Chapter Twenty

Indulge

Lena disliked going to the doctor as a human. It was a thirty minute walk, just for a course of antibiotics. They had a truck, but it was a temperamental old thing, and in the time it could take to get the engine to start she could have already been at the clinic.

She preferred her mother's remedies. Loose tea leaves steeped in boiling water, served with bland crackers. She liked laying snuggled up under her blankets while Nik did her farmwork for her, no matter the weather, and Adrian picked up her household chores. She liked her mother coming in to sit on the edge of her bed, liked the way the mattress dipped and let her know someone was there with her, liked the feeling of her cool hand on her forehead.

Carlisle's care was not at all like her mother's.

He prescribed no medicines, and no homemade remedies. There was nothing suitable. Her new body was abnormal. She would burn off whatever he injected, and could not eat or drink anything but blood.

Carlisle took a sample of her venom, as if it would tell him anything. She supposed he would have to sneak into the hospital when nobody was looking to test it, unless the Cullens were hiding a lab somewhere in their mansion Lena was yet to discover. He showed no anxiety about the prospect of falsely using medical equipment. Lena believed he had done this same thing dozens of times before, though she wondered why there was a need.

She sat in the living room, watching as he packed away his belongings with meticulous care.

If he could break into a medical laboratory, how easy would it be for him to pick up something for her from the blood donations? He seemed to be in the prime position to indulge.

Of course, he would never do it.

It was that black bag sitting on the coffee table which made him important. Or at least, important among the people whose opinion he cared for. Lena understood human society, having once participated in it. People did not condemn those who could save them.

"I think it might be best if you take a break from practicing with Jasper," he said.

No. She wanted this. Needed this. How else was she going to end Aro? She could never beat the Volturi as she was now.

"You said I was fine."

He stopped moving and smiled at her.

"You are." His voice was soft, and meant to be soothing. "But it is usually easier to prevent than to treat."

She didn't know what sort of treatment she would need, considering she didn't really know what sort of condition she had. Was he saying it because he cared about her, or were his words born from some hidden selfish desire?

She refused to believe the Cullens were as shallow as they seemed. There was more to them, ugly bits they didn't want her to see. There had to be.

Maybe he was afraid she would harm herself beyond what could be repaired. Maybe he wanted to harness her gift, as he did his other children's.

"Just for a couple of days," he said, and squeezed her shoulder.

He stood, and went to leave. Lena grabbed his wrist, keeping him from pulling away from her.

Carlisle frowned at her. "Lena?"

She stared at him, confused by the way his face bunched up instantly with worry. It wasn't real. An act, just like all of it was. His house, his family, his perfect reputation in a tiny town. All of it was a mask, used to hide a terrible truth she suspected he may have never voiced. Not even once.

"Do you feel unwell again?" He set his bag down on the floor, and crouched in front of her so that he was at eye level.

She would have laughed, if she weren't trying so hard to see something. A lie, buried beneath the flesh and fat and muscle that made up his face.

"No," she mumbled, because she knew if she didn't say something, he would unpack his bag again and fuss over her some more in that cold medical way she hated.

He seemed to relax, but only slightly. Her response must have only brought forth more questions, none of which Lena thought would be fun to answer.

Instead of worrying about it, she kept her eyes focused on his. She searched desperately for something incriminating. A scrap of fabric, a harrowing glare, a body held deep under the watery depths of his eternal suffering. She wanted to know what it was he was hiding under all his niceties and compassion and timeless manners.

He must have done something terrible to fabricate a life like this. Killed someone. Lead a cult. Cheated someone out of their life savings.

His eyes were quiet and still, like a lake. Nothing emerged from their depths. There wasn't a single soul lurking inside of him, begging to be acknowledged and pulled up for air.

Lena narrowed her eyes.

Carlisle was the perfect symbol of holiness. A man far greater than any other man she knew. His life was self-determined and self-measured. For him, the only judgement that mattered was his own.

She recoiled from him.

"What is it?"

She ignored him, and sank into the couch. Stared at him, as if he were the monster all along. Certainly, he was not normal. Perhaps he was even less human than her.

What made a monster a monster? Was it their cruelty, or their unnaturalness?

"Lena?"

