Hit and Run
Author : Lifeless Lyndsey
Summary : After a car crash in the middle of nowhere, Bella is faced with yet another force in her life. Left on the ground in the middle of nowhere in the rain, crying after a painful and crushing blow to her life. But this time, she gets up, and meets the man that will change her life.
Pairing: Bella and Alistair
Warning: M for language, lemons, violence, gore, questionable content, swearing, and other stuff, maybe. I don't know.
Word Count: 1,534
Beta: VampishVixen - she did this not even knowing what I had sent her, bless the girl.
Disclaimer: I own nearly nothing , not the characters, not the Bella, not the England. I do however, own the plot. The plot is mine! Mine Dammit!
It was raining in England. It was raining in Forks. It was always raining.
I laughed at the irony as the rain drops splashed against the spider-webbed crack encompassing my windshield.
No matter where I was, the rain would find me.
Weakly, I scrambled for my phone, finding nothing but the shattered remains of my brand new iPhone, smashed to shiny, white pieces in what was once the passenger seat. To my right, my door was wrapped snug around a tree in a ditch off the side of the road, and I was alone in the middle of midnight country-side England.
I hated it here already.
Reaching my aching arms, ignoring the shocking pains of protest radiating down my right side, I weakly released the seat belt, groaning as it slid slowly across my body with a weak, drawn out zip. It was a long crawl across the compact car, to the passenger seat, tiny pieces of glass biting into the soft flesh of my palms, and slicing strips into the knees of my jeans. The hinges of the door were pinned in place by the impact, and I was forced to crawl through the blown-out window, crumpling to a heap on the ground outside the car, my head resting against the mutilated front fender. I let my head fall into my hands and kept myself from crying; in vain, of course.
Hit and run. Story of my life.
Left on the ground in the middle of nowhere in the rain, crying, after a painful and crushing blow to my life. The physicality of the incidents meant little; my mind in all its wayward wanderings, recognized the similarities. Why the hell was it always raining?
With more self-determination than I ever showed in that forest back in Forks, I picked myself up from the wreckage and walked the lonely road.
A ram-shackled old farmhouse stood before me, peeling white paint glowing blue in the half-moon light. There was a light on in an upstairs room, giving me some sense of hope. My body ached; muscles burning, bones screaming, blood drying on my skin, a red smear across my cheek from where my head hit the window. I was a mess, looking like a monster movie victim ten seconds from being caught and strung up by her internal organs.
Irony ruled my life, and she was a bitch.
I knocked on the door, my feeble rap shaking the thin wood. I could hear steps, light as a feather, creaking floor boards protesting at the mistreatment. This house was old, slanted and dilapidated, but it was the only one I'd come across in my post-crash two mile hike down English back-country. When the steps paused, I wondered if the inhabitants of the home had even heard me, raising my hand to knock again.
But the fragile door swung open as I made to knock again, my hand poised to strike, and I gasped, fist faltering in mid air, as I took in the face peering out from the half-foot opening. His red eyes didn't seem so brilliant in the darkness, but I knew better; knew the way the moon caught his diamond skin, understood the rumble in his chest. I knew, and I stumbled back. And that too, I knew; I knew better than to imagine I might escape.
"Who are you?" he growled, door flying open, and I was yet again presented to another vampire, but he was different. With his red eyes, his matted hair, and a fearsome scowl so set in place, I imagined it to be a permanent fixture on his face. "Who are you? Who sent you? What, is it the Volturi? How did they find me? Speak girl! Speak!" His frigid satin fingers closed around my wrist, tight enough to nearly shatter bones. I could feel his thumb press against the bite, my pulse slamming against his fingerprint.
I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry in the face of my death yet again. Jesus fuck, what was wrong with me? What the hell had I done to find myself at the wrong end of myths and fairy tails, where everything tries to eat me?
