Disclaimer: I don't own True Blood… (Why Alan, why?!)
A/N – This, my dear readers, is the last chapter. Prepare yourselves.
Chapter thirty-two! ~
When I magically appeared in a cloud of purple dust at approximately quarter to three in the morning, I'd somehow cooked up the thought that perhaps – just perhaps – there might be someone in the dark, gloomy entrance hall, waiting for me.
Okay – so maybe I was expecting too much. They couldn't have known that I would suddenly appear. They couldn't have known where to stand, so they could welcome the heroine back with cups of hot cocoa and plates of chocolate cookies.
Surely. But then – after standing there for a good ten minutes – I realised that every vampire in the mansion should have heard the loud crack that sounded as I teleported back. But was that also expecting too much? Did vampires really have as good a hearing as I credited them for? Maybe they didn't.
Ha. Yeah right.
Godric would have felt my very presence as soon as my feet materialised on the carpeted floor. Hell, he would have been standing next to me in less than a hundredth of a millionth of a millisecond (A/N – 0_0) just so he could sweep me up into his muscular arms!
But maybe that was expecting too much, too.
It occurred to me that instead of standing next to the drafty door like a fool, I should go attempt to search the mansion. Not taking the word 'attempt' lightly, of course. More like attempt and pathetically fail. This place was bigger than my school, after all. And just getting through that dump was a mission in itself.
I sighed raggedly, and tried my first option of choice.
"Godric?" I called. I was met with silence. The only sound was my call echoing through the entrance hall. I tried again. "Amber? Alex! Audrey!"
I waited patiently, clinging onto some shred of hope that I wouldn't have to go through the night in this big 'ol scary house alone. Still, there were no shrill answers from the triplets, or any deep, seductive replies from my vampire mate.
It felt as though the entire estate was empty.
Maybe it is, a sinister voice cackled in my head, maybe they all left you. They probably grew sick of frail little Rosalie Stackhouse –
"I am not frail!" I hissed, realising a second later that I was basically talking to myself.
True, my mind echoed, you're no weakling. Maybe they were all taken by those werewolves, hmm? Chopped up into tiny tidbits and thrown into the fire pit for the dogs…
"Shut up!" I warned, and the voice grew quiet. God, maybe being with Aaron had done this to me. Had his madness rubbed off on me? Was I going to hear voices forever, now? Would I be diagnosed with some kind of elf schizophrenia? Maybe constantly being away from Godric had done this to me.
I started to find myself wanting to be back in Russell's mansion. At least I wasn't so cold and alone there. I'd have rather gone and endured his pervy-ness than feel so depressed in this silent, shadowy place.
Okay, fine, so maybe not endure him. Just anywhere with people. Heck, I'd gladly go back to Luke's party. Suddenly, a wave of guilt washed over me. Was the he…alright? I'd completely forgotten about him. Jeez – he'd been thrown against a wall pretty harshly. I didn't particularly like the jock, but I didn't wish for other people's demises.
Well, uh, apart from Aaron that is.
I found myself walking deeper into the mansion, the only sound the soft padding of my bare feet against hard carpet. My bare arm brushed against the concrete wall briefly – I immediately flinched away from it. It was freezing. I knew that Godric didn't need to keep the house heated for the vampires – but there were human maids and butlers, and well, me.
I may have been a creature which I previously thought only existed in storybooks, but I sure as hell needed some kind of warmth!
I slowly ascended the hulking staircase, and instantly took a right, heading for the upper right-wing corridor. Towards Godric's room. I made my way swiftly, hoping that I'd see his strong, smiling face. To see his beautiful bluish-grey eyes, to hear his lovely mixed accent and his warm laugh.
But I knew before I'd even taken a step into that corridor that he wouldn't be there. The pull that connected us – I couldn't feel anything. Not a tug, not a single strain on the invisible bond that wound around a lifeless heart and a beating one.
Godric wasn't here. Yet – I found myself checking anyway. Convincing myself that there must have been a flaw. A flaw in this 'bond'. I pushed open the heavy-duty doors, and was met with an empty room. The thick curtains had been drawn, letting the silvery moonlight into the dark room.
"Godric?" I sighed, stepping into the room. It was fruitless, yet I tried. I tried because I hoped. I didn't know what I'd do if I found myself to be alone. Deprived of his very presence caused me physical pain. I called his name again, and was met with more disappointing silence.
I couldn't stand to be in that room anymore. Couldn't stand to smell his scent, and not have him in arm's reach. It was torture. So I turned around and made my way towards the left wing: my corridor. I pushed away the obvious fact that the mansion was empty, and somehow forced myself to check, just in case.
