CHAPTER TWO

DEMETRI

He's thirteen when he first gets a taste of bloodshed in his town. That never leaves and stains the roads with red, pooling under his feet.

Mother tells him to come back safe and sound.

Demetri promises he will. And he does. But that peace doesn't last when his mother is murdered right in front of him.

War has come to settle.

(It lasts for more than a thousand years. His home is now gone, withered to ashes just like the rest of his people and his family though ruins still remain.)

He's seventeen when he finally tracks down who he's looking for. He feels the warm blood on his hands as he looks down into the eyes of the man who butchered his mother, his dark eyes wide and full of fear; the knife in his hand cuts through bone and Demetri has vengeance and fury lighting up in his eyes as the man struggles to breathe and watches until the light goes out of him. There's a "well-done" and a pat on the shoulder and Demetri throws up after the first time.

He should've known he'd get acquaintanced to blood sooner or later.

(Demetri's good at hunting people. Finding them. It's just in his blood, he realizes. Born to be a tracker, a hunter. And so that what he does. That's all he knows.)

He's twenty when he meets his first love.

The fiery scorching heat of the sun beats on his back, his olive skin glistening with sweat as he slams the butt of his sword into the other young man he duels with. He attracts the attention of a young woman who watches with interest, a name that's long forgotten, but he remembers her lips, her smile, how her fingers liked to grip his back and hair, her body craving for more and she whispers his name like he's holy. Dimitrios. Dimitrios. Dimitrios. She comments on his light blue eyes — a rarity in his family — and those are the last words she speaks as he promises to see her again.

He never gets the chance.

She dies less than three weeks after he returns. He finds her body brutally raped and stabbed fifteen times over and he mourns and wails as he cradles her in his arms. Another victim. Another casualty of war and he grieves until there's no more room left in his heart.

More women and men come and go but none of them steal his heart. He's learnt his lesson. He knows better than anyone and so he lets his heart turn to steel and war bleeds through his veins.

He's twenty-five when he dies. He's dying. He knows it. A cocky and arrogant move has cost him his life and he's bleeding out, his blood seeping through his fingers when he realizes it.

An arrow is his downfall. A fucking arrow.

His arm is nearly torn off by a sword, hanging on by the sheer threads of his mangled skin. He thinks his back is broken. He falls on the cold ground below him, tasting blood on his tongue. The dying wails of his fellow soldiers and horses ring in his ears and Demetri struggles to roll himself around so he can have some supplement of beauty before he goes. His eyes fixate on the stars above, his lungs feeling like they're about to collapse and then the war slowly dies down.

He doesn't know how long he's been here but the fires have almost gone out and the moans of the dying and injured have almost dissipated. Demetri mumbles: Συγχώρεσέ με για τις αμαρτίες μου, a last prayer of a sort to the God that is listening, his tongue slurring his words as he tries to focus his vision and he coughs and wheezes and blood speckles his lips. He hears a feeble "Help me" and then someone's screaming and as quickly as it comes, the screaming cuts off by the sound of bone cracking.

His heart thunders wildly in his chest and a face appears from the darkness, illuminated by a nearby flickering torch. The man's older than him and when he speaks, it's in a language he doesn't know. "Amun" stands out to him and when he smiles, his lips and teeth and chin are red with blood and then Demetri's a frightened young boy again and then he's screaming. The man has sunk his teeth into his neck, ripping past his skin and he can feel him drinking and then he lets go. For a moment, Demetri thinks it's done. He can see her and his mother again. He allows himself to wait for the dark to overtake him so he can finally go and try for rebirth. But it never comes. Then the pain begins.

The screaming never stops. At least not until he has to.

Three days and nights later, Dimitrios Koteas is reborn.

Amun thinks they are Gods but Demetri knows better. No matter how much Amun loves the worship and the gifts and expects Demetri to, he knows better. Amun was once a shell of a man and there's no God living in him as far he knows. No, Amun is just a man; a man made of stone and has blood swirling throughout his veins just like dear old Demetri. As he watches Amun tears off an enemy vampire's head for defying him, he realizes that even stone men can crumble.

