soif de sang - chapter 3
Fandom: Twilight
Characters: Edward/Bella
Rating: M, for blood, violence, etc.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
She dreamt of nothing. She dreamt of everything.
She dreamt of green and rain, of La Push. She dreamt of Forks. She dreamt of sun filtering through emerald leaves. She could almost smell the damp foliage. There was laughter. Beauty. Love.
She woke slowly, unwilling to surface from unconsciousness—she didn't know why in that hazy lull there was panic and dread in the action, so she held on a little longer.
She dreamt of Jacob. Sweet, warm Jacob and his comforting smiles.
There was food by the table in the morning: eggs and toast and pancakes in heaping amounts.
Her stomach growled and rolled, intense hunger and nausea greeting her consciousness. Dryly, she licked her lips, noting the two large glasses of water beside the carefully placed dish.
She didn't want to move from the warm hole her body had dug in the covers, didn't want to wake from her dreams.
"I wasn't sure what you preferred," said a silky voice, hidden somewhere in the corners of the room.
Bella shot up, clutching the sheet tighter.
Red eyes glinted in the sparse light, his frown directed at the floor. He stood stoically behind the armchair, which Bella noted was draped in clothes—pretty dresses and shoes. The nausea clenched tighter; she felt a surge of bile in her throat.
"I hope this is all suitable for you." His voice was monotone, mechanical, but still beautiful. "There is a washing room to your left. I do not know if you had discovered it yet." She had, of course. When she had been searching for a way out. "I did not want to wake you when I had returned. You looked very peaceful. I-"
He paused, as if something unbearable had just occurred to him. Bella brought the snug covers up to her chest, watching the crease in his forehead with interest, fighting down the acidic coughs that grated her throat.
"I waited until morning," he finally finished. "There are books to browse at your leisure," he continued in a stream as if nothing had broken his speech. "Unfortunately, there is not much else… I do own a phonograph, however, if you'd like to listen to music."
There was silence as she studied him, wide eyes unable to leave his brooding face. She didn't understand anything, not any of it—why he was trying to make her comfortable and what his motives were behind it. Why he had brought her clothes and food, why he had not interrupted her slumber, and—god help her—thought she looked peaceful, the mere comment sending a chill down her spine.
She was being cared for, watched over by a vampire.
"Please, if you desire anything else, do not hesitate to call my name," he added. "Although the house is considerably large, I will be able to hear you."
"Will you let me go?" she blurted out in a small voice. "Will you kill me?"
His lashes lifted, and she was struck full-force by the molten simmering red of his eyes, that inhumane hue that stiffened her spine.
"I will do neither," he answered.
"Please tell me," she beseeched carefully, "why you are keeping me hostage?"
He stared at her steadily for a moment, and she wanted to look away but couldn't, found that she was as trapped by his gaze as she was the room.
He walked around the chair and she brought her knees up to her chest, felt her heart speeding at his nearing proximity. He paused minutely at her reaction, expression going blank. "Why should I tell you, Bella, when you would not believe a monster like me?" He took another step closer, fingers brushing against the sheets, the ruby of his pupils spreading black. "How could I assume to have your trust after all I've done to you?"
Her breath turned shaky, his questions seeping into her. She only knew that her answer was important—so very important. "I- I don't know, I…" she stumbled. "Maybe I… maybe I would trust you"—the idea made her sick—"if only you would give me something more to go on."
"Like what?" he hissed, leering over her for a paralyzing moment. His eyes flashed and stole her breath, his straight white teeth uncovering. Suddenly he was closer, much closer than before, his sweet breath in her face. "I'm a monster, Bella," he snapped, loathingly, torturously. "You know what I am. What I can do to you. I know your thoughts. I know how much you despise me," he growled, lifting a hesitating hand to hover near her cheek.
She let out a whimpering breath, mind racing; he glanced down at his fingertips as if they had moved to touch her without permission, without consent.
"I-" she choked out, trying to piece together his words, his reactions—him. The answer was there somewhere, cusped and boiling over the edge. "No, I- no, I don't," she lied.
"Don't. Lie. To me." She recoiled at the intensity of the demand; at the smoldering of his angry gaze so close to hers.
"I promise," she sputtered. "I don't… I just don't understand."
