Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns everything in the Twiverse. But this plot is mine :)

Chapter 13: Good Night, Mr. King

Rosalie's POV

I expect to feel something as I stare at my latest kill, some sense of remorse or sadness.

But all I register is joy.

Sheer, unadulterated joy.

For I did this.

I avenged myself.

Victim no more, I am victorious, and it feels better than anything I could have imagined.

I suppress the roar of satisfaction rumbling in my chest, for one final move remains in this game.

I must dethrone the king.

It takes little time to locate his stench among the assorted smells of the town, its tobacco-laced musk seemingly stronger than the rest. I vaguely remember sneaking a sniff of his jacket once as we walked along the square, and the thought nauseates me.

As I take my time stalking his scent, it becomes clear that Mr. King has taken a detour from his normal journey. If he were on his way home, he would have taken a left on Elm and proceeded down the ironically treeless street until he reached his front door.

But tonight's path leads in a different direction, away from the sanctity of the house of which I once desired to be mistress. Tonight he heads toward the hotel at the center of town, thinking he has found a way to escape.

His machinations are amusing.

I pause behind a tree with the building in my sights, debating on how best to proceed. Though the hour is late and the street deserted, I can hardly waltz into the hotel so attired and retain my anonymity. A change of clothes would have been a prudent accessory, and I regret the lapse in preparation.

This is why I wanted a partner, to remember the details I would not.

No matter. It is not the first time a man has let me down.

A part of my heart constricts at the jibe, knowing Edward's refusal was kindly meant. He believes his abstinence to be helpful, and I can respect his reasoning if not its impact on my plans.

What will he think when he learns of my triumph? Oh, will he be surprised!

A giddy giggle slips through my lips, and I cover my mouth with my hand, taking deep unnecessary breaths to sober my thoughts. There will be plenty of time to prance in pride for Edward.

An eternity, in fact.

The reminder of my permanently altered physical state brings me up short, and my murderous thoughts instantly return to Royce. Neither attire nor gender will halt my revenge, and should I have to burn the entire building to the ground, that odious man will die tonight.

I close my eyes and expand my senses, scanning the area for lurking humans. Hearing nothing but the whipping of wind, I ghost across the street to the back door of the hotel.

Royce's scent is nearly untraceable here, suggesting he entered the hotel from the front. With its bricked walls and centralized location, the two-story building might be the perfect place in which someone could hide.

Unless his harried voice gives away his every movement.

"Are you sure there's nothing on the upper floors?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. King," comes the nasally reply. "But two members of our cleaning staff fell ill this afternoon, so we only cleaned the lower rooms today."

I hear Royce's favorite expletive under his breath, the agitation in his sigh. "Fine."

"Shall I call the constable?" the clerk asks.

"Excuse me?"

"I do not mean to pry," the clerk confides, "but it is rather late for you to require a room, and you seem rather discombobulated. Is someone after you?"

"Don't be ridiculous." His laugh is too loud to be convincing. "I have come from a late meeting with some business associates and feel too fatigued to walk home. That is all."

"Well, then." There is the scratching of lead on paper and a jingle of a key. "Room 103. It is but a few steps from the front door, and I can guarantee its cleanliness."

"Very good." I want to claw him to shreds for his haughty tone. "Young man?"

"Yes, sir?"

I hear the rustle of a different sort of paper as it is folded and pressed into a palm. "Would you see that I am not disturbed by anyone for any reason? I would like to enjoy my stay in complete peace."

"Yes, sir, Mr. King!" The clerk stuffs the bill into a pocket. "I will personally ensure your privacy."

Royce takes eight steps, turns slightly right, and inserts the key into the lock on the door. Which means his room is on the periphery of the simple, sparse lobby and within eyeshot of the desk. Slipping past the receptionist would prove no great task, but if the cowardly cretin has barricaded himself within the room, my entrance would cause a ruckus.

I must find another way.

Sneaking around to the side of the building, I note Royce's odor is getting stronger. As I pass below a window, I can hardly contain my glee.

The dolt has chosen a room with a window.

Could this be any easier?

There is little light in this part of the alley between the hotel and the bank, but I need none as I peer into the room. A tall chifforobe leans against the far wall, casting a strange shadow across the floor. Atop the matching nightstand is an ornate lamp which seems at odds with the complicated wallpaper. Under normal circumstances, I would take issue with such an abuse of pattern, but the cowering figure in the center of the bed arrests my attention.