Feed or you will die, Amun tells him. So he does. It takes a long time to get used to his bloodlust but he does it. It takes a long time to get used to the fact his skin is now white instead of olive and his blue eyes have now turned into a deep burgundy color. (It's not until the Volturi comes that he learns he can feed without killing.) Amun teaches him Egyptian and in turn, Demetri teaches him Greek. It seems fair: after all, Amun is his maker and gave him new life.

It's two months later when Amun realizes he has a gift for tracking. They spend months training Demetri how to use it a while, they are family. For a while, they are father and son. For a while, he is happy and he never wants to leave. You are special, Amun tells him. The Volturi, they will come for us and destroy us both.

And come they do. The man now called Aro offers him a choice to join their coven and so Demetri gladly agrees. Amun has lied to him about the sun, broken the rules and herded the humans like cattle. Amun is just using him as a weapon to overthrow his enemies. He does not worship this false God, even if he is his maker. Death may not touch his maker now as Amun gives Demetri a pained look of fury and betrayal before he flees as Aro lets him go.

He learns Italian with more difficulty than he thinks from Aro and his brothers, then English until the words flow off fluently off his lips but Greek will always be his mother tongue, a part of him and he keeps it close to his heart so he won't forget.

He becomes friends with Felix, though patience is not one of his Felix's virtues. ("Dimitrios?" he asks, clearly amused. "Think I'll call you Demetri." Demetri's never thought about it, but he agrees it's time for a change. Demetri, it is then.)

Felix teaches him some new tricks he's learned from his own portion of war, having rose up to the ranks of a soldier in his human life. With Felix's huge stature and both of their shared histories of battles and war, Aro appoints them as Guards for the Volturi. A few centuries pass and the rumors of Aro wanting a pair of witch-twins named Iohanna and Alexander, to join their covens spreads. There's outrage from Caius and a few others. Demetri knows all too well what happens to immortal children. He's seen it four times before the creation of the young child Vasilli and remembers the night he tore off Aleksandra's head and hearing the Denali sisters' mournful wails. But Aro promises to wait until the twins are of age, reaching adolescent. And he does. They're burning at the stake when they come to retrieve them and he can hear young Iohanna's terrible screams as her brother Alexander, locks his jaw struggling not to scream but in the end, he does. (They always do and years later, the witch-twins decide to modernize their names to Alec and Jane respectively.)

Jane takes after Caius' sadist personality while her brother is the most quieter of the two and the antidote to her tempers. The calm before the storm and the two become the most feared of the Volturi and both Demetri and Felix fall to the bottom. Soon hereafter, the Egyptian Coven falls and then the Romanians and then the Chinese. They're there for it all. Within them, they carry the blood of thousands. He's tried to drink animal blood like Saint Carlisle, but he's found he can't track someone as well as he's done on human blood. He's been too accustomed to it and he's not as strong on the animal diet as he should be, much to Felix's disapproval.

You've found your home in us, Chelsea croons. This is what you're meant for. But he can feel the tight bond wrapped around the back of his mind, urging — no, encouraging — him to stay, stay, stay, and his loyalty to the Volturi remains as strong as ever and Chelsea smiles like nothing is happening and he realizes, he can't leave even if he wanted to.

The greatest tracker in the world and he'll find anybody who doesn't want to be found, except beyond the veil of death. Someone even greater would have to replace him just like he has done before with the previous tracker. He would never be able to leave.

He stays. He knows nothing better. Better than to go back to Amun and his deceiving lies and his worshippers. He's used him.

Demetri tries to hold on to his humanity while the rest don't hold back. Do kindness. Do the right thing, his mother's voice whispers. He helps the last of the Children of the Moon escape to the New World to avoid the wrath of Caius' extermination. Thousand of wolves slaughtered and he can still remember the smell and the mournful howls into the night. It never seems to end. A endless recycle of repeat and them, the humans, the vampires, the werewolves, they will never learn, will they? (They won't. They know nothing better.)