He tore away from her, straightening. "We're back to the start," he said, the timbre of his tone calming. "You would not believe me."
Desperation seized her as he stalked to the door, and she scrambled out of the covers, nearly tripping over her feet to grab his cool wrist—stupidly, unthinkingly, without caution.
She blinked and was against the wall, only the jagged line of his jaw in her sight, a large hand cupping her neck.
"Bella," he shuddered into her ear. "Do not test me, please. That was an utterly reckless thing to do."
She swallowed, sinking further into the wall as his thumb traced her pulse. Why not just kill me, she thought, and get it over with?
He chuckled, bringing an arm up to rest above her head. He was so close, but she could not feel the flush of his exhales—he wasn't breathing.
"If I wouldn't believe you anyway," she whispered, "then what's the harm in letting me know?"
There was something alive inside of him, something waking in alert and stirring him deeply, touching some ravenous buried part. She breathed and he listened; her heart beat and he counted.
He wanted her warmth, her blood. He wanted to touch her searing skin.
It terrified him, this urge, this obsession that had been building within him all night as she slept, as he played the momentary comfort of her accidental embrace over and over for his mind's eye.
He was lonely. He was scared.
He felt her shiver next to him from fright, but it only excited the monster within him more.
He felt ill. He felt more than he had ever felt in decades.
"There is no harm," he finally answered. He wondered if she could hear the confusion in his voice, or if her ears weren't sensitive enough to pick up those minute wavers.
"Then…" Her mind was a flurry of thoughts, of a confusion that rivaled his. Her small palms lifted to press against his chest, the contact shooting right through him. She was brave and so, so unaware of his guilt over enjoying that touch. He was disgusted. "Then tell me," she requested softly, pushing harder, distraught at his nearness.
"I'm sorry." He slid back, moving fast into a far corner to escape her. The quickness was startling, but she recovered quickly. "Forgive me. I find it difficult to… control myself with you." He spoke the words to the wall, fists clenched tight.
He swallowed and she took a step forward. Blindly, he watched the thick drapes intently, his focus completely on her thoughts, on her body language, and on the tempo of her breathing.
"My blood?" she questioned.
"Yes," he sighed. And other things. Dangerous, foolish things. "It's—I've never smelled anyone so…" He trailed off, tensing when she took another step forward.
Horrible thoughts flashed through her mind and he snarled, whipping his head towards her; she flinched and fell back. "No," he answered viciously.
"What?" It's almost as if-
He turned away, expression going blank. Her realization dawned anyway in a string of frantic thoughts.
"You can read my mind," she said with wonder, with wide-eyed fear.
It makes sense. It all makes sense. He knows. He knows everything. He knows everything I've ever thought-
She inhaled deeply and stilled when he looked back to her, nothing but the thump-thump of her heart beat filling the silence. His lips parted, so many words and confessions painted on his tongue, the urge to spill them all rising.
"I would—never—keep you here to prolong the… inevitable you think of," he censored her suspicions with a distaste for them, holding back a growl. To think he would keep her here to drink her sweet blood and replenish the source… He closed his eyes, disgusted at the idea and equally tempted.
"How…?" she whispered, coming forward, close enough to grab the bedpost with shaking fingers. He knew she was asking of his ability, knew of the consuming curiosity in her mind. He simply smiled and shook his head, unwilling to see her innocent face gracing his vision, but unable to dam the pouring of her thoughts.
He looked worn—some beautiful depiction of misery made by some ancient sculptor, so still and perfect. With his eyes closed, he hardly looked alive.
Her question hung in the air, lost between them, the answer lost in his silence, in the intensity of her gaze.
For most of her life, Bella had known of creatures that killed without mercy. She knew about monsters. She'd seen blood spilled; she'd felt her own seeping from her, leaving her to certain death.
She had never doubted evil, never questioned that darkness. She had never once looked in the face of a killer and saw more than a demon.
"Edward?"
His name was a whisper, hardly an uttered sound, so soft and hesitant. She felt her cheeks flush at the sound of his name carrying on her voice, felt it like some curling of betrayal in her gut.
His eyes were dark, outlined with scarlet. She sucked in breath.
Tell me, she pleaded.
Author's Notes: I might be evil. Next chapter later this week, and this one with more explanation on Bella's background. :) YOUR REVIEWS=LOVE.