Hello all! Yes, this actually IS another chapter! See, I haven't forgotten...lol. Miss Avalon has been born and is going great - almost 3 months old and finally limiting her nightly wake ups to a few minutes (instead of hours...) - so, thanks to my routine finally getting to something akin to normal, I have some mojo back! Let's just hope what is in my head is still whats in line with the story...anyhow, read on, and hopefully enjoy!
Luned brushed her fingers lightly over the bedcovers, still faintly warm from Jacob's extreme body heat. The smooth texture, quality only a prince or some other royal could possibly afford, moved softly under her touch with a gentle whisper that sounded to her like distaste.
"Whore," it murmured with each rustle, whispered to her in her mind. "Useless, pathetic, never good enough, especially for him…"
She crumpled the material under her fingers, her breathing coming in harsh gasps. All these things and more she knew of herself, knew in the marrow of her bones. Knew that he knew also, but still she begged, prayed, wished it could be otherwise. But why else would he scoff at her attempt to be truthful, her desperation to prove to someone in this time, other than her lady, that she was real, she was Luned, sister of Tangwystl, Welsh woman. Proud Welsh woman, avenger of her sister….
A single tear slipped down her cheek. She was these things, she was! If only Jacob could see, could understand; but instead he saw her as someone else, always some else, as every man always had. Edward of her own time had thought nothing more of her than younger sister of his beloved; James had seen her as a mean to many ends, none of them good and kind…this new Jacob saw her as his lost lover.
"If only," her mind raged, "if only my Jacob had survived…." Pain tore through her at the memories. She hadn't even deserved him, had used her body on him also to try and make him love her, had led him to his death through her own greed…. She slammed her fists on the mattress in front of her, crying with rage and grief, going rigid with remembered surprise when the mattress did not yield to her touch but instead flung her own anger back upon her, her hands flying up off the bed. What would it take, how could she possibly make him see that her only hope in this strange time was him, the only thing she wanted was him….
It didn't occur to her medieval mind that she was repeating the mistakes she had made centuries past. She was a child of her time, not prone to understanding, only feeling, intuitively and emotionally, and reacting.
Jacob flung the branches away from him as he stalked through the woods near First Beach. Luned, Leah, Luned, Leah…not even the usually calming trees would give him the peace he so desperately desired. Luned looked so much like his lost Leah. He would only look at her and feel transported back…but then she opened her mouth, and…."
Well, what do I expect?" he muttered to himself. She wasn't Leah, no matter how uncannily alike she looked. She was a nut. Simple fact.
A little voice in his head hissed doubt at him, but he shoved it away. What was there to doubt? She thought she was a medieval Welsh woman for goodness sake! She didn't belong here; she belonged in a mental institution! "Trust Bella," she had thrown at him. That was the most confusing thing of all-he did trust Bella. And she kept very close company with Luned…. He smacked another tree branch on his way past. Maybe Bella was completely nuts too, if she believed any of this nonsense.
Bella kept her hands firmly on the wheel as she made her way carefully through the drizzle towards Alice's. Her fingers tingled as they remembered the feel of Edward…her whole body confirmed the memory with an added shiver of excitement. Their next date would be something special, she was sure of it.
Alice of course was the perfect person to ensure things went smoothly. She always knew just the right way to a man's heart. "Well, bed," Bella giggled internally. Her current focus was not an emotional one. She laughed as she continued slowly along the tiny road, completely oblivious to Laurent St. Clair following steadily at a considerable distance behind her, her thoughts exclusively on where a fantastic dinner was likely to lead. Thankfully, her ghosts stayed that, and troubled her not at all.
The book dangled loosely in Alice's left hand; in the other a half-eaten scone made its way gradually back to the plate resting on her lap. Jasper, her sweet, dearest Jasper. Each time she thought of him now it was a dark blotch in her mind, not the shining ray of light he had always been for her. She knew, she knew that what he was involved in was something more than light criminal activity-more than, say, evading his fees for returning a late DVD-whatever it was, it was heavy on his spirit, and heavy on Alice's.
Could you love someone who you felt was lost, and lacking in kindness? For that is what she felt now, that emptiness of something else, something she barely wanted to know. But at the same time, she answered her own internal question-yes, you could love someone even when you knew they weren't good. Sure, the love warped, became stretched taut like an elastic band that had spent too long in the water, but it was love, nonetheless.
In her chair, her eyes gazing off into the distance, the book now tumbling to the floor, forgotten, Alice felt Bella, her shining happiness as her dark cloud slowly evaporated. She felt Rosalie, in her usual tumultuous world of self-absorbtion. She sensed Jacob's confusion, and Luned's anguish. She felt the impending taint of horrifying reality screaming towards them all, and the violence waiting in the ether. She felt the promise and the desolation, the joy and the agony, and knew, knew with a sureness so sharp her breath caught in her throat, that come what may, more than one person was not going to make it through the end of the week.
Not for the first time in his life, Jasper was thankful for favors that he was able to call in at any moment. The private plane was ready and waiting, this trip a gift from one of the men he had been kind enough to supply with a steady stream of 'mistresses.' Even as he knew it was wrong, he still enjoyed the spoils of his sideline career. The perky blonde hostess smiled warmly as she handed him his drink-a straight scotch. He swallowed it in one gulp and handed her the glass, returning her smile with his usual charm. The poor woman batted her lashes, enthralled, but Jasper was no longer paying attention. The flight to Forks wouldn't take too long, just long enough for him to formulate a plan. Time to cut loose from Laurent and start a fresh life with Alice, clean and simple.
He nudged his suitcase with his foot, ensuring it was securely stowed between his seat and the wall. It wouldn't do this late in the game for anyone to arrest him for the gun he was carrying.