Hunted and betrayed, biochemist Dr. Isabella Swan just wants her life back after her research is turned into a deadly biological weapon. She's protected by brooding rogue NSA agent, Edward Cullen, who seems to save her life just as often as he drives her insane. With time running out, she'll have to outsmart her enemies—or die trying (again).
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.
AN: Thank you for your reviews!
Radioactive: Imagine Dragons
The soft glow of dawn filtered through the thin curtains, casting muted light across the small bedroom. Bella stirred, her eyes fluttering open. For a brief, blissful moment, she felt the comforting warmth of Jake pressed against her side, his rhythmic breathing somewhat soothing. She let out a quiet sigh, her mind hazy with sleep.
But then reality crept in, and the events of the previous night crashed over her like a tidal wave.
The attack.
The chase.
Edward's revelations.
Her heart sank as she fully woke, the heavy weight of fear and disbelief settling in her chest.
None of it had been a nightmare.
It was real.
She reached out, running her fingers through Jake's fur. "Hey, buddy," she whispered. Jake stirred, letting out a contented huff, his tail thumping lazily against the bed. Bella managed a small smile, grateful for his unshakable calm even when her world had turned upside down. Grateful for the last little bit of normal in her world.
Bella sat up slowly, her body aching as if the tension from the night before had seeped into her muscles. The sparse room around her offered no solace—no photos, no personal touches, just the bare essentials. It was a stark reminder of where she was and why.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet brushing against the cool wooden floor. Stretching slightly, she rubbed the back of her neck, trying to shake the lingering fog of sleep. Jake stayed curled up, watching her with half-lidded eyes.
The cabin was quiet, save for the occasional creaks of the old structure and the soft rustle of leaves outside. Bella slipped out of the room, and Jake jumped up and followed close at her heels, his tail wagging slightly as he padded beside her.
She slipped into the bathroom and relieved herself before heading towards the living room, hoping to let Jacob out as well. As she rounded the corner to the living room, she froze.
Edward lay on the couch, his long frame stretched out, though the furniture barely accommodated his height. One arm rested over his chest, and the other draped to the side, fingers grazing the edge of the couch. His face was softened in sleep, the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones less severe, his features bathed in the soft light filtering through the cabin's small windows. His tousled bronze hair fell slightly over his forehead, adding an unintentional ruggedness to his otherwise unnervingly composed appearance.
For a moment, Bella paused, her gaze lingering on him. There was something almost unreal about him—how someone so deadly could look so calm, so impossibly handsome in the vulnerable stillness of sleep. She didn't want to admit that seeing him like this, human and so unguarded, sent a pang of something she couldn't quite name through her chest.
She took a step closer, but her foot caught a loose floorboard, the faint creak splitting the silence.
Edward's eyes shot open, vivid green and alert, a predator awakening. In an instant, he moved fast—too fast—grabbing the gun from his side and aiming it directly at her.
Bella froze mid-step, her breath catching in her throat, fear rooting her in place. The barrel of the gun was steady, unwavering, and all she could focus on was the cold steel pointed at her. Her heart thundered way too loudly in her chest, her mind screaming at her to move, to speak, but her body refused to obey.
"Edward," she managed finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
His gaze sharpened, the tension in his body holding for one more beat before recognition softened his features. He blinked, his body still coiled but less rigid. Slowly, he lowered the gun, muttering a curse under his breath. "Damn it," he rasped, his voice gravelly. "Bella, I'm—"
Bella held up her hand, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's okay," she said, though the slight quiver in her tone betrayed her words. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe. "I—I shouldn't have… I didn't mean to sneak up on you."
Edward set the gun down on the couch beside him, his jaw clenched tightly. His hand dragged through his hair, pushing the disheveled strands back, though they immediately fell out of place again. He looked at her then, his expression equal parts regret and frustration. "You scared me," he admitted, his voice quieter now, the words carrying an unfamiliar vulnerability.
Bella gave a shaky laugh, adrenaline still rushing through her veins. "Right. I scared you," she breathed, her words tinged with disbelief.
Edward's eyes shifted to hers, guilt flickering across his features. "Reflex," he said simply, his tone heavy. "It's…automatic. It won't happen again. Sorry."
