Disclaimer: All characters from Blade, Underworld, and Twilight belong to their respective creators. Not me. Also (I feel the need to clarify this), I don't usually write stories that include profanity. However, in the case of these three universes, omitting the "bad words" would compromise the characters, which I'm trying my best not to do. So, that being said, there is some mild profanity in this story, and I dearly hope that doesn't offend anyone, but it was a choice I felt I had to make. Please note the rating. Thank you.

Author's Note: Please be aware that this fic takes place after the conclusion of Breaking Dawn, and there are spoilers everywhere. So if you haven't read Breaking Dawn and you don't want any surprises ruined for you, please stop here.

Blood Trust

by Amos Whirly

Chapter 4a: Rules and Promises

I look frickin' awful. Guess that's what I get for crying like a baby all night. Stupid Abby. My hair is a wreck, my eyes are puffy and bloodshot, and my nose looks like the cherry tomatoes King and I use for ammunition in our slingshots.

I glance at the clock on the wall. It's time for breakfast downstairs so I dress quickly and drag a bush through my tangled blonde hair. I'll take a shower later.

I really don't want to face Abby this morning, but I know she'll be at the breakfast table. Waiting to see me off and get in her early-morning lecture.

Stupid Abby.

My thoughts shift to Nessie with vivid clarity, and I'm tempted to skip breakfast, skip school, and just make a beeline for Times Square. I could hang out with Nessie and her giant guy-friend and pretend I was a normal kid with a normal family and a normal life (I refrain from remembering that if I were normal, I'd be in school).

Thinking of Abby, however, dulls the vivid image of hotdogs, sunshine, and Nessie's golden hair.

Maybe I shouldn't go. I want to. But I haven't pushed Abby over the edge in a long time. I remember what happened the first time I did it.

I disappeared from the base. It had been innocent. Really. I had just wanted to go out with a friend from school (a girl, thank you very much; I still thought all guys but King and Blade had cooties back then). Abby had told me I couldn't, and I didn't listen to her (because she wasn't my mom then just like she's not my mom now). I was gone for a long time.

My poor friend never spoke to me again after that night.

We were out in the woods, down by the river, when Blade spotted us.

Blade.

Abby had sent Blade to find me. And she and King were out combing the Lycan dens. They had even dug up some of their old connections in the vampire underworld trying to see if anyone had taken me.

Blade had taken to searching the city. He'd picked up our trail and followed us to the park. My friend shrieked like a banshee when he hit the ground behind us.

I tried to calm her down, but she was terrified and ended up running all the way home. Blade didn't have to say anything. He just glared at me from behind his sunglasses and turned, walking with long-legged strides back to the main sidewalk.

The command to follow wasn't vocalized. It was understood. And even I wasn't stupid enough to smart off to Blade (only King was dumb enough to do that).

We got back to the base, and Abby chewed my ass off. For a couple of days actually. She was so angry, she couldn't even look at me without turning red and popping a cork.

On some level, I guess it was comforting to know that Abby cared enough to spend all that effort searching for me (convincing Blade to come out to look for me must have taken some leverage). But on a totally different level, I wished she would just ease off.

I know, without any doubt at all, that if I blow Abby off today and go hang with Nessie and her giant Indian buddy, I'll get it. Big time.

I look at myself in my mirror after I'm dressed.

I don't know exactly why I bother. I don't know why Abby can piss me off so easy. I think I care about her. I mean, when she's not being a bitch, we kind of get along. And I know Mom wanted her to take care of me (though I don't like thinking of myself as some kind of duty). It's not like Abby can just kick me out or give me to some children's home. Not with what I know. By that same token, I don't know why I worry about whether Abby's pissed at me or not.

I grab my backpack and head for the stairs.

I'm lying to myself.

I want to stay with Abby and King and Blade. They're my family. They really are. We're screwed up. But we're family. And—most importantly—my mom trusted Abby. So, even though Abby isn't my mom, she's—damn. I guess she's the next best thing.

So I'll go to stupid frickin' school.

And I won't go see Nessie.

The kitchen smells great as I step inside. King's been busy. There are pancakes everywhere. Blueberry pancakes. My favorite.

He thinks he's so manly and tough, but he's a big softie.

Abby is sitting at the table, hiding behind one of the newspaper sections, but I can see her eyes shift toward me slightly as I enter.

There's really only one thing to do.

So I hug her.

She's always surprised when I do that, and it makes me feel like a real brat.

I'm not so self-absorbed that I don't realize I treat her like crap, in spite of everything she does for me. I mean, think about it. She's barely old enough to be a mother, and she has to be mine. Aren't too many people her age that would willingly take me on.

She doesn't say anything. Just pats my arms, gives me a little squeeze, and hands me a plate, which I eagerly thrust in front of King who loads it down with pancakes.

I feel guilty about promising to meet Nessie, but it's highly unlikely that she was even going to come anyway.

People like her don't hang out with people like me.

At least, that's what I'm going to keep telling myself.

* * *

I am not inclined to worry. It is not in my personality. Beside that fact, worrying really doesn't accomplish much, other than putting people in truly dreadful moods. I've often encouraged my mother and father not to worry about me, as I'm simply as strong as they both are (even though I don't really look it). But this morning, I believe I understand some of what their concern must feel like.

The sun has risen.

My parents have not returned from their late night outing.

