Disclaimer: SM owns Twilight.

This little story is seriously OCC and as such there are known holes in the setup.

I've found myself bored to tears by the simpering, confounding Bella's written where she is portrayed as confused, weak and willing to just stand behind Edward. I wanted to write a stronger, more ruthless Bella and in doing so had to write a more ruthless Edward.

For those of you who have a dislike for our beloved vampires who embrace the predator inside them you might want to walk away now.

And for those Jake lovers amongst the Fanfiction universe, you might want to run away now. Don't walk. Run.

This story is short and simple. Much more simple than my usual style. There isn't a lot of place setting and there is no back story or explanations as to what our two main characters are and can or cannot do. We all know these characters by now and as such I've done away with all the boring back stories.

As ever thanks for reading.

Cheers, Maxi.

'There aint no way she's surviving that,' I hear as the black SUV skids towards me.

I have to swerve quite violently to miss hitting it as I take the corner myself. I curse its driver as I correct my own vehicle and continue on towards my home.

It's a strange thought to hear – even mentally – and I'd heard some pretty strange thoughts in my century on this earth.

I check my mirror but the SUV is long gone. Fully around the corner and out of sight by the time I have the thought to check its plate number.

There's nothing untoward or amiss in my street. There's nobody about as it's the humans dinner time. As I move along the street I can hear the thoughts of my neighbours going about their business.

Mrs Roberts in number four is cursing as she's made pot roast that is rapidly drying out because her husband is late home from work.

Mallory in number seven is deep in conversation with a prospective new beau via Skype, all the while thinking about the guy who had dumped her just a week earlier for being too clingy.

Jack and Anna in number twelve are struggling to explain to their twin daughters that it's not nice to throw dog shit at the postman and Hannah in number fourteen is watching Wheel of Fortune with her TV turned way up as usual.

It's all so normal and I smile to myself as I pull my car into my own driveway at number seventeen.

I like it here. Normal is nice. This neighbourhood is so normal and so nice I think I'd like to stay a little longer than I normally would in such a place. I can come and go freely here under the cloudy, rainy skies. Nobody gives a damn about what I do for a living, how old I am, why I'm on my own. They're all so busy leading their normal lives themselves nobody had ever given a thought to me.

I liked that. A lot.

It was unusual for me.

The smell of fresh, human blood assaults me as I open my car door. For half a second I want it. Another half a second later and I already crave it.

I shake my head and involuntarily slip into a low crouch. I range my hearing out but still can't hear anything out of place. I look up and down the street but there's nobody outdoors. No other cars moving in either direction. But the scent is strong. Fresh. Delicious. Like heroin to an addict that hadn't had a fix in a year.

I crouch lower and listen for another half a minute and then I'm running. Full tilt. Straight towards the scent.

A softer background scent begins to emerge as I streak up the street at full speed. Cordite. A gun had recently been fired in the street but nobody is rushing about panicking, as humans usually did. Probably used a silencer I think as I run.

I see the shattered glass from the back window of the vehicle at number twenty seven and I slow my run to a jog. I listen again before rounding the vehicle and coming headlong into the scent of the blood fully.

It's a woman. Slumped in the driver's seat and bleeding profusely from a gunshot wound to the neck.

I can hear her breathing but it's shallow. I hold my breath as I approach her.

As I come around I can see that the wound is through and through. And it's probably fatal judging by the gurgling coming from her throat and the sheer amount of blood on her upper body. Her torn flesh is ragged at the edges of the wound and there is a fair amount of it on the steering wheel and windshield.

I look up and down the street again. Nothing and nobody is coming near here for now.

I match the errant thought I'd heard from the driver of the SUV to this carnage. The driver had shot this woman and sped away seconds before I'd arrived in the street.

Her engine is still running. She'd been caught unawares.

I turn the engine off and drag her from the driver's seat.

Her blood coats my hands as I carry her into the open garage ahead of me. Her house is set out much like mine and I quickly navigate the hallway that leads to her kitchen. I lay her on the tiled floor and hit speed dial on my cell. Carlisle answers on the second ring.

I tell him what I'm seeing and describe her breathing, the gurgling and the pallor of her skin.

"It sounds fatal without surgical intervention," my father tells me. But I already know this for myself.

"I'm not asking you to tell me how to treat her," I shout at the device as I tear open her blouse with my nails rather than wasting time undoing buttons to gain access to her flesh.

"I don't understand," comes his confused reply.

"How many times do I bite her?" I shout as I kneel down beside her and take up her wrist.

"You're going to change her?" he shouts back. "Why? Do you know her?"

"Never seen her before," I tell him before I slice open her right wrist with my teeth.

"Why would you do this?"

"Why wouldn't I?" I shout back as I lick my teeth to get my venom moving. "How many bites?" I bellow before I take her wrist into my mouth and force the venom on my tongue into the wound.

I bite her twice more, once higher and once lower on the same wrist, before he answers. "A dozen, twenty times if you can. Get as much of your venom into her as you can. Quickly, before her skin hardens too much for you to force it in," he shouts to me.

I grunt but say nothing. I can't waste time speaking when that time could be better spent biting.

I bite her everywhere. Thighs. Throat. Ankles. Hips. The other side of her neck. I notice it becomes harder and harder to force the venom into her bloodstream with each successive bite and start to hope that I've done enough.

I bite at her waist but her body won't accept anymore of my venom. I sit back on my knees and watch as the bite mark disappears. Her flesh is creamy, white and unblemished within seconds.

"I can't get any more into her," I shout, hoping he's still on the line.

"Now we wait," he says simply.

"How long?" I ask as I wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my shirt.

"Smell her," he instructs and I bend over her and sniff at her collarbone.

"Venomous, acidic," I tell him as my system begins to calm a little.

"Are the bites healing?" he asks next.

All I can see are pale, silvery crescent shapes where my teeth had been. "The wounds are gone," I tell him as I watch the skin begin to plump on her thighs.

"Listen for her heartbeat."

"Flying," I tell him.

"Then it's done," he tells me in return.

I lower myself onto the tiles beside her and sigh. This made no sense at all. None. The compulsion to save her had been so strong I'd not given any thought to what I was going to do with her now.

"What the fuck have I done?" I wonder. I think it to myself but realise I've said it aloud when Carlisle chuckles.

"You've sired," he says simply.