Chapter 11
High above the world atop a steep and towering cliff, Rosalie stood still, her face glazed with the billowing mist of the sea.
All around her roared the rising rush of the Pacific. The air was cold today— unseasonably bitter, though spring was well-established— and though it could not hurt her, she felt it keenly on her bare, white arms. The beauty of this place, of this coast that she loved so much, had vanished in the storm, its subtle hues of emerald and jade fading to bleak, ashen greys and roiling, tumbling blacks. Beneath her feet the grass had been trampled down to mud. The vibrant pebbles that glittered like gems even when the sky was overcast had been washed out in the rain, their colour leached bare and waxen as if someone had siphoned it all away. Rain pounded down on her, leaving her soaked to the bone, but she didn't mind it— not now, when she was so carefully watching, inspecting the shore.
Below, where the raging waves met land, she could see a small strip of sand and a narrow, rocky beach. It was not a place for company— there were no people bumbling about even when the weather was kind. The water was rough and cold, and she knew that most preferred the beaches further south, closer to the heart of the reservation. There were a few fire pits, long forgotten and cold, whose ashes had spread out like ink from the confines of their stone circles. Driftwood made skeletons in the surf, smoothed by the water and bleached bone-white, and she watched as they bobbed in the murky, frothing water, her eyes narrowed and her mood dark.
She could smell the girl— faint and almost lost, but still present, still here. She could smell the fragrant aroma of her blood, the sweet, almost childish scent of her skin. She smelled of strawberries and of some flower Rosalie could not name. The fruit came from her soap. The floral note was all her own.
She turned her face away, trying to banish that smell from her memory.
She knew what had happened here, as clearly as if she had been the one to watch it unfold. She had seen the horror in Alice's face— Alice, who had latched herself so quickly to this frail human child that their brother insisted on keeping. This child that her family had grown to love. The child who had broken them.
She could imagine it like a movie, that tumbling, fragile body plummeting towards almost certain death at the base of this cliff. Air leaving her lungs in a rush, water taking its place. The crack— perhaps of her head, or of her neck— as she was jostled among the rocks, and the last, stuttering beat of her heart, so delicate and precarious.
Rosalie looked over the edge of the cliff, peering down at the open maw below. Pillars of rock, sharp and deadly, stuck up like spears from the deep. The water was shallow— too shallow for a dive, at least— and she could make out the murky bottom each time the swell receded. As she inched, she felt the stones beneath her feet give way, hopping down the embankment before they came to rest in the water, sinking to lay on the ocean floor.
She saw the spot the girl must have hit— the only spot, by her reckoning, that would have allowed her to survive it. A clear spot, almost directly below the cliffs, where falling water had eroded those sharp stones into little nubs meters below the surface. A place where she would not have been dashed to pieces. A place where, as luck would have it, she had managed to hit, and thus avoided the end she so craved— the same end which, if Rosalie were honest, she had thought about countless times herself.
What a gift it was, to live as humans did. What a blessing. Her own body was indestructible— so strong that there was hardly a force in the world that could destroy it, except another one of her own kind. She did not have the luxury of choice— she couldn't simply hop from a cliff or swallow a pill to rid herself of this worldly flesh. No. Rosalie would live forever, until the sun burned out in the sky, and she would always be this— never growing, never moving forward.
She snapped back to the present with a hiss, turning her back on the cliff altogether.
Humans, she thought, are wasteful. So terribly, destructively wasteful…
Rosalie began to run.
Moving through the forest was like second nature to her. She did not struggle to pick a path through the undergrowth, nor did she lose herself in the denseness of the trees. She moved with skill, and with purpose— she could smell her way, as easily as not, and in particular, she caught the scent of her brother, not yet faded in the rain. She could smell Alice, too, and the girl, and though she hardly knew where she was or in which direction she was headed, she knew that no matter where this path took her, it would end in home.
A pang of something, perhaps anticipation, roiled in her belly like a swarm of flies. She so rarely had anything to look forward to that it was an uncomfortable feeling, but not unwelcome. It flitted about until the scent she was tracking grew stronger, and when she began to make out other notes— her father, her mother— her anticipation shrunk and her nerves began to rise.
Rosalie hated disappointing her parents. She had always hated being anything less than her best, though that very goal had often been her downfall. She was hot-tempered and fiercely stubborn, and this did not always mingle well with Carlisle's easy compromises, his ready and willing cooperation. Carlisle strove for unity while Rosalie's very nature demanded compliance, and so together, they often found themselves at odds.
But still, Rose hated being a let-down, and what a terrible, awful disappointment she had been.
Change, Rose knew, was something with which she was never comfortable. She did not like the shifting of routine, the alteration of her carefully laid plans. Rose was methodical in her ways— she knew what to expect, and knew what her family should expect, too, and it had been this girl, this child, who had thrown everything topsy-turvy in the space of a single afternoon.
