My ridiculously long, but unquestionably necessary author's note:
1: I'm thinking about changing this story to M. But it will probably only be one chapter. I dunno.
2: I don't mean to make Bella sound vain in this chapter. She is not. For once, she feels confident. In my opinion, confidence is beautiful. And Bella begins to realize that as well.
3: I have strong opinions on politics. If you don't share my views—either don't read this story, or read it with an open mind. I have no biases, no judgments to pass on people who walk on the other side of the river, metaphorically speaking. Think of the views as those of the character, not mine, if it helps you to deal. Disagree all you want, tell me you don't think my opinions are right, but, please, don't just blatantly bash my ideals. That's not what this is for.
4: I have had a few reviews commenting about this story's similarity to Cygnus, another story on this site. I've read it and realize that, while the concepts are the same, I don't feel they share much besides the fact that they're set in a future that has deteriorated. I never intended for my story to mirror that one (sorry, the author's name escapes me). So, basically, I'm just wondering if you guys think I should take this story off of here. Because Cygnus was here first. And because I want to respect the authors' claim on the plotline.
So let me know.
The Horsemen Are Knocking
-
"The intention of never deceiving often exposes us to deception."
François de la Rochefoucauld
I froze for less than half a second before letting myself relax into the kiss, my lips caressing his with a tenderness I was usually incapable of. His hand continued its burning torture as it crept further up my leg, coming to rest on my hip, his body gently urging mine lower. I settled back onto the pillows, Edward's lips still locked on mine, moving with mine as if they were meant to do so. My hands, unable to control themselves, crawled up his shapely back, into his hair, gently tugging on the strands of auburn. I could feel his chill through the blankets, somehow warming me, sparking the familiar heat in my belly.
I was going too fast.
But, Gods, it felt more right than right itself, and I physically could not force my hands from him.
Edward was feeling adventurous today, it seemed, as his hand did not stop on my hip. He used the tips of his pianist's fingers now, drawing designs on my stomach, tracing the valley between my breasts, memorizing the small, half moons they created over the neckline of my peasant's dress. I pulled away from the cold hold of his lips, staring up at him—my eyes betraying my heart in indecision.
"Bella," he breathed, his face hovering so close to mine, "I'm sorry."
I shook my head slightly, attempting a smile, "I'm not complaining."
He sighed, his intoxicating breath filling my lungs with bliss, "Good." I could still feel his fingers, running smoothly along the curves of my chest. He looked down at his actions, placing his head on my collarbone, leaving me to press my lips to his sweet smelling hair.
"Freesia," he whispered, "you smell like wildflowers."
I chuckled tiredly, feeling the fatigue creep up on me slowly, "You smell like heaven."
"Heaven," he repeated, and, sensing the end of our conversation, I said no more. The hair between my fingers was so soft, his breathing equally as gentle as it caressed my ivory flesh.
Falling asleep in the Congressman's house had always been difficult—there was no telling who or what would plague me in my sleep. And with all the eyes straying my way, I could never force my own to stay shut.
But here, now, in this foreign house of the enemy, I was able to drift in dreams as I never had before, Edward's arms acting as my invisible bind to safer harbors.
Pleasure is a fickle thing. It comes and goes, weaving in and out of lives as it pleases, cursing and blessing where it sees fit. It has the ability to ruin and to hearten, to bring a smile to someone's face at the same moment it delivers a frown. It could fill or break hearts.
You never knew how long it could last.
Forever or for a moment.
He was kissing me again, and I hadn't even woken up. I squirmed, shying away from the feeling of his nuzzling caresses on my neck, allowing a short giggle to escape me. I felt giddy with the sensation of his affection, dizzy with the trouble it presented.
But I didn't want to think about the danger now.
My eyes opened of their own accord, locking with Edward's immediately. His smile was large, mimicking the sun's rays in its brilliance, "Hey, sleepyhead," he murmured.
I stretched my arms over my head, curling my toes, "You seem unusually happy," I noted.
He smiled, looking ashamed, "I had a good night."
"Oh?" I cocked my head to the side, giving him the once over, "it doesn't look like you went anywhere."
