The Afterword
The king with the long black hair silently stood from his golden throne, his brothers – one bright blonde, one terribly silent – mirroring his stance either side of him.
His silken hair shifted over his shoulders as he leant forward to hiss at the largest of his Guard – Felix – "You tell me they have escaped?"
The large vampire bowed, "Yes."
The strike that the black-haired king bestowed on the other vampire's face rang out through the large marble-clad throne room.
The king hissed again, "Tell me something to redeem your worth."
"We have the God of War."
A broad smile split the king's face, "Bring him."
The tall, wooden doors to the throne room opened slowly with loud twin groans, to reveal an emaciated vampire with long blonde curls and who had his wrists and ankles clad in manacles made from metal and the ashes of burned vampires.
The large vampire, Felix, pulled him forwards and pushed him to his knees at the bottom of the two marble steps that led up to the kings' thrones.
"Aro," the prisoner murmured, not moving his black and defiant gaze from the king's face. "Caius. Marcus."
The king smiled softly, holding out his palms in a friendly gesture, "This need not be painful. Simply, tell me where they are."
"Who?" The prisoner smirked.
With a flick of his wrist, the king sent a small blonde girl out from the shadows behind his and his brothers' thrones and towards the prisoner.
"Isabella Cullen and her mate, the maniac," the king said quietly, his tone dangerous.
The prisoner just grinned.
Another flick of his wrist and the girl who had been brought forward sent waves of pain throughout the prisoner's body, using only her mind.
"Tell me," the king growled lowly. "She cannot be allowed to turn the clown – his mind is too twisted to be strengthened and turned immortal."
The prisoner laughed as his muscled were heated with excruciating pain, making his body writhe on the marble floor.
"He…" He gasped in between his laughs. "He'll… He'll bring the house down."
His words rang through the silent and cavernous room.
"And she…" The prisoner laughed, his eyes twinkling, "She'll bring the madness."
The King growled and launched himself at the prisoner, grasping the man's hand to read his mind with his gift that only worked with skin-on-skin contact – the King's eyes widened at the twisted passages and the dark and gloomy memories that were so difficult to see.
"What have you done to yourself?" The King asked, horror colouring his tone rather than anger.
"I gave into it," the prisoner replied.
At that moment a figure alighted in a stone archway at the bottom of a staircase, behind the three golden thrones of the Volturi kings – it was a woman; her face fine, her hair straight and black, and her curves clothed in a floating, gauzy material.
A dark angel.
The female vampire's milky-red eyes looked around the room, taking in the scene, and then fell upon the prisoner – when their eyes met, the prisoner smiled again.
"And I won't be the last."
The woman arched and spun, stretching muscles that didn't need to be stretched – she simply enjoyed the feel.
The forest surrounded her on all sides, the ferns brushing dew across the bottom of her dark purple dress and the sun shining through the leafy canopy above her head making her skin shimmer and sparkle.
But it wasn't all nature around her – two hours away was a large and industrial city, and a few minutes away lay a simple wooden cabin.
The woman's face turned to it, listening to her lover's heartbeat – her dark red eyes shone with happiness, but sparkled with something infinitely different.
He was dying.
Her bare feet moved without her permission, her eyes were wide and unblinking as the dark brown cabin came into view between the bright green trees, and her ears didn't need to strain to hear the failing beating in her human lover's chest.
The wooden door of the cabin was warm beneath her fingers from the sun shining on it all morning, but it wasn't the warmth that she had missed for the past three days.
She was a ghost as she flitted to the small, wooden-splinter-covered bedroom – in which was a battered bed with fingernail gouges and parts missing from the wooden frame.
On the bed lay a naked man.
His skin was pale but subtly shimmering in the light that filtered through the dirty glass of the bedroom window, and the woman smiled as she looked over his slim but toned body – his hair had not been washed, but it still shone like pale gold.
"Still beautiful," she murmured to herself in her vampiric, musical tone.
His face was twisting in pain, his hands were fisting the bare mattress on which he laid, and his heart was taking its last bow.
The woman's chocolate curls slipped over her bare shoulders, as she leant over the bed to let her face hover above his – she let her scent and the smell of the forest that clung to her drift over him. He had told her, the night that they discussed his turning, that he loved the smells combined, and it was the only reason she had left his side to go out into the greenery in the first place.
He had said that if she woke him up with those scents, he would let her change him against his better judgement and wishes.
"Mad-man," she breathed above him, smiling fondly.
His heart thumped once more and then stopped.
The Joker was truly dead.
Bella let one fingertip trace its way across his cheeks, where his scars would have still been had her venom not perfected his skin.
His lips curved and a smile resembling the one that had been cut upon his human face broke out across his immortal one.
She had one word for him, "Hungry?"
Finis
Author's note: