nine
march
Our life is March weather, savage and serene in one hour.
- - - Ralph Waldo Emerson
o.o.o
This phone call is hard.
Bella has been listening to Carlisle's side of the conversation while Edward rubbed circles into the side of her wrist for a solid ten minutes. They are in Carlisle's office, which has Esme's unique decorative stamp on it in the form of a rich bistre floor rug and a spherical citrine paperweight atop the gleaming mahogany desk that is a clear antique that is nearly as old as Carlisle himself. His office, on the second floor of the home, also doubles as a library. Bella allows her eyes to rove over the expansive titles when the voice on the other end of the line growls in irritation as Carlisle explains the situation in as much detail as possible. The patriarch of the Cullen coven has been thoroughly chastised - and subtly threatened - for the consequences of the night before.
There is a lot of sighing and pinched noses - the latter mostly from Edward, who had never broken out of that human habit of tension release. Eventually, though, Carlisle stands and rounds the desk, standing at her side with his cell phone held out in offering.
Bella takes the device, bringing it to her ear and squeezing Edward's hand as she gathers her thoughts. She doesn't even manage a greeting before the dulcet voice on the other end of the line says, "Precious."
A deep breath and then, "Grandfather…" Bella makes an effort to not be distracted by the sound of her own voice, which has the same tone and dialect, but quality is musical, more rich. Over the phone, it's a dead giveaway, a confirmation of Carlisle's news, and she knows that Aro realizes this the second she opens her mouth. She cuts her eyes to the side, smiling faintly at Carlisle, then facing forward so that she might concentrate only on Aro. This is important; everyone in the house has stopped their activities to listen. "I hope you are trying not to be so mad."
"Oh, darling, I'm quite furious, I assure you. My dear friend Carlisle is so very fortunate that I am not anywhere near him at the moment, for then the Cullen coven would have a patriarch with a missing head," Aro replies lightly. Wherever he is in the Volterra castle is deathly silent - he is alone as he receives this call, which might be better than if he'd been near the brothers or even Sulpicia. Aro is so mercurial and this is such shocking news - yes, it is best that he is able to gather himself in privacy. They are so alike.
Bella stands taller, though of course Aro can't see the defiance of her posture. "It wasn't the fault of the Cullen's," she says firmly. "The nomad was malicious and single-minded. There was no choice but to confront him head-on - to minimize the situation, but also to protect the humans in the area. The Cullens did everything they could to protect me, just as you requested."
"Oh?" Aro's tone is blatantly doubtful, though at least he isn't raging at her the way he had raged at Carlisle. She isn't sure how long Aro's anger will last, or if he will bank his ire for logic. Aro did often read Aristotle, and so Bella at least attempts a different track.
"Grandfather, it was Aristotle who said, 'Anybody can become angry - that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way - that is not within everybody's power and is not easy.'"
"Precious, surely you aren't attempting to mediate with philosophy?"
Bella sighs. "I am, actually."
The trace of anger that had lingered in Aro's tone vanishes in a bemused, lilting laugh. "Truly, you are of my blood!"
Her lips twitch. "I am…and I was going to be changed anyway," she reminds him unnecessarily. "I don't mind that it's earlier, honestly. It's probably for the better."
"And that is the only silverlining in this situation, precious - that you are now immortal," Aro intones imperiously, but she can just imagine the way his expression would transform from cynical to amused in the blink of an eye. "A very unique immortal. You are quite special, granddaughter. A new race of vampire by Carlisle Cullen's estimation. I must admit that I could care less about what type of vampire you are, only that you are vampire."
"I am," she confirms - unique and a vampire. Yes, she is both of those things.
"Caius, however, is immensely interested in these proceedings," Aro continues blithely. "He is greatly looking forward to meeting you during the summer months and ascertaining the quirks of hybrids for himself."
Bella purses her lips. "Will things in Volterra have calmed by then?"
Aro laughs in bemusement. "Volterra is always calm, precious," he answers. "It is only a matter of discarding outdated and overused associates and that is made easier by certain members of the guard. Nothing to clutter your pretty head over."
