Chapter 96: The Gathering Part Three
"Kick his ass, Jasper!"
Alice's voice rang out through the arena, sharp and unwavering. The sheer force of it had heads turning, but she didn't care. She cupped her hands around her mouth, letting loose more encouragement, hoping Jasper could hear her through the thunder of the crowd.
From her seat about halfway up the stands, Alice heard Bella's laughter and glanced over, catching the amusement in her expression. She and Edward sat beside her, along with Peter and Charlotte, all of them thoroughly entertained as they watched Jasper systematically dismantle another challenger below.
The arena itself was massive—an underground coliseum built by the Volturi for combat training, its sheer scale hidden from the outside world. Hewn from ancient stone, its towering walls encased a vast, circular pit, the smooth floor worn and scarred from centuries of battle. The massive glass ceiling overhead let in the silver glow of the moon, casting an eerie light over the battlefield, while rows of torches flickered along the walls, illuminating the high stone tiers packed with spectators.
Alice and Jasper had never set foot in Volterra before, and when they first entered the arena, she had been stunned. Ancient stone and towering walls spoke of centuries past, but tonight? The place pulsed with energy, alive in a way she doubted it had been for centuries.
Hundreds of vampires now lined the stands and upper walkways, their glowing red eyes locked on the fight below, watching as the strongest among them battled for dominance.
And at the center of it all, bathed in moonlight, moving like a ghost through the night—was Jasper.
The night had started off slow. After a long day of meetings, many vampires had come to the arena to let loose, to fight, to burn off whatever tension had built throughout the day. Several matches had gone on simultaneously, warriors sparring across the massive stone floor.
Then, the fights shifted.
Someone had proposed a more structured contest—a king of the arena. One victor would remain on the battlefield until they were defeated, and the battle would only end when no more challengers stepped forward.
Eventually, Jasper had risen from his seat, left her side, and stepped onto the arena floor.
And since then?
He hadn't just been winning.
He'd been dominating.
Alice's sharp eyes tracked his every movement as he danced around his latest opponent—a broad-shouldered vampire with dark skin and a stance that spoke of experience. He was strong.
But Jasper was better.
Much better.
Jasper moved with an uncanny grace, his body shifting effortlessly, just out of reach. His opponent swung—a powerful, calculated strike meant to take Jasper out. But Jasper was already gone, dodging with surgical precision.
Then he countered.
Alice caught the flicker of his smirk a second before he struck—his fist slamming into the vampire's ribs with bone-breaking force. His opponent staggered back, hissing in pain, but Jasper didn't let up.
He vanished from sight—only for a split second—before reappearing behind him. Alice barely had time to process the movement before Jasper's knee connected with the back of the vampire's leg, dropping him to the floor.
And then?
Jasper's hand clamped around his throat, slamming him into the dirt with a bone-rattling crack.
The crowd erupted, a deafening mix of cheers, laughter, and shouts of approval echoing through the arena.
"Get up!" someone jeered from the stands.
Alice didn't bother looking to see if the vampire would.
She already knew the answer.
He wouldn't.
Jasper released his grip, stepping back as his opponent groaned, barely able to roll onto his side in silent surrender. He wouldn't be getting up for another round.
A victorious smirk tugged at Alice's lips. Two hours in, and no one had even come close to besting him.
The crowd had grown considerably since the start of the night, word spreading like wildfire through the castle that the infamous Major had entered the fray. Some had heard the legends. Few had ever witnessed him in action.
And now?
They watched with rapt fascination as he systematically tore through every opponent.
The energy in the arena had changed. It wasn't just about competition anymore. There was something electric in the air, something charged and hungry.
Alice leaned forward slightly, her sharp gaze tracking Jasper's every movement. The slow roll of his shoulders—loose, unbothered—his eyes sweeping the crowd, daring the next challenger to step forward.
God, she loved watching him like this.
And from the way he stood—patient, relaxed, waiting—he was more than ready for whoever came next.
"Did the Volturi ever hold contests here?" Bella asked, her gaze sweeping across the towering stone stands. The arena looked like it could hold thousands of vampires, but from what she'd heard of the Volturi, she doubted it had ever been used to its full potential.
Peter, still watching the arena floor, shrugged. "Supposedly. But no one ever showed up—at least, not in my lifetime. Word is, the same two bastards always won." He smirked, finally cutting Bella a sideways glance. "Felix and Demetri were always the Volturi's top dogs… that is, until you put 'em down."
Edward's eyes drifted toward Bella, catching the way she was grinning, completely absorbed as Jasper finished off yet another opponent. He could see it now—what Bella had been telling him on their way to Peter and Charlotte's. Jasper was not a vampire to be taken lightly. The way he overwhelmed his opponents reminded Edward of the time he, Rosalie, and Emmett had tried to take Bella down. To little avail.
The electric energy in the stands was impossible to ignore—cheers, shouts, and laughter rippling through the arena as another challenger stepped forward to face Jasper. The sheer camaraderie of it struck Edward, a stark contrast to the isolationist rule of the Volturi. It made him think.
"When the new government is in place," he mused, "they should bring back the contests. Hell, they should make it a real event—structured tournaments, maybe something like the Olympics, every few decades." He looked at Bella. "A way for vampires from all over to compete, and build relationships between covens that wouldn't normally interact."
Bella's eyes lit up. "That's actually a great idea." She nudged him with her elbow. "You should bring it up at one of the meetings tomorrow." Her grin turned playful. "I know I'd compete."
Alice gasped as Jasper's opponent managed to get a grip on his shirt, the fabric tearing with a sharp rip before being tossed aside like shredded paper.
Bella smirked, shifting her attention to Alice—who had completely lost focus on the fight. Her little friend's ruby eyes were wide, utterly fixated on Jasper's chest, her lips parted just slightly as if she'd momentarily forgotten how to breathe.