"You all right, handsome?" Heidi asks as she makes sure both Felix and Demetri are presentable for the rest of the night before they switch their shifts to the next round of the Guards. She offers him a bright smile and she knows something is wrong when he doesn't return it. One of his old wounds on his left arm flares up again and he presses his arm behind his back, clenching his fist as he straightens himself, meeting Felix's concerned gaze and he twitches his neck uncomfortably. (A flash of a face. A scent of roses. Laughter.)

"Είμαι καλά, αγάπη." I'm fine, love. But Demetri realizes that he's said it in Greek and not Italian and when Heidi's face falls and she leans forward to plant a kiss on his cheek, that's when Demetri knows undoubtedly he's not fine at all.

Your tell-tale, Heidi once told him. You could never lie to me.

"You want me to come visit you tonight?" she asks and he nods. One of the things he loves about Heidi: she always seemed to know what was going on in his mind better than him.

The taste of a single flavor burns into the back of his mind and he can smell it, practically taste it on his tongue and he wants, wants, wants it oh, so dearly. Heidi moves quickly away from Demetri as Aro calls for a council, the first since the Cullen's spectacle three years ago. The urge to track is rising and his mind is screaming and he can feel it coming, whatever Aro wants him to do. He's so tired of it all: the missions, the scouting, the feeding, the tracking, the killing. That's what he tells himself, at least. He thinks that somewhat he likes, no, revels in the killings, just like his old human self. He barely listens as Aro goes on about Joham and the half-breed and —

(Please, Valentina pleads, her hands gripping his shoulders. Turn me. Turn me! You promised! And then she's furious and angry that she won't get her wish like she's been promised by him or the others like so many before her, slapping at him, tears streaming down her beautiful face. Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!

Like it isn't him, he watches as he grabs her arm, his patience tested and wrenches her aside as soon as she realizes her dreadful mistake, turning to run when she sees the fury in his black eyes. He hears as she slams her head into the statue with a crack and turns his head just in time to see her fall to the floor, blood trickling from her head wound from his throw.

Hunger gets the best of him and he pulls her nearly lifeless body toward him with one hand and lowers his lips to her neck and drinks. So much blood. His hunger fills him with pleasure. He wants more. More. More. More. Such a shame, Aro says. They never last.)

"I do believe our dear Bella is owed a visit. Demetri?"

"Yes, master," he replies and nods once to show he has heard and understood. They have no need for him to lead this time. Joham and his four children haven't moved from the same place they've settled in centuries ago: South America. Besides, the foolish Cullen boy — Edward — and his family have mistakenly believed that Demetri wouldn't have been able to find them behind Bella's shield. He finds everyone.

(Track.) Seek. Observe. Report. That's the routine he's done for the past thousand years. So why should he fail now?

Heidi comes later in the night in his chambers as she's promised. There's an entanglement of their limbs pressing tightly together, her fingers holding onto his neck, his hands hooking her legs against his hips as he thrusts deeper and listens to Heidi's moans of pleasure to confirm at the very least, he's doing something right.

"You should drink," Heidi tells him when they're finished. He tugs on his pants and shoes as she trails a finger down his spine and for a moment, he thinks he can feel the human-like shiver before it vanishes as quickly as it came. "I'm bringing the last round tonight. Drink before you leave, Dem. Yes?"

"I will," he promises. He presses his lips to her cheek quickly and she smiles as he says, "Thank you for all the fun." They know they'll never be anything more than friends with benefits and that's how he prefers it. Besides, two attractive single vampires in the Guard? They're bound to get lonely at some point.

Demetri helps her slide on the red dress she loves so much. "Wear little, get a lot," she reminds him and that's the truth. She's the fisherman but also the bait. She helps keep the family fed. Heidi pulls his shirt over his shoulders, adjusting the turtleneck around his neck. Flipping her curled mahogany hair over her shoulders, Heidi grins, patting his cheek playfully. "You and your scarves. I will never understand."

Demetri shrugs on one of his black coats over his shoulders, buttoning himself up and offers her a knowing smirk. "One of my many secrets, Heidi. Only Aro knows."

"You're coming back, yes?"

