I track James' hunting patterns through the rain-soaked darkness, each amateur movement stoking the unexpected concern in my dead heart. His scent carries notes of obsession and cruel anticipation that make something protective stir beneath centuries of careful control.
How disappointing, the monster sneers within me. Fretting over one human girl. Especially after I let you indulge so beautifully in Port Angeles.
"You 'let' me?" I whisper to the shadows. "I gave you three masterpieces of anatomical precision. Three deaths orchestrated with surgical skill. And still you question my resolve?"
Those men deserved their education, the darkness counters. That was artistry - each injury placed with a perfect understanding of pain thresholds. But this... this is pure sentiment.
I follow James' circling path with growing irritation, both at his inept technique and my inner debate. His obsession makes him sloppy - leaving traces any decent tracker could follow. The memory of Port Angeles whispers through my mind - the exquisite calculation of force, the systematic application of centuries of medical knowledge.
Yes, the monster purrs. Remember how beautifully they screamed. How perfectly their bodies showed our understanding of human anatomy. That was proper hunting. Not this... protective nonsense.
"I broke every bone in that first one's body with mathematical precision," I remind the darkness. "I turned the second into a medical thesis on systematic organ failure. I crafted the third's display to send very specific messages. And you dare call me soft?"
Different prey, different purpose, the darkness dismisses. That was justice wrapped in artistic violence. This is weakness masquerading as strategy.
"Is it?" I pause between heartbeats. "Or perhaps I simply choose my performances more carefully now. After all, what better cover than genuine protection?"
Justifications, the monster hisses. You spent forty-seven minutes ensuring that last one stayed conscious through every expertly crafted moment of agony. That was strength. This... this is domestication.
"No," I correct softly, moving like thought through the forest. "This is evolution. The ultimate predator isn't the one who kills without purpose. It's the one who knows exactly when to strike and when to protect. I showed our sophistication in Port Angeles. Let me have this one act of preservation."
Preservation will destroy us, the darkness warns, though with less conviction. Though I admit, the way you arranged those bodies... such elegant composition.
"Exactly," I smile into the empty air. "I turned three deserving specimens into an artistic statement about consequences. I crafted their deaths with the precision of a renaissance master. And you question my nature because I choose to protect something genuinely fascinating?"
The monster subsides slightly, momentarily appeased by memories of perfectly arranged violence. James' scent grows stronger as he doubles back, still unaware of my presence. Such an easy target. Such a simple solution. But sometimes the most sophisticated hunting requires perfect restraint.
"I am not weak," I tell the darkness with quiet certainty. "I am merely selective. After all, what's the point of having power if we use it without discrimination?"
Fine, the monster concedes grudgingly. But when this ends in violence - and it will - I expect something truly spectacular.
You know I'm right, the monster purrs as I track James' increasingly erratic movements. After this tedious game of protector, you owe me. The girl's safety buys us Victoria's gift.
"We've discussed this," I murmur, though my dead veins hum with familiar hunger at the thought of her perfect survival instinct. "We're different now. Better."
Better? The darkness laughs with cutting precision. We spent centuries perfecting the art of collection. Each ability carefully chosen, expertly gained. And now you'd let such exquisite talent go unclaimed just to play guardian angel?
I parse James' hunting pattern while wrestling with the addiction that's defined my existence for millennia. The collector in me stirs at memories of past acquisitions - each new power flowing through ancient flesh like dark wine, each gift adding another layer to my carefully curated arsenal.
Think how beautiful it would complement our existing abilities, the monster whispers seductively. Perfect tactical awareness combined with our centuries of experience. We could maintain our cover flawlessly. Protect our precious teaching facade with unprecedented precision.
"And the price?" I ask, though I already feel my resolve weakening. "The violence required?"
A fair trade, the darkness purrs. We ensure the girl's safety, maintain our civilized masquerade. And afterward... Well, Victoria's gift is squandered on mere survival. We could use it for so much more.
The addiction burns through my veins like molten silver as I consider the possibility. One more acquisition. One last hunt. The monster's logic wraps around my thoughts with familiar persistence - each argument another strand in a web I've fallen into countless times before.
"After the girl is safe," I concede finally, ancient hunger already rising at the prospect. "After we deal with this amateur's obsession. Then..."
Then we show Victoria exactly what sophisticated hunting looks like. The monster finishes with dark satisfaction. A perfect trade.
I materialize from the shadows as James calculates his next move, making my presence known with deliberate precision. His head snaps up, the hunter's instincts finally registering the ancient predator in his midst.
Kill him now, the monster demands with cold certainty. Take his ability. Play his role. Hunt the girl ourselves.
"An interesting approach to tracking," I observe mildly, ignoring the darkness coiling through my thoughts. "Though perhaps I could offer some... refinements to your technique."
James drops into a defensive crouch, his crimson eyes assessing my deliberately non-threatening posture. "Who are you?"
"Someone who appreciates the art of a proper hunt." I let ancient power color my tone while maintaining careful distance. "And someone who can help you achieve your goal."
This is absurd, the monster snarls. We could end him in seconds. Why play these games?
"I can shield you from their gifts," I continue, pushing back against the collector's hunger. "The seer won't detect your approach. The mind reader won't sense your presence. A much more... sophisticated strategy than simple pursuit."
James straightens slightly, calculation replacing instinctive aggression. "Why would you help me?"
"Let's just say I have my own reasons for wanting to observe this hunt." I smile, though the expression holds no warmth. "Consider it a professional courtesy between predators."
Professional courtesy? The monster's disgust bleeds through my careful control. We are ancient. He is nothing. Take what we want and be done with it.
"Who are you?"
"Just a humble teacher with an appreciation for proper hunting technique," I respond mildly, maintaining deliberate distance. "Though your current approach seems... unrefined."
"Stay back," he snarls, gaze darting between me and his intended path. "This hunt is mine."
I let out a soft laugh; the sound carrying centuries of dark amusement. "Yours? My dear boy, you're playing a game whose rules you don't even understand. The seer watching your every move, the mind reader tracking your decisions... hardly sporting odds, wouldn't you say?"
His stance shifts minutely at the slightest tell of uncertainty. "How do you know about their gifts?"
"I know many things," I smile, though the expression holds no warmth. "Including how to shield you from their rather inconvenient abilities. Imagine hunting freely, without Alice's visions warning them of your approach. Without Edward hearing your thoughts."
"And why would you help me?" Suspicion drips from every word. "Where did you even come from?"
"Let's say I have a... professional interest in how this drama unfolds." I adjust my position with liquid grace, noting how he mirrors my movement. "As for my origins, well, some of us prefer to observe from the shadows."
"Bullshit," he spits. "You show up out of nowhere, offering help? What's your angle?"
"My angle?" I repeat with genuine amusement. "Perhaps I simply appreciate the artistry of a proper hunt. Though your current strategy leaves much to be desired. Charging in blindly while they coordinate your every move? Amateur."
His lips pull back in a snarl. "I don't need your help. I've never lost a hunt."