Not that Bella blamed her.
Now that Jasper was fully bared to the moonlight, there was no denying he was a sight to behold. Strong muscles carved his torso with flawless symmetry, each ridge of his abdomen taut and defined. Faint silver battle scars laced his skin, souvenirs from wars long past, yet somehow, they only made him look even more dangerous—more powerful.
Bella's gaze flicked back to Alice, watching the way her fingers curled against her knees, gripping the fabric of her dress like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. If there had ever been any doubt about how thoroughly ruined Alice was for her husband, this moment erased it.
Bella let her own gaze drift back to Jasper, taking him in properly. He really was built like a warrior—broad shoulders, a chest sculpted from centuries of battle, each flex and shift of his muscles impossibly controlled as he ruthlessly dismantled his opponent.
Damn. Alice was one lucky woman.
The two of them together were such a study in contrasts. Alice—barely five feet tall, delicate, pixie-like, all elegance in manner and dress. And Jasper… well, Jasper was not. He was towering, all muscle and raw strength, a force of nature barely held in check.
Then the image hit her—Alice, straddling all that power, thighs clamped tight around Jasper's hips, her tiny frame bucking hard against his sheer size. One hand braced against his chest, the other thrown high like a cowgirl, riding her man like there was no tomorrow. Bella could almost see the desperate grip of Alice's fingers digging into his skin, hear her sharp gasps, the breathless moans spilling from her lips, as Jasper pounded into her from below, his relentless force driving her so hard and fast she was barely holding on, her petite body lost in the overwhelming ecstasy as he gave her the ride of her life.
The image was so vivid, so downright obscene, that Bella had to fight the urge to laugh. She flicked her gaze toward Alice, smirking—only to find Alice already grinning back, eyes twinkling like she knew exactly what she'd been thinking.
Yep. Alice was one lucky vampire.
Shirtless, Jasper had his opponent pinned within seconds, his teeth at the vampire's throat, holding him down in silent victory. The moment stretched, the other vampire stiff, unmoving in defeat, until finally, Jasper released him and sprang to his feet.
The crowd erupted, voices rising in excitement as Jasper scanned the arena, his stance loose, waiting for his next challenger. Bella turned, expecting another fighter to drop down from the stands at any second.
But then, she heard it.
The chanting.
Low at first, but spreading quickly, until the entire arena pulsed with the sound of one name.
Starshield!
Starshield!
Starshield!
She smiled, turning to Edward. "Think I should give it a shot? I've never actually beaten Jasper before."
Alice was already on her feet. "Do it, Bella!" she yelled over the roaring chant.
Edward's ruby eyes met hers, full of warmth. "Why not? Win or lose, just make it a fight to remember."
Bella's grin widened. That, she could do.
The moment she rose to her feet, the arena exploded.
The force of the cheers shook the stone stands, sending vibrations rippling through the air. Hundreds of voices joined together, the sound rolling through the arena like a crashing wave. Everywhere she looked, red eyes gleamed—some faces familiar, others unknown—but all of them were locked on her, waiting, eager, hungry to see what she could do.
She wouldn't disappoint.
Turning to Edward, she flashed him a sly wink, then launched herself straight into the air.
The reaction was instant.
The moment her feet left the ground, the crowd lost their collective minds. The sheer volume of their cheers hit like a physical force, rolling through the arena as she rocketed upward, wrapped in her shield.
The arena was massive, towering at least four stories high—more than enough room for her to play.
She twisted midair, diving into a low flight, just feet above the spectators' heads. The wind tore past her as she banked hard, carving tight loops around the stands. Below, vampires jumped to their feet, some shouting, some pointing, some gripping each other's arms like they couldn't believe what they were seeing.
Bella grinned.
Time to really give them a show.
She climbed higher, hovering near the top of the vast arena, then summoned her power.
With a single thought, the air around her detonated.
Boom!
Kaboom!
Big Bada Boom!
Explosions burst in her wake, perfectly timed to her movements. Bella shot forward, weaving through the arena at impossible speeds, crisscrossing the vast space like a meteor shower set loose.
Every twist, every dive, every sharp pivot sent shockwaves of fire and light cascading through the air. The controlled blasts flared brilliantly against the night, painting flickering patterns across the stone walls as she streaked past, a force of motion and destruction wrapped in beauty.
The crowd roared, their voices barely audible over the constant, rhythmic bursts.
And Bella? She grinned.
She was only getting started.
She pushed faster, looping back around, sending another cascade of blasts rippling through the air. Below, the gathered vampires tilted their heads skyward, motionless, transfixed as she turned the arena into a canvas of light and chaos.
And then, with a final sweeping arc, she cut straight down—hurtling toward the earth like a meteor falling from the heavens.
The moment before impact, she twisted midair, absorbing the force with her shield as she slammed into the ground.
A shockwave detonated outward from her shield-encased body. Fire exploded in every direction, a blinding eruption of heat and light surging outward before curling skyward, lingering like a burning halo at the heart of the arena.
Silence.
For a single, suspended breath, the entire arena held still. The flames crackled, their heat licking at the air, the sheer force of her landing leaving the atmosphere charged and humming.
Then, as the fire began to recede, revealing her standing there—unharmed—the arena lost its fucking mind.
Thirty feet away, Jasper waited. Arms loose, stance relaxed—but his sharp ruby gaze was locked onto her, a slow, knowing smirk tugging at his lips.
Bella tossed her hair back, meeting his gaze, her own smirk answering his.
"Ready when you are, cowboy."
Jasper's grin widened, his stance deceptively relaxed, but beneath the surface, his body was taut with anticipation, coiled and ready to explode into action.
"Give it everything you've got… Starshield."
