Author Note: What's up nerds?! I kind of can't believe I'm doing this. I'm actually kind of pretty nervous over here. In years past I've tried my hand at writing stories and BOY did I crash and burn. Complete writer's block. I'm also pretty terrible at organization and timeliness, which I discovered the hard way is a terrible combination for writing fanfiction. But I LOVE Peter stories. There aren't enough of them out there and I couldn't get this out of my head, so here we are.

I make absolutely NO promises on when I'll be updating. The first several chapters of this story are written, but you're looking at the procrastinator extraordinaire. Just trying to be honest here peeps. My goal is to update every couple of weeks, but who knows. The good news is that I already have a good idea of where I want this story to go, so HOPEFULLY no writer's block this time. *Knocks on every wooden surface in 50 foot radius* This first chapter is a sort of prologue from Peter's perspective, but it's going to be the ONLY one in his POV. The rest will be in Bella's POV because personally, I hate when stories jump around. Also, just to let everyone know, I'm going for a slow build with this story and there won't be any insta love. There also might be some information that I'm intentionally leaving out to be revealed later. So just remember, patience my friends all will be revealed!

Big shout out to IdreamofEddy for the Peter "knows shit" gift!

Disclaimer: Okay, I'm only doing this once. HEAR YE HEAR YE. Let it be declared for this chapter and all that follows that all copyrighted material belongs to Stephenie Meyer. I do NOT own the Twilight universe, I'm just playing puppet master. MWAHAHAHAHAHA!

"Do you think I am an automaton? — a machine without feelings? and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! — I have as much soul as you — and full as much heart!" — Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

Shavings were everywhere, spilling over the smooth taupe wood in waves on to the concrete floor while tiny particles drifted lazily up into the air and clung to Peter in a thin film. He was bent over the board, his arm and back muscles tense with exertion as he slowly shaped the wood to his liking. Pounding rock music flooded the small space, turned up so high that the heavy bass shook the walls with a vibration even a human could hear. It had to be loud, it was the only way to drown out his own thoughts. This was his sanctuary. The only place he could get away from himself. Inside the house was too quiet, too solitary, too still. He wouldn't say lonely, it was just too fucking pathetic. In his workshop he could forget about the stupid drama that had recently taken hold of his life like a goddamn Lifetime movie and focus on his creations. It was the only thing he had now, an art that he started as a human and carried into this endless afterlife. The only thing that felt normal and comforting now. Peter trained all his thoughts on the music, the movement of his arms, the bumps of the wood, and he could forget.

Unfortunately he was forced to stop every now and again for basic needs like bathing and sustenance and it was nearing that time again. Being a vampire meant he could hole himself in the shed for about a week before he finally caved and went back inside the house. It was almost a game now. How long could he stay inside before he gave up and started working again? The point was to keep increasing the time incrementally until he wasn't so crazed, but he could only ever stay in the house for about a half-hour before he caved and went back out to the workshop again. Fucking weak. He was ashamed of himself, but it was hard to care when he was the only one around.

With a sigh, he stood up to his full height and turned off the sander, leaving it resting on the board before turning around and shutting off the stereo system. Instant silence. It sliced through him like a blade, almost making him flinch. His jaw clenched in frustration, steeling himself for the next couple hours of hell as he pulled the goggles over his head the threw them on the back wall shelf more forcefully than needed. Peter tensely sauntered out the door into the backyard, his hands clenched tightly into large fists, as he made his way across the grass and up to the back door. After sliding the glass open and stepping inside, his eyes darted around the same way they did every time he came inside the house. Charlotte was everywhere. Peter could clearly see her sitting on the large leather sofa watching tv, in the kitchen trying to bake cupcakes for literally no reason, coming through the front door after hunting—there was no escaping her and he closed his eyes tight against the memories for a brief moment. He let out a frustrated grunt and forced his legs to move forward, ignoring the strangling grip of sadness on his heart. Instead, Peter simply kept his head down and moved forward towards the stairs and into his bedroom.

