. Being so wrapped up in all the … the weirdness of the last few seconds, I hadn't considered how awkward this must be for him as well.
"I'm okay," I repeat, attempting to sound as normal as possible, both for his benefit and my own. I'm a bit startled by this because truthfully I don't really like Banner and worrying about his feelings is not usually something I care to do, but I really just need everything to be normal right now so I do my best to make it so. "Really."
He nods gratefully and then leaves in a hurry, his footsteps echoing down the hall before his office door slams shut.
"Do you need some water or something?" Rosalie asks. We're not especially close and the offer leaves me feeling strangely warmed. She actually sounds concerned, which wraps around me like a thick blanket in my frazzled state. It's nice to know someone's got my back, even if I don't know exactly what I need it for.
I shake my head, though. "No, I just need to sit here for a sec, thanks."
She gives me a sympathetic look before turning back to her own work.
I notice then that Edward is still standing there, staring at me. I look back at him numbly. His eyes no longer have that intense, wild milieu that held me captive just a moment ago, but the expression on his face still sends a shiver down my spine. He's wearing that small, crooked smirk, the one that makes him look kind of cocky, overly sure of himself. He looks like he has a secret, something he's dying to let out. Something no one knows but him, and it's the best thing ever.
A tiny part of me wonders if I'm that secret, but I bat that idea away before it can continue. It's too insane to give any credence to.
My lips part slightly as I exhale a shaky breath. "Um, thank you," I say. "For…" I gesture ridiculously toward the spot where he caught me, unable to find any coherent words for what just happened. "…that."
One corner of his mouth twists infinitesimally higher and I can't help but shiver. "You're welcome," he replies softly, his voice like burnt sugar, dark and sweet and … gah. Then he turns away, back to his station.
Still numb, I flick my computer on, hoping to immerse myself in work. The screen lights up while I snap on some rubber gloves and pull out my first specimen. I pull out the next one. And the next. And the next. I think of Edward the whole time.
– S –
I awake with a start, my head swimming with Edward Cullen's face. His hair. His eyes. That goddamned smirk.
I roll over and smash a pillow over my head, trying unsuccessfully to block it all out.
The last two nights at the lab were wholly uneventful. I arrived at work. I did my job. Everything was completely and totally normal. Edward didn't say anything to me, didn't look at me, didn't completely enthrall me…
He acts as though I don't exist.
I, on the other hand, appear to be completely obsessed.
I can't stop thinking about him. Dreaming about him. Seeing him everywhere I go.
It's maddening, and truthfully I have wondered several times now if I am, in fact, going slightly mad. Or, you know … batshit crazy. Take your pick.
I swear he was at the Quick Stop Shop after work Thursday morning, standing at the end of aisle nine as I loaded my cart with mushroom soup. Only when I noticed him and blinked in surprise, he was gone. There one second and the next just … not. I looked for him the entire rest of my shopping run, but other than than one split second in the soup aisle, he was nowhere to be seen.
The day before, I thought I saw him at the end of the third floor hallway, leaning casually against the wall as I carried my basket of whites to the laundry room. That time, too, he seemed to just disappear into thin air as soon as I recognized him. The cool breeze that had blown past me as I stood there in shock only fueled the shiver that his appearance had brought upon me. It was truly as though I had seen a ghost.
Or … something.
Then there's that feeling. The feeling that I'm not alone, like I'm being watched. A shadow that's always there, not just right behind me, but all around me. It's everywhere, like a fog creeping over my senses, blanketing me in this strange, restless uncertainty. It's like I know there's danger, a reason I should run, but no matter how hard I look for it, there's never anything there.
Yup, batshit crazy is sounding pretty accurate right about now.
Today is Friday, though. Just one more night at the lab and then it's the blessed weekend, when hopefully some distance and time away from this confounding man will break the spell he's put me under. It has to be some weird voodoo magic he's working here, because this whole charade is so unlike me.