I was a lovesick fool. I knew, yet I still clung onto that hope. I sighed again, and eventually found myself gliding down the left wing corridor, towards my room this time. When I got there, I realised, with a hint of shock – that the doors were open.
My doors were never open – the triplets or the maids usually closed the doors when I was asleep, or absent from the bedroom. But they were wide open. I stepped into the room with an air of caution about me – my muscles were tensed, ready for something – anything.
But there was nothing. This room was empty, too. However, the entire bedroom looked as though a bomb had hit it. The velvety curtains were ripped apart, shreds hanging from the windowsill like torn paper. My large, queen-sized bed was broken; the bedposts cracked and the bed leaning slightly to the right. The duvet and the many covers piled atop it had all been carelessly flung about my room.
The giant cupboard's doors had been ripped open, leaving them hanging awkwardly on their hinges. The dresser's drawers had all been pulled out – one by one. All my underwear was hanging out, some socks dangling on the knobs of the drawers, some bras lying strewn here and there. I didn't even venture into the bathroom. I was too afraid to see its state.
The great oak desk was the only thing which still stood on all its legs, looking proud and majestic as ever. But the cups of pencils and pens had been smashed carelessly on the carpet, pencils flung under the bed. Lined pieces of paper were torn and shredded.
But it wasn't until I peered closely at the oak desk, did I feel real fear make my blood run cold. It wasn't much – just a small speck of something. To any normal human, it would have seemed pointless to any kind of murder or forensic investigation. But, to me – looking at it brought only a curious sense of horror.
On the oak desk was a pile of purple dust.
I flung myself out of the entrance doors, a scream building up in my chest.
They really did it. They took the people I care about!
All this so they could finally have me? Finally have me back, so I could embrace my freak nature? Fully become one of them? It made me so very angry, to think –
No, no. I wouldn't think. I would plan. I would strategize. I would wage war.
Because this was fucking war.
Because they had taken my Godric.
Third's person's P.O.V
The forest that night had an eerie sense of calmness, yet something about it also screamed danger. The girl with the long, dark hair, almost obsidian eyes and ashen face walked smoothly over the dead leaves. She did not make a single sound. Her bare feet seemed to glide over the hard-packed soil, as though she was hovering rather than walking. Her midnight blue dress flowed freely behind her. She truly looked like some kind of holy deity.
A cold September breeze ruffled her perfect hair, a single dark strand fluttering out to caress her pale cheek. But her facial expression remained the same: stone hard, emotionless.
Determined.
Where was she going, one might wonder? Why would a girl, of almost seventeen – be out in the gloomiest part of the forest, at an ungodly hour? This is what she might have told herself, if she did not have a purpose.
Her purpose, however, was her life. She simply could not live without it. Madness would consume her – like the very boy who had gone through the same horror that she was sure to befall if she did not hurry.
Words left her rosy, pink lips. It was so quiet, so subtle, that it was physically impossible for a human to possibly pick up. However, there were other beings in the forest that night, who heard it as though she were speaking through a microphone.
"I know you're there."
Indeed they were. They surrounded her quietly, silently. Like hunter drawn to its prey, they circled the unmoving girl like a pack of vultures. Hungry, she thought bitterly. Hungry for the very thing they cannot claim. That they don't deserve.
"My friends. My mate," The words left her mouth in a graceful stream, "Where are they?"
A man with long, flowing dark hair, onyx eyes and pointed ears spoke freely. "Safe," He replied in a reassuring tone. His pristine, glowing robes hovered behind him as he approached the stony girl. "I promise you, tinu. We have not touched them aggressively."
"My room," She spat out through clenched teeth. "Obviously there was a fight. Don't lie to me, father."
The man stiffened, but slowly let out a ragged sigh. "Yes, well, Rosalie," The ancient elf sighed, "There were…complications. He refused to come. We needed him and your comrades to…bargain with you, if you will."
"Bargain?" Rosalie screeched, yet still seeming to look as lovely as the goddesses themselves.
"How else would we have gotten you home, sister?" Another male asked lowly. He was younger, stuck as a seventeen-year old for the rest of eternity. Her brother. Her betrayer.
"I would have come back with you anyway!" Rosalie hissed in response. "Adorellan told me you would all come for me before my seventeenth –"
"And so we have," Her father cut in. Rosalie looked stunned. They were right, of course. It was almost her seventeenth birthday.
