Darkward Vampfic Contest

Title: Waiting For Your Essence

Penname: SophiaAnne

Beta: Tymberwulf

Disclaimer: Twilight and its characters are the creation and property of Stephanie Meyer, and no copyright infringement is intended by this variation on her themes.

http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/community/Darkward_Vampfic_Contest/72958/

Summary: AU. Seriously AU, as in there are massive liberties with Twilight vampire canon. As Halloween approaches, Bella's dreams are stalked by a mysterious man.

\/ \/

She wakes with a start and shivers, her skin chilled despite the blanket she's huddled beneath. All is quiet, but the moonlight is as bright as day shining through her window. She rolls away, nestling further into the cocoon of her blanket, and then she hears it. Her name, called faint and soft, yet commanding.

"Oh, Bella," the voice croons. "It's time. Come to me."

She emerges from the bed, confused as she surveys the room. The walls are stone, thick and dark, as is the floor. She glances down at the long white nightgown that's made of a soft, thin material.

This is not her room.

She hears the voice again, calling her name, seductive as he sings out, "Bella, come out, come out, now. I'm waiting for you."

She moves to the window and peers down below to the man standing in the grass. He's illuminated by moonlight, his face revealed as he tips it back to stare up at her. His eyes catch her, hold her even from the distance, their dark depths full of promises of things she can't even contemplate, if she'll only come to him.

She can't seem to look away as he raises a hand, crooks a finger and beckons her in silence. She finds herself nodding, entranced, and her feet move, one in front of the other, without conscious thought. She is barefoot, the stone beneath her feet cold as she moves down hallways and passages she's never seen that seem strangely familiar. She descends to where he waits.

His mouth turns up in a smile that makes her shiver as she emerges onto the lawn and stands before him. He moves towards her, his fingers ghosting against the side of her face, not quite touching.

"I've waited for you for so long," he murmurs. "So very long. And now, now you're mine."

A part of her mind protests that she's not his, that she's not even sure who he is or why she's here, but there's a stronger pull inside, a visceral tether that makes her nod and step closer so that she's nearly touching him. The proximity soothes her and she takes a breath. His smile deepens.

"That's right, my lamb, come closer."

She's filled with a longing that unreasonable and irrational, but so sharp, so intense that she gives in and follows. She needs him to touch her now. Her head lolls to the side, baring her neck in the moonlight.

He obliges her, his fingers following the line of her throat, cool against her skin, and she gasps, the tiny points of contact lighting up her body.

"More," she hears herself beg, boldly pressing herself against him now.

"Say it," he growls, his arms now encasing her, making her feel whole, complete when she hadn't realized she was lacking. "Who do you belong to?"

"You. I'm yours."

He cradles her head in his hand and descends, smooth lips meeting skin, sharp teeth slicing through flesh. He drinks deeply as she screams.

Bella sat up in bed with a start, hands clutching at her throat as she felt the skin there, intact and unbroken. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her heart that seemed about to pound out of her chest.

"Bella? You okay?" a sleepy voice asked from the other side of the dorm room.

A lamp light clicked on, and Bella covered her eyes at the sudden brightness.

"I'm sorry, Rose. It was just a bad dream. I didn't mean to wake you up. I'm just going to go get some water."

"Was it zombies?" Rose asked, as she rolled over. "Ever since Emmett dragged us to that haunted house last weekend, I've been dreaming they want my brains."

Bella laughed. "No, no zombies. Go back to sleep."

She grabbed a cup and her robe, and quietly shut the door behind her as she shuffled into the hallway and towards the bathroom. It was deserted for once, the fluorescents giving a sickly glow to the white tile. Filling her cup halfway at one of the sinks, she watched herself in the mirror as she slowly sipped.

It had felt so real.

She touched her neck again, the blue vein just barely visible beneath the skin. What was her mind trying to tell her with that gothic bodice ripper of a dream?

She'd been in an old house, like some kind of English country manor. Was she reading too much Jane Austen?

And the man. No, that vampire. Her skin seemed to prickle as she closed her eyes and remembered his face. He'd been beautiful, his face like some kind of fallen angel. And those eyes. She'd been mesmerized by them, willing to acquiesce to any request.

Weren't vampires suppose to be a metaphor for sex? Maybe that's what her subconscious was trying to draw to her attention. Sex. Or the lack thereof in her life.

She looked at her reflection, cheeks now flushed, and shook her head. Zombie dreams would be so much easier.

\/ \/

Bella pulled into the parking lot of the assisted living facility and glanced at herself in the rearview mirror, frowning at the dark circles under her eyes from her lack of sleep.

"Thanks, nightmare guy," she muttered under her breath, as she picked up her plate of cookies from the passenger seat.

She made her way down the hallway, camouflaged in pastels in an attempt at cheerfulness to hide the sterility of the place, and stopped at the door where a construction paper cutout of a pumpkin bore her grandmother's name. Margaret Higgenbotham.

