AN: Here's Chapter 1... enjoy!
Disclaimer: Victoria and all other Twilight characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.
Chapter 1: Emerge
New York City. February, 1965.
I come into the city at around midnight, and the sky is glowing deep purple, the stars are shimmering brightly. I stop for a moment to inhale the cold, bitter air, permeated with the aroma of roasting chestnuts on trashcan fires, dead leaves covered with fresh snow, cigarette and factory smoke blanketing the atmosphere, and humans. Humans in their homes, humans sleeping on park benches, humans walking the derelict streets. Millions of humans of all types, sizes, and flavors. My throat burns like something fierce, reminding me how long it's been since my last hunt. But I look like a disaster, and I want to have some fun attracting a meal tonight, so I'll need to find a woman to hunt before I go out on the town.
I usually only hunt women when I need something – money, shoes, clothes, a place to clean up. I prefer the taste of men. I see some lady I probably would have hated if I had to keep up with her in human society. Twenty-something socialite. A lot of people will miss her. I don't really care. I like her shoes. Her clothes aren't bad, and she looks to be about my size. She probably has more good stuff at home. No ring—no husband at home to kill. Oh well.
I run up to her quicker than she can see me and I pull her into an alley. Once she realizes that someone—or something—is attacking her, she screams and the sound of it excites me. She's noisy, though, and I don't want anyone to hear, so I break her neck, then feed. My first feeding in a week. She's not too bad, but definitely not my first choice. This pathetic girl is just the appetizer to the main course that will come later.
I rummage through the shit in her purse. Keys, wallet, some tampons (no use for those, I toss them aside). I strip off my dirty clothes and put on her bra, blouse, skirt, and stilettos. No underwear—I go commando. I fix my hair and emerge from the alley. I imagine I'm real hot right now. And I'm right, because within two minutes of walking along the street at human speed, five guys look me up and down as I pass. They all smell gross. Tasty, but gross. Like dirty men. So I don't even waste my time on them, even though I could have them all within seconds if I wanted them.
As I walk, I pass a prostitute wearing an ugly wig and something skimpy and sequined. She gives me a dirty look. I return it.
"Bitch," she mutters under her breath, and I growl at her fiercely, something akin to a mountain lion. She gets this horrified look on her face and runs in the other direction. Hunting humans is great, but sometimes just making them piss in their pants is fun, too.
The city socialite's identification in her wallet had her name and address on it. Suzette Stevens lives—or lived, rather—near Central Park. Classy. The apartment should be just two blocks from where I am now. It would have taken me longer to find the place if I wasn't familiar with the city, but I am. I like to come to New York every now and then for the international buffet, which is quite superb. I find her apartment and listen at the door. Dead quiet. I get her keys and let myself in. Everything is pink. Of course.
I glance around at all the fancy crap in the small room, and I follow the scent of wool, silk, and cotton to a large closet. I want to rummage it for something cute to wear tonight, but I catch a whiff of something gnarly. Myself. I smell like dirt and forest, so I jump in the shower. Her shampoo is floral, but it smells like chemicals. I use it anyway because my hair is starting to mat with grime, and I don't think tonight's meal would find that sexy. There's soap, but I ignore it, though I can't ignore the smell. Soap is fucking weird. It just creeps me out, like a science project gone wrong. I always avoid it. It's not like I need it—I don't sweat and my skin doesn't extrude oils like nasty human skin. Mine is perfect. I just need to get rid of this nasty forest dirt. So I grab the soap and throw it over the shower curtain. It smashes against the wall, and eventually the smell gets easier to ignore.
Damn, my throat is burning again. I need to make this quick.
The enormous closet is full of chic clothes. Suzette had style, I'll give her that. I quickly throw on a pair of high-waist slacks and a sleeveless turtleneck. I find a white rabbit-fur coat and put that on, too. I run my fingers through my wild, fire red hair and decide to leave it untamed. I quickly glance over at myself in a mirror. I look pretty fucking fabulous, as if I need to. My prey would be fawning all over me even if I wore a trash bag.
I go to the roof of the building after leaving the apartment, no trace of me left behind. I won't be coming back. I crouch to leap, then jump over three buildings at a time. After jumping for a few blocks, I get bored and sniff the air. A whole street of bars is near. I can smell cigarettes, alcohol, and human sweat. I jump from the ledge of a building and land gracefully in an alleyway. I emerge from the darkness.
