Bound by Blood's Call
The pavement seemed to shift beneath his feet as he stalked down the darkened street. While the earth had not moved, everything felt off kilter, as if gravity as he knew it had somehow been distorted. The force holding his body down was no longer vertical, but rather, it curved and bent back toward the brick building behind him. Startlingly, with each step away, the pull only seemed to intensify.
"Edward, you fool," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disgust and willing the baffling sensations away.
His reasoning for being here walking the streets, searching for lesser, substitute prey instead of finally giving in and taking the one who'd been born for him, was simply unfathomable. All of the excuses he mustered fell short, and he was left restless in the knowledge that he was no longer in complete control of his behavior. The entire situation with the girl – Bella – was counter to every second of his last century of existence. It was an abomination, deplorable in the eyes of his kind, to deny himself that drink, even temporarily. Yet here he was, somehow allowing meaningless distractions to slow his hand.
The sun had already disappeared. Overhead, its remnants – reflections of fading light – cast curling ribbons of smoky magenta against the black of the clouds and night sky. The unfurling patterns would have been beautiful had he looked. But nothing of nature or its beauty could capture his attention now. Instead, Edward's focus was wholly centered on more important matters.
While its nickname certainly held true – the city never truly slept – with night came a changing of the guard, a shift from light to dark, both in the skies and in those who drifted in the black, shadowy spaces between the walls of concrete. It was those individuals – the pale ghosts of humanity who slinked in alleyways and dark corners – he sought. For some reason, he found their deaths to be more palatable.
Wandering down from a fifth floor sublet, a tired waitress with cropped blonde hair and swollen ankles silently grated, Christ Almighty, does that man ever do anything other than watch that goddamned TV? He has got to get a job. Back spasms, my ass. One month, that's all he's getting, or I swear, I'm leaving for good this time…
From a block to the left, came rich, vibrant chords bursting through the pipes of an organ older than he. A middle-aged man, balding and unkempt, knelt in a back pew, head down and hands clasped in pious remorse, beseeching his God. Blessed Father, forgive me, for I sinned against my brother. I coveted and I took what was not mine to take. I had no right… she was his wife. It's my fault he's dead… His heart… With a strangled sob, he continued, chanting silently, Forgive the blackness of my soul. Punish me for my wickedness…
Deeper still, buried in murky alleyways came the voices for which he searched. There were men there, vile in their thoughts and in their actions. Just before he stepped forward to track, however, another voice, higher in pitch and louder, arrested his attention. As soon as he saw her through nearby eyes, Edward knew he'd found his mark.
When he rounded the corner, he saw his prey. Pale, slim, and unassuming in carriage, she was even better than he could have hoped. Though lank and matted, her dark hair was reminiscent of another's and her face, while too thin, held the same heart shape. A poor approximation, but the notion of consuming one so physically similar was exhilarating. If only she were silent; her mental ramblings blared like a freight train over the buzz of the harlot-red glowing sign above her head. But judging by the filth and disease of her mind, however, no one would ever notice her missing.
"Hey, baby," she cooed, dropping her voice to a gravelling, sultry beckon. The moment she saw him, her thoughts immediately turned lewd, already imaging her thighs wrapped around his naked waist.
My God… What the hell is he doing down here? That face… those clothes… that body… He's an Upper East Sider if I've ever seen one… I'd fuck him for free…
She winked and licked cracked, red-painted lips in anticipation. "What's a man like you doing down here? You look lost. Looking for some directions? Or maybe a little something else?"
The woman smelled off; her blood was flooded with street narcotics and sickness. When she lifted her arm to adjust the ragged strap of her bra, his eyes darted to splotchy skin littered with angry red needle bites.
"Perhaps," Edward answered, eyeing her up and down in feigned appraisal. He cared not for the roundness of her hips, just covered by a strip of cheap black cloth, nor did he care for the swells of flesh at her chest, barely hidden by the décolleté blouse she wore. No, he had no interest in the assets she so readily sold. His interest lay solely in the thumping pulse point beneath her jaw and the thick fluid coursing through her veins. His eyes darkened with what she mistook to be lust when he purred, "I suppose you could meet my needs."
