soif de sang - chapter 5
Fandom: Twilight
Characters: Edward/Bella
Rating: M, for blood, violence, etc.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Author's Notes: This fic is AU with vamps and werewolves.
Dedication: TO DEA. SERIOUSLY. EVERY WORD OF THIS FIC IS DEDICATED TO YOU.
Also, to every song on the Underworld soundtracks, both the originals and music from the motion pictures. "Judith (Renholder Remix)" by A Perfect Circle is the only reason I got through part of this chapter. Oh, and also the Watchmen remix of "The Beginning is the End is the Beginning" by The Smashing Pumpkins.
She saw him everywhere: in the darkness of her nightmares, the shadows of her ceiling, a wisp of illusion as thin as air.
She felt him in the quiet, in the freezing wind whipping through her, the thick black night outside of her window.
He was everywhere and he was nowhere, some unseen ghost teasing the edges of her vision, baiting her senses.
He hovered in her mind like an affliction, a silent disease she couldn't cure herself of: all pale marble skin and ruby eyes, stone white teeth behind smooth tipped lips. Even the thought of his name sent shudders down her spine, imposed a sixth sense of eyes following every move and every flinch.
She felt it now, looking out on the bustling city, fingers lightly resting on the edge of a book.
Her breath came in short, shuddering gasps between dry lips. The sun was setting, casting the white clouds in a brilliant blue behind towering buildings.
She heard the timber of his voice, fuzzy from her memories. When her eyelids slipped closed she felt the chill of his breath on the back of her neck.
A creak disturbed her—a slow whine of old rusted metal. Her heart seized and she spun around, clutching the thick volume to her chest as if the old pages and torn cover could protect her, save her.
A black shoe, weathered and old, tipped the door in—beady eyes and a stern face with etched angles and lips that turned up into a false smile; a grimace.
"Come, Bella," her father demanded. "Do not dally by the window." He said the last word with a sneering contempt, a special emphasis that was not lost on her. Her own window in the next room was barred, and now her door locked from the outside.
The irony was not lost on her—she'd escaped one prison to occupy the next.
The thought stirred her; something forceful and wronged rose up in her and choked her with its vicious passion, its flare for vengeance.
"Do not look on me with that eye, child." The words were drawled and pointed, and her father, stately and garnished in black robes, stepped aside for her to pass out the doorway. "There's a demon in there you must learn to smother," he warned, "or else."
Her teeth clenched, ground so hard they might chip. Something red entered her vision, something angry and stubborn; she longed to lash out, to claw the skin from his weathered face with sharp nails. She longed to scream and curse god and his good book and everything in this cage masquerading as a home.
She longed to escape now more than ever. To forsake her father and his rules, to return to Forks to find—Jacob.
His name soothed her, but did not calm her anger. She clutched the book tighter and walked forward to pass her father as he ordered, avoiding his eye with a blinding anger that shook her very core.
He'd taken her happiness, and now he'd taken her freedom too. Her freedom, which she had so soon only re-won, was now up for an impossible ransom—for she would never be devoted to a scornful and merciless god and she would never rein in whatever demon her father foolishly thought was in her.
Her father didn't know what a true demon was.
Wordlessly she entered her room—her small Spartan room, painted in a dull chipping white. She didn't turn as the door slammed and locked behind her, only flinched at the small click, at that small yet so consequential sound that signified the invisible shackles around her wrists.
She stared out into the setting sun for a moment—eyes wide and only seeing the lonely desolate path of her life stretched out before her, if she were to sit idle, if she were to concede.
And then she gazed down to the small thing in her hands, palms sweaty and fingers moistly gripping the worn orange binding.
Dracula, a first edition.
She fell asleep to the trumpets of rain—heavy and drowning. The last thing she saw was the mysterious book resting on her little table, the last thought of crimson eyes and a frightful smile.
She woke to a sound—something small, enough to rouse her from a light sleep and a suffocating dream of twisting dark corridors and echoing disembodied laughter, both cruel and maniacal.
The window's glass magnified the rivulets of rain pouring down its surface, its bars casted parallel shadows on the floor, superimposed on the soft rotting floorboards.
She rose slowly, and reached for the light, but froze—the book was gone; occupying the space where she left it was air.
"Don't be afraid," said a voice, and her neck snapped towards the source.
There he stood: the phantom of her nightmares, silhouetted in black, ruby pupils shining in the natural light of the moon. His milky pale skin blended into the stark white of her walls, and one of his hands held the book; it was hanging by his side. His reddish head of hair rested back, as if appraising her.
