Author's Note: Yeah, I know. This is so late, and I'm sure there's no reason good enough for you not to be angry with me. But I am sorry. I have to tell everyone who's reviewed, rec'd, favorited, PM'd, dropped by the forum or followed the blog site for IL&W an enormous "Thank you!" God, all of it was encouraging and really drove me to finish this chapter. And to those who are still sticking around, this is for you. Get ready for a rollercoaster ride.

Please note that this picks up just a little bit into the end Demetri's POV from the previous chapter, but is in Caius's POV. I don't rehash everything in the previous chapter in Caius's POV here, but you do get a glimpse on what he was thinking during Eleazar's explanation and when Bella "woke up." Plus, it is necessaryclues and whatnot to Bella and the plot. I'm hoping this help you (and me) get back into the story after such a long wait, too… Enjoy!

Thanks to my ever-faithful and wonderful beta, Twimarti, and to the amazing ElleCC from PTB (and author of "A Murmur of Fire in the Vein") for smacking what I had colorfully written for this chapter into its pretty, little lines.

WARNING: Emotional and graphic content. A little bit about Bella with Victoria, a little bit of Caius losing his shit, and a tad bit animalistic.


"Down" by Jason Walker feat. Molly Walker — "Nothing Else Matters" by Apocalyptica — "Dear Agony" by Breaking Benjamin
"Pieces" by Red — "In My Arms" by Plumb


Chapter 11

In Not-So-Loving Memory – Part One

CAIUS VOLTURI

It was funny how quickly things could shift. One moment I had been frightened of the pain I would surely feel if I lost yet another woman. I knew I could not bear it again. Even if I did not love Isabella, as her mate, my very being would feel the loss, and I had barely survived the first time someone was ripped from me. I would avoid that feeling, that torturous helplessness, at all costs. So, of course, the next moment I was utterly relieved. To hear Isabella speak was enough to quell my fear of further injury, but in its place was a fear of another kind, of a different emotion

Happiness. With my relief came happiness. And God, did it terrify me, because as I laughed and hugged Isabella, I relished the feeling of being happy, and it was wholly dangerous to do so. I would grow attached—to the soft swelling in my chest, to her—and I didn't want the addiction. In my needy pursuit to have and to keep either one, I would become distracted, careless about everything else that should matter. My mind would be consumed by thoughts of her, and I wasn't a fool to believe that the rest of me wouldn't eventually be devoured, taken. She already had claim over my soul, my body was no question, and somewhere along the way, I would lose the part of me that I had long since tried to bury. I would lose what was left of the sliver of my heart, giving her every bit of me.

And though this meant the beginning of something new, something wonderful, in the end it would be something irreparably painful. I knew how easily everything could be taken away—and it would be. "All good things must come to an end" as the saying went, but it was not just a saying, and I would be an even bigger fool to forget that.

Still, as I held Isabella and felt the humming of our connection, I savored the feeling of blissful relief, of an elation so damn high that I cared not of the consequences, even if I was afraid of them. For once in my existence, I was happy and weightless, and I wanted to enjoy it.

Invigorated and utterly captivated, I ignored Isabella's question, set her down, and grasped her face in my hands. I wanted to look at her. She did this. She made me feel warm, at home. The strange tingling of comfort and peace radiated from my hands cupped around her face, through my arms and chest, and down to the pit of my stomach. At that exact instant in time, everything was all right and exactly where it should be, even for if just a moment. It was then, while I was trapped in her gaze, not really seeing but just feeling, that I felt the enormity of it all. She was not only mine, but I was hers. It was my happiness and my existence that rested solely in the hands of this woman. And for a fleeting second, I had wondered if I could make her happy.

I mentally shook my head at the ridiculous notion. I was no longer the man who cared if everyone around him was pleased—only that they were safe—and I needed to remember to stay emotionally detached. She and I were already at a loss, our choice already taken from us; we were spiritually bound to each other by supernatural means. We did not need our relationship any more complicated than it already was by adding affection to the mix.

Holding on to my newfound resolve, I quickly recalled her question: "What is this for?" Why had I hugged her? Well, I thought my reasons had been obvious, and I almost snapped at her for the stupidity of such a question—that was, until I caught the look in her eyes. Though her scrunched brows told me that she was slightly confused, her eyes held a beckoning quality. Tell me, they seemed to say. Tell her what? I couldn't comprehend what she wanted.

Then it dawned on me. She was just as afraid as I was, and like every woman, she needed some type of reassurance. I almost snorted. She did not need it; she felt my emotions. But I did not want to lie, did not want to change any more than I slowly but surely was—not if I could help it, anyway. So I told the truth, told her that she scared me—before, here and now, and maybe forever. She did something I did not expect: she laughed. Fucking laughed. A part of me was angry, but I couldn't be entirely—not when I had tried to lighten the severity of my statement by answering jokingly, and definitely not when she looked as she did, so openly beautiful and carefree with her head thrown back. I couldn't deprive her of the small, joyful reprieve. They were few and far between in this life, and she had given me mine.

But mainly, I couldn't begrudge Isabella because I was too entranced with my hands holding her face, how her hands were atop my own to keep them there. All I wanted was to touch her and to have her touching me. The compulsion to have any physical contact with her ran deep, too deep, and I was beginning to think it was only me. She had been so reluctant—fearful, even—but she wasn't stepping away from me now. The logical side of me wished she would, yet the mated side of me wondered what had changed for her—and so suddenly. I searched her face, so small and so delicately lovely. There was no apprehension, no uneasiness—almost as if she were a different woman entirely. Almost like she forgot what she experienced or that it didn't even happen to her.

