Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

AN: The following chapter is a sort of extra--it's not necessary to continue with the plot, but really, I couldn't help myself.

Chapter Twenty-One: Seeing in the Dark

He lay stretched across the couch in the darkened hotel room. His eyes were focused on the view from the window, but they still took in everything around him. The narrow room was ghastly, decorated with an outlandish geese theme. A hunter green bed spread clashed horribly with the rust-colored bedside lamps. To top it all, the couch was in pastels. Olivier cringed internally.

He would normally not be here, except that the room afforded him an excellent view of the small town. From the third story window, he could see the tiny dots that were his pursuers. He laughed with the hilarity of the situation. The golden-eyes were stumped. He could see it on their faces.

Too, too, too easy.

After he had taken care of his initial business, he had prepared for the chase. From his observations, he had known they would come, and they did. He knew that all he had to do was keep out of the mind-reader's range—not particularly difficult. The little future-seeing sprite was a bigger problem. He believed he had that covered, though. Lovely Bernie had told him: avoid giving away your location, don't go to the obvious places, don't plan ahead, and change your plans constantly. He had followed the advice to the letter and just hopped into a car at the last minute. He knew he needed to go somewhere nondescript, and this latrine of an establishment suited.

He sighed happily—this was really too much fun. Who knew a little doe-eyed creature could be the source of such diversion?

He did cringe slightly though. Her imprudence with the mutt vexed him considerably. Fooling with her family was fun, but watching her with the mongrel was insulting. He had promised her that he would stomp out any rivals—and he would not forswear his pledge.

He grimaced. It was disconcerting how little he knew about the hound, however. He had been unable to garner much information from either his sources or his surveillance. He had only observed him once, when he transformed for a short period of time.

No matter, he concluded. It would also be properly managed in due course.

In the meantime, he needed to punish sweet Renesmee for her indiscretions.

His eyes left the window to stare at the clock. She would be any minute now—he had sent the text an hour ago.

A soft knock sounded on the door.

He smirked. She was early. The hussy could probably barely contain herself. He stood and languidly made his way to the door way. He could hear her impatience—gritting teeth, little sniffs, and small curses under her breath.

"For fuck's sake, Luke, would hurry up and open the door?"

He swung the door open and pulled her into the room. She did not have a chance to scream or shout or utter a sound. He pulled her into the room and pressed her onto the bed. Alyssa stared at him in horror.

He stroked her cheek, and she cringed in response. "That's right, dear girl. I am not your Luke."

She opened her mouth to scream, but he immediately pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her.

"Scream and you die."

Silent tears began drizzling down her cheeks.

"Now, my lamb, you're going to do me a favor and hold still while I snap a quick photo of the two of us."

With that, he slid her phone out her coat. Then, he pulled Alyssa's tearstained face alongside his. He snapped the photo.

Priceless.

The girl collapsed into a sobbing heap. He ignored her.

Now it should only be a few more minutes, he considered—but then his phone beeped. He opened his messages and saw the alert. His package was delivered. Delivery tracking was a wonderful feature.

He picked up Alyssa's phone once again. He typed in a few lines and then attached the photo.

He clicked the button and sighed contentedly.

Message sent.

Olivier stretched out his arms and lay back on the bed. Now, all he had to do was wait.