"Grammy?" She knocked softly on the door, hoping today would be a good day. She pushed the door slightly and leaned in, spotting her grandmother sitting by the window.

"Hey Grammy, how are you today?" She walked in, her smile bright as she crossed the room. Cheerful and upbeat, that was always her goal, no mattered how much seeing her grandmother this way made her want to cry.

Her grandmother turned her head slowly, her eyes bright. "Jemma? I haven't seen you in so long."

Bella bit her lip as she leaned in to hug her grandmother. Jemma was her mother's sister, the one who'd been killed before Bella was born.

"No, Grammy, it's Bella. Renee's daughter? I brought you cookies!" she said brightly, settling into one of the uncomfortable chairs provided for guests.

Her grandmother tilted her head to the side, regarding her carefully. "The first born."

Bella nodded and patiently repeated again, "That's right. I'm the first born, Renee's daughter. And then there's Aunt Betsy's children – Bobby and Emma. Do you remember them? Bobby's getting so big, he's fourteen now, and Emma's twelve."

It was going to be one of those visits she could tell, where her grandmother was barely lucid in her ramblings. She reached for the photo album they kept on the dresser and started to flip through it.

Her grandmother's hand caught her arm. "How old?"

Bella paused. "How old am I? I just turned nineteen, Granny, in September."

Her grandmother gestured her closer, so Bella put the book aside and knelt at her feet. Her grandmother took Bella's chin in her hand and studied her face. "Soon. It will be soon."

Bella felt the prickle she'd felt after her dream the night before crawl over her skin. "What do you mean, soon?"

"You are the one," her grandmother murmured. "I knew when you were born, that you would be the one, that it would come to you. It's always the first born."

Her grandmother released Bella and leaned back in her chair, her gaze distant again as her fingers caressed the faint silvered lines of an old scar on the left side of her neck.

"Did you sleep well, child?" she asked.

Bella moved back into her own seat, feeling unbalanced by her grandmother's proclamation. "Not, not really. I had dreams."

"What sorts of dreams?"

Bella laughed, "Nothing, really. It was silly."

"I've told you before, dreams should not be taken lightly, Jemma. When he calls you, you must go."

She froze in her chair. "I'm sorry, what was that, Grammy?"

Her grandmother gave her a small smile, her eyes more lucid now. "When it was my turn, and he called, I gave myself to him willingly. And he let me live." Her hand lovingly traced the scar once more.

Bella shook her head slowly and rose. "I'll be back in a few minutes, Grammy."

"Of course, Jemma."

She hurried to the door and found the nurse on call.

\/ \/

His voice is louder now, more insistent. "Bella? I'm waiting for you. Come to me now."

She hears him, feels the tug and pull to go to him, but she's frightened. Her feet are bare, and the wet grass chills them as she ducks into another turn of the maze of hedges she's lost within. She turns away from the force drawing her like iron to a lodestone.

Her breath is coming fast as she runs, turning this way and that, her legs twisting in the long white gown, trying to find a way out. Or is she trying to find a way to him? She's not sure now.

She stumbles around another corner, her ankle suddenly twisting beneath her and she tumbles into an opening with a small white fountain in the center, flanked by benches.

Through the water, she sees a shimmer, a mirage, and then reality. He's here. Waiting for her as promised.

He walks to her slowly, leaning to scoop her effortlessly from her tangled heap on the ground and into his arms. She feels it again, the sense of completion, as he sits on a bench, cradling her on his lap.

"Were you bringing me your gift? Or running away from me?" he asks, and she finds herself unable to answer. She's not sure of anything anymore.

She's mesmerized by his perfection, and her fingers move of their own volition towards his face. That smile emerges again, and she realizes he's pleased.

"You may touch me." His lips move, and she presses her fingers to them. His tongue darts out, wrapping around one fingertip and drawing it in, and before she can react, she feels a sharp nip.

She gasps as he delicately laps at the blood that wells there. "A small treat," he says. "That's why you came, isn't it?"

She finds herself nodding.

He gives one last long lick to her finger, and she watches, fascinated, as he swallows, clearly savoring her blood.

"They promised me that you would be like nothing else, that you would be worth waiting for. And yet, your taste, it is beyond even my wildest dreams."

Her body is reacting to his words, to his hands that are moving on her, still chaste, yet making her skin feel too tight, as though she might explode. She lets her head fall back as he cradles her, his tongue tracing a path up the sensitive skin of her neck.

And then he bites.

Her eyes flew open as she fought to catch her breath. Her heart felt as though it might pound out of her chest. She fumbled for the light, feeling very alone in the room, with Rose away for the weekend.

She tossed back the covers, and scrambled on shaky legs to the mirror, craning her neck right and left to reveal nothing.