Bella can only imagine - Aro has a propensity for casting broad understatements. She supposed it came with the territory of being so old, as there was likely no situation that Aro hadn't experienced at least once before. Defectors in his court had to be passé, even if the very thought of his safety in danger is deeply concerning. If she is this worried about him in a situation where he has maintained all of the control, then she can only imagine how worried he was to hear about the situation she was in where all of the control had been quite literally ripped out of her hands.
"Please tell my Uncles that I am looking forward to finally meeting them," she says, an implied promise that she would be going to Volterra on her own time, just as she has been planning for years before she'd even met the Cullens and discovered the truth about her heritage. Nothing had changed. There was just a new normal. "And give Grandmother Sulpicia my love."
"I shall do as you request."
"Thank you, Grandfather."
"If I may off some advice, however?"
"Of course," she says attentively.
"Precious, do be sure to sate that thirst of yours - whenever it may come, for I am certain that it will come eventually. You must not shy away from your nature. Do not let petty human ethics keep you from attaining that which you desire," Aro advises somberly. "Was it not Socrates who said, 'The right choice remains that in which the pleasures exceed the pains; this is the preferred course. The wrong choice remains that in which the pains outweigh the pleasures; this course is to be rejected.'
"I will remember that, Grandfather," she promises, passing the phone back to Carlisle after a murmured farewell.
Bella swallows, wondering how Aro could possibly know about the dry ache of her throat, the pressure in her jaws, which she hadn't told anyone outright. Edward knew, but he'd not said anything, either. Similarly, neither of them had spoken a word about that oddity that sprang defensively from her mind, nor the way James had begun to quail beneath her mental attack before Edward had ripped him away.
She tilts her head up, catching her mate's eye. How long would they bide their time on these matters - and why did it feel like sand was slipping through the hourglass as they waited for this uncertainty of her new vampiric life to pass?
o.o.o
o.o.o
In many ways, the adjustment is - difficult - and that first week is the hardest once she finishes reeling from what has happened to her. All of her senses have become more acute, more precise, and with that comes a series of trials by fire that leave her floundering for the first time in her life.
The only thing that grounds her in reality is her mate - Edward's steadiness and the refuge of his touch is Bella's saving grace in this period of adjustment.
Sound is the most difficult.
The first time the blustery March winds sweep through the forest, Bella huddles in the closet of the guest room with her hands clamped over hear ears, quivering as she tried to shut out the terrible howling outside. The wind rushes loudly, as if being pushed through a tunnel and directly into her ear canal, and it shakes everything in its path, shrieking a horrible war-cry each time a bough bows beneath its ferocity. She feels as if she is standing in the middle of the gust, waiting to be carried off by the wind as it shivers around the Cullen house.
And it isn't as if she hears everything - but she hears much better than she used to and the magnifying of noises that she hadn't known before sends her nerves skittering around. She finally understands Jasper's disgruntlement with electronic devices.
Nothing can be worse than the wind, though. She cringes in the closet, muttering to herself. "Just keep breathing," she says over and over. Just keep breathing.
Edward finds her there in the dark night, gently coaxing her to rest her head against his chest as he kneels in the doorway of the closet, the resonate purr of his voice eventually becoming distracting enough that she begins to recognize the tune he hums for her.
"Listen to me, love," he murmurs. "Shhh, it's alright. Focus on me."
That is the first time she hears her lullaby, a sweet-prickling melody that is alternatively hopeful and fraught with unease - a representation of the first time he'd seen her. He takes to playing for her when the winds blow too loudly for her improved hearing and she spends many March nights fit between the space of his thighs on the piano bench, snug with her back against his chest, watching as his long fingers slip over the ivory keys of the baby grand until her eyes ease shut.
She still sleeps - just not as often. When fatigue hits, she need only lay down for a few hours to recharge, small naps that are only actually necessary a few times a week. But Bella, seeking refuge from the adjustment, escapes to the guest room more often than she really needs to. The chaise lounge had been replaced by a double-bed by the time it becomes apparent that she - unbelievably - still slumbers. But not alone - laying down alone does nothing but leave her staring at the ceiling restlessly.
