Chapter 19
"Carlisle? I-"
The look on Carlisle's face stopped Carys' breathless greeting in its tracks. Oddly flat, his gaze nonetheless flamed with an ice-cold intensity, burning her where ever it touched.
Every line of his handsome face was set like granite - harsh, unyielding; Carys had never seen him appear so angry before.
A tremor passed through her. She wished he would say something. Anything. He held silent for long moments - until she opened her mouth.
His tone - clipped, low, colder and harder than his expression - brooked no argument. He enunciated every word as if he was barely holding on to his control. "Don't. Say. A word. Woman." The narrowing of his eyes to flinty slits dared her to refuse; he had mistaken her shiver and increased heart rate at the use of the name. "We will discuss this at the hotel."
Carys lifted her chin, curling her hands into fists which she hid behind her back. Part of her wanted to blithely remind him that he had asked for an explanation, but she didn't think that would get her very far.
The other vampire - Garrett as she imagined he must be - crossed leisurely to Carlisle's side and held the camera out to him, all the while staring at Carys.
His expression - now that she could see it more clearly once again, was assessing as she assumed it would be, but in her fear, she hadn't expected it to hold begrudging respect and warmth as well.
Carlisle took the camera from him and Carys held her breath. He clicked through the photographs in silence, before handing it back to Garrett. "Thank you," he said.
She hadn't thought his tone could be any colder. She'd been wrong.
The snap of his jaw cracked through the alley - a warning if ever she heard one. Venom would be pooling in his mouth. Spinning on his heel, he began to stalk off back the way he'd come. Just before he moved out of hearing range, he stopped, turned his head, and hissed, "I highly suggest you follow. Immediately," then continued on.
Carys' hands flexed. She could understand his anger - it was clear it was as intense as her initial relief - but her heart sank at the dismissal. Some small part of her had expected him to haul her into his arms, kiss her senseless, and tell her never to scare him like that again.
But this wasn't a romance novel, and things wouldn't be solved quite so easily.
"Damn."
It was Garrett who had spoken, breaking the silence, his long strides eating up the distance between them. "I don't mean to swear, but-"
"It's okay," Carys shakily cut across him, still watching her husband's retreating back. "I swear all the time."
"Well then?" he asked genially. Carys glanced up when Carlisle disappeared from view, and he spared her a raised eyebrow. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'd say 'fuck' works best, wouldn't you? It's a little archaic, but I think people still use that one? Or is it reserved for when they're about to die?"
Carys' voice seemed too hollow to belong to her. It came from somewhere far away. "We still use it, but I was thinking 'shit'," she told him.
Garrett tipped his head this way and that, deliberating the options. Carys used the grace period to get a better handle on her jumbled thoughts and emotions.
She had witnessed two violent deaths; had thought she was going to be attacked - then, that she would die; she had led two men to their deaths; rather than wanting to kill her or leave her to her fate, Garrett had been saving her; Carlisle was home, but he was angry; the list went on and on.
What she felt most keenly was not shock, exactly. More the absence of it.
She felt a combination of exhilaration that she was alive, relief that she was safe, and determination - all tinged with the fading remnants of sheer unadulterated terror.
She was alive.
And safe.
Sort of.
Garrett broke through her reverie, testing the words aloud.
Carys shook her head. "More like - shiiiit!" she said, drawing out the word and frowning for emphasis.
She relaxed her face, waiting for his response. She was thankful to him for having pulled her out of her temporary bout of self-pity, for giving her addled mind something to distract it - and likewise, for his patience.
"Yes, you're right, that works better."
Job done, Garrett fell silent. Turning back to the mouth of the alley, he swept one arm ahead, beckoning her to accompany him. They walked in silence until they reached the street, Garrett slowing to accommodate her still slightly shaking legs.
"Have you ever seen him like this?" she asked when Carlisle came into view once again. He waited by a car she didn't recognise, parked just down the street. She knew he could hear her, but he made no effort to so much as spare them a glance as far as she could tell.