"Haven't you?" I ask softly. "Or have you simply never hunted prey with such... sophisticated protection? Tell me, how do you plan to handle Alice's visions? Edward's mind reading? The entire coven working in perfect coordination?"
I watch doubt flicker across his features as he processes the tactical reality. "I'll find a way."
"Of course you will," I agree pleasantly. "But imagine how much more interesting the hunt becomes when they can't see you coming. When their gifts fail them at crucial moments. When your prey truly believes they're safe..."
"And what do you get out of this?" he demands, though I can see the idea taking root.
"Entertainment," I reply simply. "It's been so long since I've witnessed a genuinely fascinating hunt. Though if you prefer to continue stumbling around in the dark while they expect your every move..."
James studies me with a predator's intensity, weighing risk against opportunity. "How do I know I can trust you?"
"Trust?" I laugh softly. "My dear boy, trust has nothing to do with it. I'm offering you an advantage. "You can take it or leave it; either way, I'll be entertained."
I can see him calculating the hunter's mind processing possibilities. Finally, he straightens slightly. "Tell me more about blocking their gifts."
I continue explaining the nuances of gift manipulation when James suddenly shifts stance, his expression turning calculating. The movement carries an empty threat, though it appears almost comically amateur to ancient senses.
"Or," he says slowly, predatory anticipation coloring his tone, "I could just kill you now. Remove any... complications from my hunt."
Finally, the monster stirs with dark amusement. Let him try. Show him what true power looks like.
"Could you?" I keep my voice mild, though centuries of carefully contained violence hum beneath the words. "That's an interesting theory. Care to test it?"
James circles with what he probably thinks is intimidating grace. "One less piece on the board. One less variable to worry about."
I allow myself the smallest of smiles, letting just a fraction of ancient power seep through my careful facade. The air grows heavy with potential violence. "You know, I've had this conversation before. Many, many times. Would you like to know how it usually ends?"
"Yeah?" He bares his teeth in what's meant to be threatening. "How's that?"
"bad," I say softly, dropping all pretense of the mild-mannered teacher. Power rolls off me in waves that make the rain steam where it touches my skin. "Very, very badly."
Kill him, the monster urges with growing excitement. Show him what happens to children who threaten their elders.
But I maintain perfect stillness, letting him feel the weight of ages pressing down. "You're young," I observe clinically. "Too young to recognize genuine danger when it stands before you. So I'll give you one chance to reconsider your position."
"Big talk from someone who- "He stops mid-sentence as I let my careful control slip just slightly. His primitive brain finally registers what his conscious mind has missed - the presence of something far older, far deadlier than anything he's encountered.
"Please," I whisper, ancient hunger making my voice sharp as broken glass. "Give me a reason. Show me exactly how fast you think you are. How strong. How... skilled?" Each word carries harmonics that make lesser immortals tremble.
James takes an involuntary step back, survival instinct finally overriding bravado. "What are you?"
"Someone offering help you desperately need," I reply, reining in the monster's eagerness for violence. "Or someone who can end your existence with less effort than it takes to grade a paper. Your choice."
The tension stretches between us like spun glass. I can taste his fear now - sharp and sweet on the back of my tongue. His body broadcasts his growing understanding that he's badly miscalculated.
"Now then," I continue pleasantly, as if we hadn't just teetered on the edge of lethal violence. "Shall we return to discussing more productive strategies? Or would you prefer a practical demonstration of why threatening ancient things is... unwise?"
James's frustration simmered just beneath his skin, and I could feel his anger bubbling over, feeding the tension between us. The rain poured harder, soaking through his shirt, matting his hair to his face, but his focus was locked entirely on me.
"Fine," he bit out, his voice low and sharp. "What's your plan, then?"
I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I stepped away from him, moving with deliberate slowness to the edge of the forest clearing. The rain hit the leaves in heavy, rhythmic drops, a steady backdrop to the storm building between us. My mind extended outward, reaching for the threads of Alice's vision, the delicate strands of foresight that wove themselves into her reality.
Show her something else, the monster purred, its voice curling through me like smoke. Twist her gift until it becomes a weapon. Let her see what you want her to see.
My fingers brushed against the bark of a tree, grounding me as I reached into the intangible, the subtle fabric of the future Alice so eagerly grasped. There it was—a fleeting vision, one centered on James. She saw him wandering the woods, his every movement erratic, predictable, a trap of his own making.
I smiled faintly, twisting the thread, weaving a new possibility into the fabric of what could be.
"James," I said, my voice calm and deliberate, drawing his attention. He looked at me warily, his predatory instincts on edge. "They expect you to be reckless. They expect you to run headlong into their territory, making yourself an easy target."
"So?" he challenged, though the uncertainty in his voice betrayed him.
"So," I continued, "you don't give them what they expect. You make them believe you're already ahead of them."
I let the vision settle, a new narrative threading itself into Alice's sight. She would see James not lost in the woods, but standing at the edge of the Cullens' home, his figure barely visible through the rain as he watched, waited. A shadow in the distance, close enough to be a threat, but far enough to remain untouchable.
"Let them feel the weight of your presence," I said, turning back to James. "Let them believe you've already outmaneuvered them."
His brow furrowed, his distrust of me warring with the flicker of intrigue in his eyes. "How do I do that?" he asked, his voice laced with skepticism.
"You don't need to do anything," I said simply. "Just stay still. They'll see what I've planted."
You're doing beautifully, the monster murmured, its voice low and dark with approval. Now let them squirm, let them doubt themselves. Show them what true power feels like.
James's gaze flicked toward the distant woods, then back to me. "They'll see me?" he asked, his tone softer now, almost uncertain.
I inclined my head, my expression calm, controlled. "Alice will," I said. "And once she does, Edward will know. They'll feel you breathing down their necks, even if you never take another step toward them."
The rain slackened slightly, though the air between us remained charged, heavy with possibilities. James studied me for a long moment, his pride struggling against his growing understanding of what I was offering.
"And you can do that?" he asked, his voice quieter, more cautious now.
I didn't answer with words. Instead, I closed my eyes briefly, focusing on the shift I'd already made. In Alice's mind, James was already there—watching, waiting, an unspoken threat that would haunt her visions for hours, maybe days.
When I opened my eyes, I met James's gaze steadily. "I already have."
James's expression flickered with something I couldn't quite place—reluctant respect, perhaps, or the first faint recognition of the scale of what he'd stumbled into.
Let him understand, the monster whispered, its voice smooth and cold. Just enough to obey. Not enough to rebel.
James turned toward the woods, his movements slower now, more deliberate. "What happens next?" he asked, though the edge of defiance in his voice had dulled.
I smiled faintly, the rain dripping from my hair as I adjusted my glasses. "Next?" I said. "We let them feel the weight of your presence. And then, James, we remind them that the game isn't as simple as they think."
The mist thickened as we moved through the trees, the air damp and charged, a storm's echo lingering in every drop. James's movements were restless, his instincts itching to surge forward, but my deliberate pace forced him to follow my rhythm. I measured every step and calculated every motion.
