Beast at My Side

Plucked from the Frost

Darkness. Only darkness.

Then something. A feeling. Small at first, then greater, more urgent. A tugging in my gut. Like the floor falling away, like sinking into space. Black, blacker, blackest. Later, there's a sliver of light. It stretches out across my vision until it's ripping and tearing, sending the shadows haemorrhaging from everywhere at once. It all fades in and out, keeping perfect time with the throbbing in my head. The world feels wet, cold, and blue all-over. Blue sky, blue hands, blue lips. I scrub at my eyes with stinging fingers, useless from the chill, and find myself sitting in a sea of stars. Not stars. Snow. It sparkles in every direction, blinding and white, numbing my legs, soaking my skin. I make three failed attempts at standing before I hear the voice.

"Hello, young thing."

Two cloaked figures, hand-in-hand, stand perfectly still behind me. I do not know which of them spoke, but it is clear that neither is entirely human. The pair are small and strange. Bodies petite, cheeks plump. Remnants of their stolen youth. When I open my mouth to respond, the noisy, uncontrollable chatter of my teeth seems deafening.

"It will freeze... it will die," one says.

"Oh, it will die," the other responds, "but we still have time." Their faces turn back to me, blank, unblinking. "Do you know who we are?"

I shake my head, no.

"Do you know what we are?"

One nod, yes.

The inquirer smiles. She tells me that I may call them Jane and Alec, that they are here on Volturi business. I am that business. "There are laws, young thing. You broke them; you, Carlisle, and his mangy brood."

What exactly does it cost me to know your secret? Alice: brutal and beautiful, I wonder if she saw me here, on my knees. I wonder if she saw me die. Whatever lenience her affiliation with the Volturi affords the Cullen's does not seem to extend to me. They mean to punish me, to snatch away my life like a simple petty theft. At the top of a tree, at the edge of a building, in the hands of a monster I had wished for death. But now, with my palms pressed to my chest, I can feel my brothers heartbeat. I'm sorry, Luc. Sorry that I couldn't save you, sorry that I couldn't save myself.

"Make it quick, make it clean," the boy says.

"No. We make an example. They overstep their bounds. The law is immutable."

My veins begin to itch. My skin heats, sweats. And then my mind is on fire. Everything ceases to exist beyond the cutting, the burning, the constricting; a pain so pure it is beyond imagining. A stream of relentless torment floods my body and saturates my psyche. I can hear myself screaming, feel it tearing up my throat, rushing between gritted teeth. When I am certain I will die, the agony wanes. I breathe. I cry. I fall onto my hands and knees, shaking and shivering, the snow stained pink with blood. And though I would swear to the reality of every slice, every rupture I endured, I can see no visible wounds. Then I taste it. Coppery and foul, blood oozes from my eyes, my nose, my ears. The agony of Jane's gift is unfathomable. This will not be quick. This will not be clean.

Behind her, the boy stands motionless—this is not his crusade, is not his choice—yet there he is, at her heels like a shadow. Now I see them for what they are. Not just demons made of living stone, but family. He will let me die to please her. Somehow, sickeningly, I understand.

I cough into my hands, splatter them with gore all warm and sticky. "I had a brother. I used to follow him everywhere. Until I didn't... until I couldn't. I loved him more than anyone, more than anything. I just wanted him to be happy."