After the storm that sends her cowering in the closet, Edward quietly appears in her room each time she changes into pajamas, solemnly offering his hand. Always a choice of whether she wants him there or not - always ready to acquiesce with whatever is easiest for her in that moment, even as she actively senses that he wants nothing more than to glue himself to her side and take the burden of her new senses onto himself. But since he cannot do that and because Bella will have to adjust eventually, they compromise with his presence in her bed. Often, the night will fall and they will be wrapped around each other, chaste and warm with her head pillowed on his chest and his arms bracketing her waist, their fingers laced together.
Sing me to sleep, she will request and Edward will kiss the top of her head, humming her lullaby and protecting her mind with his own.
And whenever she wakes, she will tilt her chin up for a kiss, enthralled by the spice of cinnamon that greets her tongue as his mouth opens beneath hers. Had she once thought that they were magnets, drawn to each other like polar atoms? She'd been blind. The instinct - both new and old - to be near Edward, to be with him, is stronger than anything that occurs in nature or science.
She's certain that the only reason they haven't gone further than kissing is because of how easily overwhelmed she is by her heightened senses - it's becoming clear that not even Edward's Victorian-influenced upbringing can bank the passion that brews between them, passion that is unleashed by whatever has happened to her. They are in tune with each other in a way that hadn't been possible when she'd been mostly-human. Compatible.
Kissing Edward proves that taste is the best sense she has gained.
The taste of his lips lingers on her own for hours and hours - tingling along her taste buds where the thin secretion of venom from his mouth mingles within hers. Edward's venom doesn't hurt her and she knows that it is in large part because they are mates, even if she is not the same sort of vampire that he is. His venom won't turn her. She's already been turned.
Although it perplexes the Cullens that she should have actual hunger, Bella continues to eat, relishing in the explosion of spices on her tongue as she devours the blood-based recipes that she's been cooking in greater quantity for months. The hunger isn't as consistent as it was before she was bitten, coming every other day or so, but at least she and Esme have something new to bond over. Esme had missed cooking, resuming with an ease the rivals Bella's as they work the stove and kitchen knives in tandem. The refrigerator in the Cullen household begins to resemble the one Bella kept at the Swan house - with the exception of the fact that meat and blood from the butchers is no longer fresh enough for Bella's pallet.
Edward hunts for her, bringing back fresh kills of deer and rabbits and duck, preparing the meat himself and collecting blood into various steel thermoses. He takes the duty seriously, seeing as how they are unsure if Bella can hunt for herself - or rather, if Bella could hunt animals by herself. She's more than able enough to subdue a human for feeding, but that is not the Cullen way and it is now how Bella wants to live.
Emmett often tags along when Edward hunts for her, entertained by this new aspect of the routine in the coven. "Reminds me of my human days," he announces upon one return, clapping Edward on the back with a wily grin. "Besides, it's a good thing I'm there. Can't imagine Eddie-boy did a lot of hunting when he was getting an education in Chi-town, right?"
"I've hunted more than enough since then," Edward grouses.
Emmett's laugh is booming. "Sure you have, city boy!"
But despite Emmett's bodacious attitude, Bella knows that Edward is the hunter - as is his apparent right as her mate. Maybe his kills taste better for that reason. She does know that it soothes something in Edward to do this for her, some instinct that his mind flutters around each time they meet hands on his return to the house.
Sight is the most useful, though also the most difficult to test.
Before, Bella had perfect vision, or at least she'd thought it was perfect until she opened her eyes in this new world and suddenly saw details that were entirely blind to the human eye. But it was hard to qualify how much better her vision had become. Sound and taste were so obvious - she only had to humor Carlisle's hearing tests and the improvement in her taste sensory was self-evident. Sight forces her out of the house with Carlisle and Rosalie, spending a good chunk of time calling out letters from a dozen sight-boards as Rosalie runs further and further away and Carlisle keeps the measure of distance.
"Definitely enhanced," he decides, writing copious notes into a leather-bound book as he walks inside. He has certainly made a science experiment of this change and Bella doesn't mind.
She's getting answers, slowly but surely. She turns to Rosalie, eyeing the black-and-white poster boards held in her hands. "Enhanced," she agrees, catching Rosalie's eye. "But not like yours. What should I be seeing?"
Rosalie describes in complete detail the parts of the world that are still beyond Bella's reach - the sparkle of dust-motes in the air, for one, which apparently catch light and dance in enough interesting patterns to capture a vampire's attention. Bella doesn't see them and she's glad. Her vision is phenomenal now, but it honestly sounds awful to have vision vampire-good, almost as bad as being able to hear traffic on the highway even as far as the Cullen house is into the woods. She's glad her hearing isn't that good, too.
