Siren Of The Twilight
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or the characters. And I don't own the first part of the prologue below. This chapter will be in third person perspective, but the rest will be in Bella's POV, just like the books and the films.
I'd never given much thought to how I would die.
But dying in the place of someone I love seems like a good way to go…
So I can't bring myself to regret the decision to leave home. I would miss Phoenix.
I'd miss the heat.
I would miss my loving, erratic, harebrained mother. And her new husband.
But they want to go on the road, so I'm gonna spend some time with my Dad, and this will be a good thing…I think.
-Twilight the Movie, Scene 1
The rain poured down on the tiny little airstrip at Port Angeles. Outside the silver wired fence, cars raced past on the highway, interspersed with pockets emerald green Sitka spruces, growing in number as the winding grey snail of the road approached the mountains. To the west, the sun was obscured by the eternal cover of clouds, stormy and dark, threatening on the horizon as they marched ever nearer.
On the tarmac a plane had just landed, and the doors opened onto the stairways propelled by tiny wheels that looked too small to support the metallic weight of its cargo.
From these doors issued a stream of tired, bedraggled passengers, stumbling their way down the icy steps and onto the comforting steadiness of the tarmac as the plane's engines still blew stifling, warm air into their faces.
The muggy heat was a warm reprieve from the chill wind that snaked its way into their clothes and their bones, sinking deep.
One stands out from this mundane crowd, even though she would protest otherwise.
A young woman possessing long waves of mahogany brown hair framing a heart-shaped face memorable even in its apparent plainness. It is not a face that engenders breathtaking beauty, or the grace of Woman, but it is unforgettable.
Her skin stretches over delicate cheekbones like silk over china, but has silk ever looked so transparent? Full lips, the top a little too full to be perfect, are down turned in a tired frown, serious and brooding. Chocolate brown eyes look out seriously from beneath her weather-beaten black parka, scrutinising the world around her. They are filled with sobriety, intelligence and pensiveness as she spots the police cruiser waiting just beyond the wire fence, its bulbous end poking from behind the miniscule terminal building.
Bella Swan knows she is not anything special. She has never fit in anywhere, not in the wealthy Paradise Valley crowd with their tanned skins, perfect noses and blonde hair, augmented by the colours of the local cheerleading squad, and she doubts she will fit in here. She's never belonged anywhere.
For one shining moment, the sun broke through the clouds, like a radiant bride peeping from beneath her veil, warming the woman's skin. She turned to it, slender, soft form sucking in, absorbing its warmth, but like all things of heat and light in this grey world, it faded away.
With a sigh, she followed the line of tired passengers to the terminal building.
Two months before...
Far away, in a land soaked in sunshine, with the scent of spices on the fragrant wind and the cicadas singing their harsh arias in the twilight, as the sun spilt its bounty of gold and red light over the baked plains of Tuscany, atop a hill in this golden land sits a walled town. Sandstone bricks warmed by the sun, crowned with scarlet red tiles which seem to emanate the heat of the dying sun. It is a town filled with activity, humans scurrying around like ants in their colonies.
On the very peak of the hill stood a small fortress, its battlements and towers standing proudly, the domed roofs flashing dazzlingly in the twilight sun.
Beneath one of these domed roofs sits a man, enthroned on a chair of black ebony and jet, gilded with gold sigils and symbols from archaic times.
The man had sat like this for a hundred years.
Unbreakable crimson eyes stared out almost unseeingly from a face as hard as the centuries old marble by which he was surrounded, his skin paler even than that. Long, sweeping raven hair lay draped over his back and shoulders, blending seamlessly into the midnight black material of his suit. Strength and power lie in every lineament and line of his face and body. Undeniable, irresistible.
A gilded 'V' rested on his chest, above where his heart should have beat. But if you were so brave as to approach this terrible, infinite being, no heartbeat would you find beneath your palm.
His gaze was both omniscient and blind as he waited for something unknown.
He had sat like this for a hundred years.
The two towering doors from which he was sat across are opened, their sonorous creak attesting to hinges that were long in need of oil. Two figures paced through the gloom, clad in shimmering black cloaks, matching 'V' pendants glinting even in the darkened chamber. As one, they halted and bowed their heads, their grace eerily precise.
"Speak," the enthroned man said, his voice melodic and full of experience.
"Master Aro, I have tracked the werewolf to its lair. I await only your command to follow and avenge Lady Sulpicia," the taller of the two stated, his voice every bit as strong and melodic as his master's, but deferential and restrained. The smaller of the two threw back her hood to reveal golden hair braided and held back in an elaborate bun, the black cloak draping her androgynous form, crimson eyes fixed earnestly on those of her master.
"Master just say the word, and we shall destroy this blight upon our coven," she added her intense plea to that of her partner's, even as her eyes were averted from his in respect.
The man to whom this deathly beautiful beings were so deferential stood, his stillness swept away like cobwebs before a breeze, a storm gathering in his crimson eyes.
"I know you would, with great relish, my darling Jane. But this is something I must do myself," he replied coolly, holding his hand out to her stone cheek. The girl, Jane, closed her eyes as her master took in all her memories and thoughts, seeing the world through her eyes for just one moment in time.
A moment in eternity.
"If you must go, Master, let us accompany you," the other asked. "The werewolf is dangerous. Allow us to assist you in finding it."
"Demetri, your gifts would be useful. Very well, you, Jane, Felix and Alec shall come with me but no more. Soon may we return to Volterra," Aro said, his voice low in the cavernous hall.
"Master we shall obey," they both inclined their heads, even as Aro stretched out his hands in benediction to their foreheads.
"My dear ones, I thank you for this. It warms my soul to have you with me," he murmured. Jane looked up, her red eyes flooded with emotion.
"We loved Sulpicia very much," she whispered painfully. Aro sighed.
"As did I, my little one. As did I," he replied, before turning his back to the pair and walked back to his chair. "Prepare for the journey and phone ahead. We wouldn't want my old friend, Carlisle, to be too surprised when we show up on his doorstep,"
"Yes, Master," they said in unison. All that denoted their exit was the tiny draught of air that escaped as the doors opened and closed behind them. Aro ran his hand over the wings of his throne, his mind a hundred years ago.
A hundred years ago something precious had been stolen from him forever, and finally his grief and his rage had direction once more.
The Volturi did not let one of their own suffer without retaliation.
An anticipatory smile, that held no warmth or mirth, lifted the corners of his stone lips. He was beyond grief now. It was tucked away, deep within his dark soul where he did not deign to examine it.
What surprised Aro, however, was the strength of his own impatience. One hundred years ago a parasite had taken his mate, and finally after one hundred years of waiting they had found it. There would no escape from the vengeance they would reap, no mercy, no pity.
Just blood, and a life for the life it had stolen.
The Volturi do not suffer those who cross them to live.
One hundred years had passed, and he would sit no more.