For All Of My Life

by SelfishSalvatore

Many adventures await Carlisle Cullen and his mate, Annabelle Steele, a girl not vampire, but not quite human. When they meet many years ago, they had no knowledge of the future they held as friends and family came into their lives, and that enemies that wanted to tear them apart would threaten their very existence together. [Carlisle/OC]

2. Destiny

Chapter Info

Title: Destiny

Number: 2/?

Warnings: Angst, language, sickness

Author's Note: Truth be told, I'm almost liking this one better than Second Chance at Forever... I love them both, don't get me wrong, but this one is so fun. And I feel it'll have more twists than SCAF will. But if you read both (I'm looking at you, Goldielover :D), I really appreciate it! Thanks for reading! I would love to hear your reviews, thoughts, comments, and questions on this story!

Goldielover: I'm glad you like it so far! I love writing for Carlisle, and I have many awesome twists left to this story. :) Thanks for reading and commenting on both of my Twilight stories!

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-Annabelle-

A week went by since her meeting with the mysterious Carlisle Cullen in the woods, and things just seemed to get worse for Annabelle. The next day, her father had really laid into her, yelling so loud the neighbor, Mr. Smith, came over to complain. Henry Steele kicked him out rather quickly and then went back to yelling at his daughter, who was only half listening. Though, frankly, she would rather take the simple frustration of her father yelling at her than the unrivaled, agonizing, soul-reaching pain of being away from Carlisle. It still made no sense to her, why her body was gasping for air, why her heart was hammering in her chest, cold sweat breaking along her body. It felt even worse than the night before, that feeling of death making her woozy enough that her mother sent her back to bed after her father finished his rant. She stayed there for a couple days, her mother insisting she had the flu, but Annabelle knew better. Though her throat hurt and her chest ached and she had cold sweats and chills, it wasn't the flu. It was the absence of that one mysterious man that made her this way. No matter how many times she thought of him to be just her imagination, no matter how many times she pretended as if he were just Prince Charming in her fairytales making his way into reality, she knew the truth of it.

Carlisle was real. He was a real man who had found her in the woods and helped her back to town. If he heard what she was thinking, how she was reacting to his absence, he would probably think her crazy and suggest to Henry and Gwendolyn to have her locked up in the lunatic asylum. It was one of the reasons she never spoke of him to her parents, besides the fact her father would demand she tell him everything—which would include her hiding spot in the woods—and then go searching for Carlisle to knock him around and make sure he never spoke to her again. Not that Henry would find him, but the threat was still there, and the thought of him going anywhere near Carlisle with malicious intent had her moaning in agony and gripping her feather pillow to her face as she dry heaved.

Annabelle had kept nothing down except for dry crackers and water, and she knew Gwendolyn was getting worried. Even Henry passed her glances as he walked through the hallway when Gwendolyn had the door open to check on her. But of course, she never said a word, and just let the aches and chills and death work its way through her body and soul.

"This should not be happening." Henry's voice roused her from her light slumber and she barely had enough energy to bring her head up and glance over at the doorway where her father planted himself, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. A deep frown etched into his face, he watched over his wife as she attended to their daughter. Annabelle could see that while he tried to keep up his usually tough exterior, there was worry deep in his blue eyes. While he was a hard man, he wasn't heartless and she knew he cared. And for that reason, she wished she could pick herself up and get over this, but it wasn't as if she had a choice. Carlisle was sent to her through no means of her own, and taken away the exact same way. These were simply her consequences, as foolish as she felt.

"Henry," Gwendolyn admonished softly, but the man shook his head and stepped into the room, standing behind his wife.

"No, Gwen. Look at her. She is an Immortal. Sickness does not effect us, certainly not a meager flu. Something is going on here, and I intend to find out what." He was very confident in his words and Annabelle felt some fear slide coldly through her veins. It felt as if he were trying to pry her own to get the truth out of her, as if he somehow knew about Carlisle just by looking at her, but that would be impossible. He might be an Immortal, but he wasn't a mindreader. She just had to breathe and let this...whatever this was pass and all would go back to normal.

.x.x.x.x.