Scent is the most interesting - and second only to taste as far as she is concerned.
Her favorite scent is Edward's, all musk and brown sugar and heady enough to make her head spin each time they kiss for long enough that she has to pull back and catch her breath. There's a spot right in the crook of his neck where his scent is so concentrated - she can't get enough of it. She tries to carry his scent on her at all times; it's easiest to simply wear his sweaters and cardigans and she must be driving Alice mad with her refusal to wear anything that Edward hasn't donned beforehand. Bella doesn't care, though. When Edward is away - at school to keep up the charade or out hunting - it eases the knot of tension that blooms with his departure if she can just catch his scent.
None of the Cullens make her feel that this is odd, though. It was a common occurrence among mates and, as it turns out, wholly expected for a newly-turned vampire - any newly-turned vampire - to fixate on a particular scent.
"Usually that scent is blood," Carlisle wryly notates. "But you continue to be a surprise at every turn, Bella."
This doesn't blunt the fact that the human nose is dull and weak. There is an entire world of scents that are nuanced enough that she can easily navigate the world with her eyes closed, relying only on hearing and scent to get around. It's so thrilling to understand exactly what Edward meant when he said that his instincts were warring on the day they met - smell tells her so much about the world around her, speaks directly to newly-awakened instincts. Her nose is sensitive enough to differentiate between elk and deer and whether or not something is old or young or had been touched by a vampire or a human. She spends an entire day trying to decipher the different floral notes in a bouquet that Edward brings her.
Roses smell wonderful, but coffee smells delightful.
Touch is dynamic - more so than before.
Rough wood grain and glassy metals are only the start - there is and soft and grainy and such detection exact temperature detection that her showers have turned into something of an event. Her ability to detect pressure has expanded to the point where it takes hours to adjust to clothes that have different weights. It takes a mastery of the mind to accustom herself to the feel of her own hair tickling the back of her neck or the brush of air against her body as she moves. Her gift remains the same, just as quick to drawing the thoughts of the minds around her at the touch of her hand as before - the real adjustment there is learning how to ignore the texture of the skin beneath her hand, which she can now feel with incredible detail.
Edward's hand beneath her own helps in acclimation as she traces and re-traces the lines carved into his palm, teaching herself to compartmentalize touch all over again - and how to control the pressure of her touch, which has changed enough that she might easily bruise a human if she wasn't paying attention. Her strength hasn't increased to such a degree that the world might as well be putty under her fingers, but she has grown stronger, enough to be noticeable if she wasn't careful.
In many ways, the adjustment is difficult - but in others, it is as easy as breathing.
o.o.o
o.o.o
This phone call is harder.
Bella cradles the phone in her hand while her free fingers fuss with the edge of the sage-colored sweater she has outright stolen from Edward's closet. It is far too big for her, the sleeves bunching around her wrists and tumbling over her fingers. Every time she moves, Edward's scent wafts into the air and the festering anxiety eases for the long moments it takes while the dial tone rings and rotates.
Click - the phone is answered on the other line and Bella blurts out, "Hey, Dad."
"Bella!" Charlie exclaims and she is relieved that he doesn't sound any different to her new ears. He still sounds like Dad and bedtime readings of Guilliver's Travels and early-morning griping about the slow coffee pot and the rustle of air pushed between wiry whiskers on his upper lip. "Kid, how the hell are you?
Something eases in Bella, her shoulders relaxing as she sinks deeper into the down pillows stacked around the headboard of the thistle-and-eggplant bedding she and Esme had ordered. Her lips melt into a soft smile as she sighs and says, "I'm fine. I wish I could come home, but I'm still…finding my feet, I guess."
Charlie shuffles on the other end of the line. It sounds like he's sitting down in the desk chair he has at the station, a creaky old thing that squeals any time its rolled any further than an inch back and forth. "Yeah, that's what the behemoth told me," he chuckles, referring to Emmett's visit. "Of course, Rosalie had to clear up a few things, but I think I understand now. You're still my Bells, just with a better shelf life."
