"What's going on inside your head? You left me unaware, you left me unaware, unprepared!"

-"Taking Responsibility," Kilo Kish

He only saw a hunter once. In his dark days.

The Monster remembers because he had almost died. The Monster remembers, because it is impossible to forget, the scent that had burned his throat and sent him to attack without thinking.

He had not won that fight. The long scar on the side of his ribs was a testament to that.

He did not pay the witch stories much attention when Carlisle had recited them all in those first days when he was a newborn, absorbing every detail he could about his new life. He took Carlisle at his word that they were all extinct, a thing of the past. Even then, Edward had thought that the hunter stories had been greatly exaggerated. What could they be really, other than superstitious rumors? The idea that anything could exist that could destroy a vampire was laughable to him even then.

He should have paid more attention.

What else did this life teach him? All the legends were real. All of them. They had to be, if he was sitting right there.

"The male hunters did not have it, whatever it was. Something in their genetics, some kind of innate defense that evolved over generations…"

Carlisle's voice trailed off, his golden eyes brightening as they always did at the prospect of new knowledge.

"If only I could have analyzed a bit of blood, we could know so much more. I'd be willing to wager they had 24 chromosomal pairs, rather than 23, like the humans do. Rather than our 25."

"But they were human?"

Edward was sitting politely on the floor, legs crossed, but his mind was already on the run he would take later that night hunting. The speed was exhilarating— he could not get used to it and he hoped he never would.

It was hard to sit still in one place, learning about chromosomal pairs.

"Externally, yes. The stories say that they appeared as human on the outside. Their senses were slightly more sophisticated than normal humans— obviously, with an extra chromosomal pair. But of course, nothing compared to that of a vampire."

Edward frowned. "I do not understand. They hunted vampires? Successfully?" Sarcasm found its way into his voice, despite his efforts to be polite. But the idea was downright ludicrous.

"You see… it was the females." Carlisle's eyes glinted. "The males were easier to kill. It was the females that were absolutely lethal."

The idea was mindboggling. "Why?"

"I'll give you a hint. The Volturi called them witches."

For a second, Edward's mouth fell open.

But then logic quickly replaced his surprise, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Carlisle continued, either unaware of his son's growing skepticism or, more likely, choosing to ignore it.

"They might have been the first to coin the term, actually. Witch hunts took place with the humans, of course, but they were rather unsuccessful. They usually ended with the burning of an innocent girl at the stake for some completely inane reason. But the Volturi turned actual witch-hunting into sport. It had started with the Romanian dictators in the early 15th century, but the Volturi were the ones who finished the hunter race off. They must have been terrified of them," Carlisle mused.

His eyes were glazed over, his mind centuries in the past.

Edward scoffed. "Witches are real?"

Carlisle didn't even blink. "So are vampires, as you know."

"Magic is real?" Edward raised his eyebrows, doubting the supernatural stories for the first time since Carlisle changed him.

He couldn't hold back his disbelief.

"That sounds like illogical nonsense. It's just— just— unscientific. Yes, vampires are real and it is something of a misnomer— but we are the natural predators at the end of the food chain, opposite to humans," he ranted, incredulity finding its way into his voice.

"Magic cannot be real."

"And it isn't," Carlisle said patiently. "But—" He leaned forward.

"Is it really so hard to believe that the same natural world that created you and me to hunt them," he gestured all around him, as if to gesture to all of humanity, "also gave them some natural ability to defend themselves?"

"The humans get a lot of things wrong," Carlisle continued. "Witches— the female hunters, as they were so called—didn't exist to curse children or ride broomsticks and dawdle with cauldrons— they existed for the sole reason of hunting us. To protect the humans— to protect themselves."

"So witches…" Edward struggled to say the word aloud without feeling ridiculous, "…evolved from humans?"

"It's my theory, yes. They must have evolved as some kind of subset of human— nature's evolutionary response to even out the predator concentration. There used to be more of us than there are now."

Edward's face scrunched up. "It just seems so unlikely."

"Think about it," Carlisle pressed on. "What happens to a population of predators that outnumbers the amount of available prey?"

He considered for a second, feeling, as he so often did around Carlisle, like a reluctant student.

"The available prey decreases… and the predator population cannot sustain itself."

"Exactly," Carlisle said, clapping his hands together. "If there are too many lions hunting a limited population of lambs— and the lions keep making more lions, and the lambs keep getting slaughtered…"

"The lions starve. And die off," Edward finishes.