Her grandmother's words from the previous weekend resurfaced from where she'd tried to bury them.

When he calls, you must go.

She shivered, grabbed a blanket and a book, and spent the rest of the night in the hall lounge with all the lights and the television on.

\/ \/

The next morning, Bella walked down the sterile hallway, a bright pot of mums clutched carefully in her hands, and stopped before the room with her grandmother's name on it. She knocked softly, waiting for the response, then pushed open the door.

"Hi, Grammy," she said, stooping to give her grandmother a swift kiss on the cheek. "I brought you a flower this week."

"Oh, they're lovely, Bella." Her grandmother leaned forward and sniffed the flowers. "I adore that shade of crimson."

"I'll put them right over here on the windowsill," Bella replied, turning away swiftly to hide the relief on her face as she wiped away a tear that threatened to fall. This was the first time her grandmother had remembered her in a month. Maybe this week would be easier than the last.

She turned back, and pulled one of the uncomfortable chairs provided by the assisted care home for visitors over to her grandmother's seat by the window. "Have you had a good week?"

Her grandmother nodded. "The leaves are starting to fall. I like to watch them out the window."

"They are beautiful," Bella replied.

"When they're gone, I will be too."

Bella shook her head. "Grammy, don't say those kind of things." She picked up her grandmother's hand, lined and fragile, the skin almost paper thin, and held it gently.

Her grandmother smiled and touched Bella's cheek softly with her other hand. "My child, there's a time for everything, and I know mine is near its end. There are things I need to tell you while I'm feeling well today."

She rose slowly, and moved to the dresser, opening a drawer. "I asked Betsy to get this from the safe deposit box for me. It's something that each first-born daughter in our family is to have. I should have given it to you sooner."

Bella looked at the old wooden box her grandmother had placed in her hands, covered in intricate carvings.

"What is it?"

"It's a talisman and a journal, one kept by the women in our family through the years. Read it soon, and then come and ask me whatever questions you have." She touched Bella's face gently again, searching her eyes. "I'm sorry to take so long to give you your birthright, child. But this inheritance will be with you long after I'm gone."

Bella stared at her in confusion, the box feeling heavy in her hands. "Alright. Thank you, Grammy."

"You're welcome, Jemma."

Bella shook her head, "No, remember, it's me, Bella."

Her grandmother stared at her for a long minute, her cool blue eyes seeming to sharpen for a moment.

"Of course, of course, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I just miss her so, sometimes." She smiled, but her alertness was visibly fading. "I'm tired now. I think I'd like to lie down for a bit. Would you mind?"

Bella shook her head, helping her grandmother to the bed and sitting beside her as she drifted off to sleep. She watched the gentle rise and fall of her grandmother's chest for another few minutes, her fingers absently tracing the carvings on the box before she rose and slipped from the room.

She made it to her car, the tremble in her hands suddenly making themselves known as she sat down the strange box. She eased the lid off and stared at the twisted ivory knot secured on a thin piece of black silk. She moved it aside, and lifted the cloth wrapped around the book underneath. It seemed fragile, and she gently lifted the cover, staring down at the text on the opening page.

Diary of Maeve Moran.

She reached for her phone.

"Mom?"

Her mother's voice was distant as she fumbled with the phone, but finally rang through clear.

"Bella? Is that you? Did you go see your grandmother?"

Bella swallowed. "I did. She was better. Well, she knew who I was today. But, Mom, she kept talking about dying."

"Betsy said the same thing – she said Mom was having her go get things for people – just little mementos she wants to give away, I think. We're going to drive down tomorrow and see her. Want us to take you to out to dinner after?"

"I guess," Bella replied. "She gave me this necklace – it's some kind of ivory knot – sort of like those Celtic things? And an old book."

"Her mother's family was from Ireland. You know she came over when she was very young, although I don't think she remembers much about it," her mother responded. "I didn't know she had a journal like that. I'd love to see it sometime."

"Sure, Mom." Bella sighed. "It just feels strange, you know, her talking about dying. And she called me Jemma again."

"I know, Bella, but she's been sick for so long now. When I was younger – she was . . ." Her mother trailed off with a small laugh. "I don't even know how to describe her. She was something else. But after Jemma . . . well, I think that really changed her."

"What did happen to Aunt Jemma, Mom? I know she died, but no one ever talks about it."

There was a long silence. "She was murdered, Bella. She was almost eight years older than me, you know, but I remember when she left home. I think I must have been ten or eleven. Jemma was beautiful, but so headstrong. She and Mother clashed all the time – they seemed to fight over everything. She didn't want to go to college, wanted to make it on her own, so she moved to New York City – it nearly broke Mother's heart."

"And something happened there?" Bella asked.

"She was killed in some kind of mugging gone wrong – that's what the police thought." Her mom was silent. "Her throat was all cut up - it was terrible."

