THE PRIZE

"And yet all grandeur, all power, all subordination rests on the executioner: he is the horror and the bond of human association. Remove this incomprehensible agent from the world, and at that very moment order gives way to chaos, thrones topple, and society disappears."

—Joseph de Maistre, St. Petersburg Dialogues

—

TWENTY-FOUR MINUTES SINCE THE DEATH OF JASPER WHITLOCK

The crackling fires were an unforeseen annoyance but nothing that they couldn't handle. Arson was so immature. Fire could not be controlled the way people could. For this idiotic priest to assume that both combined would give him flawless success in his twisted plans was almost funny.

Unfortunately, Demetri wasn't in the mood to find humor in this demented man's delusions.

Demetri twitched his hand at his side before marching onward into this hellish landscape they were forced to traverse. It was complete and utter nonsense that they had to step foot on this rotten battlefield. He'd always found the southern conflict and the men and women that participated so distasteful. There was no dignity when it came to this brute, animal warfare.

Nothing but pigheaded morons who thought they knew what true power looked like.

An absurd thing to imagine if you weren't privy to the Volturi's reach.

Out of the forest, a man, taller than Demetri but far older and more frail, ran toward them before his feet ground to a halt and he looked at their procession in terror. The man—with his dirtied forehead and ratty clothes—evidently did not know whether or not the approaching guard had been sent to assist Father Esteban's efforts.

It didn't matter either way, the man fell like a dropped rock before they got too close. His senseless body hit the ground with a soft thump. Eyes open, limbs limp, just waiting for death.

Demetri didn't glance twice as they continued past the man, but signaled idly with his hand. Someone behind him, either Felix or Santiago probably, tore the head from the body. Demetri didn't need to turn to recognize the sound of a head being tossed to the ground; someone at the back end of their group would press a flame to the man's remnants once they ushered forward.

Behind him was the largest gathering of Volturi guard members since the trial of 2006. A trial where they were supposed to have killed this coven once and for all, but…

Demetri learned from being a high-ranking member of the most powerful organization on the planet that sometimes patience was worth it. Their memories were long, but their ability to out-wait their enemies was always longer. To be frank, the past thirty years had passed by in the blink of an eye. In fact, he remembered their last trip to America like it was only yesterday.

As they moved forward, slow enough that they were able to maintain a quiet procession with this many bodies among them, but fast enough that their feet barely touched the ground as they ran, Demetri felt a maelstrom of emotions within him.

Frustration, at how spectacularly Father Esteban had failed his mission and doomed his own army.

Anger, knowing that the selection process had been left up to him, and he'd chosen incorrectly.

Anxiety, realizing that no matter what happened, Demetri would have to report his shortcomings.

And a small yet potent amount of panic.

Because if Esteban's animals did not do what they were originally instructed to do, and retrieve Alice Cullen at the request of the Volturi Kings for the good of their entire world, then all would be lost.

Alice Cullen would be lost.

Demetri wanted many things. He wanted to continue onward in his position, traveling and enforcing the rules and distributing justice the way he was intended to. He wanted to prove his worth and show how he was, and always would be, more than just the Volturi's 'tracker'. He wanted to feel the pride that the praise and glory he would inevitably earn himself would ignite within him.

He wanted his hand, once more, wrapped around Alice Cullen's pale, slender neck.

Demetri would not allow for any of his desires to be denied tonight due to the negligence of madmen and cowards. They pushed forward into the forest and the walls of the fiery inferno narrowed the further they moved. Surely, if anything were left in this blocked off cone then they would soon be driven directly towards the guard.

Every survivor would fall directly into their hands.

"I—"

Alec's hesitant stutter was uncharacteristic. Demetri swiftly lifted his hand to slow their procession before he turned toward the boy. Alec did not look back toward him, but he sported an expression Demetri had yet to witness on his young face. It almost looked like a close-cousin of fear, and Demetri hated it instantly. Not for any emotional shortcomings on the boy's part, but because that meant this job wouldn't be as easy as cleaning up the dead, picking off the leftovers, and taking home their prize.

Demetri wanted to sigh audibly. He wished he'd worn a different shirt beneath his cloak. Unfortunately, when he left their mid-town base the night before to linger on Esteban's periphery, he hadn't anticipated having to get his hands dirty. At least, not this soon.