-Henry-

But Henry didn't just let it drop, of course. Later that day, after another round of dry heaving and soft moans, he had enough. As much as he wanted to drop to his knees beside his wife and look after his daughter, he had to be the man of the house and take actions into his own hands. Though he had always refused to go to the village doctor, he didn't need them taking a look at their family and seeing something was different and alerting the other humans—or worse, the vampires—that there was something peculiar about them. But now that had changed. His daughter, his only little girl, his pride and joy, was ill and he had no way of making it better. As much as Gwendolyn tried, she simply wasn't a doctor and that's what they needed.

However, he wasn't willing to leave her side, so he quickly went over to see Mr. Smith next door. Smith and Henry had never really gotten along, if the way Smith acted at Henry's berating of his daughter was anything to go by, but luckily for Henry, he allowed Henry entry into his home. Henry took off his cap and held it in his grip as Smith sent for his wife, Beth, and his youngest son, Timmy, who was a local newspaper boy as well as a message runner. If Henry weren't so desperate he would've gone to fetch the doctor himself—he heard there was a new one in town, thankfully, instead of having to run into the next village—but he didn't want to go too far away. If Annabelle took a turn for the worst while he was gone, he never would forgive himself.

"Why, Mr. Steele, it is such a pleasure to see you again," Beth Smith said kindly as she walked into the parlor, giving her husband a warning look as she bowed to Henry. Henry returned it, glancing down at Timmy where he was standing by his mother's leg. He was a mere eight years old, but he was a good lad and Henry trusted him with the duty he would be putting upon his tiny shoulders.

"Beth, George," he started, looking between the couple. "I must beg you of a favor. My Annabelle has grown quite ill and I do not wish to go too far from our home. I was hoping that if I give a small payment," He held up a bag with some rattling coins inside, "if I could send a message with Timmy to the doctor to bring him here to help her."

George—Mr. Smith—looked ready to protest, but Beth put a hand on his arm and gave him a sympathetic glance. "Of course, Henry. Timmy would be honored to run to the doctor for you." Timmy nodded eagerly and Henry nodded, tossing George the bag of coins. With his age—twelve hundred and ninety four as of two months previously—he had enough money he could probably buy the Colonies from Britain and still have enough to live comfortably with Gwendolyn and Annabelle for the rest of their lives. So the small bag of coins was nothing, however he was happy to see the way George's face lit up and the man seemed a bit warmer to Henry after that.

"I heard there is a new doctor in town," George said, directing his words to both Henry and Timmy. "His name is Collin or Cullen or something of that nature. He is set up in the old butcher shop on Heath Row, three doors in."

Henry nodded and took a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket to give to Timmy that explained Annabelle's illness and begged the doctor to come to them, and of course offering payment of his services. "Speak to no one except the doctor. Give this paper to no one. I want no one to know of this except for him. Understand, young man?" Henry said sternly. Timmy took the paper and carefully put it in his pocket while Beth quickly went to fetch his jacket and shoes.

"Yes, sir," Timmy said with a nod. Beth fixed him up and made sure to tell him of the rules while in the village, and Henry shook George's hand.

"Thank you very much, George."

"My pleasure, Henry."

Henry gave him a pressed smile as they all watched Timmy run out the door. It was then Henry took his leave, putting his cap back over his dark hair as he made his way back to his own home.

.x.x.x.x.

-Carlisle-

November 30, 1774

Doctor,

Pardon this intrusion and my deepest regards to you. I understand you are new in town and I loathe to request such a favor while you are still getting yourself acquainted with this area. However, it is of an urgent matter that I must request your presence in my home. My daughter has fallen ill and my wife and I have not been able to relieve her of her symptoms. She is feverish with chills, unable to eat and keep anything down, and is lethargic and fatigued. I fear for her health. I can guarantee a hefty payment for your services if you are able to come to my home and help my daughter in any way that you can. Below is my home address; I would greatly thank you for your services, and appreciate your kind consideration of my predicament.

Regards,
Henry Steele

406 Mulberry Street
Jamestown Village, Virginia

Carlisle had not expected visitors so early after arriving there, unsure if the word had even gotten out yet of his presence. He had yet to put up a sign above his practice to let people know he had arrived. But he supposed it was simply because of the small size of the village that people knew of his arrival. And there were simply some people who just lived for the village gossip and spent their days walking around to see what matters other people were getting themselves into so they could inform everyone else. However, the young boy—no older than ten—that showed up on his doorstep had surprised him. A quick scan told him that the boy wasn't ill himself, but he watched as he pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket.

"Pardon me, sir, I was sent by my neighbor to bring you this." He held up the paper and Carlisle smiled kindly as he took it from the boy's hand. "His daughter is ill, sir."

