Courtesy of Kalianah:
Brand Spanking New Summary: Set in the 1930s. Fueled by guilt and self-hatred, Edward leaves Carlisle and Esme to hunt the darkest creatures of humanity: murderers, rapists, thieves, criminals. But what happens when one of their victims calls to him on a whole other level?
THANK YOU BB.
Author's Notes: MORE PLOT GUYS!! This is... nearly unbeta-ed by me, but OH WELL. Hope you guys enjoy despite a few grammatical errors. Also, you know what wrote this chapter? "Closer" by Kings of Leon. Lyrics at the end of the chapter, because I think they fit. :)
"The kitchen's through there, and the bathroom's upstairs."
He felt thirst like a plague, twisting and contorting his insides, ripping him apart.
His throat burned. Every inch of his body was aflame with her scent, reduced to a silent desperation that gnawed relentlessly at his insides.
He watched hungrily, hypnotized by her slowing heartbeat, her beautiful sweet brown eyes filling with tears as they roamed and rememorized every surface of her uncle's home.
The monster within him roared, but the man abated the demon. He felt his dead heart beat at the wave of peace that seemed to overcome her, and he needed to touch her, to feel that serenity. She turned slightly towards him, her cheeks filled with capillaries of red blood that sang for him. He needed to taste that warm blush, but instead he slipped the suitcase from her hands and placed it on the floor carefully, fingers brushing over hers, stealing her heat.
She found his eyes and fell into them, her thoughts racing and chaotic, and he tilted his head towards her and she shivered when he palmed her delicate shoulder and slid the touch down to her lower back.
Her lashes fell to her cheeks slowly, and then fluttered half open.
She was breathtaking.
"There are only two rooms. Bella, you'll take the guest room and Edward can sleep on the couch," her uncle continued derisively, and he almost chuckled at Charlie's worried and hateful thoughts, the twenty different ways he'd already thought of killing Edward.
Bella spun her head around, mouth opening in protest, granting him full view of the long column of her neck. It took all of his will not to gather her in his arms and carefully lick that line of pulse, feel her melt into him like he knew she would, and taste the blood pumping rhythmically beneath her skin.
"Charlie, he's a gue-"
"Thank you, Chief Swan," he said smoothly, tearing himself from the fantasy.
He needed to feed. Soon. He had put it off for far too long, obsessively stewing in his own self-pity and remorse, stalking her movements and thoughts in the prison that used to be her home, caring for her in his own, taking vigil over her slumber.
It'd been nearly a week.
She let out a frustrated exhale and sent a glare at her uncle, but the man's beady eyes were narrowed at him, his thoughts murderous. iHow dare he look at her like she's a piece of meat? I swear to God one more second of this and-/i
"Anything to make Bella more comfortable," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting up crookedly when her attention turned back to him.
Her lips parted in a puff of air and he breathed in the warmth, tasting her aroma on the back of his tongue.
Delicious.
It'd been much too long to be around her without a fresh meal, without any type of nourishment besides her soft lips against his.
The memory sent him reeling.
Internally shaken, Edward took a step back, finally moving his eyes to Charlie. "Excuse me," he said curtly. "I'm sure you two would like to catch up."
He turned to go, to escape before he did something unchangeable, unforgivable, but her hand caught his wrist, her thoughts immediately turning from the intensity of his stare to his intentions.
Please don't kill anyone. I could know them, Edward.
"Speak to your uncle, Bella. Go see Billy," he ordered evenly, ignoring her words and the flash of overwhelming thirst and desire coursing through him at her thoughts, her touch. "I'll be here when you get back."
Carefully he peeled her fingers from him, focusing on the instant bleach that drained her flushed cheeks, the fear that filled her at his lack of response.
He couldn't exit the house fast enough, walking too quickly through the door and sucking in clean wintry air like a dying man, disappearing into the line of forest.
The snow hardly moved underneath his feet; the cold hardly touched him.
He ran, his breath inhaling on hisses, exhaling on growls—his entire being felt sucked of life with every step he took away from her. He was drained; he was burning. Her thoughts, so gentle and soft and heartbreaking were gone from his mind, and there was nothing but silence.
Stillness and silence.
It took him a moment to realize he wasn't moving anymore, that his body had folded down, his knees dropped deep into packed snow.
Somewhere in the distance, a bird cried out.
Edward closed his eyes.
Bella.
Her name was a reprieve, a torture. She was simply everything and he was nothing.
Robotically, he let his head fall into his hands. Nothing but a disgusting monster ghosting her steps, desperate for a hint, a touch, an anything at all to savor and cherish from her mind, body and soul.
From the very beginning, her life had been in his control, this delicate little thing he cradled with careful hands, but now he understood better.
He was at her mercy.
Totally and completely her willing slave.
He fell to his hands, chest heaving with forced breaths. The hunger rattled him, consumed him—he snarled and fought it, eyes squeezing shut.
He saw Bella, white and terrified. Please don't kill anyone. I could know them, Edward.
He let out a booming sardonic laugh that echoed and the wind shifted, bringing something alive and warm to his senses.
Even if he wanted to disobey her, there was no way he could resist the promise of blood after so long…
His neck snapped up inhumanly fast; his teeth bared. A mouthful of venom overflowed onto his palette, and his vicious hiss pushed the clear thick poison onto the snow beneath him in drips and spats.
The monster in him ruled; the man fell back. The pathetic defeated stance he'd occupied became a crouch; he lifted himself onto his feet, fingers skimming the ground.
He saw the baby fawns and their mother, even at the substantial range, brown and black patches of fur split by branches and leaves. He ran around them, snapping the mother's neck before she could blink; the fawns darted in opposite directions, hormones bursting into their small delectable bodies, their blank eyes wide.
He was too fast, one-handedly crushing the younger one's spine just by catching it, and sinking his teeth into the other's neck as she kicked and fought wildly. Her blood hit his tongue and his eyes shot open at the heady taste, the slightly watery tang of deer blood.
He sucked harder, draining every last drop as the body quivered and died, and then bled the other, throwing it carelessly to the side when there was nothing left either creature could offer him.
He stood, wiping the blood from his face and fell to his knees over the mother, already coated with a fine layer of falling snow.
Her black eyes were glossy and dead, like his—just as Bella saw them. He tore into her throat and didn't stop until after he'd licked the wound clean, his tongue languishing over every drop.
"I'm in love with Jacob."
The moon was out now; twilight had come and gone. He'd slaughtered a small herd of elk under the materializing stars, their cries silenced by his crushing teeth, their life snuffed out and taken by him.
"I'm in love with your son, Billy."
He kept his face blank. He kept his anguish bottled up and let it transform into boiling anger, into possessiveness and darkness. He let it because it was easier then facing the truth of her frantic pleading.
He'd arrived just in time for this.
The sand was coarse beneath his fingertips, more beads than powder. The sound of the rolling waves soothed the beast inside of him, but only to the point of inaction.
He listened.
"I know you know what happened that night. Billy, please. Billy, where did he go?"
There was silence. The old man's thoughts were weak, as if the volume were turned down. Edward concentrated, trying to find the string of his unfamiliar mind, to pin it down.
He was thinking about his son. About pride and death and glory. About the poor crying girl in front of him, so innocent and naïve, so resistant of her true place away from Jacob and the tribe, away from people and creatures she had no right to associate with.
Edward's upper lip curled back.
"He's hunting the rest of them. Leah and Seth followed him, as they should have. That's all I know and that's all I care to tell you."
His voice was strong and sure, devoid of the worry he felt for his boy. He was telling the truth.
Bella felt like her heart was breaking all over again. Edward reached for his cheek to feel the nonexistent tears that were cascading down her face. "I wish—I wish you could know what we have. I know you never approved. I know because he never…" She swallowed thickly. "…imprinted I wasn't welcome. But I love him. I love him and I need to find him, with or without your help."
His beliefs were carved in stone, his sympathy stilted and twisted by them. "He's doing what he was born to do. He's avenging the tribe's loss."
"Please…" she begged.
"I think it's time for you to go."
Edward heard her sobs; he ached with her pain.
Her fragile feet stumbled from the house, her eyes blinded by tears.
He was in love with her.
Wretchedly, irrevocably. His whole being hummed in tune to hers. He was drunk with her even from the cursed distance that separated them, even as she cried over the dog that held her heart.
He moved.
Her face was stained with snot and tears; she'd hardly made it down the walkway of the house—old and paint-chipped, dark and desolate. Her cheeks shone with evidence of sorrow in the silvery light, and her little cries seemed to grab hold of him and tug.
One hand reached to cover her mouth, to stifle her agony, and her other arm hugged her waist tight.
He gathered her in his arms, tightening his hold when she stiffened in surprise and began to lurch away.
She was so warm and a moment later her mind poured into his with relief and she leaned against him—so small and perfectly aligned with his chilled rigid frame. "Edward…" she rasped out, and he closed his eyes as she scratched his neck in desperation, as she tried to wrap her arms around him and find comfort.
Her lips pressed against his dead pulse, her flowing tears wetting his skin.
He shuddered, the action so human it repulsed him, and grabbed fistfuls of the dress hanging from her frame.
"I don't want to be here anymore," she gasped out, her thoughts despaired, her hope crushed.
Words scorched in his throat—confessions and whispers of solace, but he held them back, his arm pulling her tighter against him and restricting her wispy breath.
She contoured to him, plush and pliant and trusting.
He snaked his hand into the mess of her hair and cradled her head, resting his lips at her cheek. And he breathed in, poison rushing into his mouth, taunting and tempting him.
She nestled closer, body arching into him and his control wavered. "Edward," she choked, pleading, upset.
He lifted her feet from the ground and ran. He ran until her sobs quieted and her tears stopped, her legs tangled around his. He ran until she lifted her head from his shoulder and her mouth touched his ear, her fingers weaving into his hair. He ran until her thoughts told him to stop and he did.
Her small feet reached for the ground and her body shivered in the whipping unforgiving wind.
She looked up to him, her pupils wide and her lips white with cold.
He wanted to warm her.
She looked around the small, snow-covered meadow and her knees gave out, her mind blank.
He grabbed her arms and fell to his knees with her, pulling her into his lap.
"Edward," her teeth clashed and he shushed her, rubbing her arms. She turned into his embrace and the hush of the forest filled his mind.
He might not be alive.
Even her thoughts were devoid of emotion, shocked of pain and anguish.
They killed the rest of the pack. They could have killed him too. He could be ripped to pieces… like Sam and Quil and Embry. He could be… gone.
"You don't know that," he murmured to her, hating himself for her, hating himself that he wished it were true. That he wished Jacob was dead and she could be his, that it could be so easy.
He could be gone.
Her heart barricaded itself, pushed out her faith and hope, pushed out the vitality of her wishes.
She grieved, because the fear told her so, because if she grieved now it would be easier if he were really truly gone from this world.
"That doesn't mean it is."
The heels of her hands pushed away from him; her head lolled back. Her exhales were clouded and slow; her fingers reached to touch the planes and ridges of his features.
"Your eyes…" Her voice cracked, her throat scratched by cries and heaves and heartache. Awe filled her, the chestnut irises gazing up at him like those of a doe, moments from her death. "They're… gold."
He took her hand, kneading the bluing pads of his fingers to generate warmth, unable to look away from her wonder. "Yes."
"How…?"
"I need to get you home before you freeze, Bella," he said.
Her body folded, her hands escaped to hold his jaw, her lips stopping inches from his. He looked down to them, those pillows of supple flesh. Her fingertips clutched tighter at him, her misted breath kissing his ready mouth.
Her thoughts were chaotic and unreadable, her desires inscrutable. She was on some precipice, numb with cold and the hell she'd found in answers and more questions.
Nothing had ever scared him more, had ever brought forth the man in him more than the half-dead look in her alluring eyes.
He crushed her to him slowly, savoring the feel of her cooling body heat and the sound of her rapid heartbeat. She was almost as cold as he was, no longer warming his dead corpse.
But her lips were hungry, and they pushed against his with a fever that erupted in his chest, a new wave of her tears slickening his face.
She was gone; her thoughts were dulling into his name, over and over again like a mantra that drove all else out. She wrapped herself around him, desperately, needy, tearing ineffectually at his skin, his hair, fisting his collar and tearing the cloth.
