Protecting At It's Finest || SEQUEL

Fifteen;

The snow is cold against my skin, though it has little to no effect on me in general. The white spreads across the clearing like a fluffy blanket, the only disruption to the evenly distributed snow is us. Our footprints. Ourselves. It's eerily quiet, no birds are heard. Considering the amount of vampires here, it's unsurprising that there's not much breathing noise. The wolves pant as quietly as they can manage, I'm sure, and Renesmee's little puffs of breath flush into the cold air in small pale clouds. The stench of pine and dirt fills my nose, contaminating the clothes I'm wearing for definite. I half suspect the smell's coming from the wolves, but we're surrounded by woodland so it's hard to tell.

Bella's not too far from me, in the middle of our group beside her husband and child. Standing taller, prouder, than I've ever seen her manage before. She seems stronger now, as if she's more sure of herself. Gone is the clumsy girl with two left feet who couldn't tie her shoelaces until she was ten. In her place is a woman; a woman who'll fight for her family with with everything in her. Until there's nothing left to fight for.

Stefan and Damon are with me. Where else would they be? Both stood side by side, expressionless and stiff. We all said our goodbyes, before. Just in case. Yet seeing them here, beside me, awaiting what could possibly be our final deaths, makes my chest ache. They stand so tall, so warrior-like. Together like this, the similarities notice between them are more noticeable. They have the same face structure, the same cheekbones, the same ears — weirdly. I can't help but thank whatever god there is that I was blessed with the one I've had with them.

It's the waiting that kills you, I think. The anticipation of the inevitable that sends you mad. It probably wouldn't be so bad, if we had come to them. That way we'd get straight to business: there'd be no fucking around with pleasantries and time wasting. I've never had a flair for dramatics (despite putting up with Damon all the time).

But here we are. Waiting for the "red coats", as those creepy Romanian guys call them, to bless us with their presence. We've been here half hour at least. Stood here for half hour: in silence from the minute we left the campsite. It's agitating. It makes the whole waiting game so much more stressful.

Impatience itches under my skin, how much longer can they take? They've started this. This is their fight. They could've left us well alone and chose to pick fights instead. Chose to throw all their toys out of the pram at the first sign of something different because they aren't in control of it, because it's not theirs. If they'd kept themselves to themselves none of us would be here. There'd be no waiting around for Italian pricks that don't seem to want to turn up to the party on time. If Irena has stuck around for an explanation instead of assuming things, everything would be so much easier.

A quick glance back at Bella doesn't take much. After all, it's not like we have to put up a strong front yet. We're the only ones here for Christ sakes. Edward's arm rests around her waist, Renesmee stood in front of them. The three of them huddled together as if to protect themselves from the illusion the cold air carries. Bella has her arms around her daughters' shoulders, gripping so tightly I'm afraid she might hurt her.

The Cullen's are scattered around. Emmett and Rosalie together, their hands intertwined. Carlisle and Esme presses against each other, her hand on his chest. Snow flakes decorate their hair, refusing to melt. They still, even now, look far too picturesque to be real. Far too much like photoshopped Vogue models or the type of people you have working in films.

The wolves, for the first time in a long time I'd wager, are weaved in with the vampires. They're dotted around, to gather insight from all angles I assume. Seth and Leah are close together: always so reluctant to leave her little brother's side. Sam's somewhere up front, further than me, with that Irish coven. He has Jared on one side, and Paul's grey fur is rather recognisable near Emmett. Embry and Quill are at the back, I remember from watching them trail around earlier on. If I twist my neck just right I'll be able to catch a slight glimpse of Embry's reddish fur.

They left the younger wolves back at La Push — for defence. Well, Sam told them it was for the protection of the tribe, but I'd wager he was just unwilling to bring a pair of fourteen year olds to fight a battle they didn't sign up for.

I don't blame him. In fact, if he had brought them I'd probably have tried to pull his head from his shoulders.

Fingers intertwine with mine, and I glance down to see Damon gripping my hand tight. His thumb runs along my knuckles, covering me in a sheet of calm that I haven't been able to reclaim since last night. As fucked up as it is, I'm glad he's here. I don't think I could do this without him. At this point, I don't think there's much I could do without him.

Lifting my gaze to his face, I take him in. His sharp jaw, the crease where he gets a dimple when he grins, and his far-too-straight nose. Those high, defined cheekbones always make him seem older, but never less handsome. Never. The soft, dark locks of his hair fall in strands around his face. I'll never understand why he keeps it that long, and I worry that now I'll never get the chance. His hair is the darkest thing on him, although his skin is surprisingly tanned for a vampire of just over a century. Take one look at him, and you'd never think he is what he is, or that he's done what he's done.

It's fascinating, really. That kind of beauty. He wears mysterious like an old leather jacket that he can't bear to part with. It's sexy on him, it's apart of who he is now. I've always loved unravelling bits of that mystery. Those little things that are just for me. The seemingly indifferent things that mean the world to me every time he shares them.

I follow his stare across the field when I hear a familiar crunch of a boot against snow. Followed by crunch after crunch after crunch. Other than that, it's silent.

I squeeze Damon's hand as tightly as I can, leaning close to inhale as much of his scent as possible. I never want to forget it. Not for as long as I live.

The sound of cloaks flapping in the wind fills my ears as the crunch grows closer.

They're here.