"Thank you, lad," Carlisle said, reaching into his own pocket for some coins that he handed over. The boy grinned excitedly.

"Thank you, sir!" he exclaimed before turning on his heel and scampering off. Carlisle chuckled softly and shut the door behind it, pausing just inside the threshold to read over the note that was given to him. An uneasy feeling swept over him the moment he began to read, just at the date, as if he were slowly being choked. It was impossible, vampires didn't need to breathe, and yet he still struggled to be able to draw in air. But he was able to read, his eyes sweeping eagerly over the finely scripted words, and it wasn't until his eyes read the name and address that the cold chill of icy death settled into his lungs.

Annabelle.

He knew it had to be her. The last name was unique enough that he would recognize it anywhere, and even if the name weren't enough, the address surely was. It was the same address he dropped her off at the night before. He could remember it clearly, the house at the end of the street with dim flickering candle light in one window, the rest of the house dark. Made out of red brick, it was a relatively good sized two-story house with a few steps up to the doorway and freshly painted shutters. He remembered every detail since becoming a vampire clear as day, and he knew the way there without having to get a map or ask anyone.

The bag of his tools was packed in a second as he raced around getting what he needed, shoving his coat on and making sure he looked presentable to this family. Despite the fact he would never actually be with her, these were still the parents of his mate and he wanted to look his best. It was the mating call that made him feel so helpless, that made him so choked up and feeling like death. He was denying it and he knew that it was dangerous, but he never expected it to be dangerous for her as well. From what Marcus had told him, if a vampire mated with a human—which was incredibly rare—the vampire's emotions and feelings were much stronger than the humans. While the humans might feel a slight bit of uncomfortableness, the vampire would feel agony, especially if the call was denied or broken. Carlisle could live with that in himself, but to think that his leaving her had anything to do with her illness... Well, he was willing to go back and let Aro rip his head off and burn the rest, that's how tortured he felt.

It took every ounce of willpower not too run over to Mulberry Street and pound on her door. But there were other humans around for starters, not to mention the boy having left ten minutes ago and it would surely be suspicious if he was there so soon. But his hands actually trembled as he walked, slowly easing as he rounded the corner of First Avenue which connected to Mulberry, and yet the panic and terror inside him increased. If his heart could beat, it would be pounding out a furious rhythm behind his ribs, the sound of blood pulsating in his ears. As it was, his body was silent, even as he drew in ragged breaths, forcing himself to stop as he paused in front of 406 Mulberry.

Slowly he scaled the steps, took in another shallow breath, and knocked gingerly on the heavy oak door.

.x.x.x.x.

-Henry-

Vampire.

Henry remembered very clearly the vampires named Volturi rounding up all of the Immortals and daggering them one by one as they stood in front of them. It happened to friends and other family members, and he and his own family barely got out of there with their lives. As it was, his father wasn't quite so lucky, but managed to last from Romania all the way up to Sweden before he fell victim to his fatal wounds. Matthew Steele was a good man, a strong man, and Henry missed him terribly even almost thirteen hundred years later. But he never forgot the faces of those that killed him, cold men both in feeling and in physicality, selfish and assured that the Immortals destruction was the best course of action for their endeavors in taking over the vampire world.

The Volturi had been a coven for a long time, but the Romanians had ruled. They were cold, but not nearly as cruel as the Volturi. Stefan and Vladimir sat on their thrones, enlisting the help of lesser vampires and Immortals alike to bring victims to them. Under their rule, humans knew of vampires—after all, they were weak and had no way of defeating a vampire, so why fight it?—and lived in fear of being their next victims. Humans rarely went out after twilight when the vampires hunted, choosing to keep themselves hidden in their homes, not that the Immortals blamed them. The vampires and Immortals had a very hesitant relationship; the Immortals knew the vampires were the superior species and, as long as the vampires didn't feed on them—most didn't want to anyway, the Immortals smelled fiercely fowl to them, however if their blood was drained, the vampire would be even more powerful than others, as powerful as if drinking from twenty men at once—they would follow the vampire's rules and work for them.