It had taken Edward first, though Rosalie wasn't sure she could honestly mourn that change. She had known it the minute she'd seen his face, speeding like a mad thing past the English classroom where she sat by the window. The bell had only just rung— Rose had been collecting her things— and she'd watched with mild concern as Edward launched himself into his car and fishtailed out of that parking lot as if the devil himself were in pursuit. Jasper, her seat-mate, had been likewise confused, and when they'd met up with Alice and Emmett in the hallway, it had been Alice who had told them what had happened.
At first, Rosalie had been in awe of his tenacity, his control. Back in the 40s, when Emmett was still young, he'd come across two such humans, both of whom had been devoured in an instant, without even a thought of restraint. There had been guilt, of course, and terrible, hateful shame, but they had moved on from those minor, early slips, and focused instead on the good.
Rosalie did not understand why Edward had been able to resist, and she had pondered it long and hard before the next change had taken hold— this time with even more strength.
The girl had come for Alice next.
Spying, as was her speciality, had become somewhat of a habit for her presentient sister, who knew no boundaries of time or space and had no qualms about peering into the lives and business of others. Alice had a hard time seeing humans— she always had— and so it had taken her a full week to get a handle on the new girl who'd thrown Edward into turmoil. She'd stared into the future with a purpose and a goal, and she had emerged on the other side quite ecstatic and full of delight.
It had only made Rosalie even angrier when she'd told them what the future held— this girl, this human girl, sprinting through the forest with their brother, her skin ice cold and her body as hard as stone…
Rosalie's protest had fallen on deaf ears— all save Emmett, who had listened, but kept quiet.
Rosalie could not be sure, exactly, when the girl had ensnared her parents. Perhaps it was that first visit, when she, herself, had been so boorish and rude. Perhaps it was later, when Edward had brought her back again at Esme's request. Perhaps it was when Carlisle had let her into the library, her face aglow with delight, or when he'd patched her up for what felt like the hundredth time in the span of a fortnight. Rosalie was not sure. What she did know was that it had not taken long— it had happened far ahead of their ill-fated baseball game— and that it had been her mother who had taken to her first.
Esme loved freely and indiscriminately, and the moment it had become clear that this girl had brought her son to life, her place in Esme's heart had been cemented.
Carlisle's attachment had come later. He had been fond of the girl, of course— Rosalie might even say that he liked her— but that love of a father… that came later.
And then she'd come for Emmett… that blow had come at the end, and it had struck hard.
Emmett was, and always had been, Rosalie's rock. He was her lifeline in a sea of monotony, her joy in a world of sameness. She had married him thrice over and loved him fiercely all the while in between, but even he was not immune to the girl, to the change. When Rose called her an interloper, he called her a gift. When human frailties annoyed her, Emmett rolled with laughter. When Bella had warmed to him, Rose had felt the ferocious, ugly jealousy in her heart, but he had hardly taken notice of her protests other than to scold her and to argue. Emmett had never chastised her before— he was not her father, after all— but they had bickered often, and angrily, about the girl and her place, and it had been an argument that she was never destined to win.
But Rosalie was proud and worse, she was stubborn.
The girl was kinder than she was. She was softer. She was sweet where Rose was sour, gentle where she was rough. She worshipped the ground that Edward walked on, though for the life of her, Rose did not know why. Edward thought her beautiful— he told her so at every turn— and when Rose had heard his whispered tease that he had always preferred brunettes, her own, blonde head had tossed in defiance. Rosalie was vain, and she knew it well, and she had let it get the better of her— had allowed her own envy to take root in the deepest core of her heart.
The girl had entranced every member of Rose's family, even aloof and worrisome Jasper, and Rose had hated her for it. She hated her influence, and resented the change she'd wrought. She hated the care her family showed her, fragile and young as she was. She hated the way the girl tried to ensnare her, to draw Rose into her trap of winning smiles and clumsy humour… but most of all, she hated herself for the ugliness in her soul— that bitter, envious, malicious creature who came for the innocent.
For Rose knew, without a doubt, that Isabella Swan was an innocent. She had done nothing that countless humans hadn't done before her— nothing that Rosalie herself hadn't done before. She was not a monster— she had not killed, or maimed— but she had been punished nevertheless, and wrongfully so.
Bella's only crime was to love another— to love Rosalie's own brother, who was in such desperate need of that love that Rosalie wondered what kind of beast she was to have ever denied him.
Running on feet as light as air, Rosalie was surprised when she heard another sound break into her daydreams— a harsher sound, a louder sound, but a sound so altogether familiar that she stopped dead, her heart in her throat. It took him only a moment to reach her— just the barest, most fleeting instant before she was wrapped in a familiar, tender embrace.
He was tall enough to dwarf her, though she was not lacking in height of her own, and Rose simply let him squeeze, their reunion as bitter as it was sweet.
"Thank you," he said, and at once, she felt a stab of remorse. "Thank you, babe, for coming home."
Rosalie didn't say anything— she didn't need to— and simply let him kiss her, so fierce and urgent that it felt like a reunion after years of separation, rather than weeks.
Of course she had come, when Emmett had called her. Of course she would join them. She could not deny that she was angry— even now, as she held her mate in the safety of her arms, she could not help but feel a little niggling annoyance, an irritation. That feeling, however, paled in comparison to her fear, which had risen to a crescendo when he'd called her, so worried and so uncertain.