"As well as the lambs," Carlisle adds. "But what if the lamb evolved somehow? What if the lamb, through time and natural selection, learned to evade the lions? For example, what if a small part of the lamb population developed venom, a venom that was lethal only to the lion population?"

Edward's new mind did the math in a second. "The lion population would decrease but not completely. Because they could keep reproducing."

"Exactly," Carlisle said. "The original population of lambs you started with would be saved from extinction. The venomous lambs would reproduce offspring, and that offspring would prevent the lion population from getting too big. Essentially avoiding a scarcity in food source."

Carlisle moved his hands in front of him, like a scale evening out. "And nature would rebalance itself."

Edward frowned, still not understanding. "But you say magic and venom…"

Carlisle nodded patiently, encouraging him to continue.

"Is that the same thing?" He asked.

Carlisle gave him a wry smile. "That's the essential question that the stories don't seem to cover. There were rumors propagated by the Volturi… that the female hunters, the so-called witches… had a very specific scent in their blood. And a very specific taste."

Carlisle's words sent a thrill through his spine and a burn in his throat. Still so strong in those early days.

"The stories vary. Some say that the female hunters were born venomous and their blood would kill a feeding vampire. Others say that drinking a witch's blood was the sweetest blood you could taste, better than human blood. Some say that their venom was created using their own blood, which they then infused into their weapons. Others claim that the females could obscure themselves completely from a vampire's senses, like a cloak that blocked all sound, all sight, all scent. That they could even block vampire gifts."

That last thought disturbs him more than the others.

"But why would the Volturi spread rumors about witches?"

Carlisle frowned. "Maybe they were really trying to warn others of our kind of the risk they posed, like a public safety announcement. Or maybe they just wanted to offer some incentive."

"Incentive to what?"

"To capture them. And bring them to Volterra. Alive."

Edward frowned. "For what purpose?"

Carlisle sighed. "Who knows? In all my time there, I never saw one. To feed? To kill? To experiment on? Maybe they simply wanted to study them and further their knowledge about the supernatural world." Carlisle's lips thinned, like he didn't really believe that.

"Whatever the reason, they were quite serious about it. The Volturi would pardon vampires who had committed grievous crimes in exchange for captured hunters and huntresses, brought to them alive."

"The Volturi experimented on them?" Edward asked, something akin to horror in his voice.

Fear thrilled up his spine, rare in his new body. The Volturi seemed ominous to him, shrouded in shadow and mystery. He hoped he never came across them.

Carlisle's face was grim.

"I don't know for certain. But whatever the reason, the Volturi eradicated the hunters centuries ago."

Edward Cullen has never shown a spotlight on himself, has never given any indication or acknowledgment that the people around him exist.

The people around him give him furtive, searching looks as he tries— and fails— to blend in with the yellowing plant in the corner of the hospital waiting room.

what are you doing?

Alice's text chirps over and over again in his pocket— the same message 10 times in a row. He ignores it for the tenth time in a row.

Why is he here?

His vampire brain fires off three explanations in a second.

The first reason shines as an easy number one.

His family could be in danger. The extinction of the hunters is now up for debate, what with every suspicious thing he's seen today that is not adequately explained by anything else currently flashing in rapid succession in his brain. Steroids? Bitten by a radioactive spider? Nothing else fits.

It falls to him out of all four of his siblings— he is the oldest, the most advantageous (and not very debatably, the most responsible)— to make sure there is no threat. To play his role as the family lookout and gather a reasonable conclusion before he sounds the alarm bells.

Besides. He knows his brother, and Jasper takes no risks. It would not do to be inadvertently responsible for the Swan girl's death merely because he had jumped the gun and cried wolf when in reality, all the girl could be guilty of is having a bland scent and empty mind. Unconvincing, but still a possibility. However, that explanation still leaves the miraculously healed lips with a giant question mark.

The second is a bit more complex, riddled with Alice-sounding rebuttals, but easily circumvented. The Swan girl hit her head hard. The head which, as of right now, is still filled with the secret of why the hell he cannot hear anything happening inside of it. Is it related to reason number one? Is she just defected? Was she dropped too much as a child? It's a valid fear, to not want the human to die by desk injury and take that agonizing secret to the grave with her before Edward has a chance to pry it out.

Which leaves the third reason, and admittedly the weakest.

School is boring. Bella Swan is not.

His phone chirps again.

what are you dooooooooooooing?

He rolls his eyes and shoves his phone in his pocket, firmly deciding to keep it there.

