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Please enjoy, she reunites Edward in this chapter!

CHAPTER 4

The vampire used one of his many robes to clean his sullied hand, never taking his eyes off of me. The long, stiff coat of dark, iridescent red swayed in the wind as he shifted his weight, showing an obvious intent to approach.

I turned and sprinted with everything I could muster. Only two steps and he stole me from the gracious earth, pulling me to his face. I wailed and kicked and screamed until he spoke softly. "Saath su veastra."

I didn't know vampires could speak without snarling, nor did I know what manner of language they spoke.

"Look at me," he then said in French.

They can speak French?

I did, and his appearance shell-shocked me—not at all monster-like as I had always imagined. He looked more like the teenage boys from the marketplace than a monster.

"Interesting," he muttered as I studied his cool, amber eyes, which were one of the few inhuman things about him.

How were vampires able to be so horrible if they looked this normal? It made no sense to me.

"I won't hurt you, don't be afraid," he assured me, pulling me out of my stupor. "Do you have a name?"

How could I possibly trust a vampire with my name? The gentleness in his features gave me hope in the chaos. He was different than the rest, I could see it. I could swear on it.
"B-Bella," I replied.

"Bella." He nodded as he lowered me back to the ground. "Where are your parents?"

The look on my face must have been answer enough as his features softened further. "...Such a horrible fate. Come with me, and I will see to your safety from here on out."

Like I could believe him. I knew better than to trust a vampire. Jacob had always told me to never trust them—if I were to ever see them, although he was certain I never would.

But this vampire had to be different. He had to be if he wasn't trying to take my blood, right?

No one was left. Where would I go? For everything that just happened—for all the bloodshed witnessed and family lost—it was enough to not feel the need to run. At least, for now.

"What's your name?" I dared to ask.

"Lord Edward Cullen," he replied, almost regretfully.

"Keep your eyes down and follow all instructions when they are given to you, are we clear?" the more serious of my two dorm mothers says to me.

I nod and lower my head as the doors before us open with a dreadful screech. We enter and in these last few moments of suffering suspense, I latch onto the sound of my still-very-much-alive heart. All noises from within the chamber cease, leaving me to grow uncomfortably self-aware amidst what I can only assume to be silent scrutiny.

They can see me now. All of them.

Even Cullen.

I continue to slide my feet across the floor, one in front of the other, as difficult as balancing on a taut rope. My dorm mothers motion for me to stop and I exhale with relief. Although, standing perfectly still becomes the next great challenge.

The moon's night-time reflection is the only trace of light that this room permits, only slightly, too, as the trees from outside the tall, stained glass windows absorb most of it. I try to focus on the shadows of rustling leaves that dance upon my feet, courtesy of the windows.

"Z29734...," a familiar voice booms across the dark room. "...Please step forward and present your blood willingly to the honorable general of the Western Sabbanthian province, Lord Edward Cullen," the voice demands of me.

I recognize it now. That male vampire from the holding cells, Caius. That short time ago already feels like an eternity.

As told, I step forward and ready myself in the offering position. I outstretch my arms, crossing one wrist over the other, and present them underside up. While doing this, I dip my head even lower—in accordance with many past practices—to signify subjugation. Usually this stance would cause me to clam up with bitterness, but right now everything is numb, minus the looming anxiety. This degrading stance is a symbol of my pathetic life. Something that I would be expected to do for the rest of it if I somehow make it past this day.

"Dorm mothers please step back, and Rosalie... the kortrastet, please," Caius instructs, and the two, foul grips on my arms instantly release. The clack-clack-clack of Hale's basten-skinned heels plod down nearby stairs. A secret hope that she trips and face plants shamelessly crosses my thoughts.

Soon, Caius is beside me. The glinting, carved piece of metal he now holds catches my eye. The kortrastet. An intricately designed needle, secured to a plastic siphon, leading up to what is usually an empty blood pack, but today, it's a goblet.

Caius reaches out and grabs my arm with a hot towel, serving as a buffer between his skin and mine. I have half a mind to make my move now and slap him, spit in his face, put on the show that they all would love to see before I get sentenced. However, I'm genuinely curious as to what Cullen will think of my blood, and to be truthful, I'm just not ready.

Caius skillfully injects the large needle into my arm, a sharp pinch followed by an especially cold and numbing sensation. I blink away the discomfort and wait, watching peripherally as the dark red liquid drips into the goblet. The sound of it sloshing as it spills is enough to make me sick.

