20 / 2 /16

Disclaimer: "Twilight" is the creative property of Stephenie Meyer. I only claim ownership over the subsequently altered plotline and characterisations, the Venatorum lore, and all additional characters including "Izzy," Alexa, Tobias, and Raphael.

Chapter 2

- The First Law -

- Three Weeks Later -

"Izzy," my mother's stern voice came from directly behind me, as I tried to disentangle my bag from the horde of weapons we had in assembled in the back of her SUV, "are you certain you want to do it this way?"

I didn't answer immediately. I was too busy trying to work out how one little carry-on bag strap had managed to get looped around a crossbow, a tomahawk, and three small machetes in just the few miles we'd had to drive to the airport. You'd think the Commander of the West Coast Branch of the Venatorum would keep a more organised trunk, I thought, trying to cheer myself up.

It didn't work. So I finished disentangling my bag strap from the mayhem, swinging it up easily over my shoulder and turning to face her with a forced and probably anaemic looking smile.

"Do I really have a choice?" I tried to joke. That was a bad idea.

Commander Renée Dwyer didn't return the smile, weak or not. She just stood there in the sweltering Arizona sun in jeans and a white t-shirt, the blinding daylight turning her dark blonde hair gold. She had a half frustrated and half angry look flickering behind her blue eyes, and her lips pulled into a thin line.

Even well into her middle years, my mom was stunningly beautiful, but in the same way a mother tigress was beautiful. You could admire her all you liked from a safe distance — and believe me, men really did — but the second you got too close for her liking you risked your life and limbs, literally.

I took after her more in the latter part than the former.

"Of course you have a choice, that's the whole point," She snapped, frustration leaking into her voice. I felt my face automatically set into a half defensive half stubborn expression, and she sighed.

"Izzy, it is your choice in the end, I just don't want you to feel like it's your only choice. I won't suger coat it, after what you did…" The sick feeling in my gut must have shown on my face because she paused, her eyes softening very slightly. "After what happened, the Elder Council won't be happy if you do decide to go before them instead. You're seventeen now. You'll stand trial as an adult, and receive just punishment, but they wont exile you. You wouldn't have to go away."

I knew she was right. The Elders of the Venatorum — seven of the most influential Venators from each continent around the world — weren't exactly known for their merciful punishments, and they weren't anything near as cuddly as the monsters we protected the world from. They ran a tight ship, and not even my mother, the Branch Commander for the entire West Coast, had enough clout to defy them on something like this.

Not directly anyway.

The memory of what sparked this whole thing off came back to me clear as if it had happened only minutes ago. A blood-crazed vampire escaping the site of one of our hunts, trying to flee down an abandoned alleyway straight towards a main road full of people. Five teenage boys staring at me with wide eyes as I held my sabre in one hand, and the head of the dead vampire I'd just killed in the other. The lot of them running, screaming their heads off before any of the others in my team had managed to catch up and knock them out — and while the memory of a bunch of stoned pot-heads fleeing as if their hair was on fire was just a little bit hilarious, the consequences were no joke…

A security leak like that could have cost us our secrecy in the whole city, and subsequently put the lives of dozens of our best hunters in peril overnight. I'd known that — but all I'd seen in that moment was a newborn vamp with bloodlust in his eyes charging straight towards a street full of people who had no idea what kind of danger they were in.

It was my first real screw up, and even though I knew that if I did go before the Council now, they probably wouldn't hang me out to dry, that still didn't mean they wouldn't find a punishment that would make me regret the mistake for the rest of my life. Mom was right, I was seventeen now, legally an adult in our law's eyes, and equally responsible for myself and my actions in their eyes.

I looked at my mother, and found I couldn't quite meet her eyes. I'd disappointed her, I could feel it, even if I couldn't quite see it behind her carefully controlled mask.

"I won't make excuses, mom. I accept the consequences of my actions and you're right to judge them. I already agreed to do what I need to make this right again," I said quietly, and surprised to find that I mean it.