His phone goes silent.

She lets it drop for now, but he still sighs because he knows Alice, and he knows that she has never let anything drop in her entire existence. She'll corner him the second he gets back, demanding the details of why in the world he came here today. He mulls over whether or not she'll swallow reason number three.

He sidesteps the crowd easily, once they're distracted by the entrance of Chief Burke.

The Chief looks worn, skin drooping more than usual. Even from here, Edward can smell the dry tang of whiskey that clings to his skin. The Chief gives the waiting room a sweeping glance and some of the more weaker-willed students scatter away, back to class, as he walks forward to speak to the receptionist.

Edward glides through the double doors with no one the wiser. He knows the entire hospital personnel by first and last name, from the Chief of Surgery to the maintenance workers. He finds an ally easily enough.

"Skipping school, are we?"

Nurse Peters sits behind a desk, clacking away at a keyboard. She doesn't even look up. A brief brush against her thoughts tells him she is in her usual state of murderous annoyance with anyone who breathes in her direction. He has always enjoyed her immensely.

"It's healthy to skip, every once in a while."

"Your dad gives you too much leeway."

Edward grins. "Is he back there with Bella Swan?"

"As per HIPPA regulations, I can neither confirm nor deny this," she drones, at the same time she nods her head up and down, her tight curls bouncing in her ponytail. Edward grins again.

"ANYONE IN HERE BY THE TIME I TURN AROUND WILL BE WRITTEN UP FOR TRUANCY!" They hear the Chief bellow behind the doors.

Nurse Peters sniffs in irritation.

"Damn high school dicks," she mutters under her breath. "Glad those days are over."

He grimaces at the private irony. A quick sweep of her thoughts gives him a peek of the screen she's looking at. Another peek gives him the room number.

"Nurse Peters, you are a credit to your profession," he says, making his way towards the elevators.

"Go back to school," she calls after him.

Once inside the elevators, he presses the button for floor three and takes a moment to appreciate the bizarreness of the situation.

Truant vampire in an elevator, going to spy on his vampire doctor dad, who is currently examining a potential-witch with anger problems who may or may not be able to miraculously heal injuries. (Thinking back on what he has heard of Bella Swan in gym, he sincerely doubts the claim of agile, lethal vampire huntresses more than ever.)

The elevator dings when he is suddenly filled with a moment of pure doubt.

Was he being ridiculous?

The stories could be just that. Stories. Maybe he's just been so exhausted with day-to-day life, so bored with the mundane everyday routine, that he's widely making up incredible stories with no basis in reality. Maybe he's just starved for something, anything, to happen, to distract him from how he's been feeling for the past few decades, like— like—

(monster)

Well. Like he's been feeling.

Or maybe, a tiny voice whispers in the back of his mind that sounds suspiciously like Alice, you have just been looking for an excuse to find Bella Swan interesting ever since she walked into that cafeteria.

He should have told his family he couldn't hear her thoughts. He still can't quite articulate why he didn't.

It could even be called unfair, when he has so many of their secrets already, to leave out such an intriguing one of his own. But he had opened his mouth to say it when something inside him just— stopped.

I'll be leaving them in a few days, he thought. I'll be going off on my own again, for the first time since—

(monster)

Well. Since last time.

Bella Swan could be used as a reason to keep him here, stuck in Forks. Esme would push at the mystery, desperately grasping at anything to get him to stay. Jasper would needle him into the necessity of keeping a lookout for something never before encountered. Everyone else would jump on the bandwagon and his plans to leave would be delayed.

So why is he here now? Encouraging this mystery that could keep him trapped here for another decade, if the past had anything to show for it.

He hovers at the foot of the elevator, wondering if he should just turn around and go home. Grab the suitcase that's been sitting by his window for weeks. Leave his perfect family. Go.

Then he distantly hears the sound of Bella Swan tripping over her own feet.

His uncertainty evaporates. Distantly, quick, hurried footsteps make their way down the hall. Toward him.

It instantly occurs to him that he has no plan.

The girl turns the corner and almost runs straight into him.

Bella careens backwards and stumbles into a plant on a rickety stand that goes crashing. He instinctively reaches out to catch it and sees Bella lurch back again when she realizes who's in front of her, eyes wide and mouth completely agape. He thinks the look on her face is funny until he realizes she is frightened.

They both freeze in the middle of the hallway.