"I can meet any 'need' you can think of. For a price, of course. But you look like the type who doesn't care too much about price..." The woman sidled up to him, the drugs in her system rendering her natural defenses and caution mute. When she leaned in and attempted to palm the front seam of his jeans, a wave of disgust rolled through him. Without thinking, Edward reacted and grabbed her wrist before it met denim.
"You are not to touch me," he warned, as he tried to suppress the desire to snap her in two for her affront. He forced a charming, mischievous smirk and lifted his brows suggestively.
"Kinky," she said with another wink and a shrug. "Whatever you want, baby. You're paying."
Backed against the wall of the nearby service alley, the woman's bravado faltered and fear finally surfaced as she watched his expression darken from the sexy, white smile she'd seen on the street to something akin to the delight of a dangerous, hungry beast. When his gaze never left her throat, she instinctively clutched it with a trembling hand, knowing that something unexpected and wrong was about to occur.
Edward inhaled, ignoring the stench of rotting garbage and urine. This close, he could taste her fragrance, a sweetness reminiscent of honeysuckle and rye. Bouncing off the brick walls around them, her heartbeat pounded, accelerating from a lethargic, drugged laze to a rapid, succulent demand. For a moment, he closed his eyes, relishing the slug of liquid through veins and arteries. Her heart was weak from years of mistreatment, but with adrenaline mixing with amphetamines, it throbbed with exertion, teasing and taunting him.
As he leaned in closer, allowing only scent and heat to guide him, another rhythm flared in his mind, a strident, marching pulse that he could never mistake. His eyes opened immediately and he whipped his head around, searching frantically. For just a split second, he contemplated whether she had followed him somehow, despite his warning. But as soon as the thought floated, it sank. She wasn't here; he'd have smelled her a mile away.
Yet her heartbeat echoed between his ears as surely as if she were the one he was attacking. Everything was suddenly all wrong; the rhythm in his mind beat a stronger, louder, drowning counter-cadence to the thrum of the pitiable creature in front of him, and it was all he could do to focus on reality.
"Pl-please," the woman cried, seeing animalistic fury spread across his face. Her mind was awash with horror-movie images. She believed him a monster, though she'd yet to name him. "Please let me go. Please."
"Stop!" Edward growled angrily, both to the beat in his mind and to the woman backed against the bricks. His fist shot out, effortlessly knocking the feeble protection of her hand away from her throat. Her terror spiked as he bent his face down to hers, ghosting his nose along her jaw, sliding down to linger just above her pulse point.
He inhaled again, sucking in sweat and blood. But even with his nose against her skin, he could still smell the hints of Bella clinging to his shirt and to his own skin. Hours of bathing in her perfume left him completely inundated by her, so much so that she infiltrated his entire being, present or not.
"Please kill me quickly," the woman sobbed. Black stained tears streaked down her face, dotting the pale span of her chest and blouse. As his mouth opened, dripping venom down the column of her throat, she closed her eyes and retreated into memory. Surprising him, images of a grinning brown-haired girl – her younger self – brushing a tall black horse in a decrepit old barn flitted through her mind. The scene passed swiftly, only to be replaced by a barrage of others – all of the same girl, innocent and naïve.
The warmth of an old woman's embrace… The tickle of wind on sunburned skin in the back of an old Chevrolet… A sweet kiss on the mouth from a lanky young boy with too long hair… A white dress and stained glass windows… Smiling down at a pink-faced baby girl in her arms…
His anger cooled as he watched her life pass by, a replay of times before she'd fallen from grace. "You will not suffer. That, I promise," he soothed, his voice warm and fluid despite the chill of his breath. She shivered as his hands held her gently but firmly in place. Warm, shaky puffs of air skittered across his skin, and he could smell the hint of bile rising from her stomach.
A stab of something uncomfortable – almost painful – shot down through his chest and into his gut as he continued to listen to the circling torrent of thoughts and images. His own mind's mimicry of Bella's heartbeat had not waned either, so now he was flooded with too many sounds and too many sights. Edward grimaced, not fully understanding the source of his discomfort, as he'd never experienced its like. Physically, he knew that nothing could touch him, so this was something else, something foreign and new.
But he had to feed; his throat was nothing but burning embers after so many hours of self-induced torture. Whatever oddity that was befalling him, whatever it was that made him hear her and smell her would have to wait to be understood.