His eyes were wide, his brow lowered. A desperation clung to him she longed to exploit, and yet felt apprehensive to delve into. His hair was a mess, some blond locks spilling from the careful and precise arrangement he typically wore. His shirt was creased, and the sleeves rolled up unevenly.

That was all, though.

That was the extent of his chaos, and it frightened her.

"It's nothing," she said, and plastered a tiny smile on her face. "I just wanted to thank you."

He smiled back, genuinely. He probably thought this was progress in their relationship. He probably thought they were one step closer to accepting each other.

"I'm glad you trust me with your health." He stood again, and disappeared upstairs with his bag.

Lena shivered once he was gone.

He had no ghost.

Lena was barraged with sounds. She always thought night was a time of quiet, stillness, though that was when she wasn't awake to witness it. Now she could hear everything - little woodland creatures burrowing deeper into the earth, bigger predators rustling through leaves as they followed their noses, water trickling along a creek somewhere not too far away, carrying the coy scent of human.

Hikers, she figured. Would their disappearance be overlooked? The authorities would explain it away, after they searched for a few weeks. It wasn't uncommon for someone to disappear on a trip to the wilderness. Nature was unforgiving, and there was no shortage of steep cliffs, vicious animals, or poisonous plants.

She inhaled deeper, and picked up the unappealing stench of unwashed flesh. She could overlook it, ignore it and focus on the sweet smell of human blood. It would be even easier when her teeth were buried deep in their necks, and the warm liquid was dribbling down her chin.

Her throat burned. She twisted around, and looked towards the Cullen house.

The lights were all off, but she knew they were inside, tucked up in whatever corners of the house they favoured. When she listened closely, she could hear the scratch of a pencil, and the occasional turning of a page.

Distracted, but would it be enough?

She turned back around, and faced towards the trees. Her - Rosalie's - jeans were soaked through, wet from the grass she sat on. She didn't mind. She was far more concerned with her aching gums, and the thought of the one thing she knew for certain would relieve it.

She bit her tongue and tried to reason through her temptation, as the Cullens had instructed her to do. Killing was wrong. She was once a human. She wouldn't want to be killed. Killing was wrong. She was once a human. She wouldn't want to be killed.

A clatter upstairs. Soft jazz music drifted down from Rosalie and Emmett's room. Footsteps. They were dancing.

Killing was wrong. She was once a human. She wouldn't want to be killed.

She gripped the grass in front of her in tight fists. The blades were cold and wet. She pulled at them, and the roots ripped up from the earth with ease. It was nowhere near as satisfying as it was when she-

She stopped. Frowned at the fistful of grass in her hand. What a human thing to do.

"Tsk," she hissed, and threw the blades to the wind.

Lena couldn't quite decide when she started becoming something she hated. It seemed that the Cullens' preference for human ways of living were slowly bleeding into her conscience. She walked around sighing, scratching imaginary itches, slouching when she sat.

She despised it.

All of it was reminiscent of her time as a human, a time when she depended - far more than she had ever realised - on the kindness of others. Her survival wasn't so much the result of her own efforts as it was on the decision of others not to cause her harm. Her skin was weak, her insides squishy. There were a hundred ways to kill her as a human.

Aro was simply the first to exploit this.

This was just the way life worked: some creatures were bigger than other creatures, so they ate them. As awful as it was, and as terrible as the human side of that experience had been for her, it was the truth.

The desire to smell that sweet, warm smell surged, and she did not deny herself the pleasure. She inhaled deeply, the scent sweeping through her. Her mouth flooded with venom in anticipation of a bite, a taste, a kill. They were only hikers, only a couple of little humans. They wouldn't be missed, would they?

She was once a human. She wouldn't want to be-

Why was she even trying to stop herself? Her urges were natural. Human blood was delectable.

She only wanted a taste, just a quick bite and she would be back. She'd even only eat one. The other could go home and cry nonsense to the town nobody would ever believe. That was humane, wasn't it? Letting one of them live? Carlisle would be less upset than if she ate them both.

She was on her feet in an instant. She sniffed the air to orient herself, and turned forty or so degrees to her right. There- through those trees, up the incline, and towards the mountains. She wasn't quite sure how far, but it didn't matter. A human could never outrun her.

She smiled, lowered her body and dug her feet into the soil, preparing to launch herself into the woods.

"What are you doing?"

Her smile dropped as Alistair appeared in front of her. His stare wasn't angry, but rather curious. He tilted his head at her, and stooped over so they stood eye to eye.