"She's blocking me." The deep frown in his mouth made Alec's words sound like a whine. Demetri hated any reminders of his age and instead looked away from the childlike grimace. They all knew who he was referring to. Bella Cullen needed to be taken out once they reached them. "Rohit," Alec commanded. Rohit was already halfway to the boy's side.

Demetri knew, even before Rohit approached and lightly reached out to touch Alec on the shoulder, that it was no use. Rohit's presence alone could amplify gifts. It was why Demetri had felt, in a way he wasn't accustomed to, each time a presence he was tuned into disappeared off his mental map. He'd never been able to feel people's deaths in this extinguishing way before he'd met Rohit.

Of course, proximity could help. It was why Rohit had been ordered to keep Jennifer within arms reach at all times. The psychic protection was supposed to have made this job easier. And it had before Esteban had gone and messed everything up in the most spectacular of ways.

Demetri did not have to turn back toward Alec to hear his continued frown. "I can only sense eight but I don't believe it's them."

"Eight of the priest's then," Demetri concluded. He knew more than that lingered in the not-too-far off distance. There had been flashes here and there, over the last twenty-odd minutes, of the Cullens and their co-conspirators from Alaska. These momentary blips in the defenses of Bella Cullen's shield had been few and far between, but it was the only way Demetri had been able to get an estimated head count of their survivors.

Which was how he knew that Alice Cullen was still alive.

And that Jasper Whitlock was finally, and blessedly, dead.

Between the Cullen coven and that poor idiot Eleazar's coven, he had sensed eight familiar signatures left between them. Eight of Esteban's and eight of the Cullens. It wouldn't be difficult to take them out now. There would be a couple of challenges. Mainly the blonde woman with the electric ability—Kate—and that wretched Bella. Edward Cullen wouldn't be a challenge for him and Felix.

He hadn't been a threat before, and now the entire coven was at a disadvantage.

Demetri amused himself with the idea that Carlisle Cullen may try to speak to them. Everyone among their number knew that it was far too late for Aro's old pacifist friend to try and right any of his wrongs now. Still, it would be interesting if he tried.

"They're down," Alec commented. Then, "Only the eight I could find."

"They're probably just going to pick them off for us now," Felix muttered quietly, sounding disappointed. Demetri usually agreed with the sentiment—he loved a good, old-fashioned fight—but not tonight.

Tonight he wanted the Cullens dead. If they didn't have to kill Esteban's leftovers, then good.

He glanced over his shoulder and locked eyes with Renata. Her hesitance had been an extra member of their procession ever since she arrived the night before alongside Felix, Santiago, and a few others. For as long as Demetri had been a member of the guard, she'd never been away from Aro's side.

And now, here she was, tasked with helping him bring Alice Cullen back to Volterra in one piece. Never before had Aro priced a gift so high that he'd send his own personal shield to ensure her safe travels.

Demetri would've been offended if he, too, were a tiny menace who would undoubtedly kick up quite a fuss at being relocated to Italy. His recruitment had gone much smoother than this entire debacle. Thankfully, Chelsea was waiting, at a port just on this country's east coast, and was ready to depart toward them with her own troop of guard members. They'd move the instant Demetri called and gave them the go-ahead.

So much fuss for such a small woman. Demetri's amusement was replaced by anticipation. Sure, Aro informed him that the addition of Edward Cullen would also be enjoyed, but Demetri doubted it was possible. The boy was far more volatile than his smaller coven mate.

And besides, he'd begged for death at their feet once before. Maybe after they killed his mate he'd fall to his knees before them again.

They picked up the pace, keeping centered between the fiery blazes that burned in tandem. The south wall of fire was already beginning to wane and would likely be crossable soon if the weather reports were correct and snow would begin within the hour. They wouldn't take the chance unless they knew, and then they'd head back the way they came toward the stoma of this wretched hell, but Demetri was not worried about it. The ground squelched beneath their feet every-so-often; evidence of the weather that had plagued the area on and off for the past week.

The sound of wailing in the distance—crying from one or more members of the soon-to-be disbanded Cullen coven—forced Demetri to grin and his feet to slow. He signaled the same for the guard behind him and tucked his thumb into his fist, keeping it visible so they'd all see the sign to move when he gave it.

What greeted them a kilometer later, as they moved over the final hill toward the dip where the battle had transpired, was not a half-dead coven mourning their losses, but over a dozen vampires, lying in wait.

Demetri's feet skidded to a stop from where he was located at the front and center.