Still chuckling, Isabella met my gaze. Her eyes told me all I needed to make any lingering threads of annoyance dissipate. She was grateful. I felt the tension in my shoulders ease, only for the pressure to build into my throat and chest. Jesus. Did she know what she could do to a man, looking at him that way? That somehow I gave her a gift she always wanted, and it was more than enough. I suddenly had the deepest urge to kiss her, to pull her face to mine and delve into her, to somehow imprint myself in her mind so she would know to come to me for anything else she wanted, just so I could be on the receiving end of that look.

But then a foreign feeling crept upon my nerves: apprehension. The kiss would not be well received. She wasn't ready, and neither was I. For the first time in a long time, I became uncomfortable—insecure—and it was gnawing me. I watched her lips form an enchanting smirk as she made a little quip about "knowing," only making me more uncomfortable, a bit agitated, and—dare I say—bashful. I heard myself laugh timidly with Isabella, trying to cover my awkwardness, and it simply made me more pained. I almost flinched. She could feel all of this.

The grimace I hid turned into an outward snarl as I heard chuckles around me. Startled, I spun around and glared. I despised that everyone witnessed everything they had. How could I forget we were not alone? I was becoming distracted already—and it was with myself. I pulled Isabella against my back roughly. No, she made me distracted as well. Even now, tingling heat pulsed across my back, causing me to become acutely aware of every inch she touched, and there was also shame? It seeped into me, from behind; the ugly emotion was from her.

I squeezed Isabella. Hard. "Do not feel that way. You have nothing, absolutely nothing, to be ashamed of." She didn't. She was a newborn, easily preoccupied, and I was not.

It occurred to me that I had felt what she was feeling, that she had used one of her gifts, or what Eleazar explained was only part of her all-encompassing gift. I needed to know more and demanded that he continue with what he was saying before Isabella awoke. Her gift was what terrified me most. It was so unknown and indiscernible and frightening. If it were anyone else, I would have thoroughly considered having the person destroyed, but—call me selfish and self-serving—she was my mate, and to slay her would slay me. I had to protect her—protect myself.

I struggled to think of how we would train and prepare her, barely listening to the useless babble around me. We had to be careful; we had no definite idea of what she could do, how she would react, all the consequences. I had a startlingly odd thought that we didn't know what she was. I gripped Isabella anxiously. No… Even with all this power, all this mystery, there was no reason to believe she was anything other than a full-fledged vampire.

I grew impatient with Eleazar. He was enjoying himself too much, stretching out the information dramatically with his damn smug fascination. He knew more than we did; we needed him, and he knew it. So Isabella gave us all a gift; couldn't he say what it was already? Though it wasn't as surprising as all the other aspects of her ability, I was on edge. I didn't want an ability. Vampires were too reliant on them; it became a security blanket and, sometimes, the most disabling handicap—a vulnerability.

Then we all began to process what Eleazar said. Isabella gave each vampire a piece of his or her humanity; in some shape or form, she reminded them of it. Was that what was happening to me—the uncharacteristic emotions? She had provoked feelings in me that were disturbingly human, reminding me of more than simply Aglaia, but of the uncertainty and fragility of life—things I had once cherished with wonder, but now loathed. Yet, in the same breath, she also awakened the sensations of my youth: the adventure, the hope of making better days.

Upon hearing Eleazar prompting everyone's memories, foreboding slithered around my body, immobilizing me completely with a terrifying chill. Most of these memories were not good ones. I could practically see the wheels turning in everyone's mind as they raked through their God-awful pasts.

Time seemed to slow. My body lagged to keep up with my mind's blaring warning bells, my movements oddly dreamy and sluggish as I readied for attack. Everyone's eyes were unfocused; they were lost in their own minds, before, eerily in sync, they snapped onto one focal point: the woman behind me.

Then, everything happened so quickly. Keens and growls, gasps and snarls reverberated against the almost-translucent marble walls, creating a cacophony of sound. Devastating sorrow and resentment slammed into me, almost bringing me to my knees. But then, the animal amidst the chaos latched on with jarring claws and roared. The mate's instinct to protect overpowered any thought, any time to process. I crouched and snarled defensively, pulling Isabella closer against my back. Aro and Sulpicia crouched beside us, defending Isabella as well. I heard the warning growls of Demetri, Heidi, and Gabriel as I watched their backs tense. The Cullens created an arc around our group, protective and mollifying, and with them, hissing, was Athenodora, which was surprising. The Cullens would be no match for The Guard, and Athenodora was always so timid and emotionally stinted.

My gaze flicked to Marcus. He was rigid and snarling at us—at everyone. I could see the turmoil and battle in his eyes as his hands clenched and unclenched, and I knew he remembered Didyme. I couldn't feel sorry for him, though. He had asked for all memory of her to be wiped from his mind.

Jane and Alec made a strangled sound before they snapped to attention and stood by Marcus, leaning forward on their toes and glaring at Isabella, ready to pounce. Behind them, the Denali sisters stared at us with black eyes and pained, ugly snarls upon their lips. More gathered around their group, and I hated to see that it included Balthazar and Cyrus.

Carmen and Eleazar stood off to the side and pressed the succubae to calm down, reminding them who they were dealing with and repeating over and over that Isabella wasn't Vasilii, their mother, the one who paid for her crime of turning a child.

And Felix—always befriending with his childlike, compassionate heart under that formidable form—stood between us all, attempting to understand everyone, while telling them to stand down.

I took in the scene in a glance, because it wasn't a second before Isabella gasped and I heard the ripping of my shirt under her tiny hands. I felt her all-consuming fear, her urge to run, and I hated what I was about to do. I knew that she, as a newborn, could not leave the castle. She would attack the town, and it would hurt her if she were to kill innocents. Not only that, but she would be punished for the slaughter in Volterra.