A thrill shot through Bella's veins—this was what she lived for.
They began to circle each other, their movements slow and measured, like predators studying one another before the strike. Bella mirrored Jasper's footwork, both of them waiting, watching, gauging. He was testing her just as much as she was testing him.
She knew his strategy—he never attacked first. He waited, letting his opponent make the opening move, reading their intent, and then taking them apart with surgical precision.
The problem was—so did she.
The tension between them stretched thin, a taut wire ready to snap. The growing restlessness of the crowd only fed the charged energy in the air. Vampires stood at the edges of their seats, eager for the inevitable collision.
Bella decided to give them what they wanted.
She attacked.
In a single fluid motion, she launched forward, closing the distance between them with blinding speed. Her fists shot out in a relentless barrage, her strikes aimed with perfect precision, her footwork sharp, fast, and deliberate.
Jasper reacted instantly.
He met her head-on.
His movements were impossibly smooth, his body weaving around her blows with practiced ease, his hands deflecting and redirecting—but she was relentless.
Her elbow clipped his ribs, the impact sharp enough to force a grunt from his throat. A split-second later, she twisted into a vicious kick that grazed his abdomen, forcing him to shift back a step.
And for the first time all night, Jasper was the one giving ground.
The crowd erupted.
Bella didn't let up. She pressed forward, pushing the advantage, striking faster, harder. But then—Jasper caught her.
In a move almost too fast to follow, his hand locked around her arm. Before she could react, she was airborne.
The force of his throw sent her flying across the arena, the walls of the coliseum blurring past as she twisted in midair, angling her body to break the fall, landing in a crouch with one hand braced against the ground.
She had barely steadied herself before Jasper was on her again, closing the gap in a blink like a force of nature. His fists came down with devastating speed, one after another, each strike powerful enough to shatter bone. She met him strike for strike, blocking, countering, dodging—but Jasper didn't let up. His relentless assault drove her back, his every movement impossibly fluid, his attacks seamless, his skill honed from over a century of battle.
Then—she turned it on him.
A sharp twist of her body, a perfectly timed counter, and her knee connected hard with his ribs, the impact reverberating through the air. Jasper skidded back several feet, his boots digging into the ground to halt his momentum.
Bella didn't hesitate.
She slammed into Jasper at full speed, hoisting him clean off his feet and charging forward like a battering ram.
His fists came down like sledgehammers, hammering the side of her skull—once, twice, three times—but she never faltered. She tore across the arena floor, muscles coiled with unrelenting power, driving him backward with sheer, unstoppable momentum.
The moment his back slammed into the stone wall, the entire coliseum shook. The impact sent a thunderous crack through the air as the ancient rock shattered, fractures spiderwebbing outward in jagged lines. Stone exploded behind him, debris raining down, dust billowing in thick clouds as tremors ripped through the ground.
Jasper, momentarily stunned, didn't have time to recover. She was already on him, her elbow rocketing into the side of his head with such devastating force that his entire body twisted. His skull cracked against the broken wall a second time, sending fresh fractures splintering outward as the entire structure began to crumble around him—shattered rock collapsing like the aftermath of an earthquake.
The crowd went wild.
Jasper let out a sharp exhale, but before she could press her advantage, his leg shot out behind him, connecting hard with her stomach, driving the air from her lungs. Pain ripped through her as she doubled over, a sharp tremor jolting through her body. She barely had a second to recover before he launched himself off the wall like a springboard, closing the distance in a blur.
Bella reacted instantly, twisting at the last second just as Jasper's fist sliced through the air where her head had been. The force of his swing sent him off balance, his momentum carrying him past her—an instant opening. She struck, a brutal counter aimed at his ribs—but he was already turning.
They crashed together again, a whirlwind of speed and power, fists colliding in rapid succession, each attack intercepted before it could land.
Shockwaves rippled through the ground, the force of their battle rattling the arena like an unrelenting drumbeat. Their movements tore through the open space in a blur of devastating blows and rapid counters, each impact cracking through the air and reverberating off the stone walls. Every collision sent vibrations through the earth, the packed dirt beneath them fracturing further under the relentless onslaught as they pushed each other to the absolute limit.
A sudden, well-placed kick to Jasper's chest sent him tumbling across the arena floor, his body rolling through the churned-up dirt before he caught himself, planting his feet. Bella barely had a second to register the fierce determination blazing in his eyes before they both moved.
Without hesitation—they charged.
Two blurs streaked across the battlefield, colliding at full force in the heart of the arena. The impact was deafening. A shockwave exploded outward, blasting through the dust and shaking the ground beneath them.
The force of the collision launched them both backward.
Bella twisted mid-air, flipping just in time to land in a crouch, her boots skidding against the cracked earth as she absorbed the impact. Across from her, Jasper slid to a stop, standing loose, deceptively relaxed—but the sharp gleam in his eyes told her otherwise.
A silence fell over the arena, thick with anticipation.
Bella's breath came fast, her body thrumming, every nerve primed, her stance sharp, muscles singing with the need to attack.
Jasper flicked a bit of dirt from his bare chest, but the fire in his eyes told a different story. His entire frame was taut with restrained energy—ready to strike.
For a single, electrified moment, their eyes locked.
Bella was right about to charge when it happened.
A sound—sharp and unmistakable—blared from her back pocket, shattering her focus.
Yankee Doodle Dandy.
Her body froze.
She recognized it instantly—Garrett's ringtone.
For a beat, she couldn't process it. She was standing in the middle of a charged, deathmatch-level fight, and her ass was cheerfully belting out Yankee-fucking-Doodle-Dandy.
Jasper didn't move, but his ruby eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the interruption.
Bella exhaled slowly through her nose, fingers flexing at her sides.
Just ignore it. Let it go to voicemail
The tinny marching tune started up again.
