Subject/Email Header: Secrets and Lies Contest Entry

Title: Children of a lesser God

Summary: The vines wound skillfully at her sides and bloomed again above her pubis, a perfect flower with pale pink petals, the center dewy. The artwork was elaborate and entrancing, but not more so than the scars of stitching along the joints of her shoulders and where the legs met her torso. 'Do you not see what I am, Edward?' she whispered. 'I'm a monster's creation…'

Pairing: Edward X Bella, Carlisle X Bella

Rating: M

Word Count: 13275

DISCLAIMER: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD

Mate bonds are strange things. They are a vampire's instinct, his primal answer to the nature's age old question of mating. They are not the stuff of fairytales, the mate bonds, but an immortal's nightmare. Vampires often trick themselves into falling in love with their intended mate, as if they're capable of such human emotions, as if such emotions can aptly describe what a vampire feels for their mate…

—Carlisle Cullen

London, England.

Men often created monsters in loneliness, because of loneliness.

When they grew tired of pressing emptiness from all sides, when they turned and there was no one for conversations, when nights saw them sitting silently in the shadows; often their treacherous minds prodded them to seek out things that would appease their lonely selves, for loneliness was like a blanket that smothered you, one that you couldn't shake off. Often, people started to talk to themselves to dispel the silence that hung around them.

It made you do things—that loneliness.

Nobody knew it better than Carlisle Cullen.

He had been kneeling on the hard stone for the past couple of hours, confessing his sins softly to the ruins.

This had once been a beautiful church, before he'd stepped inside it and defiled it over the years.

It was that day of the year, the day when he ran away from his family, back to his roots; when he wept tearlessly in front of the cracked stone and old grass.

He still remembered the stained glass windows that had once adorned this church. The sunlight streaming through them used to create colorful shadows on her skin.

She had trusted him like she'd trusted her god.

He, in return, had betrayed it sincerely.

When he closed his eyes, the images of chopped limbs trembling on the table filled his mind.

Her silent screams haunted him.

He'd never drunk blood, never drained a body, but he'd been a monster and his hands too were stained with the life force of innocents. Maybe it was his ability, his gift—this apathy that he showed in the face of blood, the ease with which he'd torn apart bodies and bathed in crimson without being tempted to lick a single drop.

If vampires had souls, his would be a charred fragment barely present in his body.

'Forgive me, Isabella,' he choked on the sob trapped in his throat, guilt weighing heavy on him.

The crypt beneath the stone cross jutting from the floor was empty, but he still came here every year to kneel before it and remember.

Remember that Carlisle Cullen was no saint. He was just too adept at hiding his demon beneath his gentle, kind demeanor.

He liked to pretend that in the crypt, beneath the stone slab, her bones still lay, carefully preserved as she deserved by virtue of her station in society during the time she'd lived. But the truth was that this crypt was empty and she'd been reduced to dust a long time ago. That dust too had scattered, the wind carrying it away, far away from him…

Washington, USA.

'She smells funny!' Alice hissed to Edward, crouching behind the dumpster and keeping her unblinking eyes on the target.

'She smells divine,' Edward purred.

'Edward, focus!' Alice snapped, jabbing his stomach with her elbow to get the dopey expression off his face.

'I don't understand why we need to follow her like creeps,' he whined. 'Can't I just go to her and introduce myself?'

'No.' Alice's face contracted in horror. 'I can't see her future, you fool, and it's also not entirely affirmative that she is your mate.'

'She's my mate,' Edward insisted dreamily. 'She smells of roses, rain and moss.'

'Exactly! She doesn't smell like food, like blood.'

Edward was startled by the forceful cadence of Alice's whisper. They checked to ensure that their target was still engrossed in perusing the shelves for books inside the shop.

'She does smell like blood,' Edward said quietly after sometime. 'It's very faint, like she'd been wearing something on which a drop or two was spilled years ago and she forgot to launder it.'

Alice made a face at that explanation. She abhorred wearing clothes she'd already worn once. So, the thought of laundered clothes was an anathema to who she was.

'She smells like old blood,' Alice corrected.

'That's what I said!'

'No. She-smells-like-old-blood-beneath-her-fancy-perfume. She smells like blood gone stale.'

'It's not perfume. I can't detect any lingering chemicals along with the scent.'

The woman they were talking about was a beauty with pale skin and brunette hair swept to one side of her face. Her lips were pale pink and her eyes dark. She was of average height and careful gait. Her every step was calculated and precise, which made her look far too unnatural.

She was clad in dark plain jeans and a full-sleeved t-shirt, the sleeves of which stretched far enough to cover almost the entire length of her fingers. She had a dark blue scarf wrapped around her neck.

She placed the stack of books she'd chosen on the counter to be billed.

'She looks sad,' Edward remarked wistfully.

'Yeah, she does.'

'Should I go introduce myself?'

'Probably,' Alice answered, resigned.

Isabella Swan was having a normal week.

She'd bought the books she needed for the semester, she'd got a place to stay and she'd also managed to find a part-time job, not that she needed the money.

All in all, the week was proceeding like all her weeks were—regular and boring.

Until he came swaggering into her life.

She was about to open the door of the bookstore to make her way out when the door was pushed inwards and a body came hurrying inside, stumbling right into her, sending all her books flying and leaving her sprawled on the floor.

She huffed internally. Getting up and collecting the books was going to be a bitch.

'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Here, let me help you up,' the man said regretfully, grabbing her hand to pull her up.

His hand was cold.

And hard like a marble.

She yelped at the sensation, snatching her hand away from his hold.

She grumbled as she managed to stand up and then she made the mistake of looking at the guy.

Edward Cullen knew the exact moment when he fell in love with his mate.

It was when her hand swung in an arc to deliver a tight slap across his cheek.

'You!'

He didn't know what he'd done to deserve the hit across his face, but her hand had grazed his cheek.

She'd touched him.

When her eyes narrowed in anger, he knew he must be sporting a grin. Well, an involuntary one, but it didn't matter.

She'd touched him.

'Why have you been following me?'

He stared at her face. Up close, she was even more enchanting. Her skin was pearlescent and her lips were the color of crushed berries. Her lashes were long, and when she blinked they rested momentarily against her cheeks like crescents.

She wasn't sleeping well by the looks of her. The skin beneath her eyes was dark, like a day-old bruise.

She was still enthralling, dark circles and all.

'You crazy whacko! Why are you staring at me like that?' she growled.

Okay! Edward needed to make a sterling impression right now, one that would cement the fact in her mind that he was exceptionally good mate material, and hopefully erase his bumbling effort at conversation.

'I am terribly sorry for the mix-up, but I'm not the guy you think I am,' he said in his most charming tone.

But it seemed his charm was to have no effect.

'Oh, you are the same crazy fucker. You were following me yesterday and the day before that with a midget, weren't you?'

Oh, hell! There was no stopping Alice now.

And as expected, Alice burst into the shop, looking ready to tear his mate apart with her bare hands.

'What did you call me, pale face?'

'Gee, midget. Do you have ears of a wolf?' his mate asked sarcastically.

'At least I don't look like a Salvation Army reject!'

It appeared as if they were moments away from coming to blows. The proprietor of the establishment was eyeing them warily, probably calculating how fast he was going to have to dial 911.

'Ladies, ladies! There's no need for all the verbal assault. We can sort this whole thing through conversation.' Edward's too-cheery tone sounded fake even to his own vampire ears. Two sets of eyes bore into him—one dark brown, another topaz, both irritated.

'Conversation?' Alice scoffed. 'Not bloody likely. This person here—' she pointed at the love of Edward's life dismissively, '—will probably start insulting me.'

'You're lucky that all I'm doing right now is insulting you, unlike you people. You guys have been stalking me for a week. And don't bother denying it.'

Alice eyed the young woman suspiciously. 'Not that you can prove it, but say we were stalking you. Would you like to know the reason?'

'I'm sure you can't wait to enlighten me,' the young woman replied sarcastically.

Alice grabbed Edward suddenly and pushed him in the direction of his mate.

'My brother here, simple creature that he is, has fallen for you. And this simpleton was wary of introducing himself, so I came along for emotional support, but this little shithead chickened out at the last moment. So, we weren't stalking, per se,' Alice explained patiently.

