For Anna Mei's birthday. Hope it's awesome :)
Chapter Nine
"Jake, calm down."
"Calm!" The word exploded out on an incredulous breath.
Jacob watched Sam with barely suppressed rage as the elder man folded himself and sat cross-legged on the grass, staring up at the full moon. There was nothing in the unerringly restrained features to indicate Sam's unhappiness, or that anything in life was troubling him at all.
"Why is it that the people who are always insisting that I stay calm," Jacob questioned, only just biting back the scathing words he wished to shout, "are the fools who managed to anger me in the first place?"
"You are not helping Isabella Swan by constantly losing your temper, are you?" Sam said in that infuriatingly sensible tone Jacob had come to hate.
Jacob pointed an accusatory finger at him. "You are not helping Bella at all!"
"I can understand your desire to right your—our—mistakes, Jacob."
It seemed the entire transformation had been a mistake from the start. Jacob hadn't asked to become a werewolf. He'd thought himself deathly ill when the thermometer had registered him at well over 110 degrees. His skin had been practically scalding to the touch. Yet he himself was so cold. His teeth chattered so hard, after two days he was unable to speak. Billy had been there, fending off well-wishing visitors and holding his hand. Then there was pain, so intense…
A mistake. That's what the entire ordeal had been reduced to.
Brown eyes blazed. "You can sit there so totally unaffected by all of this. You don't know anything! You cannot possible understand what I feel!"
A sudden look of understanding dawned on Sam's face. "So that is what this is about."
"What?"
"I 'cannot understand what you feel.'" Sam scoffed looking vaguely disgusted. "Do you think me that simple? She is what you feel. You have feelings for this girl, do you not?"
Jacob's mouth worked for several seconds before any intelligible phrase was heard. "I—Just a—what would make you say that?"
Sam merely glanced at him. "I am engaged to Emily, Jake, but it was not always that way."
Jacob sat beside Sam, glaring at his boots. "I have only met her once or twice, and always in the presence of both our fathers." The words seemed to jar Jacob into the fact that he wasn't on good terms with his father, for he stopped talking.
"I loved Emily the first moment I saw her." Sam had a small smile on his face. Jacob aimed his gaze in the direction of Sam's and found himself staring at nothing. "She is so beautiful. My father had once told me that we—" He paused to point at Jacob and himself. "—we may never marry nor have children because of what we are. Because not many women would ever endure the madness that we become."
Jacob wriggled slightly on the spot with tradition male discomfort at discussing his feelings. "So, what happened?" he asked, curious despite himself.
"Emily is different. She is just…different from everything I ever imagined." Sam grinned boyishly. "I have never been so happy that my father was wrong."
Jacob blinked. "I do not think that I could ever care so much about another person that I could forgive them being a monster."
Sam flinched visibly. Then his calm demeanor fell back into place. "Things are not always as they seem, Jacob." He smirked at the sky. "Storybooks, for instance, dictate that we should be howling at the moon and attacking villagers. I don't feel particularly bloodthirsty, do you?"
A small smile tugged at Jacob's lips. "Not really."
"In fact, the full moon is when we are at our most controlled. Ironic, is it not?" Sam grinned at Jacob who was still fighting back laughter.
"It's the same with love. There are times when you expect one thing, and find another thing entirely."
Waves of panic washed over Jake. "I do not l-love her! I am worried." He closed his eyes and shuddered. "I am terrified for her. The very thought that she may at this moment have become a meal…" He broke off and shook his head.
He loves her, Sam confirmed with a slight, sad smile. "Working yourself into a fit does nothing for her or you, Jacob."
Jacob nodded, feeling a little sick. "I will work on controlling my temper."
"It's time I headed home. You know, I just I might be able to…convince Emily to make pancakes." He waggled his eyebrows. "You will join the rest of the pack for breakfast tomorrow morning." It was not a question, but Jacob nodded in subservience.
Sam, taking his cue, rose fluidly and left Jacob to his thoughts. It was only after he had gone that Jacob whispered the words, "For Bella."
Nothing. There was absolutely nothing.