Bella stares at him like he has three heads and he stares back, trying to decide what expression he should settle on. Is it better to be terrifying? Approachable? Unremarkable?

He's taking too long, so he decides he probably just looks dumb.

It also occurs to him he is still awkwardly holding a plant and probably gawking. He sets it down at his feet and nudges it to the side of the hallway with his foot. Bella takes this all in with the expression of someone who has just glimpsed a three-headed monster.

She finally snaps out of it and begins to make her way around him towards the elevators, her eyes on the floor and mumbling something that could be "excuse me."

"Bella, wait."

The words are out of his mouth before he can call them back.

She halts mid-step, her eyes skittering nervously to the elevators and back to him, like she's thinking of making a run for it. Is he really so intimidating?

His suspicion grows. She is reacting just as someone like her could react. If he's right. She's reacting like he's her worst nightmare.

A tiny little part of him feels bad about it. The bigger part of him is fascinated.

"Um," she says.

The plan falls into his head.

"Do you need a ride back to school?"

Bella fidgets with the strap of her backpack, nails bitten to the quick. She looks like she is seriously considering bolting down the hallway when it seems to occur to her how weird she's reacting. She makes a visible effort to control her face that Edward watches with fascination. She is really a terrible actress.

"I was just gonna walk," she mumbles.

Right on cue, thunder booms overhead and the rain pounding on the ceiling increases in volume. They look up in unison— Edward grinning and Bella glaring.

"Suit yourself."

The elevator ride down is deadly quiet.

Bella pushes the last button and stares at the floor. He takes a quick peek at her from his periphery and makes a long mental catalog of injuries. Black eye, cut above cheekbone, bruise on left cheek, bloody knuckles and fingernails, deep gash near the top of her scalp that looks like it barely got away with needing stitches, dried blood on the edges of her face where she didn't quite wipe it away. But besides all that, she's paler and more tired looking than he's ever seen her. She is truly not having a good day.

Her heart skitters faster than a rabbit and he can hear the sound of fluid moving through her veins. But that's weird too. It's not the gushing geyser it usually is, the sound that would send all his senses screaming. It's more like a hum, a trickle. Muted. All it does is send a vague burn down his throat that is ridiculously easy to ignore. Elk smells more appetizing.

His suspicions don't sound nearly as ridiculous as they did when she wasn't standing right next to him.

The elevator dings too loud in the stilted silence and she flinches. He steps out easily but Bella scans the waiting area with frantic eyes, like she's checking for snipers. He can hear her quiet exhale of relief when she finds it mostly empty and deems it safe enough to leave the elevator— just a few random people sparsely seated here and there for perfectly valid reasons, the teenage vultures back in class. Chief Burke is nowhere to be seen— a quick mental sweep tells Edward that he is on the second floor, arguing animatedly with Tyler Crowley's mother.

Over Bella's head, he sees Nurse Peters frowning at both of them from way across the reception area behind the sheet of glass separating Waiting Area and Admissions, mouthing something to him that looks like where the fuck are you going with my patient?

He waves at her. Bella walks quickly through the waiting area hunched in on herself, like she's trying to make herself tiny. He wonders if she is even allowed to leave yet. Probably not.

What must be terribly frigid wind slams into them as soon as he opens the door, the rain coming down hard. He makes his way to his perilously parked Volvo without looking behind him. He hears her steps falter and he doesn't have to be a mind-reader to sense her indecision behind him— walk the five miles back to school in the freezing rain or get into the car with the unpredictable death machine?

He's not surprised when she gets into the passenger seat and slams the door, expression curiously morose.

"Thanks," she mumbles.

That is surprising.

"It's no problem."

He flicks the ignition and peels out smoothly. He bypasses three lanes of traffic in a second and merges onto the one highway that cuts in the middle of everything in this town.

Bella clutches at the door handle like she's going to leap out.

"Can you not do that?"

The sharp tone of her voice surprises him, and he looks over only to find her breathing shallowly and looking a little green. Not out of the norm for a head injury but he has no idea if she even would react normally to that.

"Do what?" He has absolutely no idea.

She grits her teeth. She looks like she regrets opening her mouth and she rests her forehead on the cool window.

He looks down at the odometer, going a perfectly sane 90 miles an hour. He takes a sharp turn and he hears her actually retch a little in her throat.

Oh.

He slows significantly down and she relaxes minutely. He makes a mental note to remember that for next time.

He scoffs silently.

Next time, you fool?

Bella breathes a little better but her color is still bad. They are more than halfway to the school when it occurs to him he is nowhere near finished with his time with her.