He filled her with fear, yes, but not enough to numb her with paralysis, not enough to stir her into movement. She was afraid; her heart sped up, her fingers shook, she wondered if he now sought her blood, yet she was torn by her instincts and by his words, the glimpse of something more than just a monster in his eyes.
Her nightmare was real, and yet the illusions she had dreamt shook and excited her more than the reality, the actual flesh.
"I'm not afraid," she lied, even though she knew he could tell the truth. He agitated her—his level stare, his practiced countenance of casualty, his false ignorance of her thoughts.
She'd fallen asleep wondering what game he was now playing, what game he could now possibly play, leaving a keepsake in her home—for her to find?—and now appearing in some dark corner of her room at night.
If he wanted to kill her, she rationalized; he would have done so already.
His expression changed, deepened into something dark and menacing. She saw the flash of his eye and tensed at his step forward. "What do you want?" She strung out, gathering the sheets closer to her chest.
He came to himself; his expression cleared. He looked troubled suddenly, his brow furrowing inward. "Bella." Her name on his lips shuddered her spine, smooth and deep, the simple word traveling on just an exhale of air. There was something possessive in his tone, something yearning that caused her grip to tighten and her body to curl in on itself. He careened closer, hulking forward, his lips parting and the dark ruby of his eyes spreading black.
Thunder rolled in the distance, but neither the previous flash nor the cracking boom deterred her gaze from his. Her eyes widened, the terror she had been lacking came forth tenfold.
He was beautiful; he was dangerous, standing half way to her bed, raven eyes clutching hers, the light in them part wild and part arresting.
"Bella," he said again, his voice broken. "I'm sorry, I…" He turned away, quickly—he was gone into the corner again, and facing the wall.
Her heavy breath filled the room with a soundtrack of panic and relief; she blinked and slid her feet to the floor a moment later, trembling hands reaching for water. It sloshed in her grasp but she succeeded in wetting her lips, her throat, clearing the passage of fear.
"I can control myself," he hissed.
"Why are you here?" she demanded, pinning his back with a stare. Her eyes filled to the brim; emotion choked her. She felt the beginnings of hysteria raising, buried in the depths of her silence and forced obedience. She was done feeling caged, browbeaten, pushed back. "What do you want from me?" The questions grated her throat, torn from the pain within her chest.
"I couldn't stay away." His voice was thick; the words trembled, the ethereal smoothness of usually enchanting octaves disrupted by some emotion frighteningly human. They floored her—scared her, chilled her. "I had to… hover. I had to know you wouldn't seek out the wolves," he continued, he clarified, his voice turning to stone. "And you didn't. But your father… the windows, the doors. Caging you like some animal… Like I…" He paused, bowing his head in shame. "I wasn't trying to scare you. It wasn't my intention to leave the book here. Forgive me, Bella, if only you could understand… You are the first person I've spoken to in years. The first human in decades." The words were lost, deprived, troubled—grave and pained. "I don't know how to… I have no right. I know this. Hate me if you want, Bella. Fear me—you should. I want nothing but your—your trust."
It was quiet save her one disbelieving whimper—her thoughts screaming and lashing, the strong line of his shoulders hunching further with each vicious declaration, each curse and hope of ill will that crossed her mind, laced with the delirium of her distress, of the sudden freedom of her spirit.
I will never trust you.
She vowed it, she swore it and her gut lurched; she held her feet glued to the floor as she remembered his struggles, his soft and true denial—"You don't want to be a monster?"—"No."
The silly unbridled part of her rose up and fought against her vehement response, however hushed the promise was—but she couldn't take it back, couldn't deny it in anything but a dismissive whisper.
His fingers curled into his palm; pale long things pressed against the wall for stability. She watched the slow hypnotizing movement, the way his skin stretched over bone and his knuckles jutted out.
"You know my answer." Inside she seethed; she felt his presence turn something sick inside of her. Instinctively she held her stomach beneath her thin nightdress to keep herself together, the cotton soft, flimsy, fitting into her fist.
"I make a point to take the thoughts of others with a grain of salt. What they think is not always what they say," he whispered.
"That is not a problem you will have with me," she said through clenched teeth, shaking as she placed her glass down, eyes unable to leave his too-still figure. "How did you—how did you even get in here?"
"The window," he replied quietly. "I'm—Bella…" It was there again—that soft coveting tone that sent shivers up and down her spine and shook her, that threatened to soothe her under false pretenses, snaring like trap.
He was gone from the corner—she gasped in a puff of cool air and his sweet scent; he was closer now, near the edge of her bed, his jaw tense and his chest unmoving under the labor of breath.
