A/N Important Reminders (because I have been total fail at timely updates so you may have forgotten details...) – A few chapters back, while Edward was poking around in Bella's house and business while she slept, he found her bills, hacked into her computer, and deposited money in her bank account without her knowledge. Also, I'm not sticking to canon timelines, so dates, ages, and any other information relating to time, will not match the Twilight series.
Last chapter, Edward left an exhausted, sleeping Bella just after dawn to meet a mystery visitor he was less than happy about.
. . . . . .
Thanks as always to the amazing team Prey—my beta Saritadreaming and my pre-readers Popola, Rubylou, and Whynotjustjumpintothevolcano. Much love to all four of you. This story is so much better with your guidance and support.
Prey for the Wicked
Chapter 12
Joshje
. . . . . .
Destined by a fate
so cruel...
. . . . . .
Gray light spilling on the floor beneath her windows, the sound of rain on the glass—Bella listens to the world around her and knows she is alone. Not that she needs sound. She can feel it in her body. It's in the empty ache that spans her chest and midriff, and the hollowness that encompasses her entire body. It's so much worse now than it ever was before. Before him, she never knew the difference, never felt the things he made her feel.
She rises from her bed cautiously, the ache in her muscles deep and almost pleasant. She expects the pain to be centered between her legs. Instead, she's surprised to find there is no pain at all. The soreness from last night is completely gone. She feels tender and sensitive, but there's no pain.
She turns on the light in her small bathroom and feels heat flare over her face at the memories that spin through her thoughts. Her mirrors are streaked with dried condensation, and she hears his voice again in her mind, all velvet sin and heat, telling her to 'watch.' A soft touch to her mouth reveals no wounds; although she vividly remembers the stinging bite he placed there. Nothing is left as evidence with the exception of the palest pink mark against her skin, barely noticeable to the naked eye.
Shivering, despite being the farthest thing from cold, she turns on the shower and steps under the spray before it has a chance to warm. The shock of cold only continues to remind her of last night. Especially of the way his skin felt against hers, unnaturally cool and far too resilient. She should have been repulsed, but even now all she feels is the desire to be closer, to feel him everywhere, all over her, inside of her...
Tipping her face to the spray, she lets the cool water bathe her skin, washing away the scent of lavender oil and sex. All the decadence of him and the things he made her feel swirls down the drain, leaving only the memory. The empty ache grows, clawing at her insides, pushing them down to make more room till she wonders how her heart keeps beating under the pressure of all that nothingness. It hurts to breathe. Her skin craves his touch, his kiss, and the cool ice of his mouth against her hot flesh.
She dips her fingers between her legs, cupping her need and heat to relieve the burning want. Water coats her fingers making them cool, but it isn't enough. Not nearly enough. Her thumb against her clit makes her gasp, sensitive nerves bunching and contracting until it throbs with its own heartbeat. Her fingers slip inside, one then another, while inner muscles clench in shock and pleasure at the delicious invasion.
It isn't enough...
Her nipples draw in tight as she breathes in with a gasp. His name is on the tip of her tongue, and she can taste him. Last night and the time before, he overwhelmed her, gave her no chance to think or act or reciprocate. She realizes now she wants so badly to reciprocate. To know what it would feel like to lick his skin and taste that flesh just above the sharp curve of his Adam's apple. To rake her teeth down his sternum then move lower, lower...
She wants to put her hands on his thighs and feel the flex of those iron muscles as her mouth breathes over his erection. She wants to watch those strange eyes turn hungry and as black as midnight. She wants to get on her knees for him, and she wants to take him in her mouth. Hear him hiss her name and fist her hair. Hold her tight and still while he owns her, takes from her, presses so deep she can't breathe unless he lets her...
Oh, God, oh, God...
She pants, water spilling into her open mouth the way she wants him spilling into her...
Yes, yes, yes...
Pressing her fingers deep she begins to come in deep pulses that seem to never end.
So good. God.