Royce sits against the headboard fully clothed with his knees pulled into his chest. His beady eyes are fixated on the door as if afraid the boogeyman might come knocking. If I weren't so incensed by the sight of him, the situation might be funny.

He has yet to glance away from the door, and I consider drumming my fingers against the window to frighten him further. But I am weary of this charade and would like to go home. There I can take a leisurely bath, wash my hair, and slip into something soft and welcoming like my new bathrobe.

Or my handsome non-brother's embrace.

The thought makes me shiver, and I shake it off, needing to focus.

I have toyed with my prey long enough.

Slipping my fingers between the bottom of the window and the sill, I shove the glass upward, climb through the opening, and shut the window before Royce can turn his head.

When he sees me leaned against the frame, his mouth falls open, and he tumbles off the bed in a blind panic. Pressing his back against the door, he watches me with startled eyes, his chest heaving with each breath.

"No," he mumbles. "Please, God. No."

"Praying, are we?" I tilt my head. "That's a first, I'm sure."

He bites his lip as he feels behind him for the doorknob.

"I wouldn't do that." I glance between his fumbling hand and his face. "We wouldn't want anyone else involved."

His hand grips the knob in spite of my warning, and my eyes narrow. "Let go of the door."

"Please don't hurt me," he whimpers as his fingers slowly relinquish their anchor. "I'm begging you."

"There's no need to beg." I push away from the window, careful not to break the sill. "We are old friends, are we not?"

"Friends?" he squeaks.

"Of course, darling." The pet name scratches my tongue as I stalk toward him, and his Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows. "We have much history, you and I. There is no need for our reunion to devolve into incivility, is there?"

Confusion clouds his eyes, and relief shortly follows. "So you're not here to kill me?"

"Oh, no. I am here to kill you." The color drains from his face at my lighthearted admission. "But I shall retain my humanity while I do it. Humanity." The word makes me chuckle. "That's a good one."

"Please… don't…"

"Don't what?" I whirl on him so quickly he falls to the ground in surprise. "Don't take what is mine? Don't finish what you started? Don't do what an angel of death is created to do? You expect far too much of me." I glance at his eyes, remembering how I once dreamed of them. "Then again, you always did."

"Rosalie," he stammers. "My sweet, precious Rose…"

I drop to his side and fasten my hand over his mouth, recoiling at the sensation of his breath against my palm. "Say my name again, and I will tear out your tongue with my teeth." I flash him a smile. "And they are more than up for the challenge."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he murmurs against my hand. "I just… I, I… I need to…"

His frantic mumbling grates on my sensitive hearing, and I contemplate sliding my hand to his throat and crushing his useless windpipe. "Not another word," I hiss. "Do you understand me?"

My thinning patience penetrates his fear, and he falls silent as his head bobs up and down like a child's toy in water.

I reluctantly release his face, and he moves his jaw back and forth, testing its functionality. I pace the room with my back to him, idling in irritation about what to do next.

Any number of objects in the room will accomplish my purpose—not that my hands are insufficient—but I am weary of drawing blood. Human bodies are messier than I thought. Perhaps I was naïve in my belief that this process could be relatively clean. I do not wish to overtax the hotel cleaning staff, but they do get paid to launder linens, after all.

As the moment of truth arrives, I consider leaving him alive for a while. Now that he knows I can get to him no matter where he goes, he will not have a moment's peace until he sees me again. I could toss rocks at his window at night, surprise him at his club while he relieves himself in the men's room. I can watch his gradual descent into madness, reveling in the power of holding his pathetic life in my hands. There is a possibility that he might leave town and force me to follow him across the country, but I have eternity on my hands. What else might I have to do?

"Wh- what do you want?"

Although he whispers, his question erodes what remains of my temperance, and I whip my head around to face him with a quiet snarl. "What do I want?"

"I'm sorry. I'm so…" he mutters as he backs toward the bed. "You told me not to speak, and I tried to be silent, b-b-but there's got to be something I can do…"

I capture his eyes with mine as I take my time walking toward the bed. "Something you can do?"

He presses himself against the headboard as if trying to disappear within it. "To make amends for what I've…"

"Make amends?" I carefully set my knee upon the foot of the mattress so as not to break it as I crawl above him. "You dare presume such a possibility after what you did to me?"

