Edward felt himself unraveling, his tightly composed facade slipping more each day under the relentless weight of his new reality. Knowing that Bella—Isabella—was his mate had transformed every facet of his existence. It was no longer simply an instinctual compulsion to protect her; it was an overwhelming need to ensure her happiness, her safety, her very survival. Every movement she made, every word she spoke seemed amplified in his mind, taking root and blooming into a maddening preoccupation. Her laughter brought him an unfamiliar sense of peace, but the thought of any harm coming to her could unravel him entirely.
He had never felt anything so intense. Her youth and innocence painted her world in vibrant hues, but it also made her heartbreakingly fragile in a universe populated by predators. How could she be so blissfully unaware of the forces that had already turned their calculating gaze toward her?
Edward's nights grew darker. He roamed the halls like a restless phantom, drawn again and again to where Bella slept. The sound of her light breathing grounded him in a way he didn't fully understand, and yet the sight of her delicate form in the vast, dangerous world around them tormented him. She was too good, too pure for the shadows surrounding her. He could feel the dark threads of the Volturi's games tightening, and it ignited an almost feral protectiveness within him.
The more time he spent near her, the more he learned about Bella's idiosyncrasies—each one etched indelibly into his memory. The way she tapped her fingers thoughtfully when her mind wandered, the way her soft hums filled the air when she played with her dolls. Her imagination, boundless and untamed, seemed to defy the cold sterility of the Volturi's castle.
Edward clung to these moments even as he prepared for the darker reality they now faced. He couldn't shake the gnawing certainty that something—someone—was watching, waiting. And yet, the Volturi had changed in ways he had never anticipated.
The feasts, once drenched in blood and opulence, had stopped. Even the core members—Aro, Caius, Marcus—ventured beyond Volterra for sustenance. The castle had become a fortress of careful whispers and hidden fears. Everything now revolved around Bella's well-being. Guards patrolled day and night, their thoughts rife with determination to shield her, even as the palace grew quieter than ever before.
Edward had probed every mind, searching for answers, for signs of treachery among them. Yet there were none. Even the once-merciless Jane and Alec had softened under Bella's influence, their cruel smirks replaced with surprising patience. Demetri and Felix remained steadfast in their roles, unwavering in their allegiance to her. It was as if Bella had woven a thread of unity into the Volturi, her light taming the shadows of their ancient malevolence.
And yet, the threats were undeniably real. Letters had infiltrated the depths of Volterra, slipping past the most watchful eyes. Their contents were designed to provoke, to unsettle, like whispers in the dark meant to test the Volturi's resolve. Could it be humans orchestrating such a complex game, or was there an unseen force just beyond reach?
Late one afternoon, Edward lingered in the oldest chamber of the castle. The thick, suffocating air held the weight of countless centuries. His thoughts swirled as he pieced together fragments of conversations and observations, his mind an endless loop of Bella's innocent musings: her fascination with fountains in the square, her questions about the distant mountains.
Then, like a break in the heavy tension, her voice rang out: "Edward!"
He turned sharply, his endless musings interrupted by her bright, cheerful call. She skipped toward him, radiating joy as she reached his side. "I'm done with my studies with Mama!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up.
For a moment, Edward allowed himself to smile, the sight of her banishing the darkest corners of his thoughts. She was the purest thing in his world, a force of nature so far removed from the savagery he had long considered inherent to his kind.
As she looked up at him expectantly, her presence reminded him of everything he had come to understand about her life here. Sulpicia, though softly spoken and discreet, had taken on the role of Bella's mother with genuine care. Edward had seen the way her hands lingered in Bella's hair, her gentle reprimands when the child grew too distracted. Bella adored her, though her understanding of family was fractured.
The question of Bella's true parentage gnawed at Edward whenever his thoughts wandered too long. Her birth mother—a faceless figure erased from Bella's life—was a wound he suspected Aro had carefully orchestrated to forget. Bella barely remembered her at all, recalling only fleeting whispers of the time before Sulpicia.
Edward forced the thoughts aside. Dwelling on them wouldn't change the present. What mattered now was the girl before him, the fragile bond they shared, and the unrelenting certainty that he would give anything to keep her safe. As Bella linked her tiny hand with his, leading him toward the brighter halls ahead, Edward vowed to uncover the truth behind the shadows. She deserved a world as light and untainted as her own soul.
The day before, Edward had stepped into a part of the Volturi castle he never thought he would—a kitchen. It was a modest room in an otherwise grand fortress, one he hadn't realized even existed. The space felt oddly human, almost startling in its contrast to the cold marble halls, where mundane humanity seemed nearly extinct.