I stumble out of bed with a sigh and busy myself getting ready for the day. I've overslept again and it's already nearly four p.m. I want to hit the mall before my shift tonight, which means I need to be out of here by six o'clock if I'm to have enough time. I hurry around my apartment, checking the windows and locks at least three times before I go, finally heading down to my truck with five minutes to spare.
The mall isn't busy yet as I head into the first store on my list, where I purchase a new pair of pajamas (mine are practically rags), and a thick pair of socks to wear while I'm lounging. In the next store I grab a few new pairs of underwear (again, rags), a bra, and some tights, and I'm contemplating a quick snack as I make my way out into the main corridor and off to my last and most favorite place: the bookstore.
Then I see him.
He's sitting alone, surrounded by a sea of empty tables in the food court … and he's looking right at me.
His hair is its usual bronze disarray, his chiseled features wrapped in smooth, pale skin, his bright-green eyes and dark-red lips a stark contrast that only intensifies his ethereal beauty. A pale blue t-shirt hugs his wiry frame, broad shoulders and toned arms stretching the fabric in an enticing display of mesomorphic strength.
Edward Cullen is the most magnificent thing I've ever seen—but is he really there, or is this just another figment of the bizarre fantasies that have taken over my imagination? Real or not, my skin prickles as heat blooms in my cheeks, the fire traveling quickly through my veins until my whole body feels like it's in flames.
I blink and he's still there, his unwavering gaze still piercing sharply into mine, burning so green-hot that I think I might just melt where I stand.
Stunned and motionless, standing like a statue with my hands full of bags at my sides, I blink again and he's…
Still…
There.
One corner of his mouth twists up slightly and I shiver. His gaze is locked with mine, and the look in his eyes is hungry. Ravenous. Like a predator who's honed in on their prey, only waiting for the right moment to strike.
Am I being hunted?
I blink.
He's still there.
My heart is hammering and my hands are shaking. I can hear the bags rattling at my sides but I'm powerless to move. To scream. To run. Besides, where would I go? Out the door, or straight into his arms? He's done something to me, deep down in a place I didn't know existed, and I'm so twisted up over him that in this moment I honestly couldn't tell you which one I'd choose.
I don't know who I should be more afraid of right now—him or myself.
The mall has gotten busy and people are streaming past me as I stand here in a stupor. Someone brushes against me on the left, and then I'm jostled on the right, bumped sideways as a crowd of teens passes in front of me, breaking my connection with Edward.
I feel the loss of his gaze like a shock of icy water to the fire raging inside me.
When I look back, he's gone.
I take off running, fast and hard, near-forgotten purchases smacking against my legs as I make an all-out sprint through the mall. People are jumping out of my way and I'm half expecting security to take me down as I crash through the doors and out into the parking lot, but no one follows me as I head straight for my truck.
I see it immediately—a scrap of gleaming white stuck under the driver's side windshield wiper.
Swallowing the choking panic that's clawing its way up my throat, I drop my shopping bags to the ground and reach for what I now recognize as an envelope. My hands are shaking so badly that I can barely tear the damn thing open, but after what feels like an eternity I finally succeed and pull out a small sheet of paper.
Tonight.
That's all it says, written in a fancy, curling script.
Every inch of my skin erupts in goosebumps. Tonight … what? What's happening tonight, and where? To who? To me?
I barely remember to grab my purchases before I jump into my truck and peel out of the parking lot. My shopping trip was cut short, which means I'll be extremely early for work, but this gives me time to pull myself together before I find Edward and do … something.
I don't know what, but I have to do something.
Twenty-five minutes later I pull up to the lab to find the parking lot in flashing red chaos. There are at least three fire trucks, an ambulance, and all the staff are standing in a tight group across the street. With my heart in my throat, I stop my truck half a block away and jog back to them.
It's barely 9:00 p.m. so it's all the day staffers; none of my coworkers have arrived yet. No one appears to be in tears or hysterics—in fact they all look rather annoyed—and I allow that to soften the icy lump that's formed in my chest. I don't think anyone's died, at least.
I see Leah Clearwater, the day supervisor, and make my way over to her. "What happened?" I ask, trying to keep my voice calm. I don't think I quite succeed, but Leah has the grace to ignore it.