His name passes her lips—a whimper of sound that ripples with longing rather than satiation. She wants him, so badly.
"Edward."
Her knees shake, her legs feeling like rubber as she turns off the water and leans back against the tub surround. It takes willpower and effort she barely feels she has to step out and dry off—to go through the rituals of hygiene and walk out of the bathroom to dress.
Hot, stuffy air greets her as she steps into the living room. Weak gray light gives the room a drab appearance, highlighting the shabbiness of her furniture and the worn paint on the walls. The rain that continues to patter against her windows isn't offering any break to the late summer heat wave. She feels heavy and disconnected. The scrape of the carpet on her bare feet shouldn't be uncomfortable, but it is. Somewhere in the night her skin thinned out, her nerve endings now too close the surface.
In the kitchen she makes an effort to eat, though she has no appetite for the food she prepares. It's all tasteless and bland, and there is no room in her stomach beneath the crushing weight of emptiness her self-induced orgasm only temporarily sated. If anything it made it worse.
She stares at the items scattered across her kitchen table, striving for focus. Pieces of her life lie here, represented in scraps of inconsequential papers and objects that should have more meaning than they do. Her focus zeros in on the bills she has yet to pay. Was it only yesterday that she sat in this kitchen and prepared to juggle them? It felt like a lifetime ago, one that wasn't hers. So much has changed that she can't absorb it all. She doesn't even know how to start.
Forcing herself to move, she turns on her laptop and opens the first bill her fingers touch after logging on to her bank website. She scans the summary, automatically tallying numbers and subtracting them from the amount she remembers is in her chequing account. She thinks about work and remembers she needs to call in. If she doesn't go back soon, she won't have enough money to pay her half of the mortgage this month...
The thoughts come to an abrupt halt as she stares at the balance on the computer screen. Too many zeros greet her eyes, and it takes her a minute to absorb the sum. Her gaze skips to the top of the screen and back down. Her name and her account number are all in place. She logs out anyway, logging back in after she clears her browser history, deleting her cache and cookies. The repetitive process of signing back in and retyping her password only brings the same result.
According to this, she has thousands of dollars in her account; more than enough to pay all her bills and the entire balance of her nearly maxed out credit card with plenty left over.
Blinking, she tries again. Logout—clear—login.
Nothing changes.
Bella reaches for the phone, her mind skipping through likely scenarios. A computer glitch or a bank error could be at fault. Charlie? Jake? Although neither of them seems likely. Not for this kind of money.
She's greeted by an automated recording and huffs as she punches in the proper numbers to navigate the system, being shuffled from one set of options to another by a cold, computerized voice. Her stomach knots as the process finally ends with the connection to a real person. It knots harder at what she learns.
No computer glitch. No bank error. Not Charlie or Jake.
"Ms. Swan, the money was deposited in your account via an internet direct deposit from an overseas bank."
She stares at the screen with the numbers she can't refute, and swallows back the bile that burns her throat when her stomach clenches sickly. "Can you tell me who it's from?"
"I'm afraid this account is secure, ma'am. In these types of deposits, the depositor's personal information is protected and encrypted. Their identity is not made available to us."
"That doesn't make any sense. How can some random person just put money in my account with no authorization from me?"
"When you opened this account, Ms. Swan, you signed forms that give permission for the bank to accept automatic deposits from various sources, including direct deposits from other banks."
"I what? Look. Never mind—it doesn't matter. But I don't want this money. Send it back."
"I'm sorry...you want me to...send it back?"
"Yes. Exactly. Just hit whatever button you need to so the money goes back wherever it came from."
"Ms. Swan," the man—who claims his name is Manuel—speaks slowly, clearly confused by her demand. "It really doesn't work that way..."
"What do you mean 'it doesn't work that way? You just got done telling me that it does. That's how the money got in my account. I want you to do the same thing, only in reverse. Is that so difficult?"