Matthew Steele—known at the time as Nathaniel Pope—was a guard, a soldier for the Romanian coven. When the Volturi's forces attacked the palace, it was he who guarded the throne room where Vladimir and Stefan sat, slowly petrifying, and worked his hardest to keep the Volturi forces out of the room. But most of the other Immortal and vampire soldiers alike fell and Nathaniel was forced to give up. It was during his attempt at escape that he was stabbed with a silver dagger, his heart not fully punctured, but nicked. He knew his time was limited, slowly bleeding out, and so he found his way back to his family. His wife, Mary, along with his daughters, Elizabeth and Sarah, and his son, Jonathan, were all at home. Jonathan was merely five years old when the Romanians finally fell, but he had a good memory. He remembered it like it was yesterday, watching the palace burn as Nathaniel dragged the four of them into the woods in an attempt to distance themselves from the vampires. Only Mary knew of his ailment, the children not understanding until they arrived in Sweden and Nathaniel succumbed.

During the run, Nathaniel made the decision to make his family disappear. "You are not Pope anymore. That is gone. We are new, a fresh family that will live amongst the humans and pretend we do not know of the vampires' existence. We are strong, the strongest on Earth. We will stick together and survive, prove to the vampires that we will not fear them. We are strong. We are steel." He paused. "We are Steele." Nathaniel then became Matthew. Mary was Gretchen, Elizabeth and Sarah were Angelica and Samantha, and Jonathan became Henry. It was watching as Nathaniel Pope became Matthew Steele, and then as Matthew perished, that he decided his hatred of vampires was strong and a force to be reckoned with.

Barely did he hold himself back from launching himself at the leech in his doorway, his hand gripping the door handle so tight that he feared it would break. He managed to keep the sneer off his face, but just barely, instead settling for a look of distrust and discontent, one he was sure the stranger would understand seeing as he was new and Henry didn't know him. Not that he wanted to, of course. Vampires were all the same and if this man knew what his family was, he would either have to attempt an assassination, or gather his wife and daughter and flee. Neither idea sat well with him, and he knew Annabelle would be infuriated at him, but her protection and safety meant more to him than anything. He would gladly accept her wrath and hatred as long as she lived.

As long as she lived. That was the only reason he gave the vampire doctor a slow nod. The man smiled kindly as if not knowing what Henry was, and he supposed that could be the truth. After the expulsion of Immortals from the face of the world, the Volturi burned anything written of them and banned those alive from ever speaking of them again. If this vampire was born after the sixth century, then he wouldn't know of the Steeles' true identity. That gave him the slightest bit of comfort as he stepped aside to allow the leech inside, though it was very hard for him to do so.

"Doctor," he finally said, keeping his voice free of scathing hatred. "Thank you for coming. I am Henry Steele."

"Dr. Carlisle Cullen," the doctor said, holding out his hand. Henry hesitated only for a moment before shaking it. "I understand your daughter is unwell?" There was an odd look on his face, a lilt to his voice, something Henry didn't understand. But it was gone a moment later so he just shook those thoughts away as he gave a curt nod.

"Yes. For roughly a week, Annabelle—" He didn't see the twitch the doctor gave at the sound of her name, "—has gotten worse. It first started with simple chills and aches, but progressed to a fever. She is unable to hold down food, barely able to drink water. My wife believes she is dehydrated, yet it almost pains her to drink. She barely wakes up, but when she is she is just moaning in pain." Henry didn't fake the look of fear that fell over his face as he glance at Dr. Cullen. "I do not understand. She has never been ill before. Nobody in the village is ill, not like this. I do not know what to do, doctor."

The vampire gave a slow nod, looking to be thinking something over, before he gestured to Henry. "I will be happy to take a look and do what I can." He paused. "May I see her?"

"Of course," Henry said. "She is upstairs in her bedroom with her mother." The doctor nodded and Henry turned to lead him up the stairs and into Annabelle's bedroom.

.x.x.x.x.

-Carlisle-

The hardest thing he had to do was stand there with Henry Steele and pretend that he didn't know Annabelle. It felt wrong and unnatural, and he felt so guilty that he could've fallen to his knees right there. And listening to him speak of her illness had the protectiveness spiking in him so intensely, he just barely held the beast inside. It wanted to run up to her, shove everyone out the door and lock it, while he tended to his mate to make sure she was safe. But it brought about a question: how was he expected to do what was right by her, if leaving her was what was best, and yet if he did, it seemed she might not survive it? The morality of the situation warned inside him as he scaled the stairs much too slowly behind her father.