"Pretty much," she agrees, glad for his easy acceptance. "I'm sorry I didn't call earlier - some days are extremely disorienting. But I'm good, everything is better now. I…I still won't be able to go to school for a while, though. Not until we're sure I'm safe to be around. For humans, I mean."
"And that means me too, huh?"
"Yes."
A sigh. "You never were an easy kid, were you?
"Guess not," she murmurs. He doesn't mean to make her feel bad, not the way Renee's thoughtlessness might have been construed. With Charlie, it seems more like thoughtful musing, but it still reminds her that she had been a challenge to raise - now in more ways than one.
"Still planning on graduating, right?"
"Absolutely," she confirms, tugging on the ends of her hair.
The other end of the time line silent for a moment. Then Charlie clears his throat. "Well, alright. I guess if that's it -
"Actually!" Bella interject spurned on by a new sense of desperation. She's missed her father; she doesn't want their conversation to end so soon and so she launches into a more detailed explanation, pushing past the awkwardness she feels at talking for so long. "Actually, Dad, I'm keeping up with schoolwork. You know that Carlisle wrote that note claiming that I had pneumonia - well, Alice is collecting my assignments and dropping them off everyday, so I'm not falling behind. And I have a few very reliable resources at here if I get stuck. Rosalie should teach Physics, she's so smart, Dad…"
And so it goes, a new piece of her day - a phone call with Charlie.
o.o.o
o.o.o
As the days in March continue to pass in chunks of nights were no sleep is needed and days where no food is required, Bella's throat continues to ache. Her jaw continues to throb.
Her heart still beats - one pulse a minute.
But sometimes when the dryness of her throat really sets in, it feels like her heart beats weaker, a token protest of her body because she is denying it something.
Bella thinks she knows, but it doesn't seem urgent.
She can cope without it. Can't she?
o.o.o
o.o.o
This is me, she thinks as she stares at the reflection in the mirror.
Three weeks into the month and Bella still startles at the person she sees in the mirror - still trying to reconcile all the changes that are by themselves rather subtle but are as a whole a different degree of new. Honestly, she's getting tired of shedding her clothes to take a shower and just stopping, taken aback each time by the change wrought by vampire venom.
She's taking sage advice offered by Esme, who had experienced a similar series of disconcerted moments after her own change.
Bella shores up her courage, then drops the silky plum robe from her shoulders, watching the fabric pool around her slender ankles before dragging her eyes up the reflection in the floor-length mirror, cataloguing each change and reconciling them with the self-image she has always carried of herself. Before the bite, Bella had been pretty - a natural, unassuming sort of pretty that lent itself well to low-maintenance attention to her appearance. She hadn't ever put much stock into the way she looked. She wasn't plain - she didn't see herself that way - but she wasn't overly-concerned with anything outside of her books.
Now, though, she's undeniably striking. Snow White, she muses to her reflection.
Her skin tone had lost some of its color, but she has kept a smattering of freckles and a few beauty marks; no longer peaches-and-cream, her complexion is milky, a dash of faint carnation-pink blush staining her cheeks, her lips plump and bee-stung and a fetching shade of cerise. High cheekbones now absent of lingering baby-fat, dimpled cheeks that made her smile more impish than wry, a gracile jaw and narrow chin; slender neck sloping to diminutive shoulders; her bearing slender, but rounded with soft feminine curves at her breasts and hips; the delicate bones of her ankles and wrists and knees and collarbones all lending themselves to a false appearance of frailty. She has grown taller, maybe a half-inch, and her hair is longer, still espresso-dark, but shining down to her hips rather than the dip of her spine. Her eyes are still that mossy shade of green, winged with sooty curling lashes - though now, they darken in her hunger to deep viridian and lighten to a vivid honeydew green and all the shades that are between.
Physically, she might be fifteen-and-a-half, but she could easily pass for seventeen - older, if she used the same tools the Cullens used to age themselves, like make-up and clothing. Even tiny, pixie-like Alice can dress herself to appear at least nineteen. Bella will have no trouble playing the age game along with the rest of the immortal race. In any case, the bite seemed to have sped up the rest of her physical development, a possible quirk of being a hybrid.