In all the technical senses I'd still been a minor when "the Van Buren Street incident" had happened, which meant my Branch Commander — coincidentally, my mom herself — was responsible for dealing with the trial and punishment. She hadn't wanted to, but her hands had been tied, so she had given me a choice:

I could either accept my punishment as the adult I now was, and be taken to trial before the Council of Venatorum Elders (their headquarters currently based in Las Vegas, don't ask) and likely punished severely for my blunder.

Or, I could accept my actions as a trainee, and leave her to decide a fitting punishment for my mistake.

I'd chosen the latter.

I'd seen and heard first hand that Venatorum Elder's had a rather warped sense of justice more often than not. Some hunters who'd committed similar crimes had been known to be transferred to new Branches, or imprisoned in solitary confinement for months on end if they'd really put their foot in it. There had also been a rare few who'd screwed up so badly — their actions causing humans to lose their lives — that they'd earned themselves the chop.

Literally, right there on the spot.

Like I said, not nearly as cuddly as the vamps, and anything my mother could dish out instead had to be better than that, I'd reasoned. Or at least I really hoped so.

Mom sighed tiredly, one part relief to one part exhaustion, and nodded slowly.

"A year," she said firmly, folding her arms over her chest, her back straight and rigid as a pole. "A year in Washington with your father, Izzy. That's the deal. A year of keeping your nose clean. No screw ups this time, no breaking the Laws, no drawing attention to yourself, and no hunting. You don't so much as draw penknife unless you need to defend yourself, then you can come home and take your Choosing with your record clean. It's your choice, but I can't bail you out a second time if you mess up. You understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," I answered without hesitation, addressing her in the way we'd all be taught as toddlers to address our division leaders. She eyed me with her sharp blue eyes, nodded once. Then her Venator's mask melted away, and I was left staring at the face of my mother instead of my Branch Commander.

She reached out and pulled me to her, her strong arms holding so tight it almost hurt.

"I love you, baby. So much. I'm so sorry this has to happen."

I hugged her back just as hard, breathing in her familiar scent of her hair, trying to commit it to memory, just in case it was the last time I'd get the chance to. She and Phil — my step father — were leaving for a division meeting/hunt San Fransisco tomorrow, and while I was sure she's be fine, we Venators never had any guarantees of a safe return. And we never took our loved ones for granted.

"I love you too, mom. And it's ok, you didn't have a choice," I pressed a kiss to her temple and hugged her again. "I'll stay safe. I'll miss you, and Phil too."

Mom leaned back to look at me, stroking some of my dark hair back from my face.

"Tell Charlie… tell him I said hi."

I smiled, though it felt a bit weak. "I will."

"Call me when you get there safely, and don't forget to send an order for more Elixir before you run out. And don't worry about your sabre, I've got Toby and Alex to fast-track-courier it to you with the rest of your gear. And you promise you'll call if anything goes amiss, anything at all. Honestly, I'll keep my phone on me the whole time."

I almost laughed. That was my mom — beautifully deadly, terrifying in her seat of power, yet still maternally worrying to the ends of the earth even when she was out chopping monsters to bits.

"I will, I promise." I hugged her again, one last, matching the strength of her hug with my own before letting go to start towards the airport. "Don't worry about me, it'll be fine. It's Forks, mom, it's the middle of nowhere. Nothing ever happens in Forks."

~ Ω ~

Four hours, and probably more packets of inflight peanuts than was healthy later, my flight touched down in Port Angeles. The flight itself hadn't been too bad, thanks to the books I'd had the forethought to pack into my hand luggage, but as I walked out of the arrivals hall I felt a little nervous about the hours drive back to for Forks with Charlie.

It had been almost exactly three years since I'd last seen him, and even longer for mom. They hadn't seen each other face to face in over a decade. Not since she had walked out on him when I was just a few months old, taking me back to live on the Arizona Venatorum Compound. She'd never told me exactly why she'd left him, or why she'd never told him what it was we really did, but whenever I asked her she got a look on her face that mixed guilt, longing, and years worth of sadness. I stopped asking after a while.