The silence that followed was thick and awkward. Bella crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling exposed. She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but Edward stood abruptly, grabbing a towel from the back of the couch as he moved toward the bathroom.
"I'll be quick," he said gruffly, disappearing behind the door.
Bella stared after him, the faint click of the lock echoing in the quiet room. She exhaled slowly, her hands trembling slightly as she sank onto the edge of the couch. Jake padded over, his nose nudging her knee in concern. She scratched behind his ears absentmindedly, her mind replaying the moment over and over, still feeling the phantom weight of the gun aimed at her. That's happened way too many times over the past ten hours.
"Great start to the morning," she muttered. "Come on, Jake. Let's get you outside."
They stepped into the small yard surrounding the cabin and Jake sniffed around for a moment before doing his business, his tail wagging lazily as he explored the unfamiliar terrain. Bella cleaned up after him, her thoughts spinning as she surveyed their surroundings. The isolation felt suffocating and safe all at once—a contradiction she couldn't shake.
Back inside, Bella found herself in the small kitchen, rummaging through the sparse cabinets. The fridge offered little variety: canned goods, a carton of eggs, and a package of lunch meat with an expiration date that suggested Edward had stocked up recently. She tore open the package and set some slices in a bowl for Jake, who eagerly devoured the offering.
For herself, she grabbed a box of cereal from the cabinet and poured some into a bowl, adding just enough milk from the fridge to make it palatable. She leaned against the counter, spooning bites of cereal into her mouth, her thoughts swirling as she tried to reconcile the person she was yesterday with the woman standing here now. Everything felt foreign—this place, her situation, even her own reflection in the kitchen window.
Edward reappeared a few minutes later, his hair damp from what she assumed was a quick splash of water, his face freshly wiped of the incident from earlier. He still looked infuriatingly handsome, even in his rumpled T-shirt and jeans. He cleared his throat, his eyes flicking briefly to Bella before moving to the counter.
They both hesitated, caught in a moment of awkward silence. Bella stepped to the side, letting Edward grab his own bowl of cereal. He moved with the same quiet efficiency, pouring the milk and joining her at the counter.
For a few minutes, they ate in silence, the only sound the soft clinking of spoons against ceramic. Bella finally broke the quiet, her voice tentative. "So…what's next?"
Edward set his spoon down, clearing his throat. "Training."
Bella nodded, recounting their conversation from last night. "Training," she said, as if testing the word. "So… you're going to teach me how to…what, shoot people?"
"Among other things. You need to know how to defend yourself, how to stay calm under pressure. Yesterday proved that we can't rely on luck."
"I've never been in a fight. I've never held a gun."
"That's why we start now," Edward said firmly. "I'll teach you everything you need to know."
Bella sighed, setting her bowl in the sink. "Great. Can't wait."
Edward's lips twitched in what might've been the beginnings of a smile. "You'll thank me later, Bella."
Bella gave him a wary look, unsure if he was being serious or teasing. She cleared her throat. "Right. If you say so."
Edward led Bella outside into the clearing behind the cabin, the morning air crisp and carrying the faint scent of pine. The soft rustle of leaves in the breeze was oddly soothing, as if this hidden corner of the world had no idea of the chaos brewing just beyond the trees. Bella glanced around, rubbing her arms for warmth.
"All right," Edward said, gesturing toward a makeshift setup he'd put together earlier—a target fashioned out of plywood with circles marking different aim points, a few stacked cans on the ground, and a series of small objects scattered nearby. Bella raised an eyebrow, letting out a breathy chuckle.
"This looks like the DIY version of summer camp," she remarked, crossing her arms.
Edward smirked, folding his arms across his chest. "It may look simple, but trust me, you'll be grateful me for the basics. Let's start with gun handling. First rule of handling a gun?" Edward held up his gun, his finger off the trigger. "Safety. Always assume it's loaded, even when you know it's not. Never point it at something you're not willing to destroy."
Bella's eyes flicked to the gun warily, "Right. Don't shoot myself in the foot. Got it."
His eyes brows raised, amused, and he nodded slowly. "That's definitely a good start." He held up the gun and Bella watched him attentively. "This is a Glock 19. Reliable, simple, easy to handle. You need to know your gun before you ever start to use it."
He then walked her through each step methodically, his voice calm and even—how to load and unload the magazine, check the chamber, and safely handle the weapon. Bella found herself listening intently, despite the uneasy knot in her stomach. His instructions were detailed but clear, and he didn't rush her.