"Oh," Bella replied. "I'm sorry, Mom – I didn't know it was like that."

"It was a long time ago. Actually, now that I think of it, it will be thirty years in a few days - she was killed on Halloween."

\/ \/

Her dorm room was deadly quiet when Bella returned, and she started at the jingle of her keys sliding off the desk as she laid them to close to the edge.

She jumped, giggling nervously. "Pull yourself together, girl," she commanded herself.

She sat the carved box to the side of her desk and pulled out her history text, flipping through the assigned reading and trying to organize her notes to study for her upcoming test. But her eyes kept straying back to the box and she finally pushed her textbook away.

She lifted the box lid again, studying the swirls that formed an intricate design in the wood and tracing their textures. It was beautiful the way the lines blended in and out, forming some sort of cohesive design that seemed to interlock in a way that blurred where it began and where it ended.

She laid the lid carefully aside, and pulled out the ivory knot, recognizing now that the pattern was the same. Her fingers glided over the cool surface and she realized that the white material was a type of stone worn smooth and polished over the years. She lifted the ribbon and slid it over her neck, staring down at the stone that now lay on against the slope of her breast, nestling as though it belonged there.

The soft material covering the book beneath slipped away and she gingerly sat the book on her desk, trying to touch the worn pages as little as possible. The book opened and she looked at the front page.

Diary of Maeve Moran

She turned the next page and immersed herself in the first entry dated the fifth of October of 1803.

Mamai says that I am to keep a journal now, to help organize my thoughts and prepare me for what is to come. Mr. Cullen came to call today. His surety that his offer will be accepted is galling, but I remained polite as he sat with Mamai and attended to the niceties. It's rather amusing to know that even the undead feel compelled to be on their best behavior with Mamai, lest she manage to turn them into some sort of toad. A vampire toad! What an amusing thought.

I am less sure of what to make of all this. I understand the possible advantages that could lie from such a match to them – the power flows strong in our family, and the unrest among the clans of the undead leads them to seek leverage wherever they may find it to ensure their dominance.

But what benefit to us? I am not sure that I wish to spend my eternity with such a creature.

Bella skimmed past the next few entries as Maeve's reluctance seem to grow greater to the possible match with this vampire, despite his attempts to charm and woo her, her longing for independence growing stronger in proportion to his suit. Near the end of the series, written in Maeve's delicate script, was a final entry dated the thirtieth of October.

I knew that Mamai would not let me simply become a blood mare, which I fear is Mr. Cullen's ultimate objective for me. He may profess to be in awe of my talents for bending the elements, but I've seen him gaze longingly at my neck one too many times. She has agreed that there is no ultimate advantage to the women of the Moran, and that we shall call this nonsense off. A binding spell tomorrow night on Samhain will provide protection for any retribution from my erstwhile suitor or his brethren. I'll not deny that the lot of them are a well-formed group, but this turn shall be for the best.

Bella turned the page, searching for the next entry. What happened to Maeve?

It appeared that some pages had been ripped out, the torn edges shredded close to the binding, leaving the next entry as one dated twenty-five years later. The handwriting, more rounded and girlish, proclaimed that these entries belonged to a Claire Moran. The entries began again in early October of 1828.

I told Mother about my dream, about the man who came and called my name. She cried and gave me this book to write it. She's worried that the vampire will come for me as he did for her sister long ago. She's given me charms to wear, and said extra blessings over me for the past three nights. Perhaps they'll keep him away. I've never met a vampire before.

Bella read ahead. The charms didn't work. Claire's nights were soon filled with dreams of the vampire that grew stronger and stronger as the month waned and the festival of Samhain neared. She reported the coven of the Moran women, smaller and weaker now after her grandmother's death, searched in vain for how to halt his lures. The last entry was on the thirty-first of October.

He has yet to make his presence known in the flesh, despite the diligent searches of my sisters and aunts. And yet, he's with me now. I feel him inside me, drawing me to him. I no longer can tell this to Mother, her cheeks grow so pale, but he is all I can think of now. He consumes my thoughts. Tonight, tonight he will find me and I will be his.

Three hours later, Bella shut the book in disbelief, startled to find the room nearly dark around her except for the pool of light generated by the small desk lamp. Her ancestors were witches? Powerful witches who had attempted to double cross a coven of vampires? And somehow had been cursed for doing so – doomed to provide a blood sacrifice of their first-born daughter in each generation?

Sheer insanity. None of this could be real. Vampires didn't exist outside of Hollywood and the pages of books. There was no such thing as a real witch – not ones that had actual powers. This had to be some sort of hoax. Her grandmother's mind had been wavering for years – could this be some product of her growing dementia?

Bella stared at the final pages at her grandmother's own account of her encounter with the vampire, the one who'd drank from her, but let her live, and then a few lines about Jemma, who'd refused to believe any of this was true until it was too late. It seemed so real, so vivid – and the generations of women so unique that she couldn't convince herself that her grandmother had done this alone.