Grinning secretively, he shook his head, "I didn't. You provided all the amusement I could ever need."
I could feel my face go pale, and a slightly hesitant chuckle slipped from my lips, "What did I say?"
My mother had endlessly teased me about my sleep talking, laughing like a little school girl when I would deny it. She would poke my cheeks, making fun of my blush. Edward had drawn attention back to the odd habit, and it reminded me greatly of Renee.
He chuckled, pulling away from me to sit on the edge of my bed, "Nothing, really," and then his face was somber, his smile falling into one thousand pieces, "though there was a name you kept repeating… Jacob?"
I shrugged, coming into a sitting position against the pillows, "A friend from home."
He nodded, touching his feet to the floor as he stood.
"Leaving?" I asked, moving to pull the blanket from my body.
He smiled shyly, "I have things I need to attend to. And you have a party to get ready for."
I cocked my brows, "A party?"
"Yes. My brother returns tonight," he took on an odd expression, "Emmett will love you."
"Emmett," I rolled the name around on my tongue, my voice taking on a bitter quality, "the warlord."
His lips pinched and he looked at me darkly from beneath his lashes, "The overgrown fool," he contradicted, "Emmett is just a joker in disguise. But, soldier or no, he returns tonight from France and Aro wishes to celebrate his arrival."
I set my head back on my pillows, "And I'm supposed to be there, right? Whether I want to or not?"
Edward laughed, "I'm afraid so."
He left not long after, and not without another kiss to my forehead.
All these kisses, and I knew nothing of what they meant. Obviously he was attracted to me, but in what way? Beauty or brains? I was nothing special, nothing compared to the women I'd seen around the celestial castle so far—all of them hauntingly, eerily gorgeous. Surely he couldn't find my looks all that appealing.
It had to be my mind. I agreed with him on many things, did he think me some quiet, biddable woman he could order around? Or did he think me to be someone who could rival him intellectually?
Confusion was a light term for what I was feeling, the burning sensation of Edward's lips not helping the muddled state of my head. There were so many things to consider—the danger, the undeniable attraction, the fact that I was supposed to hate him, as he should have hated me in return. It was Romeo and Juliet. Pocahontas and John Smith. It was wrong.
They say the mirror never lies. But the reflection it portrayed, that girl… it couldn't have been me. It was nearing to dusk, and red and yellow shadows were dancing along the walls, casting onto my face a rainbow. For once I felt comfortable in my own skin.
My hair was curling softly, the long locks falling down beneath my shoulder blades. There was blush on my cheeks, highlighting the natural pools of blood that settled there, illuminating the littering of sparkles on my lids. The maid, Dory, had slid me into a blue gown—the bodice, perhaps, a bit too tight. But since she, herself, had made it, I refused to complain.
It was a vain revelation—but I couldn't glance away from the looking glass.
And then he was there, gorgeous in a midnight suit, watching me. Gently, his hands settled on my shoulders, our eyes locking in the mirror.
"You look lovely."
Ashamed, I couldn't disagree.
Q's were the first pair of eyes I found in the crowded room, and they taunted me, sparkling with troublesome mischief. He made the hairs on my neck stand on end, and I looked away from him, up at Edward's strong jaw.
Aro glided to the center of the room, his long, sweeping robes billowing out behind him. The old king embodied a sense of regal royalty, and it was hard not to admire the sense of command and respect he radiated. I was, most likely, the only one in the room who was not stricken with revere for him.
"Ah, beautiful Isabella," his arms swept inwards like a bow, coming to rest on my upper arms, "how lovely of you to join us."
I cracked a smile, "As if I had very much of a choice."
We were in the middle of an ocean lined with nobles—the royal family standing at the head of the throng. Aro's presence had parted the Red Sea, and the crowd had split to either side of the room, creating a long row of empty floor where the king, Edward and I now stood, exchanging formalities.
Aro's smile hardly withered at my words, "I see all these months in my home have not softened you." It was only at his shocking epiphany that his red eyes darkened, flicking to Edward in disappointment. The young prince beside me looked down and away, avoiding his uncle's eyes.