And it was I who did most of the punishing.

I could not do it, could not allow it. I would not.

I spun around the same time she did, immediately restraining her by wrapping my arms around her. Before I could hook a leg around both of hers and pull them out from under her, she pushed her hip back and gripped my forearms, before leaning forward and flipping me over her shoulder. I was slightly surprised, even if I had been prepared for it. She was merely faster than I anticipated; though, she wasn't fast enough to get far.

Gloria, who had the ability to teleport and was the newest Volturi member, materialized in front of Isabella. Isabella snarled and tensed to attack the same time Gloria did. Seeing Demetri and Jasper behind Gloria, about to dismember her, I grabbed Isabella's elbow and swung her into the wall behind me, stunning her and putting her farther away from the fighting and arguing. I threw my body against hers, growling through my teeth for her to stop, even though I knew there was no getting through to her as newborn instincts ran rampant inside of her.

She tried to shake me off, using her hips and her shoulders, before she realized it was useless because I was bigger and better. I already had her arms pinned above her, having caught each punch she unthinkingly threw. She couldn't even kick; I had my feet planted on top of hers.

Then, she tried to bite me. I shoved her forehead back with a hand, my other still holding her arms above her and against the wall. When her chin lifted, I used my palm to shove her jaw closed, my fingers digging into her cheeks and above her lips. I stared into her eyes. She was beautiful angry, her eyes glowing and determined. I could appreciate the fight in her, the natural reaction and the distrust, but I didn't like seeing the fear in her eyes. She was probably the only person who didn't have to fear me.

My grip loosened as I saw defeat in her eyes.

Big mistake.

She shoved me—hard—and with her gift, throwing me back a good ten feet. Gritting my teeth against the impact, I rebounded quickly and slammed into her from behind as she tried to run again. We rolled, grappling for the upper hand and neither one of us succeeding. I didn't want to hurt her, though I would to prevent a worse outcome: dismembering her for a week and depriving her of blood for even longer. And it was getting to that point.

I finally found my opening. She was on her back with me straddling her, her wrists in my hands next to her head, but far enough away she couldn't bite me.

I planted my knees on her biceps and bore down. "Enough!"

Isabella threw her head back and roared, the shards of glass from her earlier outburst rattling against the marble from the sheer ferocity. Her body thrashed beneath mine as her legs kicked wildly at my back, and I could feel her shield working to push me off. Gritting my teeth, I pressed down harder. "Don't."

She looked at me then, with pure terror in her black eyes and an aching viciousness contorting her beautiful face as she screamed, "GET OFF ME!"

I wanted to—God, did I want to—but I couldn't let her go. I couldn't risk her running. I stared at her regretfully and shook my head, squeezing her wrists. "I can't."

I didn't know what else to say, how to calm her down, even though I was certain I was only scaring her further. I glanced up briefly, looking for the one man I believed could help me. "Jasper, can you help her?"

There was a heavy pause, and I could almost feel him hesitating before he said grimly, "I can't. Remember?"

Isabella snapped at my hands, my arms. Impatient, I snarled. "Remember? Remember what?"

He growled, sounding frustrated and unwilling. "What Eleazar said."

What Eleazar said? There was fucking plenty. Then it clicked, and I froze. No one could use their gift after the black out; Isabella had sucked the abilities right out of them—at least, temporarily. I was astonished. I looked around and took in everyone else's perplexed expressions. How could none of us catch such an important detail? Were we all so focused on the future loss, and the actual possibility, that we forgot the here and now?

The gravity of the situation intensified as everyone caught on and every able body converged upon Isabella and me. Glass crunched beneath feet. Retribution-thirsty growls erupted. Hardened bodies were thrown and clashed against more bodies and the brilliant marble. A wide circle of Volturi and non-Volturi alike formed a barrier around me and Isabella as they attempted to defend us against renewed attacks.

Unexpectedly, I found myself on my back and Isabella straddling me, her venom-covered hands tightly wrapped around my throat. The cracking of my flesh sounded ominous in my ears. But then her crazed eyes locked on mine, and I felt her slick hands loosen as she swallowed. Those ruby eyes, so compelling even when enraged, brightened with recognition and need, before abruptly hardening.

My head snapped back and then to the left. I didn't even see her fists flying toward my chin and jaw before I felt and heard it. Her weight disappeared from my chest, and I knew she was running. Fuming, I stood quickly and pounced, my knee landing between her shoulder blades as I slammed her down. Even as angry as I was, the boom of her connecting with the marble made me flinch. Taking advantage, she bucked, throwing me off kilter. She tried to run again, but I grabbed her ankle—not even flinching when she fell again—and dragged her back beneath me. Swiftly grasping her wrists with one hand and shoving her face down with my forearm at the base of her skull, I threw my body on top of hers. Being so much taller than she was, I pulled up a little and easily positioned my knees to dig into the back of her thighs.

I leaned forward, adding more weight on my forearm, and snarled in her fucking ear. I was growing tired of our little battle. I was going to fucking bite her into submission if I had to. I pulled her wrists without mercy, hearing the tendons in her shoulders tear. The ground and our bodies shook from her muffled roar.

Seeing approaching movement in my peripheral, I looked up, on the verge of commanding everyone to leave. We would hear all petitions and arrange punishments later, or else they be burned now. But then, my command died in my throat. The others weren't moving at all. They stood stock still, entirely shocked at what they were witnessing—yet, it wasn't me and Isabella they were watching. It was the ghostly images that surrounded us both. As though they were on numerous reels, the clips of her and what she endured in that cabin flickered around the two of us.