"I don't make it a habit to presume, Lena," he said, "but if you're after those hikers up there, you're just off course."

She looked at him, distracted momentarily.

He reached for her. He set his calloused hands on the exposed flesh of her biceps, and turned her further to the right. "Much better."

She trusted his judgement, but not his intent. Why wasn't he discouraging her from hunting humans? And why were his hands still lingering on her skin, the pads of his thumbs brushing along her arm? She couldn't decide which was stranger, just as she couldn't decide if she truly cared.

"Why?"

His red eyes glinted under the moonlight like rubies. "Why, what?"

"Why aren't you stopping me?"

He smiled at her. "I'm not Carlisle. I'm much handsomer, first of all."

Lena swallowed. Venom ran down her throat, but it did nothing to ease the burn. She breathed shallowly, just enough air needed to speak. "It's wrong."

"Most good things are. But do you think it's wrong, or are you saying that because the Cullens have programmed it into you?"

She hesitated. Murder was wrong. She knew that from her time as a human. But she never considered that killing and eating an animal for food was morally reprehensible. Was it so different, now that she was a vampire and thirsted for human blood? She was just a predator, preying on something weaker than herself to sustain life.

Lena shook her head slowly, and her eyes remained trained on Alistair. How was she supposed to respond to a question like that? Of course murder was wrong, but she thirsted for it, dreamt of it every spare moment she had.

"I'll rephrase," he said. "What's stopping you?"

The Cullens. Their inevitable disappointment when she came back covered in blood, the way they would turn on her. She opened her mouth, but didn't speak.

She looked away from Alistair, and towards the trees over his shoulder. She could push past him right now, could chase her thirst long into the night. He had guided her towards it, turned her so she could run directly towards some pathetically helpless creature.

She still didn't quite understand why. He wasn't like Jasper, didn't test her just to see what she was capable of. He wasn't like Carlisle, eager to guide her away from temptation. He wasn't like any of the Cullens. He was something wild, untamable, like her. He wanted to see her embracing her truest self.

Her eyes flickered back to his face, hungered. They danced over his features, his devious good looks. She appreciated the curve of his mouth when he smiled at her mischievously, and the sparkle in his eyes when he looked at her.

"Lena," he said carefully, his tongue tasting every vowel, every consonant, "do you want me to stop you?"

He was offering her more than the Cullens ever did. He was providing her with a chance to live as she was meant to, to chase after something with two legs and not four.

Her mouth watered.

"No."

He stepped aside, and made a sweeping gesture towards the wood. "Then, by all means, indulge."

She wasted no time in flinging herself towards the trees. She ran straight, dodging the thick trunks of ancient trees, and gnarled roots eager to trip her. She heard Alistair behind her. His boots sank in the damp earth, and squelched when he pulled his feet out of the mud. He was fast, faster than the Cullens, but not as fast as her. None of them were as fast as her.

She breathed deeply, sifting through the various scents which greeted her. Rain and dirt and pollen. The musky scent of an animal, perhaps a deer. And, colouring it all, beneath everything, human. Sweet, delicious blood. She imagined it coursing through its host, her supper. Imagined a strong heart squeezing, pulsing fresh warm blood through a maze of vasculature.

The fire in her throat worsened, and she pushed herself to run faster.

She broke through the tree line, and straight to the campers' site. Two tents were set up, and a firepit crackled between them. An esky sat to the side, covered in mud. The sharp smell of alcohol and smoke permeated the area.

Two heartbeats. Slow, rhythmic. Why did she always find them when they were sleeping? It was no fun when they weren't awake to see her, to plead with her.

She approached the closest tent and unzipped it. Inside was a man, cocooned in two sleeping bags. He wore a beanie, and his face was ruddy. A silver beard covered the bottom half of his face, so dense that even his mouth was hidden.

She crouched down by his head and stared at him. Should she wake him, or kill him while he slept? One seemed more merciful, and the other much more fun.

She decided she would be kind.

She leaned over him, and tugged down the top of the sleeping bag. The man mumbled something Lena couldn't make sense of, and shifted to his side. Perfect. Lena now had a clear shot at his throat. She wouldn't have to work very hard at all.

She sensed Alistair at the entrance to the tent. She glanced over, and confirmed that he was, in fact, there. He was crouched on the balls of his feet, arms folded over his chest as he watched her.