"They already see you, James," I said, my voice quiet but pointed, cutting through the rain's steady whisper.
He faltered, glancing at me sharply. "What are you talking about?" His tone carried suspicion, his pride prickling at being predictable.
I stopped, turning to face him with a faint, knowing smile. "In Alice's mind, you're already there. Standing at the edge of their territory, watching, waiting. She sees you as the threat you want to be."
James's eyes narrowed, a mix of confusion and unease crossing his face. "Then why the hell are we doing this? If she already sees me there, what's the point?"
I gestured toward the woods stretching ahead, toward the faint glow of the Cullens' house hidden in the mist. "Because, James," I said, taking a slow, deliberate step forward, "while she's focused on the you she thinks she sees, we come another way."
He stared at me, his frustration mingling with reluctant curiosity. "Another way?" he echoed, suspicion lacing his words.
"Yes," I said, turning back to the path ahead, my voice calm and assured. "Her gift is precise, but it's also a trap for the overconfident. She sees threads of the future, patterns woven into the tapestry of what could be. And you…" I glanced over my shoulder at him. "You're the thread she's following."
James's jaw tightened, his predatory instincts struggling against the implication. "You're saying we're distracting her?"
Oh, he's catching on, the monster whispered, its voice curling through my mind like smoke, amused and dark. But only just.
"Precisely," I said, adjusting my glasses with deliberate care. "While Alice and Edward focus on their vision of you—your choices, your movements—they'll miss what's slipping beneath their notice. Us."
James fell silent, his gaze flicking between me and the direction of the Cullens' home. I could feel his tension, his frustration at being used as a pawn in a game he didn't fully understand.
"And if they catch on?" he asked finally, his voice low, wary.
"They won't," I said, my tone a blend of certainty and faint amusement. "Because they'll be too busy reacting to what they think is already happening. Their gifts give them strength, but they also blind them to the unexpected."
Beautifully played, the monster murmured, its satisfaction humming like the undertone of a storm. Keep him thinking he matters. Let him believe this is his moment.
James's expression shifted, his confidence clawing its way back as he absorbed my words. "So, what's the play?" he asked, his tone more measured now, more deliberate.
I turned toward the faint glow in the distance. The Cullens' sanctuary nestled in the mist like a secret waiting to be uncovered. "We don't follow her vision, James," I said. "We rewrite it."
With that, I surged forward, my steps quiet and swift, cutting through the damp air. James followed, his movements more purposeful now, though I could feel his uncertainty lingering like a shadow. The Cullens might think they knew what was coming, but their gifts, their carefully constructed sense of control, would betray them.
The Cullens' house loomed closer, its soft light a beacon in the misty gloom, casting faint shadows against the towering trees. As we approached, I could feel the threads of the future I'd woven for Alice settling into place. In her mind, James was already here—a lone figure standing just far enough from their home to be a threat without immediate confrontation. Watching. Waiting. His silhouette was barely visible through the rain, a phantom haunting the edges of their sanctuary.
James followed closely behind me, his steps quieter now, his movements tempered by a mixture of wariness and curiosity. He didn't ask how we'd avoided detection, though I could feel the question simmering beneath his pride. He would ask soon enough, but not yet. Not while the game was still unfolding.
We reached the edge of the house's property, slipping into the deeper shadows at the back where the light didn't quite reach. The soft hum of life within the house was a dull pulse in the air, muted heartbeats and faint movements that barely registered against the tension thrumming in my veins. I gestured for James to stop, and he obeyed without argument, his sharp eyes scanning the structure before us.
"You said she sees me," James whispered, his voice low but harsh, edged with suspicion. "But we're here, and they're not coming. How?"
I turned to him, my expression calm, almost bored, as if the answer were too simple to warrant an explanation. "Because what she sees isn't real."
James's frown deepened, his predatory instincts bristling against the implication. "What the hell does that mean?"
"It means," I said, stepping closer, "that Alice's visions are only as reliable as the threads she follows. She doesn't see the future, James. She sees possibility. We can shape possibilities.
I saw the confusion flicker in his eyes, his thoughts spinning as he tried to piece together the mechanics of something beyond his understanding.
Oh, explain, Harry, the monster purred in my mind, its voice like silk laced with steel. Let him see how little he understands the game he's playing.
I ignored it, my focus on James as I continued. "Her gift relies on observing the choices others make. A decision, no matter how small, sends ripples outward, threads that connect to larger patterns. She reads those threads, follows them to their logical ends. But if she's reading a false thread…" I let the sentence trail off, the weight of my meaning settling heavily in the air between us.
James's eyes narrowed. "You're saying you… faked a choice?"
I smiled faintly. "Not exactly. I presented her with a version of you that seemed plausible—standing in front of the house, watching them from the shadows. It's an illusion, yes, but one rooted in reality enough to mislead her. As far as Alice is concerned, that version of you is real."
His disbelief warred with his curiosity, and I could feel the question forming before he voiced it. "How?"
"My gift," I said simply, adjusting my glasses with deliberate precision. "I manipulate the threads Alice relies on. I don't create futures, James. I create the illusion of futures. What she sees is what I want her to see, but only if it's within the boundaries of what she believes is possible."
I stepped closer to him, my voice dropping lower. "In her mind, you're standing there, in front of their house. She feels the weight of your presence, the threat you represent. She's already alerted Edward. They're preparing for you as we speak."
James glanced toward the house, his suspicion mingling with grudging respect. "And we're here instead."
"Exactly," I said, turning my attention back to the house. "By the time they realize what's happening, it will already be too late to correct their mistake. They'll hesitate, question their own gifts, and in that hesitation, we gain control."
Such a lovely explanation, the monster whispered, its amusement curling through me. But does he truly grasp it? Do you think he understands how fragile his existence is in this game you've created?
James stared at me, the weight of my words pressing against his pride. "And what happens if she figures it out?" he asked, his voice quieter now, edged with unease.
"She won't," I said with a confidence that didn't waver. "Her gift is powerful, but it's not infallible. It's reliant on what she believes she knows. And right now, she knows you're standing out there. That's all she can see."
The house loomed before us, its windows glowing faintly against the mist. James was clearly tense, and his instincts shouted the Cullens were unprepared for us.
"Now," I said, stepping back into the shadows, "we wait. Let their uncertainty do the work for us. Sometimes, James, the best move is the one they never see coming."
The monster's laughter hummed faintly in my mind, dark and satisfied.
James shifted uncomfortably in the shadows, his sharp gaze fixed on the faint glow of the Cullens' house. His tension simmered just beneath the surface, a mixture of frustration and curiosity twisting in his expression. Finally, he broke the silence.
"How can you do it?" he asked, his voice low but edged with challenge. "How can you target Alice like that? Mess with her gift?"
I didn't look at him immediately, keeping my eyes on the house as if I could see the ripples of confusion I'd left behind in Alice's mind. When I finally turned to face him, my expression was calm, deliberate, as if the question itself amused me.