There's a small purse of her lips, a slight downward twitch of her brows as she waits for his answer. It's only a split second of hesitation befalling on him before he opens his lips and speaks. Heidi doesn't notice it. After all, he has had a long time to practice his theatricals longer than her. "Of course. I always do." Where else can I go? What else can I do? And with that, he smiles politely, presses her a kiss to her hand and promises to be safe and to drink before he leaves and heads downstairs to prepare for his journey.

Thousands of thoughts brush past his mind as several of the Guard make their way to their respective positions, waiting for Heidi's last round of dinner for the night, several voices ringing in his mind as they walk past him. No, not them, Demetri tells himself. His mind goes quiet until he can only hear his own footsteps echoing down the hall down the stairs leading into the chattering room of humans waiting for their chance at a relaxing moment in their long vacations. Chelsea sees him as he pushes through the doors as she glances away from her customer and waves her hand, holding up four fingers. He heads toward the shielded adjacent rooms, knocking softly on the fourth door.

"Mind if I cut in?" he asks the vampire who answers.

She smiles, nodding, recognizing him for who he is and steps aside for another customer waiting for a massage. The woman in question he's about to feed off of has green goop covering her face, her eyes closed, a margarita glass held in one hand. He gently picks up the woman's wrist, flames bursting in his throat and carefully drinks without popping his fangs. The woman is unfazed, still going on about her vacation in Italy — Have you seen the Colosseum?My god, it is sooo divine — a combination of Aro's and Heidi's powers filling and replacing the memories of him feeding on her. He listens to her politely, her thoughts ringing in his ears and the people she's met logging into a checkpoint in his brain, not that he would have any need to find them in the near future. She knows nobody of pure importance and her rising heartbeat floods his ears and her blood tastes so good, so good, so good, his hand grips her wrist tighter and his fangs threaten to pop —

Stop. Stop. Stop. STOP!

"Demetri." It's Chelsea, a warning urged in her voice from outside the room. His eyes snap open. Her voice drops to a bare hiss only he and the other vampirescan hear. "You've had enough."

His lips pull away and he wipes away the blood with a nearby napkin. He asks, "Are you all right?" but the woman doesn't respond, her eyes slightly unfocused and she's already forgotten the feeding, continuing on with her story like nothing happened. He wraps her wrist with the proper materials, watching as red begins to bleed through the white gauze. Demetri bids her a goodbye as he leaves, feeling several gazes on him as he walks into the spa, refusing to meet Chelsea's disapproving eyes as he holds his head high and his body tall and lean and mighty like nothing reckless has happened a few seconds ago. But it almost did. What is happening to me?

A few mortal women giggle and wave flirtatiously toward him as he passes them and he gives them a wink that is sure to make their hearts flutter and swoon. But his walk is brisk and the only thing he carries with him is his passport, disposable phone and wallet in his pockets.

No doubt that Chelsea will tell Aro about this after he leaves. He knows she means well but Demetri doesn't want to have Aro touch his hand and hear his most recent thoughts in his head right now. The vampire is stopped once in his tracks by a familiar rasping voice he knows at once.

"Dimitrios."

It's Marcus. The elder vampire's face remains as unchanged as ever, as he approaches from the shadows; Demetri swears on his non-existent soul he's only seen him smile once during his time here. Depression has existed back in the day when he was born and it continues to still be a menace amongst the living and dead alike. Marcus can attest to that.

"Saint Marcus." The younger vampire stands tall, wondering why Marcus is wanting to talk to him at this time, why him now, why ever? And then he remembers and thinks an vulgar human-like thought: Fuck. "How may I serve you, master?"

Master. A word he despises. (Still a slave even to this day.)

His hands are clasped behind his back, awaiting any new orders. Dimitrios. A long lost feeling of centuries worth of nostalgia floods him. It must be something serious, given that Marcus has called him by his birth name.

"Child . . ." Marcus drones slowly. He walks closer, face shrouded in his dark curtain of hair, his black cloak wrapped around his shoulders. His hands are outstretched slightly, his thin fingers seemingly holding onto an invisible string only he can See. "Your loyalty wavers."

Fear grips him like a vice and for the first time in centuries, Demetri is afraid. He'll be replaced, he'll be killed, he'll be —

He'll cease to exist. He'll be nothing.