Bella can hear the clicking of a keyboard as the disembodied voice asks her for a minute so he can check the status of the depositors account. While she waits, her head whirls. There is only one person—or non-person—who could be responsible for this. A hot rush of frustration and fury hits her like a wave as she bites the corners of her thumb until she tastes blood. The term 'bought and paid for' races through her mind, mocking her.
"You belong to me now, Isabella."
"I'm not a possession or a...toy or pet."
"You are whatever I say you are."
"I'm sorry, Ms. Swan. I cannot reverse the deposit. The account is set up in such a way that only the account holder can deposit funds. As I said, this is a very secure account." The way he says 'very' implies he's impressed by just how secure it is. A lengthy pause stretches between them as he waits for further questions before he finally interjects. "I can redirect you to your personal branch manager if you'd like. I see you're in...Forks, Washington?"
"Will they be able to send the money back?"
"No, I'm afraid not." His tone states quite clearly that he thinks she's crazy, and he's only humouring her at this point. "It is possible though, that you could transfer the money into a different account."
Bella racks her brain for alternatives. A charity or person in need who she could dump this money on because there is no way in hell she's keeping it. She comes up blank. She can't think of charities; that would take research and time. As far as a person, well, she can think of lots of those, but that will simply open up questions she could never answer. Like why she's handing out money she shouldn't have in the first place, not to mention where she got it from.
"Just...never mind. I can speak to my branch manager in person." She mutters a brief thanks and disconnects before Manuel can launch into his spiel about whether she's satisfied with the outcome of her call. She isn't even remotely satisfied.
Cursing, she tosses the phone on the table and stares again at the numbers in front of her on her laptop screen. Money has always been an issue. Money is the reason she's still in Forks, why she works a dead-end job and lives in a house that needs more repairs and renovations than she can afford to do. Growing up, there was never enough. Renee couldn't manage her money, no matter how much she had—or didn't have as the case more often was. Until Bella learned to juggle their finances, they lived in houses and apartments with the threat of eviction constantly taped to doors and windows that were dark because the electricity had been shut off.
Even when Bella took over all their finances at the tender of age of ten, Renee never made it easy. Renee was impulsive and childish even when she was healthy and taking her medications regularly. Rent money was burned up in partying, utilities went unpaid so she could buy Bella and herself matching fur coats, and groceries went the way of the wind for the sake of a trip to...wherever a whim might take her.
Even after Bella left Renee's, nothing much changed. Living with Charlie's lousy pay as Police Chief in a small town meant there wasn't a lot of extra money in their tight budget. Charlie was steadfast and stable. He rarely blew money on frivolous things, but that didn't mean there was anything left over for extras, including college money. Bella gave up the idea of pursuing more education before she even graduated high school. It's how she got stuck here in Forks, working a dead end job, lying to herself that her life wasn't over before it ever really began.
None of that changes the fact that this money isn't hers. It's blood money, in every sense of the term.
Standing so fast she nearly tips her chair over, she feels the fog that's lain over her all week finally begin to dissipate. The empty ache inside of her sharpens, but she ignores it as she makes her way to the bedroom, tearing open her closet and tossing clothes to her bed. She drags a suitcase out of the bottom, dusty from never being used, and starts shoving clothes inside. There is no order in her actions, but in her mind her thoughts are clear and concise.
Pack.
Call Jake and borrow the truck.
Stop at the ATM and withdraw the meagre amount of cash from her savings. Don't touch a penny of his money...
Run.
Run far. Run fast.
Just...
Run.
. . . . . .
The rain has stopped work on the roof. A large blue tarp flutters where the edges aren't fully secured, creating an obscene amount of noise reminiscent of a flock of trapped birds flapping their wings. Inside the house an electrician finishes wiring the new outlets. A carpenter finishes work on the refinishing and repairs of the main staircase. Edward walks through the rooms, ignoring the nervous glances of the men installing the granite countertop on the new island in the new kitchen as he stops to survey their work.
He senses her and hears her thoughts long before she makes her physical presence known.
