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Lady Bella's POV

His chilling words ring in my ears. What does he mean? What shall he do to me? I take in as much oxygen as possible, preparing myself for a scream. I have a decent voice. The others aren't too far away. They will hear me even with my voice muffled by Count Cullen's hand.

I open my mouth and scream.

But no one will hear me, at least, no one that matters. And if they did hear me, it would be too late. Because the moment before the scream bubbled up my throat and out my lips, Count Edward Cullen took off.

It appeared that we were flying over the London rooftops. I didn't dare myself to look down. The harsh winter wind slashed at my cheeks and made my eyes water. I try to call out to him, make him stop, but my words are sucked back down my throat, due to our prodigious speed.

My first instinct is to nestle my face into his shoulder to protect my face. I try this, against my better judgment and my rapidly increasing fear of him, or whatever he is, but he provides no warmth. Pressing my face to his skin is like rubbing my cheek on ice.

Against the furious pull of the wind I try to beat my fists upon his chest. He doesn't even flinch at my attempts. Silent tears trickle down my cheek.

I glance at his face. The warmth that once was displayed there plainly is gone. He looks only ahead.

I finally work up my nerve to look down. What I see is he is not flying, but running. His foot makes light contact with each roof. What surprises me is that we are traveling at a good speed over London's most fashionable homes. Mansions, some. I can't help but notice how graceful he is, not even glancing at his feet while he runs.

I barely feel when he stops. We are perched on the roof of a rather large house. There is a large hatch and he drags me over to it. It is large enough for the both of us t fit through. He jumps down, pulling me after.

We land in a stylish room, with Oriental rugs and a velvet settee. A maid is there, cleaning the fireplace. She looks up and sees the Count, restraining me. She is not much older than me, and beneath the ash marking her cheeks, she is rather beautiful.

Her eyes go wide, but she says nothing.

"Emilia," Count Edward says smoothly, as if I am not even there, "I believe there is some silver below stairs that needs polishing."

Emilia nods but doesn't move. Her eyes are fixed upon me. I cal lout to her, my voice contained by the Count's hand. She hears me, but does not approach.

"Hmm?" He takes a step toward her and then Emilia is gone, down the stairs.

He lets go of me. He crosses the room in three strides and locks the door. I try to run, but my shaky legs cause me to trip on the rug's edge and I am down on my hands and knees.

He turns back to me. I try to crawl away, until I back up into the wall. He comes over to me. Count Cullen bends down. He leans forward until his mouth is only a whisper from my ear. I feel his frigid breath upon my cheek.

"I am sorry," he says, "Very sorry." He pulls back, tilting my chin upwards so I may look one last time into those dark, dark eyes. Then he leans forward, as if he is going to kiss me. For one giddy moment I think he is. Then his teeth connect with my throat. I barely have time to register this pain. Then he hoists me up by the shoulders, cracking my head back against the deep mahogany wood paneling.

A gurgling screech forces its way out my mouth as he tears at my body. I can feel my body being drained.

Dear God, he is drinking my blood. Just like a vampire. Or is he one? Do they really exist, that old wives' tale?

Then, suddenly, he stops. He backs away from my limp body, moaning. He stares at me, a strange look in his eye. It is like hunger, but more of a longing. He is not breathing.

Everything is going black. Yes, let death come. Who knows what he shall do to me next. I am now thanking him for wishing me an early death. I welcome the darkness like a sister.

Then, the fire begins.