Fated to Bleed

"Carlisle, what have we done?" Esme choked, burying her face in starched, white cotton. Her body shook with inconsolable tremors and her eyes burned, stinging with the flood of tears that could never come. Desperate, she clung to him and breathed in, filling her lungs with the scent that always righted the world when it seemed tilted and broken. But instead of comforting her, the linen and sandalwood coming off of his stone flesh merely reminded her of their failure, and her knees buckled under the strain.

Carlisle wrapped his arms around his wife, pulling her as tightly into his chest as he had strength, trying, but not really knowing how, to relieve her tearless sobs and to hold her together. All he could muster were soft, shaky shushes because in reality, he felt like crumbling and was barely managing to stay upright himself. A thick knot settled at the base of his throat, stifling and suffocating his breathing. Forming actual words seemed to be impossible, unfathomable – as if he could think clearly enough to voice them anyway. The explanations and excuses they'd built years ago were now meaningless and hollow, and the entire family was sinking in the bogs of remorse and regret. And he had allowed it all to happen.

"I just don't understand why we can't go get her! I'll kill him myself!" Emmett growled, launching himself off the sofa in a burst of fury, frustration, and helplessness. Less than a second later, with a splintering crash, the nearest end table exploded against the far wall, and shards of wine-tinged rosewood rained down.

But no one moved. No one said anything, for they all were thinking the same, each one battling their own need to destroy something on Bella's behalf. The instinct was so strong, so visceral, pulling to act, to protect the girl they'd loved as their own and then foolishly abandoned under the pretext of her safety.

With no one to stop him, Emmett paced the room, a whiplash blur of denim and white, snarling curses and venom. The thick, corded muscles of his pale arms were drawn tight, standing out and rippling with each clench and unclench of his fists. Rosalie watched, mute and drowning, as her mate sped back and forth, not knowing how to contain him or soothe him.

Over and over, she replayed that tiny voice in her head that had betrayed them. Fear of losing them – her family, her Emmett, the only things worth anything to her in her immortal existence – had caused her to falter when she had desperately tried to hide her knowledge. For a split second, Bella had come to mind under the cold scrutiny of that Volturi guard. Despite Alice's constant reassurances that her slip gave him nothing he didn't already know, the weight of her treachery was crushing.

Esme looked up and whispered, "You know we can't! Alice said…" Her voice broke and at the sound of her desolation, Rosalie buried her face in her hands as a fresh wave of nausea tore through her midsection.

The first rush of calm barely touched the tension saturating the air. Emmett's pacing slowed only slightly, and from across the room, Carlisle shifted and laid his cheek against caramel tresses. Carlisle's eyes locked with Jasper's, acknowledging the prick of relief and he mouthed a quiet 'thank you'. But that wash of peace wasn't for them. The heaviness, the sheer mass of fear and anguish, was almost more than Jasper could withstand, and he'd reacted in self-preservation as much as in aid. Because more than all the others, the piercing sorrow and terror emanating from the woman rocking in his arms was excruciating, debilitating almost. Frantic to quiet her and pull her from her daze, he pushed out a second blanket of calm, one strong enough to sedate an army of newborns, strong enough that it sent Emmett to his knees and bent Rosalie at the waist.

"No," Alice rasped as her body went limp. "I've got to watch, Jasper. I have to watch."

Inside her mind, images flashed almost as fast as she could process them. It was so uncertain and the guard's mind had yet to settle on a course of action. Alice had watched her best friend die a thousand times and live only a handful. In some futures, she died quickly, almost painlessly. In others, her body broke but refused to die until drop by drop, the vampire with wild, dark copper hair drained her. The worst were in the beginning, when he'd kept her for weeks, ritualistically slicing her open, slowly bleeding her out. Bella's gurgling screams were earsplitting and Alice had nearly gone into convulsions. But they were helpless here, impotent, as they waited for something, for some answer, for one of those futures to cement, hoping that somehow, fate would permit that slim chance of survival. Because they had no other option; every time one of them decided to intervene, Bella died.

Jasper grimaced and anxiously swallowed, recalling with perfect vivid clarity Alice's chattering teeth and shuddering body as he held her last night. But he understood why she forced herself to look. So, layer-by-layer, he rolled back the tranquilizer until he felt Alice's body stiffen once more. Her lips immediately slackened, and her black, thirsty eyes glazed over as she stared at the picture of the dark haired human sitting on the coffee table in front of them, watching the future unfold.

