A/N Apologies for the long wait. Thank you all for the well wishes, concern, support, patience, and understanding as I struggle with my health demons. I say it often, but maybe not often enough—I have the best readers in the fandom, bar none.
Special thanks as always to my super sweet beta SaritaDreaming.
Huge hugs and thanks also to Amy & Jo (my blessing and my curse, lol) for keeping me sane and on track, and for understanding/accepting that fanfiction is just as important to me as my original fiction. We stay the course, ever mindful of the plot, and in our journey we find ourselves, lose ourselves, find ourselves again...
. . . . . .
Reminder - When we last left off, Bella was on the run, and Edward realized Isabella is much more than just a pet. Will he find her...?
. . . . . .
Prey for the Wicked
. . . . . .
Destined by a fate so cruel
And drugged to delight...
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Chapter 13
Houkutus
. . . . . .
Edward reaches Isabella's house in a matter of lawbreaking minutes, choosing to park a few houses down on the opposite side of the street. The time for subterfuge, unfortunately, has not ended. This position allows him to easily see and hear everything, while still being far enough away anyone who notices him won't directly be able to associate his presence with Isabella. As much as he wants to claim her for all to see, the instincts he's honed over two centuries urge him to continue to maintain a facade of distance. Other than the first night he found her, he's been exceedingly careful to avoid any possibility of witnesses that could tie him to Isabella. For now, at least until his plans are concrete, Edward is willing to perpetrate the charade, despite the way it galls him to slink about in the shadows.
Soon, though...
Soon.
Edward takes a moment to slip the cell phone he so rarely uses out of his pocket and hits the pre-programmed number without hesitation, waiting for Alice to answer. She does so on the first ring.
"What do you see?" he asks without preamble, knowing she most likely already discerned the when and why of this call, even if her gift is not working as well as it usually does. He refuses to indulge her in pleasantries.
"Nothing," Alice all but growls in response, petulance and irritation present in the way she bites off the word. Even after a century, he can see her perfectly in his mind, and detect her presence in the corner of his heart reserved for those he left behind. It takes effort not to remember Alice's smile and her unnatural exuberance. It takes even more effort to refuse to acknowledge that the sound of her voice fills him with a sudden nostalgic longing to see her. The joy he once felt loving her as a sister and friend is bittersweet and tainted with his hatred of his past life. Decades of suppressing his emotions aid him now.
Hardening his already hard heart, Edward focuses on the one thing that truly matters to him. Isabella.
"And why, pray tell, Alice, are you seeing nothing?"
She huffs, the tone of that one unnecessary sound revealing what he already knows; Alice's visions are so blocked by this human Edward himself cannot read, she has no idea of the monumental discovery he's made. Isabella is his mate. His mind still whirls with that knowledge. Even as Alice continues to speak, it plays repeatedly through his thoughts, filling him with the most surreal pleasure. Isabella isn't an unnatural obsession; she is literally meant to be his. She will always be his.
"That's the point, Edward. I don't know why I can't see anything. I only know I can't," Alice replies acidly. "And now your future is all jumbled. The end result of your game with this human isn't something I can predict. You need to stop before this all ends badly."
"Aro?"
She hesitates, and though he cannot read her thoughts from such a great distance, he knows her well despite the years that have passed. She wasn't expecting that question.
"Aro is Aro. I see nothing from his end, but I haven't been watching him any closer than normal either."
"Then why send Tanya to warn me that my actions have consequences?" he asks angrily.
Alice sighs, beleaguered. "Your issues with Tanya don't concern me, Edward. I sent her to learn more about your pet, that's all."
"Then there are no concerns with the Volturi?"
"Given the fact you're breaking half a dozen of their laws, there are most assuredly concerns," she says, her tone dripping disdain.
"Alice, do not play with me."
She relents with another put-upon, theatrical sigh. "I don't see anything involving the Volturi, Edward, but keep in mind, my visions aren't exactly cooperative in this circumstance." The inflection in her voice changes at this last part, sounding near desperate at the admittance of her fallibility. Edward smiles despite himself. Alice will be Alice. She's a tiny control freak who relies far too much on her psychic ability, which is a shame given her gifts penchant for fluctuation based on nothing more than personal whim.
