All the usual- I don't own any characters or rights to Twilight (books or movies). I am not SM. The storyline is mine however.

I'm on Twitter my_e_addiction. Mostly I babble nonsensically about my life or stupid thoughts. Surprisingly though, I often mention how my writing is going. It's also where I link to PPSS (Perv Pack's Smut Shack) and get the incredibly sexy pics that get me going.

And to my beta Dellaterra who has taken time out of her extremely hectic, and trying schedule to help me for absolutely nothing other than my adoration for her exceptional knowledge and clearly, her love for all things creative. (I hope I have not butchered your suggestions, please take a few minutes to relax and simply enjoy.)

Your reviews are love, and the fact that I have any gives me immense satisfaction, joy, and pride (as it does for all authors on here, whether they tell you or not.)

Love,

E's

I resisted that night. I resisted for the next 1275 days until her mother took her away. I continued to watch her though. Despite my desire to taste her blood, I felt more protective than anything. Especially with that woman who called herself Isabella's mother. She fed and changed my baby girl, kept her physically comfortable, but that was the extent of it. I stayed in her room night after night and held her hand, or allowed her to hold mine. She would draw it into her mouth and suck on my fingers to soothe herself to sleep. I would stand stock still and be thankful that I never got tired.

I had never been tied to any one place and Phoenix had become tiresome. The monotony would surely have driven me to madness had I not had at least some practice in busying my mind and body. There was a huge variety of wildlife in Arizona so that was a perk. Thank God for mountain lions and bobcats. Deer, antelope, and even black bears were fairly prevalent out here. It made me think of Emmett and the others I once called family. They weren't bad individuals to be with. They were simply too much, too often. They enjoyed being around each other quite a bit. Not that I hadn't enjoyed their orgies on occasion, but it wasn't really my forte. Everyone getting up afterward and carrying on as if they had just finished a crossword puzzle. Despite its carnality and, often, brutality, there was an intimacy while engaging in sex. Sadly though, it disappeared with the Cullens, resulting in nothing more than fucking- cocks and cunts and other random orifices being filled for sheer physical pleasure. But the mind could not hold onto that enjoyment when all was said and done because, in truth, the acts were grotesque and not worth remembering.

Not that I necessarily "made love" to any of the random girls I had come across through the years. I generally just fucked them as well, but they didn't know it. Right up until their very last moments, they were feeling pleasure and some, oddly enough, even thought of love as they fed me. While I certainly didn't feel that way, at least it was more satisfying than being with a group of mated lovers. I could at least pretend that we had a connection that was far more familiar than a one-night stand. Especially when the women began fantasizing about wedding dresses and baby names. One would be surprised how often women did things like this after knowing a man for only a few hours.

I had abstained once again from all human meals as well as sexual pleasure with anyone else since having met Isabella. I couldn't abstain entirely; although even masturbating was little more than a release of pressure and pent-up energy. When not watching over my girl, I spent the majority of my time in the Petrified Forest. Other than a few back-country campers every now and again – but more often than not – the forest was fairly silent, save for scurrying rodents. The silence and space allowed my mind to drift, and I was given the luxury of simply performing a physical task without the mental pictures or intrusive sexual thoughts of others.

My life as a fearsome and deadly sexual predator had become nonexistent. When I wasn't living as a filthy nomad or exposing my anatomy to the wilderness, I was practically a sentinel, watching over the small child as she grew into an adolescent. If I didn't have an obsessive need to see her daily, I would have considered ending my embarrassing existence. Fortunately, as a sort of gypsy, no one had to know of my life, or how pathetic I had become. I didn't relish this lifestyle but to be near my sweet girl, I was willing to endure it. For years I stayed, simply because my heart was here. It mattered not that it beat outside my own body.

At some point, I decided that I needed to try and put some distance between myself and my sweet girl. If anything, it would underscore my enduring need for torture and reaffirm my self-loathing. Why should I have what I want? Why should I be able to be so near to something that gives me some sort of relief? Aside from that, I was interested in discovering if she had sapped all my prowess just as she relieved me of my ability. They were both a blessing and a curse in their own right.

I was reluctant to leave the sanctuary of the forest, but the older Isabella got, the less time she spent at home. I felt the need to watch over her as she left the loneliness, albeit safety, of her own home. She would leave early in the morning and sit outside in the schoolyard long before the bell rang. She would speak only when spoken to and, after some time, her peers stopped speaking to her altogether. I would watch for hours, hidden in shadows, as she read books far beyond her years, which also kept her at a distance from other school children whom called her a freak in their minds. However, her countenance: her soft, but striking eyes, clear skin, and ripe, pouty lips encouraged those same individuals who shunned her to create deviant scenes in their minds with my Isabella in the staring roll. By the time she reached the age of fourteen, puberty - and her mother's lack of general care - led to a svelte figure and long, lithe legs that attracted the attention of many males. Disturbingly, it was not only the young teens that began to notice what was mine. The men of the town, despite having daughters of the same age, often pictured her legs wrapped tightly around their waist as they gripped her firm, supple ass. Their midsections were always smaller, and their appendages were always larger, in their own imagination.

It sickened me that I had to endure these visions of my lovely girl. Although she was technically only a few years younger than my once-human self, she might as well have been my grandchild. I had watched over her for so many years, that I was loath to think of her as anything but pure and innocent. Despite her more womanly appearance, I chose to continue thinking of her in more childlike fashion. Since I was unable to see into her head, I often assured myself that her young mind was too full of Fitzgerald and Frost to fully appreciate her own sensuality, thus ignoring her own blossoming womanhood.

It was with this mentality that I deserted my dear girl and unwittingly, threw her to the wolves.