Privately, she thinks that's why the venom hurt so badly - not only was it fixing her injury and her imperfections, but it was also accelerating the final stages of her growth. If she'd been able to reach the physical age of seventeen, she knows she would look the same as she does now. The bite had only gotten her there sooner.
She sweeps her hands over her body, twisting in the mirror to see herself from every angle - committing it all to memory.
This is what I look like, she tells herself firmly, pulling her hair over one shoulder, nodding at the upturned smile in the mirror.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Bella's body is now incredibly efficient - to the point that even with a semi-regular diet, the only waste she expels is urine. Her face burns just recalling that conversation with Carlisle. She can't decide whether it is a blessing or a curse that he is so thoroughly fascinated with her new physiology. A blessing, she supposes, for without Carlisle's great scientific mind, they would have no idea as to how best approach a theory to explain what has happened.
"Are you at all familiar with the diathesis-stress model?" he asks one day after their regular check-up. Carlisle was keeping a detailed journal of her alterations after the bite and steadily tracking any new developments. So far, her temperature has remained elevated and she hasn't shown any signs of overt strength and speed, but he hasn't discounted the possibility of any of these things changing.
Bella shakes her head, then listens with rapt attention as Carlisle launches into an explanation of what the diathesis-stress model is; essentially, it is a theory in psychology that tries to explain the development of psychological disorders in terms of pre-dispositions and dual-risk factors. Diathesis is the genetic inheritability of a disorder, which increases the vulnerability of a disorder developing, while the stress part of the theory is to account for life-experiences and traumatic events that increase the likelihood of developing a disorder.
"For you," Carlisle says as he winds and unwinds his stethoscope, his excitement with the theory visibly growing. "I posit that you were already genetically predisposed to vampirism and that the bite acted as a stressor to a full manifestation."
"So, you're saying that vampirism is a disease?"
He sits on the edge of his desk. "In a way, yes. I've studied the way venom attacks human cells and it is not at all unlike how cancer cells mutate - the difference is negligible, all things considered. In your case, my theory is that along with the diathesis-stress, hybrids have a secondary pituitary gland attached to the hypothalamus which remains inactive until introduced to a catalyst agent, such as the natural maturation of the gland, which matures slower with each successive generation - when your father's aging stopped, for example - or by the introduction of pure venom into the bloodstream."
Bella blinks. "Just a theory, though?"
"A very well-educated guess," he corrects with a smile. "A simple CT scan, perhaps an fMRI, would prove the existence of that second pituitary, but I don't think it's necessary at the moment. Would you like some reading material to familiarize yourself with the theory?"
Bella nods, holding her hands out for a stack of medical journals that Carlisle had already had the foresight to collect, along with several texts and additional reading recommendations to further her knowledge. It was kind of funny, actually. Hadn't she wanted to explore the medical field before all of this started?
Now, it seems like she has eternity to be just as proficient as Carlisle Cullen.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Bella suddenly has a lot of time to fill - the hours when she would normally be sleeping have diminished by quite a lot and with being unable to attend classes, Bella develops cabin fever. It's easier on the weekends, when everyone is home from school, than it is on the weekdays - not that she doesn't adore Esme's company, but both she and Esme are naturally reticent and the silence of the huge house is deafening when the weather isn't making Bella duck for cover.
The Cullens play games - or, to be more precise, everyone except for Alice and Edward play games. Apparently, Alice and Edward are such notorious cheats that they are only allowed to play each other to level the playing field unless it is a game of chance. Some of the other complex games are banned from the house as well. Much to her amusement, Jasper is much too competitive for Risk, Rosalie is positively savage in Monopoly, and sweet Esme shamelessly counts cards. Emmett is another story entirely. He enjoys more physical games, like Jenga and Twister, but he also gets so into them that Bella is unperturbed to locate several of the same games in unopened boxes stacked in one of the hall closets. It seems like the only Cullen in the house who plays games by the rules and is mindful of his strength is Carlisle, though unsurprisingly, he goes missing any time games are mentioned - even in passing.
Bella takes to playing chess with Jasper, which is rare for him. As she soon finds out, Jasper's competitive streak does not end with Risk and he is a very seasoned chess player - a grand master, even. He absolutely squashes her the first time they play and while Bella knows that she is a well-rounded player of the game, she takes an entire weekend to read-up on chess strategies.