In the mean time, I'd been going to visit him for a few weeks every summer until I was fourteen — and while I couldn't say I especially liked the weather of the Olympic Peninsula much, I loved spending time with Charlie.

I spotted him as I walked out with my bags, tall, middled aged, and comfortable with both, he wore his Chief of Police uniform and the same dark hair he shared with me had gone curly with the damp air. He waved at me from beside a his police cruiser — he'd mercifully chosen not to get my attention by lighting up the sirens or the red and blue flashing lights on the roof.

I beamed, hurrying quickly over to him, wrapping my dad up in a bearhug with a little extra strength as he went to scoop me up too.

"Easy there, kid. I like my spine where it is," he chuckled gruffly, returning my enthusiastic hug with a pat on my back. "You're a lot stronger than I remember."

I smiled over his shoulder a little sheepishly, letting him go quickly before he started quizzing me about it.

"Well the last time you saw me I was fourteen and still barely five feet tall," I replied, still beaming at him. "I've missed you, Charlie."

He chuckled, giving me a clap on the shoulder as anyone else might a strapping son rather than a delicate flower of a daughter. God, I could have bear-hugged him all over again for that.

"I thought we agreed last time you were only allowed to call me 'dad'."

"I seem to remember we also agreed you'd treat me to a double fudge sundae at the Lodge the next time I was here too," I said, my smile widening.

"We'll see about that later." He reached into the open door of the car and held up a small brown paper bag like it was made of gold. "Right now, you'll have to settle for donuts and coke instead."

I grinned effortlessly.

"I think I can deal with that."

We loaded my stuff into the car, and Charlie didn't bother to hide his surprise at how light I'd packed to come stay with him. Most of my Arizona clothes (both hunting and casual) weren't all that well suited to the cold, damp climate of upstate Washington, so I'd brought only what I knew I'd be able to wear on short notice. Alex — both my hunting squad-mate and best friend from the tender age of eighteen months — had promised me she'd do some shopping and send me a few more bits and pieces as soon as she could. So as a result, the small sports bag and backpack I had on me both fit easily into the trunk with room to spare.

It started drizzling almost the second Charlie got the engine started, and we both cracked a few light jokes about it a little as we turned onto the main road out of the Port Angeles. Next thing I knew, I was looking out the rain-streaked window at the familiar road that lead along the northern border of the Olympic National park towards Forks.

"It's really good to see you again, Izzy," Charlie said for the six time in half an hour as we drove. Though this time he said it with a different kind of warmth than before, and a faintly sad smile, keeping his eyes on the road. "You've grown up so much. Are you and Renée still getting on ok?"

I knew immediately what he was really asking underneath that question.

Why had I suddenly decided to come and live with him for a year after three years of barely any visits?

I'd been trying not to think about it for the entire flight, but the reality of why I was actually here was finally staring to really starting to sink in. I was in exile because I'd screwed up a hunt, I'd put my squad, that gaggle of teenage boys, and the entire Phoenix chapter of the Venatorum in danger with what I'd done. Then I had chosen to willingly retreat to my old childhood haven instead of facing the trial of an adult, leave my friends and squad-mates behind with barely any warning. And now, I was forbidden to hunt, to risk revealing myself, or land an attack unless it was in self defence for an entire year.

All because I hadn't been willing to let a rabid vampire run onto a street full of innocent people.

The thought wracked me with a sudden pang of frustration, sadness, accompanied by a little twinge of guilt too. But of course I couldn't tell Charlie any of that, thanks to my mom never telling him what she really was in the first place all those years ago. So I made myself smile through the darkening feeling forming in my chest.

"Mom's good," I answered, turning from the rainy view of the road ahead to look at him sideways. "She wanted me to tell you she says hi, by the way."

A tiny smile tugged at Charlie's lip, and he nodded.