Henry Steele seemed like a good man, and yet there was something off about them. Annabelle was early twenties, Carlisle could tell, just a little bit younger than he was when he was turned at twenty-three. But Henry seemed to be not much older than that, thirty at the oldest, far too young to have a daughter her age. He supposed he could've just aged well, that was the only possible explanation, but that didn't also account for Gwendolyn Steele once he met her up in Annabelle's doorway. It was clear that Annabelle got her looks from Gwendolyn with the shape of her face and her adorable little button nose. Her dark hair was from her father, and her cerulean eyes could've come from either. So obviously they were her biological parents, as a doctor and a keen vampiric observer, he could see that. But they are so young, he thought as he looked them over. He didn't read too much into it, though. They just had to have aged fairly well.

The mother blocked his sight to her and he very nearly snarled at her to get out of the way. But that was the beast talking, and he held him back as he politely bowed to Gwendolyn, who returned the gesture. She looked just as worried as her husband, even more so it seemed. Her hair was escaping its knot and she looked exhausted, clearly having been awake caring for her daughter for many hours. She deserved a break and he would kindly recommend that while he looked over Annabelle. Plus, it would satisfy the beast, who was snarling at the parents to leave them.

"This is my wife, Gwendolyn," Henry had introduced.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Steele."

"Call me Gwen," the woman said with a sad smile. "We are so grateful that you came to us, Dr. Cullen. Anna is our baby girl and if she doesn't get better—" Her voice broke off and Henry immediately reached for her hand.

"Hush, wife," he said gently, showing more tenderness to her than Carlisle thought him capable of. "Dr. Cullen will do what he can to help the girl."

"Of course," Carlisle said kindly. He paused. "If you would, it looks as if you need a break. I shall look upon your daughter and examine her, while you get supper."

Gwendolyn looked torn. "I...I do not think I can. I should not leave her..."

"Let the man work, Gwen. Let us go get supper and we can visit upon her later." Henry gently moved her away from the door, finally allowing Carlisle to view the girl curled up under a thin white sheet on the bed. His heart fell into his stomach as venom filled his throat and the beast roared yet again at her pathetic state. "Thank you, doctor."

Carlisle simply nodded and watched carefully as the couple exited, their footsteps fading downstairs and only when Carlisle knew he was alone, did he move into the bedroom. Silently he shut the door, taking in his surroundings for only a second. The window faced Mulberry street, the sheer white curtain blowing gently against the breeze drifting through the open pane. There was a simple, handmade dresser against one wall with a lace covering and a bowl of water with a rag sitting on top. The opposite wall had a mirror on it next to the armoire that most likely held Annabelle's finer clothing. The bed was opposite the window, pushed against the wall, made of dark wood like the dresser, armoire, and table that sat next to it. There was a quilt hung over the footboard the clearly used to be spread over the girl, but was probably taken off in her fever. The sheets were stark white, a tad paler than Annabelle's skin.

Well, what it usually was as it was paler now, other than her cheeks flushed with deep crimson from her illness. Her forehead was dotted with cold sweat, her chest stuttering with breath as she slept restlessly, twitching and shifting every few seconds. The sheets clung to her, becoming nearly transparent from the way her body was heavy with perspiration, wrapped around her in twisted knots. As Henry had said, she moaned softly, throwing her head to the side where her braided, raven hair flung over her throat.

Carlisle felt his entire being ache, his soul weeping for her current state of illness, the beast growling at him for causing this in the first place. If the beast had its way, they would already be connected as mates should be. But it was the humanity in Carlisle, the man, that forced them apart. He was naive enough to think that he would be the only one paying the consequences of that decision; how foolish that notion was. She was far worse off than he was. Human versus vampire, he thought. He couldn't get sick, not like she could, otherwise he would probably be in the same boat. Instead of illness like she was presenting, he just had the constant ache, a rip of agony through his soul every few moments.

Finally he got to work, his observation moments finished. There was still a chair next to the bed that Gwendolyn had vacated so he took that, but only after grabbing the bowl of water off of the dresser. He set it on the bedside table and dipped the rag into it, gathering some of the cool moisture, and reaching to dab at her forehead. She whimpered then and Carlisle sighed brokenly, dabbing a couple more times before bringing his free hand up to her heated cheek, knowing the cool temperate of his palm might work better than the damp rag.