The next time she plays Jasper, she trounces him.
Emmett does the gloating for her. "Jazz! I can't believe you let a little girl beat you!"
Jasper sends out a wave of soul-crushing depression toward Emmett as a retort, his lips pressed together as he resets all the pieces on the board with vampire-speed. "Again," he demands, easing up on his gift as he waits for Bella to focus back on the checkered board. "I'll be white this time."
"If you think that will help," she murmurs and from across the room, Edward's laughter and Alice's tinkling giggle fill the air. Even Rose snorts, flipping through a car magazine with serenity.
Their next game is a stalemate - and so is the next after that.
Chess with Jasper becomes another new tradition.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Aro's sense of humor is quite the sight to behold, especially when Bella comes downstairs in late March to find a large box sitting on the kitchen table - full of vampire novels. There's a lot of Anne Rice.
Granddaughter,
To add to your collection in the hopes that these books will provide much-needed entertainment. It is always amusing to see how close the humans come to guessing right about the particulars of our existence.
Also, please note that I am sending Mele back to you very soon. She will be able to assist in your adjustment far better than your well-meaning Cullens, I believe.
My eternal heart,
Aro
o.o.o
o.o.o
The last week of March is sunny, which means that none of the Cullen brood are in school. The boys take off for an extended hunting trip over the latter half of the week - though Edward does so reluctantly until she assures him that she'll be fine as long as it doesn't suddenly rain. He makes Alice promise to call him if the weather takes a turn before Emmett drags him out of the back door at high velocity, Jasper and Carlisle laughing as they follow.
Alice, of course, takes the opportunity for another spa day, which is now more unnecessary than ever. Bella's apathy for nail care grows into an extreme distaste once the acrid sting of acetone meets her improved olfactory senses. She actually flinches when Alice opens the bottle of polish remover and scowls the entire time it takes for iris-blue nail polish to dry. Thankfully, other things that Alice insists on - face masks and deep-conditioners and sugar-salty body scrubs - are much more agreeable, if not less jarring to acclimate to. Bella is actually glad that Alice had insisted on re-introducing Bella to the luxury of pampering; she can't imagine giving Emmett that type of fodder for future mockery if he heard her actually sneeze at all the new scents swamping the pristine bathroom. It's bad enough that Rosalie snorts indelicately.
Once Alice has had her fun, there are still three more days to fill before the return of the other half of the coven. Bella divides the days equally, intent of giving her new family the fullest of her attention as equally as possible. She wants to bond with them - and it is a somewhat odd feeling, as Bella had never wanted to bond with any of her peers before. Perhaps because they were human - and the Cullens are not. They are easier for her to connect to, even with as radically different as all the personalities are.
On the second day, she tails Rosalie into the garage and does her best to keep up with the mechanical intensity that the statuesque vampire delves into with little-to-no explanation; that night, she retires to her room with yet another stack of back-issue magazines and a few books on engineering, much to Rosalie's satisfaction. She stacks Rosalie's contribution to her education next to Carlisle's, genuinely relieved to have such complex subjects to occupy her mind.
On the third day, she drags Esme into the kitchen with a laptop tucked beneath her arm and together, they learn the baking recipes that Esme used during her human days. Bella isn't a baker - her sweet tooth extends only as far as chocolate is concerned, honestly - but Esme is and between the two of them, they do enough batches of cookies, muffins, and scones that the homeless shelters in Seattle will be set for at least a full week.
Bella sleeps that night, an event made a bit more difficult by Edward's absence from her side. She has grown so used to the weight of his body dipping the other side of the mattress that she tosses for hours, tiredly punching pillows that still carry his scent before falling into a restless sleep. She actually wakes up groggy, shuffling out of her room and across to the bathroom with her mind fuzzy, senses buzzing and slow. She doesn't realize that the boys have returned a day early until she emerges from the bathroom at the same moment that Edward clears the last step on their floor of the house.
"Bella," he greets, then grimaces as his appearance registers. "Ah, Emmett's an idiot-"
He's an absolute mess, his bronze hair mussed, clothes ripped with the distinctive mark of claws and dirt, and half of his face smeared with still-drying blood that has dripped down the side of his neck -
And Bella's mind just trips over itself.