As quick as it began, it stops. Caius leaves me with a thin arument bandage and walks out of my lowered line of sight, his footsteps ascending the stairs, growing fainter and fainter… until they stop.

"My lord, your unit's blood...," he says out of offering. My heart lurches. Caius is speaking to Cullen.

For yet another moment, nothing but ringing silence. An endless moment of pins and needles, until a regal and nostalgic voice commands the attention of the auditorium.
"Ah, how surprising, this one's blood..."

My eyes widen as the deep and ominous notes that illustrate his voice permeate the air. A sound characterized by cordial, rich, and vibrant fortitude. It's the voice of the only vampire that has ever called me by my given name. My body shakes near uncontrollably.

"Quite the troublemaker, wasn't she? Is this the one that I kept getting reports about, Demetri?"

Another masculine voice pipes up, "Uh... Tch, tch, yes. Two, nine, seven, three... four? Ah, yes, she has had two reports in the past, and then the uh… the escape attempt yesterday, my lord."

My shaking becomes even more violent as judgmental chatter rings about the room, revealing that there are so many more spectators than what I thought. However, the noise eventually dies down enough to make things even more uncomfortable. So many eyes are on me; probably all of them—Cullen's included.

"Surely you can't be thinking about keeping her?" a noble female voice penetrates the mindless talk. "I know you don't believe in wastefulness, Edward, but the greater waste here would be your mercy."

What a— I bite back my thoughts, just in case.

Cullen's chuckle ignites the heavy air. "Thank you for your input, Zafrina, but I can decide for myself." A moment of pause lingers until he speaks again. "You see, this blood is definitely of the better that I have tasted, this evening. It's rich and austere. One of a kind."

My heartbeat quickens.

He can't be serious. My blood should be the foulest thing to ever touch his lips.

"But, I also cannot simply discount the inane will of its owner…," he trails off. "You there, look up at me."

His voice ricochets across the room and it takes me a second to realize that he's talking to me. My heart lunges into my throat. Do the leaders normally ask their supply units to do that? I was taught to never look my owner in the eye… would this count? Amidst my doubt, I do my best to swallow my heart back down into its proper place as I raise my head.

The first things I notice are identical stair-stepped rows, each landing is the foundation for one long station for sitting and leaning, like that of a classroom, and a seemingly important vampire fills each segment. They all eye me warily as I continue to scan, ever so gradually, upward in the direction of his voice. My sight finally reaches the top row of stations, where there are five prestigious vampires backed by one or two lesser vampires. They are intimidating with their fierce wardrobes and malignant auras, each represented by a colored triangular tag that sits in front of them upon their shared desk. Sapphire, Emerald, Gold, Amethyst, and ...Ruby. My heart skips a beat, and my eyes drift one inch more, focusing on the vampire representing the brash color.

Dark amber-stained eyes, only detectable by the cascading moonlight, capture mine with an essence so sharp and demanding that I can't help but drop my gaze.
"I didn't say you could look away." His tone stiffens beneath his words, leaving me with no other choice but to attempt round two.

This time, I focus on his remarkably familiar traits. A glossy, yet rough bronze, Cullen's hair brushed back over his ears, highlighting lifted and crafted cheekbones—a symmetry paired with something so dreadfully imbalanced. His perfection contradicts the innate, imperious aura of a killer—one that can petrify thousands with fear. He has not changed even a little. Nothing in his appearance has altered from the last time that I saw him. Not a wrinkle present, nor blemish added. Youthful, as if he were no older than myself, no older than the memory I have of him. And it makes sense. Cullen, like every other vampire, outlives humans by an astronomical amount of time.

"Ah, yes." He concludes with a hint of a smile. "Your eyes give away your disloyalty. Tell me, are you not grateful to be receiving another chance at life?"

My eyebrows twitch with annoyance, though I'm sure it doesn't go unnoticed by the room. Numbness and fear ebbs away to accommodate rage.

How very like vampires. To think living while enslaved is something to be appreciated.

When I don't respond, he continues. "Even if I were to permit you into my castle out of pure mercy, I am certain you would still find something to be ungrateful about." His voice is deep and acidic. He leans on one arm, mulling over my fate as if trying to decide which fabric to don. The atmosphere in the room lightens, while the void in my heart desaturates to pure black. Who does he think he is?

