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Chapter 6: With so much mental suffering and want of hope
Paris
Rolle walked past her hotel, knowing she wouldn't see him. He knew she would be trying to ignore the hurt she felt when he had to ignore her on the plane. She would try to get caught up on her work. She would shower, and she would try to sleep a bit to help her body adjust to the time zone. He stood across the street from her hotel and gazed up at the windows.
Something intruded from outside, and his gaze slowly slid away from the building, crawling over the faces of the people in the street. He passed over the woman intent on picking the pockets of tourists. He passed over the man deciding which train would get him to an event on time. He passed over another man considering options of how to entertain his children for the weekend. His gaze fell on a different man, an older man, who was walking toward him. This man was filled with lust but the tenor of him made Rolle's teeth clench as the man seemed hungry only for the young. In particular, girls not old enough for consent.
Rolle felt his stomach curl with anger. The man noticed Rolle's malevolent gaze and slowed his approach. The vampire's glare was intense, his lip curled into a snarl. The man quailed and quickly crossed the street, skirting away from Rachel's hotel.
Only when the man was out of sight did Rolle finally let his eyes drop away. He gasped and his hands started shaking. He stuffed them under his arms, but his entire body started to shake. He strode quickly to the hotel door and ducked inside. He found the stairs and raced up the steps four at a time until he reached the fifth floor.
He slipped out of the stairwell without a sound and found her room. He placed his hand over the door and knew she was asleep. He pressed his forehead to the door and concentrated on her.
A deep shuddering breath rushed past his lips. He winced as if in pain and forced himself to think only of Rachel, and Carlisle, Edward and Bella.
§∞•••∞§
Rachel woke from her nap and dressed for the cool weather, needing to wear herself out to adjust to Parisian time. She stopped at a small café for a baguette and coffee, sitting at a small outdoor table and ate for a while under a discreet awning. She watched the people walk by, protected from the London-like fog that fell. It was not quite mist and not quite rain. The damp weather was common for Paris at this time of year. Still, the people here were used to it and went on their business as if the sun was high in the sky and the streets were not shining with moisture.
She felt better having eaten and stood, intent on walking towards the river. She enjoyed the consistencies that defined Paris; the sound of the distinct sirens of the Gendarmerie, the overwhelming smell of baked butter from the patisseries, the sound of shoes clicking across the cobblestones, the statues standing watch from every building façade. The susurrus conversations in French permeated every inch of the city.
She walked past the gold, white and black of the Alexander Bridge and stepped around a couple at the rail who were wrapped up in each. She glanced at them, mentally replacing them in her mind as she crossed over the bridge, and imagined what this week might have been like if Italy did not exist.
She raised her eyes from the curb looking up the sidewalk and found herself focused on a man sitting on one of the riverside benches. He was leaning over with his elbows on his knees, his hands folded together as he contemplated the river sliding by. Her feet suddenly attached themselves to the damp sidewalk.
She knew that profile well after spending over eight hours glancing at it.
He'd obviously been sitting there for a while. The mist lay heavy over his hair making it look like beads of glass on platinum threads. He was wearing the same clothes he'd had on the plane and his shirt, now damp, clung to his shoulders and back.
Her immediate excitement at seeing him again rolled over and turned into a heavy lump. It was him. Rolle. Here. Not in Italy. Here. Rachel felt the stab of his lie.
Rolle sensed her staring at him and turned his head. Rachel blinked quickly, struggling to overcome the confusion that clouded her mind and trying to ignore the heated flush that rose over her neck and face. She willed herself to not give away every single emotional reaction she was having, but knew it was useless.
The lack of surprise in Rolle's eyes at seeing her there sped along her growing hurt. She replayed their time on the plane, going over every moment, every look, every touch. It all became tainted with the questions and doubts racing through her mind. If he lied about going to Italy, he hadn't wanted to let their time on the plane be anything more than that. Rachel began to question everything. Had he enjoyed their moment together? Had she let herself stupidly believe that it meant something to him as it had to her?