"We need you," was all he'd said before Rosalie could get a word out. "There's a problem, Rose. We need you here."
As unnatural as it was for her to keep silent, she had listened with furious outrage as he'd explained just what had happened. He told her what Jasper and Alice had found on that little deserted island out to sea. He told her how close the girl had come to complete and utter destruction. He'd told her about the days of worry, of what had happened to the police chief, what they'd discovered when she awoke, before finally, with halting, urgent ferocity, he told her what he'd found in the woods with Jasper.
"Newborns, Rose… and plenty of them. Jasper thinks maybe a dozen. They know we're here, and they know we've found them. It's only a matter of time."
"Time for what?"
"For them to come," he'd said, and her heart had gone cold. "For them to find us, babe, and for them to try and take her."
Her. Rosalie had fought the scowl, the instinctive recoil at the thought of the girl, who had, in her weeks of solitude, come to mean something a little more than before.
"I'll be there," she had said. "I'll leave this very minute."
She hadn't said I love you, and neither had he, for even when they were apart there could be no doubt. As she stood with him now, his fingers buried in her sopping wet hair, there was no need to say it still, for they both knew the truth of it.
Rosalie had never loved any creature more than she did him, and she had no doubts that he felt the same.
"We're gathered at the house," he said, after a long moment of pause. Rosalie said nothing. "We're… waiting."
"Waiting?"
"You're the first to arrive."
Rosalie, blinking in surprise, shook her head.
"You mean…"
"Yes."
"Has he been back at all?"
"No."
Rosalie was stumped.
"Have you gotten in touch?"
"Carlisle did," said Emmett, though this, she noted, did not come with his trademark grin. "Carlisle spoke with him. He's not happy."
Rosalie sneered.
"When is he ever?"
"Hey…"
She let her gaze fall.
"It's been…" Emmett spoke slowly, as if he could not find the words. "It's been… difficult."
"Oh?"
"She's… not quite right," he admitted. "Bella, I mean. Not all there."
"I didn't expect she would be."
Emmett's gaze was sharp.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that our brother is a proud and headstrong fool," she said simply and Emmett had the gall to laugh. Sensing his mockery, she pulled away, her face suddenly dark with irritation.
"At least I know what I am," she snapped, and at once, he looked contrite. "At least I know who I am."
"Sorry."
Rosalie's eyes narrowed.
"Edward is a fool, Emmett, no matter which way you cut it."
"He's grieving…"
"Any grief he feels is of his own making," she said at once, and Emmett didn't refute her. "Any hardship has been by his own hand. He brought her here, he bonded with her, and then he decided to leave her. He'll have no sympathy from me."
"You don't even like her."
"I don't have to like her to know that I'm right," she said sharply. "You know my feelings, Emmett, and you know that they change absolutely nothing. Not for her, and definitely not for him."
"You know my feelings are unchanged, too?"
She bit back her sarcasm.
"I expected as much," she said. "You're many things, Emmett, but you're not fickle."
"No."
Rosalie squared her shoulders.
"Do you love her, Emmett?" she asked, and though the question hurt her, she did not relent. Emmett's frown was sharp, his lip curled in sudden distaste, before he answered.
"With my whole heart," he said, "but not at all in the way you're thinking."
Rosalie sighed.
"Then I guess that'll be enough," she said. "I love my family, Emmett. If they've chosen this…"
"They've chosen her," he said, and though his face was soft, she could hear a sudden hardness, a coolness in the way he spoke to her. "We've chosen her, Rose, and I hope you understand what that means."
"I will stand by my family…"
"She's your family too."
Rose bit back a scowl.
"Yes," she said, though the word felt sticky in her throat. "Yes, I think that's been made perfectly clear."
Rosalie entered the house through the back door.
Standing in the familiar kitchen, her eyes roving over the pristine counters and polished, shining floors, Rosalie felt, for the first time in weeks, that she had finally come home. It was not like her to spend so long away— not without Emmett, at least, to keep her company— and there was something soothing, something calming about the familiar sights and smells of her family.
Her mother reached her first, taking her up in a fierce and longing embrace.
"Oh, darling." She felt Esme's impulsive squeeze, her caress. "I'm so glad you've come home. Are you quite well?"
Over Esme's shoulder, she could see Carlisle's frown, his arms crossed over his chest as he observed their interaction. Rosalie studied him, knowing full well that he was looking right back at her as she fought to discern the mood she saw there. His face was smooth, impassive as a stone, but there was something strange in the darkness of his eyes— a coolness, perhaps, or wonder. He tried to smile at her— Rose saw how he fought to control his discontent— but he did not quite succeed, even when she narrowed her eyes.
"I'm well, Esme," she said, and her mother let her go. Carlisle did not come forward, did not embrace her as his wife had, but he glanced instead towards the living room where Rose could hear two more voices. She heard Jasper's voice, so soft and so muffled, and Alice's higher, sharper chirp, and when she heard the heartbeat, pounding its rhythm in the quiet of the house, she sighed.