"Fire in lab six," she answers. "Nothing major, it was out quickly, but the sprinklers kicked in so the whole place is soaked. It'll take the weekend at least to get it cleaned up."
"A fire?" I repeat incredulously. "What started it?"
"No one knows," Leah says. "The team was working and all of a sudden Stanley's station is in flames. She was out sick today so it was empty at the time. Everything was fine one second and the next … poof, the place is on fire. Newton had the wits to grab an extinguisher and get it out, but the smoke triggered the sprinklers so … yeah. Here we are."
Poof. The word makes me think of the way Edward just disappears in an instant.
Could he have done this?
But why?
What would he have to gain by setting the lab on fire? Is he a pyro? Is this whole thing just a ridiculous prank that I stupidly got myself caught up in? Does he get off on having a witness to his crimes and I was all too willing to jump right into that role? Am I just looking way too far into things because he's ridiculously handsome and I want him to be toying with me? It sounds plausible, reasonable even, but something in the depths of my mind is telling me no, no this isn't it.
"We're just waiting for the official word from head office," Leah tells me. "Then we can all go home."
Home.
Where I'll be alone.
Tonight.
A tremor rocks through me, and not only because it's cold and starting to rain lightly.
Leah's cellphone rings and she gets the go-ahead to send everyone off. She leaves me with a friendly goodbye as she goes to find a firefighter to escort her into the building to retrieve everyone's locker contents.
I walk to my truck in a dull haze, wondering what's crazier: believing all the inexplicably bizarre things have have happened this week, or not believing them and going home by myself where who knows what might be waiting for me.
Then Edward's face flashes across my memory—the sharp, chiseled jaw, his tousled bronze hair, those poison-green eyes, and that crooked, menacing smirk, all of it dangerously exquisite like it was carved by a master artist—and with my mind on autopilot, I put my truck in gear and begin the short drive to my apartment.
It's raining steadily by the time I pull into the underground garage and put my truck in park. My heart is hammering as I step out into the dank, gasoline-tinged air, and I'm not entirely sure my knees will hold me as I half walk, half run to the elevator. I push the button with a trembling finger, watching nervously over my shoulder as I wait for it to arrive, but nothing jumps out at me from any dark corners. I breathe a small sigh of relief when the door seals me safely inside.
The ascent to the fifth floor is quick and uninterrupted, but my heart rate picks up again as I step out into the hallway. Everything is quiet; it always is around here. It isn't odd that I don't hear or see anyone as I head for my apartment, but it unnerves me anyway. I feel like the only person in the world right now, alone and vulnerable in an unknown land.
I let myself in and stand stock still just inside the doorway, listening carefully for any sounds of intrusion. It's quiet and everything feels fine, though, so I flick on the lights and shut the door behind me, securing the deadbolt and chain.
From where I stand, my apartment looks exactly as I did when I left a few hours ago, but I begin a thorough search of it anyway. I look in my closet, under the bed, behind the shower curtain, even in the kitchen cupboards. I find an expired box of Raisin Bran and an unused mouse trap that looks like it's from the 1960s, but nothing else that doesn't belong.
It's storming in earnest now, the wind howling loudly while rain rages against the windows. The sound is both soothing and eerie, but when the first flash of lightning hits and a loud crash of thunder follows, I take a deep breath and sink onto the couch, pulling the thick blanket off the back and wrapping it around me.
Not knowing what else to do, I pick up the remote and turn on the TV. No, no, nope, not a chance… Why do I even have these channels? I eventually settle on a rerun of Friends and sit back, pulling the blanket even tighter around me.
"Pivot! Piv-aht! Piv-ahht!"
I'm actually giggling, Ross' ridiculous antics melting a small chunk of the iceberg that's lodged itself in my chest. Lightning flashes outside, a peal of thunder follows, and now the couch is stuck in the stairwell as Ross, Rachel and Chandler try to figure out what to do.