Demetri opens his mouth to plead his case but Marcus holds up a hand. "Don't fret, child. Your loyalty is not of my concern. Aro will not replace you, that I know." He can practically sense a there's no one better than you on his sentence. At least he'll always hold that title after a thousand centuries, even after death. Marcus walks closer, still inspecting the string he can See as he crooks a finger, his eyes finally meeting the younger vampire's. "Caius would disagree on the other hand. Aro would not want me telling you this. I fear I must. The allies of the Cullens — the shapeshifters. There is a bond I See, tethering you. It waits for you. A way out. Take it."

"I do not understand," Demetri tells Marcus and wants to scream, I am not a child. But in the Elders' eyes, he might as well be.

Marcus dips his head slightly, his expression seemingly apologetic. "I apologize, dear Dimitrios. I can not say any more. I bid you well on your journey. Send my regards to Mrs. Cullen, will you?"

And with that, Marcus disappears into the shadows, leaving Demetri doubting himself if he even was there at all to begin with.

BREE

It's been almost twelve years since she's last stepped foot in her childhood home in Nevada. She can remember the heat from the days, feel the warm sun on her pale skin, remember the toys her mother gave her when she was little . . . before she left.

It's rotted away now like the rest of her memories, abandoned and left alone for years. The house — well, trailer — is still left and frozen in the pristine time of 1994, the moment they left and never came back. She thumbs through the old faded and illegible mail, turning her head as she walks slowly through the small kitchen toward her bedroom. There's two old empty bowls laid out on the table, the refrigerator either stolen or sold in a thrift shop and an old unplugged television with a VCR still lying in the living room with a moth-eaten green couch. Nothing here smells like the home she remembers.

Riley stays quiet, watching her but saying nothing, one hand letting his backpack dangle to the floor and lurks silently in the background, following her steps closely behind while on the lookout for any other vampires who might happen upon them. There's rustling sound from behind but she pays no mind to it.

Her room is untouched, her silly crayon drawings still taped to the walls or laying in dust on the floor and her old clothes are still hung in the closet, one faded blue dress still left untouched.

She pauses outside her parents' room. She doesn't remember anything as much as she wants to. Everything's so muffled and distant and blurred. She remembers Diego telling her the same thing — beautiful, handsome, brilliant Diego. Bitten before his time by Victoria. He hasn't returned to her like he's promised and she knows deep down inside her cold soul, he's dead. He's dead and he won't ever come back. So she turns and walks away, making her way down the hall to where Riley is. She feels the rough wallpaper underneath her fingertips, trying to collect her thoughts, her eyes downcast and lowered to the ground.

If she was human, a rising bubble of bile would be crawling up her throat and she'd have tears streaming down her face. She'd be a puddle on the floor, trying to solidify herself into the defenseless and weak girl she was, trying to catch her breath. But Bree Tanner is no longer any of those things.

Bree Tanner is dead.

Bree Tanner is forever sixteen.

Bree Tanner is a vampire.

But a human-like gesture from her human life long ago takes a hold of her crystallized lungs and squeezes it and she gasps — a shuddering gasp as the one question she's always wanted to know rises from her lips. She smells Riley in front of her and knows he has to stay. Fred is gone, along with Steve and Shelley (God knows where) and their maker is dead and burned and turned to ashes just like the rest of her coven mates.

They are all each other has left. They have nowhere to go and no one else to trust.

She raises her head to face him. His chin lifts up slightly, his gaze never moving away from hers. She notices his fingers tightening on the strap he's holding and his favorite jacket is hanging from one of the chairs he's placed it on. "Did you kill him?" she asks. "Was it you?"

"No," he says finally and she can't help but feel a little relieved. "It was … Victoria."

"Why?" It's barely a whisper but she manages to push it past her tongue. Her heart demands an answer and throbs and aches but she knows. It was the gift he'd given to her. But she needs confirmation. She needs to hear it from Riley before she does something reckless and goes back to their hiding place two years ago and uses her venom to stitch Diego back together. They can run away this time. They can —

"He found about the sun." And her heart shatters. His gift to her had been his downfall.