Fucking Garrett!
Jaw tight, she held up a single finger to Jasper and reached for her phone.
Her first thought was how the hell had her phone even survived the battle. She had forgotten to hand it off to Edward, and realistically, it should have been smashed to smithereens in her pocket by now.
Pulling it out, she was about to toss it to Edward so they could resume the fight—but just then, the screen lit up, and she caught sight of the text Garrett had just left.
Goddammit.
Bella exhaled sharply, her teeth grinding as she fought to suppress the raw energy still crackling through her veins. She had been wired for battle, instincts primed to destroy, overpower, dominate—but she forced herself to breathe. Her shoulders dropped, her jaw unclenched, and she worked to loosen the grip of her bloodlust. It wasn't easy. The energy still surged beneath her skin, a storm with nowhere to go.
With deliberate control, she lifted her hand and motioned for Jasper.
He blurred to her side instantly.
Without a word, she turned the screen toward him. He scanned the message in a single glance, his expression unreadable—but he nodded in acknowledgment.
She met Jasper's gaze. "Rematch?"
His smile curved slow and sure. "Count on it."
There was nothing else to do. With a small huff of amusement, she bowed.
Defeat—not by strength, not by skill, but by a fucking phone call.
With a smirk, she grabbed Jasper's wrist and raised his arm into the air. The arena cheered, but she knew—the ending hadn't been what they wanted. All the tension, the energy, the build-up to something spectacular had been stolen in the dumbest way possible.
She turned back to Jasper, smirk widening. "Until next time… Major."
Jasper's retort was instant. "Yeah, next time… Starshield."
Bella's grin turned wry. "Touché." She shook her head. She really had to stop making fun of other people's nicknames.
Knowing she had to go, Bella shot into the air, flying up to where Edward and the others were sitting.
Edward was already on his feet by the time she landed, concern flickering across his face. "What's wrong?"
She turned her phone toward him but spoke loud enough for the others to hear. "Garrett wants to talk. Right away. Says it's important."
Before Edward could even respond, Peter shot to his feet.
"Don't worry, little lady," he declared, stretching his arms like he'd been waiting for this exact moment. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and tore it clean off.
Charlotte's eyes lit up, her lips quirking as she caught the shredded fabric he tossed her way.
Peter rolled his shoulders, flexing his biceps theatrically, earning a chorus of giggles from Alice and Char. "I'll give the crowd something to cheer about."
And with that, he vaulted over the railing, landing in a crouch before launching himself forward.
Jasper barely had time to turn before Peter slammed into him at full speed.
The first punch connected, and the arena exploded into deafening cheers once again.
Bella smirked. "I think that's our cue."
She and Edward zipped up the stands, moving toward the exit. Just before slipping through the doors, Bella glanced back at the arena floor.
Peter and Jasper were already locked in combat, trading blows like two prizefighters.
She exhaled, rolling her shoulders. Whatever Garrett wanted, she hoped it wouldn't take long. She still had a lot of excess energy to burn—one way or another.
Walking the vast corridors of the castle still felt wrong. Rationally, Edward knew the Volturi were gone—eradicated, nothing more than dust and echoes—but instinct didn't bow to logic so easily. Every shadow stretched too long, every turn of a corner carried the phantom weight of expectation, as if at any moment, those pale, sadistic oppressors would be standing there, their crimson eyes locking onto his with chilling inevitability.
Two days back in Volterra, and the feeling still hadn't quite left him. Yet, despite the ghosts lingering in his mind, the castle was… alive in a way it had never been before. The air, once thick with menace, now carried the murmurs of conversation in a hundred different languages, laughter echoing through halls where whispers had once ruled. He and Bella had spent their time meeting vampires from every corner of the world, their presence an unspoken reassurance that this place was no longer ruled by fear.
For the first time, the energy within these walls wasn't one of oppression but of possibility. And though the instinctive unease still clawed at the back of his mind, the collective positivity surrounding him—radiating from Bella, from the others—helped dull the grip of his past, loosening the hold of the place that had once been his prison.
Their time at Peter and Charlotte's ranch had been brief, a temporary respite before the decision to attend the gathering had prevailed. The journey to Montana to meet up with Jasper and Alice had been nothing short of exhilarating—fast motorcycles, open skies, a sense of adventure that felt like a quiet rebellion against the years he had spent in stillness. But nothing had surprised him more than the opportunity to learn how to fly an actual airplane beside Bella. The sensation of lifting into the sky, of controlling something so powerful with his own two hands, had been unlike anything he had ever imagined.
His imprisonment no longer felt like a fresh wound but a distant, distorted memory—something that had happened to someone else, a version of himself that no longer existed. It lingered in the background, a presence he was aware of but one he was no longer shackled to. The man who had spent decades in the dark bore little resemblance to the one now striding through these halls, his steps unhurried, unburdened. The weight of stone overhead, the labyrinthine corridors, the echo of footsteps against marble—none of it touched him the way it would have only months ago.
Not with Bella at his side.
She moved beside him, effortlessly graceful, the smooth waves of her hair catching the warm glow that now filled the corridors. The castle, once cloaked in shadows, was brighter now, its polished marble reflecting the light and illuminating the towering archways above. Ornate paintings lined the walls, their gilded frames gleaming, remnants of a past that no longer held power here. Edward let himself savor the moment—the simple act of walking together, unrestricted and unafraid.
He exhaled, glancing at Bella as warmth spread through him. The moment was too perfect to let pass unnoticed.
Without hesitation, he turned, catching her around the waist in one fluid motion. She barely had time to react before he dipped her back, his hold firm yet effortless, his eyes locking onto hers for the briefest of moments before his lips claimed hers. The kiss was deep, lingering—a deliberate indulgence in everything he had once thought he would never have. He could feel her smile against his lips, the way she melted into his arms, utterly at ease in his grasp.