Until now she would have sworn they had shared something special. She would have cherished that memory with a secret smile until her death. She would have entertained the notion that he had felt the same way. Until now, but everything she felt was being shredded as he sat there looking at her. His mouth twitched into a frown and his eyes flicked away with guilt.
The gesture only fueled her doubts and a single word flashed into her mind at his demeanor: busted. Rachel felt a small morsel of unsatisfying relief that she could at least read him this well.
Rolle continued staring at her and shifted his body, pressing with one leg, and slowly slid down the bench just enough to make room for her. He looked at her a moment, then glanced down at the seat he had cleared for her, and looked back up again in silent invitation.
Recognizing her emotional tumult, he watched her only long enough to know that she understood his intent, then looked down at his hands to let her make her own decision.
Rachel swallowed nervously, debating what to do. It did not take long. She needed to know why he had lied to her. The need to know pushed her forward.
She walked slowly to the bench, sat down, and placed her small purse next to her on the bench, giving herself a few more seconds to gather her thoughts and still her rapid breaths. She knew that playing nonchalant wouldn't work if her hands trembled and her voice shook.
"Wow," she said smiling for him. "Did your flight to Italy get cancelled?" The hurt was plain in her eyes, despite her attempt to hide it.
A smile with no humor touched his lips. "Not exactly," he said softly, leaning back against the bench. He did not look at her. "I didn't lie to you, though. Don't think I lied to you."
Rachel took a deep breath and slowly said, "Oh-kay." She attempted another smile but it, too, looked forced and awkward. "I'm just surprised to see you here. I'm sure you can understand how it's taking me a moment to figure this out."
"I know. I'm sorry. If I would have known sooner he'd react that way, I would have gotten your phone number or hotel before you went back to your seat," Rolle admitted, only partly lying now.
"I... I don't understand. Who is he? Why would he care if you got my phone number?" Rachel chewed her lip, her brow furrowing in confusion.
Rolle turned and looked at her. "What I mean is if I had known I'd have more time in Paris, that I would have asked you if I could have your phone number." He suddenly looked oddly shy. "I'm just glad you decided to do something touristy to make it easier for me to find you."
"Oh," she said, nodding as though she understood. She turned towards him. "Wait, you found me? Rolle, I don't... I'm sorry. I feel like I'm missing something. How did you find me all the way out here? How would you know where to look?" Rachel's excitement that he wanted to see her started to overshadow her confusion and he could hear it in her tone.
"I flipped a coin that you'd go to the tower or walk along the river." He held a nickel in the palm of his hand and offered it to her. "It came up tails. I just got lucky."
Rachel smiled, not only because it appeared he hadn't meant to mislead her, but also because she felt his need for levity. "You did get lucky," she said suggestively.
"Rachel..." Rolle began slowly as he lowered his hand when she didn't take the nickel. "I'd really like to kiss you again." He looked at his lap. His shyness came back again in force. "Can I?"
She cocked an eyebrow. "Did you need to ask me the first time?"
"You weren't mad at me and feeling hurt the first time," he admitted, glancing at her with a growing smile.
"Touché," she laughed, feeling easy with him as her entire body relaxed with his smile. The fact that he knew he'd hurt her feelings made a difference to her. She did not answer him, though, but just looked at him expectantly.
Rolle turned and leaned toward her, looking at her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. "You didn't answer me," he whispered as a single drop of water slipped down the side of his jaw from his hair.
Rachel wiped the droplet away with her fingers. "Yes, I did." She smiled and leaned into him, lightly pressing her lips to his. She hummed as he smiled against her. She brought her fingers to where their lips met and touched the side of his mouth. "Your lips are so cold."
He smiled again with a light in his eyes now, and held his hand out, palm up as if catching raindrops. "I've been sitting here a while," he said as an explanation. He examined her face again, thoughtfully this time. "I'm sorry I made you feel bad."
"I know," she nodded. "But I didn't feel very bad for very long." She nudged his lips with hers, urging him to kiss her some more.
He needed no more convincing than that and cupped the side of her neck with his hand, his thumb rubbing under her jaw as he kissed her, no more willing to let the moment end than she was. When he released her lips, he didn't go far.