"But you didn't need to –"
"Would you have really come when we came for you?" Rosalie's elven brother asked a gentle look in his eyes. "Of course not, sister. You would not have come. Your mate would have fought against us. You see –"
"Taking precautions can be necessary," Her father pointed out, cutting off her brother. Although, the boy did not look angry about his interruption. He simply bowed his head to his father – his King – in solemn acceptance.
"Where are they, right now?" Rosalie asked them, anger still clear in her voice. "You cannot expect me to leave without seeing them…"
The elves sighed, as though they had foreseen her demand. It wouldn't have surprised the young woman if they had. The girl stood, glaring at each and every one of them, waiting for an answer.
"Rosalie."
She felt cool hands on her shoulders, icy lips on her neck. A hard body flush against her back. Her stiff muscles loosened like putty, her anger and determination flushed away, bringing forth new emotions: contentedness, happiness, and love.
Godric.
Rosalie spun round. He looked fine. No, he looked perfect. He always did. A tight, black shirt clung to his chiselled abs, accompanied with grey, baggy pants and causal shoes. His beautiful eyes sparkled in the moonlight, his smile wide yet regretful.
She gulped. Opened her mouth to speak, but no words flowed this time. Her mate helped her temporary lapse in conversation. "I am fine," He assured her. But that wasn't enough for the girl. She jumped at him, the force her jump nearly knocking him over had he been human. Instead, he caught her easily in his arms, and their lips connected.
"I love you," Godric whispered to his mate, his Rose, his love. "I love you so very much…"
Tears streamed down her pale cheeks, but the aged vampire kissed every one of them away. "I – I love you too, Godric. I always will," She hiccupped quietly, but every elf heard her words with their keen ears.
His grip tightened around her, and his mouth went to hers again, kissing her passionately. Godric's tongue skimmed her bottom lip, begging for their one last kiss for a while. Rosalie obliged instantly, melting in his arms as they kissed.
She pulled away. "The others. Audrey, Alex, Amber, Rory…are they - ?"
"I sent them back home," Godric whispered, kissing her jaw. "They are fine, I promise you…"
Rosalie nodded, and flashed him a watery smile, leaning in for another hungry kiss. However, a cough interrupted them. "We must be leaving, tinu," Her father commanded softly. Although the creature before him was a Nightwalker – the very species his race despised – he could not, in that very moment, find a reason to hate him. It was impossible to miss the pure, unadulterated love in the vampire's eyes towards his little girl.
It brought him a strange sense of joy.
Rosalie reluctantly slipped out of her mate's grasp, whom had a pained look in his eyes. He didn't want to let go. He didn't know when he'd see his love next. It could have been a decade, century, a thousand years – but he knew one thing. He would wait for her.
"Come," The elves said in unison, their voices like melted honey and butter. They held their long, pale hands out towards their princess. Rosalie looked towards her father, a desperate look in her eyes.
"When will I –"
"Time does not exist in the elven lands," Her father answered for her. "I do not know when you shall return back here."
"Father," Rosalie's brother gasped, "You have not – are you seriously suggesting that my sister should ever return back to this place?" He shot a disgusted look over at Godric, but the ancient vampire's eyes were trained solely on his love.
To the elves' and Rosalie's surprise, Ettrian, the king, laughed. "My son," He chuckled. "Look at them. Look at your sister. Look at the Nightwalker. Surely you can see it?"
Ellisar, Rosalie's elven brother, stared unblinkingly at the couple. The king shook his head. "They are so in love, my son. Look at him; he cannot bear to take his eyes off of our Rosalie. It reminds me so much of Hannah…" He trailed off, sighing.
"So in love…." Ellisar murmured quietly. Acceptingly. The elves nodded, too. Bright smiles upon their faces.
"Come, now," Ettrian said, placing a hand over his only daughter's shoulder. "It's time for you to come home to us."
Rosalie bit her lip, glancing up at Godric one more time. "I won't say goodbye," She whispered, "Because there's no point. I will come back to you."
Godric nodded. Ettrian stepped back, his robes swishing. The elves followed him, and they created a perfect circle around the couple, each and every one of them holding hands.
Godric took Rosalie's face in his hands. His thumbs traced over her cheekbones, her jaw, the shape of her face and chin – he committed it to memory. Bloody tears dripped down his cold skin. He kissed her again, softly – a silent farewell's kiss.
"I love you," Rosalie repeated. "I'll come back as soon as I get this stupid elf thingy over and done with." She sniffled indignantly, and Godric chuckled.
"I love you too," Godric promised. "You will always be mine."
"Likewise," Rosalie laughed, her voice thick with tears.
"Mine for eternity," They promised each other.