Tanya. Once a friend and a lover—now nothing but a distraction and nuisance he hardly needs or wants. She enters the house from the recently installed French doors that lead out to a newly landscaped yard, her thoughts marvelling at how much can be accomplished with money and fear in such a short amount of time.
Edward's contractor, Tyler Crowley, has indeed outdone himself, both in timing and quality, with no outward threats needed. Edward merely greased the man's palm generously and allowed his presence to do what it always does; engender nervousness and uncertainty, clearly signally danger while Edward smiled and outwardly projected nothing more than confidence and wealth. The mask of humanity is thin. Aside from Isabella, Edward has never met a human who didn't grow uneasy in his presence after only a few minutes. It's helped that financial trouble and an ailing wife make his contractor more biddable than most. He never questions Edward, and in return, Edward doesn't hesitate to compensate him in ways that relieve some of his troubles. Oddly enough, Edward rather likes the man.
Turning to the workers who have the same sense of self-preservation as his contractor, Edward quietly informs them their day is done. They barely pause to gather their tools before hurrying out of the house, spreading the word to the other men that their jobs should be set aside to be finished tomorrow.
Tanya watches and listens to them all scatter like mice set free from a trap, her expression and thoughts amused. She cocks her head and looks at him. Edward marvels that he once thought her beautiful. She is attractive, but nothing compared to the beauty of his Isabella.
"Edward, Edward. Still terrifying the masses I see," she intones dryly.
He inclines his head back at her in greeting and runs his hands over the shiny new surface beside him, noting quality while picking through her brain. Tanya has always been easy to read; it seems time has done nothing to change that. In less than a minute he confirms that Alice, his meddling psychic sister, is behind this second an unwanted visitor, exactly as he suspected.
Ignoring her previous comment, he pins Tanya with a stare and smiles a little as she grows nervous, revealing even more. It seems his sister's gift is failing her, keeping her in the dark and frustrating her controlling little brain. He has a moment to wonder why Alice is having difficulties seeing his future before Tanya settles her nerves and her resolve, shaking her head at him as she approaches.
"Really, Edward. Silence? I know it's been a while, but surely I deserve a warmer greeting than this." She reaches out a hand as though to touch him. He catches it before she can make contact, his grip tight and laced with warning.
"You'll forgive me if I'm less than happy to see you here, Tanya. Perhaps if you weren't here to play lackey for Alice, meddling in my affairs and interfering in my life, I may have found it in me to be more...hospitable."
Tanya's thoughts bristle, though she keeps her expression calm, attempting to redirect her mind to other things and failing miserably. She's never had the strength of will or dedication to effort it takes to thwart his gift.
Edward smirks, shaking his head. "You are an open book, Tanya. You always have been. Alice must not have foreseen you getting so close to me. I suspect in fact, that you were given express orders to avoid me, and yet here you are."
He sees confirmation in her mind, though she only laughs. "As much as you'd like to think I'm here only under Alice's direction, I do have other reasons, Edward." She gestures to the fridge, and in her mind he sees images of Styrofoam containers full of bags of donor blood.
"A gift from Carlisle," she confirms. "You'll probably want to find a new place to store it, however. One of these little busy bees you have working so industriously around here could get nosy."
A low growl is her only answer, and she has the intelligence to once again look nervous. She attempts to mask it with a beleaguered sigh and eye roll.
"Really, Edward. This entire situation is ridiculous. If you're going to stay, and it appears you are," she continues, gesturing to their surroundings, "then I would think Carlisle's thoughtfulness would be appreciated. You certainly cannot run around regularly eating townsfolk in a place this small. Or are you self-destructing to the point now where the attention of our leaders in Volterra is welcome?"
"Don't be asinine or condescending, Tanya. It doesn't suit you, nor does it engender any affection from me. I'm still trying to decide if our past has enough weight to merit not tearing your head off. It would be wise of you to tread carefully with your mocking."
Tanya's eyes turn sad, an expression he is all too familiar with. Their time together decades ago was brief, but it left her tender emotions damaged in a way he's not proud of. Apparently some of that sting still lingers. His suspicions are confirmed by her hurt thoughts and the words she speaks.