The faint aroma of melted cheese greeted him. It was warm, homely—a comfort that seemed out of place here. At the counter stood Gianna, her hair tied back as she focused on flipping something in a pan. Edward lingered in the doorway, the image of a cooking human servant catching him off guard. For a moment, he wasn't sure whether to find the scene amusing or disconcerting.
"You're preparing something?" he asked, his curiosity breaking through his contemplation.
Gianna turned, her soft smile lighting up her otherwise weary face. "Grilled cheese. For Bella."
Edward blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of her words. "Grilled cheese? Does she always eat human food?" His tone carried a note of concern as his mind raced to place this fragment of Bella's character in the larger puzzle of her existence.
Gianna's smile widened faintly as she returned her attention to the stovetop. "Bella loves food more than blood," she explained, flipping the sandwich with practiced ease. "It worries Aro to no end. Her body is more human-like when she eats food, but her energy drains quickly—especially when she uses her gift."
Edward stiffened at that revelation. The words "more human-like" rattled him. The delicate balance of Bella's existence now carried a new, tangible weight. She was unlike any being he had encountered—her scent, her heartbeat, her essence sang to his very soul.
His thoughts drifted to Nahuel, the only other hybrid he had known. In Nahuel's memories, blood had been essential—it strengthened and sustained him. Human food was supplemental, not vital. Nahuel had never shown the vulnerabilities Gianna described in Bella.
But Bella… she preferred human food. That preference wasn't just an odd quirk. It weakened her.
"She prefers food to blood?" he reiterated, his voice lower now, more weighted. Beneath his composed tone, thoughts churned like a storm. She doesn't understand the danger of choosing to live closer to humanity—how much that could cost her. Does she not see how delicate her existence is? How fragile her joy?
Setting down the spatula, Gianna sighed, her calm demeanor unshaken. She turned to him, her expression equal parts patient and frustrated. "Oh, believe me, we try. But Isabella is as sweet and kind as they come—and just as stubborn. Aro can't bring himself to upset her when she refuses, so it's usually her mother who manages to coax her into drinking blood. She knows when she's overdone it and drinks more when she feels weak, but…" Gianna paused, shaking her head with a resigned smile. "She's still a child. And stubborn, like I said."
Child. The word echoed in his mind, blunted but not meaningless. Bella had this air of wide-eyed wonder, a softness to her resilience that called to every ancient part of his soul. For him, the term only heightened her vulnerability—and her importance. If Bella's world was to be painted in bright, fragile hues, then Edward vowed he would never allow even the faintest shadow to touch her
Gianna returned to her cooking, her voice fading into the background as Edward's thoughts spiraled. Bella was stubborn, yes, but she was also breathtakingly innocent. She didn't yet grasp the scope of what she represented—how the world itself would bend to protect or possess her.
And Edward would protect her. No one else. No one else could feel this…this thrum beneath their skin, this primal recognition that called her his mate.
His jaw tightened as her frailty cut through the haze of his possessive devotion. Bella's habits, no matter how endearing, carried implications he couldn't ignore. Every human bite that replaced blood might render her weaker, slower—a target in a world designed to destroy things like her.
As Gianna plated the grilled cheese, Edward leaned against the counter, his gaze darkened by unspoken determination. He wasn't just an observer of Bella's life. She had made him her equal by some divine twist of fate. And yet, while her mere presence sent lightning through his dormant soul, it carried weight. Fragility had no place in their future—not when his eternity hinged on her.
"She's not just a child," Edward murmured, his tone sharp with unspoken intensity. He glanced at Gianna, searching her expression. "She's more. Surely you know that."
Gianna nodded, her lips curving into a faint, wistful smile. "Of course. Bella has always been more. She isn't just a hybrid or a curiosity for the Volturi. She's… the light in this castle. The thing that makes us all remember what it was like to be human."
Edward tensed, his mind racing. More human. That light Gianna mentioned—it wasn't a gift; it was a liability. Bella's joy, her stubborn clinging to humanity, made her vulnerable in ways he couldn't bear to consider.
When Gianna finished plating the sandwich and set it aside, Edward leaned against the counter, compelled to ask what had been gnawing at him. "You've been here a long time," he began carefully, his golden eyes studying her. "Why are you still human?"
Gianna froze, her movements momentarily halted by the weight of his question. Then she turned to face him, her expression softened yet guarded.
"When Bella was born, Aro needed someone to care for her," she explained quietly. "A human to handle the day-to-day things—things vampires couldn't understand. Feeding her, calming her, holding her when she cried… things her own mother couldn't stay to do."
Edward stiffened at the mention of Bella's mother. Vague, shadowy notions of an unknown figure flitted through his mind, but he said nothing, allowing Gianna to continue.