"No. Close once or twice, but not for as long as I've known him. I wouldn't worry," Garrett said, nudging her a little too hard with his stone elbow. "This is Carlisle we're talking about, and if what he's told me is true, you're an absolute brick; you'll be fine."
Carys felt something warm spark deep in her chest. Esme was a brick. Emmett was a brick. Carlisle was a brick. She wasn't entirely sure she deserved the compliment, but it was kind of him.
Carlisle held the passenger's door open for her when they reached it - at least, Carys expected it was for her when Garrett went straight for the back.
He dropped the camera to the seat, grabbed a small box, closed the door, and then stopped just short of stepping away. "I'm sorry - to both of you, but I'd really better not risk it," he explained with a faint frown.
"Go," Carlisle dismissed with a brief nod. His expression and tone softened a little, then he added, "Thank you. Stay safe and we'll see you soon."
Garrett looked to Carys, and she nodded as well - a lot less sure of herself than Carlisle. His gaze lingered, then he pocketed the box and sped off down the street - in the opposite direction to the way they'd come.
Rounding the car in a flash, Carlisle was seated before Carys closed her door. He waited, glaring straight ahead, until she clicked her seatbelt into place. "He needs to hunt," he ground out as he started the car. "It's best not to think about it."
"The box?" Carys asked before she could stop herself. Her mind rejected the comment about Garrett's hunting. It couldn't process another death on top of everything else.
Carlisle didn't immediately answer. Only when he slowed for a red light minutes later did he unclench his jaw enough to reply. "Coloured contact lenses."
It was the last thing he said for the best part of an hour and a half. When they passed the hotel Carys was staying at, she told him as much. Save for the twitch of a muscle in his jaw, he made no effort to respond.
He drove until they reached Port Angeles, handing his keys to the valet when he pulled in in front of his chosen hotel. Carys left the car just in time to see him retrieve two rucksacks and a suitcase from the trunk.
Shocked but not entirely surprised, Carys recognised it as the suitcase she had left in her hotel room back in Seattle. That meant he might have seen what it contained.
Having had time to collect herself, calm down, and think clearly, she refused to follow after him in his present mood. His silent anger had worried her before. Then it had scared her a little and made her squirm in her seat for the first half-hour of their journey. Now it fueled her determination.
Carys headed straight for the main doors - she got there before him. Pushing through, she crossed the small lobby as confidently as she could and leaned against the wall beside the lone elevator.
Carlisle joined her once he had spoken to the receptionist. He must have made a reservation because the exchange lasted little more than half a minute - the time it took Carlisle to presumably give his name, and for the receptionist to hand him two key cards.
He retained his silence all the way up - until Carys reached the sofa in the middle of the suite. Then, he slammed the door shut. She had a barely a moment to re-prepare herself for what was coming.
"Are you COMPLETELY mad!?" he roared, dropping the bags to the floor. "You must be! Otherwise, why would you risk your life to take photographs of newborns!? Was running through a hoard a thrill? Did you get a rush from it? Is that it?!"
Carys - having flinched when Carlisle began, held her ground, firmed her chin, and kept her voice calm. "I'm not going to have this conversation with you when you're like this," she told him, settling herself on the sofa. She gathered all the bravado she had left in her reserves. "I've been through enough tonight. I'm not going to add being bullied to tears by the man I love."
"I think I have every right to shout," he seethed.
"Shout? Yes. Belittle me? No. Remember yourself," Carys whispered, eyes glinting.
Carlisle stared at her for one, long, drawn-out minute, unblinking throughout. The tension in the room was so palpable, Carys recalled the old saying of cutting it with a knife. She lifted her chin further and forced herself to stare him down.
"Do you know what you've done?" he finally asked, raising his voice, but no longer shouting. He was on the back foot - and he knew it. "You didn't just put your life on the line tonight. You put the entire family at risk. Let me make this clear. You. Are. Not. Bella. Swan. You cannot go around jumping off cliffs or putting your human life at risk! What on earth possessed you!? If I didn't know you so well, I would think you'd planned this together!"