"Because," I began, my voice steady, "her gift isn't as untouchable as they like to believe. It's powerful, yes, but it has limitations—limitations she can't see because she relies on it too much."
James's frown deepened, his pride unwilling to let him appear ignorant. "Limitations like what?"
I stepped closer, my movements deliberate, each one calculated to draw him further into the web I was spinning. "Alice sees futures based on decisions, James. Her visions are only as accurate as the choices people make. But choices aren't static—they're fluid, swinging. All it takes is the right pressure at the right moment to send her down a false path."
He narrowed his eyes, suspicion flickering behind them. "You're saying you… force her to see things that aren't there?"
I allowed myself a faint smile, one that didn't quite reach my eyes. "Not force. Influence. I weave a plausible thread—something close enough to reality that it aligns with her expectations. Her gift does the rest. She doesn't question what she sees because it fits the pattern she's used to."
Oh, tell him the truth, the monster purred, its voice curling through my mind like smoke. That it's not just her gift you manipulate, but her very belief in it. Break her faith, Harry. Show her how fragile her certainty truly is.
I ignored the whisper, keeping my focus on James. "The key," I continued, "is precision. It's not about overwhelming her visions or feeding her something she'll dismiss. It's about subtlety. A single thread, woven carefully, can change the entire pattern."
James shook his head slightly, his frustration bleeding through. "That doesn't explain how you're doing it. What kind of power is that?"
"My power," I said, stepping closer, my voice dropping to a near-whisper, "is older than hers. Where Alice relies on sight, I rely on shadow. I don't show her the future, James. I show her a reflection—a distortion she can't look past because it feels real."
James stared at me, his disbelief warring with reluctant understanding. "And she can't tell the difference?" he asked, his voice laced with doubt.
"No," I said simply, my tone sharp with certainty. "Because she doesn't realize there's a difference to look for. Her gift is based on trust—trust in the inevitability of the choices she sees. If you can undermine that trust, even subtly, you control what she believes is real."
James hesitated, his sharp features drawn tight as he processed my words. "So, you're saying you can make her see anything you want?"
I shook my head, my faint smile returning. "Not anything. Only what she's willing to see. That's the beauty of it, James. It's not about overpowering her—it's about guiding her. I don't create the vision. I give her the pieces, and she builds it herself."
And when she realizes, the monster murmured, its tone thick with dark amusement, it will already be too late. Oh, how delicious it will be to see her unravel.
James exhaled sharply, his tension shifting into something closer to grudging respect. "And you've done this before?" he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
I met his gaze steadily. "Many times," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "Alice isn't the first seer I've encountered. And she won't be the last."
James fell silent, his gaze flicking back toward the house. His instincts were still restless, but I could feel his understanding settling, his begrudging acceptance of the game we were playing.
The muted thud of Laurent's footsteps through the rain-dampened earth reached us, a sound too deliberate, too confident. From the corner of my eye, I saw James tense, his entire frame taut with fury as his gaze locked on the figure emerging from the mist. Laurent slowed as he neared the clearing, the soft glow of the Cullens' house illuminating his every hesitant step.
"What the hell is he doing?" James growled, his voice low but trembling with barely restrained rage. "That traitorous bastard… he's selling us out. He's betraying me."
I turned my head slightly, my expression calm, dispassionate, as if James's outburst were an annoying buzz in the periphery. "No," I said simply, my voice even. "He's ensuring his survival."
James's anger flared hotter, his fists clenching at his sides. "Survival?" he spat, his voice rising despite the danger of discovery. "By throwing me to the wolves? He's not ensuring anything but his own damn death."
How delicious, the monster murmured in my mind, its voice curling through my thoughts like smoke. He thinks this is betrayal. He thinks this is chaos. But we know, don't we, Harry? We know exactly what's happening.
"He's not betraying you, James," I said quietly, my tone cutting through his anger like a blade. "He's hedging his bets. If Laurent thinks he can curry favor with the Cullens, it's because he believes it will keep him alive. It's not about you. It's about him."
James turned on me sharply, his eyes blazing with fury. "And you're fine with that? With him walking up there, spinning whatever lies he's got cooked up while we stand here doing nothing?"
His frustration radiated off him in waves, his predatory instincts screaming for action, for movement, for anything but this stagnant wait. I held his gaze steadily, my calm a deliberate contrast to his storm.
"This isn't about being fine with it," I said, my voice low but firm. "It's about understanding the game we're playing. Laurent isn't a threat to us. He's a tool."
James's snarl was low and guttural, his anger twisting into something darker. "You think I'm just going to sit here and watch him crawl to them like a worm? Begging for scraps? It's pathetic."
He's bored, Harry, the monster whispered, its voice tinged with amusement. And who could blame him? This waiting is so... tedious. Perhaps we should remind him why he's here. Or let him find out the hard way what happens to those who act too soon.
I ignored the monster, my focus still on James. "Your impatience is going to get you killed," I said bluntly, my words striking like a slap. "Laurent isn't your concern. If the Cullens believe him, they'll focus their energy on him, not us. And if they don't…" I let the implication hang in the air, sharp and cold.
James paced in a tight circle, his agitation growing with every step. "I don't trust him," he muttered, more to himself than to me. "He's slimy, weak. Always looking for a way out."
"And that's exactly why he's useful," I said, my tone cool, controlled. "Let him play his game. Every move he makes is one more piece on the board for us to manipulate."
James stopped pacing, his gaze snapping back to the house where Laurent now stood at the edge of the clearing, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "He's going to screw this up," James said, his voice low and venomous. "He's going to ruin everything."
"Then let him," I replied, my tone sharper now, cutting through his rage. "If he does, it's his mistake, not yours. The Cullens will deal with him, and we'll still be here, untouched, unseen. You don't win by chasing every shadow, James. You win by controlling the light."
James stared at me, his chest rising and falling with quick, angry breaths. I could see the war in his eyes—the battle between his instincts and the logic he didn't want to accept. Finally, he turned away, muttering under his breath. "This is pointless."
He's not wrong, the monster said, its voice soft but laced with dark amusement. This waiting. This careful threading of needles. It's all so... boring. But necessary, isn't it, Harry? For now.
"It's only pointless if you make it so," I said, ignoring the phantom's taunts. "Patience isn't a weakness, James. It's a weapon. And right now, it's the only one we need."
He didn't reply, his attention back on Laurent, who had stepped closer to the house, his movements slow and deliberate. I could feel James's frustration simmering beneath the surface, his boredom gnawing at him like a festering wound.
Let him act, Harry, the monster murmured, its voice almost playful now. Let him stumble and fall. He's a blunt instrument at best. But you, my dear… you're something far sharper.
I exhaled slowly, keeping my focus on the house, on the threads of possibility I'd already woven. The Cullens would see Laurent first. They'd react, adjust their defenses, their focus narrowing to the perceived threat. Meanwhile, James's impatience, his boredom, his seething anger—those were tools too. Tools I could wield when the time came.
