A/N: Just to be clear, the vampires and werewolves here are traditional vampires and werewolves. So, traditional weaknesses and appearances.

Chapter 1- What Dreams May Come

High school is often known as a troubling, trying time for many youths, but for one Edward Cullen, it was a breeze. After all, this was the… actually, he'd lost count of how many times he'd tried and often failed to attend a normal high school. He managed to get by with almost straight A's, the only exception being a C in some irrelevant class like calculus or writing. People said his writings read more like bad "fan-fictions" (that was the term these days, Edward found, for speculative works based on a published art and he much disliked it) than actual novels of any real caliber. A few bullies in the 50's even compared his romances to poorly-disguised wet dreams, but that was neither here nor there.

He paid them no mind. He was a love-starved man, and he enjoyed writing short stories and poems on the subject as often as was possible. The last person he was in love with he ended up eating because, he claimed, voices in his head told him to. He was hanged in the town square a few days later. This was when he was young, a mere 109. He'd been a vampire for 80 of those years, and he had relished in those long decades. Or short. One must change their perception of time upon becoming a vampire. Now it was 2013, and he was almost 700. He'd looked for love in all the wrong places, and the night of last Monday, he visited a girl during the night.

Charlie Swan's daughter had come to town. Charlie had invited the entire Cullen family (Carlisle, Esme, Jasper, Rosalie, and Emmet) over for dinner. Poor Alice, Carlisle had lied, was busy with a particularly bothersome client at work. If only Charlie knew the truth; the sheriff adored the perky brunette. During her periods of lucidity, at least.

When dinner was over, and everyone had gone home or to bed, Edward crept into Isabelle's room and stroked her hair, then proceeded to stare at her for the next half hour. He was a visual person, and had a bad memory. This was his justification to himself. Some part of him thought this to be creepy, but the girl was so lovely. He hadn't gone last night due to the storm coming in. Edward despised storms.

At present, Edward strolled through the front door to the Cullen home, a pristine and beautiful place. On the rare occasion that people who came over, they described it as heaven on earth, it was so white and spotless. Edward headed into the kitchen and was surprised to find Carlisle, the patriarch of the family, giving him what could only be described as the best death glare anyone has ever given.

"Edward," Carlisle hissed.

The boy nonchalantly tossed his backpack into the living room.

"Dad," Edward hissed back, flippant as can be.

"Your mother caught Isabelle's scent while doing your laundry. She was sick with the flu when we were over for dinner. You snuck into her room at night, didn't you?"

"So what if I did?"

"Damn it, Edward! Charlie very graciously allows us to stay here, and he loves his daughter more than his own life! You cannot control yourself, boy! If you fuck up and something happens to her… do you want to get us all killed, because if Charlie doesn't, then the wolves will! Stay away from Isabelle Swan, or so help me, I will through you outside on a warm summer day and watch you burn!"

Edward scoffed and turned to head up to his room.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"Homework."

"We are not finished, young man! Edward Frances Cullen, get back here right now! If… if you so much as touch her again, I'll compel her to leave… or something drastic!"

Edward turned back and grinned at his father before zipping up the stairs. Carlisle never was a good enforcer of his own rules, or that of others. Edward knew that and regularly flaunted it in Carlisle's face before his adoptive parents taught him to be more selective in his dietary habits. Carlisle leaned against the island in the middle of the room as Esme entered and rubbed her husband's back.

"Don't be so hard on him," she whispered.

"I have no idea what we are to do with that boy anymore," Carlisle moaned.

"He'll come to his senses soon, he always does," Esme reassured him.

"I highly doubt that, Esme."

Isabelle relentlessly tosses and turned that night. She'd told Charlie that her nightmares from her childhood had started up again, but had not been so forthcoming about their intensity. Tonight…

Isabelle sat alone in a field on a rainy day. A symbol of depression, or anxiety? Nope, her subconscious was a troll, random shit this and random shit that. Anyway, this field was noteworthy because everything in it was DEAD. The grass, the flowers, and even the trees. There were no bees or rabbits or deer or any sort of anything alive in this field except her, and who knows how long that would last? The girl faintly perceived a presence lurking in the trees. As she turned to face it, a pale young man lunged at her, teeth bared and growling. He was dressed in a dirty, post-grunge way, with unkempt hair and the like. Edward. Cullen. She'd seen him at the dinner table when she'd slipped down to see what all the laughing was about. Edward shoved her to the ground, only to be immediately grabbed and tossed through the air by the absolutely most beautiful redheaded woman Isabelle had ever seen. The green eyes only accentuated this beauty's majesty. She smiled and helped Isabelle to her feet, then flung the girl onto her back and sped off.

Isabelle gasped, jolting as if she were on a roller coaster. Somehow, she knew the woman's name.

"Victoria," she breathed.

Victoria, as luck would have it, was at that moment in town. Only, not to save a mortal. Instead, she was feeding on one, a park ranger to be exact. James gorged himself on a Quileute girl, who couldn't be more than eight. Their travelling companion Laurent was just a bit more detached from all that transpired before him.

"James," he called out to the messy-haired blonde with the most alluring of French accents. He'd won over quite a few victims by that accent alone.

"What, Laurent, sad I'm eating the one you found," James scoffed.

"Is this wise, feeding in the open like this? We could draw unnecessary attention to our activities, and we both know what that will mean."

"Be unafraid, my friend," James laughed as he tossed the corpse to the ground. "Attention is exactly what I want. The wolves in the area need to know they aren't the scariest monsters in town anymore."

He patted Laurent's face and began tying the corpse to a tree with a rope he'd brought along for that very purpose.

"What in hell do you think you're doing, James," Laurent asked.

Victoria did the same with her kill.

"Sending a message… to the werewolves and the Cullens," she smiled.

"I abhor unneeded displays of violence," Laurent sighed.

"Then what in hell are you doing with us?"

James slammed Victoria against the tree with her kill on it, and the pair started to strip each other's clothes off. Laurent rolled his eyes.

"Do you have to do that, you two?"

"This is custom, Laurent. It's how we mark our territory."

Laurent looked from the amorous pair to the still-undefiled corpse with a hint of regret in his eyes. Whatever James and Victoria had in store for the small, backwater town of Forks, it wasn't good.