The alternative – that this wasn't some elaborate fake – made her blood run cold.

\/ \/

She's huddled in her bed, waiting, knowing she'll hear his voice soon. It's echoed in her head throughout the day; the way her name falls from his lips makes it sound beautiful. He calls it with longing, desire, passion.

She feels wanted, even if only for what's coursing through her veins.

She wants to resist tonight. Ignore the pull and tug inside of her, like the finest silk that binds her to him. The thought of refusing him makes her feel sick inside.

And then it comes, the sweetest music that soothes her nerves frayed from a long day of waiting for night to come.

"Bella. Come to me now."

The pretense of withstanding his commands is abandoned in a moment as she tosses away the barriers of blankets and flies from her chamber through the hallways and down the stairs.

He's waiting for her in front. His mouth curves in a smile at her eagerness and he takes her hand gently, cool lips caressing the flesh of her fingers with a single touch that makes her body flush.

She is embarrassed by the intensity of her reaction, but he tilts her face up to his and shakes his head.

"Your blood know what it wants, my lamb. You must let your mind follow."

Her flush grows deeper but she allows how to lead her further into the manicured gardens to a secluded alcove created by well-formed hedges. He seats himself, drawing her down onto his lap and pulling her close, his eyes trained on hers.

"Are you ready, my Bella?"

She foregoes the pretense of agreement and bares her neck to him, the longing for what he'll give her, for the bliss and burn of his teeth burying themselves in her, taking her life into his, so great she can no longer wait.

He lingers for a moment however, his tongue tracing a delicate path up the fragile flesh wrapped around her veins as if to savor what is to come. She hears her voice, strained and breathy, almost foreign as she begs him.

"Please."

He bites.

Bella's eyes darted open and she lifted her head from the desk, bolting upright as she rubbed the crick in the back of her neck from the awkward position she'd slept in, half-inclined across the desk.

She shouldn't have read that book – it just put more stupid dreams in her head. She'd go talk with her grandmother again – this had to be some really bad hoax. These sorts of things just didn't happen.

The illuminated dial of her alarm clock displayed the late hour, and Bella stood up, stretching and feeling her heart rate slowing as she hastily changed into a t-shirt to sleep in and staggered towards the bed.

She paused at the window and glanced down into the parking lot, her body frozen motionless as she saw the figure standing below beneath a lamppost, gaze firmly fixed on her window.

It was him.

She gripped the edge of the windowsill, eyes locked with his as she felt the longing roll through her body, the sudden overwhelming desire to run to him. She watched as his perfect lips moved, mouthing one word.

"Soon."

She inhaled sharply, and closed her eyes. When she opened them, there was nothing below but a parking lot of empty cars. She rubbed her eyes, grabbed her blanket and pillow, and hurried back to the floor lounge to hide.

\/ \/

"Rough weekend, Bells?" Rose asked, as she dropped her bag on her bed. "You look like you barely slept."

Bella glanced up from the textbook she had propped up in front of her that she'd been staring at blindly for hours. "It was alright. Just nervous about this exam coming up."

Rose pulled an item from her bag and turned around. "Well, I went shopping this weekend and found the perfect Halloween costume for you!" She held up a long flowing skirt and a brightly patterned scarf. "Gypsy! It'll be perfect with your dark hair, and it's easy. I got the same thing." She held up another skirt. "In fact, a whole group of us are going to dress the same and go out together on Saturday night – hit all the parties."

Bella glanced at the items and shrugged. "I don't know, Rose."

"C'mon, Bella. You need to get out more. It'll be fun," Rose pleaded. "Oh, and you have to come with us tomorrow – we all need to go out to that shop. You know, the one where you can get your palm read? We thought we'd get some crystals and stuff to go with our outfits. Somebody told me the fortune teller there is a real witch. Creepy, right?"

A real witch. Bella closed her book. "Count me in."

\/ \/

The bell on the front door jangled, its harshness making Bella jump as she followed the others into the shop. From the outside it was unassuming, a tiny old house on the corner, dollhouse perfect with its white picket fence and window boxes of brightly blooming fall flowers.

The inside was more what she'd expected. The front room felt dark and heavy with its richly patterned drapes lining the walls and blocking out the sunlight. There were racks of charms, and the requisite crystals and palmistry charts displayed around the room.

She heard the giggles of the girl in front of her and looked up to see a gorgeous guy who looked to be in his mid-twenties, golden hair and blue eyes twinkling at them as he held out a hand to Jessica in front.

"Good afternoon. I'm Jasper, the proprietor of this fine shop. What can I help you lovely ladies with today?"

"You can help me with anything you want," murmured Lauren quietly, and Rose turned to frown at her.