His eyes took in the bodies in front of them. These newborns were not Esteban's. They lacked the nonsensical crucifix either plastered or carved into the center of their foreheads. One woman, a stranger to Demetri, stood before the rest, flanked by two newborns that stood a full head and shoulders taller than her.

Behind her stood a field of corpses. Various body parts were strewn about and small pyres pockmarked the area. From where he stood on the incline of the hill that lead down into this pit they called a battlefield, Demetri could see just about everything.

Carlisle Cullen's soot-drenched face was the first he recognized, and at his sides stood both Edward and Bella Cullen. There was not an expression of sad resignation on Carlisle's familiar features, like there had been thirty years ago. In its place was something harder; something Demetri was more accustomed to seeing on the faces of other vampires they'd encountered over the centuries. But this fierceness was not what the typically placid, kind face of Carlisle Cullen usually sported. Then, Demetri looked harder—at Carlisle's fire-singed clothes and blackened forearms, as if he'd been digging through fire or ash or both—and understood.

Demetri wondered if, later on in the day or the week, he might feel a little sorry for the fellow. Not that he deserved any of Demetri's sympathy or pity, especially after the danger he and his coven had posed for their world, but because once upon a time Demetri had heard him voice his desires within the walls of Volterra.

"I merely desire to help people," Carlisle had spoken the words to Aro centuries ago. Demetri had only overheard because he and Gwen (another tracker they'd possessed at the time) had passed through the hallway outside of one of the many galleries in Volterra. "If I can improve the existence of even a few individuals, then it will have provided me a purpose."

"Ah, Carlisle," Aro's voice had taken a tired, piteous tone, "I do wish you'd broaden your interpretation of the word 'help' and narrow your interpretation of 'people'. The humans would hardly benefit from such aid. Their lives are so short. We, however, will always require it."

Truthfully, Demetri had tuned out the rest of the boring exchange. Aro's fascination with Carlisle Cullen had confused and amused most of the guard for years after everyone's initial fascination with the yellow-eyed abstainer had faded. He and Felix had once mused that Caius would likely stage an 'accident' to get Carlisle out of Volterran walls if he didn't move on (and move out) soon after that exchange. Anything to redirect Aro's attention toward what Caius considered more pressing matters.

It had been even more amusing at the time, when Carlisle finally voiced his desire to travel to the New World and less than a week later Caius had expedited the process with a swiftness that even Marcus had commented upon.

A shame now, that Caius would miss this: the death of Carlisle Cullen. Demetri was sure he would have enjoyed such a show.

Demetri looked out on the remaining Cullens and the slew of allies that the Volturi had not been privy to. Esteban had said nothing about them possessing more than double the numbers that were expected, and white hot rage flooded Demetri with the idea that Esteban may have known and kept it to himself. Another lie from the madman who had become Demetri's biggest mistake.

As his eyes quickly took in the battlefield before him, he could not see Alice Cullen nor could he tell if any of the limbs scattered about belonged to her freshly executed mate, or to Carlisle's. No matter. It seemed they would have to get through these barbarians before they could get what they came for and leave.

Jasper Whitlock's death had been the catalyst to their successes. A guard dog finally put down.

The Cullens had incurred a debt and Demetri was here to collect the cost.

Two full seconds passed before either party spoke. "Well, well," Demetri muttered, his words spoken for the benefit of the guard around them. "It seems like they made a few friends." He smiled, knowing that his amusement at their display would only serve to anger them. It was a tried and true method and this, here, was what Demetri was trained to do: eliminate opponents of the Volturi and criminals alike who thought they stood a chance.

It was quite funny.

Demetri did not know or recognize the woman who stood at their point, but judging by her expression she was not content to stand by and wait for them to make the first move. Even despite her fury, and the tense expressions of the newborns around her, she held her ground. She was small, and all around unremarkable, but her red eyes, tan complexion, and apparent command of the newborns surrounding her gave Demetri all the clues he needed.

All the evidence, really.

If the Cullens thought that they'd be able to talk their way out of this—out of willingly calling up another one of the southern warlords for their own protection, thus removing the wars from their designated spots and bringing them into the outskirts of a usually-quiet human city—then they were even bigger simpletons than he believed.

The Cullens' initial crimes had been damning enough, but active participation in something else they knew was forbidden would have been enough to convict, and of course, punish them on sight.

It was after the third second that their enemy exploded into action.