He makes another turn, much more carefully than he just did, the opposite direction of Forks High School.

"Sugar."

Bella gives him another look that questions his sanity.

"Sugar," he says again. "It helps."

"Helps what?"

He shrugs.

"My father is a doctor. He force-feeds everyone before they leave."

She makes a strangled sound.

Terrible actress indeed.

"Well, I'm starving," he lies easily.

Bella bites down on her lip and turns white with either anger or fear.

He frowns at the road. It's not as satisfying as it usually is, being right. That bothers him.

Bella stiffens in her seat and says no more.

The silence grows again.

They're been attending the same high school with a student body of less than 400 for more than a year. She has sat next to him in biology for nearly half that time. They have been seating partners and done lab work, group projects, and assignments together. This is the longest conversation they have ever had.

He pulls into a diner off the highway right as the silence starts to get painful.

He leaps out of the car, quickly pulling on his hood against the pounding rain. He is fully expecting having to wheedle Bella out of the car but when he sees her through the windshield, he isn't expecting to see the look on her face.

She is not looking at him. She is staring behind him with a heartbreaking look, eyes reddening and already starting to swell. He turns around, scanning the area for the culprit but all he sees is the rinky-dink diner, wide grimy windows streaked with rain that show only a couple of elderly clients with an equally elderly waitress, seated inside.

He makes his way slowly to the other side of the car, completely hating the fact that he can't read her mind. That frustration has only been steadily increasing in intensity.

He reaches for her door but she opens it before he can. She clears her throat and blinks quickly, trying and failing to push away tears.

She doesn't get out, just stares at his muddy shoes instead of his face.

" 'M not hungry."

Then she slams the door shut, the rain pouring down the window blurring all sight of her face.

He stands there stupidly for a second, his hands feeling large and awkward at his side.

What did I do wrong?

He gives her another moment before he decides she's not getting out. He makes his way towards the diner anyway. At least he can get her one of those grotesque sugary drinks that are 99% corn syrup as an apology for whatever fault he just committed.

He ponders the disappointment this causes him, deeply disturbed by it. He is uncomfortably aware that he does not want to add to Bella Swan's misery.

He walks into the considerably warm diner, the volume going up several decibels from the significant quiet he just walked away from. He immediately goes up to order, ignoring the incredulous looks he gets as he walks in, his indifference second nature by now. Their awe at his physical appearance never made sense to him.

The elderly waitress at the register looks incredulous too, but she is not looking at him. She's gazing openmouthed out the window, where Bella is sitting in the car— head resting against the window, bruises vivid against her face.

"That can't be Isabella?"

The waitress, who Edward sees from her name tag is named Miriam, has her hand over her mouth and tears in her eyes.

Edward frowns at the woman. Her thoughts are a spiral of surprise combined with high anxiety, her brain repeating the image of Bella's bruised face over and over. He needs her to focus.

"You know her?" he asks kindly.

It does the trick. Miriam finally looks over at him, her wrinkly face scrunched up in anxiety. She is old and simplistic enough to not notice— or possibly not care about— Edward's unusually symmetrical face.

The colorful jumble of her mind finally fixates on a memory he can follow.

The table at the corner seats four, a charming, picturesque family. Two youthful parents seated with two lovely, well-behaved daughters. She makes their way over to their table, smiling at how the older girl's face lights up at the sight of blueberry cobbler.

The Chief sits up, smacks his lips and rubs his hands together. She likes him. Such a kind man. Always tips generously.

"Blueberry again? Don't you two wanna try something new, every once in a while?" The mother teases easily.

The teenager grins at her mother with a blue-stained mouth, cobbler already halfway demolished.

"Nah."

The memory taints with the woman's sadness and he cuts it off, surprised to find himself standing at a very different time and place. The warmth of the memory bleeds away and leaves him feeling off kilter. Even the walls look greyer, the light from the lamps a little dimmer. Bella is still sitting in the car.

Oh.

"But whatever happened to her face?" The woman looks positively distressed.

"Accident. May I get a Coke?"

The woman tears her eyes away from the window and visibly shakes herself. She turns to the jumbled counter behind her while he fishes the sleek, black card out from inside his coat pocket. Miriam turns and places a lemonade bottle in front of him. He pauses in swiping his card, raising his eyebrows.

The woman nods her head wisely.

"She likes lemonade."

He pauses, considers, then takes it. Miriam sighs sadly.