I giggle again, sinking further into the familiarity and comfort of my surroundings. Everything is going to be okay, I tell myself, and I force my entire being into believing it. I'm home, no one is here—I checked, thoroughly—the windows are locked and so is the door. I'm safe.
Safe.
A strike of lightning lights up the sky, closely followed by a roar of thunder … and suddenly everything goes dark.
"What the fu—" I sit up abruptly, the word stuck in my throat as a wave of fiery panic burns a path through my veins.
It's pitch black all around me. A flash of lightning strikes and I briefly see the outline of my living room before it's swallowed by darkness again. Thunder rumbles, a deep, ominous growl in the blinding dark, the rain assaulting the windows in a growing crescendo until it's all I hear, a deafening white noise in my ears.
I can't move. My chest is heaving, ragged breaths shooting out of me like fire, but I'm stuck. Weighted down by the darkness, arms and legs turned to lead by fear, heavy and unyielding to my need to move. To scream. To run.
Then I feel it. A prickling in my belly, a sick, twisting feeling of wrongness, radiating from my insides and ending in an explosion of goosebumps on my skin. A familiar unseen presence, watching me in secret, hiding from my eyes but not my instincts. I know this feeling. It's been a close companion this last week, following me, clawing at my senses, shaking me, warning me … since the first moment I met Edward Cullen.
He's here, then.
I can't see him, but I know. Deep down I've always known. Through all my justifications and trying to convince myself I'm insane, that this is ridiculous, impossible … I knew. I knew he wanted me. I knew he'd come for me, and now he's here.
Run.
Run!
Damn it, Bella, RUN!
But I can't.
Maybe I was born without any sense of self-preservation. Maybe I don't care about myself or my life. Or maybe … I just want this. Desperately. Achingly. There's something about him, something drawing me in, making me reckless in the face of his danger. A feeling I've never known before, twisting my desires into a dark fantasy, one where I'm more than willing, but wanting to be consumed by this strange and striking man.
And he will consume me.
I know that, too.
Not how, but it's a sure thing. Just like I am to him.
Lightning brightens the room again and Edward is there, as I knew he would be, standing between the TV and me. In that one-second flash his image is burned into my consciousness, the darkness blinding me again almost immediately, but I still see him. His hair, wild; his eyes, wilder; his smirk as sly and confident as I've ever seen it.
He looks hungry. Ravenous. Insatiable. For me.
A desperate craving overcomes me, penetrating every fibre, every seam, everything that holds me together, so deep that I think I may never be whole again if I don't fulfill every one of his dark desires. I will feed myself to him, let him feast on every part of me. Take me, break me; I will fall apart in his hands if I can just feel his touch. This is more than want, more than need—this is pure intention.
I am his.
Lightning flashes again and he hasn't moved, but his face is even more cunning, his gaze sharper, his mouth a satisfied twist of triumph. He looks alive, electric, enjoying the end game, knowing that he has me.
"Hello, Isabella," he says, his voice thick and heady, so potent that I can feel it on my skin. He's used my full name, rolling it out in with such a pure, unadulterated inflection that I know in this moment it's exactly who I am. There is no Bella here. Bella is a girl, a child; she cannot give him what he wants. Edward saw through her, though, to what was buried deep within—and he wants her.
I am Isabella.
My voice shakes as I force out a reply. "H-hello."
He chuckles, a deep, throaty sound resonating in his chest. It echoes around the surrounding darkness. "You were expecting me."
It isn't a question, just a plain statement of fact. "Yes," I agree.
"You … are not what I expected," he says. I can hear his voice moving, drawing closer. A flash of lightning washes the room in temporary brightness, and in that brief second I see him standing just to my left, looking down at me where I sit, his face a mask of amusement.
I have no response for this. I don't know what he was expecting, how this game was supposed to play out. I only know that no matter what I say or do—he wins.
And so do I, even if I don't know how. Yet…
"I've never come across a human quite like you before," he continues. "I find you … intriguing."
A tremor rocks through me as the reality of his statement sinks in. He referred to me as a 'human,' meaning he is … not?