His brunette goddess eyed them with distrust.

It was like a metaphorical lance through Edward's undead heart.

'I'm Edward,' he blurted out earnestly.

She—his one true love—looked at him for the longest moment and then the greatest miracle happened.

Her lips curved in a smile and her eyes softened.

'I'm Is—sorry—Bella,' she said with a hint of sadness.

Edward had noticed the slight slip.

'Now that introductions are over, my job is done,' Alice said briskly. 'I'll be waiting outside for you, Edward.' She looked at him pointedly and then marched out of the establishment.

'Shit! I didn't apologize to your sister.'

And knowing Alice, she was going to hold this over his head for years to come.

'I'm sure you'll get your chance. So, Bella, are you a student?' he asked as he dropped to his haunches and started to help her collect the books at human pace.

'Duh! The course books gave me away, didn't they? Nasty buggers.'

Edward laughed. Beneath the euphoria of the mate bond, his rational mind luxuriated in her sense of humor, too relaxed to recognize the nagging feeling that he was missing something.

'I am usually not the shouting and randomly insulting people kinda person, but I had noticed you over the past week and you always seemed to be at the places where I was at. Frankly, I was scared,' she confessed.

'Noticing me, were you?' he teased.

'It's hard not to,' she said softly and at first he thought he was hearing things, but when she lowered her eyes and refused to look up while slowly piling the books, he thought it might've come out of her mouth.

Moments passed in silence. She refused to initiate conversation and he was content listening to the sound of her heartbeat.

Her heartbeat!

It was sluggish, painfully slow. It was—

'Can I be frank, Edward?' she said at last, looking at him with a resolve that he usually saw in first time plane hoppers.

He lost his train of thought. 'Please, do.'

'I-I—' she cleared her throat, 'I'm not the kind of girl you should focus your attention on.'

'What do you mean?' The haze of euphoria was dissipating.

'I'm not good for you. You're young, handsome, charming—you should fall for someone deserving of you, someone who will return your feelings.'

'Why can't I fall for you?' he asked doggedly. 'I'm entitled to my feelings. You're entitled to your rejection.' She stared at him and he started getting uncomfortable.

'I'll hurt you,' she said at last.

'My heart is of stone. I'll endure,' he replied.

He got up, waiting for her to do the same. But she remained kneeling on the floor.

'Bella?'

'This is embarrassing,' she muttered. 'Edward, could you give me a hand?'

'Sure?' he said somewhat surprised.

He pulled her up and she tumbled into his arms, righting herself almost immediately.

He handed her the books. 'So, see you around?' he asked hopefully.

'Sure,' she answered fondly.

They walked out of the shop together. Edward got the door for her and she bestowed on him a smile that would shame a thousand suns. She walked away and he walked to Alice who was watching Bella as if she were some complex puzzle that Alice couldn't figure out.

'Isn't she breathtaking?' he asked, mesmerized.

Alice stepped on his foot, the heel of her Louboutins dug into his stony flesh and he howled in pain.

'She isn't human!' Alice whispered furiously.

'Huh?'

'Did you want to drain her when you were talking to her?' she asked exasperatedly.

'No, but that is because of the mate bond, right?'

'I didn't want to drain her either. In fact, up close she smells pleasant, not the eating type but the sniffing type.'

'That's comforting. I won't be a danger to her, nor will be others of our species.'

'Well, if you find comfort in thinking about it that way.'

'She'll be readily accepting of me if she belongs to supernatural community herself,' Edward added.

'Yeah,' Alice said distractedly. 'Don't be too eager on the relationship front. Don't follow her like a puppy for the next few days. Let me try and see her future again.'

'As you say, Alice,' Edward agreed readily.

He'd no intention of not meeting Bella.

Her heart beat abnormally slow and she smelled of ink and something familiar, but those were the things Edward wasn't going to share with Alice, along with the fact that he couldn't read her at all.

She, his mate, was silent when it came to his mind reading abilities.

Whoever she was, whatever she was, the good, bad and ugly—she was his…

Carlisle was sitting in his study going through some medical journals when Alice knocked on his door.

'Do you have a few minutes, or are you too busy?'

He smiled at her question, at the way she'd framed it, so innocently as if she didn't know that she was capable of making him drop his work with her incessant chatter. 'I'm never too busy for you, Alice. So, tell me, how much money do I owe for your credit card bills this time?'

'Ha, ha, very funny, Carlisle,' she grumbled. 'I'm here to talk about mate bonds.'

Mate bonds.

He'd felt it first time around, the only time, when he'd seen her.

His Isabella!

It had been a dark, gloomy night in London in 1890. He'd spied across the private opera boxes and seen a young woman lean on the parapet, gazing at the actors performing on the stage with such avid curiosity.

Her eyes had drawn his attention.

Her arresting blue eyes, the color of a blue poppy!

'Carlisle?'

He came out of his reverie to find Alice watching him with a frown on her face.

'What about mate bonds, Alice?'

'Can a vampire feel the pull of a mate bond for something other than human?'

'Something?' he questioned suspiciously. 'Is there "something" I should know about, Alice?'

She shifted on her feet, moving gracelessly, pulling at the fabric of her short purple tulle skirt. She seemed deep in thought—thoughts which were troubling her to no end, by the looks of her.

'Carlisle, I—'

Before she could utter another word, Edward came from behind, pushing her out of the way to enter Carlisle's study.

'What Alice wants to say is that she watched "The Frankenstein Chronicles" and now she can't help but find intrigue in every possibly innocent situation,' Edward imparted mockingly. Carlisle flinched perceptibly. The name Frankenstein invoked unpleasant memories.

'Carlisle, are you okay?' Edward asked, concerned.

'Yes, Edward. I'm fine. Thank you for your concern,' he replied, slightly irritated with himself. 'Now, can we go back to our conversation?'

Edward started to speak but Carlisle cut him off. 'Not the farce that you think you can get away with, Edward. I'm talking about Alice's question about mate bonds.'

Edward glared at Alice.

'So, can a mate bond be triggered across species? Theoretically?' Alice rolled her eyes even as she added the last word.

'Most commonly, vampires feel the mate bonds for humans.'

Isabella's face flashed in his mind.

'Only humans?'

'What are you hinting at, Alice?' Carlisle had to ask.

Alice opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Edward had flashed in front of her.

'That's enough, Alice!'

'Edward,' Carlisle said sharply, his tone that of a reprimand.

Edward backed away from the petite vampire, fury written plainly on his features. Carlisle got up from his high backed chair and made his way towards Alice.

'Alice, what is this all about?' he asked gently, taking her hands in his own.

'Edward felt the mate bond,' she said hurriedly, eyeing the brooding copper haired vampire by the window warily.

'That's good news,' Carlisle remarked happily, turning in the direction of his first venom-born.

'I think she's not human,' Alice added softly.

'That's bullshit,' Edward exploded.

'Edward,' Carlisle warned.

'Sorry, Carlisle.'

'Edward didn't want to drink her blood. I didn't want to drain her dry. She didn't smell like food, Carlisle.'

'I wanted to,' Edward said after a moment, eyes downcast, refusing to meet Carlisle's gaze. 'I wanted to drink her blood.'

Alice stared at him, shocked. 'But, Edward…'

'I didn't want to confess my weakness, Alice. Who wants to admit that he would like to drink his mate's blood?'

Carlisle looked at his children. Edward was looking at the far wall, Alice at him.

'I can't see her future. Can you read her mind?' she asked Edward, a determined look on her face.

'Yes,' he stated, a little too quick, slightly defensive, still refusing to either meet Carlisle's or Alice's stare.

Carlisle decided to intervene. Otherwise, he knew they would argue it out till one of them snapped and it became a physical altercation. Edward and Alice rarely fought, but when they did, they were sure to reduce their neighboring area to a war zone and he liked his study just as it was, thank you very much!

'Alice, sweetheart, maybe you're seeing ghosts where there are none,' he offered.

'Maybe,' she said dejectedly before giving him a small smile. Edward walked out of the room woodenly and Alice followed.