"Bella-"
Carlisle shoved a hand through his hair. "Is alive and well," he ground out. "As it turns out, cliff diving is all the rage in La Push."
Carys sighed her relief.
She presumed it must be why he was back - it would make sense - Edward must have gone straight to Forks.
"I know full well I'm not Bella Swan, Carlisle. You've all made that pretty clear to varying degrees from the very start. Who I am is Carys Ivy Thornton-Vale. I give people the respect they're due by using their full names when I'm angry at them - that is my name. If you have a problem with me, use it."
Carlisle gripped his hair, looking as if he was about to rip it out. His voice lowered to a growl.
"Carys. Ivy. Cullen. You are my wife. You are human. Last I checked, humans who go playing with fire get themselves burned. You cannot get yourself burned! You burn, we all burn - don't act like you don't know that!"
Carys' stomach had long since dropped, but that last part didn't make any sense. Not the implication of how badly it would affect him if she was gone, but the others? Save for Esme... It didn't just sound as if he was talking about how his loss would affect them.
"You're thinking about it. You're actually thinking about it?" Carlisle's eyes widened on the hollow exclamation. His hands fell to his sides - his jaw dropped. "I thought you were just angry at Alice..."
Carys frowned. "I was angry at Alice... I am angry at..."
Carlisle strode across the room, grabbed a chair, and carried it across - he placed it down in front of Carys, sitting down, clasping his hands between his knees. "Tell me what happened here." His expression blank, Carlisle spoke calmly this time.
Carys watched, searching his face for a hint of what he was thinking before she straightened and filled him in on almost everything - what she had discovered over the past few weeks, and the events that had led to her being cat-called and then chased by the two men. He had seen the photographs, but she explained them all the same.
She glossed over certain parts - namely where she followed her instincts rather than her conscious thoughts, straight into the path of vampires. Other parts, she omitted completely, such as her nightmares about Richard.
"I should have warned you, I know, but I needed to know you would believe me. For that, I needed proof. I didn't even believe myself at first," she admitted. "I fought it for as long as I could, but I felt like I was going crazy."
When he spoke, Carlisle's voice was as empty as his expression. "You needed proof?"
Carys nodded. "Yes."
"You. Needed. Proof." Carlisle stood and resumed pacing. Every so often, he stopped, mouth opening as if he were about to speak. Eventually, he managed the feat. A keening anger filled his voice. "You needed nothing!" he insisted. "We're a team. You could have told me! You should have told me."
"But I did!" Carys cried, cutting across him. She stood and strode towards him, prodding her index finger to his hard chest. "Eventually, I told you - and you laughed, Carlisle! So yes! I did need proof!"
"I would have come back if you'd told me you weren't joking!"
"No, you wouldn't!" Carys argued, dropping her hand to her side.
"What?" Carlisle's tone was less accusatory and more horrified.
"You wouldn't have come back," Carys intoned quietly.
Carlisle recoiled a little. His tone hardened. "Zounds, Carys! You can't seriously believe that!"
"Don't blaspheme at me!" Carys countered. "If it wasn't for those men tonight, I would've been able to go home and call you with actual, physical, proof of what I'd seen - and then - I don't know! I don't know what would have happened, but...," she trailed off, biting her lip and throwing her hands up into the air.
Deadly soft, Carlisle repeated, "I would have come back."
Carys laughed bitterly.
"You expect me to believe that? On nothing more than a gut feeling, you would have abandoned your hunt? Don't insult me, Carlisle." She stalked back towards the sofa, pressed a hand to her forehead, and sighed. "You've spent months chasing Edward - I know a decent part of that has been for us, but-"
Carlisle all but roared. "Stop. Now. Before you say something we both regret."