Countless times, they all replayed the mistakes that had set them on this course. On a cloudy, gray-weather afternoon, they had arrived – three nomads, all wearing crimson for sight. The very gift that now held Alice in stasis had warned them of their arrival, and Alice and Rosalie had spirited Bella away in the nick of time. But the nomads still smelled her, detecting the thick, lingering cloy of her presence in their home. Their leader, a lanky, hard-bodied vampire with dirty blond hair caught her scent before they even walked through the door.

"A human?" the one called James hissed, his eyes darkening with every breath. "Here? We were under the impression that you Cullens abstained. At least that was the rumor. I see that I was mistaken. Apparently, we were all mistaken… Unless…?" An eyebrow arched and a wicked sneer spread across his lips.

A low, angry growl rumbled from Emmett's chest, loud and menacing enough that the nomads dropped to defensive crouches. Desperate to avoid a fight, Carlisle held his hands up in peaceable surrender and quickly motioned to his family, trying to calm them.

"Ah, yes," Carlisle started, loathing the words pouring from his mouth, but knowing that the lie was essential for Bella and for them. "We are not perfect. Regrettably, there was an accident."

James laughed, a cynical and mocking sound of dark amusement. "An accident? Is there such a thing? Pray tell, who amongst your coven couldn't live up to your rigid standards?"

Esme stepped forward, quickly glancing over to Emmett and placing her palm on the top of his shoulder. To outsiders, it looked as though she was soothing him, but in reality, her hand was there in restraint as she quietly answered, "Our daughter, Rose. Like my husband said, it was an accident."

The fire-haired nomad beside James narrowed her scarlet eyes and looked at the coven in front of her. In a high, too-sweet soprano, she cooed, "Such a shame. But where is Rose? Why is she not here with you at such an awful time?"

Carlisle inhaled and forced a friendly smile as his eyes darted to Jasper. "She's out hunting with our other daughter, Alice. They needed some time to themselves. To talk, you know, woman to woman."

The nomads' expressions were guarded, not believing the tale being spun. James chuckled, "Indeed. It's a good thing, though, Carlisle. My assumption was obviously in error. I thought that you might have taken on a pet, seeing as how you seem to love humans so much. And we all know that's against the rules. I'm glad I was wrong. It would have been a pity if word had reached Italy." He grinned and knowingly winked.

The hidden words were there, laid out as clearly as if James had spoken them aloud. Their ruse had failed. After the nomads departed, the family fell apart, split down the middle, half saying to run, the other half shouting to stay. Fleeing won out, and in the dark of night, they vowed to do the only thing they could to truly protect Bella from the wrath of the Volturi, other than to change her: to disappear, to vanish such that there would be no trace linking them to her. But even that had failed.

"No," Alice cried, cringing into Jasper's chest. "No, no, no!"

~.~.~

"Where are you originally from?" Bella asked softly, as she wrapped a loose string tight around the top knuckle of her forefinger. As she uncurled it, she could feel the rush of cut-off blood coursing down through her finger and into the flat of her palm. It tingled, a faint sting of pain that diverted her mind from the tired ache spreading through her limbs. Her entire body was stiff; her muscles and joints screamed for movement after having been tensely locked for so many hours. Never had she been so still for so long. All day she'd sat, knees drawn to her chest, in her corner of her couch as she hoped to distract the vampire across from her, trying to buy time or maybe even to change Edward's mind.

Motionless but for his eyes, Edward roamed her face, still perplexed by the strange calm this human exuded. For hours he'd peppered her with random questions, devouring every scrap of information she provided. And for some reason, he'd allowed her to do the same. He humored her, despite knowing her intent; in truth, it was amusing that she believed that by chatting, she could fend off the inevitable.

But it felt strange – different – conversing with someone other than his brothers, and more so because every word from Isabella's – or, Bella's, as she'd irritably corrected him – mouth was a surprise, never what he anticipated. For once, Edward had to pay attention, taking cues from tones and shifting features, and as much as he preferred not to admit it, conversation with her was mildly addicting. Of course, after those brief moments in which he managed to forget his thirst, it always came roaring back, a fire with a life and brute strength of its own, as if it were trying prove that the vampire inside would always have his way.

Coolly, Edward answered, watching for the telltale tics of her lips and eyes and brows. "Chicago. But I've spent almost a century in Italy."