"Oh, Annabelle..." he murmured, gently moving some pieces of hair stuck to her cheek behind her ear. It was that movement, a gentle caress of his fingers against her skin, that seemed to work. He watched in surprise as her eyelids flew open, she gasped, and shot up in bed.

.x.x.x.x.

-Annabelle-

How long had she been out of it? Time had no meaning to her, not when she was deep in the fog of her own mind. Part of her was aware of what was going on, the fact that she was ill and getting worse. But mostly she just drifted in and out of conscious, not understanding when her mother left and came back, the same for her father. How am I sick? she wondered, remembering faintly back to when her father had told her of her fate three years previously. Immortals couldn't get an illness, the genes of their bodies forbid it. It would just fight off anything that tried to attack her, including things like bullets or being stabbed with anything that wasn't made out of silver. Her genes worked to keep her alive, stopped her aging at the age of maturity—roughly ages twenty-two to twenty-eight depending on the person—and kept her safe from harm. So her illness made no sense, unless it went deeper than the physical.

Which made her think of when it started, the day after leaving Carlisle and vowing not to see him. She was denying him, denying the feelings she had no matter how foolish she thought it was, or how many times she told herself, You just met the man. You cannot feel anything for him. Yet, it seemed it didn't matter, if this experience was any indication. But where could she even begin to look? She knew his name, but not where he lived. He could've just been traveling through Jamestown or even Virginia as a whole for all she knew. His accent had told her he wasn't from around there, so chances were he was no longer there. And she just let him slip through her fingers.

Silly girl, you're just being dramatic, she scolded herself, and yet she stayed in her fatigued slumber, not waking for her mother's touches or her father's voice. However, a new touch had her body racing, cells working to stitch her back together, her heart slamming into her stomach as her lungs drew in a gasping breath. She still ached and she was still tired, but her eyes flew open and she sat up quickly, panting softly through her dry lips. She didn't understand, didn't know why this new touch had brought her out of the fog when none had before.

"Annabelle?"

The voice. Oh, that voice. She recognized it in an instant as that feeling of death crept away like it was never even there to begin with. It confused her even more, unsure of how something that consumed her so wholly for so long just disappeared, but one glance over into the ochre eyes told her everything she needed to know, even though it didn't make sense. She was meant to be there with him, made to be at his side. It was confusing and alarming, to be so connected to a man she just met a week ago and only one time, but she had to physically restrain herself from reaching for him. But it didn't stop her from gazing upon him, feasting upon his image just like she had before, greedily and with no abandon. She blinked slowly, feeling the sweat on her body cooling and making her sticky, internally wincing as she realized she looked a mess with the sheets and her night clothes sticking to her. Luckily he didn't seem to mind, he just looked shocked and slowly he gave her a gentle smile, the hand that had fallen from her rising to gently touch the back of her hand that was fisting the sheets in it.

"Carlisle," she murmured, her voice hoarse and she cleared it softly to get rid of it. "Wha—" She paused and cleared her throat again. "—what is going on? What are you doing here?" Her words weren't unkind, just stunned and curious. To her absolute delight, he chuckled softly.

"Your father sent for me. I am a doctor." She raised an eyebrow. He did? Since when does he trust anyone else? Then again, if she was that sick, he probably thought he had no choice. "I came as soon as I could." He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he held back, studying her for another moment while her mind worked through the fog. The longer she sat there with his hand on hers, the most clearly she could think. "What happened, Annabelle?" he wondered, his voice soft and curious.

As her cheeks were already flushed, the blush wasn't as noticeable as it usually was, though she did miss the way his eyes flickered down to her cheeks quickly and back up to her eyes. She bit her lip for a millisecond before she answered. "I honestly have no idea," she whispered finally. "I woke up the next morning after you walked me home, and I just felt very ill." There was no way Annabelle was going to tell this beautiful man that it was lack of him that made her so sick. It was an odd notion to think that being away from a stranger effected her so much, made her physically ill, but it's not as if she could deny it. Because her father was right, she shouldn't be able to be ill and yet she was. For some reason, this was the only exception, as if it weren't completely natural.

I am not natural, of course this illness is not natural either, she thought wryly.

Carlisle was frowning ever so slightly and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to comfort him, to try and take the frown off his face and put the smile back on his face. He didn't say anything for a few moments, as if she had done something wrong, and she looked away, eyes landing on his hand that still lay on top of hers. It felt heavenly, having that simple touch he bestowed upon her. She knew she wouldn't get many of them so she would take what she could get. She studied the smooth lines of his skin, no blemishes or marks across them, no lines or wrinkles. It was only then, trying to distract herself, that she noticed just how cold he was.