"All right," he says, "I will spare your life, human. I will take you to my castle. But first you must beg for the forgiveness of myself and my colleagues for all the trouble you have caused."

My eyes widen and my limbs stiffen with shock. Everyone in the room sneers. Even Hale.

This guy... I wish I could drive a stake through his heart. Luckily, I have enough control to refrain from trying, but it does take every ounce to prevent myself from word vomiting my true opinions onto him and every other low-life in this room. As if an unquenchable flame of defiance reignites within me—filling every pore and coursing through every vein—I recall, and dwell upon my dorm mother's words.

If all you have left is your pride, leave this world with your pride...

My arms gradually lower from their submissive positions.
"Too frightened to speak? Must I send you back to Nightingale to relearn Acclevin? Or is it listening that is the deeper problem?" Cullen toys with me and the room erupts with laughter. James, represented by the amethyst tag, calls out almost drunkenly. "If you won't keep her… I will. I personally like it when they don't talk. Their screamy pitches are so very annoying."

Cullen glares at him before following up with a smirk. "Don't even try to poach my lot, half-wit." The room laughs again, unsurprisingly.

It snaps. Lot? Property? Possession?

Something within me snaps and I can't hold it back anymore.

"Well!" I proclaim, the notes of that one word dripping with insubordination as every head whips toward me. For a second, I doubt myself. I could play the sudden octave off as nerves and beg for forgiveness. I could claim to have hiccups or I could try and brush it behind the tapestry…

...but I don't. I don't want to. My mouth opens, and it refuses to close.

"Since you all are so clearly a humble and righteous bunch, who clearly don't like to let things go to waste, why don't you all do each other an immense favor and stop wasting my time?"

Everyone, aghast, looks to Cullen whose playful smirk has since fallen to a taut line. Every hint of humor has left his face, mild horror replacing it. His expression is nothing short of intimidating, but I can't help myself. The feeling of openly unbinding years of pent up anger is too addicting.

"You've already cost everyone enough time and headache keeping me alive, so why keep it going? There's no way in hell I'll ever apologize to you or to anyone else formysuffering."

His face. That same smug face that promised me safety, and that made me feel like the worst was over back then; the one that manipulated me and locked me within the cold walls of Nightingale to mold me into his blood slave. That face now offers me only an expression of disappointment, maybe even a hint of concern, or distress. I knocked him off his pedestal, and it feels so good that I can't stop.
"If you think for even a second that I have any intention to beg you for my life, you're wrong. Because I would rather be torn to shreds by thefallenthan be forced to serve you!"

I look to James, the bastard, and then to the rest of them. "That goes for all of you, too!"

Dead silence.

There she is. There's the Bella that scaled the walls of Nightingale yesterday. The same Bella that is apparently hell-bent on dying. But she is brave and unrelenting. I would rather die with those traits than remain alive as a subservient, mindless idiot. Everyone turns, looking from me to Cullen. My dorm mothers hunker back—one trying hard not to grin while the other nudges her forcefully. Caius stands off to the side on the right set of stairs, glaring at me, while the other four military rulers of Volterra whisper among themselves. Reluctantly, I return my eyes to Cullen's, dreading the same antagonizing smirk that he started wearing again. It takes one gulp and my heart shoots into overdrive. For the longest time he sits there, leaning his face upon his knuckles, until—

"You make a very persuasive argument." His tone turns cold like ice as he re-ascends his damned pedestal. He side-glances the vampire who stands complacent on the stairs.

"Caius. I've made my decision."

"Y-yes, my lord?" Caius responds, a bit taken aback, still in shock from the spectacle—which grants me a bit of satisfaction.
Cullen looks me over, the line of his mouth finally stoic before he announces, "Feed this girl to the fallen, if they will even take her. She holds no greater value within Volterra."

Everything crashes down; all becoming real as Caius makes his way over and pulls me by the arm, forcing me left toward another set of doors. I throw one last look up at Cullen, who is already refocusing his attention elsewhere, likely trying to think of how to put out the fire on his reputation that I started. And yet, despite my desire to cover up such weakness, when he shoots me a small peripheral glance, my eyes brim with the result of betrayal. Betrayal because for the longest time I didn't hate Cullen. For the longest time, he was the only being who gave me a sense of purpose in this cruel world. Every day for the first two years, I thought that was the day he'd return.