When she made no move to turn back to her victim, he extended a hand and rolled his wrist, gesturing as if to tell her to get on with it.

She didn't need to be told once, let alone twice.

She turned back to the man, leaned over, and bit him.

He woke, but did not scream. His body tensed, every muscle going rigid and taut. He made a strange gurgling sound, and pushed against Lena fruitlessly. His hands batted at her arms and chest, though it only seemed to cause damage to himself. His skin smarted, just as red now as his face. Eventually, either succumbing to his injuries or accepting his fate, he stopped moving.

Better.

Lena drank greedily. Her fingers dug into his skin, craned his neck at odd angles as if trying to suck the last out of a juicebox. Each movement aggravated the wound in his neck, and sent more fresh blood surging to the site. He didn't taste very good, but it was better than her typical woodland feast.

His blood dribbled down her chin, and dripped onto his sleeping bag. She heard the tiny wasted drops hit the waterproof material, and mourned their loss.

"You don't have to be so stingy. There's another one next door," Alistair said.

Already, he had run dry. Disappointed, she dropped his head. A pathetic dribble of blood trailed down his throat, the red harsh against the pallor of his skin. She leaned over and licked a long stripe along his neck, then stood up.

She faced Alistair and licked her lips.

His eyes remained fixed on her mouth. "Seconds?"

She nodded, and followed him outside.

Alistair unzipped the second tent, and held the flap open for her as she crawled inside. He then perched himself by the opening, just as he had before, eager to watch her tear apart another.

Lena didn't mind the audience. In fact, she was grateful. She would not have found these campers herself, though she could smell them. The river and the wind had thrown her off - only by a few degrees, but over such a distance it would have made a large difference. She wouldn't have found them at all.

Alistair provided her with this meal.

She looked at the figure sleeping soundly by her. Another man, though he seemed younger. The other's son, perhaps. He had the same nose, she thought, but his face wasn't quite as fat. No beard, either, just a sprinkle of dark hair above his upper lip.

Lena reached a finger out and ran it gently over the hair. It was sparse, and surprisingly soft. Perhaps this male was far younger than she predicted. She couldn't be sure. His face was far from babyish, though she wouldn't go as far to describe him as mature, like the other was. She thought he could pass as an adult, but what if he wasn't? What if he was just a boy, happy to be here on a camping trip with his father?

Could she slay a child?

Lena knew the answer, and it made her gut wrench. She already had. Violent hatred bubbled in her stomach, and it made her insides twist. She should have been better. She should have been able to control herself, even in those first moments. She should have done more, or less, or just anything other than what she did.

Oh, God, she was despicable.

She leaned over the boy. She no longer felt hesitation, or compassion. What sliver of morality she had left was overpowered by a wave of much stronger emotion. Disgust. Guilt. Hatred. Anger.

Eager to bury it all, she plunged her teeth into his neck. His blood would offer the sweet respite she needed from her thoughts. A distraction, temporary as it was, and an enjoyable one.

He woke the second her teeth broke his skin, and screamed for his dad. The sound was so distressing, Lena was tempted to break his windpipe but refrained. She didn't know how to kill a human kindly - the Cullens didn't deem it necessary in her education - but she thought that he would pass out from blood loss soon enough. Besides, she wasn't sure she could detach herself from his neck long enough to put him out of his misery, even if she knew how.

He tasted better than his father, just as lamb was nicer than mutton. His blood was sweeter, which she liked, and it flowed like water from his neck. Lena slurped it up, yanking the boy's head by his hair to expose the wound to her tongue. She didn't want Alistair to think she didn't appreciate his gift to her.

He cried out, clawing at her fingers threaded through his black hair. "Why?"

She ignored him.

"Why are you doing this?" he screamed.

She bit again, harder, partly in punishment and partly because she wanted more.

He yowled, but didn't speak again. Instead, he was reduced to a sobbing mess beneath her, whimpering whenever he felt her teeth graze his skin.

At some point, he died. Lena wasn't sure when. She continued feeding long after his heart stopped, though his blood trickled slower, and the process became more frustrating. Eventually, she pulled away, and set his head on his pillow.

She looked at Alistair, unsure what to expect.

He held his hand out to her. "Come."