Carys turned back towards him, her hand dropping to her side once more. "I know you have responsibilities. A family to-"
"You have fundamentally misunderstood your place in our family, and we will come back to that," Carlisle announced, stalking towards her, his eyes flaming with barely concealed rage. "What we're talking about now is you seeing a group of vampires, and deciding to try and milk the pigeon!" he roared.
Carys wasn't sure what he meant by milking pigeons, but on the rare occasion he got riled up or excited about something, he could have a tendency to let his centuries show. Zounds had been her first indication he was willing to swear black and blue. She had learned the hard way it didn't help to immediately point out his use of defunct colloquialisms.
Instead of asking, she saw red, and shouted, "Says the man who chased after a vampire when he very clearly-" Her heart leapt to her throat. Eyes widening with the realisation of what she had almost said, she clapped her hands over her mouth.
Carlisle didn't give her a chance to apologise.
"You're equating you putting yourself in danger, knowing full well what could happen, to me hunting vampires and dying from it!? What's good enough for the goose is good enough for the gander!? Were you trying to get yourself killed!? Or just changed be-!"
"You know I didn't mean that, and you know full well that's not what I was doing!" Carys whined, still trembling, trying to control her blurring eyes.
Carlisle looked to the heavens. "Do I!?"
"Yes! In case you didn't notice, you weren't here-"
"So it's my fault? Would it have been my fault if you'd died!?"
His words knocked the fight out of Carys.
"Of course not," she whispered, shaking her head. "I wasn't going to engage... How many times do I need to say it? I. Didn't. Plan. This."
Carlisle crossed and uncrossed his arms. A crinkle appeared in his forehead - he thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, sighing heavily.
"About as many as it takes for you to believe me when I say I would have come back," he said simply - almost too quietly for Carys to hear. "I was coming back, Carys. You weren't picking up - you weren't answering me. I left so many voicemails on your home phone after Emmett found me and explained what had happened, that it stopped accepting them. You blocked every number from your phone - even Esme and Rosalie.
"I went straight back to Forks," he explained, gesticulating lightly to emphasise his point while he returned to pacing. "Only, Alice called before I got there. She was already in Forks with Bella - and you were in Seattle, getting over the flu." He raised an eyebrow and held it until Carys blushed. "Therefore, I turned around and headed there instead. But what did I find when I got there?"
Carys glanced at one of the doors leading from the room, staring at it as if it could somehow save her. The pain in his voice was worse than the shouting.
"Try to understand how I feel, love? To follow your scent and..." He broke off on a faint whine. "Garrett was hunting. Did he say? You're lucky he recognised you - more so that you're wearing that."
Carys looked down at the leather jacket and jumper she wore over black jeans. "Because it's all dark?" she asked, bemused enough to ask the question aloud.
"You haven't worn it before, have you?" he asked, indicating her top half. When Carys shook her head, his lips tipped up at one corner, his eyes melting for a moment. "The sweater's mine - my scent may have faded, but it's all over you, love. It wouldn't be identifiable to the newborns, but it was to Garrett."
Carys turned her head a little and attempted a surreptitious sniff. She blushed anew when Carlisle chuckled briefly, despite himself.
"What does milk the pigeon mean?"
"What?" he asked, frowning - he was thrown by the question.
"Tell me?" Carys appealed softly.
Carlisle slouched a little and hung his head, sparing her a sideways glance through his tousled hair. "It means to attempt to do the impossible."
"Well..., I didn't attempt it, Carlisle. I did it," she said slowly. "And I'm sorry I got caught on the way out, I really am, but it wasn't by vampires."
His face contorted into a pained grimace, and he straightened.
"I smashed my phone," Carys went on. "I got pissed off at Alice acting like all I was good for was being Bella's keeper, and I threw it out the car - it smashed... Then..., it also sort of fell down a storm drain..."
Carlisle snorted and covered the lower half of his face with a hand, nodding for her to continue, his eyes narrowed to slits.
Her lips twisted, but she kept herself calm. They couldn't both find it amusing.