Lifting her back up, he didn't let go. His fingers traced the curve of her waist as he gazed into her eyes, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The castle, the gathering, the past—they all faded into the background.
Nothing had ever felt this real.
Bella's laughter rang through the corridor, the warmth of her amusement washing over him like sunlight breaking through the clouds.
"What was that for?" Breathless from his kiss, her voice carried the kind of joy that made his chest ache in the best possible way.
"Nothing." His gaze lingered on her, unwilling to look away. "I'm just happy." And he was. He didn't think life could get any better, but somehow, with her, it always did.
Bella's smirk deepened, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Well, same here, Mister." She bumped her shoulder into his, an easy, familiar touch. "And feel free to kiss me like that anytime you like."
He chuckled, shaking his head as they continued down the corridor. This wing of the castle was unfamiliar, yet somehow, the opulence here was even greater. The polished floors gleamed beneath the golden light of the chandeliers, their glow stretching up to vaulted ceilings carved with intricate designs. Every detail spoke of power and excess, a lingering testament to the corruption of those who had once walked these halls.
Despite the grandeur, his attention kept returning to Bella—because, as far as he was concerned, nothing in this place could rival her. Taking her in after her stint in the arena, he was relieved that dust-covered clothes were the only sign of her fight with Jasper. He was grateful they hadn't been torn away as well. Bella, naked and on full display, was something for his eyes alone, not a crowd of leering spectators. Though, knowing her, she wouldn't have minded in the slightest.
He had a strong suspicion that she got off on it—not the actual nakedness, but the idea of it, of being seen by others. Thankfully, she wasn't quite as shameless as Peter and Charlotte.
To his chagrin—and to Bella's amusement—they had already run into those two in the middle of their more… intimate moments more than once.
Unfortunately.
Edward exhaled through his nose, shaking his head at the memory. Peter and Charlotte hadn't even acknowledged their presence, too preoccupied to care about the interruption. He and Bella had always turned away, always gotten out of there as fast as possible, but that didn't mean he hadn't noticed the way her gaze lingered for just a moment before she averted her eyes. Nor had he missed the amusement written on her face when they laughed about it afterward.
"What are you thinking about? You've got a weird look on your face."
Bella's voice pulled him from his thoughts, forcing him to quickly smooth his expression into something neutral.
"Nothing. Nothing at all… I, uh, was just thinking about what Garrett wants to speak to you about."
The smirk she gave him was telling. "Sure you were…"
She winked, and he couldn't help it—he chuckled, shaking his head. She always seemed to have a sixth sense for when his mind wandered to places he'd rather not discuss, and she reveled in calling him out every time it happened.
And he wouldn't have it any other way.
As they neared a set of large doors, the first strains of music drifted through the air—disjointed, tentative, the sound of instruments being warmed up. Edward recognized the familiar ritual immediately. Musicians, no matter their species, always had a way of easing into their craft, their fingers searching out the feel of the strings, the weight of the keys, the rhythm of a melody before it truly began.
Passing the doors, he glanced inside and took in the scene beyond. The room was vast, structured like a banquet hall, with a raised stage positioned at the far end. As he'd suspected, a group of vampires were gathering there, preparing to play. His gaze caught on one figure in particular, and a smile tugged at his lips—Samuel, standing near the center, guitar in hand.
Samuel had been one of the first vampires Peter had introduced him to upon arriving at the castle—a British immortal who had been turned during the Great War, though he had already been well into his human years at the time. What intrigued Edward, though, was that Samuel had spent decades weaving in and out of the music industry, testing the limits of what a vampire could accomplish in that world.
Edward recalled their conversation, the two of them seated across from one another as Samuel spoke candidly about his experiences—what had worked, what hadn't, the pitfalls of trying to establish a career when one could never age, never tour for too long, never let the world notice their unchanging face. He had even played a few of his songs.
But it was his songwriting that had brought him the most success. Samuel had grinned, unmistakable pride in his voice when he revealed that his biggest hit had been recorded by a band called The Rolling Stones.
When the song played on Samuel's laptop, Edward had to admit—it was brilliant. The lyrics, the melody, the unmistakable energy woven into every note. Bella had been even more impressed, shaking her head as she explained just how famous the song still was, how it had endured across generations. She never would have guessed a vampire had written it.
Their conversation had stayed with him, and he and Samuel had agreed to discuss his aspirations further after the gathering had ended. The idea of pursuing his music—really pursuing it—had always seemed like an impossible dream. But maybe, just maybe, it wasn't.
Turning down another corridor, Edward found himself wondering what exactly awaited them. Garrett's text had been cryptic—just enough detail to pique curiosity, but not enough to provide answers. Whatever it was, he'd been adamant that he needed to speak with Bella immediately. And in Aro's private study, no less.
That alone was interesting.
As they reached the end of the hall, the doors loomed before them—two massive slabs of gold, their surface embossed with intricate reliefs of battle and conquest, the images so detailed they looked as if they could move at any moment. Wreaths of laurels framed their edges, curling around figures locked in eternal struggle, their expressions frozen in agony or triumph. The metal gleamed under the ambient lighting, its polished sheen reflecting distorted glimpses of their approach.
Aro's vanity, immortalized in gold.
Edward reached for the handle, but before he could pull the door open, a firm hand pressed against his arm, stopping him.
He turned just as Bella tilted her head, her gaze locking onto his with a look he knew far too well—one that always meant trouble, the best kind of trouble.
The corner of his mouth lifted. "You look like you're scheming."
Bella's lips parted, but she didn't answer right away. Instead, her fingers dragged lazily down his chest, featherlight, until she hooked a finger into his belt and tugged—just enough to send his mind spiraling into places far less appropriate than where they currently stood.