He stops smiling and injects ice into his voice. "Listen to me, sister. My life does not concern you; my actions concern you even less. This ends now. Unless you see something that directly relates to your safety or the safety of your family, you will stop your meddling. The next unexpected visitor you send will not return to you whole, if I bother to return them at all. Do you understand?"
"I miss you," she responds quietly, the longing in her voice conveying decades of the sentiment. "Esme and Rose and Emmett miss you. It's not just my family, it's yours, too, Edward!"
He doesn't fail to notice how she leaves Carlisle and Jasper out of the equation.
His hardened emotions soften a fraction, though he chooses to disregard her insistence about the relationship between him and the others. "I will not let my actions affect you or the family, Alice. Stop torturing yourself trying to keep tabs. I know how to look after myself."
"Edward, this girl is nothing. She is not our kind. Just a human..."
The softening abates as quickly as it came. Despite their insistence upon living and acting like humans, Edward is reminded his former family are all hypocrites, believing themselves superior to mortals even as they strive so hard to live their fake human lives.
"I mean what I say, Alice. No more interfering." He lowers his voice farther. "Do not underestimate me. You know as well as I do that I allow you these glimpses into my life to soothe you. I can and will disappear so far off your psychic radar you will never see another vision regarding me again. Stay out of my affairs."
"I only want our family whole again," she cries.
Edward ignores her plea. "If I ever choose to return, Alice, you'll be the first to know." He disconnects the call abruptly and shuts down the phone, not putting it past Alice to lie about her visions and have more information than she is letting on. He'll purchase a new phone later.
He turns his attention to Isabella's house and realizes instantly that she is not there. The familiar sound of her heartbeat and the scent of her ambrosial blood are missing.
The house isn't vacant, however. He senses and hears the sound of the television and the breathing and heart rate—not to mention, now that he's familiar with it, the unpleasant smell—of the stunted mutt, Jacob Black.
Edward's lip curls, a long hiss spilling from between his clenched teeth. It takes effort not to storm into the house and tear the halfling dog outside to rip him to shreds that will litter Isabella's small front yard. He keeps his temper in check and forces his mind to do what it does normally without effort.
Jacob's thoughts are skipping, as so many humans are wont to do, from topic to topic. Although Edward notices a focus present that is stronger than most, the wolf genes present in the way Jacob's mind processes things faster and clearer than normal humans.
Edward waits impatiently through musings about the baseball game on the television and meandering, troubled thoughts about the female whose bed he recently left. Finally, Isabella appears in Black's thoughts.
Charlie's going to kill me. Damn it!
Flashes of Isabella appear as he replays prior events.
Jacob answered his cell phone early this morning and heard Isabella...
The sound of her voice is sweet as it spills from Jacob's mind to Edward's, untainted by the inferior hearing that would have been marred by a normal human's auditory capacity.
"Jake? I need the truck. Can I borrow it for a few days?"
"Bella? What's wrong? What's going on?"
Jacob sat up in a bed, a female rising as well, glaring at him before storming from the room.
Leah Clearwater, Edward discerns from Jacob's thoughts, though he could care less about the flash of toned ass and long mocha colored legs that exit the door in Jacob's memory.
"Explain, dog," he urges out loud, regardless of the fact the mutt cannot hear his order. Not for the first time, Edward wishes his telepathy came with a secondary talent of mind control. Being able to read thoughts without any ability to force the thinker to focus can be beyond tedious.
More images follow those of the naked female as Jacob scrambled to dress. Flashes of the bedroom he was in mingle with the mental images his imagination conjured, envisioning a dozen scenarios where Isabella was in trouble.
"Nothing's wrong...well...actually, I'm... Jake, look. I just need it, okay? You said I could have it whenever I wanted, remember? Or are you reneging?"