Bella's brows lifted with the mention of Chicago. She hadn't told him that she had lived there herself for four years before moving to New York. She pondered just how different the city had been when he lived there. Bella wondered what his life had been like, trying to reconcile the sudden image of softer, fuller features decorated in early-century finery. But then she processed his second declaration – a century of life in Italy, in Volterra – and she questioned what home would be like for a regiment of vampires. She didn't think that the Volturi lived like her Cullens.

"So, you've always been… what did you call it? A guard?"

His chin dipped slightly in acknowledgment, disarmed by the change in inquiry. The wheels were turning, but he couldn't see the direction. The word sounded strange coming off her lips, as if she disapproved. Automatically, his gaze flew from her face to the nearest table lamp, gilded and ornate, too similar to those that lit the dark limestone chamber where he'd feasted thousands of times. A whispering voice in the back of his mind startled him, coming to life and hissing the words he'd spoken the last time he'd killed in that room, Mi dispiace… Io sono il diavolo…

Softer than before, Edward answered, "Always. Since the time I awoke. I remember very little from before that time. When my eyes opened, they opened to stone walls and dark tunnels."

Bella was shocked that he was so forthcoming. But hidden just below the surface, there was a hint of sadness or… longing in his eyes and in the velvety timbre of his voice, a sense of quiet anguish that she couldn't explain. It reminded her of the emptiness that had consumed her for so many years. Propelled by the lapse in his façade, she pressed, "What is that like? Do you like your… job? Is that even the right word for it?"

Pulled from his moment of reverie, Edward couldn't help but chuckle under his breath. "I suppose you could call it a 'job', though it's more like indentured servitude. Once you are part of the Volturi, leaving is… not really an option." He glared at the floor and sighed, running his hand through his hair in an oddly human mannerism. "There have been a few, but it is rare and far between. Most of my kind would kill – do kill – for a chance at my position." Il Principe Della Notte…

The longing Bella thought she'd heard was replaced by what could only be described as bitter irony. "You…you are like… a slave? You don't really have a choice?"

Edward snorted, both intrigued and annoyed by the accuracy of her acuity. "We all have choices, Isabella, but choices inevitably come with consequences. For example, what we're doing now – talking – is not really in my best interest. My assignment was to kill you and be done with it."

"So, if you don't kill me?" A lead ball dropped in her stomach.

Coldly, with precise articulation, he snapped, "I would not entertain that hope, if I were you. But hypothetically speaking, if I were to choose to allow you to live, I would be hunted down."

"And?" Bella breathed, clenching her eyes tightly shut, walling up her pitiable defenses.

He tapped a finger to his bottom lip in contemplation. "I'm not one hundred percent certain, but if it were up to Caius and Caius alone, I'd be burned to ash for my disobedience. It's possible that even when I do kill you, if he were to learn of my actions beforehand, he'd order my death – just for this conversation alone. Ms. Swan, I don't think you've grasped the gravity of your research."

"Caius," Bella repeated as the rest of his words faded. She turned the name over in her mind and then again on her lips. She remembered that name. Faintly, buried in black ink and old parchment, she'd seen that name. "He's one of the three?"

Edward eyed her inquisitively, thawing, impressed that yet again that she'd unearthed so much about their world unaided. Carefully, he affirmed, "Indeed. Tell me, where did you come across this information?"

"Books. Mostly, a book," she answered. "A book of paintings. It was… where I found Carlisle, too."

"Paintings?" Edward asked, incredulous. He gripped the armrest beside him too roughly and his fingers sank through the leather.

"Yes," she explained. "It was an obscure compendium – very old and very unused – filled with Solimenas and even older Pretis. There were portraits there – three men on thrones."

"You mean to say that you found out about the Volturi in a book of paintings?" Edward laughed. So quietly, she couldn't be certain that she heard him correctly, he mused, shaking his head in disbelief, "Their vanity knows no bounds."

"Not exactly, but that's where I found the faces," she murmured, unconsciously fingering through her hair. "Re Della Notte…"

Edward's laughter abruptly stopped. Hearing his thoughts echoed in her voice, lilting and hugging the words in an approximated accent, he sucked in a sharp, too-deep breath of perfumed air. Scorching, unrelenting heat tore through his nostrils and down his esophagus. His chest was ablaze, burning as hot as the fire of transformation. Wincing from the onslaught, he swallowed the gush of venom, trying to suppress the urge to attack.

Nervously, Bella watched as his eyes darkened, not understanding the near-instantaneous change in his demeanor. Even from across the room, she could see the black shadows inching across his sight, extinguishing blazing crimson. It was startling the way she could no longer distinguish pupils from irises, instead seeing only opaque rocks of coal set deep into snow white. She had seen thirsty vampires before, but never like Edward, never like this, and the low rumble in his chest turned her blood to ice water.