"You are so cold, Edward."
He doesn't answer, but he does release her hand. Sighing, she moves away, making a show of studying the kitchen. He thinks back on the past as he watches her, still measuring her thoughts which currently match the path of his, though not the feeling. Her reminisces are clearly more romantic than his.
After he lost control and killed the young girl in 1903, Edward wandered for almost five years. Lost and a slave to his lust to kill and drink dry every foul human mind he could find, he was hardly a fit companion for anyone. He encountered Tanya merely by circumstance. She was a vision from his past, and he wanted nothing to do with her. However, the pull of her feminine sexuality was something he found too enticing to resist. Killing and feeding had unlocked dormant physical desires he once thought himself immune to.
She stayed with him for a while, though she had no desire to share his lifestyle. She believed she could save him, and for a short time, he allowed her to believe it was working. He was lonely. She was beautiful and eager to share her body. They mated like animals but he tired of her quickly. They parted ways just before the New Year of 1918.
Her thoughts dip into one of the many sexual encounters they shared together, and he speaks to disrupt the images her mind conjures. He feels nothing at the erotic memories she calls forth, only a longing to send her away so he can get back to Isabella. It's her flesh and body he craves, the sound of her voice and the feel of her touch. Tanya could never compare; even then, before he had any basis for comparison, his encounters with her lacked...everything.
Fucking for the sake of fucking became boring fast—especially when it lacked any mystery.
"So, Carlisle is still running his blood donation clinics I assume?"
She turns to him, mental recreations of their intimacies slowly fading out as she focuses on his question reluctantly.
"Of course," she says in such a way it points out the absurdity of him needing to ask. "Even Aro has a slice of that pie. Carlisle is more successful than ever at herding the masses to his clinics like lambs to the slaughter."
Edward makes a rude sound of derision. "An unfitting analogy given Carlisle has never slaughtered a human in his entire existence."
Tanya shrugs a silk clad shoulder, smirking at his correction. she's dressed as if she stepped off a runway showcasing the latest designer fashions. She looks ridiculously out of place, and she rubs at a smudge of fresh paint on her sleeve while she answers. "Too true. Even feeding himself, his coven, and meeting Aro's demands, he still manages to save more human lives with his collections than any other blood donor clinic in the country." Her expression adopts a small moue of distaste. Tanya enjoys her human bed-mates; however, beyond sex and food, she sees them as useless creatures. Carlisle's drive to save them and help them maintain healthy, long lives isn't shared by her—or his siblings for that matter.
Edward's ire prickles at yet another reminder of Carlisle's gift of compassion and his legendary self control. Of course he's saving lives, he thinks bitterly to himself. He has much to atone for considering the devil he spawned in me has no such compunctions.
"Does he think I'm too stupid to know that I can't cull my meals from the territory I'm occupying?" The question is rhetorical and laced with nearly two centuries of bitterness.
Tanya rushes to ease him. "Of course not, Edward. Carlisle only wants to make things...easier on you."
In her mind, Edward sees flashes of the past few weeks. A multitude of images, complete with Alice's hysteria and demands as her visions faltered, and Carlisle's cool aplomb and unruffled demeanour as he insisted Edward's choices were his own to make.
And still he sends blood to feed me and keep me in line.
"Alice cannot see your little human very well." Tanya interrupts the play of her emotional memories with dry fact. She runs the tip of one opaque fingernail over the countertop, enjoying her role as the purveyor of such information as Edward's attention snaps more clearly upon her.
"Hence the pictures you stole from the wall of the apartment you broke into."
Tanya smiles, the curves of her lush mouth looking cruel. "I was assuaging my own curiosity as to what you were up to, but yes, I sent the pictures to Alice. I believe she was hoping to get a better psychic grasp on your little obsession."
"And did it work?"