"She's asleep," Carlisle said, and this more for Emmett's benefit than hers. "She still won't let him touch her, but she didn't seem to realize it when he helped her along."
Rosalie understood nothing and glanced at Emmett for an explanation. He gave none and Rose was left in the dark.
"I…"
"I can't see."
In an instant, as if she'd materialized by sheer force of will, Rosalie saw Alice in the doorway, her eyes as black as soot and her face drawn and pale. She stared for a moment too long— it was not like Alice to let herself run ragged, and Alice knew that she was looking when she scowled, eying Rose askance in return.
"Not so hot yourself," she snapped, and Rose bit back her retort. "I'm trying to see, but I can't."
"Can't see what?"
"Anything."
Rosalie only stared.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I still can't see!"
"Not even…?"
"I saw you," she said crossly, and as the tension rose, she saw Jasper rise from the sofa. "I saw you coming, and so I sent Emmett. And I can see that Edward has bought a plane ticket."
"He's still not here?"
"No."
Her surprise, well-guarded and invisible to most, was not so to Jasper.
"He's going to be furious," her brother said, his lips pulled tight.
"I'm going to kill him."
Alice's retort was petulant, unhappy. Rosalie rarely saw her like this— it was Rose's place to have the tantrums, and Alice's place to soothe her out of them. Rose was never the comforter, and it felt odd for their places to be switched.
"Do you know when?"
"No."
"And what about the… threat?"
At once, all eyes had darkened.
"Did Emmett tell you?" asked Jasper, his face dark with mutinous displeasure. "What we found?"
"Yes."
"Good." He turned away from her, his eyes downcast. "Good."
Rosalie waited, the silence drawing thin.
"They'll come," he said, and Rose felt a tingle of terror down her spine. "They're bound to come."
"How long?"
"Could be hours, could be weeks," said Jasper. "We have no way of knowing. I had hoped…"
He glanced at Alice, who scowled darkly at the tile floor, but did not finish his thought.
"No matter. We'll know more when Edward arrives. He'll be able to give us insight."
Alice snorted.
"There's nothing to do but wait," she said, and this time her petulance had melted into outright anger. "We've got nothing at all to do but wait."
There was a noise from the living room— so soft that any other ears might have missed it— and when Rose heard the sharp intake of breath, she saw Alice sigh.
"I thought you said she was out?" she complained, shooting an accusatory look at her husband. For his part, Jasper looked contrite, if not a little guilty, as Alice turned away. She moved towards the sofa in a rush, as if she could head off whatever their neglect had set in motion, and on a whim, Rosalie followed her sister into the living room.
"It's alright, honey…"
The space, with which Rosalie was intimately familiar, was as unchanged as her memory permitted. The couches were the same, so perfectly arranged around tables and books. The windows were devoid of dust, the floors as nicely polished, and in the fireplace, against the farthest wall, was a crackling, merry blaze that oozed light and warmth. The sky outside was still stormy grey but it made little difference with all the glaring white of walls and furniture, and the only thing that Rose could find that was out of place was an untouched glass of tepid water on an end table, and a heaping collection of blankets that shifted and squirmed.
Beneath them, her little, pale face peeking out as if in horror, Rosalie saw the girl.
Rosalie was a vain creature, but she had never been so haughty so as not to recognize beauty outside of her own. She knew loveliness when she saw it and could admire a work of art just as eagerly as the next person, and she'd known from her very first glimpse of her in the high school cafeteria that Bella Swan was pretty. She had delicate features with soft cheeks only just devoid of their youthful roundness, and a complexion that would have made any of the teenage high school girls green with envy. All cream and rose petals, with pale tints of peach on her nose and cheeks, and such a depth of warm brown eyes that even Rose, whose own had been blue, felt a niggling envy. She was rounded, yet slender, with none of the muscular hardness that marked Rose's own kind as other. Her eyes were big, and her smile was sweet, and so when Rosalie saw the girl half-hidden beneath the blankets, she froze in complete surprise.
This creature— this utterly human child— could not possibly be the same one she'd seen just months ago, on her last birthday.
"Rose is home, Bella," said Alice rather uselessly, for the instant they'd entered, those tired, brown eyes had fixed on her with a vengeance. Rose did not know what she saw in that face— horror, terror, disbelief, embarrassment— but whatever it was, it made her cheeks glow red, and she turned her face away into the mountain of plush blankets.
Rose turned at once to Emmett, her astonishment plain.
"Come with me," he said, and he took her by the hand to tug her away. "Come, Rose. Get changed. You're soaked, and…"
She did not need telling twice.
In the safety of her bedroom, where she had retained a meager supply of old clothing, Rosalie stripped out of her wet things and into the dry in a space no longer than a breath. Emmett was not watching her— he did not distract her with sweet kisses or provocative touches and for this, Rose was grateful, for she was filled with questions.
"I did warn you…" he said, though his voice was low with sorrow. "I told you. She's not the same."
Rosalie did not know what to say.
"Is she…?"
Emmett snorted.