"Poor dear. I'll be going tonight. You know," she says significantly.

He swipes the card quickly, tipping more than generously.

"She won't. Thanks for the lemonade."

He leaves, bell dinging on his way out. Bella looks up like she can hear it from inside the car through the rain, which is now abysmally heavy. He forgets to add that to his list of suspicions.

Bella is paler than before, if that's even possible. She still won't look at him.

He can physically feel the tension coming off of her in waves when he slides into the driver's seat. He keeps his gaze firmly on the steering wheel when he hands her the lemonade. He doesn't want to see her look of complete surprise and feel that same strange feeling.

But she takes too long. When he glances over at her, she is eyeing the bottle like she has no idea what it is.

He sighs.

"I thought you'd feel better with some sugar. I'd bet anything you have a concussion."

Bella's complete look of shock could be funny if it wasn't so insulting. After a moment of what he can tell is some extreme consideration, she takes it. She immediately opens it and takes a large gulp, glancing over at him with a hint of a challenge in her eyes.

The fact that she feels the need to do so gives him a strange sort of gloominess that he does not understand. Miriam's memory is still clinging to his brain like a bad song.

Time to go. His plan to confront her all but vanishes. It wouldn't do to have the poor girl pass out from fright right in his car.

Besides, he thinks, glancing over at Bella's war-weary face, she looks about ready to keel over.

The inside of the car feels the same to him as the frigid outside, but when he sees Bella's breath fog when she exhales, he curses himself for forgetting to leave the car running. He turns it on, immediately blasting the heat.

He'll remember next time.

Edward Cullen pulls into the parking lot, steering them straight to her truck. When she sees the familiar chipped red paint and dented bumper, she feels, for the first time today, some slight relief from the impossible stress of today.

Getting in the car with him was almost too much. Seeing the diner again was unbearable.

They were there, just two days before it happened. Eating blueberry cobbler on Thursday, just like always.

She wondered if he knew that, right when he took that familiar turn that warned her where he was planning on taking her. She wondered if he could be that cruel.

Then she decided she didn't care.

She was hurt. She was tired. She was exhausted.

And she didn't care about much anymore. She would have never gotten in the car if she did.

Which reminds her.

She reaches deep into her backpack when he pulls the car to a stop, feeling through the embarrassing mess and ignoring the press of Edward's eyes on her. She finally pulls out a wrinkly five-dollar bill.

He frowns when he sees it. She shoves it into the cupholder closest to him, the other still holding her half-empty bottle.

"For the lemonade."

Surprisingly, he rolls his eyes.

"It was only a dollar, Bella. And you don't have to pay me back."

(you don't get to call me that, leech)

(if you need me, you know where to find me)

(I thought you'd feel better with some sugar)

He held out the lemonade and she was thinking of before. Of Carlisle. Of the way he offered his help. The word that came to her mind.

Incomprehensible.

"For the ride then."

She slams the door shut before he can say anything else. Her keys are already in hand, ready for her quick getaway. She needs to leave before the classes start to clear out.

The Volvo pulls out as she fidgets with the lock. She does not look back.

The inside of the cab is freezing but it's still the sweetest relief when she steps in and the blast of frigid wind disappears. It would have been utter misery, walking back in this weather.

She still can't understand his motive, what reason he could have for driving her all the way back here. The only one that made even the slightest bit of sense was that he was trying to get her alone.

But no. He gave her a ride. He drove slower. He bought her lemonade and turned up the heat.

You are a monster or you aren't, Bells. Remember that.

The whole ride here, she was expecting him to kill her. She was waiting for it.

So why did she get in the car?

The drive home is the least miserable part of her day, at least until she slams the brakes to avoid crashing into a banged up black pickup truck that is blocking the entrance to her driveway.

She groans, loudly and obnoxiously, banging her already concussed head on her steering wheel repeatedly. She hopes he sees.

Jacob Black gets out of the driver's seat, entirely too smug at being fifteen and being caught driving. He squints against the pounding rain and gives a little half wave as she reluctantly rolls the window down as he makes his way over to her truck.

"Hey Bella, sorry about this but Dad threatened me on pain of death if I didn't go along with his plan to kidnap you for the day— whoa, what the hell happened to your face? You trip again?"

Bella grits her teeth. Billy Black waves from the passenger seat.

A/N: Happy apocalypse! have some vampire shenanigans and please stay safe and pleeeease leave reviews! They brighten up my life and my motivation to write 3