Edward frowns, disliking the connection such an open-ended agreement implies. Once again the weaving, interlinking web of human relationships reminds him that simply snatching Isabella away would not be without consequence. The genuine concern and affection pouring from the dog's mind is further support of that. The mutt wouldn't easily give up searching for Isabella if Edward were to take her away.
In his thoughts, Jacob continues his memory of that moment, overlaying each action with his emotional sentiments. He didn't want to give her the truck, but he had promised...
"No, I mean, you can have it, of course you can, Bella. It's just, you sound upset, and you've never asked before, so..."
"Jake, I don't have time to argue. Can I have it or not?"
Edward listens carefully to the tone of Isabella's voice in Black's memory, noting instantly the frantic emotion she attempted to conceal. Her breathing was too fast, though she was trying to control it. He also notes the sounds accompanying the words, as if she was moving quickly around the room engaged in activity of some kind. Jacob heard it as well at the time, and he's pondering it now in the present, categorizing the noises. He recognized the sounds of door and drawers opening and closing repeatedly. The abrading sound of a zipper was followed by the rustle of fabrics being folded and shoved into something made of canvas. The dog is remarkably observant, providing even subtle nuances, like the sound of fear in Isabella's tiny, barely noticeable, quavering sigh.
Jacob's mind fast forwards, but Edward catches all the brief of glimpses.
Jacob leaving the small house located on the Reservation. The female named Leah, berating him with a scorned glare and the flash of hurt in pained eyes.
Edward notes Jacob's reaction to that with interest. The mutt was torn, his feelings for the Quileute girl stronger than he's yet fully admitted to himself.
Interesting.
Edward files that information away with the other facts about the dog he's mentally keeping a running list of. The wolf-boy has a few vulnerable points that could come in handy should he decide to be problematic to Edward.
Jacob's thoughts continue.
The drive to Isabella's house, and the genuine concern the dog felt as he drove.
Edward again recognizes those emotions as honest but snarls at them nonetheless.
Mine, he thinks as he resists the urge to make it known to the dog that Isabella is not his to be concerned about.
Jacob finally ponders the moments after arriving at Isabella's home, and he gifts Edward with snatches of their face-to-face meeting.
Isabella was pale.
Her hands trembled when she accepted the vehicle's keys.
"I just need to run some errands in Port Angeles," she told Jacob, yet carefully avoided looking at him.
"Bella, I don't think it's such a good idea for you to be going out of town. Does Charlie know?"
"I'm over eighteen. I don't have to clear everything by him, Jake. Or by you for that matter."
The argument continued, Jacob imploring her to let him come with her as Isabella grew more and more agitated.
"No! Absolutely not. God, Jake, sometimes I think you're so clueless. Stop smothering me!"
Edward smiles at her fierceness, pleased with his little human and even more by the crestfallen look on the mutt's face.
"Bella, for Christ's sake! No one knows where Newton is, and you're acting like a bratty kid, running off and being irresponsible. What the hell is so important you need to go today? Wait at least until this blows over and we know where Newton is, so you're safe."
Isabella's face paled further, her mouth pinching tight.
"I'm done, Jake. I'm sick to death of you and Charlie trying to control my life. Give me the keys and leave. I have as much right to that truck as you do, and you know it. For once, just once, quit trying to be something you're not to me. Be my friend, and let me have the truck. I have a right to go where I want, and I'm not stupid. I'll be smart." Her expression turned pleading. "Please!"
Edward reads the struggle Jacob went through and the emotions behind it—protectiveness, pride, love, dismay, worry, and frustration. He also reads the fact that Jacob registered not all was right with Isabella's story as he placed the keys in her trembling, outstretched hand.
His fingers clenched around Isabella's hand, trapping the keys and her fingers beneath his firm, large grip.
Edward hisses, furious at that past proprietary touch even as he's grateful for the way the dog's heightened senses picked up her escalated pulse and the sweat damp of her clammy, cool palms. The stunted wolf smelled her fear and excitement, the adrenaline pulsing through her system, flooding her nerves, tightening her musculature as impatience and worry flickered across her expression, her eyes darting to the door as though she expected someone to come through it at any minute.
Not someone.
Him.