"She's everything other than what she should be," he said, and his voice sounded pained, and quiet. Rosalie could feel his frustration rolling off of him in waves, and his sadness too, that made him so quiet. She could not abide it— could not tolerate this dejection for even a moment longer— and she did what little she could, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting him tuck his face into the hollow of her throat.
She felt his sigh, and his sweet, gentle kiss.
"I love you," he said, and it made her throat feel tight. "I love you, babe, and I'm glad you're home."
"Tell me, Emmett," she said. "Tell me what I've missed."
"We did it, Rose… we did that."
She swallowed, letting her eyes fall shut.
"We left, and that's what we did to her," he said. "She doesn't eat. She won't sleep— not unless Jasper helps her— and even then, she won't let him touch her."
"Is she afraid?"
"Hardly."
Rose waited for elaboration.
"She's furious," he said, and Rose gave an involuntary chuckle. "She's so angry, babe. He dosed her, a few days ago, and…"
Rosalie did not need to speak her understanding, for she knew that anger well enough. She liked Jasper— arguably more than she did brooding, sulky Edward— but he had an aura about him that could rub the wrong way. His was a true gift, she knew— something heavy, and something strange— and when it was used in the wrong way, that gift became an imposition.
Rosalie waited for more detail and when none came, she brought her lips down to his bent, curly head. She knew she had hurt him, this man of hers, when she'd refused to come the first time. She knew that he had missed her— he always did, whether he told her so or not— and she had missed him, too. There was nothing like it, the separation from one's mate, and as that thought came to her, so strong and so stubborn, she felt herself wince and pull away.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"No, not nothing," he persisted, and she let her arms fall away from him. "Tell me."
"You won't like it."
"I don't care."
Rosalie smirked, though it did not last long.
"Our brother is an idiot."
From downstairs, she heard Alice's answering hiss.
"Not that one," she said, and the noise died down. "The other one. The one who left."
Emmett stared, his face betraying nothing.
"Look at us," she laughed, gesturing to his hand, which lingered on her waist. "Look at the way we are. We've been apart for just two weeks, and look at how we hate it."
"I know…"
"It's not natural, Emmett. It's not right."
"What's not?"
"That he can stay away," she said. "That he has stayed away."
"He thought it was for her own good…"
"Yeah, and look at how well that's worked out. No wonder she's not eating, Emmett. I'm sure he's not either. And sleep… I couldn't imagine it. Not in a million years."
He hugged her again, and she let him.
"It's not natural," she went on, "to send your mate away. It's not right. I don't agree with her choices, Emmett, or what we plan to do to her, but I can tell you this… what he did? It's not right."
"No."
"And if you ever do that to me?" She pulled away, watching the consternation on his face. "If you ever do that to me, Emmett, I swear to God, I'll jump too, but I'll find a way to make it stick."
Carlisle listened to the quiet tones of conversation from the floor above, and he felt his dead heart squeeze in sympathy as he listened to his daughter's fierce, angry threat.
"Don't eavesdrop," Esme said, her voice cross and chastising. "It's not right. Give them their privacy."
"I needed to know," he said simply, and Esme only sighed. "If things were to get hostile between them again, I don't know what she might do. I don't know what Bella might do."
"She's safe, my love, and well cared for." Her assurances fell flat, however, as she gazed at the shivering bundle beneath the blankets. It was the newest symptom on her ever-growing list— the child could not keep warm. Carlisle knew why— he had enough medical expertise, ranging over such a long span of time, that he'd seen almost everything at least once— though his knowledge did little to assuage him as he ran over cures and consequences in his mind.
The girl would not eat, and so she had grown thin. He had restarted her IV to hydrate her, at the very least, but she would take nothing more than a few bites of food at a time, hardly enough to sustain a small child. Her stomach was in knots, her mind so tangled that even he could not find a way through, and were it not for Alice's dire warning against tube feeding, he would have started it days ago.
"You'll only drive her deeper down, Carlisle," she had warned with the knowledge of her foresight, so rare and so feeble when it came to their human. This warning had made him hesitate, and pause. "You'll do more harm than good… just give her time. She needs time."
And so instead, he'd piled her with blankets to keep the worst of the chill away. She was weaker than he'd like, and much too thin, but until she could regain some muscle and fat, she would only continue to deteriorate.
She was watching him now, her wide, unhappy eyes fixed resolutely on his face, and when he caught it, he smiled. She did not smile back— she rarely did, anymore— but she did clear her throat, voicing a question.
"Carlisle?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Why did Rose come back?"
He frowned.
"To be with her family," he said, and the girl went red as a beet. "To be with us, where she belongs."
She looked away, abashed.
"Sorry."
"Whatever for?"
She turned away from him, her heart racing.
"I heard Jasper talking…"
At once, Carlisle felt his heart sink.
"Indeed?" She was quick, and shrewd, and she did not let him go so easily.
"Yes. He said that they're coming."
He saw her shiver as if a cold wind had ripped through the room, though there was no way she could feel any kind of draft huddled down beneath her covers.