"I don't know yet how long I'll be staying in Paris," he said. "But I'd be honored if I could spend that time with you."
"Really?" she said, sounding like an excited teenager. "I'd love that." Rachel looked behind him at the people walking on the bridge and chewed her lip. "Do you... want to come to my hotel? I think it's probably more comfortable than our last venue."
It was almost as if he couldn't stand to see her nervous about asking, and he took her face in both his hands and kissed her breathless. Her entire body seemed to go numb and limp, but somehow she managed to feel him nodding against her lips. "Please," he whispered into the kiss.
Rachel stood up, grabbing his hand in one of hers and picking up her purse with the other. "Let's go," she whispered, smiling. She felt a rush of boldness and pulled him flush against her as he stood. "And this time, I want you stretched out so I can see all of you."
Rolle groaned helplessly at her words and when Rachel turned to lead him back to her hotel, he stood firm and stopped her. She looked questioningly into his eyes and he lowered his hands to her hips, pulling her gently against him. He just looked at her a moment and his eyes held such tenderness and trust, it felt like he had erased every bit of her doubts since she'd left the plane. She watched him bring his lips to hers slowly, and his kiss was apologetic, then reverent, then needful. When he slid his hand into hers, finally ready to let her take him back to her room, the smile on his face made her grip his fingers and almost pull him along the sidewalk. Rachel heard him chuckle, but then wondered if the sound came from herself.
She retraced her steps with Rolle in tow walking a lot faster than the idle stroll she had used to get to the river. She couldn't stop herself from looking at him, checking to see it was really him attached to her hand. They walked around the couple tangled in each other on the bridge. Rachel felt a goofy grin on her face and felt him run his thumb along the inside of her palm. Their steps were faster as they passed the patisserie where she'd had her coffee and she realized now he had been on the bench waiting for her the entire time she was dawdling here. She checked again, and he was still there, looking at her. The expression on his face made her stomach flip over with excitement.
When they reached her hotel she pulled him through the foyer to the small elevator. Rolle pressed himself close behind her while they waited. He slid his hands over her waist and kissed her shoulder, his mouth slowly sliding toward her neck. When she felt his cool lips on her skin at the neck of her sweater, she impatiently jabbed the call button again. They could hear the damn thing several floors above them. When his lips pressed into her neck, she melted back against him, pressing her head back on his shoulder and her free hand against his thigh, squeezing it. When one of his hands slid down over the front of her hip and came back up under her sweater, her vision began to swim and she felt his legs behind hers, pressing her forward into the now waiting elevator. She hadn't heard it arrive.
"Push the button," he ordered muffled against her neck making her feel delicious things race along her body.
He pressed her into the side of the tiny elevator, capturing his own hand burrowed under her sweater against her breast and the wall. She turned her face to rest her cheek against the cool door and he took it as the invitation she was hoping he would.
"Nothing wrong with the last venue," he breathed into her ear as his tongue traced over her earlobe before sucking it into his mouth. She couldn't stop the loud groan that filled the elevator and she pressed her ass into the erection she knew she would find. His answering moan vibrated through her skull.
Rachel was trying to remember how to breathe. "I didn't say there was anything wrong with it. Oh, God." He had bent his knees and was grinding his cock low against the center of her ass.
"Oh, Christ, Rachel," he gasped suddenly, "make that sound again."
"What?" She had no idea what he was talking about until he pressed into her ass again as he did before. A whimpered cry had broken from her throat.
"Oh, God," he muttered, and she knew what sound he wanted then. "God."
Rachel slammed her hand against the elevator button again, willing it to go faster.
He spun her around to face him and she lunged into him just as the elevator doors disappeared behind him. The distance to his arms and lips increased as they staggered though the now open door. They practically fell across the hall and his back hit the wall with a huff and a moan before her lips finally connected with his. She clenched his hair in her hands to keep him from getting away again. Both of his hands gripped her ass, pulling her even tighter to him.
They weren't going to last long at this rate.
"Where?" he gasped between kisses.