Victoria's hand flying through the air and across Isabella's cheek. One didn't need sound to hear Isabella's cheekbone break upon impact. She falls and blacks out …

Isabella standing in the center of the cabin, nude, with her head held high in defiance, her bare chest heaving, and a bruise upon her cheek. A man stands behind her, gripping her wrists at her back. Isabella's lips are barely moving. "I don't know where they are, Victoria. I told you, they left me and I haven't heard from them." Victoria nods once, and the man takes one of Isabella's fingers and breaks it. She screams, and her knees buckle. Tears streak down her face, and her arms are at an uncomfortable angle as the man continues to grip her wrists and her finger. The man smiles and the finger breaking continues …

A little girl wearing white stockings and a red pea coat over a frilly black dress enters the cabin. Her frightened eyes, too big in her sickly pale face, are brimming with tears, and her blond curls tremble with her tiny body. From the floor, Isabella yells and tries to stand. She can't …

Bloody spittle flies out of Isabella's mouth as she screams, "I don't know what you're talking about!"

All-consuming fire coursing through veins and flesh. Bites everywhere

An effigy of bloodied, mangled hands, duct taped at the wrists, leading to bruised forearms stationed upon a sullied mattress. A hand reaches over, grabbing a bloody chair leg from the filth. It disappears, before the tip jabs under the chin and drags slowly to the belly button. Blood pounding … Jarring and shaming pain …

An unfamiliar wooden ceiling seen through a watery lens. Victoria standing on one side, and a man and a woman on the other. Victoria hands them vials of blood, giving directions. Ringing deafness … Body numb and broken … Tingles in the spine …

I noted that the last three projections were from Isabella's eyes, actually forcing us to experience everything she was feeling at the time. I looked around, shaking. There were so many images, all warping in and out, and through so many different scenes. I couldn't watch any more. Instead, I beheld the woman beneath me, focusing on her. My weight on her skull had slackened, and she was shaking her head madly, as if deranged. She alternated between mumbling, roaring, shrieking, gasping, and whimpering. I let go of her wrists as if she were aflame and I was being burned.

I did this to her …

Crushed and so goddamn ashamed, I sat back heavily. My rage hadn't helped her earlier. My aggressive and unyielding hold on her reminded her too much of that day, making her feel as helpless as she did with Victoria.

I set her off …

My body trembled with soul-wrecking guilt, with grief and regret. I reached out to her with shaky hands. Static crackled between us, and all of a sudden, the lights went out, blanketing the room in darkness. It was a new moon tonight; Isabella's flashbacks were the only source of illumination, and they began fading out.

Isabella was strangely silent, and I didn't like it. Anxiously, I touched the back of her head, combing my fingers through her hair, away from the side of her face, trying to get a look at her.

She didn't move.

I hovered above her, still on my knees straddling her, and gently turned her over beneath me. She was limp in my arms. I reached up and pushed the hair out her face. "Isabella?"

Again, she didn't move. She merely looked…asleep, or dead. Both were impossible. I glanced around me, thinking maybe she projected her shield again and everyone had blacked out. She didn't. Everyone continued standing there—some shocked or fearful, others impassive or confused. Laying her down, I yelled at her. Sharp panic slashed at me, causing the words to fluctuate between my natural more tongue of Latin and everyday Italian.

I implored her to stop playing games. It wasn't funny.

I made her promises. I wouldn't be angry with her if she were pretending. If she were in pain, I would make it better. I would explain all the reasons why she couldn't leave. I would let all the Cullens live. I would fly Jacob here myself. I would go against the Law and let her see her father; I would even change him if they both wanted it.

I cursed her as my hands flitted around her body, checking for threatening wounds, finding none, and hating for once that we weren't human, that we didn't have heartbeats and didn't need to breathe—the signs that indicated she was alive.

Finally, having had enough and not knowing what to do, I grabbed her head, my hands tightening into her hair painfully, and roared.

Without warning, the lights flickered back on, generating a buzz of filaments. My skin tightened as a crawling sensation enveloped me. It felt unnaturally sentient. My eyes widened as I watched shady mists flood into the atrium, parting around everyone's frozen forms. It almost reached Isabella and me before ghosting in a wide circle, gradually swirling around and around and up. I watched as it formed a wall, lightening to a white in four distinct spots, expanding steadily outward.

Appearing in four screens, in four different angles, was one picture: Isabella lying prone somewhere. I couldn't see where she was; everything except for her was blurry and dull, and compared to her lying there sharp and glowing, I could see why. I tried to get a clue of when this took place, like her clothes, her well-being, but I couldn't. She radiated so much light that I couldn't really see her; yet, I knew it was her. I wanted to say it was at the cabin again, but I also wanted to say that it was months ago, here and now, and sometime soon.

I blinked from the strain and watched as a dark form rose above her, growing denser as the edges of the picture darkened with it, like a dye spilled upon a perfect photograph. Then it bled out, creating a form I was all too familiar with: one of the Children of the Moon, specifically Lucian.

I lost it then.

I shot up and growled, twisting and turning as I clawed and punched and spat at the air, at the ground, at that malevolent wall—at him. I was fighting the blackened monster that had sprung from my confidante—he who betrayed me, used me, who didn't trust me enough to tell me what he was. I invited him into my home, to live with family, amongst my settlement. I named my son after him! And damn him to fiery depths of hell; he killed Aglaia. He tore at her, feasted upon her.

And I had to watch.

Because I had dragged him back home—after finding him chained on the mountainside, even after he begged and warned me not to—I was with him when shifted, becoming his first victim of the night. I couldn't move as I had watched him go on a rampage, through different houses—one, my brother's. I could still remember the screams, the sounds of ripping and gurgling, of him being utterly wild.

