The Devil's Creation
Chapter One
Her eyes open to a room that only one other has ever had the pleasure of seeing before, where fire licks glistening black walls and smoke colors the ceiling grey. The large bed in which she lays atop sits on a floor of flowing lava, across the room from a matching dresser that is placed in front of a mirrored wall.
It is utterly magnificent in its simplicity.
Her eyes lock on a towering reflection in the mirror. She takes in his features, and the longer she looks, the more aroused she becomes. Even through the cloak he wears she can tell his body is as glorious as his facial features.
Through every human memory ingrained in her head, this man is unrecognizable, however oddly familiar. Not as a person, but as an idea.
A man so incredibly tempting . . . so undeniably addictive . . . so impressively unique that one would give their soul to him willingly, even with the knowledge that they would suffer indefinitely in the fiery pits of hell.
"Isabella," he breathes, and her eyes close. She tastes the word more than she hears it.
A calloused hand cups her cheek and her lips set in a soft smile. Her skin tingles where it touches his, almost as if it were trying to leave her own body and instead adorn a body much more deserving.
Edward looks down at her in fascination.
She is more than he had ever hoped for.
"How do you feel?" he inquires, running a hard through her silky hair.
'Good,' she tries to say, but the words don't come out. Then she remembers that she has to breathe in before she can speak. When she does though, her throat burns as hot as the fire surrounding them. She grips her throat, looking up at him with a strained expression.
"Thirsty?" he asks with a smirk.
It takes her a moment to understand what that means but then she realizes that, yes, her throat burns because she is thirsty. She nods her head rapidly.
Taking a step back, Edward reaches for one of the glasses on the nightstand. He offers it to her.
The coolness of the liquid deceives her. The water does nothing to sedate the fire. She looks up to him again.
He hands her another glass.
This one is warm. She spits the human blood back into the cup as soon as she registers the taste of copper.
Edward does not offer her another glass.
His pleasure with her even in her first moments of life are immeasurable. He'd hoped for her to survive solely off of him, and it appears that this would be the case.
She would need to drink his blood.
He leans down to press his lips against her forehead, and when he does so, his neck is positioned perfectly in front of her mouth, just as he'd intended.
Edward's rushing blood filled Isabella's senses.
She could see it running through his veins. She could hear it boiling beneath his skin. She could smell the rich fragrance of it.
If only she could coat her throat in the luscious fluid, the fire would be sedated.
Isabella moves quickly, instinctively, her thirst taking the forefront of her mind. She pulls the man's mass to her, rolling on top of him so that she could straddle his lap as he lay beneath her. She entwines her fingers through his, holding them both above their heads against the headboard. She brushes her lips against the soft, warm skin of his neck.
Up and down.
Up and down.
Savoring the moment in which she would take her first drink.
Of course she would not have been able to maneuver Edward so easily if he were not willing. But, as she is just a newborn, and as he'd intended to be her life source, he would let her take her first drink as she pleased.
Slowly, very slowly, she presses her canines into his skin, and his essence caresses her tongue.
She loses herself in the taste. It can only be described as . . . Life.
It tastes like life.
And so she drinks.
Her hands release his, instead tangling themselves in his hair to tilt his head to the side for better access.
Now that his hands are free, Edward rests them on her back, pushing her naked body down against him, relishing the way her body feels against him.
After a time, Isabella retracts her canines and watches as his skin heals itself. With her thirst sated, another need takes over her being.
Her arousal.
She makes quick work of opening his cloak.
Edward grasps her wrists, "No, Isabella," he scolds.
Her lips purse. She doesn't like the way the word sounds coming out of his mouth. She doesn't know what it means, but she knows that she doesn't like it. That she doesn't want to hear it again.
He releases her from his grip, and as soon as he does she reaches for him again. He glares at her, "I said no, Isabella."
She sits back, her brows furrowed. "No?"
"No," he replies, with a nod of his head.
She pouts again, "No, no," she says, putting her hands on his chest again, trying to open his cloak.
"No," he growls, slapping her hands.
She tries again.
He flips over, pulling her underneath him and pinning her arms above her head, "This is not a game, Isabella. When I say no," he speaks threateningly, moving closer and closer to her face, "I mean no."
The words are lost to her though, as she is too focused on the shapes his lips make as he speaks. They're so smooth; they don't even crinkle as he speaks. She wonders if they're as soft as they look. She wonders if his breath tastes as good as it smells. And then she has to know. So she leans forward, very slowly, as to not surprise him and make him say 'no' again, she presses her lips to his.
Edward had seen humans kiss before. He'd seen what it often led up to, as well. But what he hadn't known was that he would have the same reaction.
He presses back with more force, breathing through his mouth the taste the air from her lungs. His head swims in her essence, and suddenly his tongue is tangling with hers, and he doesn't remember why he'd told her to stop in the first place. He doesn't know why he'd ever want to stop what he's doing right now.
Until he does.
He pulls himself from her, more gently, this time.
"No no!" Isabella cries, now understanding the meaning of the word.
