Chapter 33 ~ Interlude

He knew that she was the one. He knew this fact not with his mind - which was lightning quick in apprehending anything logical and reasonable and information-based. He knew this truth in the pit of his stomach, in the recesses of his heart. If he had a soul — a fact that he seriously doubted — he would be forced to admit that he knew she was his to the very depths of his soul.

But he didn't believe that he possessed a soul.

However, if he were not a soulless monster who had preyed upon countless human lives, he might be worthy of her...some day. Yes, the lives he had ended were those of the very dregs of society, the evil monsters who did not possess souls either, the ones who raped and tortured and murdered at will. After hearing the vile desires and plans passing through their unspeakably evil minds, he became judge, jury, and executioner. For the several years he spent on his own, he had convinced himself, albeit weakly, that he was saving more lives than he was taking.

But, deep down in that soul he didn't believe he possessed, he knew that he was no better than the monstrous lives he had ended because he murdered not for the altruistic reasons he clung to. No, he did not murder to protect...although protection provided a satisfyingly exculpatory perk. No, he murdered first and foremost to taste their sweet, hot blood, feebly justifying his actions until he could bear the guilt and shame no longer.

Welcomed home by an ecstatic Carlisle and Esme like the Prodigal, he rejoined his family and their "vegetarian" lifestyle, but those years on his own had done their damage. He could only see himself as a monster, the most dreaded kind: soulless, evil at heart, unworthy of the kind of love he witnessed daily under the roof he shared with his family. To quiet his conscience and to give the other couples privacy, he frequently took himself on solitary runs, finding his only comfort in speed, not realizing that he was trying to outrun himself.

Silently and enviously, he watched the perfectly-matched couples he lived with, awestruck by the love and pure connection they shared, how their minds and hearts melded effortlessly into one. When they craved physical intimacy with their mates, he thoughtfully slipped from their minds, allowing them what little privacy was possible in a home with three wedded vampire couples who could hear every whisper of love.

But no matter how deeply he ached for that connection with another, it never seemed to be within his reach. Many women, vampire and human, wanted him because of his physical beauty, but none seemed intrigued by the man behind the facade. Even Tanya, the most persistent of those who had pursued him, desired him mostly because of his indifference; she sought him not as a man, but as a challenge. Simply because he seemed unattainable, she wanted him all the more.

But it wasn't enough. He wanted — no, needed – something more than mere physical release. He viewed love as essential to the experience, and because of his early 20th century upbringing, intimacy must be preceded by courtship and marriage. But he found himself dreadfully out of step with the current generation of both humans and vampires who took no issue with casual "hooking up," a practice that appalled him.

So he remained alone...and lonely. Patiently (and sometimes not so patiently) he waited, not knowing for what (or for whom) he waited.

And then after decades of being the loner, the solitary one, his black eyes met hers, warmed to the hue of melting milk chocolate. Blushing, awkward, modest, and quietly beautiful, she was everything he had ever dreamed of, everything he had imagined. He was entranced from the moment his eyes took her in, her silent mind a frustrating albeit a peaceful exception to the puerile thoughts of the rest of the students at Forks High.

Because of his damnable past, it seemed to be a simple case of divine justice that the one mind he longed to hear above all others was closed to him. Yet her silence, peaceful though it was, was unwelcome to him as he immediately wanted to know her every thought, her every dream, and even the most insignificant details of her human life. He wanted – no, needed – to know her utterly and completely.

Then her fragrance struck him with a unnatural power that he, in the arrogance borne of his century of existence, had never experienced first-hand, nor in the mind of another — not like this. He nearly fell to his knees in the middle of their English class as her scent overwhelmed him, ensnaring his senses completely. He had nothing to compare this experience to — nothing had ever reached into his depths and tied him in knots like the fragile strength of this human girl.

Holding his breath almost made it bearable, but he wanted to drink of her the way he had never wanted human blood in his entire existence. It took all of his immortal strength to remain in his seat and resist scooping her into his arms, ripping into her delicate throat, and devouring her hot blood in great, satisfying gulps under the shocked eyes of their entire class. Despite his sister's quick intake of breath beside him as the scene undoubtedly played out in her mind as a possible (or, in this case, probable) future path, he really couldn't find the wherewithal to care that there would be impossible repercussions from his despicable action; the few moments it would take him to completely drain her small body, her heart fluttering like a caged bird until it quieted forever, would be entirely worth kneeling before the Volturi, prepared for his utter immolation.