"I've been thinking," she mused, her voice a slow, honeyed drawl that sent heat curling low in his stomach. "After a fight like that, I need an outlet. Something… physical. Something that lets me take the reins and burn off all this pent-up energy."
His throat went dry. A different kind of hunger flared sharp and insistent, overtaking everything else. "Is that so?"
She hummed, tilting her head as if weighing the thought, her fingers still idly toying with his belt. "Mmm-hmm. I won't lie, the idea of riding you hard all night?" Her smile deepened, slow and wicked. "Sounds like exactly what I need."
Edward swallowed hard, but Bella wasn't done.
Her voice dropped, lower, sultrier, a touch of a purr curling around the words. "But don't go easy on me."
Edward arched a brow, his smirk teasing. "No?"
"No." She licked her lips, deliberately slow, watching him—knowing exactly what she was doing to him. "I want you to really give it to me. Try to throw me off, and I'll hold on with everything I have."
He chuckled, deep and low, heat threading through his amusement. "So, in this little fantasy of yours, I'm a horse?"
Her laugh was warm, sultry, and completely unrepentant. "Oh, no. Not a horse." She leaned in, lips grazing his jaw, her breath hot against his skin. "Something wilder."
She lingered, just long enough to make him tense with anticipation before finally whispering, "A raging bull—one not too happy about being mounted by little ole me."
Edward exhaled a sharp breath, his grip tightening around her waist before he could stop himself. His smirk widened. "I think I can work with that."
He dipped lower, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. "But I hope you realize, once we start something like that, I won't make it easy for you."
His tongue flicked against the sensitive skin just beneath her earlobe, followed by the slow, deliberate scrape of his teeth—just enough to draw a sharp gasp before she pressed her lips together, stifling a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a laugh.
Bella shivered, her fingers tightening on his belt, before she forced herself to take a step back, eyes still dark with heat. "Later," she murmured, her voice carrying the perfect blend of amusement and frustration.
She smoothed a hand down the front of her shirt, tilting her head as she met his eyes. "And don't start something you're not willing to finish in this hallway."
She turned toward the doors. "Come on, let's see what Garrett wants. It better be damn good to justify me ending that fight early."
Smirking, he grabbed the handle and pulled the door open for her.
Already, he was counting the minutes until they were alone.
Following Bella into the room, he almost had to blink as his eyes were assaulted by the sheer garishness of it all. Gold. Everywhere.
Like every chamber in Volterra, Aro's private study was grand, but this—this was obscene. It was as if the entire space had been designed to remind anyone who entered of Aro's supposed supremacy, his insatiable need to be revered.
The walls were lined with towering bookshelves, each carved from dark mahogany, their edges trimmed in gold leaf so thick it nearly obscured the craftsmanship beneath. Hundreds of tomes and volumes, all in pristine condition, stood in rigid formation—meticulously arranged, their spines gleaming with silver and gold embossing, as if a book's worth was measured not by its contents but by how well it reflected the light.
At the center of the room sat a colossal antique desk, a piece so elaborate it barely registered as furniture—more like a relic of excess, a shrine to Aro's own importance. Deep, polished wood, its surface glossy enough to catch reflections, was engraved with elaborate scrollwork, gilded flourishes creeping like vines along its edges. The legs, thick as pillars, were shaped into grotesque lion paws, their claws curling against the marble floor, as though even the furniture had been crafted to intimidate.
The floor itself was a polished expanse of white and gold-veined marble, so pristine it seemed untouched by time—or perhaps ruthlessly maintained, like everything else in Aro's empire.
Above them, a massive chandelier dripped with cascading crystal, suspended from a ceiling adorned with intricate frescoes—scenes of conquest, celestial battles, and divine ascension. All of it drenched in gold, as though Aro had commissioned the heavens themselves to reflect his own delusional grandeur.
Even the chairs—antique, high-backed monstrosities with red velvet cushions—were framed in gilded wood, their clawed feet mirroring the grotesque embellishments of the desk.
Edward exhaled slowly, his gaze sweeping across the room.
He knew Aro had his issues, but this? This was something else entirely.
Aro had clearly been a man with a pathological need for validation—his insecurities plated in gold, his self-worth measured in opulence. Every inch of the room reeked of obsession—an unchecked hunger for power made manifest in his excess.
Quickly, Edward's attention shifted to what mattered. His gaze fell to the massive wooden desk before them—but more importantly, to the two figures standing side by side in front of it. Garrett, usually easygoing, was visibly tense, his expression unreadable. Beside him, Maggie stood rigid, her sharp eyes locked onto them.
Edward had met Maggie for the first time yesterday when Jean Paul introduced him and Bella to the Irish coven's members, including their head, Siobhán—a tall, stately woman with an air of quiet authority—and her husband, Liam, who, though shorter than his wife, was built like a brawler.
Maggie, however, had been the most intriguing of the group.
She was small but striking, her pale skin kissed with the barest undertone of what had once been freckled warmth, a lingering ghost of her human life. Rich auburn curls framed her face, her features delicate but sharp, her eyes carrying an intensity that made her seem older than she looked. But what stood out most was the way she watched people—not just with curiosity, but with a perceptiveness that never wavered, never relented.
And for good reason.
Maggie was a true lie detector—not a machine registering vocal changes or heartbeats, but something far more instinctual, absolute. She simply knew whether what she heard was the truth or a lie. Edward had enjoyed the consternation on her face when she'd first spoken with Bella, clearly unsettled when she couldn't tell if Bella was being truthful. It had become a common theme in Volterra; every vampire with an ability seemed equally mystified when their gifts met Bella's immunity and simply failed to work on her.
Edward pushed the thought aside, refocusing as he caught the shift in Garrett's demeanor. The easy, roguish grin Edward had seen earlier in the day was gone, replaced by something grim, taut with restraint.