My mouth is drier than sandpaper. "I've never been one to run with the crowd," I reply shakily. I don't know why I said this. I don't know why I said anything at all. I should be scared. Terrified. Screaming, running, trying to get away…
Not … waiting.
Impatiently, at that.
But I am.
I just need him to do something.
Anything.
Thankfully, he doesn't make me wait long.
With the next flash of lighting, he's beside me, sitting light as a feather on the cushion to my right. I didn't see or feel him move, he's just suddenly there, like he had been all along.
I turn my face toward him but the room has gone dark again. I'm blind and panting as I feel his fingers trace my cheek, a trail of his fiery ice left in their wake.
"This blush," he says, his breath fanning my face with a scent so sweet and delicious it sends a rush of saliva washing over my tongue. "Blood filling your capillaries until they're throbbing and ready to burst…" His face is right before mine now, breathing deep as his nose brushes down my cheek to my jaw. "It's intoxicating."
I can only whimper.
Nothing about what he just said was sexy. In fact, it was rather creepy. The aching, demanding pulse that has bloomed to life in my loins does not agree, though. It wants to hear more.
Something is seriously wrong with me.
"I hate the way I blush," I tell him, tilting my chin upward as his nose moves down to nudge against the steady palpitation at my throat. "It's too much of a giveaway…"
He chuckles before his tongue presses against my flesh, tracing the throbbing artery in a path of frozen wildfire.
I shudder violently, but a wanton moan escapes me, too.
Speaking of dead giveaways…
Edward chuckles again, and before I can register what's happening he's picked me up and transported us to my bedroom. It all happened so fast that I'm dizzy, wobbling slightly where I've been left standing at the end of my bed. There's slightly more light in here than there was in the living room, and when my eyes find focus again, I see Edward leaning casually in the doorway.
"How do you do that?" I ask shakily.
He smirks, but doesn't respond. He just tilts his head slightly and stares at me.
"I mean, one second we were on the couch, and now… You move so fast. It's—" I shudder as realization hits me. "I did see you all those times, didn't I?"
Edward's grin widens, his perfectly straight, gleaming-white teeth glinting in the dim glow from the window. "Only because I let you."
What? "I … don't understand."
His eyes glimmer with dark amusement. "I like to play with my food."
A breath escapes me in a heavy whoosh. "Oh."
Edward tilts his head again as he looks me up and down. "What I wasn't expecting is for my meal to change the game." He pushes off the doorframe and moves toward me slowly as he speaks. "I like the hunt. I like the smell of fear. But you … are not afraid."
He stops a foot before me, but his gaze, strong as iron shackles, holds me captive. I shake my head. "No."
"Why not?"
Trapped in his stare, I shrug. "You make me feel things. An intensity I've never felt before. I don't know why."
"I thought it was the thrall," he says as a powerful lust suddenly washes through me, that same mega-watt lightbulb I'd felt when he caught me in the lab suddenly flaring to life. I can hardly stand it. A thousand fingers are ghosting over my skin, stirring up my desires into a mad frenzy that will surely drive me to insanity if the fire isn't quenched.
"…but with you, I don't need it." Just as suddenly as it came on, the switch is flipped and I'm left to my own senses again, the abrupt loss of sensation nearly dropping me to my knees.
"What … was that?" I ask, staggering, my voice breathy and trembling with the remnants of whatever he's just done.
"It's the thrall," he repeats. "A talent—a trick up my sleeve for when my prey is … less than compliant. It's usually fun, adding to the game, but you changed that."
He takes another step forward so there's only inches between us. A fire ignites in me once again, but this one is all my own.
"There it is," he says, bringing a hand up to my burning face. His fingers trail over the heat in my cheek. "I can see it. I can smell it in your blood, on your skin. You want this."
"Yes." I don't hesitate to respond; there is no other answer than this truth. From the very first moment I saw him, I wanted him. I wanted whatever he had to offer. And even though he's admitted to hunting me, playing with my senses, referring to me as something to eat—I still want him now, more than ever.
Edward eyes me intently. "Do you even know what you're agreeing to?"