Yes, he decided, tasting her would be worth the hefty price: the price of her precious life, the price of being sought by the Volturi, even the price of bringing his miserable existence to an abrupt and violent end. Yes, definitely worthwhile.

The only way he managed to resist draining her dry right then and there was to vacate the classroom in the middle of the lecture...and he could barely force himself to do that much. In the remaining twenty minutes before classes finished, he had considered and discarded hundreds of ways to lure her away from the school and consume her blood in private, savoring every warm, wet swallow until her heart was silenced forever.

He was really, truly an evil creature to desire to kill a defenseless human girl simply because her blood more delectable than anything he had ever tasted; in fact, he despised himself all the more for the images hammering his brain again and again of consuming her sweetly floral blood, even if it meant killing a beautiful, innocent girl.

Then he learned her as a person, learned her fragility, her kindness, her compassion, her beauty, her incredible strength despite the years of abuse she had somehow survived, bending but not breaking under the evil she had experienced. And despite the horrors of her past, she did not seem withdrawn or bitter; no, instead she embraced life with a captivating joie de vivre and a beguiling innocence.

And he wanted her all the more now that he knew her. Now he no longer desired to drain her but instead to worship her. He wanted to kneel before her altar and become fully hers...hers to command as he adored her, protected her, followed her anywhere and everywhere.

For he desired to protect her delicate, beautiful humanity with a determination that stole his (unnecessary) breath away.

He was no longer his own, but somehow he did not mind in the least. He had always been independent, had always been a loner. He had answered to no one but himself...and but occasionally to Carlisle. But now he no longer belonged to himself.

He belonged to her. And he rejoiced in the truth that she owned him now – body, mind, and (if he had one) soul.

He finally accepted this truth with a joy that stunned him.

But now he had to force her to leave him...for her own well-being, for her own safety.

For even if he could somehow sublimate his thirst for her freesia-scented blood: the searing pain in his throat, the sudden rush of venom into his mouth, the aching hollowness of his belly no matter how recently he had fed, and the sheer NEED to take her and made her his and his alone as he drained her fragile body of its life-sustaining nectar, each moment so uncertain, her life always hanging in the balance, his family also struggled with the call of her sweetly-fragrant blood.

It was simple: she had to leave – before things turned ugly.

Before he could hurt her...or, worse, kill her.

She was destined to be his, yet she could not be his.

He lowered his head into his hands as with each of her heartbeats, their future was decided, nailed home with each thrum of her fragile, loving heart.

This future without her would leave him broken forever, not that he cared much about what happened to him despite the fact that separating her tender heart from his silent one would annihilate him. After all, this sacrifice, by far the most difficult one of his century-long existence, was all about her; he must to protect her at all costs, come what will.

And he was resolved to do exactly that: to protect her with all of his considerable, eternal strength.

He just hoped that it would be enough...

My apologies for the hiatus and for this short chapter. It came to me out of the blue several days ago, and I had to jot it down on my new smart phone...where I promptly lost it as I didn't know how to save a document. So I waited a day or so then attempted to recreate it here. It's not the same, but in some ways it's better this way.

And my apologies for the hiatus. Work has been slamming me with teaching an online course on The Merchant of Venice, homeschooling my own three boybarians, and teaching the MLA research essay to my high schoolers in our home school group. I've often been up working until 2:00-3:00 AM, and the overwork brought about a pretty bad flare-up of my rheumatoid arthritis and other autoimmune disorders.

My special thanks to all of you who so kindly reviewed the last two chapters. As much as I want to respond to each of you, I simply can't. But I read every one of them and save many to my special file of Fan Fic Comments.

Oh, and guess what? I'll be teaching a fan fiction writing class this summer at Brave Writer! It's supposedly for homeschooling kids ages 12-18, but anyone within that age group is very welcome. Just check out www(dot)BraveWriter(dot)com, then scroll down the Online Classes to the Fan Fiction class. It's not an inexpensive class, but it's a wonderful way to get reluctant writing students interested and involved in composition, even during their summer break from school.

Thank you all for your kind comments and delightful reviews! I cherish each one! And the next chapter will be full-kength and will be up next weekend, most likely Sunday.

Take care, my friends!

Love,

Cassandra :)