Disclaimer: Characters and Twilight are properties of Stephenie Meyer. Us? None. Not even a smidgen.
A/N: First, I would like to thank my reviewers-- I never thought it'd turn out so well! And a big hug to Peach, the best friend and beta in the whole world.
Part I is all about the Cullens and their troubles, and how Edward comes to be known as the "beast" of the nearby village. FYI, there are two parts to Part I. Read and enjoy!
Part I—Chapter Two: Shift
"Everything changes, nothing perishes." – Ovid
-Late 17th Century France-
The wolves prowled restlessly between the sheltering pines, which were no longer the guardian forces they had been. The owls had long since flown off, and the Cullens were left to face the music—literally, as the werewolves had begun to howl, their voices joining together in a harmony of bloodlust and zeal. Moonlight shone with far more clarity on the oblivious village at the foot of the mountains, as though attempting to veil the event that it knew would take place.
Alice was in a panic. "Edward—I can't see their defeat anywhere in the future. We're sightless!" Jasper squeezed her hand tightly as though it would ensure them safety.
"But I suppose you can see us trouncing you?" Another, younger voice not having yet phased jeered.
Alice stared into the forest defiantly, her bottom lip trembling. Edward let out a growl as the rest of the wolves released a yipping equivalent of laughter. He'd had enough of these pup's games. And he wasn't going to allow them to take the only family he'd ever known for nearly a century. He stalked forward just as Ephraim vanished into the trees…followed by a loud, strident howl…
And then the wolves emerged, salivating, their black eyes shining with revenge. They completely surrounded the castle, readying themselves for a massacre. Edward stared coldly back at them without changing tack. He grimaced when he caught Emmett's train of thought.
Well, at least they didn't underestimate our strength. That's the highest form of flattery they've given all night. Emmett smirked widely at him, charging into the fray without a second thought for his wellbeing. "Ready to shoot some game, baby brother?"
Edward sighed, but returned it with a scapegrace grin. "Of course."
"Excellent." Emmett released a deafening roar and charged for the nearest wolf as the swell of fur surged forward.
Before long, the air was filled with the sounds of a battle.
Esme was ferociously guarding the door of the castle as a mother hen might defend her nest—there was absolutely no chance of these abominable creatures getting to her furnishings. Two wolves smashed into the same tree, which wobbled dangerously on its base, showering the mossy ground with pine needles. Rosalie watched, pleased, as they collapsed to the ground, whimpering. Jasper and Edward were almost invisible in their speed.
Carlisle was acted in the front lines to keep the wolves at bay. The last thing he wanted was to kill anyone, and seeing the scene that unfolded in the clearing, he realized that it couldn't be helped. But he could at least try. Esme caught her husband's eye in a brief reprieve, and couldn't help it as the tiny fissure line along her heart began to grow. She understood what he was feeling, but laid under siege as they were, did anyone have a choice? Hopelessly, she looked about.
Their choices had narrowed down into two: kill or be killed. It was as easy as that, but so terribly difficult. Alienating Edward was totally out of the question.
Rosalie's mind, unlike her parents', was coolly preoccupied with analyzing the events, even as she evaded and plagued the wolves that she exchanged blows with. No matter how much she cared for him, she couldn't help but be livid at Edward's rash actions. Couldn't he have been a little more discreet, regardless of whether the victim was an innocent or a murderer? Oh, no, she didn't care that her brother chose to be a human-bloodsucking creature—more power to him. What did matter was that his act had affected them all. And now, the lives they had worked so hard to establish were dashed to pieces.
Hearing this, Edward felt a fresh pang of guilt injected into his gut. For once in this evening, his sister was right. He stood perfectly still in thought, not bothering to move as Alice darted past with a wolf on her heels. The creature's paw collided with him, but all he managed was a grunt. His jaw tightened in disgust for himself. If he'd never come home, maybe this could have been avoided. He could have moved north with the succubus sisters instead. Or, he could have continued on his track…he'd adapted to human blood quickly enough…. Shaking his head, he resumed the fight.
No. He had to protect his family from this, no matter the cost.
Alice stopped and stood in the center of three werewolves, motionless and concentrated. She dodged their attack gracefully at the exact second they charged, grabbed a wolf by the tail, and slammed it against the nearby trunk. Simultaneously, Emmett crashed into the same tree.
It fell with a thunderous crack.
For a moment, the scene was frozen as they listened for the village; it would be their worst folly if someone—a human—stumbled into the clearing and came upon two different groups of supernatural beings. After a second, the bloodbath resumed.
Before anyone else could react, Emmett was pounced on by two wolves who attempted to rip off his arm. He let out a furious yelp, feeling his right thumb being sawed away. Edward changed direction to help his brother, crushing the offending creature along its ribs.
He was distracted then.
There was a loud boom as an enormous chocolate-brown wolf tackled him hard, causing them both to sail across the clearing. The impact created a large dent in the soft ground. Edward rallied himself upon recognizing the wolf as Ephraim, whose thoughts hadn't quite the polished edge that they had when spoken aloud.
We've known all along that the idea of animal-feeding bloodsuckers was not possible.