It was like holding onto a smooth and silky ice cube. Her head tilted a little, feeling that his hand was hard as a rock underneath the distractingly smooth skin. It made her think back to her father's stories, the way he described vampires. Cold and hard, able to move a building with their pinky if they so wished, not to mention the crimson color of their eyes. But Carlisle's were topaz, and yet she couldn't stop thinking about it, her mind moving over what was laying before her and coming to a conclusion even as she didn't quite want to believe it.

He cannot possibly be one of those bloodthirsty, heartless creatures that killed the rest of my kind, can he? she wondered. Yet his hand didn't move, and a quick glance up to him told her that there was no pulse beating on his neck or wrist, and his chest only rose a couple times a minute. He's not heartless or cruel or bloodthirsty. But I know what he is.

"Vampire."

Oh gosh, did she really just say that out loud? She hadn't meant to, her entire body heating up with embarrassment and then running cold as he pulled away in an instant. She blinked once, twice and he was over by the window, causing her to frown in confusion. The look on his face was a cross between fear and shock as he studied her, and he still hadn't said a word to her about what he thought her illness might be, though he would know better than she would considering he was a doctor.

It has nothing to do with him, it cannot. He is a vampire, the enemy of the Immortals, and yet I am drawn to him like no other. There has to be some other logical explanation to solving this, she thought, even though all the evidence was proving otherwise. His mere presence made her feel much better than she had been, though now that he was away her chest ached again, her heart pounding, her breathing uneven.

"I-I apologize," she whispered, biting her lip and looking down at her hands that had begun to twist in the sheets on her lap. "If I am wrong, you are welcome to call me crazy and leave. But my father told me about them. How they killed our kind. He told me what to look for. Except for your eyes, you fit every description." She sighed.

Silence assaulted her ears again and she winced. It was worse than if he just yelled at her or told her she was mad. She would rather he say something than make her wait, though she supposed she would be a bit speechless, too, if she was accused of being an undead, bloodthirsty creature of the night. Though the "creature of the night" part was just myth, as Henry had told her, but the drinking blood part was all true.

"Your kind?"

His voice broke through her thoughts and she looked up, seeing confusion adding itself to the look on his face, watching as he hesitantly approached the bed once again. She stared at him calmly and that seemed to help him out. There was no part of her that was afraid, even if she thought she should be. Henry had told her how violent they were, how quickly they would kill just because they could. But she didn't fear him, she didn't want him gone. In fact, she wanted him closer, she never wanted to let him go.

"You do not know of us?" she wondered, also remembering how Henry had told her the vampires born after the sixth century would be unaware of their existence. True to her thoughts, Carlisle shook his head. Henry would be incredibly displeased with her if she told their secret, but this was Carlisle, she couldn't not tell him. Especially now that she revealed she knew his identity as well. "We are called Immortals," she started, watching as he frowned softly. She shook her head. "We are not human, we are not vampires. We stop aging once we reach maturity. I am sure you have noticed my parents look only ten years older than I. That was the age they reached." And she told him all the rest of it, everything that her father told her, and she reached into the drawer under her bedside table where she knew her mother would've put it, and pulled out the silver dagger, laying it on the bed in front of her. He is the enemy, you should not show him this, she admonished herself. And yet Carlisle and enemy did not belong in a sentence together, not in the way she was thinking. He was no more her enemy than she was to him.

"The dagger that can kill you," he said softly and she nodded.

"Anything made of silver," she added quietly. "Luckily there has been no mentioned of bullets being made of silver, or I believe my father would have left the human world long ago. But humans are evolving every day. He told me that is why the Volturi decided the vampires should no longer be known to the humans, and why we should disappear. The Romanians sat in their palace and did not leave for thousands of years. But the Volturi were out there amongst the humans, watching them grow and change. They saw the advancement of their weapons and they predicted soon they would create something that could obliterate all vampire kind. So they fought the Romanians because Stefan and Vladimir did not agree with going into hiding. And they believed we Immortals were a liability, that we would turn them over to the humans and allow the humans to kill them with their advancing weapons so that we would be the most powerful beings on Earth. From what Father said, none of the Immortals had that intention, but the Volturi did not believe them and massacred us. Only a dozen families escaped, my mother and father's families included."