Everything is in sudden high-definition - even more than before - and with a speed that is undeniably vampire, Bella has snapped over to Edward's side, her hands pushing against his chest with adrenaline-buffed strength until his back collides with the wall behind him. He opens his mouth, surely to question her, but she doesn't give him a chance, simply sliding her hands up the sides of his neck, curving over his jaw and around the back of his head to pull his mouth against her own.
Cinnamon and salt and iron explodes on her tongue. She breathes him in, his mouth opening beneath hers with a sense of urgency as she tilts her head to get a better angle -
And with his hands firm on her hips, Bella's back meets the wall as Edward hunches over her, crowding her space with his delicious taste and scent and feel - Bella breaks away, gasping from the ardor, dropping her head back to allow her mate access to the sensitive skin behind her ear. Her heart throbs between them, heavy and hot. Her fingers are tangled in his wild hair, his hands creeping up the curve of her spine with firm, heavy caresses that ignite the molten heat behind her naval. She might say his name when he nips the corner of her jaw. He might growl in return.
It doesn't matter. All there is in the world is heat and Edward -
Her lips return to his, eager and open to the exploration of his tongue and receptive to the sugary-sweetness of his venom. Bella's body sings, her pulse jumping at the next beat of her heart, breath stolen once again from her lungs. She pulls away again, chest heaving and brushing against his, but this time she directs her swollen lips against the sharp edge of his jaw.
Her lips meet the blood-stained flesh on his cheek - and her breath catches as the taste zings through her senses. Bella keens at the taste, following it to the hinge of his jaw, laving her tongue over the solid column of his throat to catch the stray drops of - of mountain lion -
Edward groans, hips stuttering forward as she closes her mouth over his neck just shy of his Adam's apple, searching for the next taste of his last kill. Her jaw aches - her teeth ache - her throat is so dry -
Bella bites, sinking her teeth deep into the tenderness of Edward's throat -
Edward stills for a moment that feels like forever and then the hand that had been tracing the line of her spine swiftly moves upward, curving over the nape of her neck. She thinks that he's about to pull her away, but instead Edward applies pressure. Inviting her bite.
Her eyes flutter closed and she sucks, nerves dancing at the combination of fresh blood and venom that coats his veins. She whimpers at the taste, undulating against her mate as he presses closer to her, the fingers of his free hand carving deep gouges into the wall behind her head as he pants -
And she would think that she was hurting him, except that Bella's gift fired up - and there are no barriers between their minds. As much as this act, this bite, this consumption is soothing the ache in her throat, it is satisfying an instinct in Edward, as well. Her bite is ecstasy to him - it is evidence of her claim, something that he plans to return, but more than that, it is sustaining her.
They both recognize that this is part of her new nature - and there is such pleasure in it that it cannot be something bad, something taboo. The magnetism between their bodies is electric. They are both undeniably aroused by the bite, evidenced by the new awareness they have of their bodies even as Edward tilts his hips away, even as Bella squeezes her thighs together. They are mates - rules of propriety don't matter right now. Had they ever mattered before? What was holding them back? Marriage? She would marry him right now if he only asked.
She slips her teeth - really, just the two incisors, which no longer ache and which she can feel retract minutely - from his neck, lapping at the thin rivets that paint his skin until her puncture marks heal, leaving a faint sheen of scar tissue that sates the instinct to mark her territory.
Bella pulls back, meeting Edward's dark eyes with her own, still licking his taste off her lips, her face flushed with excitement, body shivering in anticipation. His chest rumbles in response to the sight and she tilts her chin up, intent on meeting his lips again -
But then he cocks his head, brow furrowing in frustration. "Mele has arrived," he announces breathlessly.
o.o.o
o.o.o
That is March.
A/N: Well. That happened. So….*tap-dances to exit stage left*
To say that I struggled with this chapter would be an understatement. I had a huge moment of "Oh, God, I bit off so much more than I can chew" but a few wise friends guided me through it and here we are, ready to move onto April with a new element to the story and other elements still to be answered. If you're wondering about where Mele is and what's up with Bella's power and what that last scene was all about - chill. The April chapter will answer all of those questions.
I ate an entire bag of chocolate-covered peanuts, guys. I really did. It was a small bag, but still.
As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.
~cupakeriot