A memory tugged at her subconscious, one of a young girl—much smaller than she was now—falling through a patch of thin ice and into frigid waters. The shock of cold had rendered her muscles useless as they seized and she fought for breath, darkness overtaking her vision as she sank below the depths. Renee had been so angry at Charlie that day, and a month later she and her mother were on a plane bound for sunny Arizona—the cheapest airfare to the warmest place Renee could find, anything to leave the cold behind. Charlie had watched them go, hiding the anguish in his eyes and giving Bella a hug and a stuffed toy for the flight. She hadn't wanted to leave then, but the promise of sunny days and new adventures were enough to persuade the young girl to flee the only home she'd ever known with her flighty mother.
Years later, Bella had returned to the sleepy little town in Washington, unwillingly at first, but before the events of her birthday party, nothing could have torn her away from the mysterious coven of vampires, no less the one who held her heart within his hands.
The moment she'd cut her finger, he had fled. She didn't blame him, she knew what she was to him and likely, he felt as if he couldn't risk it—risk her. Had he returned to watch her change? Watching over her as venom seeped through her veins and causing her muscles to seize just as they had when she'd slipped through the ice. Darkness had long overtaken her vision and while she could hear the sound of others moving around her, her mind couldn't process the sounds for the burn of the pain in her body. All semblance of warmth seemed to leave her as the venom burned through her veins, leaving a cold so bitter it felt like she was consumed by an inferno.
She thought this must be what it felt like to die.
But there was a comfort to knowing that it was coming—either she would die or she would live, albeit a very different life.
In the haze between one realm and the next, she could feel the warmth of a body wrapped around her. Fingers brushed through her hair, syllables were whispered against her ear, lips fluttered over the rapid pulse thrumming through her temple. The warmth reminded her of being human and in the moments of clarity between each rapid beat of her heart, she sought it out—clinging to the form against which she was cradled.
Her body ached and whimpers fell from her throat, parched from the piercing wails that came before. But as the fire numbed her, the bitter cold pervading her senses, she floated in the abyss between this life and the next, innate curiosity keeping her mind spinning with the possibilities of what was to come from what had come before.
The memories were hazy now, as if seen through glass covered by an opaque film. The voices dimmed, the faces softened, the emotional connections muted. The pulse of her heart pounded in her ears, thrumming like the wings of a hummingbird before it abruptly stopped.
Yet the burn remained, concentrated in her throat as though she might never be sated after the screams of agony burned through any residual moisture therein.
The pain ebbed, leaving her to drift in silence.
Except it was anything but.
Leaves rustled in the wind outside of the home. Hushed whispers could be heard within the forest. The delicate scrape of fingers brushed along the curve of her arm. Music from somewhere above her. Soft breaths, only necessary for speech—not for life, being taken.
Strength flowed through her, energy threatened to consume her, begged her to move and run to expend it. She was boundless, limitless, and yet somehow tethered to a sense of morality, despite her apparent immortality. The rapid, beating hearts of the creatures in the forest did nothing but fuel her thirst.
Ravenous.
Thirsty.
Arms shifted around her, fingers drawing over her stone-like skin. She could almost feel the warmth they once contained, though she was certain they no longer felt cold. She drew a breath through her nose, forcing her lungs to expand as she captured a taste of the air at the back of her throat. Their scents pervaded the home, each one of the seven elusive members distinct, though she couldn't place whose belonged to whom.
Her memories of the Cullens remained hazy, but she was certain she was safe within their home, within the embrace of someone who cared.
Edward.
She would have given him her mortal life but now, her mortality was no longer an obstacle to their happiness.
Her eyes opened, brain seeking to make sense of her new hyper-sensitive senses as her eyes caught each dust-mote in the sunlight streaming through the windows before they found the brush-strokes in the paintings on the wall, the minute grooves in the hardwoods, the threads of the curtains.
A form was perched at the edge of the sofa, large and imposing and her mind pulled forth his name—Emmett.
Their gazes met and he gave her a broad smile, "Welcome home, little sister." His eyes flicked to the form behind her, the one whose embrace she remained. "It's been a hell of a day. I expect you two will have plenty to talk about." With a wink, he was gone and the faint sound of a door opening on one of the upper floors could be heard.
Bella's head snapped to the right, eager to take in the appearance of Edward with her newfound senses, but she was greeted by a different sight. In place of riotous bronzed curls lay honey-blond waves while nearly-black eyes, laced with a number of unfathomable emotions, watched her carefully. Her eyes raked over the curves of his cheekbones, following the line of scars down his jaw to the jagged cluster at the base of his neck to where they disappeared beneath his shirt.
The pull towards him was immediate and the shock of it made fear bubble up within her throat.
He flinched, but his soothing fingers sought out her hand and he entwined their fingers together.
She opened her mouth to speak, but words flew from his lips and she was compelled to listen. "I know you have questions, Isabella… but you need to hunt before any answers are given. We have precious little time before your thirst consumes you. I need you to trust me, can you do that, sweetheart?"
The pitch was wrong. The accent was wrong. The cadence was wrong.
Even so, the trust was there, formed like a tangible thing she could hold within the palm of her hand.
"Let's go."