"I didn't have anyone's number in Seattle," she went on. "So I had to wait until I got home to my address book."
Carlisle's jaw firmed, and he held up a finger. "To confirm - this was because you were stalking vampires?"
Carys nodded slowly. "I was too preoccupied looking for proof to go home and get my address book so I could text anyone my new number..."
Their eyes met, and they stared at each other before Carlisle started stripping his shirt from his body slowly, methodically, his eyes burning.
He walked past her.
"I'm going for a shower," he bit out when she stood and turned to watch him. "You should call down for something to eat. The chef's ready now."
Carys caught him just before he left the room, saying, "We're in the middle of an argument, Carlisle. You can't just storm off."
"Oh, I very much can, and will," Carlisle replied. He turned towards her, every muscle taught and near vibrating with tension - then the door snapped closed behind him, signalling his sudden departure, and the lock slid home.
Carys stared at the wooden panels for long minutes, until, more saddened and numbed than angry, she finally turned away. She tried to run through what had been said in the argument, but her mind could only recall certain aspects.
Her mind, still reeling from the night and the argument, convinced her that she hadn't stopped herself - that she had instead finished the sentence, "Says the man who chased after a vampire when he clearly said: 'run away'".
Arguments led to saying things you didn't mean in the heat of the moment. It meant potentially ruining so much - everything that mattered. What if she'd ruined them?
Twenty minutes later, she was poking a large ham and chive omelette - a small but not insignificant indicator of the power of Carlisle's wealth, that he could somehow have convinced the chef to return purely to whip something up for her, with little more than a brief conversation with the receptionist - when she was called from her morose thoughts by a knock at the door. She shoved a forkful of eggs into her mouth and chewed as she strode quickly across the room.
Garrett stood in the long corridor.
In the bright light of the hotel, he was far more striking than she'd previously given him credit for. Her eyes narrowed. Nose and forehead crinkling, she silently judged him for his previous whereabouts before letting him in. He stood just far enough away from her to remind her that whilst he may have just fed, he wasn't as used to her scent as the Cullens were.
He grinned, light artificial brown eyes twinkling with amusement. His hair was tied back from his face now, and he had changed into a white t-shirt and darker jeans, worn under the same long brown coat.
Carys didn't want to know where he had procured the clothes. Instead of asking, she stepped back from the door and returned to her food. It clicked shut behind Garrett just before she made it to the sofa.
"I expected a blood bath," he told her as he flitted quickly around the room, pausing for a fraction of a second to express his interest in the television, before coming to halt by a vase, inspecting its contents. "Disposed of the body already, have you?"
Carys nearly choked on her eggs. She shook her head, swallowed, then dabbed at her lips with a napkin. "He's in the shower," she explained, pausing with her fork inches from her mouth. She returned it to the plate with a clack. "I don't know if he's going to forgive me anytime soon."
"He will," Garrett assured her immediately - as if he was talking about the weather rather than a blazing row he'd not been privy to. "These are fake by the way. I'll never get over the invention of plastic - truly amazing what you humans have done with the stuff..."
He turned to face her and sank to the floor by the wall, stretching his long legs out in front of him.
"How do you know?" Carys asked.
No longer hungry, she abandoned the rest of her food.
Garrett grinned. "Carlisle hasn't told you about our enhanced senses?"
Carys lightly rolled her eyes. "I meant about Carlisle," she gently admonished, knowing he was teasing her. "I... I said something I don't think there's any coming back from..."
Carlisle would rather take a shower he didn't really need than talk to her. Look at her. Be in the same room as her.
Carys ran her hands over her long ponytail and briefly closed her eyes. She was tired - and she couldn't blame him for his reaction. Not after she had all but thrown his death in his face.
"I wouldn't worry," he said simply, pushing to his feet in one smooth motion. "I don't think it was as bad as you think; I didn't hear anything that could be cause for concern."
Carys looked up. "You heard us?" she asked, mildly horrified.