"And Phil? He still treating her ok?"

Phil and I, while not that close, had always been on good terms since he'd married my her three years ago. He'd never tried to become my father, and had never expected me to be his daughter. He was kind, funny, a brilliant hunter, and he made my mom happy — but Charlie had always been, and would always be, my dad.

"He's ok too."

He nodded again, with less emotion this time.

"I've already got you enrolled in the local High School. Oh, and I found a good car for you by the way, really cheap," he announced suddenly after a moment of somewhat long moment of awkward silence. I blinked at him, shocked.

"You did?"

"Well, a truck really. A Chevy," he continued as if I hadn't said anything.

I just stared at him, genuinely stunned. Out of all the conversation changes, that wasn't one I'd seen coming. Another little pang of guilt shot through me at the thought of the dent that must have made in his salary this month. I knew Charlie wasn't poverty stricken or anything, but he wasn't exactly rolling in excess funds to burn either.

"Dad, you didn't have to do that. I mean I'm grateful and all, but I was already planning on finding something cheap and cheerful myself. I have enough saved up."

He shrugged and just nodded, another little smile dancing on his face.

"I know. But I wanted to surprise you anyway. Something of your own to make you feel more at home here."

I didn't know what to say to that. My automatic instinct was to insist he return it so I could pay for my own — it's certainly what mom would have expected me to do. But Charlie had been more than generous with that surprise, and he had his pride. I believed him when he said he'd done it to make me feel more at home, and it was such a small thing to so much to me. I smiled again, smaller but more genuine this time.

"Thank you."

His smile only grew warmer.

"You're welcome, Izzy."

"So, where did you find it?" I asked curiously.

"You remember Billy Black down at La Push?"

La Push I remembered was the tiny Indian reservation right on the coast, just a few miles drive west from Forks. The mention of the name brought up the fuzzy memory image of a sturdy native american man with long dark hair, a stern face and kind eyes.

"Vaguely," I answered slowly. "Should I remember him?"

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer."

Well, that explained why I didn't remember him all that well. I'd been worryingly good with swords and blades since the age of four. Not so much with fishhooks and wet scaly things that had the tendency to wriggle out of your hands when you weren't paying attention.

"He's in a wheelchair now," Charlie explained, "he can't drive anymore, so he offered to sell his old truck on to me. It's a few years old, but he's done a lot of work on the engine."

I wanted to ask why he was in a wheelchair now when my only memory of him had him up and on his feet, but decided it wasn't my place.

"Dad, you know I really don't know much about cars. What if something goes wrong? I'd have no clue how to fix it."

He took one hand off the wheel and made a sweeping gesture.

"Don't worry about it. The thing runs great. But if something gives out, Billy mentioned his son is really into fixing up his cars at the moment. I bet he'd be willing to help you out if you asked nicely."

I gave him a lopsided smirk with a skeptically raised brow.

"Setting me for an arranged marriage already, are we?"

He actually let out a loud laugh at that.

"God, no. You're on your own there, kid. I'm just here to aim and shoot the shotgun if he gets out of line."

We both chuckled at that, and I enjoyed the mental image of my Chief of Police dad holding a potential boyfriend at gunpoint probably more than I should have.

The rest of the trip was spent in comfortable silence. Charlie and I both could talk the roof off when we felt like it, but we both seemed to know when it was ok to just sit in companionable quiet too. I was grateful for that.

It had been a long day's trip, and I found myself enjoying just staring out the window, watching at the landscape going by outside. I'd never got used to how much green there was up here — the trees covered with moss, the ground covered with ferns. Even the watery daylight filtering down through the leaves was turned a blueish-green hue. It was beautiful, but it also felt sort of alien at the same time. Then again, maybe I'd just spent too much time in the sun and city.

Half an hour later we pulled up to the two bedroom house my parents had lived in together sixteen year ago, and the place I'd spent the first nine months of my life in. And sitting the driveway was the truck Charlie had me.