He didn't look up, didn't think, just took a few long pounding strides across the room and into the bathroom. Once the shower had gotten to it's hottest temperature, Peter stripped out of his white tank, ripped jeans and work boots, leaving them in a forgotten pile on the floor. In the shower he closed his eyes under the spray and focused hard on the sensation of warm water running down his body in rivulets, washing away the itchy wooden film that had clung to him. In quiet moments like this he wondered if his life had any chances of improving. As an unchanging vampire who lived in the middle of a vast forest, holing himself up in one room for weeks at a time, how do you move forward with your life? How do things ever get better when there's nothing around to help make it better? Peter cut his own thoughts off abruptly. He was already having a rough time without adding all his extra emo bullshit into the mix.

The shower lasted for hours. Warm water slowly transformed to cold, but he hardly felt a difference against his hard skin. He was reluctant to leave its relaxing confines and venture back out into the frigid house, but he did anyway, toweling off and making his way to the closet while avoiding eye contact with the bed—the place where his most vivid memories of Charlotte took place. She would be there, waiting patiently to give herself over while looking like a beautiful angel in a halo of blonde locks. Peter could almost feel the bed's gaze burning through the skin of his back, but he rigidly continued to look away and flipped through his shirt selection. It was easy choosing new clothes because he wore the same thing every damn day; jeans, work boots, and a white tank with a plaid shirt.

He had to go hunt. It had been a while and his throat burned something fierce at the back of his neck as he swallowed venom against it. Lately he had been making a habit of waiting too long to feed, something he scolded himself for on a regular basis but never remedied. Plus, his poor truck was still parked lifelessly forgotten in the driveway and needed to be driven to avoid damage. He tried to ignore the pang of guilt he felt for an inanimate object as he smoothly ducked into the driver's seat and revved the engine. He also fought the urge to talk and apologize to it. The drive was predictably boring as he drove into town and used the narrow dirt road to guide him through the trees. It took about an hour and half to get into town with two-thirds of the drive cutting through the forest, so unfortunately there was plenty of time to be alone with his thoughts. Mostly he tried to think about inconsequential things like supplies he would be needing or ideas for his next project, but eventually they all somehow lead back to Charlotte. Never in a million years would he admit this out loud, but Peter was worried. He knew he was acting ridiculous by wallowing in his depression and shutting out the world, but he didn't know how to stop. She was everywhere. How do you get over someone when you can't get away from them? Randomly he realized this was one of the few times he ever allowed himself to go into town. He only ever made the drive when he needed supplies or to quench his thirst, and those were strictly for survival purposes. Ideally he would never have to leave the workshop, and being an immortal vampire made that a viable option. Concern for his well-being swelled as he actually seriously considered it.

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Once in town, Peter parked his car in a decent neighborhood and began aimlessly walking the sidewalks in search for his prey. Scumbag hunting was an art that required patience and a keen eye. Villains come in a plethora of packages that can't be confined to one bad area or one sleazy bar. It required time. Peter wandered around the dark city with his hands in his pockets and his head down, melting into the city's noise to better observe his surroundings. The air was heavy, foggy with secretive whispers as he watched the drunks stumble and the drug dealers pass around small packages in their palms. He left them all alone though, waiting for the real kind of evil that lives like an endless ocean in the soul. Hours went by with nothing more than surface, petty crimes. It wasn't until he neared a small strip club that his steps finally slowed.

The front was covered in large neon signs that dramatized the shadows of the alleyways and shrouded them in complete darkness, but didn't stop Peter from seeing a tall, gangly, blonde man shove a woman out a side door and into the alleyway. Hiding in the shadows made from a building across the street, he watched as Mr. Thin Man suddenly shot his hand out to the woman's lower neck and pushed her up against the brick wall with force. She gasped, but could thankfully still breathe since his hand was at the base of her neck, pushing on her collar bones with the span of his thumb and index finger. Peter could tell how beautiful she was—blonde, tall, statuesque and legs for days—but she looked too thin in her tiny, gold bikini with her ribs sticking out more than was healthy. She seemed to have a sweaty sheen to her skin, makeup harshly covered up her beautiful face, and her hair was in total disarray, twisting all around her head chaotically. Mr. Thin Man yelled at her while she tried to catch her breath. "WHERE THE FUCK IS KATIE, VAL?" He pulled back and shoved her into the wall again, getting more in her face. "Because you know we sure as fuck can't rely on you to carry this operation tonight."