Back then, he promised he would come back for me when he left me at Nightingale and that everything would be okay. ThatI would be okay. I thought he was different from the other vampires who slaughtered my parents. Not once did he say anything about me becoming a part of his infantry supply, about how I would be treated like dirt, or about how I would eventually have no motivation to live. And because of my crushing naïveté at that point in my life, I actually, deeply cared for him.

But it was all an illusion. One that I was forced to see through on my own.

Though tears of remembrance line my lashes, my mind falls too far into oblivion for them to drop. It becomes difficult to think clearly. Basic thoughts and concepts, clouded. My breathing, erratic. It takes everything in me to walk, and even then Caius pulls on me to speed up. I nearly pass out from waves of panic, from the thought of where I'm about to be, from imagining the feeling of rabid teeth tearing into my flesh.

The first one.

I'm the first human Cullen has sentenced to death.

My escort's voice distracts me from this fact.

"You sure don't know how to control your mouth, do you?" he asks.

I don't answer him. In fact, I make it a point not to. Any further involvement with this world is useless anyway. Unfortunately, he doesn't let my newfound ability to remain silent stop him.

"If you would have begged, he would have kept you, you know? But now you have to pay the price for putting an unforgivable dent in his pride with your petty, soap-box speech...," he pauses to look down on me. "Though I suppose you truly believed all that you said to him?"

Reluctantly, I swivel my head to glower at him as I try to process his words. I'm unsure whether he's deserving enough for an answer. There isn't anything to lose if I do answer him, though. I'm already as good as dead anyway, and I don't want anyone to mistake my actions on this night for stupidity.

"I have no intention of serving anyone that I don't personally choose to serve. This is my life. And if the only way to be free is through death, then so be it."

Caius laughs at me, replying, "Ah, but your fear says otherwise. I can smell it on you."

"...Fear is innate." I reason with not only him, but with myself, my mind clearing to make way for my pride. "It doesn't make my decisions for me. That's what makes us humans different from the cattle you think we are."

"Oh? It seems to be working out for you." He laughs at his own wit. But even as we approach the cellar doors leading to the holdings of the fallen, I look him dead in the eyes and respond unshaken.

"Yes, it is." I stand my ground, all the while he refuses to take me seriously. "If death is the only choice that I can make for myself, then I will make it. Gladly."

He snickers again while unlocking the chained handles of the cellar doors. Even this far away the howls and roars of the fallen, along with other—more innocent—screams shock my senses. Caius turns to me and smiles with a means to intimidate.

"Go ahead and justify yourself, but you should realize something before you meet this fantastic and courageous demise of yours. You nearly escaped from Nightingale, the most elite of all the supply schools, known for its near flawless security. So then, what made you so certain that you wouldn't have been able to flee Lord Cullen's castle?"

My eyes widen.

"Are you saying that—"

"I'm saying that you were too busy balancing on your splintering step-stool that you never actually used that brain of yours," Caius curtly interjects, opening the door to the dark stairwell.

I look him up and down. This guy, this vampire, doesn't underestimate a human's capability like the others do. How strange.

"Why are you—" I begin only to be cut off again.

"It's no skin off my teeth. Your destination is at the bottom of the stairs. I would recommend you not to scream or scratch at the doors. No one will come for you and it will also grant you first place in line for 'the drop,'" he says, nudging me forward as I lose my thoughts to the abyss of stairs, barely catching myself on the handrails as the strong stench of death and blood penetrates my nose. My heart snakes its way into my throat again.

"I hope this is what you truly wanted, two-nine-seven-three-four," his soft voice is weighted by poor tidings. "For now, it is your only choice."

He slams the door and a loud sound ripples up from the bottom stairwell.

BAM!

"No, stop! PLEASE! NO!" The plea of another supply unit.

My feet slip, and I take my first accidental step onto the stairs. Light suddenly fills my vision as tripped rope lanterns flicker on down the length and curves of the stairway, recognizing my entrance, and giving away my position.
"Hey, you up there! Quit stalling!" a squeaky voice calls out, the order obviously meant for me.

Dreadful screams and the wet and stringy sound of tearing flesh ricochet in waves throughout the stairwell—a supply unit meeting her end. My breath hitches. Shaking, my hand makes use of the much-needed handrail, and I begin the descent into the fallenreserves. I arrive at the mouth of the room and peer around the final corner.