"What did I do?" she whispered, frightened that if she spoke too loudly, it would only provoke him more.

Edward's fingers curled into tight fists and his teeth gritted, biting back the wave of bloodlust. Had he a mirror, he knew what he would have seen. There was no question that he looked feral, like a starved cat eyeing the weak gazelle. For hours he'd withstood her fragrance, hours of sucking in the most enslaving substance in heaven or hell. And it had been too long since he'd fed. Normally, he could go for weeks between feedings if needed, but after so many hours of being submersed in the ambrosial redolence of flowers and copper and perfection, his strength crumbled, falling away bit by bit, leaving nothing but a skeleton of restraint.

"I need to feed," he rasped, as ash and fire scraped his throat.

Their eyes locked, black to sable, as a moment of terrified uncertainty passed between them. Bella's eyes narrowed as she processed the meaning of his words.

"Now?" she exhaled, reeling. Adrenaline spiked through her veins as she envisioned razor sharp teeth piercing her flesh. Every muscle in her body twitched with an unconscious pull of self-preservation, the need to flee so strong that she could almost taste her fear. But instead, a secret, normally silent part of her told her to sit stone still; it willed her not to run. In the roll of Edward's shoulders and flex of his fists, she recognized the alpha predator hidden in the face of humanity, and she saw the undeniable instinct to take down a weaker prey flash across his features.

Edward slowly rose from the sofa, his body uncurling and standing taller than he'd ever seemed. He looked stronger, leaner, menacing – absolutely lethal. With his dark clothes and lithe musculature, he looked like a panther ready to spring.

Bella could hear the wet rasp of her breath, shallowly pulsing through her nostrils. Like before, however, defying all logic, she could never deny that he was the most beautiful creature she'd ever seen. It was almost hypnotic.

Watching his jaw tighten, deep in the pit of her stomach, buried beneath the immediate fear, a resonating chord struck, a humming thrum of recognition that she couldn't describe. In some twisted death wish, her fingers twitched, wanting to stroke his skin, to trace the hard lines of his face and the smudges of purple-gray ash in the hollows of his eyes. Her lungs longed to inhale his scent once more, recalling the chill and sweetness of his breath. Something, some flicker of an image – a dark hooded cloak, a shock of bronze on white – tickled her memory and a sliver of her panic retreated.

"Then do it," she goaded through clamped teeth, unexpectedly stretching her neck up and to the side in offering.

Edward's eyes shot wide and drew a bead to the rhythmic thump of pale flesh. Blurred by the tint of bloodlust, he saw a dozen emotions playing across her face, a mesmerizing symphony of unspoken and indecipherable feelings. He nodded stiffly but then shook his head, squeezing his lungs shut, afraid to speak. For if he breathed again, he was certain that he could never resist her. The urge to take her was stronger – if that were even possible – than it had been in the night when his mouth had hovered just over her pumping jugular. Only now the smack of her heartbeat was like a stampede in his ears, so loud and so fast that he could barely hear anything else over its chant. And he could see it flowing. His tongue darted out, sampling the air, slick with venom and want.

But he wasn't through with her and his mind spun. There were thoughts behind her challenge that he couldn't read, and he wanted to know why her eyes suddenly warmed and why she drew her lip between her teeth. He wanted to devour all of her – mind, mouth, blood, and tears.

"Not yet," Edward growled, furious at her fearless taunt as he flung himself into the mouth of the hallway in a streaking smear of black, pale, and bronze. Back against the wall, hoarse from restraint, he grated, "Stay here, Isabella. Do not bother running. You know that I can and will find you. It will make me very angry if you force my hand."

A soft click echoed in the room, loud and intrusive in the sudden stillness. Bella glanced around, dumbfounded and uncertain, not comprehending what had just occurred. As she replayed his words, hearing the gravel and grit marring its velvet, her skin pebbled and a shudder rolled down her spine.

Edward was gone. He left to feed.

Adrenaline and her confidence crashed with a deafening roar, and a relieved sob ripped through her chest as she realized that she was still alive and that she was alone.

.

.

A/N:

Translations (Italian):

Mi dispiace… Io sono il diavolo… - I'm sorry... I am the devil...

Il Principe Della Notte… - Prince of the Night

Re Della Notte - Kings of the Night