Laurent emerged from the glow of the Cullens' house, his steps hurried, his movements twitching with barely contained panic. He glanced over his shoulder as he broke into a run, cutting through the rain-soaked forest in the opposite direction of where we stood. The faint sound of a door closing behind him reached us even through the mist, a muted exclamation of dismissal from the Cullens.
James growled low in his throat, his predatory instincts reigniting at the sight of Laurent's retreat. "He's running," he hissed. "Now's the time. We can catch him before he makes it halfway to the highway."
I turned my head slightly, catching James's gaze with a look of calm disapproval. "No," I said, my tone firm but quiet. "Laurent isn't your hunt."
James bared his teeth, his anger sparking again. "He betrayed us," he snapped, his voice sharp with frustration. "We let him go, and he'll turn on us the first chance he gets."
I tilted my head, watching Laurent's distant silhouette fade into the mist. "Laurent's survival is irrelevant," I said, turning back toward James. "You're not hunting Laurent, James. You're hunting the girl."
That caught his attention, his fury dimming slightly as his focus shifted. "The girl," he echoed, his voice quieter now, though the sharp edge remained. His gaze flicked toward the house, where faint shadows moved against the glow of the windows. "She's still in there. Surrounded by them."
"Exactly," I said, stepping closer, my voice calm but deliberate. "And that's why you need to be smarter than this."
I gestured toward the house, where movement had become frantic. Figures darted through the rooms, their voices indistinct but carrying the unmistakable urgency of chaos. Bella's slim frame was visible briefly as she moved across one window, followed closely by Esme. The two of them were swapping clothes hurriedly, their gestures hurried, their conversation rapid.
"They're trying to confuse you," I said, my tone sharp with purpose. "Bella and Esme exchanging clothes, masking her scent. It's an obvious ploy, but they're banking on you reacting without thinking."
James's lips curled into a faint sneer as he watched the scene. "And what's their plan after that? Run and hope we don't catch their trail?"
"Something like that," I said, my eyes narrowing as I studied the house. "They'll split up, send Bella with one group while the others create a distraction. Their goal is to buy time, nothing more."
James crossed his arms, his frustration simmering as he tracked the chaos inside. "And what do we do?" he asked, his tone laced with impatience. "Stand here and watch them get away?"
"No," I said, stepping into the shadows further, gesturing for him to follow. "We create a distraction of our own. One they don't expect."
He arched an eyebrow, his skepticism clear. "What kind of distraction?"
I turned to him, my expression calm but deliberate. "One that forces them to make a mistake."
Oh, Harry, the monster purred, its voice rich with dark amusement. Teach him, guide him. But don't forget: he's only ever going to be your tool.
I ignored it, keeping my focus on James. "Right now, they think they're in control," I said, my voice low but firm. "They're making their plans, confident that they're outmaneuvering you. But if we disrupt that confidence, if we shatter their certainty, they'll make choices they wouldn't otherwise make."
James frowned, his frustration mingling with reluctant curiosity. "And how do we do that?"
"By making them believe they're the ones being hunted," I said. "We create chaos, force them to split their focus. They'll be so busy reacting to us they'll lose track of their own plans."
James's sneer softened into something closer to a smirk, his predator's instincts responding to the promise of the hunt. "And the girl?" he asked, his voice quieter now, almost eagerly.
"She'll be vulnerable," I said, my tone steady, deliberate. "Their distraction will make it impossible for the Cullens to protect her." That's when you strike."
James nodded slowly, his smirk growing as he turned his gaze back to the house. Inside, the Cullens moved with frenetic energy, their carefully constructed plans already unraveling under the weight of their uncertainty.
"Let's see how clever they really are," James said, his voice low, predatory.
I watched him for a moment, a faint smile playing at the corners of my mouth. "Patience, James," I breathed. "The best hunts are the ones they never see coming."
The Cullens, their figures outlined by the warm glow of the house, huddled in their lounge. From our vantage in the shadows, I could see their postures, their tension. They leaned toward Alice, their reliance on her gift palpable, as if her visions were the anchor keeping them from being swept away by the storm they imagined James to be.
Inside, Alice sat stiffly, her hands gripping the arms of her chair as her gift unfolded before her. Her mind worked in threads, weaving possible futures into patterns she could read. Each thread was precise, a reflection of decisions made and yet to be made. And that was where my gift came into play—delicacy was no match for subtle influence.
Ah, Alice, the monster murmured, its voice like a whisper of smoke in my mind. So confident in what you see, so blind to the hand guiding your threads.
My ability wasn't sight, not as Alice's was. I couldn't see the future, but I could touch it—gently, precisely, with enough skill to shape it without leaving a trace. Alice's visions weren't immutable truths; they were probabilities, built on decisions already made and choices yet to come. Someone could nudge those choices, those threads she followed so faithfully.
It was subtle work. Alice's mind was sharp, her grasp on her gift strong, but her reliance on its inevitability made her vulnerable. My influence was like a shadow cast over her threads, bending the light just enough to shift her perception without her realizing it.
I didn't weave a new future for her to see—I didn't need to. Instead, I adjusted what was already there, amplifying the threads that aligned with my design and dimming those that didn't. It was like adding an imperceptible weight to one side of a scale, enough to tip the balance with no one noticing.
As Alice gazed into her visions, she would see James doing exactly what I wanted her to see: following Edward, Carlisle, and Emmett into the forest. It made sense. It fit the narrative they all expected—a predator drawn to the strongest threats, leaving Bella behind safe.
But the truth was far more complex. While Alice saw James chasing the decoy, the threads of reality would pull him back toward the house, toward Bella. By the time Alice noticed the divergence, it would already be too late.
"How does it work?" James's voice broke through my thoughts, low and edged with suspicion. He stood beside me, his gaze fixed on the house, his frustration simmering. "How are you messing with her?"
I glanced at him, my expression calm, composed. "I'm not messing with her," I whispered. "I'm guiding her."
James sneered. "Sounds the same to me."
I turned back to the house, my voice soft but firm. "Her gift isn't as infallible as they like to think. She sees possibilities, James, not certainties. The choices people make — the ones they've already made and the ones they're about to make shape these possibilities. All I do is influence those choices."
He frowned, his predator's instincts bristling against the implication. "How?"
"It's like painting over glass," I explained, my tone measured. "Her visions are clear until I shade them. I don't change what she sees; I make certain threads stand out more than others until she's drawn to the one I want her to follow. Her mind does the rest."
James's frown deepened. "And she doesn't notice?"
"She can't," I said simply. "Her gift is too reliant on what she believes to be true. And what she believes right now is that you'll follow Edward. Because that's what makes sense to her. It's logical. Predictable."
James glanced back at the house, his frustration mingling with reluctant understanding. "So, what's the endgame? We let her think she's right until it's too late?"
"Exactly," I said, my voice sharp with certainty. "By the time she realizes her vision was wrong, you'll already be with the Bella."
James smirked faintly, the predator in him responding to the precision of the plan. "You're a devious bastard, aren't you?"