When he was done, Edward handed her the gun, his tone softening. "Here. Get a feel for it."
Bella hesitated for a moment before taking it, her fingers brushing against his as she did. The cold metal felt heavier than she expected, its weight a sobering reminder of what it was meant for. She held it awkwardly, gripping it too tightly.
"Relax," Edward said, stepping closer. "You're holding it like it's going to bite you."
"It might," Bella replied, shooting him a dry look. "So what do I do with this thing? Aim and hope for the best?"
"Not exactly. First, you need to be aware of your stance. Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart. Try to keep your balance steady." He placed his hands on her shoulders, gently guiding her into position. Bella couldn't ignore the warmth of his touch, but she did her best to focus.
"Relax your shoulders," Edward continued. "You're too tense. Holding a gun is about control, not brute force."
She gave him a skeptical look. "Easy for you to say. You're the trained assassin."
"Technically, I was an agent," he corrected. "But yes, fine. Trained assassin works too."
Bella rolled her eyes, managing a small smile. "Trained assassin sounds cooler anyway."
"Fair enough," Edward replied with a grin, stepping back. "Now, take a deep breath and aim at the center of the target."
Bella lifted the gun, her arms shaking slightly as she lined up her sight. Her heart raced, but she forced herself to breathe steadily, remembering Edward's instructions. She squeezed the trigger, and the shot went wide, hitting the edge of the plywood.
"Not bad," Edward said, nodding approvingly. "At least you hit the board."
"Oh, great," Bella deadpanned. "I'll scare them off by aiming near them. Perfect plan."
Edward chuckled, the sound low and throaty. "It's all about muscle memory. Try again."
Bella tried again, and again, each shot inching closer to the center but still not quite hitting it. The pistol felt heavy in her hands, and the recoil threw her off each time. Frustration began to build, but Edward remained calm, offering gentle corrections after each attempt.
"You're getting there," he said after her fifth shot. "You're overthinking. Stop focusing on the target and just focus on the process. Breathe, aim, shoot."
Bella sighed, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. "Do you ever get tired of being so calm and collected? It's kind of infuriating."
Edward raised an eyebrow. "Would you rather I be panicking?"
She gave him a flat look. "Maybe. It would make me feel a little better."
"Duly noted," Edward replied. "But panic doesn't get us anywhere. Now, try hitting the can. Remember to just relax."
Edward stepped back a few paces behind Bella, his eyes fixed on her as she steadied the gun in her hands. He couldn't help but notice the determination etched into her features—the slight furrow of her brows, the set of her jaw. She was afraid, he could tell, but she was doing her best to hide it. Fear wasn't weakness; it was human. And watching her push through it, watching her commit to learning something so far outside her comfort zone, stirred something unfamiliar in him. Pride, perhaps. Definitely respect. Whatever it was, it settled uneasily in his chest.
"Breathe," he said. He moved closer, just enough for her to hear him clearly over the sound of the forest. "You're holding your breath. Don't. Exhale slowly as you squeeze the trigger."
Bella nodded, her grip tightening slightly on the gun. She inhaled deeply, then exhaled slow, her finger pressing the trigger as the shot rang out. The bullet missed the can by a few inches, kicking up dirt behind it.
"Closer," Edward said, stepping beside her now. He didn't touch her, but his presence was palpable, his calm confidence a sharp contrast to her shaky resolve. "Your aim's better, but you're jerking the trigger. Try again."
She frowned, adjusting her stance. "This feels… unnatural," she admitted, glancing at him briefly. Her voice carried a note of frustration, but there was no defeat in it.
"It should," Edward replied simply, his green eyes locking with hers for a moment. "It's not supposed to feel normal. It's supposed to work."
That was the truth of it, wasn't it? Everything about Bella being here, standing in a clearing with a gun in her hands, was wrong— unnatural, as she had put it. She didn't belong in this world—not in his world. She was a scientist, someone who'd spent her life trying to create and heal, not destroy. And yet, here she was, gripping a weapon, trying to become someone she'd never imagined she'd need to be. The irony wasn't lost on him.
He'd been trained to see people as threats or assets, problems to be solved or obstacles to be removed—but Bella didn't fit neatly into either category. She was something else entirely, and it unnerved him just how much he was beginning to care about what happened to her.