For the first time in his entire existence . . . Edward smiles genuinely. "I'm not saying no," he promises, "No no," he translates with a shake of his head, "Not right now, Isabella."
"Me? Isabella?" she asks, pointing to herself.
"Yes."
She likes the way that sounds much more. "You?" she asks, pointing at him.
He takes a moment to think. Those beneath him call him 'My Lord,' but he doesn't want her to address him that way, for she is of a greater position. "Isabella will call me Edward," he decides.
"My Edward?"
The innocent words widen his smile, "Yes. Isabella's Edward."
She takes a moment to process this information, chewing on her thumbnail. Then she looks up at him with wide brown eyes, "Edward's Isabella?"
His smile transforms into a smirk. "Precisely."
~ TDC ~
As Isabella followed Edward through the winding halls of hell, she took notice of how, though everyone is different, they are oddly the same.
The first person that she'd been introduced to was called Aro. His hair was long and black, his skin was dark, and his eyes were red. He'd been confused when he first saw her, gazing at her Edward with questioning eyes.
"Your Lady," Edward introduced her to him.
"My Lady," Aro greeted her, quick to bow before her, taking one of her hands in both of his and pressing his lips to it.
She grimaced. She doesn't like the way his lips feel on her skin. "No," she said, retracting her hand.
This pleased Edward greatly. And when Aro looked up at him again, he said, "No touching," firmly.
The next person she meets is Marcus, whose features resemble Aro's, and whose reaction to her is the same. Only this time, he wasn't able to reach her before Edward stopped him. Every other introduction went exactly the same.
And each and every one of them share the same characteristics of dark hair, red eyes and dark skin.
And though their characteristics do not resemble those of Edward's, they are alike in some way. It is the sharpness of their features, the broadness of their shoulders, the flatness of their chests.
Each and every one of them.
Marcus.
Alec.
Afton.
Demetri.
Felix.
Garret.
Peter.
Randall.
Allistar.
Charles.
Stefan.
Vladimir.
It was strange to Isabella, but she didn't care enough - nor did she know the words - to question it. What she did care about, though, was where she was headed. "Edward?"
He knew what she was asking, "It's okay, Isabella. I'm taking you to the Tree of Knowledge."
She doesn't understand.
Which is why he is taking her there; to teach her language.
Along with teaching Isabella language it would teach her things that people are not made with but develop over time. Things like loyalty, bravery, obedience, and determination.
Things that she would need in order to serve him properly.
Hell, unlike Earth, is not a sphere. And sitting on the edge of each end of the land is a portal. This portal, that only the devil himself can use, has the ability of taking him anywhere that he could think of.
"You will stay here," he tells her but her eyebrows only furrow.
She doesn't understand. It is only when he disappears from her sight behind the reflective flames that she realizes, whatever he was saying, meant that she is going to be alone. And she didn't know how long that would be.
He takes it to Earth, finds the Garden of Eden, which by this time had been concealed from human eyes, and plucks an apple off by it's stem. He examines the fruit, chuckling to himself as he realizes how unbelievable the situation is.
He is using something that his brother had made for his humans, which had nearly destroyed them, to build up his own creation.
Within minutes of Earth time he was back to his Isabella, holding the shinning fruit before her eyes.
"Eat," Edward commanded.
In the short time that he'd been gone so much had happened. She'd felt sad that she was alone at first. Then she began to feel angry that her Edward left her. And then she began to feel guilty, not knowing if she'd done something to upset him. Maybe 'no' meant that he was going to make her feel this way. But then what was she supposed to do? And where was she supposed to do it? She realized that she had no idea how to get back to where they'd come from, and felt scared.
But he was back now, so none of that mattered.
She ignored the object before her, instead focusing on her Edward, "Edward," she breathed, "My Edward."
He pulled her chin down with his thumb to open her mouth, and placed the apple against her lips. "Bite," he instructed.
She knew what that meant; she could feel the tingling in her mouth.
And so she did. And when she did, everything hit her all at once.
Memories that were not her own.
Feelings that were not her own.
Language that was not her own.
Only now it all was.
"Edward . . . I missed you," she says, looking up at him from beneath her lashes.
A/N: Everyone . . . Sage is back!
We really hope that you guys liked this. We're going to try and tie religious stories into this, but neither of us are particularly educated in all of the religions so we're going to have to take it slow and easy.
But, please, if you have any suggestions or symbols that you would love to be included in the story, send us a PM with the symbol and a brief description. We would be more than happy to incorporate your ideas.
Just keep in mind that we will be tying it in as we see fit, and remember, above all else, that this is just fiction, we don't believe in anything we're writing, and we're not trying to convert you, or even tell you that god or the devil are real.
It's just a story.
Be sure to tell us what you think of it!
:)
P.S. We'll probably update this fic once a month, because we have to put so much time into them to make them just right, and because I'm (/Harlow is) working on Sincerely at this time as well.
Thanks for your patience!
Beta: strixx & Sage
*Love you, bubs!*
*Thanks for putting up with me, Sage!*
~ Harlow & Sage ~