"The window?" she questioned, flicking her gaze to the straight iron bars.
"Bella, I can take you from here," he whispered. "If you'll trust me and even if you don't."
She stumbled back, crashing against her end table; the glass of water teetered and she scrambled to catch it, but his hand was there first. Liquid splashed and soaked into the boards, but she could only see the strong slope of his jaw, his black eyes rimmed with red and anticipation.
"Come with me," he pleaded, setting the glass down. A flash of lightning cracked through the sky, illuminating the shadows of his face for an instant, and in that instant she saw freedom—true freedom—past the bars of her prison, both figurative and literal. She saw the sun. She saw Jacob.
But the following rumble of thunder broke her from her trance, and back were the shadows, and back was her horror of the creature in front of her, of the danger he brought with him, of the terror he had wrought and of the mistrust she had in everything he was.
"I don't trust you," she said, she trembled, holding the ridge of wood behind her for support.
"I know." His voice was anguished, his eyes narrowed, his vision narrowing on her and only her and she saw the man in him and not the monster and she didn't want to believe in something pure in something so evil. "I want to help you. I want to give you a reason to trust me, Bella."
"Why is it so important to you? So I protect your family?" she asked under her breath, feeling faint with his words, his proximity. He leaned forward and reached for her, but she recoiled with disgust and he froze.
"Yes," he said, voice viscid with lies and half-truths.
"I shouldn't." She was wavering and she knew he could tell from her thoughts, her wandering thoughts of cool rain against her skin and the image of Jacob's bright smile in her mind—fuzzy with the passing of time, slipping away too quickly.
"Come with me," he said, and when he reached for her again, hesitantly moving his hand along the edge of her table towards her white-knuckled fist, she did nothing but look deep into the depths of his eyes, wide and full of a dark enchantment that threatened to break her.
"Why can't you just let me go, Edward?" she said, so low that only he could hear—her voice nothing but a breath between. "Open the window and let me go?"
The tips of cold digits fluttered over hers and he exhaled heavily, breathing in only to pause abruptly, inclining slightly forward, eyes flashing half-mad with her scent before clearing. "I need to watch over you. Secure my family's safety," he answered matter-of-factly.
"No, that's not all." She shuddered and shook her head.
"Bella…" That tone, that longing caught her throat, his eyes clouding with something dark yet again—deeper and as stormy as the angry sky, something like thirst but not quite, some stirring inside of him she now recognized. "You silly stupid girl," he muttered, and she knew it then—she knew that if nothing, that the danger she was in was something she could never escape.
Not for an eternity, not for anything.
"Take me with you." The words left her before she could fully formulate what she was doing, before she could see the consequences of her actions.
Freedom was closer than she could ignore, even if offered by the devil himself. She'd readily leave this locked room at any cost, and he knew it—of course he did. He knew her mind, her thoughts, and her desires. He knew of her plans.
His hand, cold and strong, pressed against hers and she turned it into his. The action, her warmth, something encouraged him to bend even closer to her upturned defiant expression, fingers weaving into hers and clamping down in an unbreakable link.
Her skin crawled, but her jaw set.
She was cold, wet, tired and hungry.
The sky was lighting, the storm was passing with stubborn slowness as the sun rose and fought to beat it back.
He had the presence of mind to lead her to a different room than before, chilled hands accepting her soaked coat with ease, black eyes roaming her damp face. She felt sick with the fast journey she'd suffered, clinging to his shirt as the city flashed by in a literal blink or two of an eye—her rundown home and familiar streets reduced to nothing but an inconsequential blur.
He dropped her bag with a wet slap and a thud on the floor. He moved quickly, shutting the drapes and then disappearing into an adjoining bathroom, out of the room and then back.
Nauseous, she sat down on the bed and suddenly he was in front of her again, towering over her with a plate of food she took and sat on her lap.
She shivered and clutched at the towel he draped around her, resisting the urge to shrink back as he rested next to her.
"I don't want to stay here, Edward." Her teeth chattered.
"Just for the day," he promised, and smoothed her matted hair back, the human-like touch sending an icy slide down her spine.
She let it; she let him, because she had no other choice, because it was comfort, however wretched it made her feel to take solace in it. She blinked and tears lingered with the rain dying on her face—tears for Jacob, for her father, for herself, for the man, the monster next to her. She felt lost, abandoned—for the first time she let herself feel it, all of it. Every last goodbye and every smothering of her voice, every dark empty spot left in her soul.