"Again," he said, stepping back to give her space. "Line up the sights. Focus on the target, not the gun."
Bella took another shot, and this time, the bullet grazed the edge of the can. She let out a little huff, lowering the gun slightly.
"Better," Edward said, the faintest hint of approval in his voice. He took a step closer again, tilting his head as he studied her grip. "Your stance is solid. You're just overthinking. Stop trying to hit the can. Let the gun do the work."
Bella glanced at him, skepticism in her eyes. "You make it sound so easy."
"It's not," he admitted. "But you're already improving. Most people flinch the first dozen times. You haven't flinched once."
She blinked at him, surprised by the compliment. "I haven't?"
Edward shook his head, his expression softening just slightly. "No. You're steadier than you think, Bella. Trust yourself."
Her lips parted as if to respond, but she hesitated, her gaze searching his for something she couldn't quite name.
"Okay," she murmured, then she turned back to the target, her shoulders squaring as she lifted the gun again.
Edward stepped back, watching her closely. She wasn't just learning to shoot; she was transforming, shedding pieces of the life she'd left behind with each shot she fired. He wondered how much of the woman she used to be, only a night ago, would survive this ordeal—and how much of her was already gone.
Another shot rang out, and the can toppled off the stump, spinning into the dirt. Bella lowered the gun, blinking in disbelief.
"Nice shot," Edward said, a genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "See? You can do this."
Bella turned to him with barely concealed excitement, her expression a mix of pride and disbelief. "I actually hit it."
"You did." He nodded toward the target. "Now do it again."
She groaned but lifted the gun once more, a faint smile breaking through her exasperation. Edward watched her, his chest tightening with something he couldn't quite name. Whatever it was, it wasn't a distraction he could afford. Not now.
They spent the next hour practicing, Bella slowly becoming more comfortable with the weapon. Edward watched her closely, offering advice and encouragement. Each time she improved, a glimmer of pride shone in his eyes, which only spurred her on.
After a while, Edward put his hands up, signaling for her to stop. "All right, let's give the gun a break. Time for hand-to-hand combat."
Bella groaned, slumping her shoulders dramatically. "Oh, good. Because the gun wasn't humbling enough."
Edward smirked. "Trust me, you're going to want to know how to throw a punch if you ever get caught without a weapon." He motioned for her to stand opposite him. "Show me your best stance."
She placed her fists up, mimicking the fighting stances she'd seen in movies, her knees slightly bent, her hands angled awkwardly in the air. Edward's eyebrow arched high as he took her in, head to toe, then snorted.
"Bella, are you planning to audition for a kung fu film?"
She laughed, rolling her eyes as she felt the heat rising to her cheek in a mix of embarrassment and irritation. Nice—the assassins got a sense of humor. "Fine. Show me how it's done, then."
His smirk deepened, but he stepped forward without further comment. Gently, he reached out to adjust her body. His hands brushed against her wrists, shoulders, and waist as he positioned her correctly, and Bella felt her breath catch at his proximity. He smelled faintly of clean soap and the outdoors, an odd combination that somehow suited him perfectly.
"Hands up, elbows in. You're aiming for power and control, not for show," Edward explained, his tone patient.
Bella swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus as he stepped back into his own position. "Got it."
"Good. Now, I'm going to come at you slow," he warned, his eyes locked on hers, "and I want you to block."
Before she could second-guess herself, he threw a controlled jab in her direction. Bella instinctively raised her arm to block it, but her footing wavered, and she stumbled slightly. She quickly steadied herself, glancing at him sheepishly.
Edward nodded, unfazed. ""Not bad," Edward said, his voice free of judgment as he motioned for her to reset. "But keep your core steady. You're like a tree—you need strong roots to stand firm. Again."
They repeated the movement, and Bella quickly grew more confident. With each blocked jab, her footing improved, her arms steadied, and her movements became less reactive and more deliberate. Each time her forearm connected with his, a small jolt ran through her—not from pain, but from the raw intensity of the moment. Edward's strikes were calculated, but she could feel the power behind them, held back, yet still obvious—and it both intimidated and exhilarated her.
"Good," Edward said after a particularly solid block. He threw another jab, slightly faster this time. "Now, don't just block—redirect."