Then Aglaia… She had been returning from her trip to the village with most of the women. It had been one of her good days, when she didn't feel as weak, and she had begged me to let her go. I had known it was because she felt useless and wanted to feel normal, and I had given in and arranged for her to go. Lucian had attacked them as they screamed for loved ones amongst the carnage. And I hadn't been able to do anything but watch.

I was spiraling out of control. I could feel it, and I couldn't get a grip tightly enough to stop. The current circumstances and my reactions reminded me too much of the day when my world had changed. It had tilted off axis and had never righted again, and to experience another pernicious shift would certainly make everything upside down. I would fall—into a dark gloom and without anything to hold onto.

I was aware—barely—of myself whipping around the room, tearing the walls, the ground, that wraithlike wall. No matter how much I tore at the projection, it warped back into place, shifting into my memories of that day, and I was lost in it.

Over the buzzing in my head, I could hear my vicious growls, snapping snarls, and grievous moans echoing back at me, taunting me, driving me. I burned with hate, for God, for the brutal cruelty and unfairness of the world, and over the fact that I could still feel her in the back of mind, in my fucking soul. Stomping over to her and dropping to my knees, I bellowed. I couldn't see her there. The world was painted black.

I shot up, going around and around, pacing and livid, because I knew she still hadn't moved and I could still feel her. Why could I feel her? What was this poignant sensation of her lingering in the air, in ground beneath me? She was gone!

I fell to my knees. She was gone …

I pitched forward, my hands slapping on the floor and curling into claws as the veil lifted slightly. She was gone

My head dropped as my ire died and turned into something suffocating. I dragged myself over to her and crawled above her. I stroked her face before burrowing my own into her neck and gathering her in my arms. Closing my eyes, I rocked and prayed—for her to live, to survive, for her not to leave me.

The images had been burned in my head for 3,282 years and counting. I knew them by heart. I knew what would happen after I laid next to her centuries ago, wanting to die with her, and there was no stopping how that day ended.

Except this time, instead of Aglaia doing nothing but lie there and me feeling a sudden burning sensation in my neck as I was draped over her body, I heard the rustle of clothing. I heard her shifting. I squeezed my eyes. It was only wishful thinking, a hopeless dream. I told myself to open my eyes, to get it over with, to let my body drown in acidic disappointment.

She was gone …

Yet, I still sat there with lids closed, hoping I had simply been having a recurring nightmare, that it wasn't the reality I had lived and endured—and would relive again.

Unexpectedly, I heard a slow exhale and felt air brush across my face. I breathed in and then licked my lips because it smelled fantastic, like honey and something metallic. It was soothing. I sat, unmoving, still too scared to face the truth, even if my afflicting flashback was different this time around. More rustling and shifting quavered in the silent air, and I felt a whisper of a touch … a hand stoking my cheek. It was slow, light, and tentative; done again and again and again. I could almost feel the guilt, the remorse, emitting from the delicate caress. Another hand carefully laid upon my opposite cheek as the other hand continued, now sweeping across my brow, under my eye, down my jaw to my chin.

And then, there was a whisper. "Caius?"

I choked and grasped the wrist of the hand stroking my cheek, turning my face into the palm and inhaling deeply, longingly. She smelled of freesia and Madonna Lilies and again…a sweet metal.

I recalled that the Madonna Lilies were her favorite flower, reminding her of her home in Greece.

I captured her other hand, clutching both to my face, having them cover my nose and mouth. I took gulping breaths, breathing her in with all my might.

My body shook as I began to sob. I missed her, the peace in her presence and the different smiles she gave, how she made me feel. I missed the life she and I had created together; it had been simple and unadorned, but it was good, and it was ours. I missed Lucius. I think I missed him the most. He truly was meus lux lucis.

With wonder, I basked in her scent, in her touch. She was real. She was here, alive, and she was mine.

I couldn't look at her yet, and I needed to hear her speak again. "Isabella?"

She stilled, not even breathing, as sadness and joy surrounded me. Her hands slid from beneath mine, and I exhaled, opening my eyes, viewing the juxtaposition of my reality—my past, present, and future in the form of a tiny woman—with a new clarity. I stared at her kneeling in front of me. She resembled my first wife, if only at a glance, for she didn't actually look like Aglaia. They had the same glorious mahogany hair, heart-shaped face, and large eyes. Those eyes They had once been a velvety brown—identical to Aglaia's—but they were now a glowing crimson, meaning she wasn't as fragile as a human was; she couldn't get sick, couldn't die as easily.

I was prepared to feel angry and deceived. I felt neither, though. It might have been because deep down I knew nothing had changed and could never be. Maybe it was because I was relieved, for reasons that were beyond even me. But, maybe, I didn't want to have to tell Isabella everything and then have her not understand. In my eyes, she would never be Aglaia—and that was a good thing. But like Aglaia, her eyes were expressive, captivatingly so, and right now, she was hurt, scared, confused and repentant.

She said as much, mumbling a pained apology before standing and running. Again.

I stood slowly, watching her. I didn't know what to do. After the events of the night, I felt drained, exposed, and raw, and I debated between going after her and letting her run. However, remembering what was out in the world, this time knowing better, I still couldn't let her run. Not until she knew how to defend herself better and how to utilize her gift. Even then, she would have an escort, or at the very least, Demetri trailing her.

My eyes narrowed on her as she dashed into the courtyard. One would think that after what she had witnessed—what had hurt, scared, and cost me the most—she would know better.