She tripped over their tangled legs when she tried to take a step, unwilling to leave his lips long enough to answer him. She tried to guide him down the short hall to her door as she attempted to get the key out of her purse without letting go of him. With a growl that nearly made her faint, he wrapped his arms around her hips and lifted her up. She circled her legs and arms around his body, her hand now free to pull out the key. With the key in her fingers, she flapped her hand in the direction of the door.
Rolle carried her to the door and steadied her against the wall while she worked the key. After her third attempt to get the key in the lock, she snarled with frustration. Rolle stiffened against her with a gasp. Rachel smiled with this new knowledge of what he liked, and with only breath he chuckled, knowing that she now understood this.
He became still against her lips and she felt his fingers curl around hers holding the key. She peeked open her eyes to find his eyes open as well. She froze in this extreme proximity to his gaze, their lips touching. They were so close she could see the folds of color around his pupils: rays of white gold, and flecks of blue and gray like moonstone.
Without sparing a glance, he helped her guide the key into the lock. As the key slid in, his tongue passed over her lips. As they pressed the key into the lock together, he pressed his tongue against hers, his eyes still locked to hers. The locked turned gently with the key as his gentle kiss and probing tongue danced with hers. Rachel began to pant, feeling that kiss electrify every part of her. She knew she would never unlock a door again without thinking of him, thinking of this moment.
As the key opened the lock, so the lock opened the door. His eyes closed briefly and he swayed with panting grunts.
"I don't want you slow," Rachel breathed out fast and plunged her tongue into his cool, sweet mouth. She reveled in the sound of his groan.
She felt the air on her skin for a second and then the bed against her back before she heard the door slam shut behind them. Their frantic hands pulled and pushed and yanked their clothes out of the way. Their mouths met again, gasping and sloppy and fueled with a hunger she'd never felt before; as though she wanted to eat him and it seemed he felt the same way. The way his hands slid and pressed over her body made her almost uncomfortably wet until his grasping fingers found her and then it was the only comfort she had ever imagined needing. His hand pressed hard over her pubic bone and his fingers curled over her, cupping her. His moan deepened, becoming a groan and then something more feral like a growl as he moved his hand to cover the delicious hot, wet mound, pressing harder until he submerged his fingers through the yielding and now slippery skin.
Her entire body clenched with his touch and she accidentally bit his lip, hard. She felt his hand shake against her but he didn't even grunt in pain. She looked at him half kneeling, half lying over her as he stroked her moisture over his cock before bringing his hand up between them. He looked at his fingers a moment as if wanting to do something, but unable to decide. She grabbed his wrist and brought his hand to her mouth, licking the end of his fingers, tasting herself on him. She looked into his face as she sucked one into her mouth, rolling her tongue around the pad of his finger.
His mouth fell open and he gaped at her in surprise. She knew then that he hadn't expected her to do that, but as his face filled with hunger she knew that was what he wanted. She felt confident as his lover then, knowing that she could and would give him what he wanted, what he needed, and then she heard her own words in her head. As he dropped his mouth to hers and his tongue joined his finger in exploring her mouth, Rachel repeated them in her mind. His lover. She was his lover.
His tongue sought hers as his fingertip ran over her teeth a moment before stroking her tongue in the rhythm she wanted from him elsewhere over her body. She felt the evidence of his hunger resting against her hip.
Me, she thought. He is hungry for me. He came looking for me!
The aching need she had for him now was almost painful and she took matters, literally, into her own hands. She gripped his cock hard with one hand, pushed his hip over her with the other. Rachel bit down on his finger and then used the one tool she now knew would undo him: she whimpered a long and pitiful sound of impatient desire.
It worked.
His cock jerked in her hand as she felt the muscles in his stomach crunch together. She quickly guided him to her as she wrapped her legs around him hard, squeezing him with all her strength to show him how she wanted him to take her. He complied instantly, driving himself into her sex without hesitation. She gasped as he filled her completely.
Rolle's startled and desperate groan filled the room. Like a square wheel trying to roll, something in his psyche fell awkwardly and forcefully through him.
"What are you doing to me?" he gasped, still leaning in, pressing with his entire body. "Unh, God."
"More, more," Rachel gasped. "Fuck me, Rolle. Do it."