Then it was as if two hands had grabbed his arms and dragged him somewhere else. His mind flashed back to a small vision of himself as a young child, his hair as unruly as ever, perched on his father's knee.
"Alright Edward, are you ready for another riddle?"
"Yes!"
Edward, Sr. bounced a delighted little boy on his leg. "Let's see. Name something that smells, but has no nose."
Edward, Jr. thought for a moment. "An outhouse?"
His father laughed boisterously—something he did very rarely—casting a glance at the doorway to the kitchen. "Make sure your mother does not hear that, Ed."
Elizabeth Masen chuckled from her position in front of the stove where she was supervising the cook's stew. "I hear all, dear."
"Another!" clamored Edward, Jr. clapping his hands. His father scratched his head in mock-deep thought.
"Hmm. Alright. What is the one thing you can never do?"
Edward, Jr. looked at his mother. "Put my elbows on the table. Because Mama said so."
His mother beamed. "True, Ed, but I do not think that is what your father meant."
"No, son. You can never do nothing."
"Never do anything, Father," Edward responded automatically, the words not actually registering.
"No, I mean that it is impossible to do nothing. We are always doing something, even when we don't know it."
Where had that come from? He'd all but forgotten the faces and voices of his parents, but the vision was clear as if it had happened yesterday.
His father had been telling him a harmless riddle, but it was true. It was impossible to do nothing. You were always thinking or sitting or standing…
The vision jarred Edward to remember the presence of the human.
Incomprehensible, Edward thought, simply unfeasible. Thinking nothing was the same as doing nothing: unaccomplishable. How can someone be thinking of nothing? Was it remotely possible for even the most unintelligent being to not think?
There was instinct, he supposed, which could be classified as a temporary lapse of the mind. When a creature gave over to instinct due to hunger or fright or protectiveness, every sense was sharpened and even the bear-trap called the brain opened a bit more fully. Because survival required every bit of cunning and skill a creature could muster.
That must be it. Isabella Swan was functioning purely on instinct.
She was frightened, most certainly. There was the tell-tale drumming of her pulse and the unevenness of her breathing. Moreover he could almost see her teeth sinking nervously into the plump lower lip and her fingers trembled slightly.
If you backed a mountain lion into a corner, it would no doubt transform its terror into adrenaline which turned into instinct.
Isabella Swan was the proverbial mountain lion.
But what was she thinking?
Bella looked up to find him staring at her intently. Almost immediately, her heart accelerated even more and her breathing staggered. She had the ridiculous urge to swipe her cheek for any dirt. But he wasn't looking quite so much like she was…undesirable, or even strange.
It suddenly occurred to her that she was being studied.
"Am I to suppose you, too, find me interesting?" she asked with a hint of malice. The word was seriously beginning to bother her. Interesting: it was a word one used when one read a particularly boring book. Or surveyed an abysmal portrait. Or tasted some truly lumpy porridge.
Human beings weren't meant to be interesting. Temperamental, yes. Eccentric, caring, kind, rude, fine. But there was so great a margin of error with the word interesting because there was no tried and true method to discovering the real meaning behind it.
How could one speak without thinking? Edward seethed. The words didn't fully register so much as the fact that she had said them.
Frustrated beyond belief, Bella questioned more loudly, "And I shall be ostracized as well as starved in my stay as your guest?"
Bella's mouth seemed to have a will of its own. Did it know how much she wanted to be away from here? And here it was practically begging to stay! She wanted to clap her hands securely over it until she could be certain it would behave.
"Starved?" Edward blinked in astonishment, truly seeing her since the first she had begun to speak. Humans eat; he should have known. How often, what exactly, where…the details were fuzzy. The only thing he remembered was that when a human was hungry, there was a strange pull from their stomachs that alerted them to the fact. It was nothing like the burning ever-present in the back of his throat that only intensified as time wore on. Still, he had promised…"You are hungry then, Miss Swan?"
Bella gave him a look she usually reserved for Michael Newton. "That is the conventional definition of the word."
Interesting was not strong enough a word to describe her, Edward thought with a dull sense of fascination. She was…incredible. He had yet to figure out whether that was a good or bad thing.