He waited for Edward's footsteps to disappear. Soon after, Carlisle heard the window of Edward's room move. A light thud indicated that his first venom-born had jumped out of his room and in another instant the presence of his son disappeared all together.

Edward would be back when he felt like it.

Carlisle exhaled slowly, trying to control his growing irritation with his children.

Edward had been lying through his teeth. Despite his son's bloodthirsty past, Edward hadn't lost control since he'd returned from his solo act.

Moreover, vampires didn't realize that when they lied, their scents changed slightly. It became cloying, sickly sweet. However, detecting that change was one of the abilities that Carlisle had kept hidden beneath the gentle, humble veneer he presented to the world.

Had Edward felt the mate bond for a witch?

Usually, only witches brought forth such defensiveness in Vampiric nature. They weren't what vampires considered 'mate material'.

To be mated with a witch was even worse than feeling the mate bond for a human.

Carlisle returned to his chair, to his medical journal, the pages of which hid a watercolor of his Isabella. Her memories always troubled him more after his visits. He gently traced the features painted on the paper. To have felt the mate bond for the first time was an experience that could never be put in words. It was ecstasy and apprehension at the same time.

It was joy as well as sadness.

When he'd seen her leaning over her box, eyes riveted on the stage, he'd felt his world shifting. In one single moment, when her eyes had met his and he'd held her gaze, his world had fractured into a million pieces and then come together in flashes of bright colors, incandescent smiles and shy glances.

That one moment had killed the Carlisle Cullen of old and he'd been born anew.

To love her.

To be with her.

She had been fated to be the one who would chase away the cursed silence, who would keep him company in his loneliness.

Mate bonds!

They were dangerous things. Vampires newly awakened, vampires living a solitary existence—the mate bond was a fairytale for them.

They didn't know the madness it brought forth. They didn't know how capable it was of stripping away the façade of a good man from the monster's face, exposing it.

Mate bond.

His silent heart ached with grief and guilt. Were he capable, he would have shed tears for his Isabella. His sweet Isabella who'd experienced firsthand the monster he could be.

His poor Isabella, who'd seen the ugly beast beneath the stone cold visage of his beauty…

Edward raced through the forest, anger shimmering beneath the surface of his calm at Alice's stupidity. Alice had no right to blab Bella's secret like that.

Bella's secret was her own.

Bella.

Her name alone calmed his racing thoughts and doused the flames of his anger.

For a century, he'd been lonely. Watching his siblings find their mates had been a bittersweet experience. He'd been happy for them and yet the ache to have someone of his own had often saddened him. Before her, the world had seemed strangely ordinary and monotonous, but not anymore.

Since the day he'd seen her, walking slowly and making her way out of the college campus, his world had been flipped on its axis.

His lips turned up in a smile.

She'd been engrossed in her phone when she'd casually bumped into him. She'd muttered sorry without taking her eyes off her phone. Her 'sorry' had made him freeze on the spot. He'd felt like dancing and breaking out in a tragic, heartfelt ballad at the same time.

He'd remained standing while she'd walked away. He in his joy had flashed to the bushes near her car, climbed the conveniently placed birch tree, and hid there to watch her.

She'd pocketed her phone and fished out the keys to her car.

He'd seen her eyes when his foot had snapped a twig accidentally. She'd stared overhead immediately and he'd been struck again by her deep brown eyes.

The eyes suited her face.

There were so many secrets in those eyes, secrets that Edward knew someday he would be privy to.

He wanted to run to her.

He wanted to hold her, touch her skin and experience the warmth. He wanted to look into her eyes and see her beautiful soul—something he'd lost when Carlisle's venom had entered his bloodstream to erase his humanity.

He hated Carlisle for giving him eternity—a barren, lonely existence where he'd often felt as if he would be driven mad by the cacophony of thoughts around him.

He'd hated the hunger that clawed at his insides and made him sink his fangs in human veins. Despite Carlisle's alternative lifestyle, Edward could never claim that he'd not ripped out throats only to appease his hunger.

Sure, he'd justified it on the pretext of good vs. evil, but he'd killed.

Edward wanted to talk to her. He wanted to tell her how he felt, but all of that would have to wait. He started walking in the direction of home when an idea struck him.

He could go and stand outside the building she lived in, couldn't he? He could listen to her breathing and her heartbeat.

With his mind made, he raced in the other direction through the forest.

Fortunately, the house she rented was a three storey brownstone on the edge of woods. She occupied the room at the back of the structure, on the third floor. He scaled a nearby tree and settled comfortably on a sturdy branch.

The house was quiet, save for the sleepy murmurs of the old lady who owned the brownstone and lived on the ground floor.

What was Bella dreaming about?

Him?

If he could dream, he would dream of her.

His Bella.

It was not until an hour had passed that he suspected something was wrong.

The upper floor was too silent.

Like it had been soundproofed.

He cursed himself for his stupidity and leapt from the branch he'd been hanging out on. The window at the back was shut and by the looks of it, he couldn't budge it without using his superior strength. He started to climb the surface, easily reaching the window level. He pried the window open and slipped inside, shutting it securely behind him.

Her room was not what he'd expected.

There was no bed.

She slept in a corner on a mattress laid on the floor. Cartons of books were stacked haphazardly all around the room. The walls were egg-shell white, the ceiling pitch black.

She was in process of affixing radium stars on the ceiling, but had managed to do only small portions in the corner near the door.

He smiled.

He spied a couple of portraits propped against the farthest wall, turned to the back so that the subjects were not visible. He recognized Byron's poetry open at one of the tables, and lying innocently near it was a Stradivarius.

Another table had a parchment partly obscured by a book.

He moved closer and recognized illustration of Blake's "Poison Tree" and the book open at Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven".

'My love?'

He whipped around, fearful that she'd awakened and discovered him.

He might be lovesick, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew what he was doing was borderline wrong and creepy.

'My love?' she whimpered.

He tip-toed to her bed and noticed in relief that her eyes were closed.

'Darkling, I listen; and, for many a time,

I have been half in love with easeful Death,

Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,

To take into the air my quiet breath…' she crooned eerily.

Edward didn't know what to do. Was he to leave her be or wake her up?

'Dearest, it's cold,' she cried. 'Dearest, please!'

Whom was she calling out for?

'Oh, oh, my blue eyes! Why are my eyes so dark? Why are my eyes so dull? You liked my blue eyes,' she sobbed, tears seeping out of her closed eyelids, her face turned sideways and pressed against the sheets.

'No, no. It hurts. It burns. Dearest, don't leave me here,' she begged. 'I will perish. Death will claim me. I do not want to be claimed by death thusly. Do not abandon me. Please, do not abandon me.'

He wanted to slip beneath the covers and hold her against his body. Who'd left her behind?

Had she loved someone?

The thought wasn't as painful as her screams were. She tossed and she turned, her limbs pushing against the mattress, torso arching away from the surface. She gave a blood-curdling scream and sank in the softness beneath her, breath coming out in heaves but eyes still closed.

'Am I not your mate? Do you not love me anymore, dearest?' It was an aching whisper, one that broke his stone heart in two.

He hurt. Not because she'd loved somebody else. No, he ached, for someone had been cruel enough to leave her hurting.

Someone had been callous enough to promise her love and then taken it away.

His poor Bella!

He inched to where she slept, a body comforted and caged beneath sheets. Her brow glowed with sweat; her breathing was labored, heavy.

Her hand, the one that was out of the confines of her comforter, twitched every so often.

He gently took her hand, and was about to place it underneath the warmth of the fabric when he noticed an inked tendril of ivy circling her wrist.

So, this was the ink he'd smelt.

He tucked the sheets around her, making sure not to jostle her, or move her ever so slightly in the process. After he was satisfied, he made himself comfortable beside her head. He started humming the notes of the song that had first popped in his head when he'd seen her for the very first time.

She was his love.

It didn't matter that she loved someone else!

When Bella Swan awoke the next morning, nothing was amiss in her room. There was no sign that someone had been in her room at all.

Unlike most mornings, though, she didn't find herself tangled in her sheets.

No, she was tucked in her comforter snugly.

There was an echo of a lingering melody resonating in her head, a series of notes that were so ethereal that she couldn't help but hum.