"You just … stood there and did nothing." It's ice on her lips as she practically hurls the words at him and she can see the pain in his eyes and the regret and the human inside of him flinches before he settles back into a statue.

"I did," he admits. The jawline on his smooth and perfect skin clenches and she can hear the grinding of it and it hurts her ears and she tries to focus on something else. "I was weak."

They're not anymore. But they're not invincible either.

"I should've told you," Riley continues. He pauses and his red eyes flicker with uncertainty. "I'm not asking you to forgive me because I know you never will. But I am truly and deeply sorry. It's one of my regrets. Diego …"

The brunette then realizes that she's practically holding her fingers tight against her palms, balled up into fists. Her body is on the verge of pouncing, her teeth locking into a hiss. She needs to grieve. She wants to go hide and mourn and cry but vengeance calls to her. Anger pools through her dead veins, rushing through her body, adrenaline snaking into her bones. She trembles. Riley — he did this to her. He's killed her Diego. He's killed her.

"He didn't deserve it."

Bree snaps. A look of resignation quickly crosses over his face as she launches toward him. The blood bag drops from his fingers with a resonant thud as she grabs his shirt, pulls him toward her and flings Riley to the ground. She leaps on top of him, slamming his head against the floor repeatedly.

"You killed me!"

Crack.

"You killed him!"

Crack.

"You could've — done something!"

Crack.

The young vampire is swiping with her hands, a string of I hate you's pouring through her lips. Why isn't he fighting back? Fight back! Fight back! FIGHT BACK!

Bree pauses, confusion surging through her as her rage begins to die down as quickly as it appears. Horror rises as she sees the cracks on his face and seeing the crystal jagged stump of his right shoulder … holy shit, she's torn off one of his arms. His eyes are wide as he stares up at her, his untouched hand wrapped around one of her arms but at the same time, he doesn't seem to be trying to stop her.

Why?

"It's okay," he tells her, his voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have to stop." An unspoken I deserve it lingers heavily in the air.

But Bree remembers that Riley didn't deserve it too. He had been predictive in his human routine as a college student and that had easily made him a target and that had cost him his life. He'd been much as a pawn to Victoria as the rest of them. He'd been the first.

"I'm sorry," she croaks out, scrambling off of him, flinging her body against the furthest wall as she wraps her arms around her legs. "I'm so sorry."

She tries to make herself small as she can before Riley turns his hand on her, before he screams at her, You stupid worthless bitch! and the memory of a glass being thrown at her by her father's hand makes her flinch as she struggles to calm down. But Riley does none of those things.

Riley sits up, piecing his arm back to his socket after he licks it with his venom. The cracks on his face have disappeared and a small pained hiss escapes through his lips as his torn limb stitches back to his body properly. He rolls his shoulder back several times and flexes his arm to make sure it works and then turns his eyes on her.

Bree can't move. She feels it's the first night all over again and she's thrown into the dark memory so vivid and clear, desperation and hunger crawling in her stomach and her clothes and body dirty from homelessness. Then the tenth, the fifteen day have passed, she doesn't know, and he comes along. Bree thinks he would've asked her for a favor like the others before her— sex, a blowjob, anything — and she would've given her virginity to him willingly as fucked up as it was as much as she turned her nose at the idea before. But she was desperate. And a desperate teenage girl would've done anything to get a decent bed and a good night's sleep and not have to eat the trash for once. Want a burger, kid?

He crosses over to her, the floor creaking under his weight. By now, she knows the pace and the tempo of his footsteps by heart, the way he favors his left leg from his right. His hand is outstretched to her and he waits, her eyes meeting his as she slowly lifts her head up. If she could, she would be trying to hold back her tears now.

"I hate you," she tells him, putting all of her anger and pain into those three words to convince herself. She tells herself this. She hates him, she hates him, she hates him, and he tolerates her. That's what she tells herself at least. (But four years can change a lot.)

Riley nods slowly. There's a hint of an emotion on his face she can't identify. "I know." He pulls back his hand instead and reaches into his pocket, a piece of paper rustling in his fingers. He hesitates for a long time, a lot longer than necessary before he hands it to her. "I found this earlier. On the table by the television."