She followed him out of the tent, where they stopped and stood. The smell of blood overpowered everything around them. The crackling of the fire persisted, along with the typical woodland sounds, but there were no heartbeats now.

Alistair was staring at her, his hawkish gaze set on her face. His expression gave away nothing.

"Thank you," she said. She felt like she should say it. She felt like she had to say something.

He tugged down the sleeve of his shirt, and held the edge in his fist. Gently, he swiped the fabric over her mouth and chin. It came away dark, and clung to his palm. Still, he said nothing.

"Are you angry?"

He turned his attention from her mouth to her eyes. "Why would you think that?"

"I didn't share," she said.

"I heard most women don't with food." His eyes dropped back to her lips, and he wiped her chin with his sleeve.

Lena watched his expression, tracing the outline of his features with her eyes. She understood his beauty was enhanced as a vampire, but was curious as to what he looked like as a human, as a boy. She knew it would be impossible to see for herself.

In her own house back in Thessaly, there had been a photo album that was half-full of blurry baby pictures. Her mother took them on an old polaroid camera, and carefully dated each and every one. The pictures stopped when Lena was about ten, and her youngest brother was two, when her mother realised there were more important things to do than chase her children with a camera, begging them to smile or pose.

Lena wondered if it was still there, or if the house had been raided and burnt down after her atrocities were discovered. Could she go back, perhaps with Alistair, and show him?

She blinked, and focused back on Alistair. There were no photographs, no paintings, no drawings of him. She only had her imagination, then. She imagined he was a fat child with big green eyes, who pouted constantly. He wore his father's boots and stomped around his estate pretending to be him, declaring he would grow up to be better at hunting than even him. He told off his older brother when he bullied their sisters, though he himself lightly teased them too. He played with little wooden figures by the fire, and left in a fit when his brother cheated at games. He always finished his meals, and sweetly kissed his mother goodnight before laying down to sleep.

He was human.

"Do you remember your childhood?"

He shook his head. "I hardly remember my family."

Lena's heart sank. She couldn't imagine.

Forgetting her own family would be both a blessing and a curse. She could finally be free of her guilt, but at the cost of remembering her family at all.

"Don't look so sad," he said, and tapped her chin. "It isn't painful, if you can't remember it."

"I guess so."

He smiled, and there was no sadness in the curve of his mouth. His eyes dropped from her face to her neck, and he tutted. "You're quite wasteful, aren't you?"

Lena frowned, and tipped her head down. The neck of her shirt was stained with blood. She looked back up at Alistair.

He ducked his head and leaned towards her. Stubble brushed against her throat, and he pressed his lips gently to the spot her pulse would thrum if she had one. He licked a wet trail along her neck, following the path of the blood rolling down her throat.

Lena breathed in sharply, and set her hand on his chest. She stumbled backwards, pushing herself away from him.

He let her go, and watched her closely. Blood stained his beard. His tongue darted out, and he licked dark red smear from his bottom lip.

"Sorry," he said. "I should have asked."

She shook her head. She didn't care about that. The feeling of his mouth on her skin was surprisingly nice, but she wasn't used to the attention. It didn't mean she didn't like it, didn't crave it, didn't want more.

She swallowed, and stepped towards him. Set her hands lightly on his cheeks, tilting his face down to hers. His stubble pricked her palms. There was no heat, the warmth of a body she anticipated nowhere to be found. He smelt strongly of spice and the woods, and the sweet scent of blood clung to his breath. His hands settled on her sides, and his eyelids fluttered, then closed.

Their lips met hesitantly. A gentle caress, far softer than she ever could have imagined. Her body melted into his, powerless under his affection, and she could feel every part of him pressed against her. The sweet taste of their last meal bled from his mouth to hers.

She hadn't realised it, but she had been hoping for this moment for a long time, and now that she had it, she wanted to hold onto it, greedily, for eternity.

His stubble scratched her face, but she didn't care. Her fingers tugged his hair, and she pulled him closer. His hands brushed along her skin, dipping under the fabric of her shirt. She wanted him to be closer, closer, so much closer.

He pulled away too soon. Far too soon.

"We should head back." He tried to appear collected, but his eyes were rabid, drinking her in when he thought she wasn't looking. "They'll come looking for us soon."

"Let them," she breathed, and pulled him back in.

i'm so bad at kissing scenes omg

thank u so much for reading x