It had been a finer point of contention, keeping their knowledge a secret. Jasper and Emmett had fought against it— had urged them to tell her, to involve her, as it was her safety at risk, her life. Carlisle had been less certain— he did not want to frighten her, did not want to add any more fuel for the nightmares that already left her screaming in the night. Alice had been resolutely against it— the only thing, in reality, that had stopped Jasper from telling her anyways— and Esme had agreed. It would be too much, she said, for her raw and tender wounds. She was already so hurt, so frightened… Esme would not tolerate any further injury, any added worry.
But not one of them had factored in her own curiosity, her penchant for finding out things she shouldn't.
"I don't know what you mean."
At once, her face darkened.
"Don't lie to me, Carlisle, please," she said, and her disdain was nearly palpable. "I expect that from the others, but not from you. Please, not from you."
He felt his shame, hot and sticky in his chest.
"I'm sorry."
"You always are."
"I know." He knelt, slow and careful, by the edge of the couch. "I know, honey… but it's the truth. I'm sorry for a great many things."
She stared, her face blank.
"Why did Rosalie come back?"
At the mention of her name, Carlisle saw Rosalie reappear on the stairs, frowning and confused.
"She came back for her family," he said, and though he tried to be delicate, the girl was not fooled. "She came back for us."
"She's angry…"
Rosalie's frown deepened.
"I think she's cooled off."
"Jasper is worried."
Carlisle did not deny it.
"And it's not about me."
"We're all worried about you…"
"Tell me the truth." There was a hardness, an authority in that demand, so brazen and so earnest. "Please, Carlisle. Tell me the truth. I'm so sick of lies."
When she struggled to sit, he reached out to help and she did not turn him down.
"There's been a development, sweetheart…"
From upstairs, there came Alice's angry hiss.
"Don't, Carlisle…"
He heard Jasper silence her.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that there is a threat," he said. "A grave threat, but one that I don't want you to worry about."
Even now, he could hear the increase in her blood pressure, the sudden, violent terror…
"I don't understand."
"It will be neutralized," he said at once, and this time, he saw Jasper appear beside his sister on the stairs. Rose moved silently from his path, letting him glide down on quiet feet, and Bella did not notice him until he was next to her, seated as close as he could get without touching her.
It still hurt him when she flinched away in surprise.
"It will be handled, darlin', do you understand?"
"What is it?"
Jasper pursed his lips, thinking. From upstairs, he heard another angry hiss, this time more worried, more frightened.
"Don't!"
"You'll remember what happened last year?" he asked, and at once, Carlisle saw her shiver, the lingering fear rising to the surface in an instant. Almost as if by instinct, he saw her fingers twitch towards the white scar on her hand, where she'd felt just the barest beginnings of the burn that came with the transformation.
Jasper was grim, but determined.
"You'll recall, then, how we destroyed the offender?"
She nodded, her eyes suddenly wide.
"You mean…"
Jasper raised an eyebrow.
"Him?"
"No, doll. Not him," he said. "Do you remember the woman?"
"Victoria?"
"That's the one."
She said nothing, her breath held tightly in her chest.
"She's been busy," said Jasper darkly, and this time, Carlisle saw Bella's sudden nerves, her worry. "She's been very busy…"
Bella did not dare ask another question.
"You know so little about our world, darlin', and that's just how it ought to be," said Jasper, and for the first time in days, she did not recoil when he touched her, taking her trembling hand in his. "There are parts of our world that are so heinous, so lawless, that it's a wonder we've not been outed to the wider world."
"And Victoria?"
"Has taken some pointers from those kinds of people," said Jasper. "She's building Bella."
"Building what?"
He hesitated before he spoke.
"She's making newborns— that is, new vampires. We are never more volatile, never more uncontrolled, than in the first year after the change. We're ruthless, and savage…"
"I think that's quite enough." Carlisle's voice was low, but his concern for her blood pressure was high.
"I need to know." She cut him off, her cheeks blazing with sudden heat. "I need to know, Carlisle, please... I need to know."
"She's been terrorizing you for months," said Jasper, and at once, her face went bone-white. "She's been playing with you, Bella, and I'm sorry we didn't see it."
"Charlie?"
"I'm sorry."
At once, her face crumpled.
"And now what?" she asked, and when she began to cry, Alice hissed again from upstairs. "What now, Jasper?"
"Now, we fight," he said simply, and at once her head snapped up. The horror on her face was almost tangible, almost palpable in the room, and when she stared, first at Jasper, and then at Carlisle, he could see such complete and utter despair for which there were no words.
"No…"
"We will eliminate the threat," said Jasper, and Carlisle saw his grip increase on her hand. "We will eliminate it, doll, and then you'll be safe."
"You'll be killed."
"Not likely."
"Oh my god…"
"That is enough."
Alice, appearing at the sofa, nearly crackled with incandescent rage. She glared at her husband, who was unapologetic and unabashed, and then at Carlisle, who felt the weight of this new grief. Her throat bobbed dangerously as she swallowed back the venom that had risen in response to her fury and she looked every bit the creature they fought so hard to hide— the bloodthirsty creature, the temperamental creature… that creature who, rather than kindness and compassion, turned instead to impulse and terror and violence.