I shake my head. "It doesn't matter."
He grins. In a flash, I'm lying on my bed, and Edward is hovering over me. The sudden movement leaves me dizzy again, but I blink it away and focus my eyes on his. "Fascinating," he murmurs as his gaze rakes over my face.
I can't stop myself from reaching up to him. He goes still as a statue as my fingers trail across his forehead. His skin is smooth as marble, cool and hard as polished stone. I'm enraptured by the buzz of electricity under my fingertips as I make a path down the side of his cheek, across his jaw to his chin. "Fascinating," I echo.
Something in Edward's eyes has changed as he stares at me. There's a different hunger in his gaze, and curiosity. A question, though I don't know if it's for me, or for himself.
I watch breathlessly as he licks his lips, his eyes intent on my mouth as he lowers his head toward me. My heart is pounding. Strangely, the last thing I was expecting from him was a kiss. It's too intimate for a predator. Too sweet, too full of promise. When his lips brush mine in the lightest feather-touch, though, there is nothing wrong about it.
Edward groans when I press up against him, melding my mouth to his. His hand cups my cheek, thumb stroking the soft skin under my eye as his lips move gently over mine. He won't open to me, but his tongue traces my bottom lip, leaving a swath of his nectar I can smell if not yet taste.
Everything about Edward is delicious. I'm lost in a mess of senses: the unnatural beauty of his face, the feel of his touch, the scent of his skin, the flavor of his breath… I'm surrounded by his essence, drowning in the potency of him—whatever he is.
I still don't know, and I still don't care.
My fists find their way into his shirt, and I pull, urging him on. His body doesn't yield, but Edward groans against my mouth again as his hand moves to my pajama top, deftly popping the buttons until my chest is bared to him. He pulls back to look at me, his head dipping down as his gaze trails lower and lower.
He's off of me in a blink, and the cool air whispering over my legs alerts me to the fact that my pants are gone, too. I see him then, standing at the end of my bed, his eyes raking over my nakedness with unconcealed hunger. The look on his face leaves no question. The hunt is over. The feast is about to begin.
I take a deep, shuddering breath, and he pounces.
His hands are everywhere. His mouth is everywhere. His touch moves fast and then slow, teasing me with its obscurity, rising and falling like an orchestra playing against my skin. A rush of climax washes through me unbidden, shocking me in its intensity as my whole body seizes and releases in pleasure.
How did he do that?
I'm panting and moaning, clenching and flailing, unable to think let alone react as Edward masterfully coaxes another tidal wave of ecstasy out of me. It's intense and unexpected as the first one, a tempest erupting to life inside me, raging just as powerfully as the storm still hammering outside. I'm completely undone, a mess of quivering limbs and incoherent thoughts.
He's not finished with me, though.
In another dizzying rush of movement, I find myself suddenly straddling Edward's lap at the head of my bed. Propped against my pillows, he's naked now, too, cool and solid as marble underneath me. The feel of his skin is so perplexing—smooth and cold, not yielding to my touch, freezing my fingertips with a burn that feels white-hot. He sits still as a statue as I trace his face, the planes of his chiseled chest, his arms.
He chuckles when I dare explore lower. "It's hard, too."
My face burns, which only stokes the fire in him, one I never dreamed I could light. Edward groans as he leans forward, pressing his nose to my cheek and inhaling deeply.
"I've never smelled anything as delicious as you," he says, his voice dark and husky. "Your blood, your skin, your lust … it's mouthwatering. I don't know what to do with you."
I shiver even though heat is blooming all throughout me. I'm feeling so many things right now—Desire. Excitement. Intention. Anticipation—but no fear. I'm not afraid of this strange, cold, inhuman thing. This predator in my arms, masquerading as a man. He's too beautiful for this world, too fast, too cunning, too perfect. But whatever he is, he's mine, as I am his.
"What does that mean?" I whisper, trailing my fingers back up his abs, over his pecs, finally resting my hands on his shoulders.