"But," Aro regained his composure, "perhaps tonight will be to your liking."
I hid my grimace, choosing instead to simply shake my head, "Is your head so hard, King Aro? I will not betray my country—we will never tread on peaceful ground, you and I." Especially not after what I overheard so many nights agoEspecially not after I've seen your true intentions.
But even as I said the words, I felt like the world's biggest hypocrite. Had I not been sharing secret kisses and caresses with Edward just the night before? Had I not been trading words with him as if we were old friends? Old lovers? And I knew Edward felt it too, for my words not only made me bristle, but him as well.
Guiding me away from Aro, Edward immediately led us into dance. His arms were stiff as they held me, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Was this a façade? A mask that he would put on in public so that no one knew how close, exactly we'd become? Or maybe he was just really mad at me.
"Q would like to dance with you," he growled as the orchestra wrapped up the first song, "against my better judgment, I'll let him. I have something that needs my immediate attention."
"How do you know--," but my question was cut off mid stride, as I was twirled like a rag doll into the embrace of an infinitely colder embrace. Q. Quinn. Whatever his name was, held me close, moving us across the dance floor as easily as if he were walking on water. Edward had disappeared, his body moving too fast for my eyes to catch up.
"You look even lovelier all cleaned up, Isabella," I looked up, my face so close to Quinn's that I retracted my head a bit, uncomfortable with our proximity. Unlike Edward, Q was a true monster, a true subordinate of the trespassers.
"Thank you," I bit out, my head spinning as Q dipped me slightly, his eyes straying to the low neckline of my dress. I scoffed, rolling my eyes.
"Up here, darling."
Q returned his eyes to my face, his slimy hands tracing my spine, "Take a walk with me."
"I rather be here," I said icily, "where I can die a horrible death of boredom."
Ignoring me, Quinn pulled me by the hand and I barely put up a struggle, actually glad to be out of the stuffy ballroom where the people around me wore immaculate smiles hiding hideous frowns. I wanted to be rid of the murmurs and the glances and the sneers that were being shot my way—all of them containing this belief and that one. They saw me as I saw them, once upon a time, as just nameless faces of the enemy I was brought up to loathe.
Quinn's hand was bitter cold as he tore through the garden, brining me to the loveliest part. The rose bushes were just beginning to bud, but the beauty that it harbored, the muted atmosphere of allure was what I appreciated most. Tawdrily enough, roses were my favorite.
I wasn't paying attention to him, or to myself, and I ran into Quinn's cold chest—reminding myself of the night I murdered the Congressman. His eyes were full of something familiar, something I had seen in Edward's eyes not the night before. Something that had nothing to do with a desire of the flesh, but something much, much deeper.
"Maybe you should take me back," I whispered, and Q's red irises darkened considerably into a burnt claret. He took a step toward me, causing my chest to firmly brush his. I shivered at the freezing contact, but before I could distance myself, his frigid fingers had wrapped around my upper arms, anchoring me into place.
My throat constricted, and Q bent his head, moving his nose to brush along my cheek.
"You must know by now, little swan," he crooned, "months in this place, you must know what you've walked into."
I furrowed my brow, too concerned with his words to notice the burning cold feel of his hands on my flesh, "What I've walked into?"
Of course. Q, with his large ego and disregard for secrets, would certainly tell me everything that Edward would not.
"Certainly you've realized that the family Volturi is unlike the family Swan in more ways than one, Isabella dear," he hummed, his voice reverberating off of my neck, "surely you've realized that they—we—are hardly human at all."
My breath caught, and my head spun so violently I feared I would faint, "Not… h-human?"
He laughed, loud and deep, the sound deafening to my ears, "Isabella, or should I say Bella?" he grinned at me secretively, "do you not feel the deathly cold of my skin? Do you not see the bloodied tint to my eyes? Bella, we are exactly what you've described us as so many times before."
"Monsters," I breathed, feeling myself go weak in the knees from the truth. Never had that word held such a meaning so exact.
"Monsters," he answered, chuckling, "…vampires."
and honestly the weight of my decisions
were impossible to hold
but they were never yours
they were never yours