On the couch, taking no notice of Alice, Bella began to hyperventilate, each sharp inhale straining her broken ribs, still trying to heal. Alice said nothing, glaring so hotly at Jasper that it was a wonder he didn't burst into flame, but when he did not back down, staring right back with haughty impudence, Carlisle sensed the impending violence of a fight.
It was not often that those two went at it, but when they did, it was always explosive.
"Take it outside, if you're going to argue," he said, and as if the spell was broken, Alice turned her furious gaze on Bella, instead. The girl hardly noticed, even as Carlisle tried to coach her, and she simply wept, her tears disappearing into the blankets.
"No, Carlisle… No."
"No to what, darling?"
"You can't. You can't fight… not for me."
"Always for you."
She broke down all over again.
"Move," snapped Alice, and to his credit, Carlisle let her through. He did not leave, as Alice seemed to want so dearly, but neither did he hover, and instead he moved himself towards the staircase where Rosalie still stood, motionless.
"Has it been like this all week?" she asked, her voice too low to carry over Alice's useless soothing. "Has it been so… volatile?"
"Yes." Carlisle would not lie to her— not to Rosalie, who was neither delicate nor fragile. "It's been a mess, Rose."
"And her injuries?"
"Healing." He watched as Jasper rose, only to be batted away by his angry wife. "Those two saved her life, you know…"
Rosalie bowed her head.
"I'm sorry for that," she said, and at once, Carlisle's head snapped up. He loved his daughter, the oldest of the three, but he found it hard, sometimes, to express that love when she said such cruel and heartless things…
"No, no…" At once, her voice was softer. "Not like that, Carlisle. I'm only sorry it had to be him."
In response to this, Jasper glared at her from the room below, his teeth bared. This time she did let her frustration show, the growl low and sharp.
"I mean because you struggle," she snapped and Jasper frowned, mutinous. "It's harder for you, is all, and I…"
Her words petered out, as if losing steam, and Carlisle reached out a hand. He was grateful when she took it, twining her fingers with his in a rare display of support, and when he spoke again, he redoubled his grip.
"Promise me one thing," he said, and at once, her eyes narrowed. "Promise me that you'll try, Rose. I know you don't like her…"
"I don't have to like her."
"No," he agreed, "you don't, but promise me that you won't make things worse."
Carlisle could not read her— he had never been able to, even when she was very young— but she took only a second to nod in agreement.
"I can promise you that," she said. "I can promise Emmett that."
"He loves you."
"I know." Her smile was thin.
"And I love you," said Carlisle. "I always have, Rosalie. I hope you know that."
She shot him a peculiar look— something between amusement, chagrin, and terrible curiosity— before she spoke.
"I do know that," she said, and Carlisle saw no hesitation, no dishonesty. "I'm only sorry if I ever gave you the impression that I thought otherwise. I know I can be difficult…"
Carlisle chuckled, though it died out quickly as the tears on the sofa increased.
"I know it, Carlisle. But I really do appreciate you. And Esme."
"I'm glad…"
"And you are my family," she said. "I'm proud to stand with you, even if this is the end."
"It's not."
"It might be."
"It's not."
When Jasper joined them, leaving Alice alone with the girl on the sofa, he was stormy with temper and furious at his own failure. Rosalie took to him at once, her own steadiness calming some of his disquiet before they moved, silent and soft, up the tall, narrow staircase.
Before she left him, Carlisle felt the ghost of her lips on his cheek— so rare, and so precious that it was almost a gift, a treasure. She said nothing more, not to argue or to soothe, as she disappeared up the stairs with her brother, both of them vanishing on the second floor landing.
At once, his attention was diverted to the sofa.
"No, honey…" He heard Alice's whisper, her plea, in the soft, quiet hush. "No. That's not the answer."
"You can't do this, Alice. Please."
"We have no choice."
"There's always a choice…"
"Not this time. Not this time, honey, and not like this."
"You can't, Alice. Please."
"We must."
"Please."
When Alice squeezed her eyes shut, pressing that sad, sorry girl to her heart, Carlisle knew that he had seen enough. Alice did not stop him as he made his way back, his hands outstretched to pull the girl away, to take those intangible hurts onto himself…
"Yes, honey." Alice held the girl a little tighter, and he halted his advance. "We will."
"You can't…"
"Why can't we?"
She held Alice in a grip so tight that Carlisle wondered where she'd found the strength.
"Please, Alice…"
"You must promise me," Alice said, and Carlisle heard the threat of tears, though they could not fall. "You must promise me, Bella…"
"I can't, Alice."
"You can."
Carlisle listened, but did not understand, as Alice spoke again
"There is no way in the world that I'm going to let you go, do you understand me?"
Humiliation— sticky and acrid— rolled from the weeping girl like steam, and Carlisle heard her renewed sobs of grief, of hot and terrible shame. He did not need Jasper's gift to see it— it was as plain as the nose on her face, though he could not immediately trace its source.