Edward chuckles at that. Despite his impatience to be after his wayward little lamb, getting a chance to witness such spirit and fire in his mate pleases him immensely.
"Something's wrong. I can tell." Edward watches as memory Jacob said stupidly and unnecessarily. "Your hands are freezing and you're shaking. Trust me, Bella. Tell me what's going on, what has you so upset."
It doesn't take much for Edward to interpret memory Isabella's expression and akin it to that of a trapped animal. Jacob also noted the same, but he missed the mark when Isabella sputtered out a bald faced lie.
"Of course something is wrong. I'm stressed. A crazy guy plastered pictures of me all over his wall and stalked me without me being aware for months," she spat. "Now he's missing, and...no one...knows where he is."
Edward notes the way she faltered on 'no one' with a smirk, also noting how it slipped by the dog. Even now, with the moment fresh in his mind, Jacob stupidly disregards it. Though it's to Edward's advantage, he can't help but snort in derision. The dog is an odd mixture of hyper awareness and oblivious ineptitude. It's all too clear he's never honed his abilities. Curious.
He's also overly quick to trust Bella wasn't lying to him, something else that amuses Edward, though the dog does at least try to reason with her.
"All the more reason for you not to go."
Isabella attempted to drag her hand away from Jacob's grip but failed.
"I need a break! I just want to get away for the day, okay?"
"Where are you going exactly?"
Huffing, she attempted again to pull free and Jacob released her this time.
Luckily for him, Edward thinks. The moment might be in the past, and Edward can discern that Jacob's grip was carefully tempered to avoid causing Isabella pain, but a vampire can be expected to take only so much. One more second of confinement and touch, and Edward would have lost his mind, forcing this present Jacob to suffer some type of pain-filled retribution.
Memory Isabella continues to lie in Jacob's mind.
"To the bookstore." Her expression showed her thinking hard, searching for plausible excuses, though, again, the dog fails to read her effectively. He believed her merely upset and stubborn. "And I'm going to meet...Jessica...and...have lunch at Bella Italia."
Memory Jacob frowned, and present Jacob fast forwards through a rapid stream of images.
- Walking Isabella to the door, followed by him questioning her when she picked up a duffel bag to take with her.
- Buying her paltry excuse about dry cleaning without thinking to use his heightened olfactory abilities to register the scents of what was undoubtedly clean clothing.
- Warning her unnecessarily about the sticky clutch on the truck.
- Insulting her by offering her money to fill the gas tank.
- Asking her to call, then buying her faked reassurance that she would, because again, he believed Isabella incapable of subterfuge.
Edward laughs low in his throat at that. His lovely human is indeed a delectable little innocent, but she's far from being above deceit when it suits her. He likes that. The small taint on her soul appeals to him just as much as her raw, innate sensuality which he has been slowly dragging to the surface.
His angel wears tarnished little wings, and corrupting her further is something he's looking forward to immensely.
Oh, the ways he will corrupt her...
Edward digs further into the dog's head, watching as Isabella left her house and backed the truck out of the driveway. She didn't look back.
Discerning there is nothing left to learn, he reaches out to restart the car. Jacob is determined to wait for Isabella, something that hardly pleases Edward. The dog will be a much less frequent visitor to Isabella's home after today; he'll ensure that. For now, Edward is complacent to let the stupid mutt sit. It's clear to him that Isabella is running and has no intention to return. Not that her intentions matter in this circumstance. Isabella will be home before nightfall, just not the home the dog sits in.
Edward calculates the time Isabella left, allowing his brain to multi-task and easily map out possibilities for which direction she might have taken.
Humans are predictable in so many ways, and within seconds, he discerns the most probable trail and begins to follow it. Just outside of town, he picks up her scent on the humid breeze.
He turns on the car stereo, pleased to see the system is expensive, state of the art, and already set to play a commercial-free satellite station featuring classical music. The delicate, melodious strains of Debussy's Clair de Lune decant from the top of the line speakers, flooding the car with lush sound.
The thrill of the chase fills Edward's predatory form with the most delicious sensations as he settles into the leather seat, his foot pressing the pedal to metal.