I, on the other hand, was a fast learner, never forgetting I could discover a multitude with every experience, and if there was anything I had learned tonight, it was this: I was never letting her go. I would hold onto her with both hands, my eyes open, heart open. Yes, I would still miss Aglaia. But for reasons I couldn't fathom, God Fate whoever, in their fickle and unforgivable ways, was offering me a second chance at love and happiness. Or, maybe, it was all merely a game, a test, because most of the time, it really felt that way. And I wouldn't fail this time around. I wouldn't make the same mistake twice. I never had. This time, because the woman was different, I was different, and the circumstances were as well, so the ending will be. I would make sure of it.

Ignoring the inquisitive glances and expectant looks from those around me, I stormed after her, knowing exactly what to do. She had hesitated at the balustrade that edged the courtyard and was looking down with her head tilted to the side, probably pondering what would happen if she jumped the almost 500-meter drop. I slowed my approach, not wanting to scare her, lest she leaped. The impact wouldn't hurt her—too badly—and it might even be good for her, but I didn't want her to jump. I had something in mind, and it needed to be done here, with the ever-watchful eyes behind me.

The wind had picked up from earlier this afternoon, and it lifted her hair enticingly. I eyed the smooth, milky color of her neck, so graceful as it arched to the side, exposed. My mouth filled with venom, and the animal within growled approvingly. My gait became more predatory, each step smoother, more toxic. My body hummed in anticipation, and I savored it, slowing my pace further. What happened in the next few minutes would be one of our firsts of only a handful, and I rarely experienced any firsts anymore.

I stopped and closed my eyes. I had to wait, draw it out, pace myself. Yet, I allowed myself the thought of having all our firsts outside, in the midst of a brewing storm, but maybe, at all different times of the day. Between those and the image of what I was about to do, I was so goddamn aroused. I couldn't wait …

Taking deep breaths, I calmed myself. I was determined. I wanted to get this right, to take my time. Opening my eyes, I stood and took in the sight of Isabella. God, even a mess, her clothes torn and her hair in tangles, she was glorious. Her hair lifted again, whipping over her shoulder and exposing her neck again. My chest rumbled in appreciation, and I watched her stiffen. She knew I was there, and yet she didn't jump. I was glad.

I waited, closing my eyes again. I relished the feel of the wind against my skin, the sound of it, and the sweet, floral scent of Isabella carried with the breeze. I sought that eternal presence of her in the back of my mind, the one I could touch and taste and feel, but couldn't see when my mind was lost. It was a connection, which wasn't quite complete but would be, and it burned with an effervescent hum, gently reminding me that I wasn't alone, and I never would be. I wanted to remember the feeling and what happened here.

I heard her turn around, and I felt victorious.

Lifting my lids slightly, I peered at her from beneath my lashes, wondering what she was doing, what she thinking. Her head was once again cocked to the side, eyes curious. She was studying me, taking in every inch. I moved, slowly, trying not to disturb the trance she was in. I remembered the feeling well. As a newborn, some things were more fascinating than most, and all you wanted to do was watch. She seemed to be the most mesmerized with my hair, always glancing at the strands ruffling in the wind. I thought of how it would feel to have her fingers running through them, of her tugging with an eager fistful.

A low, steady rumble simmered in my chest, and I watched her eyes darken to a deep wine-red, her body no doubt reacting to mine. I paused, groaning, because I could smell her. Her eyes snapped to mine and widened before she ducked her head. She became translucent in the cheeks and the neck, like she was blushing.

I grinned. Oh, how delicious …

Then she straightened, her bearing regal and defiant with her chin lifted and her shoulders pulled back. "I'm not going to run."

I hid my smile and nodded amicably.

We continued to stare at each other; me, pleased and waiting, and Isabella, unsure and expectant.

When she finally came to the conclusion I wasn't going to attack her, she took hesitant steps toward me.

Four steps in, she halted, glancing around, searching. She was trying so hard not to run. I gave her a small, sad smile. I understood. I knew she was scared, nervous, and confused—that she was warring with herself. Her mind naturally screamed for her to flee because she didn't know me, yet her soul yearned to be closer, to have that profound intimacy with me.

I took a step before raising my brows at her.

She smiled, shy and amused, and then took a step herself.

As we closed the distance between ourselves, step by step, I bit my lip, trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of our actions. But, it was also positively warming, and I thought of what I could say for her to understand what I was about to do. Normally before the act, each culture had different declarations, holding individual significance, done with a single purpose and always in their native tongues. Isabella wouldn't understand a word of mine, and I needed her to. I was going to claim my mate, in one of the most barbaric of ways. She was mine, and now she would know it, and so would anyone who looked upon her.

I smiled. Only two feet left between us. Neither of us moved any closer, though. It was my turn, but I wanted her to trust me, and that would mean I would have to show her I had no problem waiting too long. Having thought of the perfect declaration, I inched a little closer to her.

Reaching out achingly slow, I repeated the caress she gave me moments before. I exhaled, blowing softly across her face. Slowly and tentatively, with light fingertips, I brushed her cheek, pouring my promise into the touch. Again and again and again, I used my thumb, the tips and the back of my fingertips. Her eyes flitted closed. I smiled softly, delighted that she understood and trusted me enough to do so. I carefully laid my other hand on her opposite cheek, drawing myself closer. I grazed her gingerly arched brows with my thumb, and then swept it under an eye. My other hand moved unhurriedly down to cup the side of her neck, my thumb rubbing reassuringly. Finishing the slow, exquisite caress, the back of my fingers glided from the corner of her jaw to her chin, tilting it up.

