Foster Finch was not a person who liked to be found.
He preferred to be in the shadows, and to remain anonymous. He had ever since he was a human, he had a talent for it. When you live in on the streets of old London, hounded by police and other unsavory characters, most of whom you owe money to, you learn how to hide yourself. You learn how to snatch the vendor's food right under their noses even when they could be staring right at you, and which alleys are good for hiding in if they do notice you.
Foster Finch was exceptionally good at hiding himself. The son of a prostitute and an unknown father, he had been born Benjamin Rack, but had taken to changing his name as often as it pleased him. The only time he had been found was the last time he was human, by a beautiful woman with amazingly bright red hair.
"You're almost as good as me," she had whispered, a smile playing on her luscious lips. "Took me three days to find you. Not bad for a human."
She stepped forward, and he found himself pressed against the alley wall. Her red eyes gleamed in the darkness, and Benjamin felt a brief moment of fear.
"What are you?" he asked nervously, his breath catching as her ice-cold hand felt his cheek.
"My name's Victoria."
Then her sharp teeth bit into his neck, and fire consumed his body.
Foster pulled his mind out of the past. No use thinking about it now. That woman he had only known for a month wasn't going to help him (not that he never did wonder what happened to Victoria).
He had only meant to pass through this small town from Canada to the Hollywood Hills (maybe not the safest place for a vampire, but it was always a place he wanted to visit), when that scent hit him like a slap across the face.
Charlotte, she had said her name was. And now she was like him, running around the forest, with a newborn's thirst and strength.
Foster remembered what these type of humans were called, from his brief time in the Volturi. Aro had called them singers, a human whose blood smelled much more intense to certain vampires. While he had heard tales, he had never experienced it for himself.
Now, he sat high up in the trees above the vampire group, watching along with them as Charlotte attacked and ate the animal carcass, like a flame-haired goddess of death.
She had been so close to eating those two humans, Foster fumed. Instead, that clan of vampires had to intervene. They must've also been the ones to have found Charlotte and taken her away. Damn it all, she had been stronger than he had anticipated, able to run away like she had. Another thing that he admired about this stranger.
Foster surveyed the others, tried to measure how much of a threat they were. They had strength in their numbers, but that was never something that Foster. Hiding was his talent, it was what went with him into his next life.
The one with bronze-colored hair could read minds, which was clear. Foster had felt him trying to read his own mind when he and the female had found Charlotte. But it was easy to hide his mind, it was when the mind-reader attempted to hear Charlotte's thoughts that Foster had to act. That's when he shielded her mind as well; it would take concentration and energy, but the less that he knew about Foster and Charlotte, the better.
Charlotte. Of course, the major problem. What was he supposed to do about her? By turning her, this random girl, he had potentially caused a mountain of other difficulties for himself. It had probably been too much to ask that she just quietly change into her amazing new form, and then Foster could take her away, somewhere. He looked back to the group, where Charlotte had finished her meal.
God, she was so beautiful now. She had been pretty enough when she was human, but like other vampires, the transformation had enhanced her, and changed her into something more wild-looking. With the blood on her lips, the fury in her eyes, Charlotte looked like the personification of feral. The few minutes he had to spend with her, Foster had been able to tell that Charlotte had some sort of dark past, she had done something that she was ashamed of. Her look of concentration as she painted, the way she bit her lip as she swirled the paintbrush the capture the ocean, the way she stared longingly at the waves, all endeared her to him.
How delicious, and just like a woman he used to know. What was she hiding? Who was she running from, as far away from home as she was?
Now, Foster watched from the trees, careful to keep himself hidden as she explained who had done this to her, and vowing to 'kick his ass' when she found him. How simple it could've been, if he hadn't let his thirst get the better of him. But her blood, the way it called to him, like a man on the edge of collapse being brought his salvation, had been too much to resist. The way it sang of darkness tasted and rejected, but curious all the same, had brought on the true beast that lingered beneath Foster's cold, hard skin.
The choice not to kill her had been an easy one. Why kill such beauty, such sorrow and regret from the past? Why not make it better, more lasting?
But he had gotten too excited, and got too rushed. How was he supposed to know about the wolves in the area? He would've smelled their stench from miles away, but Charlotte's blood had filled his senses, made him not think. It had only been after he had nearly drained her, let his venom fill her veins that he had noticed the stink approaching the abandoned hunting shack Foster had taken Charlotte. He had to leave her there, much as it pained him, had to lead the wolves away from her, then hopefully make it back it to her in time.
But he had underestimated her strength, and he had frightened her off, scared her right into the arms of people who would keep her away from him, and the darkness he could offer her. Their amber eyes were a dead giveaway of this. There were tales he had heard, of vampires refusing to drink human blood, and whose eyes had turned from the tell-tale red, to the gold.
If only she had drunk those two hikers dry, then Charlotte's eyes would remain red. If Foster hadn't been so hasty, so unnaturally out of control, maybe they could've feasted together. If those damn wolves that the gold eyes seemed to be on good terms with hadn't shown up, maybe he could've learned of her past, convince her it was magnificent to see what you want and take it for your own.
But that wasn't what happened. Yet it still could. He jumped from limb to limb as Charlotte and two of the other women went to their home, following them. She wanted to see her uncle, who must been so worried about her. It made him smile, how human she still was. She still cared about her family; she didn't want them to worry.
What human he had still in him after all these years was what led him to the tree that stood outside her bathroom. He didn't spy on her like some pervert, just listened to the water running over her, her hitting the shower wall in anger, and finally to her tears. Foster sat on the branch, his back against the bark and listened to Charlotte cry, and felt a small measure of guilt. When she turned the water off, he listened as she got out and talked to the blonde woman, who gave her a dress to wear. He had to explain to her why she was a vampire now. Maybe if she understood, she'd come with him, come and take the world with him, fill it with blood and chaos. She just needed to give into her nature. And he'd help her with that.