I am not ashamed to say it; I pissed myself on that front porch, caught in the clutches of a mother fucking monster. I pissed myself, soaked my shoes, and found some small satisfaction in the fact that he wasn't wearing shoes, that he was now standing in my pee.
"Vol...volturi?" I parroted, my voice an earthquake of tremors. Volturi. Volturi. I remembered them mentioned, vaguely, and in passing. "I... the vampire king guy?"
"King." The vampire spat out, his venom coated teeth glinting menacingly as he brought me closer, much closer, to his beautiful, terrifying face. "He is no king of mine."
Pride. Pride was the last emotion I felt, for snark hadn't left me in the face of danger as I mumbled weakly, "You and me both buddy."
And then as the fair maiden is known to do, I promptly passed out; my last thought a wonder as to whether Mr. Vampire would bother to catch me before I fell into my own piss.
Chivalry wasn't dead after all.
She dropped abruptly, having held up in the face of all my fury for far longer then was to be expected. She was terrified, as humans should be, every part of her body screaming to flee, but I couldn't let her go, and I couldn't eat her; not without knowing who she was and why she was standing on my door step wearing the mark of a vampire on her wrist like one might a charm bracelet. Though, such marking, no, a branding, as one might do with cattle, did not seem out of sorts when considering the scum that was the Volturi.
I caught her, hauling her into the house towards what I had discovered was the master bedroom. For all that the house was old, it was well appointed by human standards, and comfortably lived in.
It made my skin itch.
I hadn't yet had the chance to dispose of Mr. Gracelow from his kitchen-quarters, where I had made him my evening meal, when she appeared, knocking with less force then a day old kitten on the door. What on earth had drawn me to answer, I will never know; but one can never be too careful, and better to know your witnesses than not. If she was to be a problem, I knew I could eat her too.
Never in my one thousand years had I imagined it would be a human, bitten and still a human, standing at the door looking worse for the weather and bleeding to boot. The Volturi were not known for their good treatment of pets, and I was not wrong to assume she was part of their menagerie. They weren't against sending humans after me, I was sure. Though I could not fathom how they might have found me, I hadn't been in town a day past.
She crumpled where she stood, but not before pissing on herself and calling that righteous bastard a king. Now I had pee on my feet, and an unconscious girl on my hands, on what should have been an easy countryside eat-and-run.
Mr. Gracelow was not ill-equipped for taking prisoners, though I doubted very much he meant kitchen chairs and clothesline to tie up young girls. Or at least, I hadn't seen anything of the kind to raise suspicion. One could never know or understand the ways of isolated humans. And he was rather isolated, here out in the country.
The thought only served to deepen my suspicions on the girl. What on earth was she doing here, and at such a late hour? I could not help but consider the possibilities that there would be more to follow her, and perhaps not of the human kind. Could there be vampires to come?
Of course there could. There always could. I hadn't lived as long as I had thinking otherwise.
I perched myself on a battered wooden stool that tipped to the right, but held me none the less, and waited for her awakening. The bedroom was dark, nothing but long slats of moon light, and shadows between the blinds, making lines across the bed. It began with a twitch, wrists itching against the course confines of the rope, and then her head snapped up, umber eyes not unlike the color of cinnamon blinking up at me in rapid succession.
"Who are you?" I asked without preamble. I wasn't one to play games when my continued existence was in question. And it was always in question. "Answer me, girl."
"Bella," she said shortly, her glaring brown eyes lifted in defiance, in challenge. "Who are you?"
She was cocky, brimming with misplaced courage, and I was forced to wonder yet again if she was expecting a rescue. However, I sensed no one in a proximity that could be considered a threat, and I took her courage for what it was. A bluff.
"My name," I said quietly, leaning forward on my stool to close the distance between myself and my captive, "is Alistair."
A/N: So. This is the very first Bella/Alistair fic on FFnet, and I am pretty much so anxious I want to vomit. Once Bitten, Twice Shy still has post priority. Until OBTS ends, this story will have smaller chapters, and probably not post as often. But I am excited!