"I do not know that we shall be able to locate any food for you." He seemed to break off into his own thoughts, leaving Bella even more perturbed.
"Do you not eat in this house at all, then?"
The flicker of warmth in Edward's stare died. His topaz eyes almost glowed. "Our diet would not interest you." There was such finality behind his words that Bella flinched.
They stared at one another for so long Bella felt her eyes begin to water. She told herself it was some kind of spell, one that made her incapable of looking away. As a young girl, she had believed in magic: of fairies and pixies and things that could appear and just as quickly disappear. It was a stage she had only halfway outgrown. And if there was someone who had magic dancing in the air around him, it was this man.
She was certain that in the fraction of a second it would take for her to blink, he could be gone.
It was startling, scary, and astounding to realize that she didn't want him to.
"I apologize."
The words were out before Bella even realized she was saying them. Why did they seem so inadequate? Why was she apologizing in the first place?
Edward appeared even more bewildered by her speech than she. "For what?"
"I…don't really…know," Bella replied slowly.
Edward felt…tired. He leaned against the wall and stared at her confused face.
It could be an act. She would have to be and exceptional actress. Her emotions were not that of a normal human girl. He was well-read enough to expect the screams of terror and pleas to be released.
Isabella Swan was another animal entirely.
Bella tilted her head to the side. What could he be doing? After everything she had endured in this house, she could only expect that he was restraining himself from hurting her to keep his word.
But why? If he injured her severely enough, he could make her stay there indefinitely. Unless he truly did need her for something he wasn't giving details about…
"Who are you?" Edward demanded angrily, taking no heed to the startled gasp she gave. How could this girl be human? Even human minds were much easier to break through, regardless of his not-so-recent lack of experience.
That was it. She wasn't human. His rational side argued that if it looks like, smells like, walks like—and for that matter, probably tastes like—a human, then it was. And yet he himself was a living exception to that rule.
"You have addressed me by my name," Bella stated in confusion. "How can you be unaware of who I am?"
Her innocence and his lack of patience for it only served to anger him further. "I will ask you once more, Miss Swan. Who are you?"
"Nothing more or less than what you see before you," she answered in a tremulous voice, quailing in the heat of his stare.
"That cannot be." Over a century, Edward thought, and she is the first mind I cannot touch.
That's it! Bella mused with excitement. I am not what he expected. I may leave!
For the first time, she dragged her eyes away from his face. His clothes both intrigued and worried her. Seamstresses in Forks kept catalogues of old clothes for inspiration every now and again, but…his clothes were practically antiques…
They were so beautifully tailored. Gray fall front trousers coupled with a short-waisted double breasted dress coat, both of which fit him impeccably. She could see the high collar of his white shirt, seeming a shade darker than his skin.
There had been no question of his wealth from the very beginning. Or that he was older than he appeared. He was so refined. And she was…not.
"Am I to suppose you find me interesting, Miss Swan?" Edward quipped, throwing her words back at her.
He would have given heaven and earth to have even the briefest of glimpses into her mind. He felt…burnt, yes that was the word—burnt from her gaze sweeping over his aged clothes. There was curiosity lurking in those chocolate-brown eyes. He could feel her need to question, burning almost as hot as the sharp scrape of his thirst.
Then she blushed.
His body had a mind of its own. Edward was powerless to stop himself from avidly watching pink color flood into her pale cheeks. He had no control of his senses. Battling his thirst, he allowed himself one whiff of her scent…
It was impossible to remember, impossible to forget. It was nothing like what he had smelled before, and yet it was so familiar.
"You mock me, sir," Bella replied quietly. "I see we have two very different impressions of the definition of the word 'guest'."
He needed to leave. Now, before the thirst had a grip on him again. His footfalls were doggedly calm though, as not to alert her to his situation. "You will remain here—in this room—until I come for you, once more," Edward said tightly.
No! She was through being prisoner and was tired of being intimidated because of her lack of beauty. "I will leave this room if I so wish," Bella said firmly, staring into the black pools.