Her dreams had been…terrifying.

When she closed her eyes, all she could remember was a room alight with pale yellow light, a man hunched over his work table, the brilliant blue of electricity being discharged in severed, and flailing limbs.

She never saw the face of the man.

All she knew was that he had blonde hair, and she'd loved him once.

She didn't remember loving him, didn't remember that there ever had been a man who'd tried to shield her from the cruelty of the world.

She'd been alone her whole life, so she couldn't understand how she saw herself running after the blonde haired man on her twitching limbs, her naked body bathed in blood, hair shorn to the scalp.

Her dreams always ended at the scene where fire engulfed the room and the man locked the door behind him. She often sobbed for her dream counterpart—the woman who curled up to cry by the door, banging against the metal now and again and calling out for the man who'd left her there after giving her life anew, while fire raged all around.

Her joints ached and the stitch scars itched. She never scratched those, for she knew that if she gave into the desire to do so once, she would dig into her skin to relieve the phantom irritation.

She got to her feet after a few tries. Her legs were shaking. She made her way to the en-suite bathroom laboriously. Every step was agony, the pain so sharp that it almost brought her to her knees. But she'd preserved every morning since 1949, and she would be damned if she gave in to her weakness today.

Univerza Otrok Sonca, Lune in Teme, outskirts of Washington, USA.

'May I carry your books, Bella?' Edward asked as he jogged beside her, and she was surprised. It was her fault. She'd been too lost in her thoughts.

'Hello, Edward.' She passed half of her books to him and they started walking together to her car.

The campus of Univerza Otrok Sonca, Lune in Teme was beautiful.

She'd designed it purposefully with enough forest cover so that the vampires could attend it, and werewolves could run freely in the woods when the mood struck them, or when the full moon climbed the horizon and they felt cooped up in their dorm rooms.

She'd built the central teaching facilities on the rock that jutted from the middle of the lake for all water nymphs, naiads and mermaids who couldn't spend too much time out of the water.

It wasn't an uncommon sight to see beautiful girls shedding their sundresses to jump into the water after their scheduled classes.

The rock had been a bitch to place in the lake, and the lake had been a motherfucking mammoth project.

But all of it had been worth it.

Her Univerza was a refuge for all who'd been abandoned. She had room for everyone who'd nowhere to go.

'Late night?' he asked suddenly.

She gave a non-committal, 'Hmm' in reply.

'Wanna have coffee?'

She stopped mid-motion to stare at him.

It had taken her some time yesterday to place him. His kind of vampires didn't frequent her university. The "nightwalker" physiology reacted curiously with the sun, she'd heard. In all her existence, she'd only spied a nightwalker in the sun once, and that too had been by mistake.

All she had seen was a flash of sparkle and the nightwalker had been gone.

So, she'd felt utterly stupid when she'd gone back to her room and realized that the guy in the shop had been a nightwalker with unusual eyes.

She couldn't remember ever seeing such beautiful topaz eyes, even though she felt she'd seen them somewhere before.

'Bella, coffee?'

'Does it not taste vile to you?' she asked curiously, unsettling him in the process.

'I beg your pardon?'

'Coffee. Food. I know Daywalkers enjoy the taste, but you lot—don't you primarily survive on blood?'

'You know?' His eyes were wide and he looked ready to drop the books.

'Did you take me for a fool?' she retorted, amused by his naiveté.

'You know,' he repeated and then sighed. 'You hate me, don't you? Now that you know what I am?'

'Hate you?' she laughed. 'Why would I, Edward? Who am I to hate you?'

'Bella, but—'

'Come, let's sit and talk. My legs are killing me.' The tremors had started. She would soon need her injection.

He followed her to a nearby bench. She gave a sigh of relief when she settled on the wooden surface. He took his seat beside her after placing the stack of books between them.

'How did you know?'

'It's not difficult. Your skin, your touch, the way you move, your eyes—they're all a giveaway.'

'Really?'

'Yes. Especially your eyes. I know they are not artificial lenses. They are beautiful, but they stand out. Nightwalkers usually have red eyes. Why are yours so different?'

'I…I drink animal blood.'

'Ah, now I see. Your lot usually stays clear of this place, so I don't get much opportunity to interact with your kind.'

'Nightwalkers?'

'Hmm. Daywalkers need blood to rejuvenate their cells. They can stay alive on food and a sip of blood a day. They can walk in the sun as long as they have their enchanted rings, and they despise you lot with a passion that people often reserve for their mortal enemies.'

'How do you know all this? How have the Volturi not come after you?'

She stilled when she heard him mention the Volturi.

'Are you going to report me?'

'What? No. No, Bella. Never,' he said steadfastly. She'd expertly evaded his question about how she knew all about supernatural creatures.

'That's nice to know. So, why are you adamant about drinking a beverage you detest?'

He stared at the ground shyly and if he weren't a vampire, he would've blushed right to the soles of his feet.

'I wanted to spend time with you,' he mumbled.

She didn't say anything. He looked up in the fear that he'd offended her. She was lost in thought again, staring at the trees that swayed in the non-existent wind.

'I…I,' she cleared her throat; 'I don't know how to do this.'

'What?'

'Be your friend. Go on a date. Fall in love.'

'Why?'

'I don't know. I've always been alone, so I guess I've become habitual of solitary existence.'

'I was alone too,' he said softly.

'All your life?'

He nodded.

'Look at us. Bonding over our mutual experiences of having no one,' she uttered with a small laugh.

'I have a family. My adoptive father, mother, siblings who've their own mates. You met Alice,' he added. 'It wasn't all bad.'

'I had—have no one,' she amended.

'You've got me now.'

She smiled at him, one of her sad, wistful smiles. 'So, should we start from coffee then?'

'You'll have to drink mine too.'

'It's not such a horrible prospect,' she remarked.

'Then coffee it is, Bella.'

'Edward is falling too fast for this Bella girl.' He heard Alice say.

'I think you're being too hard on the girl, Ali,' Jasper replied.

'But—'

'Edward felt the mate bond, Ali! It doesn't mean he most surely will end up with her, also not that she's the only one for him.'

'What?'

'You don't know?' Jasper sounded surprised. 'Mate bond gives you an option. It doesn't force you to choose. Choosing a mate is a vampire's will. Often, mate bonds are triggered by symbiotic relationships, like it happened with me the first time around.'

'Why am I hearing this now?'

'Because you don't like when Maria's name is mentioned, and had I told you that my mate bond was triggered by Maria the first time around, you would've gone ballistic.'

'Maria, seriously?'

'It was a physiological thing.' Jasper sounded defensive.

'So, Edward will feel the mate bond again, if say this Bella girl disappears? Or dies?'

'Alice!'

'Answer me, Jasper.'

'Maybe. Some vampires don't feel mate bonds. Ever. Some feel it more than once. And Ali, let Edward decide what he wants,' Jasper said firmly.

'But, Jasper—'

'Come on, Ali. He too deserves happiness, and that can't be on your terms.'

The sound of bodies landing lightly on the forest floor was apparent.

Carlisle punched the wall beside the window he'd been standing near. He'd not intended to listen to his children's conversation, but the name Bella had made him pause.

Jasper spoke so easily of choice.

Choice?

Maybe his son was stronger in ways Carlisle had been weaker.

There had been no choice when his gaze had fallen on his Isabella…

Her blue eyes were all he could think about. When the play let out for interval, he exited his private box to wander among humans.

He wasn't paying attention to his surroundings or where he was going. For the first time, he was too lost in his thoughts to care what others around him were up to, even with the help of his sharpened senses.

A woman stumbled into him—all soft and sweet with the scent of roses hanging about her.

'Pardon me. I was not looking,' she murmured the moment his hands reached out to hold her lest she injure herself against his stone flesh.

Poppy blue eyes!

Carlisle's heart would've sped up had it not been frozen, silent.

The eyes stared at him, brows coming together in, perchance, confusion. How beautiful the brows were, thin and arched. And the lashes—curled slightly, full and brushing ever so often against the cheeks.

He came to his senses when her lips, soft pink lips, curled inwards in a straight line.

'The fault is all mine,' he said. 'I often find myself at a loss after witnessing such profound yearning.'