His tongue darts out to lick his chapped lips, and my fingers twitch with another urge to yank it from his mouth. "I-I-I was drunk and stupid, Ro- … uh, Miss… um… and I just…"

"You were drunk?" My voice is barely audible over his labored breathing.

"I made a mistake, and I…"

"A mistake?" I lean over his body, and he slides down the pillows to lie on his back, his mouth moving without sound. "You took from me what I can never recover and reduced me to endure a soulless infinity without love, companionship, or the hope of ever becoming something new. And you have the effrontery to ask me what I want?"

His eyes ever widen in his face as I plant my fists on either side of his head and hover over his trembling frame. The sound of his quickening heart beat roars in my ears, increasing my anger as my head inches toward his. Our faces are a whisper apart, and the sour taste of his breath taints my words.

"I will tell you what I want, Royce Thomas King II. I want you to hurt. I want you to fear for your life as its most sacred parts are ripped away from you. I want you to suffer a fate worse than death at the hands of someone you thought you could trust. And I want to sit back and relish your spectacular demise. Can you give me that, darling? Can you grant me that one last wish?"

I watch his terror-struck eyes as they stare at me unblinking, feel his rigid body as it lies trapped beneath mine. And in that moment, I am ready to end his life.

But as I raise my hand to crush his skull, I notice his chest has stopped moving. There is no sound from his mouth where his exhales should be, and his eyes no longer seem to see me.

Odd.

I rise to my knees to take a wider view and realize the truth with a start.

My mission is complete.

Royce Thomas King II is dead.

I barely touched him from the moment I entered the room, yet he now lies dead beneath me.

I come to my feet and survey the damage, frowning at first. I would have preferred a more painful and prolonged finale for my chief tormentor, but as he no longer walks among the living, I can have no quarrel with the result.

Royce is dead, seemingly because my presence took his breath away.

An unexpected smile curls my lips as another thought flits into my brain.

Royce is dead because I scared him.

I literally scared him to death.

I clamp my ring-free hand over my mouth to quarantine my hilarity.

I scared Royce to death!

My very presence took his breath away!

Wait until I tell Edward! I told him he was worried for nothing.

Shaking my head at the bronze-haired boy's absurdity, I fetch my top hat from where it landed on the floor, slip out of the window, and make my way toward the house, joyful and triumphant.

—B—I—

I can hardly hide the spring in my step as I dance through the woods. My unnaturally heightened senses seem even more aware of everything around me—the soothing dampness of the earth, the secret busyness of the forest nightlife, the scent of spring growing more audacious as May descends.

But my heart, that elusive part of me I thought I'd lost somewhere on the threshing floor, is bursting. Stronger than pride, bigger than joy, I feel…

Alive.

Alive for the first time in this wretched existence, and I am in the mood to celebrate.

Remembering the reward I stashed in my jacket, I retrieve the silver cigarette case from my inside pocket. I tap its lone occupant against the top of the case as I have seen others do and prepare to light it.

But as I reach for the lighter, a familiar scent caresses my senses: the scent of an endless winter where glaciers are laced with sugar, its innocence undercut by a profound complexity.

A grin breaks across my face, and I prepare to regale him with details of my success.

But as he emerges from the trees, I recall our most recent conversation and realize there are amends yet to be made. And I must be the one to begin.

I tuck the cigarette into my pocket before he sees it and fold my hands in a gesture of contrition. Meeting his eyes would be impossible, so I focus on his shoes as I prepare to speak.

Yet something in the air steals the words from my lips, and I force myself to look up.

Edward's golden eyes are ablaze with rage, and something akin to panic lurks within their depths. His lean body is taut, coiled as if to spring, and I am momentarily stunned by the sight.

It is unlawful for a man to be so flawless.

Edward flinches, and my confusion mounts until I remember his telepathic gift.

Oops.

Recovering from the slip, I open my mouth to clarify, but his sharp intake of breath cuts me off.

"Rosalie Hale, what the hell were you thinking?!"

Well, Rosie's revenge is done, but someone doesn't seem too happy. I wonder what's wrong with him…

Just in case I don't get out another chapter before the New Year, THANK YOU for making 2012 the best year of my life so far. Your support and enthusiasm for my writing truly touches my heart. BIG THINGS are coming for Edward and Rose very soon, so stay tuned!

Merry Christmas to all and to all a Happy New Year!

xoxoxo