Four vampire soldiers line the walls while an old man, who must be the surveyor, sits in a disgruntled heap upon a tall, metal chair, making tick marks every now and again on parchment. In front of him is a short line of unaccepted supply units awaiting "the drop," or, "the forced push into the pit of once-humans."

The pusher sits upon a similar chair next to the pit. Cage bars that extend to the ceiling prevent fall-ins along the edge, at all but one place—in front of him. This is where the last three rejected units wait. Two now, as the pusher uses a lazy foot to nudge the next in line over the edge. I throw my head away and force down vomit as her screams are drowned by her tearing flesh and crunching bones. The next supply unit reluctantly steps up to the opening and I nearly stop breathing.

"Jessica!" I scream out in disbelief. The panic instantly releases the tears from before as every head turns to look at me. The pusher, distracted, puts down the foot that was mere seconds from sending my best friend over the edge.
"Bella?" Jessica's brown eyes alight from the flickering lanterns.

"You there, quit causing a ruckus," the old surveyor squeaks at me. "Get in line or I'll push you over, myself." But I pay him no mind. Instead I sprint across the room toward Jessica, and the vampire guards take up their saw-toothed spears.

I happen to briefly notice the other rejected supply unit. None other than a terror-stricken Angela. So, James rejected her, too.

The pusher stands and holds his palm out across my chest to prevent me from reaching my friend, but it's a sorry attempt. I shoot my arm out and grab her amethyst dress by the collar. She falls onto my chest in embrace, crying heavily, and discouraging my prolonging of her death with estranged cries. "Stop, stop, stop. There's no use, there's no-"

"Th-there's been some kind of mistake." I shout as all the vampires in the room approach me, the surveyor still rambling threats.

"I mean it!" I scream, begging to be right. "This unit should not be down here. She's devoted to Lord James, she can't—"

"Bella," the mess in my arms desperately pleads. Her fingers quiver, white-knuckling the ruby straps on my shoulders. I look down at her and she continues in a whisper, "...It's no use. He didn't want me."

"How could he-?"

"He s-said everything about me was good," she now blubbers. "...But he said that he has too many like me and so…" She breaks down and sobs, unable to finish explaining what we both already know.

My eyes refuse to close, horrified by this reality. Horrified by everything. I watch my once optimistic friend bury her head into my breast, her eyes dripping black from washed out makeup and squandered hope.

The surveyor grabs my arm, forcing me back into our devastating situation, but my hold and my resolve only strengthens.

"Get away from her!" I yell, as I whip Jessica away from him, snarling.

The soldiers move forward with their spears, Angela breaks down crying, and the pusher grabs me by the hair. Despite the pain, I still cling to Jessica, and her to me.

"Alright, aberrant... Both of you at the same time," he hisses.

He flings me to the opening in the bars and I barely manage to catch myself on the left while Jessica latches onto the right, our other arms still holding onto each other. Everyone looks to us. The pusher sneers, showing us his yellowed fangs as he rests his large hands on our backs.

"Ready?" He grins.

Jessica and I both look down at the mass of countless detestable beasts that climb and fight their way on top of one another, eager to attack us.

Hunchbacked and naked humanoids, the fallen struggle with their blackened, decaying flesh and shriveled loss of hair, unable to contain the lust for our living blood. Their jaundiced and eerily devoid pupils jump between us. The whites of their once-human eyes now remain bloodshot and bleeding, leaving a red trail flowing down their cheeks uninterrupted, and constant. Jagged fangs that rot from overuse snap at us from every direction while dirt-clogged claws bend and break as they try to scale the bloodied stone walls. Even the few dead and cannibalized beasts look as if they died while ripping something apart.

And then there's the floor of the pit, made up of nothing but human bones and deteriorating, putrid flesh. I force myself to release my hold on the bars and fully grab onto Jessica. She reluctantly does the same.

"It'll be okay...," unconvincingly I console her while shaking. "We will go together. It will only be a few moments, then… then it'll be over."

She nods and tightens her grip on me.

Just as the hand applies greater pressure on my back—sending me from the struggle of denial to apprehensive acceptance—a loud and lively voice shoots out from the top of the stairwell.

"Hold it! Hooooold it!"

Phew, okay, this one was tough! Obviously, I wanted Edward to take on a kind of malicious, yet still somewhat caring role. What did you guys think?

Thanks for all the love! :)