. . . . . .
Bella bites her last fingernail down to the quick, tasting the coppery bitterness of her blood. Revolted and nauseated by the scent and taste, she tucks the hand between her thighs, clenching them as she checks the rear-view mirror—again.
The cars behind her are just cars. No black, sleek, expensive vehicles in sight.
Not that she's naive enough to be reassured by the little she can see.
He could be driving a different car. Attempting to blend in, pacing her, playing with her, following and giving her just enough rope to hang herself—not that she isn't already hung.
Ten minutes past Port Angeles, the ache inside her empty chest became more cavernous than ever, forcing her to hunch over the steering wheel, trying uselessly to abate the discomfort she knows is only in her mind.
The more miles she's put between them, the more she feels the loss of him. He's the only known antidote she's ever found to this fiery, empty ache, and she's experiencing the loss of him acutely.
Edward.
Now, three hours later, nearly an hour outside of Seattle and heading God only knows where, it's so much worse than it's ever been.
She feels nearly insane with the gnawing emptiness, and the sensation itself is actually what reassures her he isn't behind her. She's nothing if not certain that if he were, her pain wouldn't be this acute.
She tries to draw strength from that and fails.
She can taste him, smell him, feel him all over her, and she misses the things he made her feel. Not just the relief of the aching emptiness, not even the way he played her body and gave her nearly unbearable pleasure.
No, if she's honest, she misses things she should never miss. Like the thrill and danger of him, and the way he snuck into her life, banishing the fake light she's spent years trying to erect. The way he's filled everything with the most seductive and alluring of shadows.
She misses the power of him. The way she felt not only owned by him, but as though she owns a part of him as well.
He killed to protect me. It's so wrong, but a tiny corner of her mind feels a wicked thrill at that, even as anxiety and logic try to overrule the sick little pleasure.
Charlie taught her murder is always wrong. Charlie taught her a jury made up of impartial people or an overpaid court is the only correct way to judge a person's crime.
Charlie is always the first to admit the system doesn't work well.
Charlie is a hypocrite, and none of this reasoning stops the way she feels.
Bella pushes her hair behind her ear, noticing how much her hands are trembling. A brush of her fingertips across her mouth reminds her how much she misses Edward's touch and his kiss, and yes, even his bite. Her blood feels too thick, too abundant, as though her veins are too small and engorged.
"You're sick," she mutters out loud. "There is something very wrong with you. You need to get away from him, before you lose your mind completely, you idiot."
Talking to herself in third person seems to be a new facet of her recent insanity. She struggles to remember Renee ever talking to herself and can't find a single instance. Instead of feeling reassured, she only accepts her illness must have its own unique idiosyncrasies.
She flips on the radio, wincing as heavy metal music throbs and screeches through the tinny speakers. Flicking the dial rapidly, she stops on a station playing classical music. Debussy's Clair de Lune sounds sad and slightly distorted on the trucks ancient, cheap stereo system, but she leaves it on, hoping it will soothe her rattled nerves.
A half hour later, after pushing the poor trucks beleaguered engine past its normal sedate pace, and hearing the whine and rattle of its strained components, Bella eyes a rest stop sign warily.
She needs to stop. The truck needs gas, and so does she. Strong black coffee and some kind of food are necessary. She has no appetite and knows any coffee she finds will be horrible, but she also knows she needs fuel of some kind to continue. Her impulsive decision to run and the stress of the morning have worn her down.
She also needs to pee.
A last look behind her, and one more forced mental reassurance based on the ache that is worse than it has ever been, and she prepares to turn onto the off ramp. She waits until the last minute, ignoring the rules of safe driving by not signaling and cutting off a blue minivan carrying a middle age couple. They honk, and she sees the chubby soccer mom in the passenger seat shoot her the finger as they swerve and dart into the passing lane.
The rest stop is packed. A McDonalds, a busy gas station, and a coffee shop look to be raking in a killing. Bella takes comfort in the crowd, certain that being surrounded by travelers is her safest bet, not that she intends to linger, and not that she lowers her guard at all.