Furious with himself for his hesitation, Edward sealed his eyes shut, pushing away all else, and lowered his teeth to the woman's clammy skin. The thin wall of flesh parted like strands of silken thread, and hot, piquant flavor splattered against the roof of his mouth. As soon as his lips clamped onto her, his cheeks instinctively caved in to suction his first drink. The woman moaned in a flash of pain, but before she even uttered a syllable, without pausing his feast, Edward reached up and grasped her skull on either side. With a flick of his wrist, her spine snapped in two, ending her misery, but doing nothing to assuage the rise of his own new and unexplainable torment.
He barely noticed the taste or smell, needing to extinguish the fire that had burned his throat as quickly as possible. Wasting no time, he finished, sucking in long, hard pulls. The predator in him reacted, not wanting her body to cool before her blood was consumed, but more so, he sped his feed because what he could only describe as the remnants of the man in him wanted to wash his hands of her and be through with this. With every mouthful he took, that pang in his chest grew and expanded until he could barely keep the blood down. Because with each swallow, against his will or understanding, behind his closed lids, a heart still pounded and the dead woman's face faded and was replaced by another face, another woman with dark hair and dark, accusing eyes.
~.~.~
Thirty minutes had passed since she'd heard the soft click of the door shutting. Bella hadn't contemplated this scenario – that he would have ever left her alone, unwatched. Theoretically, she could walk out of that door and race to the nearest taxicab. She could run as fast as her human legs could carry her, hide in a police station, or bury herself in the middle of Times Square amongst the lights and sounds. She didn't, however, because she was frozen by the words that were now etched into her consciousness.
Years ago, she had watched vampires track and she knew of their capabilities – their heightened sense of smell, their acute sense of hearing. On the hunt, they were deadly in the every way possible and they always overtook their prey. They were faster, leaner, stronger, and smarter than anything she'd ever seen. Edward would find her; of that, she had no doubt whatsoever, whether it required a day or thirty. And Bella was under no misapprehension that were she to force his hand, to provoke him by giving chase, he would kill her without pause. The dark wine of his eyes had spoken that truth more convincingly than his words had ever hoped; he would not be able to stop himself.
While not running, Bella wasn't stupid, nor was she willing to sit idly by and wait. After the initial shock of unexpected solitude passed, the first thing on her mind was to locate her phone. With a desperation bordering on mania, she rushed across the room, targeting the dark-stained table that held her few belongings. Her fingers fumbled, clumsily pulling apart the clasp of her small handbag. As she shakily rummaged through the contents, she closed her eyes, held her breath, and prayed that there would still be enough battery power left to place a call. The second she saw the screen, however, her prayers crumbled to rubble and dust. The normally vibrant screen was gray, lifeless, and unable to provide her that last link to her only hope – Alice.
She had no idea what to do. Whether Alice and the Cullens were on their way to save her or not, she didn't know. She didn't know if the future had been altered in any way since she'd last spoken to Alice. All she could hear were overwrought words and fears, fate condemning her.
Alice? What do you mean you can't come here? What happens if you do? Stop speaking in riddles. Tell me…
You die...
Weary and worn from not knowing, from being held in stasis, and from feeling the weight of the world upon her shoulders, Bella silently roamed the apartment, trying to distract herself from the litany of morbid thoughts that threatened to take over her mind. If she allowed it, she knew that she would buckle and fall apart.
As she padded through each room, taking in the exotic surroundings and smells, her fingers feathered across the flats of centuries-old tabletops, rich, heavy Italian brocade, and silken drapes and linens. The space was dim throughout, lit only by shaded lamps and the faint glow of the city's lights peeking around the edges of the covered windows.
The silence here was all-consuming, not eerie or frightening, but rather heavy or weighted. It was like a thick fog, making it difficult to breathe, as though there were too little oxygen. It made her shoulders sag and her limbs hang limp. She was so tired – mentally, physically, and emotionally spent. When she came to the last room at the end of the hall, an ironic chuckle escaped her lips, the only sound breaking the stillness.
"A bed?" she mused, rolling her eyes at the huge wrought-iron affair with too many pillows and too-plush covers. She sighed, wistfully recalling the props her Cullens had once used.
