Ruthless and Ivory (Twilight Fan Fiction)

Epilogue

I awake. First time in so long I open my eyes and it's because I'm sated. Fucking rested. It takes me a minute, but I feel this relief, off my chest. Nothing expected. Nowhere to go...or prepare the guns. I scratch my jaw, rub my face and look around. I have to shave. My first task of the day. Not a bad start.

I smell her scent but she's out of bed. I don't think she knows how good she smells. Pure drug to my lungs. I roll over her pillow and take a deep whiff. Cold. I can tell she's been out of bed for hours. I push to get up and my hand knocks against the tusk. I lift her pillow. Still there. She didn't put it away.

I groan. She drives me insane. I grab the gun that is now hers, the twin in the safe. I pull the damn sheets off my legs. "Bella," I call. I clear my throat and wait.

She always answers. Her loud voice drifting through the logs that make the walls. Sometimes too loud, when she's pissed and really gets going. I admit, I push, just to see her lips turn that shade, pale, raging female tiger. It looks good on her. It keeps things interesting. Never boring. Truce when I get to bite them, full, warm. She gives in.

I run a hand through my hair. Have to cut that, too. Maybe I'll let her this time. She likes to, even if she fucked it up in the back last time. But never the top since it always ends up long anyway, smacks my hand with the scissors away. I don't get what the big deal is.

I'm about to place the gun on her bureau and go out to look for her, but no answer. A spark. It's all it takes. Worry. I hold onto the hard Ivory grip, click off the safe and rush out of the bedroom. Expecting the worst, but alert and ready, even in underwear.

The leaves bring in a breeze through the kitchen window. White curtains billow with the chime she hung by it. The wooden chair at the table is skewed. Her mug in the sink. I lift it and touch to see if it's still warm. Cold.

Living room, clean. Guest room and office, neat. I won't bother with the top floor that's a nest of plants and pillows, her attic, her nook of windows and beams with vines growing around a canopy. I pull on the wide doors to the patio instead. The dirt in the plants are still soaking up the water she pours every Sunday.

2 hours, tops.

I groan for the second time and I'm already pissed. I hate when she does this. She knows I don't like when she goes off on her own. I want to just be—normal, she says. I get it...after everything, but not without me. She does it to kill me.

I drop the gun on the island in the walk-in closet and pull on a pair of jeans. I sniff a shirt off a chaise and I think it's clean.

Third groan and this is the last one. The wooded trees are closed in around a large driveway and yard. The Aston is gone. I head back in to get the other keys. Every time. She does this to me when she gets the chance. I swear, I've made her into a speed junkie.

I fold myself behind the wheel of the Mini. Her Mini. I kept it safe knowing she'd want it back someday. I knew she was fond of it when she'd drive around the whole city trying to find me. I didn't anticipate it would be this long to get it back to her. She was happy. That smile. Those arms around the hood of the car, then me. But not happy enough. I drive off. I know where she is.

She'll give me that look. Angry, I've followed but it's done. It won't change. Not with everyone watching. People knowing. Who she is, what she's become. I wasn't expecting it. None of us were.

This quiet road through the woods leads to our home. I've never had anything of my own. But we saw it and stopped and made an offer Mrs. Jenks couldn't refuse. Cash. Done living in hotels or Azar's condo. Ours. Permanent. No running.