A/N: This is a companion series to The Sound of White. While not strictly necessary, I recommend reading that first.


Diablerie


Process of Elimination


You checked all the windows first. They didn't sleep but they customarily retired to their rooms in the evenings, holdovers from their days as creatures who slept, probably.

They were lazy from years of peace. Emmett and Rosalie were fucking. Esme and Carlisle were having sex. She and your father were making love.

Alice and Jasper were gone.

Something to consider for later.

With the psychic distracted and the seer absent, it was disappointingly easy. The mansion exploded into the sky (orange against the greens and blues of the northern lights) and you heard screaming but nothing to be concerned about.

You'd left an escape route open by her window. When your father jumped into the snow you gave him the courtesy of a quick end. (Not as quick as Rosalie's, however. You set the blast to go off right beneath her bedroom. She had wanted this, deep down, and she'd hidden the bodies of your accidents when you were a child. Rosalie had been your favorite, and so you made sure it was over for her before she could realize what was happening.) You threw the pieces back into the conflagration and tilted your head, following the bare footprints with your eyes.

They led into the pine forest.

You allowed her a two minute head start.

She only made it fifteen miles. She was faster but you are smarter. You've been smarter since a week after your birth, smarter than all of them, and your brain was swifter than her feet. Her route was too obvious, her intent too clear. She didn't find the shortcuts.

It wasn't personal. She was a source of pain to the only thing that touches you, and while you had considered alternative options, it became clear the only solvent course of action was to eliminate the problem.

The fight went out of her when she saw the bronze hairs between your fingers.

You did it slowly.

Perhaps it was a little bit personal.

And then. And then. And then the whole world changed.

You were trying to decide whether to drag the remains back or just build a new fire when you noticed the liquid dripping out of the synovial joint where the arm had connected to the shoulder. Silver and thick, like mercury.

You tasted it.

And then you drank it all. You sucked every drop from the marble marrow and your senses exploded just as surely as the mansion had. You could feel all the mitochondria in all the cells in all your body orgasming and the northern lights danced in your vision and you moaned as though his tongue were between your thighs.

The jump across the river was the farthest of your life.


You feel terrible when you see the deep trench in the snow where Jacob has clearly been pacing since the moment you left. You didn't mean to worry him, but he couldn't have come. For lots of reasons.

He is shaking as you approach. "I... did you... is it..."

You nod.

He looks over your shoulder. There's a slight glow on the horizon. He wets his lips and says, "Fast, right?"

"She didn't feel a thing," you lie smoothly.

The two of you start walking back to where you've left your traveling gear. Jacob doesn't stop shaking, not even when you lace your fingers into his. His grip is too loose and too tight at the same time. He doesn't seem to be in less pain yet. Perhaps it will take time.

All the gentle, soothing thoughts you send him through your skin don't lessen his agitation, and finally you stop, the snow melting around your knees. You pull his hand up under your shirt and press it against your heart; the individual beats are blurring together. Everything inside you is moving at twice the rate. "Feel that?" you say.

Jacob nods, searching your face.

"This is yours." It's always been his, since the moment it formed. "Hers stopped beating a long time ago, love."

It takes a moment, but then Jacob pulls you closer and kisses your forehead. His lips burn against your skin and your eyes flutter closed. Him you feel.

Yes. This will take time. Of course it will. You have cleansed the wound and now he only needs to heal.

Until then...

You lick your teeth. "I know where I want to go next."

"Where's that?"

"Volterra."

Jacob pulls back. His frown puts creases in his forehead. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Ness."

"It is." You run a hand up his arm, raising the edge of his sleeve. You trace your finger across his tattoo. "Italy first. Then Ireland. Egypt. Brazil. Romania. We can do it. We can kill them all. We'll wipe them off the face of the earth, you and I."

Jacob is shaking his head, but you can see the wolf lighting up in his eyes.

You smile.

It will be delicious.


A/N: This drabble series will not be often updated, because I hope to only be in this sort of mood rarely. As Breaking Dawn approaches, though... all bets are off.