She smiled.

His throat felt parched.

'Sweetling, I await,

the tender caress,

the shadow of your touch,

for the memories of the day

when we first met…' she recited, her voice mellow.

'Carlisle Cullen,' he said in a daze.

'Lady Isabella Vane. And I'm always moved by a tragic tale of love.'

'Ah! Love is not in a shy smile but in the tired eyes of hope.'

'Curious, is it not, Mr. Cullen? That I've met you just now, that I gazed upon you for the first time earlier today and yet it feels as if I know you.'

He was stumped.

'I step out of the bounds of propriety now, don't I, Mr. Cullen? I often find myself at odds with the ton. They don't approve of my independent ways, you see.'

'You don't seem like a radical,' he jested.

'Oh! You haven't seen me arguing with my father on the subject of voting rights of the female populace.'

'So, are you a suffragette?'

'Hardly! Change cannot be brought forth by waving placards. Change needs force. It needs single minded dedication and unfaltering belief. A steely determination.'

He wanted her to continue talking. Her voice reminded him of the songs that were sung by choir in churches of his youth.

'Belle!' A man approached from behind her back, his face breaking out in a smile when he spotted her.

The momentary rage that flared inside him was surprising as well as welcome. Who was this man who took her name with such familiarity?

'Belle!'

'Richard. I thought it would take you a few more moments to locate me.'

'That would have happened had you not stopped to chat with this gentleman here, Belle,' the man said jovially.

Carlisle wanted to wrench out his spine and break open his chest!

Such violent thoughts, they were at the forefront of his mind. What kind of creature was he turning into? What was this transformation that she'd brought forth?

'Meet my brother, Richard Vane, Mr. Cullen.'

Brother. Yes, he could see the similarity of their features. How bizarre was this unknown feeling that had made him blind to what was rightly in front him.

'Call upon me tomorrow morning, Mr. Cullen. Ten sharp.'

Oh! Mornings were of no issue when the sun decided to stay behind cloud cover, but he couldn't take such a risk of agreeing and then not presenting himself if the sun came out.

'I'm indisposed tomorrow morning, Lady Vane. May I accompany you to the opera again tomorrow evening?'

She laughed; her throat moving, the jugular vein full of blood beneath her soft, delicate skin. 'How presumptuous of you, Mr. Cullen, to think that I might attend Opera again tomorrow evening, but yes, you may.'

Night was darkness blended with the soft luminescence of the moon. Edward slipped inside the room, light on his feet, hardly making any sound.

His eyes directly went to the far corner where the number of stars had increased on the ceiling from his last visit. Her room was still in the state of meticulous disarray, everything situated at a place where she could easily find it.

There coffee date had been a smashing success.

They'd discussed everything under the weather, save for her. She'd asked a lot of questions about him, his family, and his life as a vegetarian vampire.

In turn, she'd eluded all of his queries regarding her parents, family and background, only telling him that she was alone, and she'd lost her parents a long time ago.

It was not her evasion that bothered him, but her deceptively human qualities and nightmares. He wanted to know who she really was.

She was so precious, his Bella, so wondrously silent.

'So, you enjoy my company because you don't know what I'm going to say?' she had asked, a smile hovering on her lips.

He'd been too mesmerized to answer.

The sadness that he sensed in her, the melancholy that peered from her eyes and spilled from her words—it was so obvious and so painful that even he, the boy who'd been frozen at seventeen, who'd observed humans from the sidelines and wondered at the sad visages of parted lovers, could feel it.

He was violating the trust she deserved from him, but he had no other option. He made his way towards the portraits propped against the wall. He would start from there before making his way towards the journals peeking out from an ordinary carton.

The fire raged all around her.

She clung to the dark haired man, sobbing, scared, and certain of their imminent death.

Where was her angel, her blonde haired god who'd promised that death would not part them?

Her frantic eyes looked for an opening, but the wall of fire was apparently solid and steadily making its way towards her and her companion.

'Richard, I am so sorry.'

'Belle, close your eyes. It is nothing but a dream,' he said valiantly, eyes wet.

Her brother! Her twin!

They'd entered the world together; they would be leaving it hand in hand. There was a cold comfort in that realization.

She would have preferred his survival.

Her poor parents!

They would lose their children this cursed day.

She closed her eyes for heat was making them sting.

It was almost upon them—death. She could hear the rustle of its cloak.

Her angel! Her love!

She'd known him for a scant few days, but he'd managed to make her love him all the same. She prayed to her god, not for her life, but for her golden haired lover's sanity.

This would break him.

Her death would rob him of his humanity.

Flames licked the hem of her dress. Richard stiffened in her arms, screaming as fire raced on his back, the fabric easily burning.

It was ironic, her death here. In this place where she'd first lain eyes on him. Tendrils of heat climbed on her skin, leaving charred blackness and burnt bones behind.

She'd made her peace with death.

She was ready to embrace it…

She woke up with a start, only to find Edward trying to quietly sneak out of her window. It was such a bizarre sight, a vampire striving for silence.

Usually, they ran in the other direction of it.

They might have been portrayed as brooding, lonesome creatures in literature, but vampires preferred company.

A chuckle escaped past her lips and Edward stilled. One of his legs was balanced on the window sill while the other was planted firmly on the floor—he was the poster for "caught red handed".

'Did you come here to rob my secrets, nightwalker?' she asked conversationally, trying to sit up.

He sighed, an unnecessary motion, for they both knew he didn't need to breathe. Maybe it had become second nature to display human mannerisms after a century of pretense. He moved away from the window to fold himself on the ground, sitting directly opposite to her.

He refused to meet her eye and kept moving his fingers in a complex pattern in the air as if he could cast an "obliviate" spell wandlessly over her.

'Shame doesn't suit you, nightwalker, nor does this pretense of innocence.'

'I'm sorry,' he mumbled, sounding like the petulant seventeen year old he'd been before venom had frozen him at that age.

'You do know stalking and trespass is not what dating consists of, don't you?' she remarked, amused at his continued subservience.

His head came up, eyes as wide as saucers. 'We're dating?'

'I think that is what people call the getting to know your partner part in romantic relationships, don't they?' she stated, trying not to laugh at his eagerness.

His smile was radiant.

'So, why are you in my room at this hour, Edward?' she asked nonchalantly, trying to free her lower half from her tangled covers. 'Do you have designs on me?'

'Designs?' he sputtered.

'Yes, designs. Do you want to snog me? Do the horizontal salsa?' He was gobsmacked. His lips were parted and eyes hooded—maybe he was visualizing her comments.

'Earth to Edward!'

'Sorry, Bella,' he said, embarrassment apparent on his face, in his voice.

'You didn't answer me. What are you doing here?' she asked seriously.

'I…I wanted to know.'

'What? What did you want to know Edward?' she questioned tiredly. 'Why my heart beats the way it does? Why I don't smell appetizing enough to eat? Why you can't hear my thoughts? Do you want answers for all these questions?' she sneered.

'How…h-how did—'

'You're not the only one with abilities, Edward' she remarked sadly. 'You're not the only creature here.'

'What are you?'

'I don't know. Maybe I'm a madman's vision or a lovesick monster's idea of eternity. Maybe I'm angel-cursed, or maybe just demon-blessed. I don't know what I am. As for who I am, I was told after my birth that I used to be Isabella Vane once…'

'I don't understand,' he said. 'Are you a reincarnation? A witch perhaps?'

'Witches and reincarnation—as if I was to be so lucky,' she scoffed. 'I…am undead.'

'But you're not a vampire!'

'Vampire? No, but I'm a monster. How can I not be when I was created by a monster?' she whispered before her trembling hands started to unbutton the shirt she'd worn to sleep.

'Bella?' He sounded panicked. 'What are you doing?'

She ignored his question and continued the motion of popping open the buttons. This was the first time she would bare herself to someone she liked, someone she hoped would be beside her when the sun climbed the horizon for a brand new day, someone who claimed she was his intended, someone she could see herself falling in love with…

Eyes frozen on her, Edward was not breathing when she parted the two halves of her shirt and bared her torso to him. His eyes, his traitorous eyes roved over her form when she peeled off her pajamas and rose up on her shaking legs.