"I thought staying human would be temporary," Gianna admitted, her lips curling into a faint, rueful smile. "But Bella changed everything. She wasn't just a hybrid or a child born out of necessity. She became my life. Taking care of her, watching her grow, holding her when she had nightmares—it made me feel alive in ways I didn't think possible."
She paused, her gaze distant. "By the time she started calling me 'Gia,' the idea of turning lost its appeal. How could I become something that might frighten her or make her pull away?"
Edward studied her silently, conflicted. While he could empathize with Gianna's devotion, he found her choice reckless. You chose fragility over strength in a place like this? Did you understand the consequences when you did it—or are you only surviving by some cruel miracle of luck?
His jaw tightened. "If you love her so much, why not leave this life altogether? You could've had a child of your own, away from all this."
Gianna's gaze sharpened, a flicker of indignation in her eyes. "And abandon her? Do you think I could turn my back on Bella, knowing what would happen to me—or her? You've been in this world long enough to understand the consequences of walking away."
Edward didn't respond, the weight of her words undeniable.
"She's not just any child," Gianna continued, her tone softening. "She's bright, stubborn, so full of life. I'm human, and that makes me able to give her things no one else in this castle can. Warmth. Comfort. Security. She's growing so fast, but for now, I can still keep up. And I can hold her without making her cold."
Edward clenched his fists, Gianna's devotion gnawing at his thoughts. Bella's fragility, her innocence—it made her more precious, more vulnerable, and infinitely more vital to him. Her choices, no matter how endearing, will destroy her in the end if no one else acts. And they won't. They don't see her the way I do. None of them will care enough to protect her from herself.
When Bella's playful tug on his hand brought him back to the moment, he couldn't suppress the thrum of warmth that spread through him. No one sees her the way I do—and no one will protect her the way I will.
Before Edward could respond, Bella tugged at his hand, her playful impatience breaking his train of thought.
"Take me to the gardens?" she asked, her bright crimson eyes wide and filled with hope.
Edward nodded without hesitation, lifting her with a practiced ease. Carrying Bella had become second nature to him in recent days. She nestled close, giggling softly as they walked, her laughter an innocent melody that echoed through the cold, oppressive halls of the castle. It was moments like this, hearing her laugh so freely, that Edward was reminded of just how profoundly she contrasted with her surroundings.
The gardens lay quiet, their muted colors softened under the veil of thick clouds. Setting Bella down near a cluster of stone benches, Edward watched as she wandered briefly, her small fingers brushing against the petals of flowers that thrived despite their unnatural environment. Her curiosity seemed endless—unstoppable, even in this strange place. She circled back to him, eyes gleaming with the questions she so often carried.
"Why are your eyes golden?" she had asked the first time they ventured here. She had tilted her head, her inquisitive nature shining through even then.
Edward crouched to meet her gaze, a faint smile on his lips. He had answered this question before, but he sensed that Bella enjoyed the repetition, the comfort of hearing something familiar. "My eyes are golden because I choose not to feed on humans. I drink the blood of animals instead. That's what keeps my eyes this color."
Bella's lips pursed in thought, her intensity far too mature for her youthful face. "And vampires with red eyes drink human blood?"
"Yes," Edward answered, his voice even. "It's natural for vampires to feed on humans. It's their instinct."
Her small brows furrowed. "Does that mean they're bad?"
Edward shook his head, his tone calm but laced with an undertone of conviction. "No, Isabella. It doesn't make them bad. Feeding on humans is part of a vampire's nature. It's not about being terrible or good; it's simply who we are."
Her shoulders relaxed at his explanation, but her gaze remained thoughtful. "Is that why I like food and blood?"
Edward felt a faint smile tug at his lips, admiring how quickly she pieced things together. "Yes. You're special because you're half-human and half-vampire. You're able to enjoy both because both are a part of who you are."
Bella accepted his explanation with a slow nod as though it all made perfect sense to her. Her gaze shifted briefly to the bench, where her feet swung above the ground. Then she looked up at him again, her face alight with a new question.
"Edward, do you have a mommy and daddy?"
The question caught him entirely off guard. It struck somewhere deep, unearthing memories he rarely dwelled on. Bella's brown eyes searched his face, innocent yet undeniably earnest.
"I did," he said softly, the weight of her curiosity stirring emotions he hadn't anticipated. "A long time ago. Before I was a vampire."
Bella tilted her head, a small frown forming on her lips. "What happened to them?"
"They passed away," Edward explained, his voice gentle. He sought to keep his answer simple, sensing the fragility of her understanding. "It was a long time ago, Isabella. I lived with them before I came to the Volturi, but then my life changed."
Bella studied his face for a moment, her frown deepening, but she didn't press further. Her gaze softened, and she shifted the conversation. "What about now? Do you have anyone, like I have Mommy, Daddy, Uncles, and Gia?"