"Bella, Edward—thank you for coming so quickly."
Garrett's tone was flat, controlled, but Edward could hear it—the tension beneath the words, the weight of something unspoken.
Something was wrong.
Bella didn't hesitate. "Of course, Garrett. What is it? Did something happen?"
Garrett's eyes flicked to Maggie. She met his gaze, her nod slight but certain, before glancing back toward Bella. Whatever was coming next had them both on edge.
"To be honest, we're not entirely sure." Garrett exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, his unease clear as day. Edward had never seen him like this. "Maggie and I were in here prepping for tomorrow's meetings. I was going over notes while she..." He hesitated for just a moment before finishing, "decided to poke around."
Edward caught the flicker of irritation in Maggie's expression, but it was overshadowed by the way her arms stayed rigidly crossed, fingers tucked in, like she was working to stop herself from fidgeting.
"And?" Bella prompted, her gaze flicking between them.
Garrett let out a breath, his jaw tightening slightly. "To put it bluntly, she found something."
Neither of them moved.
The pause stretched, heavy and expectant, before they stepped apart—revealing what had been behind them.
A box.
It sat squarely on the desk, and Edward wouldn't have thought anything of it if not for their unusual behavior.
There were no markings, no engravings—nothing at all to suggest it held anything of importance.
It was just a simple wooden box, a little under two feet on each side.
And yet, the way Garrett and Maggie were reacting spoke volumes.
Maggie's arms stayed locked tightly across her chest, fingers digging into her sleeves. Across from her, Garrett stood rigid, his hands flexing at his sides, his gaze deliberately avoiding the object between them.
Edward frowned, shifting his focus between them and the unremarkable object on the desk.
It was just a box.
So why did it feel like anything but?
Maggie was the first to break the silence. "I was going through some of Aro's books, nothing unusual, until I pulled out what looked like an original copy of Timaeus and Critias by Plato. The second I lifted it, something triggered—there was a faint click, and the shelf beneath it shifted."
Her arms stayed tightly crossed, but Edward caught the flicker of regret in her expression. "There was a hidden compartment," she continued, her voice edged with something that wasn't quite unease but wasn't far from it either. "I doubt Aro ever imagined anyone would have the nerve to go rifling through his private collection. He probably thought the sheer weight of his own self-importance was deterrent enough."
A humorless laugh slipped past her lips as she nodded to Bella. "I guess he was correct—right up until you torched his ass."
Bella didn't react. Like him, she was focused on what was causing them such distress.
"Okay, I'll bite. What's in the box?" Bella's voice was steady, cutting straight to the question burning at the forefront of both their minds.
But instead of an answer, her words were met with silence.
Maggie's gaze drifted to the wall, fixating on a map as if it had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the room. Garrett didn't even lift his head, his eyes stayed fixed on his feet, like he was hoping they'd take him anywhere but here.
"Bella's gaze flicked between the two, waiting for either of them to say something—anything. When neither did, she exhaled slowly, her shoulders lifting in a shrug. "Alright… guess that means I'm going to have to see for myself."
Edward watched as Bella approached the desk, her steps steady and assured. The moment she reached the box, she lifted the hinged lid and peered inside.
She didn't flinch. Didn't gasp. But something in her posture shifted—a tension that hadn't been there a moment ago.
"Oh…"
Her voice wasn't fearful, but the timbre was off—there was hesitation, a slight falter in her tone he had never heard before.
She didn't move. Not even a fraction of an inch. She just stood there, staring into the box as though frozen in place.
Seconds passed. Far too many.
Then, at last, she raised her head—but not to look at him.
Her gaze drifted to the wall behind the desk.
Edward followed her line of sight and found himself staring at a massive map of the world.
As he studied it, the first thing that struck him was its age. Unlike the rest of Aro's office, which was drenched in antiquities, this map was new. The paper hadn't yellowed with age, the colors remained sharp and unfaded. At most, it was a decade or two old—a stark contrast to everything else in the room.
But what caught his attention weren't the map's details.
It was the pins.
Tiny red flags, scattered across continents in seemingly random locations. At first, they made no sense—no pattern, no obvious connection. But as Edward's gaze traveled from one continent to the next, he realized the densest cluster of pins wasn't on land at all.
It was in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
There was no landmass there. No islands. As far as he could tell, nothing but open ocean stretched in every direction. Yet dozens of markers were pinned to that exact spot, clustered more densely than anywhere else on the map.
Bella's eyes flicked from the map to the contents of the box, then back again, clearly piecing something together.
Edward's gaze lingered on her for a moment. Whatever was in that box—and whatever connections she was making—he doubted any of it was good.
"Now you see the problem. No one else knows about this. We were hoping you might have some ideas." Garrett's voice held a trace of hope, but it was fragile at best—more grasping than genuine. Neither he nor Maggie seemed eager to claim responsibility for whatever was inside that box.
Bella let out a laugh, but it was off—too light, too strained. Edward caught the way she closed the lid carefully, almost cautiously, before nudging the box farther onto the desk, as if even that small amount of extra distance might help.
She stepped back—slowly.
Not once did she turn her back on it.
When she reached his side, she did something unexpected. Her arm slid through his, her body pressing lightly into his own. It wasn't casual, wasn't playful. She needed him close—needed the comfort, the familiarity.
He wrapped an arm around her lower back, giving her a squeeze, hoping it would help.
The box had clearly rattled even her.
Bella's voice was slow and deliberate, each word measured, unwavering. "We don't want it." She paused, a slow exhale pushing past her lips, as if expelling something heavy from within. "That… it shouldn't be here, Garrett."
She swallowed, her arm tightening around his waist. "I think you should bury it—deep, under the earth, where it can never be found again."