"We didn't bring you back so you could try again," Alice whispered. Carlisle understood at once, the meaning as clear as new glass, and he cursed his own heedlessness, his recklessness at having caused this. Alice had warned him— had seen this breakdown in a flash of psychic prowess— and she had warned them off, but they had not listened…
"That is not the answer," Alice said, though there was nothing else for it. "We're going to fight for you, Bella— we will always fight for you— and I know we haven't always done the best job, but we'll be better. I promise we'll be better."
"You don't owe me anything…"
"I owe you so much, Bella, that you couldn't even fathom it," Alice whispered. "You don't know how much I owe you…"
"Stop it, Alice."
"Why is that so wrong?" she asked, and Bella shook her head. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that I care, honey? You're my best friend, my sister, and somehow I've failed you so horribly that you can't even dream that I might care about what happens to you."
"Because it never made sense," she sobbed, and then Emmett was there, having listened to the whole, sorry tale. "It never made sense, Alice, for you to love me."
Carlisle, feeling useless and out of place, took a step away to let his son through. When Emmett reached for her, Alice felt no misgivings and she let her go with ease, watching as Emmett carefully resettled the trembling girl in his own arms.
Rosalie, watching with sorrow from the stairs again, did not dare say a word.
"You are absolutely nuts if you think I'm going to let anything happen to you again," said Emmett. "Absolutely mental, honey. We are going to fight for you— whether you like it or not. Whether you believe it or not, I love you. I don't let anyone hurt the people I love."
"What if you can't stop it?" she sobbed, and Carlisle saw the pinch between his brows, the terrible, worrying unhappiness at this query. "What if there's nothing you can do?"
"Then at least we'll go down trying," he said. "I'm not going down without a fight, kiddo, and we sure as hell aren't letting you go, either."
"It's not worth it."
"It's worth everything," said Emmett, cutting her off with a sharp rebuke. She did not flinch, did not pull away, but pressed her face into the coldness of his collar. "It's worth everything in the world, honey. My brother chose you. He brought you to us, and he made you family."
At the sound of brother, Carlisle heard her break down all over again.
"I'm not worth it, Emmett…" At this, he growled, low and fierce. "I'm not worth the trouble… I'm not worth your life."
"You are worth every bit of it," he said, and at this proclamation, Carlisle saw Rosalie's head duck down. "You're worth it to me, to all of us."
"I'm sorry…"
"Stop that."
She quieted, though only just.
"You are worth it, because you're my sister," he said. "Maybe not by blood, but what does that matter, in the end? You're the family we chose, Bella, because you're the one that made us whole."
She shook her head, but his shushing kept her quiet.
"You didn't know my brother before you came," he said. "You don't know how miserable he was… how unhappy. You lit up his whole world, honey, and that in itself makes you worth it."
"He doesn't want me."
"You're wrong."
"No, I'm not," she said, and when she met his gaze, her eyes were red with crying. "I know I'm not…"
"You're wrong," he said, and though his words were firm, there was no unkindness there. "You're so, so wrong. I don't know what he said to you— what he did to make you believe him— but there's no going back, Bella. Not for him."
"You should have left me on that island," she said, and Carlisle felt his heart squeeze in sympathy. His middle daughter, furious and horrified, could only stare. "You should have left me there, Alice, and saved yourself all this trouble."
"Stop that…"
"I'm sorry."
Alice's gaze shifted, moving once again into the future.
"No, Bella…" Carlisle did not need to see to know what she had found there. "No, Bella. No."
"I'm sorry…"
"Do not leave her by herself," snapped Alice, her anger moving her beyond kindness now. She leapt from the couch in a fury, staring down at the trembling girl with frustration. "Don't give her even a minute alone… not until this vision changes."
"What did you see?"
She snapped around to Emmett with a snarl.
"I saw death," she spat, and though her anger was righteous, it was tainted by a sudden, frightful worry. "I saw her death. Don't let her walk alone in the yard, Emmett. If you do, she won't come back."
And though the girl cried again, this time tears of angry frustration, there was nothing Emmett could do but hold her close to keep her safe.
A/N: Longest chapter yet, folks... over 8,000 words and a total of 28 pages. I struggled a bit figuring out the POV for this one too, but Rosalie was surprisingly obliging. For those of you who were confused about the last chapter (in your defence, it was a little bit obscure), I hope this helps clear things up. If it didn't, the most important points to take away are these: last chapter, Emmett and Jasper were tracking Victoria when they came across her "base", or the place where she's been holing up. She made herself a clearing in the forest, and has been creating newborns (similar to Eclipse). Jasper recognized the clearing for what it was, and brought this information back to the family. Emmett called Rose, and she came back to help (this chapter), and as we learned in this one, Carlisle made contact with Edward who has since purchased a plane ticket.
For those of you who don't follow me on Twitter, you won't know why this chapter is a bit late (or later than my usual 1-2 day posting schedule for this crazy story). I had family come in from out of town for a weekend visit, so my time was spent with them rather than my laptop. If you want to follow me, you can find a link to my Twitter page in my profile.
Thanks again for all your love and support!
XO