Garrett grimaced slightly, but he nodded all the same. "I thought it best to go grab some new clothes; give you both some time... Speaking of which. That smells terrible," he told her, pointing first to her omelette, and then to each of the doors in turn. One was the door through which Carlisle had disappeared. "Three bedrooms. Do you mind?"
"Go ahead," Carys told him with a shake her head, and Garrett spared her an encouraging smile before he took the door closest to Carlisle's, leaving her alone. A minute later, she heard the television blaring to life.
That left door number three.
Carys carried the plate to the room service cart and moved it to the hallway, then took her suitcase with her and made quick work of showering - taking care to avoid her hair. Returning to the bedroom, she donned her pyjamas, slid under the covers, and closed her eyes.
After the night she'd had, Carys was no longer surprised when the things she expected failed to happen. This time, it was flashbacks and tears. Neither came. Instead, the numbness took over, overcoming everything, even the near overwhelming need of a hug. Sleep beckoned her almost instantly.
She woke sometime later to uncomfortable heat.
Half-asleep, she murmured, shifting away from the intense warmth. It tightened around her - she felt as if she was being hugged by one of the flagstones surrounding the fireplace at her mum's old house. Panicking, she tried to twist away from it. The steel bands held her steady against the panel that lay directly against her back and legs.
"Shh," Carlisle's voice washed over her, and Carys murmured anew. "Shh, darling. It's me."
Carys shifted again. The heat continued to confuse her foggy mind. Carlisle had never felt so warm before, even on the rare occasion when they'd shared a romantic bath. A thought flickered to life - he must have come straight from the shower. How long had he been in there, she wondered - and how hot did he let it run?
She turned in his arms, sighed, and rubbed her cheek against his bare shoulder. "Y're too warm," she grumbled, her voice thick with sleep. "S'not right."
Carlisle's chest shook, and Carys stretched against him, kicking the covers to her waist. The cool air of the hotel room soothed her skin.
"Sorry, darling," he whispered, pressing his lips to her ear. "I needed to think."
Carys nodded and whispered, "I'm sorry". More awake than she had been, she didn't want him to know quite how conscious she was. The last thing she was ready for was a return to their fight. She would apologise properly in the morning, but if they got back into it now, she feared he would be proven right - one of them might say something they both regretted.
She evened out her breathing when Carlisle made no attempt to speak again for long minutes, cradling her against him until he appeared to accept she was asleep again.
"I've never been more scared in my life," Carlisle whispered finally, sliding one hand up and down her spine. On an upward stroke, he gathered the back of her pyjama top, shifting his hand beneath the cloth to stroke her bare skin. "I thought I was going to lose you, Carys. We can argue until the cows come home, but I can't lose you..."
Long minutes later - when the steady evenness of his breath and rhythmic stroking of his cooling hands along her spine had lulled back to the cusp of sleep, he pressed his lips to her temple and sighed.
A/N: So... Some things were said, and I think we all saw a new side to Carlisle that I personally don't think is necessarily out of character as we only really saw him through the lens of Bella in the books, and whilst his temper is a rare occurrence, I think it makes him more real. In the books, Bella near worshipped (and definitely fancied, which felt weird) Carlisle, as did Edward...
Also, in an attempt to cut out the worst of Carlisle's anger, I think I may have managed to make Carys seem way harsher than him in this argument...
Thank you to: Riariabookworm (not long to go now!), chellekathrynnn, mariananininiha, Lady Jensen, CarlaPA, Ella (Right? And as for imprinting - don't get me started... That's one of the things I am definitely changing going forward. It'll be a LOT less suspect than the books, and go into what it is in a different way, but highlight the issues with Sam's interpretation that imprinting will always one day lead to a romantic relationship), Chrysos- hime, souverian, BMBMDooDoo- Doo- Doo- Doo, Ghostwriter71, eeeeaud, QualityBean, Anita Simons, and hascroggin for your reviews!