Devious? the monster purred, its voice thick with dark amusement. Oh, James. You truly have no clue.
I ignored the whisper, my focus on the house where the Cullens moved with frantic energy. They thought they were preparing for the hunt, for the fight. They didn't realize that someone else was watching them, anticipating and directing their every move.
Alice's gift was a powerful tool, but it was also a weakness—a mirror that reflected only what I allowed it to see. And as long as she trusted it, as long as they all did, they would never see the truth until it was far too late.
The forest blurred around us as we ran, the damp air whipping against my face, the soft squelch of rain-slicked earth underfoot. Jasper and Alice's car sped through the winding roads, its lights cutting through the mist like sharp blades, but their speed couldn't outpace us. Not here. The forest was ours, a place where strength and instincts mattered more than machines.
James moved just ahead of me, his focus sharp, his movements feral. The trail Jasper and Alice left was faint but undeniable—Bella's scent mingling with the rain, a delicate thread guiding us through the trees.
And then James stopped.
His sudden halt was abrupt, his body rigid as he turned toward the treeline. I slowed, my senses stretching out, catching a faint disturbance in the quiet rhythm of the forest. A figure stepped from the shadows, her fiery hair a striking flame against the muted greens and browns of the woods.
Victoria.
Her presence was unexpected, a ripple in the carefully crafted pattern of this hunt. She moved with her usual predatory grace, her sharp eyes locking onto James first, then sliding to me with a mixture of curiosity and caution. James's body tensed further, his instincts bristling at the interruption, but my focus splintered. The surrounding air carried something dangerous, something intoxicating.
Kill her, the monster hissed, its voice curling through my mind like smoke laced with venom. Take her strength, her power. Imagine it, Harry. Imagine what it would feel like to sink your teeth into that fire and consume it.
The thought gripped me, raw and sudden, making my venom surge. My throat burned, the sharp hunger almost overwhelming as my mind filled with dark, vivid imaginings. The monster pushed harder, its voice rich with ancient hunger.
She's unprepared. Vulnerable. All that power, all that rage, and you could own it, Harry. She's just another piece. Take her before she becomes a threat.
I clenched my fists, forcing the desire back, the taste of venom bitter against my control. This was neither the time nor the place. I couldn't let her presence derail the plan—not when we were so close. But the monster laughed, delighted by the conflict it had ignited within me.
Victoria's gaze shifted back to James, her sharp features twisting into a faint smirk. "James," she said, her voice low and smooth, tinged with curiosity. "You've been busy." Her eyes flicked to me again, her smirk widening. "And who's this?"
James didn't answer immediately, his tension palpable as he tried to gauge the meaning behind her arrival. "What are you doing here, Victoria?" he asked, his voice low, edged with suspicion.
She ignored his question, stepping closer, her movements languid but deliberate as her attention lingered on me. "You're not one of the Cullens," she said, her tone almost teasing. "And you're certainly not part of our little coven. So… who are you?"
Her question hung in the air, the weight of her presence pressing against my restraint. The monster surged again, its voice sharp and hungry. Say nothing, Harry. Take her throat, break her before she becomes a complication. Show her what it means to cross you.
But I didn't move, my focus narrowing as I studied her. "Who I am," I said finally, my voice calm but deliberate, "is someone you weren't expecting."
Victoria tilted her head, her curiosity sharpening. "Apparently not," she said, her smirk returning. "And yet, here you are. With James. Interesting."
James growled low in his throat, stepping forward slightly, his frustration bleeding through. "You didn't answer my question," he said sharply. "What are you doing here?"
Victoria's smirk faltered, her gaze snapping back to him. "I might ask you the same thing," she said, her voice harder now. "I heard whispers, James. About your plans. About the girl."
James's growl deepened, his muscles coiling. "That's none of your concern."
She laughed softly, the sound cutting through the tension like a blade. "Oh, but it is," she said. "You don't think something like this happens without drawing attention, do you? And now you've got him involved…" She gestured toward me with a flick of her hand. "This is getting complicated."
Complicated wasn't the word I would have chosen, but it fit well enough. Victoria's sudden appearance had changed the dynamic, her presence an unexpected thread pulling against the pattern I had so carefully woven. But even complications could be managed, shaped, turned into advantages.
Kill her, Harry, the monster whispered, its voice soft and insidious. She doesn't belong in this game. Take her before she ruins everything.
I silenced the voice, my gaze steady as I stepped forward, drawing Victoria's attention fully to me. "Complications can be... useful," I said, my tone smooth, edged with just enough menace to make her pause. "If handled correctly."
Her smirk returned, slower this time, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "And if they're not?" she asked, her voice quiet but pointed.
I allowed myself a faint smile, one that didn't reach my eyes. "Then they're removed."
James's growl rumbled low in his chest, vibrating through the damp, misty air as he glared at Victoria. She didn't flinch, her sharp features set in a mask of feigned amusement. Her fiery hair clung to her face, rain dripping down her pale skin, but her gaze never wavered. She was poised, confident—too much so for James's simmering fury.
"Why did you come back?" he snarled, stepping toward her. "You left. You abandoned me. And now you just show up like nothing's happened?"
Victoria tilted her head, her smirk curling wider. "Oh, James," she said, her tone low and teasing, though a flicker of tension danced in her eyes. "I didn't abandon you. I just... reprioritized."
James's fists clenched, his venom-laced anger threatening to spill over. "Reprioritized?" he spat. "Is that what you call running off with that traitor Laurent? He went to the Cullens, Victoria. He told them everything."
The words hung heavy in the air, a sharp accusation that made her smirk falter for just a moment before she regained her composure. Her gaze flicked to me briefly, as if gauging my reaction, before settling back on James.
"Laurent is smart," she said, her voice colder now. "Smarter than you give him credit for. He's a survivor. Unlike some of us, he knows when to pivot."
James snarled, his fury flaring brighter. "You're defending him?" he growled. "He went to them! He told them about us, about the girl. He betrayed us."
Victoria's expression shifted, her smirk dropping as her gaze hardened. "And what, exactly, are you doing?" she snapped, her tone cutting. "Running through the woods with him?" She flicked her head toward me, her fiery hair trailing the motion. "Whoever he is."
Oh, she knows why she's here, the monster murmured, its voice curling through my mind like smoke. She knows she's not being hunted. That's why she's bold. That's why she smirks.
I kept my face carefully neutral, watching the tension between them rise. Victoria had returned because she wasn't being hunted—not by James, and not by me. That much was clear. She thought her place in this game was secure, that she could maneuver through it unscathed. She was wrong.
Kill her, the monster hissed, its tone sharp now, devoid of amusement. Take her power, Harry. She's a threat you can't afford to leave standing.
James's rage boiled over. He surged forward, stopping just short of Victoria, his voice raw and venomous. "You left me," he said, his words laced with accusation. "You ran when it mattered most, and now you think you can just come back? Act like it didn't happen?"