Prop or not, the soft pillows and rich gold tones called to her in her exhaustion, and without thinking, she slowly crawled across the mattress. For the first time since she'd been taken, Bella felt some measure of comfort. She sank into the cushions and the thick comforter hugged her sides. The same scents of citrus and spice clung to the pillows and filled her lungs. It was peaceful almost, and the fragrance, softness, and warmth lulled her into quiet contemplation.
As her eyes closed, Bella was surprised by what her mind conjured. It wasn't her mother or father, or even the Cullens. No, she saw Edward's face and she heard his voice. But he didn't frighten her because that strange resonating thrum she'd felt before returned and soothed all distress away. He was a perfect picture in her mind, his memory detailed in ways in which she hadn't realized she was capable. His skin was the purest cream, smooth and unmarred by age or human sickness, and like chiseled stone, his features were so perfectly angular – hard but so beautiful. When he spoke, she could see the curve of lips moving and shaping, their color just slightly too pink to be mere mortal. With each movement, the light caught the tint of his hair, messy and disheveled, as though his fingers had no other outlet for their stress. His shoulders were broad but his cut was lean, and beneath thin cotton fabric, she could see the dips and lines of his chest.
When she concentrated, flipping through all of their interactions, muddled confusion set in. There was something about the way he looked at her, the way that he held his body and gritted his teeth. It was something – something hidden beneath the ice and the hardness – that she saw when his eyes met hers. There was a hint of warmth buried in the crimson that he refused to allow to surface, an echo of her own inexplicable and illogical reactions. But it was there, some heat bubbling. It was as if he were struggling in some primal war of wills. Though she couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, there was more than simple thirst there. It was possessiveness, it was thirst, it was hunger, it was admiration, it was some measure of respect, it was longing, and everything was all intertwined such that the emotions were impossible to individually distinguish. But in his eyes, she was his, in more ways than she fully understood.
She drifted closer to sleep, spiraling downward into the abyss of dreams, and scenes began to take shape and solidify. And once more, Bella found herself falling. Instead of tumbling down a mountainside, however, this time it was an unrestrained freefall, a solo leap from a canyon ledge. Streaking through the cool open air, the wind lashed at her face, and tears leaked out from her corners of her eyes, streaming across her temples and matting into her hair. Looking down, she could see the forest creeping upward, its trees and rocks becoming clearer with each passing second, like arms reaching out to grab her, pulling her to her death.
The speed of her descent caught up with her stomach and a thick, expanding ball lodged in her throat. She panted in disjointed huffs, trying desperately to get air into her lungs. But the ground was so close and terror overtook her. Refusing to meet her death, she closed her eyes and saw only creamy white and autumn leaves. And when her mouth opened, Bella screamed the only words that came to mind.
"Edward, please! Save me…"
When she opened her eyes again, Bella saw darkness. She blinked and sat up, shaking her head to clear it. Her heart felt like it was climbing out of her chest and the dread from her fall lingered in her muscles. Gasping for air, she frantically glanced around the room. When her focus settled on a shape in the corner, her breath caught and her heart sputtered.
"You were dreaming, Isabella," Edward murmured, distracted.
"You… you're back," she whispered. In the low light, Bella could only see the outline of his body, sitting stock still in the antique side chair. His expression was lost in the shadows.
Edward chuckled, outwardly amused, but internally, still trying to reconcile her fearful stutter with the earnest pleas he'd heard her cry in her sleep. The urgency and conviction in those unprotected thoughts was unsettling.
"And you didn't run. I don't know whether to be impressed by your bravery or stunned by your foolishness. I thought for certain that I'd have to track you down."
Bella hugged a pillow between her chest and knees. As the seconds passed, her eyes grew more accustomed to her surroundings. She could just make out the faint white glow of his face, an ethereal ghost surrounded by blackness. As evenly as she could muster, she answered, "We both know that wouldn't have gone well for me."
"True," Edward acquiesced, nodding. He sipped the air, purposefully pushing his tolerance. Despite having fed less than an hour before, his throat still burned for her in ways he'd never imagined. But it was at least manageable and he could maintain cognizance and control.
"You fed?" she asked, her hesitant voice filled with indecipherable sadness. He watched her fingers dig into the plush down of the pillow, her distress clear, bright, and aching.
Slowly, more carefully, he affirmed, "Yes. I told you that I would."
"Tell me." Her words were nervous, uncertain and trembling. The thump of her heartbeat, now seamlessly merged with the one in his head, quickened as her breathing turned shallow.