He's confined to the same traffic laws as everyone else, she thinks, attempting to create a reassuring list of rationality.
He can't be close. I'd feel him. He's supernatural, but not omnipotent. He can't find me that easily. I covered my tracks. No one knows where I am. He'll look, but it will take him hours yet to even know I'm missing, seeing as how he never shows up during the day.
Can he even go out in daylight?
Bella shivers, the reassurances failing to ease her nerves despite the logic behind him.
A moment passes as she watches the flow of traffic and finds a parking spot. A moment more as she scans everything. Her senses are on such high alert she's getting a tension headache. The muscles in her back scream in protest at the constant tight way she's holding her body.
Another moment passes as she girds her nerves and finds the courage to step out of the truck. Being inside the moving vehicle granted her a small measure of feeling safe. Now, out in the open, she feels vulnerable and exposed.
Scurrying to the main entrance door of the rest stop complex, Bella tries to berate herself.
What makes you so sure he's even going to bother looking for you?
You're nothing, probably just a passing plaything to him. He'll replace you rather than go to the trouble of chasing you down.
She wonders at the pain these thoughts trigger.
I want to be important to him.
But I don't want him to find me.
Liar, her mind sings. Grimacing, she puts one foot in front of the other and enters the building. Her palms sweat and her heart races, but her eyes see nothing except innocent faces—dozens of harried families on vacations, and a multitude of business men and women in rumpled suits looking weary and busy all at the same time.
The smell of greasy fast food assaults her, making her nausea grow. She searches for the rest rooms, spotting two, one to her left and one to her right. The one to her right looks less busy...
The hair on the back of her neck stands on end.
The ache in her middle eases, loosening like an untied knot.
Oh, God.
Her blood runs hot in her veins as she turns, knowing he's here.
Impossibly.
She turns to face the large glass wall of windows and watches that black sleek car pull into the rest stop parking lot and slide into place only five short slots from her truck. She's frozen, her mind screaming run while her body melts into place. Every second she's been away from him has been a physical assault against her body and mind, and she's beyond exhausted. Hopelessness fills her eyes with tears created from equal parts defeat and relief.
I'm so fucked, she realizes. She doesn't even have it in her to try and run away again. Especially not with the sweet respite of the ache, and especially not with the shiver of desire that runs hot and cold up her nerve endings at the thought that he's nearly close enough to touch...
She watches him slide from the car, sinuous and lethally beautiful, a dark pair of sunglasses his only concession to the bright summer sunlight. She doesn't want to feel a thrill at how good looking he is. She especially doesn't want to feel a thrill that his presence here proves he wants her.
"Guess that answers your question about his kind and daylight," Bella mutters under her breath. Yet another myth put to bed.
Her heart seems to beat to the syllables of his name, faster and faster as his gaze skips over people and cars, zeroing in on her as though she's wearing a flashing neon sign.
She can't tell for certain, but she thinks he smirks. Whether he does or not, the result is the same. The last flicker of her desire to run dies a quiet, fruitless death. She turns and walks through the throngs of people, searching for a quiet place to sit and wait for her fate.
It's surprisingly easy to give up.
. . . . . .
Edward finds her all too easily.
Predictable little human.
He would have liked a longer hunt. Time and effort, after all, only enhance success. Still, he can't deny the enjoyment he feels at finding her, or the strange sense of relief that he has found her whole and unharmed.
Silly, beautiful lamb, thinking she could run from him. He will need to teach her to take better care of what belongs to him.
With the thrill of the hunt fading, Edward feels mildly irked and considers punishing her, not that he has a clue how to go about punishing a difficult mate. His incisors ache as he nears the decrepit truck that made it so easy to track her. He probably should have taken time to imbibe himself of some of Carlisle's condescending gift, slaking his thirst a touch before tracking her. The hunt has exasperated his appetite, drawing out the predator's need to partake of what he's caught.
Reining in his hunger is difficult, but he manages. It's easier now, knowing Isabella is his mate. She's not disposable. He'll have to be more careful with her than ever before.