"Just as we've always known that a werewolves' mind is not as sharp as his teeth." Edward met the black eyes with a fixed stare. Then in one smooth movement, he circled the wolf's paws with his hands and threw him off. "You could have killed me off right there, you know that?"
Ephraim recovered and drilled his infuriated gaze into Edward's. You're right about the last part—enough of this. Adieu pour toujours, leech.
Edward had prepared himself for the force, and avoided the jaws that angled to dismember his head. He gave distance between himself and the wolf's hulking form, feeling exhilaration at the sudden speed in tempo as he watched Ephraim catch sight of him. It was now a game of chase, weaving in, out, and around the battlefield. And they would dance each other to the death, if that was what it took.
As wolves fled the scene, a few more leapt in to take their place in the deepening evening.
-Late 17th Century France --On the Outskirts of the Village-
A dark, cloaked figure made ready to blow out the candle in the tiny living space that she called her home—a single roomed tower. It was rumored among the villagers that the tower had been originally part of the looming castle's construction until it was blasted off by lightning, or by some other unknown natural force; indeed, it appeared to be a replica of the castle's turrets.
Those who gossiped about this may have very well been correct. Then again, there wasn't any evidence to disprove it, no telltale burns or markings…which gave the solemn tower its aura of mystery. Like the castle, people left the site well enough alone. It wasn't a particularly forbidding presence, no, not like the enormous structure that overshadowed it. There was just something about it that wasn't quite right.
The cloaked figure paused mid-breath, listening at the windowsill hard, as though she could sense the event taking place in the forest. Her nimble fingers gently placed the candle on top of a tiny tea table as her thoughtful, light brown eyes eyed the church. The twin bells on either side of the clock were still. Its inhabitants obviously had no intention of walking out to observe how silent the night was, how unusual, how tightly drawn the crisp air was. She let out a low chuckle; if they even did bother to check, they'd probably cast it up as a sign from the heavens.
An owl, with all the composed poise of royalty, quietly perched along the edge of the sill with an almost inaudible hoot. The figure smiled from under her cloak.
But the owls knew; they watched and listened. They were the perfect choice for guard, after hearing the dissent from the wolves and the latest news of the vampires. The politics in the life of a supernatural being were simple: Discretion, or exile. And right now, both groups appeared to be ready for banishment.
The figure sighed, tilting her head up towards the stars, pondering. The movement caused her hood to fall back slightly, revealing a pleasant, kind face that frowned slightly from bother. The rest of her features were concealed from the shadows that the feeble candlelight cast in the room.
What to do now? She wondered. It would be difficult trying to smuggle a vampire out of the district, let alone an entire coven. And she most certainly wasn't going to convince an entire pack of bull-headed wolves to push off—absolutely not.
Pacing the room, she toyed with an idea. The vampires, whom she knew hunted animals—a marvelous new concept—struggled, nevertheless, with their thirst. But they didn't completely deserve pity; a punishment was needed to compensate for the fatal act. The wolves weren't entirely innocent either. If one of them were foolish enough to spread news in the village that bloodsucking monsters lived right outside their beloved homes…calamity would strike. Not to mention some few, extremely superstitious others who would charge out to other townships, preaching the end of the world…
She shook her head decidedly. The wolves were very vocal; without a doubt they'd have the news spread by sunrise. And something had to be done to keep the balance—without any killings; justice without the blood. Smiling wryly, she reflected that the French rulers could probably take that advice. Now, how to execute the plan.
With her eye following the slim trail of moonlight into the clearing, she leaned out the window to deliver to the vampires a surprise of a lifetime. As for the wolves…no one would be able to understand them, should they try to spread gossip.
Justice without the blood, and a spoonful of astonishment; this was all in a day's work for a witch in hiding.
She watched for a moment as the light, for the briefest second, intensified and faded to the ghostly shade of silver it originally had been.
Then, she blew out the candle.
-The Clearing-
We're losing.
Edward growled and shook his head as if to dispel Alice's despondent thoughts from his mind. Defeat was absolutely unacceptable, and forfeit was unavailable. He was at least relieved that none of his family was missing any limbs. Rosalie's viciousness had heightened upon having the Belgian lace of her skirt torn off, as well as witnessing her expensively tailored dress become tattered. That was a help.
Noticing that Ephraim had begun to tire, Edward moved in for the mortal blow. The wolf's eyes rose to his, bright with determination. A grudging respect stirred within him, but now was definitely not the time to show even a degree of esteem. It was too late for any of that.
Raising his hand to strike, Emmett's disbelieving shout echoed loud across the clearing. "What the—!"
"Edward!" Esme screamed from somewhere across the way. "Get away from here!"
"No—"
"I'm begging you, Edward. Please, please, please just go!" Had she been mortal, she probably would have been in tears.
Breathing heavily with frustration and near desperation, Edward slipped off into the trees. He dearly hoped that Esme, Carlisle, and the rest of them would survive when he returned. His conscience was heavy with regret as he sped off, away from the forest.
At the clearing, there was a blinding flash of light, coupled with the wolves' keening…
A/N: I just adore cliffies. They're just so...tense and infuriating. Passionate. Tell me if you hate me for this, and I'll thank you, because (and I quote Jacob Black) hate is a passionate emotion.
Wouldn't y'all like to know who that cloaked figure was?
