Twi-Fic

Suggested Listening: Gin Wigmore: Kill of the Night

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


La Donna Isabella


Prowling through the dark, cobblestone alley, her mark follows close behind. He watches the sway of her hips, entranced in the seductive fantasy of promises she whispered at the bar.

Isabella chooses a place along the old, stucco and brick wall, shrouded in enough shadows to keep the curious onlookers at bay. Pausing, closing her eyes, she listens for his cues. His steps cease, the heat radiating from his body warms her back, his breathe billows over the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck. Now, she simply waits for her prey to brush up against her—the hairpin trigger that separates the woman from the predator. Her heart rate accelerates in anticipation, her nerves twitch—begging her to turn on him, but the timing isn't right. Not yet. Because no matter what he's done, she can't take what's his until he touches her.

His hands graze her arms, the feather-light tickle coaxes a smirk from her lips and her eyes flash open—wild and dangerous.

This is it.

Spinning around and grabbing his shoulder, she tugs, knocking him off balance. Taking advantage of the situation, she pushes him back, pinning his body to the wall.

The force of the hit against the unforgiving surface causes him to release a breathy grunt, but he likes to play rough, so a grin takes hold of his lips. Isabella watches the glint shimmer through his eyes while she mesmerizes him—her tongue tracing the edges of her teeth, her breast pressed against his chest.

She's done this before, seduction is nothing new—neither is what comes next.

He leans forward to kiss her, and she backs away, just enough so he stumbles forward, just enough to give her the advantage... yet again.

Reaching behind his head, she grasps his neck with one hand, his arm with the other, and twists his body to face the wall. Her momentum multiplying the power behind her maneuver, she slams into him, pushing him forward.

Before he can react, she's flush against his back, at his ear—her sultry tone enticing him to go along with her game. "You like the danger, don't you? You like the aggression, but you still want to make me pay."

"Fuck, yeah."

"Good." She releases provocative giggles to keep him distracted. "What's your name again?"

"Edward."

"Ah, that's right." The blade of the knife in her hand reflects the dim light slithering into the alley from the lampposts lining the main street. "Edward Cullen."

"Wait. Wha…?"

This time, she growls low and sinister. "Alice sent me. She didn't like the mind-fucks, Eddie. She wants you out of her head."

Isabella plunges 4 inches of silver metal into the side of his neck, severing his jugular in one swift motion. She takes two breaths—long enough to feed off the rush of the kill—before extracting the weapon, now dripping with crimson.

She steps back, and his body drops to the ground. While cleaning the blade on his shirt, movement in her periphery jerks her head toward the street, a black car has stopped at the alley's entrance. Walking to the vehicle, she opens the passenger door and slides in—the leather seat smooth and warm.

A feminine voice praises her work. "That was hot."

"Well, you helped make me who I am." Glancing at Leah with a victorious smirk, Isabella can only think of the coming job. "So, who's next?"

"Some guy named Paul Lahote. Apparently, he pissed off the wrong bitch, and now she's out for blood."

"Perfect," she purrs. "Let's go find this playboy."


* Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna. ;-)