Val was visibly outraged, her body rigid as she tried to rein it in. "She's fucking SICK Roy, just like she told you! And that's not code for anything. She's got a cold, like fucking normal people get from time to time. You can call her cell and check-in if you need proof," she yelled angrily, but not moving a muscle.

"Well that's just FUCKING DANDY for her isn't it?! She's sick and gets a nice day off, while I'm here short a girl." He moved closer, pressing his entire body up against hers. "But I'm LOSING MONEY HERE! And you BETTER find a way to make it up to me because if I'm not getting paid then you're not getting paid either. Do we understand each other?" There was never any kind of response. Roy gradually leaned in, running his nose along the side of her face while his hand gently moved up to grip her neck more fully. He didn't start choking her, but instead used his hand placement as a silent threat. She turned her head to the side a tiny bit to give him better access to her neck, allowing Peter to see her face better. When her dull, lifeless eyes came into view, there was no question who Peter's next victim was going to be. It was obvious situations like this had occurred before and that Val was accustomed to sacrificing herself for the sake of her friends. Peter's gift may have been filling in some of the blanks, but it was hardly necessary. Her eyes said everything he needed to know in that moment.

Without a second thought he started to move forward and sauntered across the street towards them, making Val's eyes grow large and fearful at the sight. Peter forced himself to remain casual in appearance with a blank expression and his hands buried in his pockets as if witnessing alleyway horrors was an everyday occurrence. Given his hard past, it wasn't too difficult. Val was becoming increasingly more alarmed the closer he got, but it wasn't fear for herself that plagued her, it was fear for Peter. He could tell. That only encouraged him more as he stopped right in front of the couple and cockily stared daggers at Roy, waiting for his wandering hands to stop now that a new guest had arrived. However, there was no signs of Mr. Thin Man slowing down his vile exploration, which forced Peter to forcefully clear his throat in annoyance.

Roy stayed pressed up against Val, but raised his head to look at Peter with an eyebrow lifted in skeptical amusement. "Can I fucking help you? I'm a little busy right now."

Peter gathered all of his pissed off irritation and used it to his advantage, making his voice hard. "We have some business to attend to, you and I. And it's not the kind of thing we can do with a bunch of fucking horny bastards around," he said with a head nod towards the strip club.

Mr. Thin Man squinted his eyes at him in suspicion. "And who do you work for exactly?"

"Theo," Peter replied automatically with the information his brain had given him.

"Oh," Roy replied as his body visibly relaxed. "Well why didn't you just say that man?" Apparently Peter was now his buddy and the sudden change in his demeanor was jarring. Roy turned back to Val who was still stiffly standing and barely moving a muscle. "Get back inside and get to work. We can talk again later," he said suggestively. Val did nothing but nod and turn back to the door, gliding it open. She stepped back into the smoke and pulsing beat of the music that slowly faded away as the door swung closed once again. Peter and Roy were alone.

Mr. Thin Man let out a deep sigh as he turned to face Peter fully, a resigned look on his face. "I'll have the money by the end of the night, then we can make the exchange. If your worried about it, you can even stay here and keep an eye on me. Get a couple free dances out of it."

Peter didn't know what he was talking about and he didn't want to. He finally let go of his anger and it gushed out of him in waves, making his skin burn in anticipation. "No," he said simply as he began taking slow, calculated steps forward. "That's not the reason I'm here."

Roy narrowed his eyes again in annoyance, forced to back up deeper into the alley with Peter's advance. "Well then what—"

Peter kept his voice low and it shook like an earthquake from deep inside his core. His gift had told him enough about Roy to last a lifetime. "You won't be hurting those girls anymore." His hands reached out and gripped Mr. Thin Man's head on either side. Roy's eyes widened with real fear right before Peter twisted sharply, feeling the crack before the body went limp against him. He didn't waste time. Peter propped the limp body against his, resting the head on his shoulder and lifting an arm around his neck to begin the trek back to the car. He was gentle and caring along the way, acting like his friend had passed out drunk and people looked at him in sympathy without suspecting a thing. Peter even went as far as buckling Roy into the front seat before taking off towards home.

