Chapter Text
Charlie woke up in a pain that spread and simmered under his skin. His arm has been hastily wrapped in what looks like a heap of rags. The dried blood is pulling at his skin, flaking into dark red petals. He is lying on a dirty mattress on the floor of a wooden room.
He is surrounded by rotten wood, moss clinging to creaking boards. The ceiling is missing some boards but not enough for him to see what is happening above or feel threatened by a collapse. It must be daylight because Charlie can see very clearly. His lower back is killing him: he knows it’s going to take him a while to be able to move and sit up. Not that he has any plans on doing so soon.
There was no way he could escape his captors: they were incredibly fast and impossible to kill, it seemed. Plus, Carlisle would come for him. He would come to free him and show him more of those glimmering topaz eyes and fangs. Fangs. He had seen it, more clearly than ever: elongated, sharp canines, like those of a dog, or a wildcat. They should have seemed out of place on his doctor but Charlie didn’t want to lie now. He needed to face the impossible truth in order to embrace it.
About three things, he was absolutely positive: first, monsters exist. Second, Carlisle was one of them, although it seemed he did not partake in their cruel dismemberment rituals. Third, Charlie was irrevocably in love with him.
The revelation felt more like a rediscovery than an epiphany. Anamnsesis, it was called: remembering something you’ve always known. His high-school English teacher had told him that. Basically, he had explained, some truths feel evident, too evident perhaps, because it feels as if you were remembering them instead of discovering them. This is what it felt like. He remembered his first glande at the calm and collected doctor, waiting for them in the morgue as the lift doors opened. He remembered the fascination he felt as he was being stuck too close to him by the corpse-ladden gurney. Those hypnotic eyes, this engaging smile, this infectuous calmness. Being near him had felt like a necessity, he recognized now. Why else would he be so keen to go down to the morgue, stare at corpses, drive dangerously so quickly after just risking his life in the river?
The desire he felt burning in his chest, his throat, was both dangerous and domestic. He had dreamed about having Carlisle in his kitchen, making coffee and breakfast like an old married couple, and then he had dreamed about putting his fingers in his doctor’s mouth, where Carlisle could have bit them off just as well as kiss them. The mix was heady, like a haphazardly mixed cocktail. One thing was at the center of it all: Carlisle. No matter the form he took,how bright his eyes shone, how human or inhuman he was, he was there, curled up in his thoughts.
He was coming to save him, that was his fourth certainty. Carlisle had growled like a dog deprived of his bone. He was coming to save him. And then, Charlie would have a lot of questions to ask him. He couldn’t focus on any of them now, however, the pain stabbing at him at irregular intervals. That was going to be a pain to heal, he thought.
**
“Wait, wait, I need to breathe,” Julia called out to her hunting companion before unceremonously dropping on the muddy path.
She sat there, her ass in the mud, leg bend at the knee, two hands pressing on the healing wound. Her entire pant leg was cacked in her blood. She probably spread her blood-stink all through the forest. