Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of its characters. Everything Twilight belongs to Ms. Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Thank you for appreciating my Darkward. I have the constructive criticsm in and tried to make my writing style more flowing. Oh yeah, btw, more stalkward in store there.
Isabella was sitting at her dressing table, combing her hair, when she heard a knock on her door. She got up and opened the door to see a smiling Angela. She immediately wrapped her arms around Isabella and gave her a warm hug.
"Isabella! I'm so glad to see that you're fine. We were concerned for you yesterday morning when your uncle came looking for you. Thank god you came back safely!" she exclaimed excitedly.
"Yes, I think I was very lucky." Isabella held her hand and brought her into her room.
They chatted for a few minutes until it was time for breakfast.
"You know, Angela, I never expected for you to come here so early in the morning. But, I would like to add that it made me monstrously happy."
"I got up early in the morning just so that I could come over here. I harassed my father until he gave in and brought me here to see you," replied Angela, smiling gleefully.
"I feel bad for Mr. Webber," quipped Isabella, and both of them laughed out loud.
"It's so good to hear angels laughing in the morning. It should be a lucky day for me." Charles waved at them as he entered the dining room and headed for the table.
They sat down and quietly started with their breakfast. Charles was in a hurry, as he had to leave for work. He ate in haste while the girls giggled.
"Yes, yes I know. I'm such a laughing stock these days. Perils of being a busy man," Charles mocked playfully.
"I'm sorry, Uncle, but you looked rather humorous, gobbling away at the food." Isabella let out a sheepish giggle.
Charles laughed affectionately at his niece. After the death of her parents, it was the first time that he had seen her in such high spirits, and it pleased him to no end.
"I shall take my leave now, ladies. Angela, will someone be coming to take you back home? Or shall I…?" he asked.
"Oh no, Mr. Swan. I'm staying with Issy for the remainder of the day. My parents will come to pick me up in the evening," she replied.
Isabella helped her uncle with his coat and gave him his hat. She accompanied him to the door to wish him goodbye, as she did everyday.
"Uncle, it completely slipped my mind… the carriage…I mean, how are you going to commute today?" Isabella was suddenly worried. If the carriage is not recovered, then we'll have to buy a new one, which would cost a lot. We cannot afford that…
"Don't worry, Issy. Mr. Webber gave me one of his spare carriages. He told me that I could use it until we found our carriage or bought a new one." Charles gave her a tight smile and headed out of the house.
Isabella looked on as the carriage took off, leaving a cloud of dust behind it.
Isabella and Angela spent the rest of the morning in Isabella's bedroom, chatting and having a merry time together. Isabella showed Angela her book collection, which wasn't big, but was very dear to Isabella. Her love of books was shared by Angela, who promised to share her books as well.
Moving on, Angela peeked inside her closet, trying a few pieces of jewellery from her mother's jewellery box.
"These are really pretty. You have good taste, Issy." She looked in the mirror, admiring a pendant.
"That's my mother's." Isabella's eyes moistened as she looked at it. The memories of her parents permeated her thoughts and a tear trickled down her cheek.
"I'm sorry, Issy…I didn't mean to…please don't cry." Angela's lips quivered as she saw her friend's grief. She hugged Isabella tightly and wiped the tears off her face.
They didn't discuss the matter again.
At noon, Isabella was busy, making lunch for herself and her friend. Angela was doing her bit in helping Isabella.
"You shall be my tutor, Issy. I'm not very good at cooking up a scrumptious meal. You, on the other hand, are a fine cook." Angela hovered over her.
Isabella grinned at her and nodded. "It will be my pleasure, Angela."
They were almost through with the cooking, when they heard a loud knock at the main door. It sounded impatient, as though the person standing outside was in a hurry.
Isabella rushed to the door and opened it in haste. The smiling face of Edward Masen greeted her.
"Greetings, Miss Swan." He tried to sound friendly, but it came out sounding a little strained. Edward was trying to control his thirst.
"Mr. Masen…nice to see you…again. I'm afraid my uncle is not at home. Can I be of any help to you?" She tried to keep herself from stuttering. His intimidating presence always made her uncomfortable.
"Or perhaps, I came to see you? How have you been doing, Miss Swan? I hope your condition has improved. You do look better." Venom pooled in his mouth at the last sentence.
She blushed at his comment and gestured for him to come inside. He tried to avoid staring at her. Her blush was provoking his vampire tendencies, making him extremely thirsty.
"Yes, I do feel better. In fact, I'm perfectly fine now. Thank you for asking." She wondered if he had come all the way just to check on her.
"By the way, I checked on your carriage. It seems like the horses got loose, and thus bolted. Your carriage was found in a dilapidated condition near the main pathway." He saw her face losing its colour at this news.
"Oh…I see." Her head hung low as she tried to come to terms with the bad news.
It is much better when she becomes pale. He chuckled wryly as he observed her pale face.
She heard him chuckling, and it bothered her to see that he would chuckle at someone's plight. She raised her eyes to his face, looking a little embittered by his insensitivity.
He studied the change in her expression curiously. Once again, her silent mind proved to be a hindrance.
"But…do not worry. I have brought you a new one…" His lips turned up in a crooked smile.
Isabella stared him, wide eyed. She wasn't sure if she heard him correctly.
He motioned for her to follow him as he stepped outside.
Isabella was stunned to see a brand new horse car standing outside her house. It was bigger than her uncle's and looked quite luxurious. Her head whirled between the carriage and the man who brought it, Edward Masen. She couldn't believe what she saw. Then, turning towards him, she looked at him questioningly.
"You don't believe me?" He was getting better at reading her expressions, just slightly.
"Yes, I mean—no, uhh…Mr. Masen, I don't understand." She wasn't ready to believe that he would give something that extravagant to anyone.
"Why? Is it so hard to understand?" he cocked his head to one side, his expression neutral. "Your uncle works for me. I have known him for some time now and he is a good man. In addition to that, I don't want my business to suffer. Therefore, I had to make sure that his commuting is kept hassle free."
"But…it looks so expensive," she blurted out.
"Yes, it is, but that's not the issue here, Miss Swan. Would you not prefer a more comfortable ride?" He studied her face, trying to gauge her reaction.
"I—who doesn't? But…you didn't have to." She was somehow not very comfortable with Mr. Masen's grand gesture.
"I wanted to," he murmured, gazing at her with fierce determination. "Go and see it from inside. It's all yours."
Isabella averted her eyes from his face and glanced at the carriage.
Suddenly, Angela came rushing out of the house. "Issy! Where are you? You never came back. Who wa—" She stopped midway as her gaze fell upon Edward.
"Angela, this is Mr. Masen. Mr. Masen, this is Angela Webber," Isabella introduced them to each other.
"Oh, Mr. Masen…you were the one who saved Isabella! Thank you so much. Pleased to meet you," she chirped as she looked at him in awe. Although, she had heard of him before, this was the first time that she saw him in person.
"Not a problem." He smiled at her and then looked back at Isabella. "You're giving me a reason to believe that you don't like it," he said, pointing to the carriage.
"Why so?" Isabella frowned, confused by his comment.
"Because you aren't showing any enthusiasm for it. I was hoping to see your face brightening up at the idea of a new horse car, but alas…" he replied, showing his disappointment through a frown.
She blushed again at his last comment and looked down. "No, Mr. Masen, I'm very happy to see it. It will certainly assuage my anxiety for my uncle's commuting problems."
Angela observed them curiously as they approached the new carriage. She smiled as she saw their interaction. She decided to convey her thoughts on it later, when she would be alone with Isabella.
Isabella climbed into the carriage to appreciate its interior, while Edward remained outside. He didn't want to risk his self control. Being with her in a closed space would envelop him in her scent and make it hard for him to resist.
Isabella didn't know what to say. It was as though she was tongue-tied. The interior of the carriage resembled his carriage's interior.
"It is very pretty from inside, very luxurious…and comfortable," she said, poking her head out of the window, her blush deepening. "Thank you."
"I'm glad that you approve of it. My job is done." He flashed his crooked smile again.
Edward helped her climb out of it, holding her hands in his. A strange sensation coursed through him as he held her hands. He was wearing gloves, but they weren't enough to stop the sensation from spreading like a heat-wave. He wondered how it might feel to hold her hands without the gloves.
She felt the sensation as well and immediately pulled her hands from his. She couldn't understand this strange vibration, and it perturbed her.
"How will you go back?" Isabella tried to lift the strange tension that had developed between them.
"My carriage will be arriving shortly," he replied. As he said that, another carriage arrived, stopping near the new one. "And here it is."
Edward wished her goodbye and waved at Angela as he climbed inside his carriage.
Angela came up behind Isabella as the carriage disappeared into the distance.
"Issy, let us go inside. We have lunch to finish." She giggled.
"Isabella, this is Mr. Crawford. Mr. Crawford, this is Isabella Swan," Mrs. Webber introduced the two. Isabella was at the Webber residence again, visiting Angela a week after her ordeal in the storm.
"Pleased to meet you, Sir." She curtseyed and smiled at him.
Henry Crawford smiled back at her, taking her hand and planting a kiss on it. Although, it was a normal gesture, his mouth lingered on her hand a little longer than required. It made her feel uncomfortable, but she ignored it, blaming her own social inexperience for such a reaction.
"More than pleased to meet such a fine young lady like you, Miss Swan. I haven't seen you here before." Henry eyed her greedily. Meeting with appealing young maidens always pleased him. Isabella, in particular, held his attention, even though she was younger than his usual taste.
"I'm new here. I came here to live with my uncle, Mr. Charles Swan." She pointed at Charles, who was sitting on the other end of the living room, chatting with Mr. Webber.
"Oh, I see. What about your parents?" He wanted her to keep talking to him.
"They… they died…in an accident," she replied, looking down to hide the tears that were brimming in her eyes.
"I'm extremely sorry, Miss Swan. I probably shouldn't have asked. Losing one's parents at such a young age…it must be so hard for you." Henry tried to look apologetic.
"I think seventeen is not that young." She desperately wanted to change the topic.
Seventeen…still a blossoming flower. Oh, the pleasure it would be…to be the first one to touch and claim it. He sighed at the thought.
"Seventeen? But you appear much more mature and responsible. You act older than your age, Miss Swan." He wanted to say more, but he knew that it would come off as being too familiar, too soon.
"Umm, yes, I believe I'm an old lady in actuality, my age just being a façade." Her sarcasm made him laugh, and she felt slightly pleased with herself.
I can actually make a conversation and be good at it as well. This is encouraging. She tried to imagine herself as a fine hostess, the one who wasn't afraid of crowds, laughing and conversing with strangers eloquently.
"I must tell you that you have a biting sense of humor, Miss Swan. I—"
"Issy! Come with me. I want to show you my new drapes…" Angela interrupted him. She knew all about him and his womanizing ways, and wanted to keep Isabella away from his hawkish eyes.
He wasn't pleased with Angela's interruption, but he smiled nonetheless. Isabella looked at him guiltily, begging for his forgiveness as Angela whisked her away.
"Well, I believe these are the same drapes that I saw the last time. Where are the new ones?" Isabella stroked the soft fabric of Angela's bedroom drapes.
"They're not here…because they don't exist." Angela laughed nervously.
Isabella raised an eyebrow at her. She wondered what that meant.
"Issy, just listen to me…Henry Crawford is not a very noble man. He is a distant relative of my father, and that's why we try to ignore his womanizing ways, but that doesn't mean that I would throw you to the wolves. Stay away from him, Issy. I took you away because I saw him looking at you…in that way. You know, as though he wants to ravish you. I decided that it would be better if I demolished his plan before it even formed in his evil head. I would have been really glad…if it was someone else admiring you. Like Mr. Mase—umm." Angela saw Isabella's glare and stopped immediately.
"Angela, how many times are we going to have this conversation?"
"Well, I don't know…how many times do you want to discuss it?" Angela was relentless.
"I don't want to! Angela, I don't understand you at all. You can see the evil in Mr. Crawford's eyes, but you completely turn blind when it comes to Mr. Masen. Have you ever known him on a personal level?" Isabella didn't understand her unbecoming reaction to Angela's suggestion, but she was certain that some of it stemmed from fear.
"No, I saw him for the first time when he came to gift you the new carriage. But that hardly matters. I could read his expression. You appeal to him immensely, Issy. Why do you want to deny it?" Angela couldn't fathom the reason behind Isabella's evasiveness.
"Why do you suppose that he doesn't view me in the same manner as Mr. Crawford?" Isabella wasn't sure where her argument was going, but she didn't want to submit to Angela's views.
"I don't know, but I'm pretty sure that he is much, much better than Mr. Crawford."
"Because he looks much better than him? Beauty is only skin-deep, Angela."
"Issy, you think I'm so superficial? I never mentioned his facial attributes." Angela waved her hand at her dismissively.
"Angela, thank you for keeping me safe from the wolves…but really, what makes you think that Mr. Masen is not like that? He could be worse for all you know." Isabella turned and looked out the window, avoiding Angela's insistent looks.
Angela eyed her mischievously. "He looks much too young to be so experienced," she giggled, earning another glare from Isabella.
"Besides," Angela grew sombre as she continued, "he took care of you when you were in need. He could have easily done anything with you, Issy. No one would have come to know about it; since you weren't headed in his direction…you weren't supposed to be with him."
Isabella flinched at her words. Somehow, Angela's suggestive version of Edward Masen seemed too befitting to be denied. She could easily imagine him doing all that. "But he didn't…"
"Yes, that's what my argument is. Why do you view him so pessimistically?" Angela turned Isabella's face toward her.
"I don't know, Angela. He…there's something very bizarre about him. I feel very ill at ease around him. He is so intimidating; it's almost tangible." Isabella averted her eyes from Angela and looked back at the window.
"This means he's very sure about everything he does. A man ought to be like that. I don't think that he was trying to intimidate you. Instead, I thought he was trying to convince you, in a very persuasive manner, that is." Angela beamed at her, feeling a little smug at her own line of reasoning.
"As you say, Angela, as you say…" Isabella was done with this argument for now.
Edward sat at his piano again, playing nothing in particular, just stroking the keys with his long fingers. He wasn't focused on playing. His mind was elsewhere. He was trying to pull himself together, to distract himself from the phenomenon called Isabella Swan. He didn't want to go to her room again. He felt it was beneath him to do so, since he could find any other prey at a better location.
I creep into her room every night but cannot make myself actually do something. What does that make me? I could have redeemed myself by biting her, but I didn't! What is WRONG with me? What is it that I want?
He felt tormented, tortured by her, but was not ready to admit that.
No human has ever been able to captivate me like this. I cannot hear her thoughts, but why does it matter so much? I'm sure that she is as dull and uninteresting as any other human.
His hands slammed on the piano keys as he found himself immersed in the memories of that fateful night again. He couldn't forget the way she smelled, even better with the dampness of her hair; the way her chemise hugged her curves; her petite little frame that begged to be held; the softness of her creamy skin. A loud growl escaped from his throat, and he finally gave up.
He ran towards her house and crawled into her room with ease.
There she lay, in her bed, stirring and squirming, restless in her sleep. She was having nightmares again.
He inhaled deeply, taking in her scent. It burned his throat, but he expected that and was ready to deal with it. He stared at her sleeping form again, a million scenarios going through his head.
Her head whipped from one side to the other, and her hands gripped the sheets. She was kicking with her legs, pushing her blanket down. As the blanket moved lower, her body was uncovered for him. She was wearing a white nightgown, which gave her an angelic glow in the moonlight. Her chest heaved as she struggled in her nightmare, pushing her breasts out. His gaze shifted to her chest, and he bit back a growl. She looked irresistible, in every way he could fathom. Nevertheless, he knew that having her in one way meant leaving the other one out. He could either have her body or have her blood, not both.
Edward took a step towards her bed, trying to make up his mind. He inhaled her scent again, taking gulp after gulp of the sweet freesia-lavender scent she possessed.
His bloodlust overtook his carnal lust.
Charles will be fine, I'll make sure of it. He never had a proper family, therefore, he'll survive. The grief shall be brief. I'll pick her up right now and take her into the woods…no one will be any wiser.' He gripped the bedpost as he thought out the entire plan to have his most coveted meal.
"Ice cold… mhhh—ughhh," she mumbled in her sleep, taking him by surprise. He looked at her cautiously, to see if she had awoken, but found her sleeping. She whimpered and moaned, mumbling incoherently. Her voice pleased his ears, and he found himself wanting for more.
Something inside him snapped.
Edward wanted her. He wanted to hear her sweet voice everyday. He wanted to feel that glorious body, every inch of it. He wanted to possess her, completely. Letting go of her blood meant leaving the finest wine, but he was ready to bargain that for the rest of the pleasures she presented.
She gasped in her sleep, her chest rising and falling. He wanted to touch her, skin on skin.
What would it feel like...to touch her luscious body in every way possible? Those perfect womanly curves, how would they feel in my hands?…she's so sinfully appealing. Edward let out a stifled groan at the thought.
He wanted to be around her, to see her every day. However, he knew that his thirst control was very frail whenever she was around. Another hurdle to being near her was the presence of other humans. He knew he couldn't be in close proximity to humans for long. There were many issues with that. Combining effect of their smell with Isabella's scent would threaten his control precariously. Then, the fact that someone might notice too much about him. His eyes always turned a lighter shade when he hunted. Thus, they would appear as deep burgundy after a fresh hunt. He couldn't let a human see that; it might raise a few suspicions in their minds.
She whimpered again, bringing him out of his stupor. He walked across the room and stood beside her bed, trying to understand her allure, but it was something that had evaded him altogether.
Maybe I just need to release my carnal urges.
That thought took him back to Tanya, the femme fatale of the Denali coven. She was a friend of Carlisle and often visited him during her trips to England. She had always tried to gain Edward's affections through physical gratification. He remembered the time when he had spent a night with her, taking what she had offered to him for years. He could only describe it as a bad experience. Edward couldn't bring himself to enjoy it, because the constant mental chatter of Tanya disturbed him. He was unable to feel any bond whatsoever. After that night, he was convinced that such experiences were not meant for him because he had the bane of mind reading. He never tried it again with anyone else because he knew that the outcome would be the same. He was sure that he was meant to be alone in this existence.
Then, seeing the love between the members of his coven, the Cullens, was like insult to injury. It was the primary reason behind his detachment from them. He couldn't cope with seeing their demonstrations of love around him. His bitterness turned to defiance, and thus, he left the coven. He made sure that he settled as far away from them as possible. He left the lifestyle that Carlisle and the rest of the Cullens had adopted, and became a human drinker.
Drinking human blood caused immense relief at first, but it affected his thirst control. Namely, it made it much more difficult for him to control his thirst around humans. It was like a bad intoxicant, which gave an extremely pleasant feeling in the beginning, but then caused a headache afterwards. To regain the pleasant feeling, one needed a constant dose of it. Therefore, one became an addict to that substance. It sometimes made him feel empty from within, being nothing but a vampire, a monster. Often, this feeling turned into resentment, and he hunted more often to calm himself. He surrounded himself with all kinds of luxuries to fill the emptiness he felt, but it helped little.
Isabella, however, was able to stir the long buried feelings inside him, without even trying. She mesmerized him. Even though he thought that it all stemmed from the fact that she smelled so incredibly scrumptious to him, a part of him wondered if there was any chance that her body could rival the smell of her blood.
He lowered his head to get a closer look at her. Up close, she looked even more appealing to him. Her beautiful dark auburn tresses were splayed across her pillow, and her lips were slightly parted in the shape of a small pout. His eyes slowly travelled all over her body and then came back to rest upon her neck. He could see the blood pumping through her jugular, tempting him to have a sip. His hand reached out and touched her neck. Feeling the heat of her warm blood, he closed his eyes in pure pleasure. Slowly, his hand clasped around her throat, eliciting a gasp from her. He opened his eyes to make sure she was still asleep. She was.
Growing more confident, his hand slowly travelled down her neck, tracing her warm skin with his cold fingertips. His gaze drifted towards the swells of her breasts, which were rising and falling with each of her breaths. He could see the hardened peaks of her mounds through the gauzy fabric, and the sight rendered him speechless. His hand travelled further down and came to rest at her clavicle. Her breathing hitched, and she moaned again, louder than before. He removed his hand instantly, feeling his control slipping away. Moving back, he noticed that her restlessness had increased. She started thrashing around in her bed. Her eyes flickered. Seeing that she was about to wake up, he dashed out of her room.
She gasped and opened her eyes, finally ending her ordeal. Isabella was having the same nightmare again, where the vines turned into the cold arms of a mystery man. But this time, it was more vivid, and the hands went further than her shoulders or neck. She looked down at her chest, feeling cold. She touched the area between her breasts, and found it to be colder than the rest of her body.
This is so bizarre. Can a nightmare have such an effect?
Her breasts felt extremely sensitive, even a slight brush of the fabric of her nightgown sent shocks down her spine. She lifted her neckline slightly, to ease the pressure she felt on her hardened peaks. When she did that, a strange, sweet smell wafted to her nose. She raised the fabric to her nose and inhaled again. It smelled like honey, cinnamon, and something else she couldn't put her finger on. It was an extremely pleasant smell, like an exquisite perfume. It somehow felt masculine to her. That startled her a bit, because there was no way a male could have come so near to her clothes.
It can't be. The only man who can possibly touch my clothes is my uncle, and that's a far cry. He doesn't even pick up his own clothes, let alone mine. And this is not his smell. I don't think I have ever come across such a smell. It's so distinct, so pleasant…but how did it get on my nightgown? Maybe it's some wild flower from the forest, somehow its smell got into the air and onto my gown? Well….
She couldn't make herself sleep again because she was sure that the nightmare would return. Instead, she spent the rest of the night reading one of her favourite books, Pride and Prejudice.