He pulled out of her entirely and drove in. She grunted at the sensation of instant change from being empty to completely filled, stretched to capacity. She felt him shift slightly over her, coming to his knees and his hands gripped the linens beside her head. He used this leverage to lunge himself into her again and the force of it pushed her farther up onto the bed. Each time she gasped. Each time it drove the breath from her. Each time her body inched across the mattress with the force of him.
"Don't you feel that?" he growled. "Can't you feel me?"
"Yes, God, yes." She couldn't breathe enough to make words for him.
"You can't," he insisted, driving in even harder. "I can't hear it."
She wanted to laugh, but there was nothing funny about how he was making her feel. He heard her then. He heard exactly what she was feeling: the surprise, the completion, the ecstasy that was ripping her apart every time he entered her.
When she felt the headboard press against her hair, she reached up and pressed her hands against it to keep herself from retreating from his plunging attacks. Each time they came together, she learned more about what he liked. He liked the sounds she made more than having her speak. As she listened to the sounds he made now, she began to understand what he loved about her sounds because she could have listened all day to the sounds he made, especially when she clenched her muscles around his cock as he withdrew. She found she could take more of him by raising her hips as he hurtled into her and by pressing up with her hands against the headboard she could get a greater force with his advance. In a frenzy of motion, one of his hands swept under her ass, raising her slightly as he slid forward into her again, now pushing with his feet to get even deeper inside her.
He bellowed loudly as his orgasm triggered her own. Her hands pressed harder against the headboard, wanting to embed him within her as her legs and sex held him tightly in place with spasms so hard she could feel every muscle in her hips clutching at him over and over again. With each spasm she felt him twitch deep within her, which triggered another spasm and another pulse. He cried out again, trying to burrow himself even further into her and her cry joined his when her own orgasm would not end. She suddenly had the presence of mind to wonder how this would end — when this would end. She was amazed that she even had time to think such a thing. She had never in her life experienced a single orgasm that went on for so long. Her entire body began to spasm and the last thought she had was that maybe this wasn't one orgasm, but a series of powerful orgasms all in succession, and then she couldn't think of anything any more. The last thing she registered was the ice chips in his eyes and then a soft blanket of darkness encompassed her.
§∞•••∞§
Volterra, Italy
The world slowly awoke with dim hues of blue. Dawn would break in only five minutes, but this time of day was always his most somber. As the birds began to wake and sing, the wind stirred pollen through the air in a microscopic ballet that only a vampire could appreciate. It had been her favorite time. She would call him to the nearest window each time, almost giddy with excitement about the beauty of the colors in the sky as the masking blues gave way to their true colors.
"I always loved the color of your eyes," she would whisper to him, wrapping her arms around his and pulling herself close to him. "They were just so," she said, looking out at the courtyard to indicate the color she meant. "I'm happy to have not lost them."
Marcus dropped his chin to his chest, avoiding the sight, avoiding the blue, avoiding her memory.
The gray Mercedes crawled over the ancient cobblestones of the town square and into a narrow ramp across the sidewalk. It stopped before the gates of a vaulted arch and waited patiently. A moment later, the heavy wooden doors opened, allowing them to pull into the private parking area within the walls. Two figures — one tall, the other not — were dressed in black and stepped out of a side door. The taller, thinner man remained behind while the other came forward and opened the door for Marcus.
"Sergei," Marcus greeted quietly.
"Welcome back, Marcus," Sergei said. "They're waiting for you in the library."
Sergei's dark curly hair framed a handsome face and strong jaw. His sideburns were longer than was readily acceptable in this day and age, but were a trademark of the time whence he came. He was also short for a man of today, but he had been considered tall in his mortal life eons ago when nutrition dictated human growth.
Marcus gave a nod to the driver who was pulling out his small travel bag, as he thanked Sergei. The taller guard at the door held it open for him. This man was thin and wiry. His features were well-manicured and not as rough or masculine as Sergei's, but his eyes were sharp and intelligent.
"Thomas," Marcus acknowledged. "My papers?"
"In your chambers," Thomas answered.
"Anything to report?" was Marcus' curt request.