"We have a wide array of mystical items to aid you – crystals for health, tarot cards, even a few love potions – not that any of you would need such a thing." He winked at them and the crowd gave a collective sigh. "But if it's your future you seek, Madame Mina is available for appointments this afternoon as well."

"Oh, we're just looking for a few things," Rose announced.

Bella stepped forward before she lost her nerve. "I'd like to see Madame Mina, please."

Ignoring the strange look from Rose, she waited patiently while Jasper left to go get the psychic. She watched the other girls mill about until she heard the sound of small heels clicking down the hallway from the rear.

"Good afternoon, and what can Madame Mina do for you today?"

The woman was tiny, her short, dark hair a cloud around her pale face, gold bangle earrings jingling slightly as she surveyed the room, then zeroed in on Bella.

"You. You require my assistance."

Bella nodded, and followed her silently down the hallway to a small room. Madame Mina opened the door to reveal more dark draperies blocking the light. There was a small table holding a crystal ball that was flanked with a few chairs.

Bella sat in the spot where Mina gestured her to, clasping her hands nervously as the psychic took her own seat and held out her hand to her.

"Why don't we start by reading your palm?"

Bella nodded and placed her hand awkwardly on the table in front of her. Madame Mina leaned forward, her fingers starting to trace across the lines, when she suddenly jerked back with a jolt and stared up at Bella in disbelief.

"Why are you really here?"

Bella shook her head. "I don't know. I just need to know what's going to happen to me."

"Do you have any idea what kind of power is running through you?" Madame Mina shook her head. "You're not practicing, are you?"

"Practicing?" Bella asked.

"You're a witch, my dear. A hereditary one – the strongest kind. You do know that, don't you?" She paused, her head cocked to the side like a small bird as she leaned forward and grasped Bella's hand more firmly. "Oh my, you don't know. And something's looming. Your aura . . . it's disrupted."

"It's a vampire, I think," Bella choked out. "I know that sounds crazy, but my grandmother gave me this book, and I'm having these dreams, and I think he's coming for me."

The words began to tumble out before she could halt them, the dreams of the vampire, the terrible longing and pull she felt, the book recording the experiences of so many women who'd been visited in the same way. She stopped finally, feeling drained and embarrassed at recounting such a ludicrous tale, yet somehow relieved.

Madame Mina leaned back, her eyes wide. "Bella, why don't we meet later, when we can really talk. Come back after we close, about six. My name's Alice, by the way."

"Alice?" Bella echoed.

She shrugged. "Jasper and I decided Alice didn't sound very awe-inspiring for a psychic."

"And are you?" Bella asked. "Psychic?"

Alice nodded. "All my life. It's a blessing and a curse at times. I'm also a practicing witch, though I'm not hereditary, like you."

"What does that even mean?" Bella asked. "I don't understand any of this."

Alice glanced towards the door. "It's more than I can explain right now, but come back tonight and we'll talk more."

\/ \/

"So, is there a tall, dark, and handsome in your future?" Rose asked, after she emerged from the rear of the shop and joined the others.

"You could say that," Bella replied. "I'm just not sure he's my type."

"Ohh, Bella's gonna have a mystery man," Rose announced. "It's about time!"

Bella smiled tightly, glad when the attention shifted focus away and on to other topics about upcoming parties and costumes for Saturday night.

It was nearly five by the time they reached the dorm. Bella grabbed her bookbag and tossed a few books inside, before carefully adding the wooden box. She picked up her car keys and slid them in her pocket.

"Rose, I'm going to go study in the library for a few hours. I've got a paper coming up I need to do research for. I may be a while though."

Tonight she would get some answers.

Bella stopped for coffee, watching the clock tick by until it was close enough to the appointed hour that she wouldn't appear too early. The drive back to the small shop was short, the lights off and a small closed sign hanging in the window when she arrived. She made her way around to the back as Alice had directed.

The door opened at her knock, and Jasper smiled down at her.

"Bella, come and join us. Alice said you would be stopping by."

"Thanks," she replied, suddenly nervous.

"You came back!" Alice exclaimed, looking more relaxed in a fitted t-shirt and jeans, her jewelry now gone.

"I had to," Bella replied honestly. "I brought the box, the things my grandmother gave me." She sat down her bag and carefully pulled it out to sit on the table before them.

Alice reached out a finger and traced the design. "It's a Dara knot, isn't it Jasper?"

He leaned forward and studied it. "Yes. It's a symbol of power and destiny."

"What was the name of your ancestors, Bella?"

"The Morans. The girl in the journal, the first one, her name was Maeve. She never says her mother's name."

"The Morans. Wait just a minute." Jasper snapped his fingers and left the room.

Alice smiled after him fondly. "He's something of a historian of the supernatural. He collects references, and he's written some articles on the side, though his advisor keeps trying to convince him to stop or at least use another name." She carefully opened the box lid and removed the talisman and book.