It's a newspaper clipping. Dated a few months after her disappearance, when she had ran away from home. BODY FOUND IN DESERT, the headline screams. She scans over the words until she stops at a familiar name and if she were human, her heart would've stopped. Her mother. Her mother . . . is dead. No, she'd been found murdered. Her father . . . he's done the unspeakable. Bludgeoned her mother to death in an alcoholic and violent frenzy just because she had wanted to leave. And then she remembers. Oh, God.

It's hard to see through the mud-covered film through her human eyes, but she can barely see her mother coming into her room, shutting the door as quickly as she can, panic etched on her face. She dashes toward her and says something but Bree can't remember what it is. She sees her father slam the door open and grab her mother away from her bed by the hair and they're screaming at each other before her father raises the bottle in his hand and slams her head with it. Blood splatters on her face as her mother falls and the memory goes fuzzy —

Horror builds inside of her again and she's shaking and trembling again. "I remember. I - I - I —"

She struggles to get the words out, to explain, to recall the horrible memory clearly, but she can't. And the grief overwhelms her like a wave. It comes in twos, one for Diego and one for her mother and strange gasping sobs come pouring out of her lungs and she doesn't care anymore. She reaches up and throws her shaking arms around Riley and he stumbles unexpectedly to the ground because of it and drags them both down to the floor and she needs it, needs the comfort of someone caring for her and he has for the last three years and everything's so undeniably fucked up but she needs it right now.

All the pain and the beatings and the hurt and the abuse and the loneliness accumulated over the years come pouring out and she wants so hard to fucking cry but she can't, she can't, she can't. So she lets the mourning wails come out of her tiny dead body and drench the whole room in it.

Riley has his arms around her, one hand on top of her head, stroking her hair with his fingers. He whispers, "It's okay" over and over again to soothe her but it doesn't work as much as she wants it to. But she allows herself to cry in the arms of one of her killers and let him hold her for as long as she needs to.

She keeps her eyes closed as Riley picks her up gently like she's a doll and carries her to the couch. The brunette feels a blanket being brushed against her skin and pulls it closer to her body and she can smell her mother's perfume.

At least as a human, she could relieve some of the pain. A cut on the wrist here and there. A punch. But the pain still stays in her as a vampire and she can't help but laugh deliriously. It dies as quickly as it comes as she covers her head with the blanket.

The blanket can shield her from the world. The world is dark and angry and cruel and it tears its wrath into her as punishment. As long as she stays underneath there, she can be safe. She can be safe and shielded from any dangers and for a moment, she can pretend to be alive again. But she knows she'll have to surface sooner or later.

The wood floor creaks and she counts Riley's footsteps — one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine —and hears the soft scraping of his fingers against the armrest near her head and the blanket. He leaves and she counts his footsteps again until she reaches twenty. Probably making himself at home by the window.

She snakes her hand out from underneath the blanket and searches around until she feels the familiar cool plastic underneath her fingers. Blood! her mind cries out greedily and Bree pulls her hand back as quickly as she can, tearing open the bag and gulping down its contents. Dead blood is better than no blood. It isn't satisfying as live, pumping blood but she supposes it's better than the alternative and well, the other alternative.

She remembers hearing of gold. Golden eyes, Riley had told her coven. Animal blood.

In the first months of her newborn life, that idea has never been an option. It was always killing, killing, killing, and then disposing of the bodies and then more killing. A never-ending cycle.

She had asked Riley about it. She had wanted to try.

"Have you tried? Or just gone by … her words?" Bree's careful not to say her name and watches his face fall. So he hasn't.

"It'll make us weaker," he tries again. But then he gives in and for the first time, they spend the night hunting deer. The deer is caught by Riley and he breaks its neck before the feeding begins. She can see it hurts him to kill an animal and she thinks she wouldn't be able to do it too. But together, they lower their mouths to drink.

The moment it hits her tongue, it's foul. Bitter and she gags in disgust but tries again. All she can taste is bitterness and not the normal copper she's normally accustomed to. She gives up and in turn, watches Riley, hoping perhaps he can persuade her. Riley coughs but forces himself for another round but the blood gives out in his stomach and he vomits up the deer's blood, the dark red staining his chin.