I sniff the air again and I smell something sweet. It's the lingering scent of a male vampire. A familiar scent. I had known him, but I can't place who it is because the scent is barely perceptible. He had been here about three hours ago. I would track him down if I felt like talking to a vampire, but I don't. It would probably turn into a fight anyway, and I don't feel like having to kick someone's ass tonight. No, fuck that. I need to hunt now. From his scent, I can tell he traveled north. I'll go south.
Vampires are always competing over shit, I've learned. Even in a big fucking city like New York, they get all territorial. I usually win, anyway. I've been told I'm ruthless, fierce. I don't compete; I just take what's mine. Yeah, I'm a bitch. Cold and hard, quite literally.
But a male vampire. Every single one that I had ever met had been strikingly similar in one way. It's hilarious that they all thought they could charm my pants off with one fucking sentence. They open their mouths to speak and I roll my eyes, because I know what's coming, and that shit does not work on me. No. I'm as marble as my skin. No amount of vampire charm can penetrate this steel. I stop in my tracks for a split second because now I'm curious. I think for just a moment about tracking him down. But, like I said, I really don't feel like dealing with other vampires tonight, so I continue on my way.
I find my way to a crowded bar. I open the door and breathe in the air of delicious men. Mmmm—tonight is going to be fun. I smile at people as I pass, making my way through the crowd to the bar. I order a drink, a cosmopolitan, because I'm a classy girl. Have to keep up appearances. I'll stand at the bar and look cute, and my prey will come to me. They usually do, and that's the way I like it. Some guy is bound to order me a drink soon. I'm just too fucking pretty to ignore.
I take a sip of my cosmo. God damn, I forgot how disgusting alcohol is. It doesn't quench my thirst; I wasn't expecting it to. It doesn't burn like it does in human throats. It just tastes like heat, bleach, gasoline, and nasty. And a hint of a flavor trying and failing at imitating cranberry. I've never had alcohol as a human. I wonder if it's this nasty to humans, but they drink it anyway because it makes them feel good or whatever. However, as much as I hate the taste of raw alcohol, I love the taste of alcohol in blood. It adds a certain "je ne sais quoi" to the flavor. Perhaps that's why I frequent bars so often.
Anyway, it's going to be loads of fun puking this shit up later.
I look up at the humans around me, and there's a guy winking and smiling at me from across the bar. He's wearing a frilly shirt and bell-bottom jeans. I hate sixties menswear fashions. Men had been dressed much more dapper in the past few decades. Then the frilly shirts, polyester, and bell-bottoms became more fashionable for teens and twenty-somethings, and all hell broke loose.
"Can I buy you a drink?" he yells to me from across the bar. I slowly… painfully slow… walk over to him and smile coyly. I lean in closer so he can hear without me screaming.
"Sure," I say, shyly, in my most girlish voice. Then I giggle for good measure. Now that I'm closer to him, I can smell him. He smells like maple syrup and deliciousness. Men who smell like maple syrup usually, for some reason, are douche bags. I don't know why… if it's because they're douche bags that they smell like maple syrup or the other way around.
"What's your name, babe?"
"You can call me Tori," I flutter my eyelashes and giggle again innocently. Tori is the name given to my prey nowadays. It fits the times, I think, and makes me seem more cute and less deadly. As he's watching me, I make sure to swing about and shrug my shoulders bashfully. This dude is buying it, I can tell. I haven't given him a reason to be afraid of me… yet. My eyes are still black. After him, they would be red with his blood. It usually takes at least two hunts before my eyes return to their normal crimson color.
"Well, you can call me Clay, babe." Men who smell like maple syrup usually have names like Clay. I want to laugh, but I don't. "This place is groovy, isn't it?"
"Totally groovy! I dig it," I coo and lean in closer to him, letting my aroma intoxicate him. I'm going to whisper something completely sexy and mind-blowing. He'll instantly want to bring me back to his place and do naughty things to me. Little does he know, oh, how little does he know.
But then I smell something. I turn on my heels, maybe quicker than I should have, and look in the direction of the scent. He's coming in the door, and I can smell him stronger. Fuck! Can't I just have a peaceful meal tonight? I'm fucking thirsty, and I don't feel like dealing with vampire mating calls, vampire politics, and all that shit. I look back at Clay and smile, then back to the door. The vampire is not there. He's next to me.
