Chapter Nine: Denied Instincts

(Seth POV)

It didn't take me long to finish my meal. In fact I had drained the dear of all its blood long before but I was still tearing at its flesh with a voracity that rivaled that of predators in the wild on a daily basis. Wasn't I supposed to be the perfect predator since I was a vampire?

After ingesting my fair share of deer I stood, wiped my mouth on my arm (which was counterintuitive since the blood was still on me anyway), and turned to Edward and Jasper. I really wanted to know if I had done a good job and if there were any pointers they could give me.

However, the two vampires were staring at me as if I had gone way overboard on my vampiric assault. Quickly I tried to think of what I had done that seemed too gratuitous or off the wall, but nothing sprang to mind. Maybe I had just figured out how to hunt by my own instincts and they were just amazed.

"No Seth," Edward gulped, circling his fingers around his face to motion for me to check my face.

That made no sense to me since I had wiped off the extra blood off my mouth, but I felt my face anyway.

"By the power of greyskull," I murmured as I felt my now sharp features. My hands made their way elsewhere to find that my ears had become pointed and fuzzy. My hands traveled all along my face, "Oww, what the…"

Did I forget to mention that I had claws?

"Now Seth, I know this may seem a bit odd…"

"Not really since I just found out my old friends turn into werewolves," I replied

"Edward," Jasper rasped. "He shouldn't be this rational,"

"We went over this earlier, Seth isn't your average vampire," Edward sighed.

I was going to ask why they were talking as if I weren't there. Did they expect me to be frothing at the mouth or go Batshit Macfucking crazy all because I was fuzzy with pointy ears? I wasn't. Batshit Macfucking crazy was when I attacked Bella, even though I was forced.

You would have done it without my help anyway.

I was fighting you off.

No, you weren't, but you still would have yielded.

"So can I have my," I started to say as I collapsed, "peanut butter cookies now?

I'm at first beach again, but this time I do not see Renesmee. Maybe she will appear from seemingly nowhere when I'm not paying attention. That seems to be her thing anyway.

I sit down on the cold sand to wait for my de facto conscience that I still don't believe is my conscience. How could my sense of right and wrong manifest itself as an eight year old girl?

I shift my focus so I don't begin to question my sanity.\

I find strange that everything at the beach is cold, especially since it seems to be what passes for high noon. Perhaps that is because of my bad memories of the beach itself? Maybe there is no real reason, other than because I just want it cold here.

I have no problem just waiting for Renesmee to show up, but a surge of dread is creeping up my arms is making me want to leave. I can't though because the same sense of dread that is making me want to run like hell is freezing me to this very spot. My breathing is getting faster and I fear that someone is going to-

Wait!

I hear footsteps behind me, but they are heavy, almost angry sounding. It cannot be Renesmee since she didn't even have footsteps in our last meeting.

I will myself to turn and I see that it is my dad. He looks exactly as I last remember him. Harry Clearwater has short grey hair hidden under a baseball cap that he only wears with his hunting clothes. In fact he is in his hunting clothes.

Also he is standing behind me with a shotgun barrel pointed to my forehead.

"What have you done with my son?" he demands.

"Dad, this isn't the time for a joke," I chuckle, as I try to move the barrel away.

He rears back and slaps me across the face with it. I fall to the ground, wincing from the pain. This is a dream so I shouldn't be feeling pain like this. If I want to stop it I can, right?

"Don't you lie to me leech," he barks, kicking me over. "Where. Is. My. Son?"

I guess I don't want to stop the pain.

"Dad, what are you doing?" I wince.

"You killed me and my boy," he shouts, smacking me again.

Now, I'm trying to wake up. Since I'm aware that this is a dream I should be able to wake myself no problem, right, but I realize that nothing is happening and my dad has just cocked the rifle.

"Dad, please put it down," I beg.

He shakes his head, but tosses it to the side anyway. I cannot celebrate this though, because he plunges his hand into his chest and pulls out is heart. It is bright red and is spasming out of control, dripping with blood.

I feel hungry.

I WANT it.

I want to tear it apart and taste the warm blood inside dribble down my throat. I'll bet that it is very tender since it is fresh from the original source. If I hurry it still will taste like the life it came from. The essence of life itself will taste so phenomenal and by the very act of taking it out of his chest he had offered it to me.

But do I want it?

"Dad, put your heart back!" I scream, crab crawling away, but he slams his foot into my chest and leans over me.

"Take it Seth," he pleads, forcing it to my mouth. "You know you want it."