Tanya attempts to hide the answer and fails again. Glimpses of Alice throwing colossal fits during a recent phone call slip through the cracks of the weak thoughts Tanya tries to block him with.
Edward smiles. "Hm. I see it did not. Interesting."
"Alice never sees humans well," Tanya offers grudgingly. "But she's nearly giving herself seizures trying to see this one. It would seem your future is all over the place as well?" She phrases it like a question, but Edward ignores the blatant dig for information on his plans.
"Alice foolishly believes I will return to the family. She is nothing if not tenacious," he says instead. "She is wasting her time and yours as well. Meddling in human affairs and stealing evidence from a crime scene? Really, Tanya, I would think such juvenile Nancy Drew efforts beneath you."
Tanya waves her hand in dismissal. "I merely followed the trail of breadcrumbs left by you and the psychotic male you made a little meal of, Edward. It wasn't as if it was difficult. You're being less than careful. Did you really think it wise to kill someone so personally linked to the girl?"
He ignores her censure and the sarcastic question. "I want the pictures."
"You'll have to take that up with Alice." She smiles, flashing her teeth in subtle challenge, enjoying the thrill of fear she gets from the spark of anger igniting in his eyes. Their past sexual encounters were always...aggressive. His anger now reminds her of that time.
Edward growls low in his throat, warning her without words. She sighs and maintains her distance. His anger may hold a sexual thrill for her, but she's no fool.
"You took the pictures. You will return them to me."
"And deprive you of the opportunity for a family reunion...?"
"The lifestyle Alice and the others live and all its pathetic intonations, does not interest me," he tells her, biting the words off harshly.
"Careful, Edward. I too live that lifestyle. Your words and judgement wound me." Her expression takes on one of hurt, though he doubts it's real. She thinks back on the years when Edward was a part of that life willingly, and he has to fight the urge to growl again.
Happiness was a fallacy he perpetuated for the sake of those he loved. The wasted years of deceit sicken him now. As much as he loved his family, that life had been emptier than any of them knew. The proof of that lies in the fact they continue to attempt to force him back.
Tanya's thoughts linger briefly on a lament that she herself was not enough to make that lifestyle more appealing to him. Even before their time together, her interest in having more than friendship with him wasn't a secret. Now she wonders what he sees in this plain human girl that is keeping him here in this equally plain and dreary town. Her thoughts navigate to Rosalie, yet another beautiful vampire who likewise would have made a suitable mate, yet hadn't tempted him in any romantic way.
Edward doesn't repress his growl this time, and Tanya's gaze snaps up to him from where she was feigning interest in the new faucet of the sink.
Rose. Beautiful broken Rose. Edward feels the pull of her even now after all these years. Not the pull of a lover and mate as Carlisle had meant her to be when he changed her and brought her home, but the pull of a beloved, fragile sister.
"Rose is doing well. Not that you asked." The note of censure in Tanya's voice stabs his conscience, though it shouldn't. Rose is the one family member worthy of his grudging intermittent contacts, brief as they are. The occasional letter, or card. A gift on her birthday—not one has he forgotten.
Changed after a brutal gang rape and beating had left her heart barely beating, Rose never fully recovered her mind. Not even vampirism could heal her fully after such a tragedy. Carlisle sensed Edward's deep loneliness and thought to bring him a mate, someone to share the eternal never-ending days and nights with. Carlisle rarely acted impulsively, but even he was prone to rashness from time to time. Rosalie is proof.
Instead of a companion, he brought a broken, beautiful doll into their world. One as fragile as a child and as strong as a demon.
Despite the lack of a love connection, Edward cared for her, nurturing, guarding and feeding her. Until the day she found her mate, half dead from the mauling of a grizzly bear, and brought him home. Edward still remembers that day as vividly as if it was yesterday.
Rose laid the man named Emmett at Carlisle's feet, soaked in blood and gore, as she stood at her full height, beautiful and glorious in her fury. "You did this to me," she whispered fiercely to Carlisle. "You made me this when you had to know that I wanted only death and peace. Give him to me so I am not alone in this hell."