It was a blatant challenge. The monster in him wanted to show her what exactly would happen should she disobey his orders; another side of him wanted to question her, until every tiny, niggling little curiosity was satisfied.
He opted for neither. "Be my 'guest', Miss Swan." Edward's hand closed almost bruisingly on the door handle as he braced himself against it, seeking strength. "Good night."
"WAIT!"
Bella's hand was up, its fingers slightly unfurled as though she were trying to grasp something. "It appears that you know almost everything about me."
Edward wanted to scream. He knew nothing about her! Couldn't she see that that very fact was killing him?
"But I…I do not even know your name," she finished.
"Edward," he said shortly, and left the room.
Silly Bella, don't be afraid of the dark. It was Charlie's voice, echoing in her head from years ago.
"I am not afraid of the dark," she murmured quietly to herself. "I am afraid of what lives in it."
The floor was too hard for her to find a comfortable position for more than a few minutes. There was a long circle of bare floor where her restless body had uprooted the thick dust. Bella rolled over onto her stomach and tried to ignore the pain now in her hipbones where they connected with the floor.
A fleeting thought of the voluminous bloomers more well-to-do ladies had flashed through her mind and brought a faint blush to her cheeks. Beneath her nightgown, she had only a thin pair of pantalets, which did little to cushion her body from the unyielding ground.
She rolled onto her back.
Edward. He was…infuriating! What had possessed her to think that she should remain in this house for another second? How could she possibly successfully escape from here unscathed?
The man—Edward—he wasn't planning on letting her leave anytime in the near future, no matter what he said. She should have…she could have…
Bella sighed. Hindsight is always the most clear of visions.
The moon had been obscured by heavy cloud cover, and Bella was alone in the dark.
No, not alone. Because any one of these people—including Edward—could come in when she was at her most vulnerable and…
She wouldn't let her thoughts stray that far. She'd be of no use to herself if she was too scared out of her right mind to think clearly.
A thought finally dawned on her. It was late at night…even these people must sleep.
If she could be quiet enough, she might be able to make her way to the door, find Phil, and leave!
The pain of Bella's throat and stomach was muffled by her sudden burst of energy. Her hand shuffled along the nearest wall, searching for the indentation of a door.
Was that—no, just a bump…Aha! The door! But where in God's name was the handle?
She moved her hand up and down the door, biting her lip in her efforts to stay silent. Pessimistic notions nagged at her. What if the door was locked? What if it was too heavy for her to get open? What if—
But then her shaking fingers grasped the handle and tugged.
The door swung open soundlessly.
If possible, it was even darker outside her room. Bella raised her hands, feeling blind, and held them in front of her.
She probably looked ridiculous. If not, then she felt ridiculous. It was like being a newborn pup, blinder than a bat and twice as clumsy. Lord knew she didn't need any other impediment considering her uncanny ability to stumble on even ground.
Something hit her stomach hard. Air whooshed out of her. Bella's hands felt the horizontal column of wood. Patting it gently, she dragged her hands down and confirmed her suspicions.
A banister. Possibly one that railed off the staircase…
Right. She'd go right. If she was wrong, she could just double back and—
Bella's hand fell off the end of the banister. Turning slightly to her left, she inched out a toe, feeling for the drop-off to the first step.
She miscalculated.
Bella's foot slipped on the dust coating the stair. Her mind was already bracing for the first blow to her tumble down the staircase. Her mouth was already opened in an O to scream. Her body tensed and fell no more than a few millimeters before she felt arms like steel grasp her from behind.
"You are a bright girl, Miss Swan. Brighter than I expected."
"We will resume your training immediately, Rowena."
If Magna expected a negative reaction to her words, she didn't get it. Her eye wandered over the delicate features of her first-born with approval. She had been taught well, Magna thought with more than a little pride. Rowena had become adept at concealing her emotions at a very young age.
Born to be royalty. Magna gave the equivalent of a mental smirk. It is lucky she was born well before her sister.
Magna had long ago stopped wondering whether Narmelie would have been a good ruler. There was no doubt in her mind that her youngest daughter was bull-headed and had much too quick a temper to ever be of any use to the kingdom.