Right as he crossed the wood's threshold, he stopped the car and whipped around to the front to grab the body and bite into the flesh of his neck. The extra time hadn't lessened the flavor and the blood rolled down his throat like melted butter. Peter felt his body calm and relax slightly, the frenzy of the feed leaving him as the blood supply ended. He left Roy in the dirt as he grabbed the shovel from the bed of his truck and began scooping up mounds of damp earth. Digging a good grave takes time even as a vampire and it was a good half-hour before Peter could throw the body in. As he showered the wretched Roy in dirt, he wondered if Val would say anything to the Police when Mr. Thin Man went missing. Awful things had been done to her, so he wasn't too worried about her spilling the beans, but even if she did Peter wasn't concerned—he already kept an extremely low profile.

Once the dirty deed was done, Peter felt a little better. He was fed, the burn in his throat had dulled, and he had spared the world from one more fucked up person. He sauntered over to the truck bed and was putting the shovel back when a large spike shot right through Peter's temple into the center of his skull. "AHHHH MOTHER FUCKER!" His right hand gripped the side of his head as he bent over and the left let go of the shovel, letting it fall into the truck with loud clang that rang through the empty forest. It was like his brain was pulsing and the dagger was being driven into his head over and over again. "GOD DAMN IT," He shouted, trying to get a grip. This only happened when his gift was about to tell him something really important, but it never ceased to scare the shit out of him. Every major event in his vampire life had been bookmarked in his perfect memory with this excruciating pain. Of course, out of all the vampire gifts he could have received, he gets the one that likes the squeeze the shit out of his brain from time to time.

All at once information started pouring in, almost too much for his vampire mind to handle. There was a girl. She was in trouble and desperately needed help. Attacked. Turned. Revenge. Abandoned. Tortured. Pain. Sadness. Mate. Wait, mate?! She was his mate. But Charlotte was suppose to be his mate. No, his brain immediately answered. Your mate is in danger. Just the mere thought of his hypothetical mate being in trouble tugged at his heart and made his monster vibrate in distress, but the logical side of his brain was in a thick haze of shocked confusion. Part of him was ready to jump inside the truck and start driving, no questions asked. He forced himself to stop, a low, rumbling growl escaping his chest as he fought against his body with his hands balled into tight fists at his sides. Focus. Emotion was getting in the way and Peter forced himself to push it all aside. The worry, fear, confusion, anger, heartache—all of it got locked away in the corner of his brain for him to deal with later. Instead he concentrated on the facts. There was a girl, who was his mate, and she needed help. Now. A woman vampire named Victoria was seeking revenge and was on the move, planning an attack. Panic started shooting through his venom-filled veins as he realized Victoria had sought help from Maria and they were in cahoots with one another. They must have made some kind of deal—Maria doesn't do anything for free. Yes, his brain agreed. Peter and Maria had a history, but he had never heard of this Victoria before. How did they know one another? The legends perhaps. Peter needed to drive up to Washington and grab the girl before she woke up and decimated the whole town in her hunger, which is probably what the crazy bitch wanted in the first place.

He stood frozen behind his truck for one long moment, fighting himself like the stubborn ass he was. As much as he didn't want to admit it, his heart still belonged to Charlotte. Peter was in love with her, despite her terrible behavior, and was still mourning her loss. Learning he had a mate didn't change any of that and he didn't want to risk his skin for someone he didn't even know. This entire thing was just pissing him the fuck off. But even so, she was his mate. And that one word had the power to make him do almost anything. With a loud groaning-yell that stemmed from the back of his throat, he slammed the tailgate of his truck closed and glided around to the driver's seat before heading for home. He whipped through the forest and down the dirt road, making a list in his mind of everything he might need for the journey.