Another sharp breath. A shake of her head. "That… yes… I mean no… just—just get rid of it, Garrett."
Garrett nodded solemnly. "We understand. That's what Maggie said we should do... but I thought—I hoped—there was something we hadn't considered." He exhaled, shaking his head. "You have to wonder what Aro was doing with it."
"Nothing good," Bella murmured, so softly Edward almost missed it. But then, her voice strengthened. "Do we even know how Aro got his hands on it?"
Maggie nodded, gesturing toward a worn leather journal resting on the desk. "That was on top of the box—Aro's personal journal, filled with his own handwritten notes."
She hesitated briefly before continuing. "Most of it is written in an archaic form of Latin. Thankfully, Marcus taught me to read it centuries ago, back when I spent time studying in the Volturi library. But some sections are in a language I've never seen before, and I have no way to translate them."
Her expression darkened. "From what I gathered, Aro acquired the box from a human—a man he only referred to as 'Mr. Smith.' It doesn't say exactly how Smith came to possess it, only that he and Aro were working together in some capacity."
Her fingers tightened against her arms. "Aro sent Heidi to collect the box about twenty years ago, but, of course, he had no intention of honoring whatever deal he'd made. Heidi's orders were clear—eliminate everyone who knew about the box or how Smith had come into possession of it."
A humorless laugh escaped her. "And she did. She killed everyone and burned his estate to the ground. Then she left, bringing Aro his prize."
Hearing Heidi's name again yanked Edward's thoughts back to their final meeting.
He'd never considered himself a violent man. But even now, it surprised him—how easy it had been, how satisfying. The feel of her spine snapping in his grip, the way her head separated from her shoulders. The crackle of fire catching like dry parchment as he flicked Demetri's lighter and sent it spiraling onto her remains.
And the strangest part? There had been no hesitation. No regret.
Only glee.
Focusing on Bella once more, Edward watched as she processed everything, the weight of the conversation settling over her. She was deep in thought, her gaze slightly unfocused, as if she were sifting through possibilities, turning each one over in her mind.
Then, as if reaching a silent conclusion, she gave a small nod to herself. A deep breath in, a slow exhale out. It was subtle, but he saw it—the shift in her posture, the ease returning to her frame as she released the tension coiled beneath her skin. By the time she lifted her chin, a smirk was already forming at the corner of her lips.
"Well," her voice light but deliberate, "I think Edward and I are going to leave now."
She let go of his arm, straightening fully as if shaking off the weight of the last few minutes. "Ah. Good luck with that." She gestured vaguely toward the desk before tacking on, "I think you already know what to do, but it's probably best we keep this… whole thing just between us."
Her gaze settled on Garrett, and though her tone remained casual, there was an underlying weight to her next words.
"Once you bury it..." she continued, slower this time, "never tell a soul where it is. Not Maggie. Not me. Let's never speak of this again." Her eyes flicked toward the journal before returning to Garrett. "Burn that book and—" her gaze shifted to the wall, her lips pressing together briefly, "get rid of that map while you're at it."
Maggie nodded, cutting a glance at Garrett before arching a brow. "You know, I do believe that's almost word for word what I already told you." A slow, knowing smile tugged at her lips. "And now, all you've done is freak out frickin' Starshield."
She winked at Bella, amused—but Edward couldn't help but notice that, despite her ease, she still hadn't stepped any closer to the box.
Bella huffed a sharp breath, shaking her head. "Yeah. Thanks a lot, Garrett," she muttered, sarcasm curling through her voice. "Now I'm sure to have nightmares the next time I fall asleep."
Edward felt her fingers slip through his before she gave a small tug—not urgent, but firm. A need to move. To put distance between herself and whatever she had just seen inside that box.
"Come on," she murmured, glancing toward the door. "Let's hold off on going to our room for now. I need some fresh air."
He studied her for half a second before nodding, giving her hand a squeeze in return.
"How about a walk?" he suggested, smiling. "We haven't had a chance to see Volterra at night yet."
Bella glanced up at him, considering for a beat before a slow smile curved her lips. "Yeah… that sounds perfect." Her fingers tightened around his. "A little distance will help me clear my head."
Then, her ruby eyes gleamed with sudden mischief. "And maybe, if you're up for it, we could run up to Florence and share a bite."
Turning back to the two vampires who had called them, Edward nodded. "Garrett, Maggie… good luck with whatever all this has been."
He tried for a grin, something easy, something to break the tension—but neither of them returned it. They just stood there, unmoving, their expressions drawn tight, clearly unhappy with their predicament.
Leaving Aro's office, he and Bella walked in silence, the quiet stretching long between them. Edward wasn't used to silence with her—not this kind. It wasn't the peaceful stillness they sometimes shared, nor the comfortable quiet of simply being together. This was different. Heavy. Weighted by whatever the hell had just happened in that room.
Two full minutes passed before he couldn't take it anymore.
He stopped, his hand closing around Bella's arm, gentle but firm. Leaning in close, his breath ghosted over the shell of her ear as he whispered, "You're really not going to say anything? What was in that box?"
Bella's gaze lifted to his, searching his face. For a moment, she looked torn, like she was considering something, weighing it carefully. Then, slowly, she shook her head.
"No. Trust me, Edward." Her voice was quiet but firm. "You don't want to know."
It wasn't the words themselves that made his throat go dry—it was the way she said them. There was no teasing, no challenge, no hint of mischief in her tone. Just certainty.
And he trusted her. Completely.
So, after a beat, he nodded.
The relief in her expression was palpable, tension unwinding from her shoulders as they started walking again, heading toward the castle's front door.
But still, as they stepped through the same entrance he had exited that first time months ago—into the starlit Volterra night—one thought refused to leave him...
Comments are welcome. I hope you enjoyed the chapter.