"His advisor?" Bella asked.

Alice nodded. "He's working on his doctorate in history."

Jasper returned with a battered volume. "I knew I recognized that name. There's a chapter in this history about the Morans. Aisling Moran was the leader of their coven at its height – towards the end of the 1700s. It was family lineage – did Alice explain that to you?"

Bella shook her head.

"There are two types of witches," Alice explained. "Most people who practice, like myself, learn to draw power from the earth. It requires rigor and devotion – but it doesn't come naturally."

"But I thought you said you were psychic?" Bella asked.

"I did," Alice replied patiently. "That's something different – it runs in my family the way witchcraft runs in yours. You're the second type, Bella. Some people are born with it in their blood. Blood is power – it come naturally. There's still a need to train and practice to learn to channel that energy, but it's inate."

"After Alice told me about your story, Bella, I did some research," Jasper said. "Blood witches are very rare, because despite their power, they're often a target – their blood is fuel for others as well."

"Like vampires," Bella breathed out.

"Exactly," Jasper agreed. "From what I was able to find – and of course you understand that most witches are very circumspect about practicing, so recorded history is limited and closely guarded – but your family, under your many times great-grandmother Aisling, had assembled a group of blood witches that had gathered for protection."

"So why did something happen to Maeve?" Bella asked.

Jasper shook his head. "It's not clear – Aisling is reported as dying in 1804, and the coven broke apart, its power waning after that. One of my special interests is vampire lore, however, and there was a conflict between warring vampire clans during that time as well - perhaps the leader was looking for a way to enhance his own power."

"Bella, we think that somehow the vampire used a thrall to seduce Maeve, and that they've been able to continue this with the women in your family through some means," Alice explained.

"A thrall? What does that mean?" Bella asked.

"It's a type of trance, a way of bending a person's mind to the will of the vampire. It takes years to perfect that skill though – if they were using a form of thrall, perhaps Aisling underestimated the vampire she was dealing with."

"So what do I do?" Bella asked.

Jasper and Alice exchanged glances. "We have an idea."

\/ \/

Bella ran her hand over the carvings of the talisman hanging around her neck as she passed the sign welcoming her to Forks. Rose had been upset when she'd packed her bag this morning to drive home, insisting the plans for Halloween had been spoiled with Bella not joining them.

But tonight was the night. She could feel it. And she wanted to meet him on her own turf.

She made the turn to the quiet street her parents still lived on, finding the house dark as expected. Her parents left town most weekends for their small fishing cabin, and she knew they wouldn't be back until late tomorrow night.

Carrying her bag into the house, she trudged up the stairs to her childhood room and began to unpack. She sat out the candles she gotten from the shop, lit them, then took her position in the middle of them as she tried to remember the simple incantation Alice had taught her to clear her mind and lessen the thrall. She chanted it again and again, committing it to memory, hoping it would be enough.

Satisfied that she was as prepared as she could be for what was to come, she puttered around the house, waiting for darkness to fall. He would find her here. That she was sure of.

As the hours passed, she found herself growing restless. She showered, then began drying and curling her hair, spending far more time on it than she normally would. She froze mid-curl, suddenly aware of what she was doing.

She was preparing herself for him. For the most perverse blind date ever. She started to laugh, feeling the hysteria bubbling just beneath the surface. It had started already, the tendrils inside unfurling, awakening, making her ache. Even knowing that it was the thrall at work didn't make it any easier to resist.

She wanted to be his in every way imaginable and she hated it.

She finished going through the motions mechanically, adding some light makeup, selecting a dark sweater with a deep vee-neck that would display her neck to him, finally resettling the stone charm to hang against her breast, guarding her heart.

All she had to do now was wait.

The sounds of children trick-or-treating as they moved up and down the street rang from outside. She watched from her bedroom window as they passed her darkened house, small groups filled with bunches of tiny goblins and ghosts, witches and vampires. Things that should only exist in twisted fairy tales, not reality.

Her heart beat faster, and she found herself pacing, wishing he'd just come already. She tried to read, then tossed the book aside. She curled up on her bed, clutching her favorite pillow as she turned on her small television. There was little on, horror movie marathons, infomercials, reruns. She flipped the remote in a constant circuit, then gave up, leaving it playing on some movie where teens ran in the obvious wrong directions and screamed as they encountered their mistakes.

She woke with a start, realizing it was now dark, with a steady rainfall outside pattering against the window.

"Bella, it's time now. Come to me."

His voice and the words she'd been waiting for. She rose from the bed, moving to the window, and stared down. His dress was more modern than in her dreams, but still dark. The rain had slicked back his hair, but his eyes, green and deep and hypnotic, remained the same.

He raised his hand, motioning to her with one finger. She felt the movement as if he'd touched her flesh and she struggled to breathe and remember everything before she was too lost to him.