"Were you there when this happened?" he wondered.

Annabelle shook her head. "No. My father was, he was five years old when his father took their family and fled Romania. But I am merely twenty-one years old. I did not know of my true fate until I was eighteen years old. I had been hidden until then because I was stronger and faster than the other children, and they feared if I were to get injured playing with them, then the humans would see my accelerated healing and know that I am different because of it."

"How fast can you heal?"

"When I was seven-years-old, I broke my arm after falling from the front steps at our old home in Richmond. What should have taken six weeks to heal took two hours."

Carlisle raised an eyebrow. "How then, I wonder, did this illness get to you."

She flushed again, ignoring the way his eyes flickering to her burning cheeks. "I do not know," she whispered. "I should not have been able to get sick." She paused. "I have never been sick a day in my life. Not until the day after I left you outside my house."

He didn't speak, but she saw him let out a shaky breath and to her shock, she realized he was as nervous as she was. Her head tilted to the side again and gingerly she lifted up her hand, watching as he looked at it curiously and then back to her cerulean gaze.

"I am not afraid of you, Carlisle," she whispered. "And I do not understand what is happening. But...I believe this sickness—" She paused again, swallowing thickly as if to swallow her pride and her fear. "—I believe this sickness is because I left your side." She shook her head. "I do not wish to do so again."

He let out another breath, and she saw the pure joy that took over his features, and she couldn't help but smile herself. A warmth like no other flooded through her, and she realized that she didn't have to let him go, not really. Yes, they should be enemies. The universe was a cruel master that fated together two beings that should not be able to stand each other. And yet they both needed each other, their very lives depended upon it. She feared that this sickness could truly kill her if it continued, if he left her or she him, even though there was no silver dagger involved. He was the other half of her soul, she could see that in his face, the look on his face as he dropped onto the edge of her bed rather than back into the chair her mother had spent the last week in. He was hers, the possessiveness inside her screamed. she had never felt that way before, like she wanted nobody to look at or speak to this man ever again. It was silly, and yet she felt like she saw that in his gaze as he tenderly looked over her face, his own filled with such love and devotion that she felt tears prickle her eyes.

"I cannot believe that you feel it, too," he whispered, and she couldn't help but smile softly. "I was told that only vampires could feel such an emotion, that humans were too weak to experience it lest it kill them. But you're not human, not fully. It is as if your soul felt it, but your body was fighting against it."

"Will I be sick forever?" she wondered.

He shook his head and reached again for her hand, which she eagerly took. "No, my dear." The familiar term of affection made her shiver as a loving smile lifted the corner of her lips. "Your body fought it as it should, because you were rejecting what your soul was telling you. We both were rejecting it, I am sorry to say. But you feel well now, correct?"

She nodded. "Much better."

He smiled. "That is because your soul felt me near you, and now that we both accepted this," Her eyes went wide with beautiful understanding, "your body is no longer fighting you and will allow your soul to take over." For a moment she just watched him, let her eyes run over his beautiful face, committing every part of it to memory. He almost looked...vulnerable as he looked at her, waiting for her to say or do something that he was expecting her to. But the longer they sat there together, him holding her hand tightly—yet not as tightly as she knew he could, he would probably crush it, at least according to her father—the more a look of wonder spread across his lips, and the more she wanted to just crawl into his lap and never leave.

"You are serious," he whispered. "You are not afraid of me."

"How could I be afraid? My soul was meant to be with yours. I could never be afraid of you, Carlisle."

Slowly a smile spread over his face, even larger than the one before, and he gingerly moved closer. She matched the look, her heart picking up speed as he urged her closer, allowing her to climb into his lap just like she wanted before. There was a mere moment, no time at all, that they simply looked at each other. It was the perfect moment, a moment that was meant to happen as the universe had created it as such. First it created Carlisle and doomed him to this life, however it then created Annabelle and gave her the gift of allowing her to live with him, and yet not force him to choose to doom her as well or live without her. It was the perfect balance, like the light and the dark, the gifted and the cursed, the lion and the lamb.

And when his lips finally took hers, she knew she was exactly where she needed to be: home.

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Author's Note: While there is no real outfit for this chapter, if you go to Polyvore again and check under alysalvatore, you'll see that I posted a set that has her parents under it in case you were wondering what they looked like. :) Again, thanks for reading and comments are love!