I turn to Clay again and say, "Like, I'll be right back, man," then walk to the other side of the bar with the vampire.
I look at him, but I don't really look at him. I just kind of glance quickly, not paying attention. I'm too pissed off. His smell, though, is pleasant and familiar. Sweet like cloves and licorice, but with a hint of harsh tobacco. So familiar. And he's handsome, like most male vampires.
"Hello," he says, and the moment I hear the low velvet music of his beautiful voice, it hits a chord within me and resonates until my whole body is vibrating with excitement, or something like that, I'm not sure. I haven't felt this way in so long. I know who this is, but it can't possibly be him. No, impossible. It's not him. Just some asshole guy who's going to either try to take my new territory or try to get in my pants.
"Hi. Nice to meet you," I smile, humoring him. I would growl, but I don't want to bring too much attention to the only two vampires in the bar. "I'm Victoria. Look, this bar is mine tonight. If you want to hunt, move the fuck along. Okay? Great."
"I'm not hunting tonight," he purrs. God, his voice is so smooth. It had been so long since I had last seen him. But it's not him. "I smelled vampire, and I tracked you down."
"How romantic. Track down all the female vampire scents you come across?"
"No. I tracked you down because I recognized your scent. Apples and jasmine. I knew it was you, Victoria."
He steps into a sliver of light, and I can see him perfectly clear now. I study the rugged contours of his face, his sharp, crimson eyes.
"James," I say. The memories are beginning to flood back now, one by one, as clear as ever. It seems like just a few days ago that I had seen him, but it had been years. It's easy to forget how time flies so quickly when your existence is just one endless experience. I hadn't thought of him or those days in quite a while. Too many painful memories I had blocked out.
"Victoria," he says and then smiles.
"One hundred years," I say, smoothly, through my teeth.
"A long one hundred years it has been," he smiles again and steps forward with his hand raised to greet me. I step backward.
"Look, I'm not really interested in going traipsing down memory lane," my voice rasps. But it was already too late. The memories had all come flowing back at light speed, quicker than even I could run from them. The former vibrating excitement at seeing him now turns to anger. Honestly, I'm fucking pissed that he's here. Why the fuck did he come find me after he left me like that one hundred years ago? Jesus Christ, I'm so angry! I want to growl and scream and rip him apart. Fuck this. I turn to walk away.
"Victoria, don't go," he calls, and I turn around to look at his pathetic face. "It's so good to see you, and you can't deny it's good to see me, too."
He's sort of adorable.
"You left me, James. Do you know how much that—" I stopped, and searched my mind for something clever to say, but I couldn't think of anything. "Do you know how much that fucking sucked?"
He stands there unfazed by what I said.
"I thought about you every single day for one hundred years, Victoria," he says. "About thirty-six thousand and five hundred days, and you plagued them all."
"I haven't thought about you at all." And it's true, for the most part. It took me only ten years to get over him. "So just… fuck off."
He looks hurt. Good. He left me, and I never truly loved him, anyway. Maybe I did, I don't know. It was so long ago now. Fucker! I hate him so much for coming back, tearing my world up into a whirlwind once again.
"Victoria, please," he purrs, and the way he says my name now makes me react in a way I hadn't expected. The venom in my body rushes to my groin. It's like my hate and anger instantly transmuted into desire, or something, at the sound of his gently pleading voice. But I'm still angry. I look at him.
"James, just go," I'm certainly not about to let him know how his voice had affected me, and I'm definitely not going to fling myself at him. But I'm sure he smelled my desire.
"Victoria," he pleads again, pain in his deep crimson eyes. I want to comfort him, to say I'm sorry for being such a bitter bitch. But I can't. I won't until he apologizes for leaving. And I'm not about to force it out of him. I soften the angry look on my face and he reaches for my hand quicker than I can retract it. He holds it up to his face and kisses the palm. He takes my pointer finger and sucks it into his mouth, swirls it with his tongue. I can only imagine what this tongue could do to other parts of my body. I desperately want to find out what it would be like. He wants me. So I'll let him have me, but he has a lot of explaining to do before I fuck him.
He pulls me into his embrace and kisses the crook of my neck.
"I'm sorry," he pleads.
I hope you enjoyed! Come discuss Victoria, James, and all your other favorite Twilight villains on the forums. Link on my profile page.