Victoria held her ground, her expression cooling further, her sharp eyes narrowing. "I did what I had to do, James," she said, her tone calm but firm. "And maybe if you weren't so blinded by your ego, you'd see that."
James bared his teeth, his frustration tangible as his hands flexed at his sides, his body taut with the need to act. But he hesitated, the weight of her words digging into him. The moment stretched, heavy and volatile, before he snapped his head toward me.
Victoria's sharp gaze flickered between James and me, her curiosity laced with suspicion. Her smirk lingered, but it had dulled, uncertainty creeping in as she measured the unspoken tension between us. James's anger simmered beside me, his posture still coiled and predatory, but he hadn't moved. Not yet.
I glanced at James, keeping my voice calm, deliberate. "Send her after Edward."
James's head snapped toward me, his expression a mixture of confusion and disbelief. "What?"
"Edward, Carlisle, and Emmett are the decoys," I said, my tone sharp enough to cut through his frustration. "Let her follow them. She's fast enough to keep up, and she'll keep them occupied. If they think she's the main threat, they'll focus their energy on her, not you."
Victoria arched an eyebrow, her smirk returning, faint but intrigued. "You want me to chase them?" she asked, her voice low and teasing. "You think I'll just do whatever you say?"
I met her gaze, my expression steady, unyielding. "I think," I said evenly, "that you're smart enough to recognize an opportunity when you see one. You want to prove yourself to James? Then go. Show them what it means to be hunted."
Victoria's smirk widened, her fiery confidence reigniting. "Interesting," she said, her voice soft but tinged with approval. "And what are you going to be doing while I run your little errand?"
I turned my attention back to James, ignoring her question. "While she distracts them, you and I focus on Bella. The Cullens have spread themselves thin. Victoria will pull their attention further. The girl will be vulnerable."
James frowned, his anger cooling as the plan began to settle in his mind. "And what happens to her?" he asked, gesturing toward Victoria. "You think she'll come back?"
"She'll do her part," I said, my voice firm. "And if she doesn't, then she's no longer our concern."
Victoria chuckled softly, her smirk taking on a sharper edge. "I'll come back," she said, her voice rich with amusement. "I always do."
You promised me, Harry, the monster whispered, its voice sharp and insistent, curling through my mind like a shadowed threat. I want her. She's fire, and you know how I love the burn.
Not yet, I thought, forcing the whisper back into the dark corners of my mind. The monster growled softly, its disappointment curling into my thoughts like a faint echo.
After the girl, then, it hissed, a promise as much as a demand. After we've saved your precious Bella. Then she's mine.
I forced the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand. Victoria was already stepping back, her movements slow and deliberate, her sharp eyes flicking toward the direction Edward and the others had gone.
"I'll handle them," she said, her tone confident. "Don't screw up your end of this."
James didn't respond, his anger simmering quietly now, his focus narrowing. Victoria gave me one last glance, her smirk still in place, before she turned and vanished into the mist, her fiery hair disappearing into the shadows.
James exhaled sharply, his fists unclenching as he watched her go. "She's going to screw this up," he muttered, his voice low but bitter.
"She won't," I said simply, my voice calm but deliberate. "She knows what's at stake."
James growled low in his throat, his frustration palpable. "And if she doesn't?"
I turned my gaze to him, my expression cool. "Then she'll find out what happens to those who fail."
The rain fell harder as we ran through the forest, the mist thickening with every mile. The faint scent of Bella lingered in the air, mingled with the sharp tang of exhaust fumes, guiding us like a thread pulling taut. Jasper and Alice's car was ahead, their lead growing as the forest gave way to stretches of road and industrial edges. James's pace quickened, his frustration bleeding into his movements, every step sharper, more impatient.
"We're falling behind," James growled, his voice low but edged with anger. "They're going to get away."
"They won't," I said calmly, my voice steady despite the urgency thrumming in the air. "Not unless you lose focus."
He shot me a glare, his sharp features twisted in irritation, but he didn't argue. The faint hum of distant traffic grew louder as we neared the outskirts of the airport, the smell of jet fuel and concrete cutting through the damp air. The trail led directly to the terminal, where the glow of artificial lights spilled into the night, blurring against the rain.
The car was parked near a side entrance, its hood still warm, the faint scent of Bella strongest here. James tensed, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the area.
"They're inside," he said, his voice sharp with certainty. "We go in now—"
"No," I interrupted, stepping in front of him. "You stay here."
James froze, his posture stiffening as he glared at me. "What the hell do you mean, stay here? We don't have time for this."
I met his glare with a calm, measured gaze. "Because they won't see me," I said, my voice low but firm. "They're looking for you. They'll be watching for you. But me? I'm not part of their story yet. I'm invisible to them."
James's jaw tightened, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "You think you can just walk in there? Past Alice? Past Jasper?"
"I know I can," I said, my tone sharp enough to cut through his disbelief. "Because I'm better at this than you are."
His growl was low, rumbling in his chest as his pride flared. "Better at what? Stalking around like some ghost? They'll smell you before you're even inside."
"They won't," I said simply, adjusting my glasses with deliberate calm. "Because I know how to move without leaving a trace. You rely on instinct, James. It makes you predictable. That's why they'll expect you to come charging in, teeth bared. Me? They won't even realize I'm there."
James's frustration bled into a tense silence, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he stared at me. "And what exactly are you going to do?" he asked, his voice cold, biting. "Sneak in and what? Watch them?"
"Something like that," I said, turning toward the terminal. "I'll see where they're taking her, confirm their next move. You stay here, out of sight, until I signal."
James didn't move, his anger simmering quietly as he processed my words. "And if they catch you?" he asked finally, his tone laced with skepticism.
"They won't," I said, glancing back at him with a faint smile. "That's the difference between you and me, James. I don't get caught."
Oh, Harry, the monster murmured, its voice curling through my mind like smoke, dark and amused. So confident, so sure. Let's hope you're right. I'd hate to miss the girl because you got sloppy.
I ignored it, my focus narrowing as I turned back toward the terminal. The rain slicked my hair to my face, but I didn't bother brushing it away. James's frustration followed me like a tangible weight, his resentment pulsing in the space between us.
"Wait here," I repeated, my voice steady, unyielding. "If you follow me, you'll ruin everything. Trust me or don't, but either way, stay out of my way."
James growled again, but he didn't argue. His pride was a heavy chain, keeping him rooted even as his instincts screamed for action.
The terminal buzzed with low, ambient noise—muted voices, the hum of fluorescent lights, the occasional crackle of a PA system announcing arrivals and departures. I kept my distance, blending into the edges of the crowd as I watched Jasper, Alice, and Bella from the far corner of the waiting area. They were seated, their postures tense but calm, an effort to project normalcy amidst their urgency.
Alice sat closest to Bella, her hand resting lightly on Bella's arm in a gesture of reassurance. Jasper, always alert, positioned himself just slightly apart, his sharp gaze flicking to every movement around them. Bella sat between them, her expression strained but determined, her body language trying to mimic the calm she must have felt was expected of her.