"Of course, Mother," Rowena replied smiling sagely. It was a smile Magna had come to adore; one that meant Rowena was prepared to do anything and everything she was asked to.
"I imagine you shall be an incredibly well-liked queen. The applause from the banquet tonight was nearly deafening."
Rowena nodded dutifully and asked, "Would you like more tea, Mother?"
Magna sighed, holding out her golden teacup. "Being queen, Rowena is…like holding a chicken's egg in you hand." She sipped at the hibiscus tea before continuing. "You, of course, know how…delicate and egg can be. One small slip and it breaks, irreparable. A queen holds the power in her kingdom. She can very well seek to destroy the egg and accomplish it, or she can watch it bloom into something wondrous before her eyes."
Rowena's teacup sat untouched, her eyes trained on Magna's face, unlined still after more than four thousand years of life. Hibiscus had always made her unbearably sleepy; as always, it was imperative to keep her wits about her when talking with her mother.
"A good queen will always do what is best for her kingdom. Come hell or high waters, Rowena, when you are queen, the kingdom comes first. No matter what."
What could she be thinking? Rowena could almost see the gears in Magna's head turning, but had no clue about their end result.
"Your sister does not understand this," Magna said sadly.
Shock registered on Rowena's face before she had the opportunity to conceal it. Magna almost never mentioned Narmelie, much less to Rowena.
"Mel—Narmelie is intelligent, Mother. Of course she understands," Rowena said gently while her mind moved at lightning pace. Magna did everything for a reason, usually one that happened to satisfy her current goals. That's why Rowena had no doubt that her casual mention of Narmelie was not without cause.
Magna's face, innocently cheerful, went bland. "Familial loyalties aside, Rowena Rose, we both know if I thought her even mildly intelligent, I would have said so." Magna sighed in practiced disappointment. "She is not at all what I hoped my daughters would be."
Uh-oh. Rowena went on high alert, searching for hidden meanings in her mother's words.
"I do not think that being a princess agrees with her, do you?"
Magna's crimson eyes bored into the identical ones of her daughter. "I think Narmelie is a wonderful princess. Kind, charming—everyone adores her," Rowena said firmly, looking into her mother's eyes bravely.
Truly, her heart was hammering.
"Never an unkind word about anyone. That's my Rowena." Magna patted her cheek, all smiles again. "But even you cannot deny that Narmelie needs a…change of pace. Indefinitely."
Rowena's heart stopped. If Melly had hated Rowena before, her hate would become unspeakable if she was stripped of one of the only things she held dear: her title.
"Unless," Magna said, scooping another spoonful of sugar into her tea, "you concentrate on you duties instead of focusing on those vampires in the mortal realm."
This is what she'd been getting at this entire time. There was no other explanation. Magna knew well of the unspoken rivalry between the sisters: how Narmelie was ever setting her sights on being better than Rowena, and how Rowena was struggling to meld broken fences.
"You're threatening me. With my own sister," Rowena observed dully, pushing her still-full teacup to arms length.
Yes. Magna's lips turned up at the corners. "Not threatening. Promising. One must place her kingdom before all else, Rowena-dear. Its time you finally learned that."
Rowena felt the taste in her mouth go sour. "If I agree to…cease my aid in the Cullen situation, then…" She had to swallow. "Narmelie remains a princess."
Magna beamed. "Precisely, my dear. You see, I told you you were the intelligent one."
Rowena closed her eyes and nodded, feeling her conscience battling two wars. She had promised to be of service to the Cullens, who had committed no wrong. Now, she was being forced to go back on that promise to salvage the happiness of a sister who hated her. And Magna knew well exactly what she was doing to her eldest daughter. Molding her, shaping her to become a replica of herself.
Magna's teacup fell with a crash. Rowena barely opened her eyes to see its owner fall out of the high backed chair as well, spasming violently on the floor.
"Mother!" Rowena whispered hoarsely, fighting to hold down her mother's limbs. Magna's eyes were a stark white and her lips were on their way to being blue. "Help! Someone help!"