The second I saw it I immediately went from merely liking the idea, to loving it.

It was perfect — provided it would actually start. Comfortably big, with a rusty red colour, just enough dings and scratches in the paintwork to give it character, and looked sturdy enough to withstand a head-on collision with a moon-crazed werewolf and still come out in tact. But best of all, it had really good sized bed. I knew immediately that if I covered it strategically with a tarp and some distracting bits of junk, it would carry every bit of my hunting gear and no one would notice a thing.

If I hadn't known that Charlie knew nothing of the supernatural world or my place in it, I'd have said he'd picked it especially with that purpose in mind.

"Well?" He asked a little uneasily as we got out and looked at it together. "What do you think?"

I beamed at him.

"I think this is probably the best welcome gift ever," I said with perfect honesty, running my hand over the side and pointing the remains of my half-eaten donut at him. "But you still owe me that sundae."

He laughed, the worried expression vanishing instantly.

"Noted, and I'm really glad you like it. Here, let's get your stuff inside."

It took only one trip to get my bags through the front door and upstairs, setting everything down in a familiar old room with cream walls, creaky wooden floorboards, and a wide window that faced the front of the house. It had been my room back when I'd been a baby, and even though the crib had long since been replaced with a bed and a desk, my old rocking chair was still there.

I didn't really understand why the sight of it made me feel a little sad. Even after everything he and mom had gone through when they separated, Charlie had kept it, and my room, almost exactly the same all this time. Even some of the crayon drawing I'd done a kid were still pinned to the walls.

Charlie left me to unpack what little I brought with me in peace, grunting something about getting dinner into the oven and thumping back down the narrow staircase. It took me almost less time that in had to get my stuff into the house. Only the one small dagger I'd managed to sneak into my check-in luggage on the flight remained once I'd emptied my laptop, my clothes, and toiletries out and put them all away.

I picked the blade up and looked pensively down at it. It was a tactical kukri style knife — the kind the Gurkhas used in Nepal — it's blade fashioned from inky black adamantite. The curve of the razor edge bent inwards at a lethal angle, and was perfect for either slicing or throwing.

It had been a going away gift from Toby, and in the temporary absence of all my usual hunting paraphernalia, the sight of the knife gave me a bizarre surge of comfort and homesickness. Great as if was to see Charlie again, and nice as it was to be away from the city and it's supernatural dramas for a bit, I couldn't help but feel I'd somehow made a mistake coming back here. I was weirdly looking forward to attending normal school tomorrow — something I hadn't done since I'd turned fourteen. But something else about the idea made me uneasy, and I couldn't put my finger on why…

I sighed glancing around my sparse bedroom and shook my head firmly.

It was nothing, I told myself firmly. Just new-home nerves.

I suddenly smelled the aroma of oven fries wafting up from the kitchen. Charlie called up the stairs that food was on the table and my stomach rumbled.

Unable to see anywhere truly safe to store my little weapon — at least not without risk of it being found — I sheathed it, tucked it into the back of my jeans under my shirt and headed downstairs.

Who knows, maybe mom's verdict and my choice had been right after all. It might even be good for me — take some time to cool off from endless training and hunting and adjust to behaving like a normal girl again. Vamp attacks had been getting more frequent in the major West Coast cities recently, and I'd spent more time out with no one my team on hunts than I had with normal people my own age over the past year and a half.

It will be fine, I told myself again. It might even be fun.

One year. Just one year.

No vampires. No hunters. No secret supernatural war for survival going on in the shadows.

What could possibly go wrong?

A/N: Wow, I can't believe I actually worked up the nerve to take a stab at writing this, let alone post it.

Please let me know your thoughts. I'm actually kinda enjoying working on this so far, but I can only justifiably devote time to it if I know people are interested in reading it. I have an idea of where I can take this, and it won't be centred around an angsty teen love story, just in case you were wondering — so if there are those of you out there who like the look of this, please tell me!

Until next time,

~Rella