A moment passes. And then Riley speaks.

"Fuck, that's gross."

She remembers wanting to like animal blood. She had practically willed herself to, willed herself to become something else than a monster who fed off human beings. A monster who so cruelly disposed of bodies in the ocean with Diego just to not make another scene. She can hear Riley screaming at them, What did I say about a low profile?! when the others slipped up and he had lost his temper. And oh, his wrath was undeniably scary. She can attest to that herself as she remembers him tearing off one of her coven mates' arms.

Both Bree and Riley had tried again and again with animal blood over the course of those two weeks. But it was so foul, bitter and disgusting and got cold so easilyshe had to wonder how the hell the Yellow Eyes did it. She envied them for their new diet. No doubt by now, the Yellow Eyes had turned their pet into one of them now. A shame, really. Bree thinks if they'd just got to the Yellow Eyes' pet when they had the chance, her blood lust would be satisfied by now as fucked up as the thought was.

The brunette pulls the blood bag away from her lips as soon as it's empty and tries to savor in its contents and taste, willing it to last until the next time she has to feed. She prays it'll last her long enough and she won't snap and kill anyone else like the couple who came home earlier than anticipated. She returns the empty bag where Riley had laid it and covers her head once again.

She thinks about the others and wonders how Steve and Shelley and Fred are doing and whether they're still alive. She hopes that they are. She hopes at the least, they'll somehow run into each other. But that's wishful thinking, she knows. Anyone with brains can see that it's best not to feed on another vampire's hunting grounds, especially ones like the Cullens that have magic in their bones.

So Bree pretends to dream this night. She pretends that she can sleep like a human and thinks about Diego and her mom and listens to Riley's soft creak-creak-creak of the chair he's on, a human behavior he keeps. It seems at the least, if she has to guess, he's thinking about his family back in Forks. A tiny tether to humanity still boils inside them and she supposes it's for the best instead of turning into the bloodthirsty creatures they are deep inside.

Better than have some supplement of humanity left … than none at all.

NEXT UP: Demetri pays dear young Isabella Swan and the Cullen clan an owed visit. Leah gets ready for the Swan-Clearwater wedding rehearsal dinner at La Push.

NOTES: Demetri's birth name is borrowed from Be Careful What You For by The_Necroposter. I do not own it but I do want to tell you where it originated from and I feel like it suits him so well and I can't see him having any other name than that, with a slight change to his first name. I did however, take in consideration the other Volturi names such as Jane and Alec's which should be somewhat like Iohanna and Alexander based off the time period they were in and changed the Denali's mother's name, Sasha to Aleksandra.

On the other hand, I really loved divulging into Demetri's head than I thought and I really enjoyed writing his perspective and there's so much we don't know about him other than the Illustrated Guide and through Bella's eyes and from Charlie Bewley's portrayal in the movies. The Illustrated Guide tells us that Amun from the Egyptian Coven turned him around 1,000 A.D. and that Demetri is from Greece. That's it. So I thought it would be fitting if he was a soldier and hunted people which eventually led to his tracking ability as a vampire and a whole bunch of heartbreaking stuff in his life and his time meeting Felix and the others.

Another thing I wanted to address was the whole "Volturi eating people" thing. You mean to tell me not once, that no one is going to bat an eye at groups of people disappearing when they enter a place and they don't come back out? That would send alarm bells off. And what if someone backed out at the last minute and was waiting for someone in the group? You think that's not going to draw attention? I didn't like SMeyer's idea of that so I did love the spa/massage idea and it's a way to have the humans relax and have fun on their vacations and the vampires feed without killing people (although some forget the rules occasionally).

Also, in case you're wondering about the Valentina scene, it is real. You can see it in the Breaking Dawn Part 1 Teaser and the "Epic Threat" TV Spot, which I find absolutely fascinating because we were robbed of more Volturi scenes and it's a shame they decided to delete it for being too gruesome.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please feel free to leave me some criticism or suggestions! :)