I lowered my head, my lips hovering above hers as I thought it funny how she had done that for me mere moments before, when it seemed like years ago to me. I exhaled as she inhaled, a breath passing through our slightly parted mouths. The idea of sharing air caused a delicious tingle up my spine, and I shuddered, closing my eyes. My hands kept moving, one tunneling into her hair, the other sliding across her clavicle, her shoulder, and down her arm. My fingers threaded Isabella's as I brushed my lips against hers, and then lightly grazed her cheek before settling near her ear.

I breathed her in. Freesia, Madonna Lilies, and the metallic blood still her hair So sweet So mine. My altered declaration was perfect, for it was as ancient as me, spoken in her modern tongue, and it couldn't be confused with my beloved, late wife. The second verse well, that was poetic irony, making the statement—the announcement—flawless.

I whispered it, squeezing her hand for emphasis. "I am my love's, and my love is mine. I feedeth among the lilies."

I might not love her now, and she might not love me, but someday, I would. I had already known it, and I had planned to fight it for as long as possible, but not anymore. My words were a promise—to myself, to her—and my next primal act was a testament to that. I would forever be accountable to her, for her. I was binding myself to her physically, bearing anything and everything for her. In the eyes of the Volturi, and by the Ancient's law, her punishments would be mine. Her fate would truly be my own. And I rejoiced that I was doing this willingly, without outside influence or the compulsion from my beast, who was strangely quiet.

Before Isabella could do anything more than tense, my arm swiftly snaked around her waist, bringing her hand—that was still joined with mine—to her back, locking it there. My other hand gripped the hair at the nape of her neck and yanked. Then I sank my teeth into her, directly below her ear. She jerked and let out a throaty whimper. But she wasn't fighting me. She clutched at my shoulder with her free hand, steadying herself, her nails digging and puncturing hardened flesh. Her chest heaved with trembling little pants that sounded like erotic pleas in my ear.

The beast within me roared, rearing his head in glory as his claws drove into the ground, relishing his freedom and his mate. He engrossed himself in her unique scent, her distinctive taste—mixed with my own. He was feral with it, lapping at the essence of her, burrowing in it, as he was.

And I reveled in it—the animalistic sensuality, the greedy intent. Like my beast, I was ravenous, sinking my teeth further into Isabella. And God damn it all to hell if I didn't hear a small, guttural moan escape her. She was losing herself in the same sensations I was burning in, and it spurred me on. I dropped to my knees, taking her with me and wrapping her legs around my waist, my teeth still buried in her throat. Desire and fulfillment consumed us both, choking and reviving us by turns.

With my arms around her, I drew a hand up her back, rubbing up her spine, making her arch. My hand clasped the base of the back of her neck, wrapping around, then pulling her down—onto me. She gasped and pushed down, grinding against me and forcing me to widen my legs so she could press further down. A growl thundered in my chest. I hadn't planned for us to go this far; she wasn't thinking, and neither was I. But oh, how I wanted to go there.

I leaned forward, pushing her to lie back and planting a hand on the ground to steady us as I did so, for she wasn't reaching behind her to steady herself. Instead, she continued clutching me, an arm keeping my head immobile and my teeth buried in her neck, while her other arm, tucked under my own and across my back, squeezed me to her. As one, we lay down, seeking more friction as my body slid up hers.

But then I paused. Being too tall for her, I would need to straighten and remove my teeth from her neck to align us hip to hip. I had to decide between stopping our soul-filled connection and giving in to my body's demands, or waiting and preserving what little trust I had gained.

I groaned. And it wasn't in pleasure. The logical answer was easy, but painful.

The overwhelming sensations began to ebb … to an extent. Simply, now, I didn't feel like I was drowning. I hugged Isabella to me and sat us up. I pulled back, unlatching my teeth, and licked the bite cautiously, closing it. My beast purred, surprisingly content and even more possessive. I, on the other hand, was shaking. The vestigium morientis libertatis was intense. Never would I have guessed the emotions involved, even when I had witnessed one before.

Dropping my forehead onto her shoulder, I tried to get my bearings. It had been a long night, and it had merely begun.

I felt Isabella's fingers hesitantly running through my hair, and I squeezed her, grateful that she was giving me a moment and wasn't moving away from me.

When I finally leaned back to look at her, I rubbed the mark with my thumb. "Are you all right?"

She hummed in reply, a little distracted and thoughtful as she stared and played with the ends of my hair. She peeked up at me before looking back down at her fingers in my hair. It wasn't out of distraction this time, though; it was nervousness, and she asked shyly, "Are you?"

I bent toward her, brushing my lips across the Marking as I hummed, giving her the same response she had given me.

When I looked at her, she raised her brows, aware of it. I hid a smirk. Yes, I knew it wasn't exactly sufficient, just like her answer, but there were no words adequate to explain how I felt. She gazed at me intently, searching my eyes and seemingly trying to find the words. But I knew. I understood

She was grateful.

I grasped her face, leaned my forehead against hers, and closed my eyes as everything inside me soared. I had made the right choice. I had stopped. I hadn't taken from her a choice that should be wholly hers. Isabella's hands wrapped around my wrists, squeezing, and I felt gratitude radiate from her palms and seep into me.

I sighed. God, I felt good.

And it terrified me. I had wanted to prolong the time without consuming emotions, for it prolonged the end. But I couldn't; it had been inevitable. Standing on a precipice, watching something grand and wonderful pass me by below my solid foothold, only made me want to jump, to be awash in it and carried away. And I decided; I jumped.

Isabella gave me a small, frightened smile of understanding. There was no fighting the current, no turning back after the events of the night. I nodded, resolute and revived. There was much to figure out, and we needed to get started.

Her eyes suddenly snapped to something behind me. I looked over my shoulder, seeing only Aro, Marcus, Demetri, and Jasper. I stood, taking Isabella with me and setting her down. We both ignored how it felt when she slid down my body to her feet, shifting away from each other to face those who remained. Only after a bit hesitation did I clasp her hand, showing a united front.