She didn't bother with a jacket or an umbrella, but descended the stairs, and exited into the rear of the house, where heavy woods began at the edge of the yard.

He stood in the center of the yard, waiting, a slow smile turning up the corners of his mouth as he glided towards her. He was inhumanely beautiful in the flesh and she found herself wanting to reach out and trace his face, touch his sharp cheekbones, feel the contours of his lips.

"You've led me quite the chase, my Bella."

She tried to shrug nonchalantly. "This seemed more private than my dorm in Seattle."

He gave a graceful tilt of his head. "Agreed. Forgive me for my rudeness. I am Edward Cullen."

"You seem to know me already," she replied, moving closer to him.

"I suppose you could say I've waited for you for a long time," he replied.

"Since the last one?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Oh no, my Bella. You – you are my first. My older brothers have had the pleasure of your kin, but not I."

He reached out and traced the back of his hand down the length of her arm, taking her hand. She shivered at the sensation and let him draw her closer.

"So that is why you are so very special," he finished.

"Will you – will you kill me?" she managed to ask, as he began to nuzzle her hair, pulling her into a lover's embrace as he encircled her in his arms.

"Perhaps. It's not my wish, but sometimes . . . sometimes it's hard to stop at one bite with something so delicious," he murmured. "And I know that you will be."

He lifted her, as easily as if she'd been a rag doll, and carried her towards the woods. He stopped at the small swingset her parents has set up for her when she was a little girl, and gracefully sank into one of the seats, keeping her on his lap.

He sat for a moment, gently rocking her, one hand tangled in her hair, now wet from the rain, and the other clasped at her waist, holding her to him. His eyes devoured her, raking across her body, and she felt flushed in spite of the cold water.

"Who do you belong to, Bella?"

She closed her eyes, focusing on the incantation from earlier, trying to clear her head, but his voice seemed to drown it out.

"Bella, my sweet, sweet Bella, look at me."

She couldn't help but open her eyes, studying the long lashes that fell against his cheek.

"Who do you belong to?"

"You," she acquiesced. "I'm yours, Edward."

She felt it then, the pure sensation of utter surrender as he claimed her, his mouth finding her neck. She waited for the bite, the jolt of his teeth slicing into her vein, but instead he traced a delicate pattern on her skin, lapping at her flesh and sending tiny jolts through her body at each flick of his cool tongue.

"Magnificent," he moaned. "I never imagined . . ."

One sharp incisor made the first shallow cut, and her body surged against him as he lapped at the swell of blood. She felt as though she were drowning, the feel of his lips against her flesh the center of her existence.

She pressed herself closer, arching harder against him. "More," she pleaded.

He raised his head, one small drop of blood on his lips that he licked away slowly. "I want to savor you slowly."

He gave a last delicate lick to the cut, then moved to the other side of her neck, shifting her body against him. The stone on the ribbon swung against her, the raised edge of the intricate knot pressing sharply into her chest and dragging her to the surface.

It flooded back, what she had to do to break this thrall, to end this once and for all.

His face was buried in the curve of her neck, once again teasing at the delicate skin there. She knew he would bite again soon, and she had to be ready.

She felt the sharp teeth at her skin. Before she could lose her nerve, she leaned forward and bit sharply at his jugular, gulping a mouthful of the coppery substance that gushed into her mouth and forcing herself to swallow.

He was up in a flash, thrusting her from his lap and to the ground as he backed away, staring at her wide-eyed while he clasped his neck where the skin was already quickly healing.

The ground was slick beneath her hands from where she fell, and she dug her fingers into the mud, trying to ground herself. She'd expected to feel differently. Alice and Jasper had theorized that the because the power ran through the blood, interrupting that connection by drinking from the thralling vampire might be the key to breaking it.

But the tug was still there. She could still feel the remnants of the salty tang in her mouth, his essence now running through her body, but the desire for him seemed even stronger now.

He paced on the other side of the swingset, hands raking through his hair, lips moving silently as though he were conversing with himself.

"Did you do that intentionally?" he finally demanded.

"Yes," she replied. "What you were doing – what your family has been doing to mine isn't right. You may kill me if you want, but this thrall has to end."

He knelt in the mud and grass beside her, reaching one hand out to touch her cheek. She noted that he was trembling as he swept a lock of hair behind her hair.

"You don't understand what you've done, do you?" he asked quietly.

She stared at him, confused now.

"The mutual exchange of blood between a vampire and a witch – it's a powerful thing," Edward said. "It was what my father hoped for so long ago when he approached the Morans – an exchange. But it's not to be entered into lightly. Bella, that binding – it's forever. You will always long for my blood now and I for yours. For eternity."

Bella stared at him in horror as the words sank in, then closed her eyes and tilted her head back in a silent scream as the rain continued to pour around them.