It was one of her most lucid moments, and Carlisle's agreement granted Edward the freedom from being caretaker, but never the freedom from the bond his heart had formed.
"Emmett takes very good care of her. They are a perfect match. He handles her temper tantrums quite easily. Better by far than you, who always just gave in to her whims."
Edward shrugs, feigning disinterest. Emmett was far more adept at handling Rose than him. It's good to know that it continues to be a good match, not that he would admit it.
Tanya studies him, her thoughts searching for jealousy or some other emotion that might betray him in his expression. She continues to be confused by his attraction to the human girl.
"Why her?" she finally asks blatantly, tired of the subterfuge she's never been good at.
Edward pretends ignorance. "Why not her?"
Bristling visibly, Tanya scrapes a nail down his new cupboard, gouging the surface in a fit of childish temper.
"She's human. I suppose she's pretty in a bland human way, but rather lacking in curves." Her cattiness is further illustrated as she runs her hands over the generous curve of her breast and hip, winking lasciviously at him. When he merely arcs a brow at her with a disinterested stare, she drops her hands with a huff. "Oh, really, Edward. Aren't you too old to play such juvenile games with your food?"
"She's a tasty amusement; a way to spend a little time, nothing more nothing less." He lies with ease, surprised by how the words sit so awkwardly on his tongue. Isabella has become a draw that far surpasses simple amusement. He's beginning to realize just how much. "You're wasting your time looking for answers here, Tanya. You can tell Alice that as well." Edward turns to leave the room, dismissing her. A nagging sense of unease has begun to bite into his psyche. He dislikes being so far from the source of amusement they're discussing.
Isabella. Such a fragile thing. Really, he shouldn't leave her so long to her own devices—especially not with that Quileute dog from her past sniffing after her so assiduously. His impenetrable skin prickles, the stolen blood in his veins moving faster than it should. With each passing minute, an odd emptiness opens inside of him. One he senses can only be filled by her.
He's drawn up short by Tanya's sudden mocking laughter. "Really, Edward?" she asks, her tone dripping acid. "Do you think me so stupid, so easily led astray?"
He turns slowly, eyes gone hard and black with a warning she stupidly ignores. Too late, he realizes his anger only betrays his lie that Isabella is unimportant to him.
"Look at you!" She flares back, her own eyes darkening. "You can't wait to get rid of me so you can get back to her." Her arms rise, hands gesturing to their surroundings. "And this place? There is no way you did all this for yourself, Edward. I know you better than that. This place screams of comforts and necessities meant for a human. You plan to keep her for the long-term."
She steps closer, her mind filling with her suspicions as quickly as she voices them, forcing him to hear them in tandem.
"You reek of sex."
"Be careful," he warns when her thoughts turn dark as she wonders if the end of all this nonsense doesn't lie in her disposing of the human so he can be free of whatever insanity grips him. Only the fact that Edward catches glimpses of the thought that she is testing him, keeps him from silencing the threat she imposes.
"Edward, of all people, I can attest to the delights of a romp with a human. But anything more than a night with them is ridiculous. She's not like us. Her life is a flash in the pan and a burden. On top of that, there are laws, and you are breaking them!" Tanya lowers her voice striving for reason. "Your family misses you. You belong with them, with us. Not here, playing with fire. You know the keeping of mortal pets is forbidden, and you know the penalty for revealing yourself to humans, Edward. No mercy, just death. The Volturi leaders will order your execution and send the best of their coven to eradicate you and this entire town to avoid exposure. You know this!"
Again, her mind creates mental snapshots of ways to end Isabella's life. With a growl loud enough to create vibrations in any object not securely nailed down, Edward grips her by the throat and pins her to the far wall. The newly placed drywall cracks behind the force, outlining her form before crumbling in chunks that fall to the floor at their feet.