Bella frowned, her brows knitting together as she considered his words. She raised her arm, angling it slightly to deflect his fist rather than absorb the force. Edward's hand glanced off harmlessly, and she took a small step back to reset.
"There you go," Edward said, approval shining in his eyes. "That's it. Keep your movements clean. No wasted energy."
Bella couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. The praise from successfully doing what he said felt like a victory, and it only made her want to try harder. "What's next?" she asked, her tone braver than she felt.
"Let's see how you handle something unexpected," Edward decided, then barely a second later, he stepped closer, throwing a feint before shifting into a quick follow-up jab.
Bella's instincts kicked in, and she managed to block both, though her footing faltered slightly. Her heart pounded as Edward's presence loomed closer, his movements fluid and controlled, like a predator testing its prey.
"You're learning," he observed, stepping back to give her room. "But you're still thinking too much. Stop overanalyzing and trust your body."
She let out a breath, her arms aching from the repeated blows. "You've probably been doing this since birth, huh?"
"Not quite," Edward said, his voice tinged with a dry amusement. "But long enough. And you'll get there, too—if you stop doubting yourself."
His words landed heavier than she expected, and for a moment, Bella just stared at him. There was no teasing in his expression now, no smirk, just a steady, unwavering belief that she didn't know what to do with.
"Fine," she muttered, resetting her stance. "Let's go again."
Edward's smirk returned, but there was a softness to it now, something encouraging. "That's the spirit. Let's switch over to some basic takedowns."
Bella blinked, her stomach flipping. "Takedowns? You mean…taking down another person?"
"That's generally what a takedown is, yes. Don't worry, I'll go easy on you."
She shot him a glare. "Somehow, I doubt that."
He ignored the comment and motioned her forward. "All right, grab my wrist like you're trying to hold me back. Use your weight and leverage, not strength."
Bella hesitated but followed his instructions, gripping his wrist tightly in her hands and pulling him forward. It felt oddly... intimate. She managed to unbalance him, and he stumbled slightly, a grin breaking out on his face.
"Nice. Now let's add the next step. Pivot your weight and use your hip to throw me off balance."
They practiced until Bella finally managed to pull Edward down to one knee, his weight shifting under her calculated move. She stumbled slightly with the effort, but when he finally dropped, a surge of triumph shot through her. Her cheeks flushed with pride as Edward laughed, his hands coming up in mock surrender.
"Impressive," he said, his voice warm and genuine. "You've got a lot more strength than you give yourself credit for."
Bella straightened, a small, breathless smile tugging at her lips. She wiped the sweat from her brow, her pulse still racing. "Thanks… I think," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of disbelief at her own progress.
For a moment, they stood there, breathing heavily, the clearing alive with the sound of their shared exertion. Bella glanced at Edward, noting the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, the way his chest rose and fell steadily.
She couldn't ignore the strangeness of it all. This was the man who had been sent to kill her, the man whose name she hadn't known just days ago. And yet, here he was, guiding her with patience, teaching her how to fight back, how to survive. The irony wasn't lost on her.
"You're picking this up faster than most," Edward said, breaking the silence. His tone was encouraging, almost proud. "You've got good instincts. Trust them more."
Bella let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "Trust me, instincts are not what I'm known for. I'm more of a 'think it through, run the numbers, and double-check everything' kind of person."
Edward smirked, his green eyes catching the light as he studied her. "Maybe. But instincts are what'll save your life when there's no time to think. You just have to let them take over."
They moved back into position, and as they continued practicing, Bella found herself adapting. Her movements became less hesitant, her blocks more precise, her counters faster. Edward's voice was a constant presence, offering both corrections and praise equally.
Each time she faltered, he was there to steady her, his hands brushing her arms or adjusting her stance. His patience surprised her; there was no frustration in his tone, no condescension in his gaze. If anything, he seemed invested in her progress, like her survival mattered to him more than she realized.
She still felt out of place, her mind occasionally drifting to how absurd this all was—fighting in the woods with a man who was practically a stranger, while the world she once knew crumbled around her. But with every small success, every approving nod from Edward, she felt something stir within her.
It was faint, fragile, but unmistakable: hope.
Maybe—just maybe—she could learn to survive this. And with Edward by her side, she might even have a fighting chance.