"I'm a monster, Bella," he whispered, explained gently. She nodded, lips pressing together with the effort to keep it all inside, all of her confusion and all of her pain and loneliness. "Bella," and his cool hand lingered at the nape of her neck, fingers curling into wet locks and back again, over and over until a small whimper left her, a muffled sob escaped. "I'm not just a monster." He shuddered angrily with the words, hissing them through his teeth—and then he grew softer and touched the tears running down her cheeks; she saw the wide pupils of his eyes dilate into abysses and her inhale hitched on another cry. "You've shown me that."
"Edward, I can't." The protest wobbled, turned, heaved with her tears. "I can't be this for you. I'm not. I'm not anyone special, anyone-" Her bitterness consumed her, and she couldn't help but let his chest lean into her shoulder, his careful hand take her food from her lap and place his palm over hers.
Her breath shuddered for a different reason entirely—she felt his body, cold as ice, felt his sighs against her neck like she had imagined, again and again, but she wasn't afraid in that moment, and that scared her more than anything.
"You're safe here." He was calm, his voice sure. "You're not alone with me."
"I can't stay here." Her tears were waning, but her chest was heaving; she felt panic taking over her racing heart, her quickened breaths. She dug her nails into the back of his hand, but he couldn't feel her desperation and he didn't pull back and she didn't want him to.
"I'm not keeping you here." He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and kneaded softly, his thumb rubbing circles at her pulse.
"I need to find Jacob," she blurted out, she reaffirmed. He was silent and so was she for a long testing moment—for an eternity of a few mere seconds.
"I know," he finally conceded, and tilted his head, but she wouldn't let him look into her eyes at the emotions there that betrayed her, even though her thoughts were proof enough. "If you're not afraid of me, Bella, why is your heart racing?"
"Why do you ask questions you know the answer to?" she snapped, finding the strength to face him. He was close—very—only inches separated his grave expression, his marble lips and inky eyes from hers.
It was the last thing she was expecting—a careful crooked upturning of lips and an amusement that mocked her annoyance. "To be polite. To give you the chance to let me acknowledge your private thoughts."
Her gaze settled on his smile and then darted away; her heart pounded against her chest even as her lungs calmed. My thoughts aren't private with you, she reflected pointedly.
He made a sound, almost like a laugh and almost like a scoff.
"You put on such a hard front, Bella." He sighed and rose, untangling himself to only look down at her, his smirk lingering. "But I do know your thoughts, whether you share them or not."
"Why did you leave the book?" she asked, glancing up at him beneath lowered lashes.
The turn of his lips softened. "I didn't leave it on purpose, Bella—you entered the room so quickly, and your father…" He sighed. "I was intending on it being a gift."
Her eyebrows rose, the incredulity of his intentions addressed by sarcastic thoughts. Were you trying to soften me up by giving me a book about an evil vampire who keeps someone locked in his castle?
He looked away, smiling in self-deprecation to the floor. "No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be," he quoted, and it left her staring at the door long after he'd exited through it.
It was never quiet.
He rubbed his face into the soft ground, ears twitching to the sounds of buzzing insects and singing birds, the howling of wolves far in the distance.
Huffing and agitated, he nuzzled further down, desperate for the solace of silence he sought—desperate for a wink of sleep. The beast in him growled and he threw a paw over the protuberance of his jaw to cover his eyes—as if it could help.
A whisper sounded, nudging the edge of his unconsciousness—his name, sharp and panicked.
Jacob.
It happened in an instant: the atmosphere shifted, the paw covering his face was suddenly a hand and a cool breeze flushed his hot bare skin.
Grunting, he stood, lithe muscles moving and bending against the silvery light of the moon. A soft growl escaped him; he grabbed the small bag tied to his leg and pulled out weathered and torn pants—he'd lost his shoes weeks ago.
Quickly, he pulled them on, tying the knot tight, sensitive ears perked for anything suspicious, anything at all besides the natural world teeming around him. He sniffed the air, tangy with rain and pine.
There.
He stood up straight, rigid—the soft pads of paws in the distance. They were coming for him.
He ran. Hard and fast, leaping with sure strides and pushing his limits. His skin crawled, his body convulsed under the urge to turn, to rip open into an animal—to go faster, to escape. The forest flew by, the moon the only constant in his vision.
They were clearer, nearer, closer—he heard their growls, the rabid barks on his heels. He pushed forward even further, desperate, the sinew beneath his skin screaming with effort.
He felt it, moving along his skin, that primal ripple promising instant relief. It was slowing him down, dragging him under. His jaw clenched against the lengthening of canines, the jagged tips biting down on his gums and drawing blood.
The trees rustled around him, their sharp branches slicing his quickly healing skin as he passed, leaving behind a trail.