Edward's eyes darken as he leans back and meets my stare. "It means I want you in a way I wasn't expecting to. I don't keep pets. I play, I feed, and I'm done. You are so much more than a game, though. More than a meal. I knew from the moment I met you at the lab that you were were different—special—but still, you exceeded my expectations."
I take and release a deep breath. "Does that mean you aren't going to kill me, then?"
Edward smirks. It's cunning, deadly, reminding me what he isn't. "I haven't decided yet."
In one fluid movement, he's inside me, ice to my fire, freezing and burning in the most exquisite harmony. He thrusts slow, languidly, watching me as a sensation like nothing I've ever known overtakes my body. My head falls back as I'm consumed by pleasure. I shiver as his hand comes to my neck, his thumb tracing the throbbing artery at my throat.
I hear Edward breathe deep again, savoring my scent in the air, and then it hits me.
His inhuman beauty. His speed. His cold skin. His infatuation with my blush, my blood…
I know what he is now.
My gaze finds his and he grins darkly. I didn't say it out loud, but he knows. He can see the realization in my eyes, hear it in the violent staccato of my heart. Like it was a sign, he lifts my arm, bringing my wrist to his mouth, and he bites.
I watch, thrilled and terrified, finally feeling some shred of fear toward what is happening. Yet still not enough, as a new pleasure rises within me.
Edward's eyes fall closed as he drinks from my vein, his movements under me increasing, his arm tightening around my back as he rocks me faster and faster to his rhythm. He moans as he swallows, a carnal, guttural groan rising from deep within his chest. It reverberates through me, growing to an all out growl as he makes one final thrust, his face twisting into the most breathtaking mask of ecstasy as he takes one long, deep draw from my wrist while pulsing to a finish inside of me.
I'm lightheaded when Edward finally stills and releases me, limbs weak and head lolling as I struggle to keep my focus on him. His lips are stained red with my blood, glistening darkly as a drop rolls slowly down from one corner. Without thinking, I reach to wipe it away, smearing the crimson taint onto his cheek, wetting my thumb with my own life's essence.
Edward's gaze is transfixed as he watches me bring the thumb to my mouth, licking it clean with a swipe of my tongue. I can taste a heady sweetness in the mix, a match to the scent of his breath, leaving a tantalizing tingle as it washes down my throat.
His blood-stained lips part in awe, and he nods, answering a question, though I don't know whose.
Edward moves quickly again, dizzying my already frazzled state as he lays me gently on the bed. I'm so tired, darkness threatening to overtake me, but I fight to keep my eyes open and on him.
"Am I going to be a vampire now, too?" I ask weakly, my voice barely a whisper as I'm pulled further and further under.
He's no more than a blur above me, my eyes closing against my will, but I can hear the smirk in his voice as he chuckles slyly. "What fun would that be? No—that was not the intent of my bite, and it must be to initiate the change. But you are marked. My venom is in your blood now, and it will call me. I can find you anywhere; you can't run or hide. You are mine now, and I'll be back for you, Isabella. Time and again."
His words mirror my truth, and a smile curves my slackened lips as I drift away. "I am yours," I breathe with the last of my consciousness, and then blackness takes me.
– S –
My dreams are dark. Poisoned passion. Erotic savagery. Feral pleasure so all consuming I'm destroyed both inside and out—and reborn.
When my eyes finally open, it's daylight. Sharp and bright, completely wrong against the darkness still dancing in my mind.
Was it real?
I blink and find the clock on my bedside table. It reads 4:45 p.m., though I have no idea what day it is. I feel like I've been asleep forever. Weeks. Months. Maybe years. My body is stiff and aching, but I force it up.
Wobbling where I stand, I look around my bedroom, but there's no trace of Edward or our night together. The storm has long passed, the sun streaming brightly through my window. There are no discarded clothes, nothing broken or out of place, not a drop of blood staining my sheets.
Blood. My blood.
I pull up the sleeve of my pajama shirt—he must have redressed me while I lay unconscious—but my skin is clean and dry. I run my fingers over my wrist, feeling the indentation where his teeth sunk deep, and I see the scar. Silvery and glimmering, cold to the touch, sensitive and tingling under my fingertips. I am marked, and he will come for me, anytime, anywhere. That's what he said.