I narrowed my eyes, studying their movements. Alice's sharp glances to the boarding monitors, Jasper's subtle positioning to keep Bella shielded, the occasional exchange of quiet words between them—all of it painted a picture of deliberation. They were waiting for something. A flight. But which one?
I glanced at the monitors they kept checking, my mind sifting through possibilities. Phoenix caught my attention first—a direct flight in less than an hour. A neat solution for them, but one fraught with vulnerabilities.
Phoenix, the monster whispered, its voice curling through my thoughts like a venom-laced smile. The girl's hometown. Her mother's home. So obvious. So deliciously fragile.
I ignored it, my focus sharpening as I watched Alice rise briefly to speak to the attendant at the gate. She handed over their tickets, her motions smooth, rehearsed, designed to attract as little attention as possible. The monster chuckled softly in the back of my mind.
She's clever, isn't she? But not clever enough. They think they can run, Harry. That this will keep her safe. You see how foolish that is, don't you?
Fifteen minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity as I watched them. Jasper moved closer to Bella, murmuring something that made her nod faintly, her expression softening for a brief moment. Alice returned, her movements brisk but controlled, as if confirming their next steps.
And then it happened. Their gate was called.
Alice stood first, her gaze sweeping over the terminal before she gestured to Bella. Jasper helped her up, his grip firm but gentle as they made their way toward the line. The Phoenix flight. Of course. They were taking her home, to her mother, trying to hide her in familiarity, in a place they thought I wouldn't follow.
Fools, the monster hissed, its voice dripping with disdain. Her hometown? Her mother's home? They may as well hang a sign around her neck inviting us in.
I stayed where I was, my body taut with controlled stillness as they passed through the gate, their figures disappearing into the jet bridge. The monster stirred, restless now, its laughter low and dark.
You're hesitating, it whispered, the accusation curling through my thoughts. Why, Harry? You see it, don't you? This opportunity. She's exposed. And you... you're waiting.
I clenched my fists, the faint burn of venom sharp in my throat as I forced the voice back into the recesses of my mind. Not yet. Not here. Every move had to be calculated, precise. There was no room for mistakes.
They seek safety in Phoenix's sun, I muse, watching the plane lift into grey skies. Such beautiful irony - running toward light to escape darkness. The monster within me stirs, no longer content with merely whispering.
"Of course I'll remind them," I murmur, adjusting my carefully rumpled cardigan. "This hunt is the perfect setup. Every lesson, every carefully crafted performance - I've been teaching them all along, though they don't realize it yet."
The monster's laughter ripples through my ancient veins. Teaching? Is that what you call this elaborate game?
"Teaching is what I do best," I smile, letting centuries of dark knowledge color my words. "The Cullens rely too heavily on their gifts - Edward's mind reading, Alice's visions, Jasper's empathy. They think power makes them invincible. But true strength..." I pause, savoring the thought, "comes from understanding one's limitations."
And the girl? Another lesson?
"Bella..." Her name tastes like possibility on my tongue. "She represents something rare - genuine potential. The Cullens see only her fragility, her mortality. James sees only prey. But I see what she could become, with the right guidance."
I move through the terminal with practiced human grace, each step precisely measured. "Human-vampire relationships usually end in tragedy - that's what history teaches us. But with the right choices, the right mentor..." I let the thought trail off, rich with implication.
You're playing a dangerous game, the monster purrs. The Cullens won't thank you for these lessons.
"They don't need to thank me," I reply, darkness threading through my smile. "They just need to learn. And when James makes his move, when all my careful preparations bear fruit..." I adjust my tie with lethal precision, "they'll understand exactly what kind of teacher they've had all along."
The monster's anticipation coils through me like a sweet poison. And then?
"And then," I whisper, "the actual education begins."
I watched James prowl the warehouse with barely contained bloodlust, his movements betraying the newborn-like eagerness that made him such a liability. For all his reputation as a skilled tracker, he lacked the patience, the sophistication that centuries truly teach. His very presence grated against my carefully maintained control.
"Phoenix," I offered, maintaining my relaxed posture while calculating exactly how long it would take to separate his head from his body if necessary. "Alice and Jasper are taking her to Phoenix - running home, as frightened humans so often do."
"Her mother," James practically purred, his crimson eyes lighting with predatory glee. "Perfect. The best bait is always family."
Amateur, I thought, though my smile remained pleasant. As I spoke, I began weaving my power with surgical precision, crafting the vision that would reach across miles to torment Alice's gift. Layer by layer, I built it:
A ballet studio, sun-filled and innocent. James stalking through mirrored walls, phone in hand. The sound of a woman's voice - Bella's mother, desperate and afraid. The trap perfectly baited, perfectly obvious. Just the melodramatic scene James would create.
"And what's our next move?" James demanded, interrupting my careful work. "We should strike now, while they're scrambling."
I let my illusion solidify - Alice would see James making the call, would see Bella's inevitable choice to sacrifice herself. But beneath that surface vision, I wove darker possibilities, shadowy suggestions of other players moving behind the scenes. Let her gift grapple with the uncertainty, the growing sense that something else was coming. Something even her visions couldn't quite grasp.
"Patience," I counseled, though the word tasted bitter. Every moment in James's presence reminded me why he needed to be eliminated. His kind of reckless hunting drew exactly the wrong sort of attention. "The game is more satisfying when played properly."
And when I finally end you, I thought while maintaining my mild expression, the Cullens will learn exactly why relying on gifts like Alice's vision or Edward's mind reading makes them vulnerable. Some lessons require... practical demonstration.
I watched James pace with predatory restlessness while reflecting on how his crude tracking abilities paled compared to my gift. The ballet studio's location had come to me naturally, effortlessly, through my unique awareness.
"The ballet studio," I mentioned, watching James's eyes light with interest. "Fifty-eighth Street and Cactus. Her childhood dance academy." The location had filtered into my mind weeks ago, when Charlie Swan had muttered to himself late one night about "ballet classes on Cactus" while sorting through old photographs. My gift caught every whispered word, every muttered memory, building a perfect map of knowledge with no need for crude investigation.
"The perfect stage," James grinned, his enthusiasm making my ancient power stir with disdain. "But how did you-"
"One has one's methods," I deflected smoothly, already weaving the vision that would reach Alice. In my carefully crafted illusion, I showed her the studio as James would use it - sunlight streaming through tall windows, mirrors reflecting endless possibilities of violence. Bella's mother's voice, desperate on the phone. But beneath those surface images, I layered shadows of other plans, other players. Let her gift struggle with the uncertainty.
I smiled indulgently at James's impatient question, letting centuries of dark amusement show through. "We run," I said softly, causing the monster within me to stir with both anticipation and... something else. Something close to fear.
"Through the desert," I continued, my thoughts turning to Las Vegas. Not because of its gaudy lights or the easy prey that stumbled drunk through its streets. No, Vegas held a distinct danger. One that made even my ancient power whisper warnings.
His territory, the monster murmured. Are you really willing to risk crossing it?