They were gaining, mere hundreds of yards behind him—and he couldn't fight it, not when all was so close to being lost—fur erupted, his clothes tore, he let out a roar as the world changed, his vision shifted, his mind merged.
Jacob!
His paws hit the ground; the pain disappeared. He shot into the depths of the trees with a renewed vigor.
Leave, he growled.
Melodramatic as always, Leah scoffed.
Awe. C'mon, Jake, stop running from us.
Leave, Seth. He stressed the order, knowing it would have no affect over him and cursing the fact, for the moment. Both of you, or else.
Ooo, scary, Leah mocked. I don't know about you, Seth, but I'm afraid of the big bad wolf.
Leah's careless sarcasm and Seth's innocent hopes raised his hackles—he cleared a steep cliff in one bound, escaping the thick foliage of trees and landed squarely on his feet, turning to bare the white knives of his teeth.
Leah and Seth hovered at the edge of the cliff, both treading on the edge. Seth whimpered and howled and Leah stared straight into the black of his changed eyes, not intimidated.
He snarled, pressing close to the ground, his rage escalating—at them, at himself for being found, for allowing them into his head, into his mind, where no one but he belonged.
You wouldn't, Leah sneered, but she wasn't so sure.
We're family, Jake.
Don't test me. Turn around and go.
Foolishly, Seth jumped, landing mere feet away—Jacob lunged, snapping his jaw in warning, and Seth fell back, claws scraping rock.
A light coat of fur crashed between them, landing spryly, a vicious bark pushing him away. Cautiously, he circled Leah's growling form, her canines gleaming, the furrows of her face wrinkled and pulled back in warning.
Don't you dare touch him, Jacob, she snapped.
So now you're protective, he retorted heartlessly, glancing quickly at Seth.
The younger wolf advanced slowly, his hair standing up on instinct, but his thoughts hurt. Why'd you attack me, you idiot! We're trying to help you!
Not that you deserve it, Leah added.
I don't need any help, he denied vehemently.
You're not going to get very far without pants, though, she teased maliciously, knowingly.
He gnashed his teeth and moved as if to pounce, but simply hung there as Leah's ears pulled back with the force of her growl.
Can't we all just get along? Seth's head bowed and he licked a closing scrape on his paw absentmindedly. This is the last of us, he thought forlornly, howling, high-pitched and mourning, the sound piercing and pointed towards the moon. We're all we've got left.
His grief echoed, went through Jacob with the force of his own, stirring guilt. I have to do this myself.
You're not the only one who lost them, Leah said with disgust.
The anger returned full force; wildly he lunged and Leah recoiled before pouncing—they clashed deafeningly, Seth yelping as Leah's teeth impaled his shoulder and his heavier weight crushed her beneath him.
So we're just going to kill each other now instead!
Seth's words rang thought his mind and Leah pushed him off, limping slightly as she retreated. No, Leah replied.
Jacob stumbled and futilely tried to lick his seeping shoulder, to taste the torn skin beneath with wet fur, now darker with blood. He whimpered.
Oh, did I hurt you? Leah remarked liltingly, and his lips curled back.
I hurt you too.
That's all we're doing, Seth cut in, uncharacteristically angry, his patience running thinner.
You're not, you know. We lost them too. The comment was acidic, bitter, filled with a hidden meaning—she might as well have said she lost Sam, too.
And it was my fault, he thought it, couldn't censor it—not with the link so strong, not with them so near. It's my responsibility to clean this up.
It's all of ours, Seth growled.
Leah stepped forward, letting out a soft bark of agreement. It's a suicide mission alone and you know it. Now stop acting like a child and lead us.
I'll follow you, Seth stepped forward.
Rather you than him, Leah joked dryly, and Seth yapped at his sister in retaliation.
Jacob knew why neither of them had taken the mantle—knew neither wanted the responsibility, knew they both feared it and wanted him to take it—wanted him to fulfill his true role as Alpha.
And wanted him to take it willingly, so as not to lose him.
He snapped his teeth, he growled, but he knew it—he knew it deep down, that there was no way he would survive, and he knew a part of him didn't want to. He knew that they were right, that he only wanted to be alone at the end—his end.
Bella's still out there somewhere, Leah said knowingly, hearing his pained mind. Do you really want to leave her?
He snarled, but it ended on a whimper, his heart lurched; he knew the answer—no.
You know what to do.
Thank you for all the reviews to last chapter!! I haven't had a chance to reply to them yet, but I will! I know this update took awhile, but I had finals and then the holidays, and well... you know how that goes. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint! It took me awhile to get in the groove for it.