"You are mine now." I shiver at the memory of his words, the confirmation of what I'd already known for myself. I had always been his.
Only now, it's official.
Sealed in blood, and sex, and a primal desire that, even now, I barely understand.
Grinning crookedly, I let my sleeve fall down and make my way to the bathroom. The face that greets me in the mirror is pale, slightly hollow, and dark smudges stain the undersides of my eyes. I look haggard, half dead. How much blood did I lose? Just then, my stomach clenches in a startling hunger pang, and I recognize a caffeine-headache building at my temples. How long did I sleep?
After taking care of my necessities, I head into the kitchen and find my cellphone. The screen is unresponsive, so I plug it in and watch nervously for it to charge enough to come back to life. When it finally does, I'm both surprised, and not, to see that it's late Sunday afternoon. I slept for two days after passing out in his arms, and I dreamed of Edward the whole time.
Or did I?
Flickers of memory keep flitting past my awareness. A presence at the end of my bed. Cool fingers stroking my cheek. A weight beside me, brushing my hair from my face.
How long did he stay, watching me sleep?
My stomach growls loudly again, and I busy myself making coffee and a light meal. An email from head office tells me that the lab will be reopening tonight, which means I'm expected at work come 10:00 p.m. It also means I'll see Edward there… Right?
The rest of the evening passes quickly as I regain some strength through food and drink, and before I know it I'm showered, dressed, and making my usual drive to the lab. It's all so regular, so normal, like something completely unbelievable and out of this world didn't just happen to me a few short nights ago.
But it did. I have the mark to prove it.
"You are mine now."
I park my truck in its usual spot, and force myself to walk, not run, to the building door. My stomach is reeling, a boiling maelstrom of hope and nerves and desperate longing to see Edward again. Will he be here? What will I say? What will he do?
My heart thunders as I swipe my keycard and the door thuds shut behind me. I descend the stairs carefully, noticing as I approach my lab room that the light is on. Someone is in there, but who?
I don't look as I pass by on the way to the staffroom. I'm too afraid that it's not him, and I can't acknowledge that possibility yet.
It takes several minutes standing in front of my locker before I find the strength to leave the room, and face what may or may not be waiting for me down the hall. My legs are heavy as I take one step after another, my hands shaking with anticipation, my gut writhing with nervous excitement.
The room draws near, the glowing light within a beacon to my hope, my need, to see Edward in there. I hold my breath as I turn the corner…
…where I'm met with Eric's wide, friendly smile.
"Bella-a-a-a, I'm back!" he exclaims, waving a pipette from where he's already at work at his station. "Girl, what'd I miss?"
I stare at Eric blankly, any response I might have had for him swept away by a tidal wave of disappointment. He notices my hesitation and looks at me questioningly. "Bella?"
"It's Isabella," I say, causing Eric's face to twist in confusion. All my life, I've insisted on being called Bella, especially by my peers and people I consider friends. To have me suddenly turn that around must be mind-boggling, indeed.
Bella is gone now, though. Edward wants Isabella, and that's who I am. Who I've always been, even if I didn't know it yet. I never want to be known as anyone else ever again.
"Uh, okay…" Eric replies, watching me with concern as I move to my own station. "What did I miss?"
I laugh lightly as I set down my water bottle and pick up a pair of nitrile gloves. "Welcome back," I tell him.
My scar pulses as a tickle ghosts through me, an awareness I've never felt before, but I know it immediately. Edward's venom in my blood, linking us, letting me know he's near. I can't pinpoint him exactly, but like a shadow to my senses, he's there. Waiting. Watching. He will come for me, time and again—I know he will. A smile twists my lips. I just have to be patient.
– The End –
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Some alternative vampire lore for you! No sparkly, self-denying, gentle-hearted creatures of the night here, lol! I've gotta admit that Darkward does something special to me. He really is just gah. What about you? Reviews are the best! XO