This is unusual. Highly unusual. My parents are never tardy. They are always precisely on time.

They would not have remained outdoors after the sun began to rise. Their sparkling skin would give them away to the populace. That was the plan. Jacob and I go out in the day; mother and father go out at night.

It is nine o'clock in the morning. The sun has long since risen. Jacob is still asleep, snoring quite loudly in his room.

Something is wrong.

I want to wake Jacob up, but it would be highly inappropriate for me to walk into his room unannounced. Who knows what state of undress I might find him in? The thought makes me blush.

I sit at the kitchen bar and star out over the city skyline, watching the sun crawl higher into the pale sky.

I don't want to bother Jacob. I know that he will jump up and do whatever I ask him to do (he's just like that), but if I am merely exercising my humanity in feeling this sense of apprehension, I'd rather not wake him. But—if something has happened to mother and father?

I stand up and face the window, as close as I can get. The glass radiates the early morning chill.

My parents are virtually indestructible, physically (thanks to my father's extraordinary fighting skills) and mentally (thanks to my mother's ability to shield her mind and the minds of those around her). Not to mention my father's own gift at reading minds. They would be a difficult pair to conquer in any kind of assault.

Therefore it is utterly human and silly of me to be worrying like this.

But I can't help it.

And all I can think about is what my father told me some time ago. I was younger—at least in body. My father was trying to explain why he and my mother could not go out in the daylight—why their skin sparkled like a million diamonds—and why they could never allow themselves to be seen by those who did not understand.

He was vague at best. He only spoke of a coven of vampires who lived in Italy who made the rules for the rest of us. Anyone who broke the rules had to be killed. And there really was only one rule. Keep the secret. Revealing ourselves is dangerous to not only our own coven but the rest of the covens in the world.

This one coven, the Volturi Father called them, are responsible for making sure the other covens behave.

But that's really all my father would say. I know there is more to the story. I can tell when he's not telling me something. The same with my mother. They are usually both very open with me, but neither of them would say much about the Volturi.

Keep the secret. That is the one rule. If my parents were somehow stranded outdoors and were unable to find shelter, they would break the one rule. The Volturi would find out. My parents would be destroyed.

The more I think of this, the more agitated I become. Until my heart is thudding wildly against my ribs.

I cannot contain a gasp as something crashes loud and heavy in Jacob's room. Moments later, he is flying out of his room, half-dressed and frantic.

"Nessie? What is it?"

I gape at him. He is bare-chested, and his shaggy black hair is unkempt.

"What is it?" he demands.

"I am—worried."

"About what?"

"My anxiety—woke you up?"

Jacob stops for a moment, allowing my query to settle in his mind.

Jacob and I are connected. I know that. Jacob refers to it as imprinting, but I am no fool as to what it could entail when I reach full maturity. Jacob, a Quileute wolf, has chosen me to be his life-partner. No matter whether that partnership takes the form of a marriage or as a deep friendship, Jacob will be by my side until he dies (which is not something I want to think about).

However, as closely linked as we are, I have never been able to rouse him from a solid sleep with merely my own emotions.

Curious.

But it is a curiosity that neither of us have time to ponder. Now that he is awake (albeit slightly less decent than modesty should allow), there is no more reason why I should keep my concerns from him

"Mother and Father have not returned."

By the look on his face, he is more discomfited than I.

"They wouldn't have stayed out this late," he said. "No way."

He ducked back into his room and with a great deal of shuffling about, he dressed himself fully.

"I'm going out to look for them," he said. "you're staying here."

"Jacob—"

"Don't argue, Nessie." He yanks a shirt over his head and steps out of his room. He sets his giant hand on the top of my head. "And—don't go out today."

My voice catches in the back of my throat as I suddenly remember the kind girl we met yesterday. Zoe. She would be waiting for us in Times Square at lunch time.

Jacob can read my face.

"Nessie." His voice is serious. "Don't go out today. Stay in until I find your parents."

"But—Zoe. She will think—"

"Doesn't matter what she thinks, Nessie." Jacob sets his hands on my shoulders and squeezes gently. "You have to stay safe. You have to stay here." He leans into my face. "Promise me, Nessie. That you'll stay here."

I nod. I don't know what else to do.

Then he's gone, and I'm alone in the penthouse.

I know that Jacob will be winding through the crowds of people, and I know what he will be looking for. The sharp, unmistakable, and (to him) unpleasant scent of a vampire. Following that scent will lead him either to my parents or to whoever has caused their tardiness.

I shall believe that my parents merely lost track of the time for once in their lives and that they are quite safe somewhere, submerged in each other's company so deeply that the possibility of my anxiety at their absence is far from their minds.

That is what I shall tell myself, however unlikely it may sound.

I have promised Jacob that I will stay here.

But the longer I stand at the windows and the higher the sun gets in the sky, the more I regret making such a promise. The phone isn't ringing. There is no one at the door. I am still alone.

Alone. I have never been alone. It is not a feeling I much appreciate.

For a moment, my thoughts stray to Zoe, my new friend whom I am supposed to be meeting in a few hours.

The decision in my mind is firm.

I will wait until lunch time. If I have heard nothing from mother or father or Jacob, I will go to Times Square.

Jacob will forgive me. I cannot leave Zoe standing alone waiting for us in the midst of this city. I cannot leave her alone.