"Nothing of note," Thomas answered, taking out a small note pad. "A report of a serial killer in Bucharest. Probably the Romanians again."
"You informed Aro?"
"Yes, as you ordered," Thomas answered obediently. "I also reported some unusual activity in Novosibirsk, Siberia that could be werewolf. Aro sent Fiona and Lydia to investigate."
Thomas frowned and a mask of hesitation fell over his features. "I'm also sorry to report that another newspaper is discontinuing their print and delivery service," he murmured.
Marcus' feet rooted to the stone floor. Thomas almost walked into him after the sudden stop. "Which one?" came the flat and tired question.
"Yomiuri," Thomas told him. "They are going to a fully online subscriber base."
"Like all the rest," Marcus muttered, pursing his lips and walking on.
"Aro once again has offered to provide a computer in your chambers so you may keep looking for those who are remiss in our laws."
"Yes, yes," Marcus waved him off with a tired hand.
Once upon a time, it had been his job to meet with various tribal runners to garner news. Later, it was traveling minstrels, then sailors. It was a relief when the printed word meant he could avoid these necessary inconvenient meetings with humans. Now, however, as the world continued to change, he found he would regret the loss of newspaper as it gave way to electronic print. There was something soothing in the tactile feel of the oddly gray paper and the acrid smell of its ink. Like so many things in their unremitting lives, electronic media was fleeting and insubstantial.
Marcus' lifeless expression seemed to grow even bleaker as yet another corporeal piece of his existence vanished into ever growing void of antiquity.
Together they turned up the stairs and headed to the library in silence. The cool dampness of the stone went unnoticed by them, as did the sound of their echoing footsteps across the floor. The echo failed when they rounded a corner at the top of the stairway and continued up a hall that was lined with tapestries. When they reached the library door, Thomas reached in front of Marcus to push it open for him. The two Volturi brothers within turned to watch them enter. Renata, Aro's personal guard, was not present. Neither was Caius' shadow, Claudio. Marcus stopped and waved away Thomas without a word.
"Marcus!" Aro cried softly in happy greeting. He crossed the floor with his arms wide in greeting
Marcus kept his face fixed knowing this was more than just a welcome home. He held his arms out slightly, just enough to return the invitation. It was silent acknowledgement that Aro could read his thoughts without issue.
He was embraced as if they'd been apart for years. Aro wrapped his arms around Marcus' shoulders and pulled him close, holding him as if he would hold a dearly beloved brother. Marcus simply raised his hands and lightly patted Aro's back before dropping his hands long before Aro released him.
Aro pulled back and held him by the shoulders at arms length. There was surprise and delight in his face. "Boring trip?" he asked with a sarcastic grin.
Caius snorted at the comment and rose with a sneer. "What did you find?" he asked with a flip of his head to swing a black sheet of hair out of the way.
"Where are dear Felix and Demetri?" Aro asked, turning slowly to Caius.
Caius' eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What has this to do with Carlisle?" he asked sharply, but did not hesitate to offer an answer. "Felix is in Sicily. Demetri is tracking a rogue newborn."
Aro's face lit up with glee. "I beg to differ with you, my dear brother," he said, gesturing Marcus to a chair. "It would seem our wayward fellow has taken it upon himself to advance himself in your eyes."
Caius fell cautiously silent, looking between Aro and Marcus. The old vampire master knew when to let the scene unfold, and Aro would not be able to stand holding back juicy tidbits of information.
Aro rested a guiding hand on Marcus' shoulder, encouraging him to share his findings. Aro turned a level gaze on Caius as Marcus sighed.
"I walked into a very unexpected scene when I arrived at Carlisle's compound. A young protégé of mine that I thought long absent was accosting Carlisle in a deadly manner. The boy's name is Rolland and he claimed to be defending me from Carlisle; that he had disposed of another vampire that was threatening me, and that he had heard of Carlisle's threat. He took it upon himself to act on these rumors in order to defend me."
The telling of this saga seemed to weary him and Marcus slowly dropped into a nearby chair. As he moved, Aro's hand remained in the air when it had been on Marcus' shoulder. Aro slowly and deliberately brought the arm across his chest and folded his arms there, looking squarely at Caius.