She stood before him naked, not a stitch covering her up, and she was captivating with her scars, beautiful because of them.

Vines bloomed on her arms, light blue flowers interspersing the dark tendrils. Hummingbirds drank nectar at her throat, their colorful wings covering the stitch marks just below her neck. Roses bloomed on her jutting breasts, deep red petals innocent and provocative in their display, the thorns inked around her pebbled nipples, hiding the Y shaped surgical cut on her chest.

The vines wound skillfully at her sides and bloomed again above her pubis, a perfect flower with pale pink petals, the center dewy.

The artwork was elaborate and entrancing, but not more so than the scars of stitching along the joints of her shoulders and where the legs met her torso.

'Perfection,' he uttered in a trance. 'You're perfection itself, Bella.'

'Am I?' she doubted, inked arms moving ever so slowly to cover her breasts from his ravenous gaze.

'Don't,' he choked. 'Please, don't!'

Like a confused doe, she looked over at him as if she couldn't figure out who he was and what kind of game he was playing at.

'Why?' she asked, sinking amid her covers as her legs gave out from beneath her. He wanted to rush, to hold her in his arms before fabric touched her skin, but she was too skittish yet. He didn't think she would appreciate his efforts right now.

She crossed her legs, hiding her feminity.

'If I say you're the answer to my every prayer, I would be wrong,' he started softly. 'I never prayed for anyone like you, Bella. Maybe I didn't know how to, or maybe I didn't think I was worthy enough. To say you please me is a mere understatement; to declare I love you, a fool's haste. I can be the fool for you, Bella. Whenever you say, wherever you say. I'll wait till you're ready, till you know that I shall never abandon you, never forsake you for another, never love you so callously that you forget what love is supposed to be.'

She looked at him sadly. 'I've been given promises before,' she said. 'And those promises were nothing but words of platitude, of false comfort. The man who gave them to me, I don't remember his face, but he made me into this, turned me into a monster.'

'Monster? You're as far from being a monster as I'm from being an angel.'

'How easy it is to give me empty words, is it not, Edward?' Her voice was laced with bitterness. 'Do you know who I used to be, Edward? Do you know what he turned me into?'

'Tell me,' he urged. 'At the end of your tale, you will know that I would never run, never take another step away from you.'

Moments passed before she started her story, a story as fantastical as it was horrible…

'Charles and Renne Vane, 7th Earl and Countess of Darlington were overjoyed when the countess gave birth to twins—a boy and a girl on the night of September 13th, 1869 when England was taking baby steps into the era of mechanization and steel under the watchful gaze of Queen Victoria. They named the boy Richard and the girl Isabella. Little Richard and Isabella grew up together, closer than siblings often were in those days. The Earl of Darlington was a man far ahead of his times—one of the things that had won over his pretty, wealthy French wife among others—and he believed that his daughter was entitled to the same kind of education his son was to receive. And so, little Isabella grew up learning numbers and Latin, reading Plato, Aristotle, Archimedes, and philosophers of the east, who talked about stones that could turn lead into gold, incantations that would summon the devil, and rituals that would prolong one's life. It was a bizarre education and it befuddled her Mama, but Papa would often smile and remark that his Belle was going to be the wisest of them all.' She paused to take breath, and maybe reflect on the time she no longer remembered, but had heard about from the Earl of Darlington, and caught a few glimpses of it in her dreams.

'Isabella grew up—a beauty who rivaled those who were said to be the prettiest in the French queen's court, the beauties who were the pride of Sultan Abdul Hamid's harem and the concubines they whispered the Russian Tsar often took to bed. Despite her beauty, it was her mind, her strange yet alluring ideas that attracted people. She had a curious fascination with the veil that separated life from death, and often was found head bowed, eyes fixated on some obscure text that she believed could explain it all to her.'

'Is she you, this Isabella?' he asked.

'Yes and no,' she answered cryptically, refusing to elaborate. 'When she debuted, within a month alone, she had four offers for marriage, but holy matrimony was not what Isabella desired. From the time she could understand herself, she'd always felt an emptiness in her—a sort of hollowness that which could not be filled, no matter what she did. And so, in search of that elusive contentment, that peace, she delved deeper in her quest of knowledge, rejecting men who were prone to flit like flies around her.'

She picked the sheet and draped it over her, covering her nakedness.

'Three years passed. Three years of rejecting marriage proposals, reading the tomes of poetry and lore, dreaming of the moment when she would not feel like an imposter, like a charlatan laughing and playing the part of a bored aristocrat, when she would feel whole, complete…. Isabella adored opera and her twin often took her out in the evenings for shows where women would sing about lost love and hurting hearts. She sat through them, fascinated by the stories, by this thing called love. Would love cure her emptiness? She frequently pondered over these questions, reading through the works of Byron and Shelley and contemplating over Blake…' She stopped after that, bunching the sheets in her fist, tugging it viciously, so that no part of her body was visible.

'Bella?'

'She was enjoying the Opera when her eyes fell upon him, when they held his gaze and roamed over his face. I don't remember how he looked, but Isabella was captivated. She was entranced. She thought she'd fallen in love. He was a resplendent creature—the golden haired man. He was the first who understood her fascination with the frailty of life and certainty of death. One look, one conversation was all it took for her to decide that he was indeed what she'd been searching for, unknowingly praying for. He was a nightwalker, the golden haired angel of hers.' She gazed off in the distance, trying to recall memories about the words she spoke, the memories that were no longer there.

'He seldom called upon her in the light of the day, but he came to her when sun sank beneath the horizon, when the moon came out to bathe the world in silvery incandescence. He would steal her from her room and take her to see the churches that dotted the rural landscape outside London, the groves of oak that were said to be the home of fey folk, ruins that whispered of magic. He would hold her gently, as if he were afraid of hurting her and he would tell her about the places he'd been to, people he'd met. I don't remember their conversations, just a vague feeling that all those nights ago, he'd made her happy…'

'Her? But are you not Isabella? You must be…' he remarked.

'No,' she denied vehemently. 'I'm Bella. Bella Swan. She was Isabella Vane. She died along with her twin when fire consumed the Royal Opera Hall in London. I was born on a cold metal table, bathed in blood, screaming in pain while a blonde haired man sat hunched over me, recoiling when I opened my eyes and he witnessed what he'd created, given life to…'

'I don't understand.'

'Don't you? Or is it that you don't want to, Edward? It's horrible, is it not, to think how he must have created me? Even for you, it is hard to contemplate, to imagine, isn't it?'

She moved towards her right and fished out a paper cutter from beneath the piles of loose white sheets of paper.

'Bella, don't!' he warned. He knew what she was going to do. She ignored him as she balanced the elegant knife in her other hand. With a look of profound determination, she made a deep cut on the inside of her left wrist.

He'd stopped breathing the moment she'd plucked the knife from the ground.

Drops of silverish red appeared over her wound, perfect drops of her blood. After a second or two, the skin closed itself in front of his own eyes, no trace of wound present, save for couple of drops of "blood" where silver was suspended in red.

He took a small breath, and the smell of roses, rain and moss wafted to his nose along with a familiar smell that still avoided recognition.

'See?' she said. 'He took my blood and mixed it with his venom, taught my veins anew how to carry this poison.'

'But h-how ca-can it be possible?' he stammered. 'Venom eats away blood!'

She gave a condescending smile. 'Does it? So, how am I here then, Edward? The golden haired man—he gave me this body, the body that aches for limbs that are no longer there, legs that hurt when they carry the weight of a torso which was once alien to them, hands that are forced to move by the brain which controlled motor functions of another body, a head which looks down at this body and silently screams in horror, for this is not the body atop which it sat once…'

Realization had hit Edward with astounding clarity. He flashed to where she sat, gathering her close, holding her tightly in his arms, knowing that she would not break.

Oh, Bella! His poor, sweet Bella!

'Do you now understand what I am, Edward?' she wept. 'I'm parts of four different cadavers stitched together to form this soulless body that houses a heart which is part flesh, part machine. I'm the undead, Edward. I'm neither vampire nor a werewolf, not a witch, fey, changeling, djinn or a shifter. I'm just undead, Edward. Simply undead…'

Fire…

His greatest enemy—that which mocked his immortality.