Edward stares with disdain at the ancient behemoth of a truck that made it easy to track her. The tell-tale path of carbon, oil, and rust it left in its passing stood out to him like a trail of proverbial bread crumbs.
Not, that he needed such obvious spore to track. Isabella drove with the windows down, her scent weaving a red olfactory path he was able to follow like a shark in water.
He flicks a sharp fingernail over the driver's door of the truck, faded red paint flecks cascading down and dotting the black asphalt like little droplets of anemic blood.
Isabella's scent commingles with the strong stench of the dog that's entrenched in the interior. He dislikes the mixture immensely. The slightest flick of his wrist and the hood opens, latches giving only the slightest of protest screeches, weakened as they are by age and corrosion. In an instant, he has the fuel line disengaged, the strong reek of gasoline mingling in the hot air with the scent of gas from the cars filling up at the nearby station. Another small scrape of his fingernail creates a shower of sparks on the small amount of fuel he allowed to puddle beneath the truck before he reconnected the fuel line.
A soft whoosh of sound and the gas ignites a burning trail that licks its way up into the undercarriage. Edward closes the hood, taking note of the obliviousness of the surrounding humans who haven't noticed him at all. He moves away from the truck and makes his way to the entrance of the rest stop before any of their slow senses notice the flames.
He slides into the cooler interior, assaulted by the sounds of dozens of minds and the smells of human food sources and human bodies. None of it masks Isabella's. He finds her unerringly, sitting at a table in the far corner of the building, her back to him. Her spine is straight, her shoulders defiant and square, though a quiver of submission vibrates her form over and over again.
Sweet little lamb, he thinks with a smile as he hears the fire truly catch on the truck outside. The slow reaction of the humans who notice but fail to act quickly, create a muffled roar of sound.
Isabella doesn't notice. She is proud and defiant—delectably fearful yet resilient.
He joins her, taking her arm, careful to temper his strength to be gentle on her delicate flesh. A little force urges her to rise with just the right amount of power to demonstrate resistance would be silly. She doesn't look at him, but her heart races with more than just fear, her excitement its own uniquely pleasant scent. Her stubborn little chin, while tilted defiantly, trembles.
Edward slides his hand down her arm, and takes her hand in his, raising it to his lips to kiss the fragrant flesh on the back of her wrist. He's missed her. The relief he feels touching her again, finding her unharmed, sweeps over him in a powerful wave. His tongue flicks surreptitiously over the small crusts of blood around her battered, chewed little nail beds, the taste of her as divine as ever.
"Come, Isabella," he says gently, sensing her nervousness escalating. "Time to go home."
She doesn't resist as he leads her out. Her truck burns out of control now, the stench of charring metal and liquefying rubber stinging her nose so she covers it. Her eyes widen on a gasp, but he gives her no chance to stop, his pace quick, forcing her to keep up, her hot little hand clasped tight in his cooler grip. He feels her blood throbbing under her the skin of her fingers, calling to him the way only her blood can. His incisors ache with renewed fury. Impatience stops him from fully enjoying her sputtering wordless exclamations of shock and distress. The roar of the fire is very loud and very hot as he quickly tucks her inside his car, strapping on her seat belt. The hiss of an extinguisher and the stench of chemical foam joins the reek of burning machinery, heralding the first human to think on his feet as the man rushes to the scene and tries to put out the fire.
Edward backs out of the parking slot, pausing just long enough for Isabella to see the truck is doomed before he races out of the lot.
She cranes her neck and upper body enough that as they leave, she has the perfect rear view of the humans scattering for safety at the shouted urgings of the fire extinguisher wielder. The foam can't obliterate a fire with so much fuel feeding it.
The explosion is loud, even over the racing, purring engine.
The decrepit eyesore of a truck is destroyed beyond repair, nothing more than a charred husk.
Isabella is silent as she turns back around, the reflection of the fire seeming to burn in her perfect eyes.
Edward takes her hand and kisses it once more, running his nose over her wrist, inhaling deeply.
"So, my sweet lamb. Did you enjoy your little adventure?"
. . . . . .