She opened her mouth; her hot tongue darted out and a groan left him, her teeth biting at his bottom lip, demanding entrance.
He left bruises with his hands, gripping her with unnatural strength. His mouth watered with poison; the monster inside snarled for her sweet death.
Edward. Make it go away. Make it go away.
He fell back at her violent insistence, her body spreading over his, waves of her silky hair falling around their kiss.
She whimpered as he responded, his hands cupping her head, arching his neck up.
Her tears fell into the apex of his eyes, their salt bitter. He held her still, her gentle shuddering sobs muffled as he tasted her lips, pushed for entrance and ran his tongue against the edges of her teeth.
He felt the urge to take her, to have her in every obscene way possible, to render her powerless in his grasp.
Her tongue felt for his and he growled, yanking her back, her eyes full of terror and desire and a broken soul.
Her fingers grabbed for him, welcoming the danger, and he pushed her away, placing yards between them in the blink of an eye.
"No." His rejection echoed against the trees.
A sound left her, a jarring sob that took her breath. "I'm sorry," she trembled, gripping handfuls of snow.
He watched from behind the line of trees, sucking in clear air, his inhuman snarls loud and piercing.
Her mind muted; her cries evened and she stood, eyes scanning for him helplessly. "Edward?" she breathed, and he struggled to calm the beast inside of him, to stifle the animal.
He stepped forward, into the light, hunched over defensively.
The dusty snow packed as she dragged herself to him foolishly, her feet on uneven ground, her senses useless in her tired state. He shot forward and scooped her up before she could collapse, her surprise hardly registering, her grip only tightening, her body only curling around his as he ran.
She was already asleep by the time he returned to La Push and the waiting car, bundled in his arms.
She dreamt of the attack.
Her memories were vivid, rolling beneath her eyelids. Edward watched. He hovered in the shadows of her room, monitoring Charlie's heavy snores and watched her nightmare play out, as it had countless times before.
It was dark in her dreams. The night was cool, she remembered. She running, running to Jacob. Her feet were caked with mud, her shoes worn through. La Push was a further trip then she suspected, and the muscles in her legs burned.
Her father had found out; he'd found out about their hidden love from a vengeful, disapproving elder—Harry Clearwater—and reacted violently, shutting her up in her room, cursing her for her sins and condemning her attachment to savages. Frightened, terrified to lose Jacob forever, she'd left through the window and ran.
She kept running, until it happened.
Until the entourage fell down upon her, their pale faces and red eyes paralyzing her. She remembered spilled blood and pain. They'd played with her before deciding to feast, and that's when it happened.
When the wolves came, and she'd watched them die, one by one, trying to protect her.
As Jacob tried to protect her.
Edward watched, lids falling as her hot breath expelled from her lungs with muttered words—his name, over and over again, as if he had been there, as if he could have saved her as her saviors fell.
She remembered the sickly sweet scent of the vampires and their gleaming teeth, their screams as the battle raged on before her, as they were torn apart, piece by piece.
As the smaller one snapped and ripped Sam's head off his body in shreds and ran, as she escaped, Leah and Seth at her heels.
The dream turned, morphed into fiction, Jacob's dark skin sliding against hers, his smiling mouth filled with blood, his eyes rolled back, white and dead.
Bella twisted, his name becoming a frenzied choked cry.
Edward stepped closer, the scant light from the window bathing his features.
He knew the smaller one from her nightmares, that delicate pretty face and cruel smile. Even through the blur of human memory, he'd known instantly, unmistakably.
Jane.
"Closer" by Kings of Leon
Stranded in this spooky town
Stoplights are swaying and the phone lines are down
This floor is crackling cold
She took my heart, I think she took my soul
With the moon I run
Far from the carnage of the fiery sun
Driven by the strangled vein
Showing no mercy, I do it again
Open up your eye
You keep on crying, baby
I'll bleed you dry
The skies are blinking at me
I see a storm bubbling up from the sea
And it's coming closer
And it's coming closer
You, shimmy shook my bone
Leaving me stranded all in love on my own
What do you think of me?
Where am I now? Baby, where do I sleep?
Feel so good but I'm old,
2,000 years of chasing taking its toll
And it's coming closer