He was standing still on the opposite side of the street as the Opera Hall burned, tongues of flame leaping higher and higher—hungry to taste that which it hadn't already burned.

Carlisle watched in horror as Lord and Lady Vane, standing at some distance from him, clutched each other and sobbed for their children.

His Isabella—she was gone, burned to a husk inside the inferno.

Loneliness laughed joyously, silence stretched its familiar arms. 'Come to us, Carlisle. Come with us,' it seemed to say. 'No one is going to be there for you but us, Carlisle…'

He squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers—talons that eagerly bored into his palm.

She was gone.

His mate, his love—she was gone.

His scream of agony was trapped in his throat.

His Isabella, his sweet Isabella!

'Eternity…can you promise me eternity, my love?' she'd asked the last time he'd seen her, her eyes twinkling, fingers winding a tendril of hair into a ringlet.

He'd promised without thinking, without hesitation.

Isabella and Carlisle. Carlisle and Isabella.

An eternity.

She, his love, how sweetly her lips had grazed his cheeks, how warmly she'd held his hand, how hesitantly she'd stood on her tip-toes and looked into his eyes—her blue gaze saying so many things that her words failed to. How tenderly her lips had touched his.

She'd just wanted an eternity with him—his Isabella.

And an eternity she'd get, one way or the other.

Decided, Carlisle flashed inside the burning structure. Fire pressed from all sides, the heat oppressive in its intensity.

'Isabella,' he screamed.

Only the sound of hissing flames met his ears.

He ran to the Vane private box, or what was left of it, praying to any God who might be listening to spare her.

But God wasn't listening.

There she lay, his Isabella, beside her brother, partly over him, her burning arms around her twin.

'Isabella,' he called out hoarsely.

Her head was slumped in the crook of Richard's shoulder, face towards the floor, tufts of hair burned off.

'Cullen?' Richard wheezed.

The man was still alive. Isabella must be too.

'Isabella?' He tried to break her hold around Richard's upper half.

'She's gone, Cullen.' Carlisle pulled Richard's head apart from his body in rage, killing him instantly. He shifted Isabella gently, aware of the flames yearning to reduce him to dust and purple smoke. He tore apart Richard piece by piece to recover her whole.

But she wasn't whole.

Her legs had been burned off. Her arms had been charred off to the bone, and fire had substantially eaten through her torso. Mercifully, the flames had yet to touch the perfection of her face.

Her heart was beating, barely.

He picked her up, cradled her close to his chest before running through the fire to find the clear night sky…

'Carlisle?'

He opened his eyes suddenly, wrenched away from his memories. Esme stood near the bed, her gentle face looking expectantly at him.

'What is it?'

He'd forced himself to fall for Esme. She'd felt the mate bond for him; he'd felt nothing.

He'd been emptied, carved hollow the day he'd burned up his laboratory in 1891.

'Edward hasn't been home the past three days.'

'Have you tried his phone?' he asked, worry replacing the memories. Edward was the first vampire he'd created, his very first companion.

'He's not picking up. All of us have left various messages,' she explained worriedly.

Her mothering tendencies were one of the things that had made Carlisle give in to her advances.

'He'll come back, Esme. He's not a little kid,' he assured.

'But Carlisle, he's never stayed away from home for so long without informing one of us.'

'He must have lost track of time. He'll come back, Esme,' he placated his wife.

He picked his phone and guided his wife out of the room.

He had a son to find.

'Sweetling, kiss me before you go,

Leave me standing for your shore,

make me anew with a touch of your lips,

let me weep for you as I've never done before…' Her melodious voice rang in the forest as he drank from the neck of an elk. She'd asked him to show how he hunted, and here they were.

He was a sight—her Edward. Blood staining his lips to trickle from the corner of his mouth, not a drop on his pristine white shirt, copper locks in complete disarray on the top of his head, eyes obsidian and trained on her—he was hers.

Completely and absolutely.

She stared at him, a mysterious smile flitting on her lips. She curled her fingers, beckoning him close and he was there in a moment—crouching beside her, looking at her as if she were his.

She was.

She placed her hands on his cheeks and leaned in him to inhale that unique scent of his. He purred in pleasure.

'I can see your soul, you know,' she observed. 'It's a piece of light encapsulated in a beautiful vessel.' Her lips kissed the corner of his mouth and when she moved away, the red was on her lips, the taste of rust and salt in her mouth.

His face so trusting, so solemn—it triggered something in her, maybe a memory.

'Your soul is an alluring patchwork of light and dark, my love. I've seen your soul and so has my god.'

'Really?' he posed the question amusedly.

'Were you a demon from hell, my god wouldn't have led me to you.'

'Maybe I'm your temptation?' he whispered in her ear, his lips grazing the shell.

Her skin pebbled beneath his palm.

'Maybe, you are,' she murmured. 'Maybe you're the fallen angel and I'm destined to fall with you, for you…'

'Bella, what is it?' Edward's fingers were on her cheeks, caressing the skin.

She shook her head. Who needed the past when the future was looking so lovingly at you?

'Nothing,' she said, mirroring his action. 'Are you done eating?'

'Yes.'

'Wanna come home with me, nightwalker?'

'I thought you would never ask,' he said lovingly as he swung her on his back and sped away from the carcass of deer, flies already buzzing around it…

Her body or what was left of it floated in the silvery substance. He looked at the closed eyelids and closed lips, trembling inside with grief. Her long brunette locks were no more. He'd had to chop them off. He'd dry heaved after he'd shorn her hair.

He had created seven newborns and drained them dry to procure the venom that was keeping her body from decaying and her heart from stopping.

At first, he'd tried to stimulate the venom enough with electricity so that it could latch on to her body and possibly re-grow her legs, parts of her torso and one of her hands, but the venom had simply repaired what was present.

Time was running out. He didn't know how to keep her alive anymore. This concoction of venom would spoil in a week or so.

'Isabella,' he whispered in desolation. 'What should I do?'

What kind of life was this—this mockery, anyway? He was simply holding her from passing on to the realm of death by his sheer will.

How was he to immortalize her?

Like this?

Missing most of her body?

She would resent him for eternity, his love, if he triggered her vampiric transformation now. He would hate himself.

He couldn't make her a creature of forever like this.

She needed a body.

She needed what fire had taken from her.

And he would give it to her.

He would create her afresh; breathe back into her the essence of life…

'This is happening because of her, isn't it?' Alice screeched. 'You're running off to live with her? Your Bella?'

'Yes, I am,' Edward answered calmly. 'I love her.'

'Love her? But you've only known her for seven days,' Esme opined gently.

'Seven days were enough, Esme. And she's my mate. You fall in love when you gaze at your mate, when you feel the mate bond. Won't you agree, Carlisle?' Edward looked pointedly at Carlisle, his topaz eyes boring into the similar golden ones of his creator. 'Mate bonds are enough to justify a vampire's madness, aren't they, Carlisle?' Carlisle was taken aback at that hostile tone.

Edward had never talked to him in such way.

'May I enquire why you're talking in such fashion, Edward? By your account, you're in love with this girl. Why the talk of madness?'

'Ever been to London around the 1890s, Carlisle, when Jack the ripper was tearing open prostitutes?' Edward asked, ignoring his question. Carlisle refrained from thinking anything. He'd practiced enough to exploit the loopholes of his son's gift.

'I believe not, Edward,' Carlisle answered smoothly, nothing giving away his lie.

Edward's eyes narrowed and a snarl escaped his throat.

'Then we've nothing to talk about, do we, Carlisle?' Edward spat.

He gathered a few of his shirts and sweaters, a pair of slacks and a couple of denims, and threw them haphazardly in the bag lying open on his bed.

'Edward, what is the matter?' Esme implored. 'Why do you need to go? You can bring her here, can't you? I would like to meet her.'

He looked sadly at the woman who had been his mother for all intents and purposes after his change. Did she know the man she so blindly loved?

'I'm sorry, Esme. I've got to go.'

'Leaving your family for a pathetic human—how like you, Edward,' Rosalie jeered.