"This was exactly what we agreed to avoid." Aro's voice was low and tight. "Your scrupulous and well-timed rants have begun a whisper campaign against Carlisle. You have sown action into the guard as they begin to jockey for favor."
"We all agreed that action should be taken," Caius responded, bored. "What does it matter what form it takes?"
Aro's eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared. "We did not agree that Carlisle would be harmed," he said. "We agreed to remain on good terms. We agreed to investigate. Now we have vampires not even under our control launching attacks against him."
Caius shrugged. "A means to an end."
"What end?" Aro challenged. "We know nothing! And we have now created doubt and suspicion in dear Carlisle and his family."
"Possibly not," Marcus added softly.
Aro reigned in his frustration as he looked to Marcus to explain his claim.
Before he could, Caius demanded suspiciously, "What protégé is this you talk about? I know of no...." He broke off suddenly and gaped at his brother. Though Aro knew instantly who Marcus was referring to, Caius had to draw on his memory of conversations past. There was only one childe that Marcus created who was unaccounted for. "The American boy?" he whispered amazed. "The tracker??" He spun and leveled a pointing finger at Aro. "Ahh! Just as I predicted! Carlisle must have summoned him."
Marcus shook his head, but directed his answer to Aro. "Your Edward would have known my shock at discovering Rolland again after all this time. I saw nothing but hatred and mistrust from them all toward him. Even Edward's young wife was lit with anger."
Aro looked quickly between his two brothers. "Is this the same boy of the rumors?" he asked, inquiring about the legend that had arisen in the past sixty years of a vampire assassin.
"I saw no reason to believe so," Marcus sighed. The forgotten emotion of annoyance once again crossed his face. His childe was a disappointment on many levels. "There was nothing extraordinary in his attack on Carlisle."
"But the manner in which he was able to find you was extraordinary," Caius pointed out. "He was exactly the tracker you knew he could be."
"What of Demetri then?" Aro asked. "He was not nearby to attack Marcus surely."
"You tell me!" Caius retorted with a sneer. "You have better way of knowing than I."
"He has been and always will be your lap dog, Caius," Aro said as if stating the sun would rise in the morning. "His only agenda has been to please you in whatever manner he could manage."
Aro crossed the room and sat in an elegant wingback chair and crossed his legs. "So what of him, Marcus? Your young Rolland claims to have eliminated Demetri? Do you think it is true? And if so, could it be possible that he is then indeed the one the rumors are about? After all, Demetri is no easy target."
Marcus shook his head, his eyes closing wearily. "I don't know. All I can answer for fact is that Rolle claimed to be protecting me; he attacked one of Carlisle's childer before attacking Carlisle himself; and that they were all happily rid of the boy with notions of retaliation if he did not leave quickly."
"Rolle...?" Caius muttered curiously at Marcus' use of the tracker's diminutive name.
"We must have confirmation of Rolle's claim," Aro stated being sure to use the same name Marcus had used for his progeny. "We cannot send anymore to Nova Scotia to investigate, though. I'll need to see this tracker myself."
"Where is the boy now?" Caius asked, wanting to get answers from the boy himself as well.
Marcus looked from Aro to Caius, knowing Aro already knew the answer, and the reason for it. "I left him behind in Paris."
"Apparently, our young friend has been left untamed for too long," Aro answered with a gleam in his eye. "As with any childe, they grow rebellious and head-strong without a firm hand."
§∞•••∞§
A/N: As always, my thanks to my previewers: Irishgirl, Milalencar, and LolaShoes. Thanks to Nikki Pattinson over at Twilighted, and thanks to George.
Childer
(obsolete, dialectical) Plural form of child
en (dot) wiktionary (dot) org/wiki/childer
Yomiuri
a Japanese newspaper published in Tokyo, founded in 1874
en (dot) wikipedia (dot) org/wiki/Yomiuri_Shimbun
Reviews will give you a sneek peek into how, exactly, Rolle was able to do the one thing that tortured Edward for so long... So I've heard...