Edward's lips twitched in amusement, his thoughts briefly returning to his family. "I do. His name is Carlisle. He found me when I was very young. I was dying, and he made me a vampire. He taught me how to live this life without being ruled by my instincts. I suppose you could say he's like a sibling to me."
Bella's face lit up. "A vampire brother? Is he nice?"
Edward chuckled quietly. "He's the kindest person I've ever known. Carlisle's spent centuries helping others—humans and vampires alike. He even created a family with others. There's Esme, who's like a sister, and the others: Alice, Jasper, Emmett, and Rosalie."
Bella's expression grew wide with amazement. "You have siblings?"
"Of sorts," Edward said, his smile softening as he thought of them. "They're all unique. Alice can see the future, Jasper can feel and influence emotions, and Emmett… well, he's the most chaotic of us all."
Bella giggled at his description, her crimson eyes sparkling. "Do you miss them?"
The question struck with unexpected force. Edward hesitated before replying, his voice quiet but truthful. "Yes, I miss them," he admitted. "But I'll see them again someday."
Her small fingers brushed against his arm, the touch both comforting and grounding. "Do they know about me?"
"Yes," Edward said, a faint smile curving his lips. "And I'm certain they'll love you."
Bella beamed at his reassurance, leaning closer to him as though she could already feel the family's warmth through his words.
When she next spoke, her voice was softer, almost hesitant. "Why did you leave the Volturi?"
Edward gazed toward the horizon, the memory of his departure vivid and unyielding. "I left because I wanted a different life," he said carefully. Because I needed to find a life that made sense… one that didn't feel empty.
"Are you staying now?"
Her question lingered in the air, deceptively simple yet carrying a gravity that made Edward pause. He gazed at her, her doe eyes wide and filled with hope, and felt an unfamiliar warmth unfurl in his chest. He had spent centuries in motion, never truly settling, always searching—but that search had ended the moment he realized what Bella meant to him.
As his mind wandered, a memory surfaced, sharp and vivid, a conversation with Marcus that had taken place not long ago. The words echoed in his mind, a moment of haunting truth that felt, at the time, like an observation. But now, standing here with Bella, it struck him as more of a prophecy.
"You don't belong here," Marcus had said, his voice barely more than a whisper, distant and knowing as he watched Edward.
Edward hadn't turned to face him at first. He couldn't meet his eyes—not when he was still torn by the questions that had plagued him for years. "And yet I stay."
Marcus had inclined his head, his expression unreadable as always, as though seeing past the facade everyone else saw. "Because you are searching for something."
The truth of Marcus's words hit him then. The search. He had always been searching for something, something that kept him going even in the darker days, something that made the passing years feel less… endless.
Edward's gaze had remained fixed on the horizon, his voice distant, even to himself. "And what do you think I'll find?"
"I don't know," Marcus had replied softly. "But you will know when you do."
In that moment, it had felt like a passing thought, a conclusion he would eventually reach. Now, though, standing beside Bella, Edward understood it all. He had found it.
His eyes softened as he looked down at her, her presence calming every storm inside him. Bella was his mate. She was the answer Marcus had alluded to, the one thing his soul had been unknowingly seeking all along. The pull was undeniable, a force stronger than any blood tie, deeper than any shared history. She was the missing piece of himself, the purpose behind his restless centuries.
"Yes," he said softly, his voice steady and resolute. "I'm staying, Isabella. I won't leave you."
Bella's face lit up with a smile that reached all the way into his chest, banishing any remnants of doubt he might've had. She leaned against his arm, trusting him completely, her head resting there.
And now, standing here in this quiet, uncertain world, he realized that he would no longer search for meaning. He'd found it in her. He wasn't staying out of obligation or necessity anymore; he was staying because there was nowhere else he could possibly belong, nowhere he would rather be. Not for the Volturi. Not for anything.
He had found his purpose. His mate. He would stay.
The shadows surrounding the castle seemed less ominous now. The future, though still uncertain, felt manageable. For all the enemies in the world, the battles still ahead, there was nothing he wouldn't endure to keep Bella safe—to never lose the thing that made him whole.
And so he stood there with her, beside the child who had brought clarity to his endless search, and in that moment, he knew—no more hesitation, no more searching.
He had found exactly what he was meant to find.
Happy New Year!!!
This is the longest chapter so far. The whole Jacob/Renesmee thing always felt a bit strange to me, mainly because I didn't like how Stephenie Meyer forced Jacob into the pairing just to make him tie in with Bella and Edward.
Imprinting was described as what the mate wants them to be, but we all know how that would realistically play out. In my story, I'm trying to keep things more grounded. They will fall romantically in love over time, once Bella is of the right age, but for now, I'm keeping it wholesome.