In a moment her neck was in his hold and he squeezed till he heard the crack of flesh beneath his fingers. Emmett snarled and lunged at him. Edward easily side-stepped the attack as Jasper held Emmett back while Carlisle leaned against the wall, his pose relaxed, face impassive and eyes stormy.

'Family? Ask our sire on what values he created our family, Rosalie. Ask him how much he values the humanity of the humans he so diligently works for. Ask him, Rosalie,' Edward roared.

'Edward, what is this all about?' Esme asked sorrowfully. 'Are you angry with Carlisle for something?'

Edward dropped his venom sister and turned to look at his father—the father he'd idolized and wanted to be like, the father who had been the ideal human being, the very example of what vampirism was supposed to be.

How glad he was that he wasn't like his father; that he wasn't cruel, indifferent, and that he lacked the ability to hide his true face behind the mask of beautiful kindness.

Bella might not remember the golden haired man who had created and then abandoned her when she didn't remain the same person. She might not know his name or his appearance, but Edward knew.

Dear god, he knew.

Carlisle's medical skills had always been superlative, to the degree where he could rival Asclepius, even Apollo. The detailed suturing that had connected various limbs to one another had been intricate. The stitches had been small and evenly spaced—Carlisle's trademark.

He'd often wondered how his father's thoughts had been so regimentally organized. Carlisle's thoughts had been too available to ever suspect that beneath gentle affection his father had for Esme and the rest of them, there existed a side to Carlisle Cullen he'd never been privy to.

What kind of love had Carlisle professed to Bella?

How selfish had he been to keep her alive like that; discarding her the moment he knew she was no longer the same woman he'd fancied. How fickle had been his love, how momentary.

He kissed Esme gently on the cheek before zipping his bag and walking away from his family.

He didn't know when he would be ready to face his father again, let alone talk…

'Stay,' Carlisle commanded once Edward was out of earshot.

'But, Carlisle—' Esme started.

'I'll go and have a talk with him, Esme.' Jasper and Emmett moved to follow him out, Emmett a bit too eager at the prospect of teaching Edward a lesson for manhandling Rosalie, but Carlisle stayed them with a glance. 'No one is to follow me.'

He ran out of the house and disappeared into the forest.

Carlisle stitched the arms to the torso, humming an old song he'd heard in Aro's court.

Isabella's body was coming along nicely.

He'd butchered two debutantes with similar body types to acquire the upper half of the body and the arms. Convenient letters placed in their bed chambers about eloping to Gretna Green with a fictitious lover would stop their families from ever searching for them.

The venom-coated thread would seal the edges into a single layer of skin which would prevent the degradation of tissue, virtually rendering the body ageless.

He'd prepared a special blend of his venom and blood that would serve as the life force of Isabella's new body.

All he needed were legs and Isabella's heart to complete the vessel atop which he would affix Isabella's head.

Did Edward know about Isabella?

How did he know?

Carlisle had never thought about her in Edward's vicinity. Then how did he know?

Lucille Mordaunt had been too easy to lure.

She'd not even blinked, let alone screamed when he'd reached inside her chest to pluck out her heart, instantly killing her. He'd then methodically removed the legs to attach to the incomplete body.

Isabella's head was connected with a beating heart in a Petri dish, submerged in his venom, one that he'd modified with intricate mercury stems running all over and inside the muscle. It would never stop beating, never be corroded by his venom. He'd removed her head from what remained of her destroyed body, attaching the open nerves to filaments of wire carrying electricity.

Everything was ready.

He couldn't contain his happiness anymore.

He laughed. With his hands still stained with Lucille Mordaunt's blood, he traced her delicate lashes and the curve of a cheek, leaving red in his wake.

'Soon, my love,' he whispered lovingly. 'Soon you will stand on your feet and loop your arms around my throat. Soon you will waltz with me…'

His Isabella.

Where had he gone wrong?

How had he ended up creating an abomination instead of resurrecting his love?

He cut the thread after closing the final inch of the skin. He'd attached the head with the torso, connecting every nerve painstakingly and accurately. He'd placed the heart inside the hollow of chest and connected it with veins and arteries and thin metal wires that ran inside her body. All he needed was to animate her with electricity now.

He connected the electrodes, giddy with delight. Any moment now, she would be with him again—his Isabella, immortal in her own right without undergoing vampiric transition.

Glowing blue arced between the metal rods on the either side of the work table on which she lay to come together in the middle and sink into her skin, beneath the breast, into her heart.

After four tries, her body arched away from the metallic surface towards the current, only to slump back again.

She gave a gasp and opened her eyes.

Her eyes were no longer blue.

He moved back in horror.

Why did he not feel it—the enchantment, the enthrallment, the love he'd felt before?

Why could he no longer feel the mate bond?

'My love,' she croaked, trying to step down from the high surface, limbs twisting as she slipped on the blood.

Lucille Mordaunt's legs had not been an ideal choice, he considered objectively as he saw her falling after her every attempt to stand on her feet. She looked grotesque, like an asymmetrical doll created on a childish whim.

She…was not his Isabella.

She wasn't the woman he'd fallen in love with.

This…creature in front of him was a stranger to him. It only wore Isabella's face…

He needed to destroy it…

With his mind made up, he started walking towards the main crude generator-like apparatus that had powered his experiment while she piteously kept calling out to him…

'Edward…'

He continued to nuzzle the crook of her neck, nose inhaling the scent of his father's venom.

'We could've done this at home,' she said, giggling. 'Do we really need to snog in the middle of the forest?'

'Scared?' he smirked.

'Not when I'm with you, nightwalker,' she answered adoringly. Carlisle was nearby, for Edward could hear his thoughts though they were very faint.

Edward pulled Bella closer still, moved to mold his hard form around her like ivy clinging to an aged wall.

His lips were a whisper away from hers.

'Edward?' Her lips touched his.

'Yes, Bella?'

'Can I fall in love with you?' she asked softly.

He answered her with a kiss. 'Whenever you want, Bella, wherever you want…'

He laid his lips on her mouth again, gently coaxing her to open those lips of hers so that he could drink from her, the elixir of love.

'Mine,' he said in a voice so low that only the flaxen haired and golden eyed vampire standing at a distance, staring at him heard.

She's mine…

Carlisle watched the woman in his son's arms in equal parts dread and wonder.

It was her.

His…creature. No, no, his Isabella.

Edward's Bella.

The smell of roses assaulted his senses, but wrapped in her scent was the aroma of his venom.

He felt himself freeze.

His vision tunneled and all he could see was Isabella.

His Isabella.

After one hundred and some years, here he was, a vampire captivated by a human again.

After so long he felt as if his heart would start beating any moment now if only she turned and looked at him.

He felt it all again, the same feelings he'd once experienced.

Fragile hope took birth in his silent heart as he took a deep breath; despair was quick to follow.

Mate bond!

Once again Carlisle felt it—

She raised her head from Edward's shoulder, staring at him.

Her deep brown orbs held recognition.

And hate…

He was long gone.

He would never return.

He'd locked her in here to end her.

She looked around the room that had been her womb. All she could see was the yellow of fire and dark black particles of smoke.

She looked down at her hideous form.

The hands were pale; those of someone who'd covered them frequently with long sleeves, the breasts were a handful, fuller than her own had been, the stomach was curved inwards, where hers had formed the sweetest of curves, the limbs were gangly, longer than her legs had been.

The curls at the apex of her thighs were red. If she closed her eyes, she could see her long tapered fingers playing with her mound, fine brunette hair covering it.

She was a monster.

Her love had resurrected her as a monster and then left her to burn in this hell.

She yelled as she tried to stand again. She fell flat on her face, the limbs failing her.

Well, they weren't her limbs, were they?

She crawled towards the tub of silvery liquid. She climbed over the side with effort, and lowered herself in the cool substance. It smelled like Carlisle.

She submerged herself beneath the venom and waited.

After two days when she sat up in the tub, venom running down her face, her hair, the back of her head to pool back in the tub, fire had done away with everything, reduced it all to dust.

Only she remained.

The lovelorn abomination.

Carlisle's once avowed mate.

His creature…

I know it may seem like a mockery,

But we did have a love story…