"What are you doing here?" Violet hummed, the redness of shock cooling on her face.
"Like you said, I'm skipping maths," Rosalie said, chin tipping upwards as she glanced down at the girl and the parts that were spread across the table between them.
Violet stared at her for a moment as if assessing how truthful she was being. Something about her almost gentle smile must have said enough, and she nodded, guiding her across the room to where her project now lay.
Violet was nervous, Rose noted, if the way she shuffled meant anything at all. There were moments when Rosalie thought she could read nothing at all about Violet, but this wasn't one of them. With smooth movements, Violet's hand wrapped around a strand of hair, twisting it around her fingers as Rosalie had seen her do before. She braced herself, knowing that a wave of blood-tainted air would cruise her way before it could hit her.
But the scent, which had somehow become familiar, never reached her. If Rosalie had not been what she was, this new scent might've been somewhat pleasant. It was earthy in a way and smelled like trees and damp soil. But Rosalie was not human, and so that thick, heavy scent clung to her nose, making her want to cough. Every fibre of her body screamed out as the burdened air swelled around her. It was as if she was programmed to shrink away from such scent, to hide from it- because that was what she so urged to do, as the new smell that clung to Violet's hair continued to surround her.
Rosalie wanted to turn and run, covering her nose and blinking her eyes closed as she did so. She knew what this horrid scent was, had feared to come across it again, and had known that she would have to deal with it soon. It was the burning scent of a wolf and Rosalie had not expected it to be so strong.
"You went to the bonfire?" Rosalie said, drawing Violet's pretty gaze back toward her.
The girl blushed. Rosalie almost snorted. As if Violet Green had any reason to ask her to join in on the beach day. As if she had any reason to be embarrassed by the fact she had not. She owed her nothing, and Rosalie would not have agreed anyway for fear of breaching the binding contract sewn almost a century before.
"Yes. You could come next time if you'd like," Violet said, her steady voice not betraying her as her face had just before.
"No. I don't think I will," Rose said bluntly, forgetting, for a moment, that it was not her sister she was talking to.
But Violet didn't glare at her or say something sarky as Rose expected her to, or as she had done any other time. Instead, she was looking at her from beneath a knitted brow, as if she was searching to see something new, bubbling beneath Rosalie's words. The girl had tough skin- at least tougher than the majority of the teens in Forks- and turned back to reach for her new sketches once again.
Rosalie resigned herself to biting her lips and remaining planted on the floor as if her feet were chained. As the hour went on, she faked breathing as little as she could, too wary of the flooding scent that would crowd her each time she did so. She didn't run without a word, as she wanted to, as her body pleaded for her to do, but stayed and helped and didn't let a single complaint leave her lips. She could give Violet today, she thought, as she feared all that she would have to do in the oncoming weeks.
Rosalie had known that Edward was looking for her before he even rounded the driveway in his small, silver car and found her on the steps leading to the house. Before he sought her out, Alice would know of it, and when Alice knew something, it would rarely be a secret. He didn't even bother to say a greeting, and instead of sitting beside her, he stood above her with his hands tucked into his pockets and head dipped low.
"Come for a walk with me?" He said, and Rose only nodded.
They walked along the forest edge until they could walk no longer in the small streams of light that broke through and were instead enshrouded by the thick layers of pine needles and leaves. At the back of the house, down by the stream, it was always calm. The light that drifted through was dusty and weak, bathing their skin in tingles that couldn't yet erupt them in sparkles. The atmosphere was almost tranquil enough to let her lower her guard. But Rosalie couldn't. Edwards's conversations were always at least a little disarming.
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇʟᴇᴠᴇɴ
Start from the beginning