Demetri splayed his hand wide and lowered his stance in the same move. It was time to do the dirty work. He felt Renata step up behind him to lay a hand on his shoulder and felt Alec move closer so that he could also be under the umbrella of her shield. Felix, Santiago, and more of their numbers stepped ahead quickly, ready to meet the threat head-on.

Despite their numbers, Demetri knew that they had the Cullens and their allies outnumbered and outmatched. No amount of half-trained bloodlust-riddled newborns or half-starved yellow-eyed fools would be enough against centuries of fine training and unlimited successes.

But when their leader, instead of focusing on facing their front lines head-on, rushed forward to plow past them, Demetri gritted his teeth.

The tiny woman cut directly in between Felix's and Santiago's defensive stances as if she'd choreographed it with them; Demetri watched as Felix closed his fist around the hem of the woman's shirt barely too slow to grip it. The newborns filled the spaces she left behind, turning to fight Felix, Santiago, and the others in her place. Another scarred man, one more recognizable, from the old trial, trailed not far behind her.

It was when Demetri realized she was heading directly for him that he stepped away from Renata and lowered his stance further, indicating that Renata and Alec should step back. He almost smiled again, anticipation igniting his limbs.

It had been a while since he'd had a good fight. Even longer since he disposed of any of the old warlords.

He felt her eyes flicker to the space behind him and knew that she was going to go for Alec. The boy would be the first target for them, the same way that Bella was for the Volturi guard, with their attention most likely prepared to switch to Renata right afterward. He shifted his weight to his right side and braced himself for her first attack.

Before he could defend anyone else, he was quickly shifting his defense to his own protection.

She'd anticipated his first blow, and when she dove to his side—as if planning to sneak right beneath his arm—she waited for him to grab her. His hand had just barely clasped shut around her elbow when he stepped to the side to yank her to the ground. Before he could complete the action and dig his fingers into her skin, she moved. It was almost impressive the way she took advantage of his grip to shift directions and pivot upward; she used his own strength and momentum to flip herself upside down and swing around his back to the other side. The movement forced him to release her arm, lest he find his own twisted and pinned behind him in a very dangerous position.

It wasn't a move he'd ever seen before. By the time he'd spun to face her, head on, she'd already reached out to grab his other arm. Unfortunately, it was only a variation on the trick she'd just pulled, so Demetri was expecting it when she tried to twist herself behind him once more. He threw a punch at her shoulder and let some of his weight drop, throwing off her momentum and sending her careening to the ground gracelessly.

Demetri didn't hit her as hard as he'd wanted to, but the blow had earned him a delightful result. She finally met his eyes, dark strands of hair strewn about her furious face, and did not hide her bared teeth. He grinned again. The sounds of fighting around him was comfortable to him. He had to swiftly remind himself that the soothing noises were as much of a familiar presence to her than they were to him and his fellow guard members.

"I didn't think the Cullens had any more friends to call upon," he remarked with a grin. After he killed her—an adequate warm up, for sure—he was going to delight in ridding the Cullen's final allies from this land as well.

The woman lunged forward again, quick as lighting, moving at the same angle as before, as if she thought she'd be able to get away with pulling the same move three times.

He turned his feet, lowered hit stance, and braced himself.

She veered off course and straight into him, and he did not have enough time to block the punch she landed on his chin.

The blow stunned him enough that he could only feel, not see, the way she wrapped her legs around his torso, one hand gripping his shoulder, and the other trying to get a good grip behind his neck. He reached forward to land another hit in her chest, aiming blindly, and was met with a pair of teeth sinking into his forearm.

Demetri did not hiss in pain. Instead, with a jerk of his chin and a roll of his shoulders he ducked beneath the hand trying to get a hold on his head, grabbed the woman's hip with his left hand, and with a twist he spun them to the side.

He did not see what hit him from behind—colliding with the back of his left knee and forcing his leg to bend inward—until he was already on the ground.

He landed roughly on top of the woman. Her legs were still wrapped tightly around his ribcage and squeezing uncomfortably as her hands tried to tear at his face while avoiding his own fists. It took a full second before he managed to roll onto his back, and catch her left arm. In the same moment he dug his fingers into her thick hair, yanking her head back.

The disgusting woman spat in his face.

"Friends," she mocked the word he used. Demetri blinked away the foreign venom from his eyes and a fury unlike anything he'd felt so far tonight ignited his bones.

Behind the bustle going on, Demetri barely heard a familiar voice yell. "NOW!"

The woman grinned down at him, angry and hateful.

In an instant, Demetri's world erupted in agony.