Edward could end her life with one sharp twist of his hand, but instead of retaliating or fighting to save herself, Tanya merely looks at him sadly as he bears his teeth in threat. Near insane with rage at the idea that Tanya could harm even one hair on Isabella's head, it's all he can do to control himself.
"Oh, Edward. Look at you," she murmurs, placing a hand upon his chest in restraint that lacks any force. "You are so much farther gone than Alice understands. You care for this human, don't you?"
A snarl is her answer as Edward drops his hand. "Leave," he orders quietly, his tone dripping violence. "Leave this house, leave this town. If you value your existence, you will disappear and not return."
"Edward, this is foolish..."
"Enough," he roars, smashing his hand into what's left of the wall beside her head. "You come to my home, threatening what is mine, and you call me foolish?" He lowers his voice and drops his head to breathe in her ear. "Do it again. Think of her death, Tanya, and I will show you just how important she is to me."
He takes a step back, and she wisely moves toward the door.
"I wouldn't have hurt her, Edward," she tells him quietly and without looking at him. "I only wanted to make you see the dangers of this insanity you're under. You may care for this human, but your interest will wane just as surely as her life. You think only of yourself, and you forget that your actions have consequences for the family you've so coldly left behind. You are not the only one who will be punished if this game you're playing is discovered."
Before he can respond, she's gone, nothing but an open door and a hot, muggy breeze to mark her former presence. Useless frustration tears at him. Over a century, and still the bonds of his past tear at him, dog his heels, and bind his ankles with responsibilities he cannot outrun.
Tanya's warning reverberates through his head, and his frustration grows. What has Alice seen, for surely this meddling has a reason beyond her lack of boundaries and need to reunite her family?
The Volturi, leaders of the vampire world, have long watched Carlisle's coven. They dislike Carlisle's independence and his thwarting of the ways of vampire kind, even if they do occasionally make use of his talent at procuring free blood. If you include the Denali coven in Alaska that makes up Tanya's extended family, Carlisle's coven is the largest known. Comprised of vampires with exceptional gifts, Aro and his brother rulers have long been wary and watchful, searching for any sign that may represent a threat to them.
Carlisle lives quietly. Edward's rogue behaviour has been the only ripple in the pond of serenity and peaceful existence he surrounds his mate and 'children'—for lack of a better term—with.
No matter Edward's wish to remain free, he knows he cannot fully shirk all responsibility. If his actions endanger them... And he is breaking laws, many of them...
He growls and slams a hand down on the countertop. It splits like a weak eggshell, cracks spiralling over its surface. One large fissure opens down the center as it caves into the wooden frame surrounding it. The halves slide in toward each other, and the base crumples under its weight as Edward spins on his heel to leave the house.
In the car Jasper left him, he revs the engine, its throaty purr rippling through the thick, humid air as he accelerates away from the house. His unease at leaving Isabella alone grows with each click of the odometer. He thinks of her. Her beauty that makes him hunger even more than her blood—her dark eyes, watching him and sparking with challenge and heat. The fear she conquers to hold him, to gift him with her presence and her blood. The way her delicate, lush little body curves up towards his every touch as she accepts his passion; feeding it, welcoming it, submitting fully to him and the connection between them.
She is so much more to me than just a distraction...
I am an unchanging creature, yet she has changed me...
The realization rocks him as he speeds toward her house.
Mate.
Isabella Swan is his mate—meant for him, fated for him, made for him and him alone.
He smiles darkly as he coaxes the last ounce of speed from the car, rocketing toward his new life.
He will need to be careful that his actions do not reflect on those he's left behind, but from this point forward, he exists for one reason and one reason alone. Isabella.
He's waited a very long time for her. Had in fact grown resigned to the idea such a connection was impossible for him. Now that he has found her, he will protect her, kill for her. Above all else, he will forsake everyone and everything, former family included, to keep her.
Always.
. . . . . .
A/N I know. Silly, silly Bella, thinking she can run. You had to know that was coming though, right? ;-) But hey, Preyward had an epiphany - finally - so it's not all bad.
Thanks for reading.
Aleea