"About what?" he queried, cocking his head in bafflement. Surely, he thought. Surely she would not want to know about that.
So soft that even he barely heard, she pressed, "Who?"
Edward's brow folded as he processed her request. Incredulous, he countered, "Why? Why would you want to know that?"
"Because I want to know who died in my place."
Her statement hung in the air, echoing and ringing in silence like the deep gong of a sounding bell.
Edward closed his eyes and inhaled, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. He smelled salt and the stab of tears.
"I don't think you do," he whispered, partly to himself. The woman from the alley filled in his mind – the dark hair and eyes, her face, the slight build. The pangs he'd discounted as aberration jolted back to life, and coupled with the sorrow he heard in Bella's voice, now he had a name for them. For the first time in his century of existence, he understood what it meant to feel guilty.
"Yes, I do," Bella breathed.
"She looked vaguely like you," he answered, more roughly than he intended, vexed that he'd allowed his emotions to be manipulated by a human – the same human who was supposed to be dead by now. "I killed her because she reminded me of you."
"Why- how… why would you do such a thing?" Bella stammered as guilt wracked her body. Edward watched her small frame tremble and he heard soft sobs escaping her chest.
"It's what we do, Isabella," he offered, this time more gently.
Bella's shoulders bent inward from the weight of uncontrollable sorrow. The guilt he felt blossomed into something truly painful as he watched the woman in front of him double over and cry for someone she'd never met. He didn't understand her, how she could feel so strongly for a stranger's life, but there was no denying the anguish written across her features and in the tremors rocking her body.
Her head shot up and she glared at the subtle white glow she knew to be his face. "No, no you don't!" she yelled, her voice raw and ragged. "You do not have to. You chose to.
"Just kill me now and be done with it! Why? Why don't you just do it? What are you waiting for?"
Her heartbeat was soaring. "No one else. Please. No one else can take my place. Next time – now, tomorrow, whenever – me. Do you hear me, Edward? Me. I'm the one you want anyway."
Before she could blink, the white glow was suddenly less than an inch from her face and she felt cool air ghosting across her lips. Unthinkingly, she reached out and grasped the fabric of his shirt, clawing against the granite plane of his chest, pulling him closer still.
"You have no idea, do you, Isabella?" he breathed. Heat lapped across his flesh, radiating and warming his skin. Every fiber in his being begged to be closer, and he fought the need to press his lips against her throat, unsure whether he wanted to bite or to do something else altogether. Blood sloshed through her veins, racing through her heart and lungs. He could hear it – see it beneath her flesh. But her hands on him stole every sense of reason he possessed and the feel of her fingertips pressing against his chest consumed him.
"Explain it, then," she demanded, as tears silently fell. "Why don't you just kill me? This-" she gestured between them, finally putting the pieces together, "is more, isn't it?"
"More?" he rasped, disbelieving.
"I'm more to you than just some random human to kill. Why else would you wait? If you are so cold and callous, and if I'm just food or just a job, why are you stalling?"
Her questions pierced his chest and pulled the answer from his mouth against his will. "Yes," he answered, punctuating each syllable. "You are… more."
"Then what am I?" she asked, her heart smacking against her ribcage. The vision from the night before, the one that had eluded her – the one from her first dream, in which Edward was death incarnate – flickered and she remembered. Where she touched him, came crackling electricity, a buzzing heat that enveloped them both.
"I can't explain it you. You won't understand. But you – your blood, you were designed… for me. You're mine. You are the only thing that's ever belonged to me and me alone. You can't comprehend that."
She stared into his eyes, liquid black in the darkness of the room. "Is that why you haven't killed me?"
Edward hesitated and his jaw clenched. "Yes."
Bella's tears stopped and she jerked on his shirt once more. She heard her own voice challenging the Death of her dreams, You're mine…
"You can't do it, can you?"
A growl ripped through his chest as he tore away from her grip, furious. "Yes, I can. And I will."
Edward raked his hand through his hair and settled back into the chair across the room, thoroughly shaken. Angrily, he snapped, "Sleep, Isabella. Go back to sleep."
At first she didn't answer, and he thought that she'd finally obeyed. But before that thought was even complete, her eyes sought his and she spat, "I thought so."
.
.