Aro inclined his head, acknowledging my decision, and then took his leave.

Demetri was more somber than I thought he would be. He lifted his chin before closing his eyes and bowing his head respectfully. I could almost hear his words. I am happy for you, even if I am frightened for you. But, as you wish. I stood taller, inclining my chin to him, glad he wouldn't fight me on the choice I made, proud to have him as a friend—to have him standing beside me, beside Isabella.

I looked at my sire as Demetri left. After experiencing the thought of losing my mate, I had a better understanding of his loss and the choices he made—although, I still didn't understand why he didn't perform the vestigium morientis libertatis with Didyme. Fists clenched, eyes black and tortured, Marcus tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. He nodded, though, and spoke through gritted teeth. "I am truly overjoyed for you, even if I cannot express it." He turned to leave, but not before I saw bitter envy flash in his eyes.

Jasper looked confused, not understanding the intense interaction between everyone. I wouldn't explain it to him yet; he would find out soon enough.

He nodded at my silence. "All right, don't tell me. But I want to know soon." With one more glance from me to Isabella, he nodded again before following Marcus.

I looked at the damage of the atrium and sighed. There was much to be rebuilt, and it wouldn't look the same afterward. So many changes, I thought grudgingly. And all of it had happened in such a small amount of time.

I turned to Isabella and jerked my chin towards the atrium. "Can you explain what happened in there?"

Isabella turned to me, nervous and thoughtful. She had a sudden glint in her eyes as she gestured at the space everyone vacated, and then the mark. "Care to explain what just happened?"

I laughed, hearing the double entrendre in our similar answers as she threw my question and my previous response back at me. Our answer, and the duality of it, was becoming the theme of the night

No, but I will try.


Author's Note: Whew! Okay, I'm sure there are questions. Please make sure your PMs are enabled, so I can answer them. Or, stop by IL&W's forum and we'll have a field day. Reviews for this chapter are like (and maybe, of) Not-So-Loving Memories (of waiting forever for an update). Leave one, and you'll get teased a week before the next update.

References
** Proverb: "All good things must come to an end" — 1374, Chaucer. First attested in the United States around 1680. The word 'good' was added much later. "Everything has an end" and "Everything comes to an end" are variants of the proverb. ("Random House Dictionary of Popular Proverbs and Sayings" by Gregory Y. Titelman, 1996)

** Madonna Lilies are native to the Balkan Peninsula—one country being Greece. The Coat of Arms of Florence has the fleur-de-lis, which is often described to be a lily, specifically the Madonna Lily, but the fleur-de-lis resembles more of an Iris, and Italy has no national flower. (Wikipedia) Oh, and the name Aglaia is ancient Greek, not Roman. (behindthename-dot-com)

** meus lux lucis — Latin for "my light." (WordTran/NeuroTran®) Also, the Roman name Lucius was derived from the Latin word *lux, "light." (behindthename-dot-com)

** Although my Caius's more natural tongue is Latin and every day Italian, his native language would have to be of the Illyrian variety, but because there are no examples of ancient Illyrian literature surviving, it's difficult to pinpoint. And because I have this Caius originating from NE Italy, I would like to say his native tongue is actually Venetic—an ancient language from the area, akin to (but differs from) Latin and Italian, and not to be confused with Venetian—but Venetic is dated from the 6th to the 1st century BC. The Veneti are recorded to have been in the area as early as 1000 BC, while the Illyrians are dated back to the early Bronze Age (3300BC) in Illyria (modern day Croatia and part of Slovenia) bordering NE Italy, and Caius is from late Bronze Age (1550-1200BC). I'm having his tribe one of the many Illyrians that scattered and settled north, being one of the first people (before with the Paleoveneti) to inhabit the modern-day Venato (the Italian region of Venice and Verona), thus forging with the Paleoveneti what was later and is now known as the ancient people, Adriatic Veniti, who spoke Venetic. According to Julius Pokorný, the ethnonym Venetī (singular *Venetos) is derived from Proto Indo-European root *u̯en- 'to strive; to wish for, to love'.Etymologically related words include Latin *venus, *-eris 'love, passion, grace'; Sanskrit *vanas- 'lust, zest', *vani- 'wish, desire'; Old Irish fine (Proto-Celtic *venjā) 'kinship, kinfolk, alliance, tribe, family'; Old Norse *vinr, Old Saxon, Old High German *wini, Old Frisian, Old English *wine 'Friend'. (Wikipedia)

** Caius's declaration was altered from Song of Solomon 6:3, "I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine: he feedeth among the lilies" (KJV); "I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine, He who pastures his flock among the lilies." (NASB, 1995). Note that Caius also pastures his flock (his people) among the "lilies"—back then in Illyria, part of the Balkans bordering Italy in NE, and in Italy and its often-believed "lily" of the fleur-de-lis.

** Vestigium morientis libertatis — Latin for "the Marking of a dying liberty." (WordTran/NeuroTran®) I got the idea from a Latin quote: "manebant [etiam turn] vestigial morientis libertatis," meaning "the footmarks of a dying liberty" or "there still remained traces of dying liberty." (Latin Phrases & Quotations, Richard A Branyon, 1994; The Routledge Dictionary of Latin Quotations, Jon R. Stone, 2004) Hail Tacitus, the Roman senator and historian! *knuckle bumps* The man was known for many things, including his unconventional use of Latin. I'm taking a lesson from him, and doing the same thing here. If I got it wrong, I'm sorry, but it bears a significant amount of weight in this story. I do need a few translators, though … You interested?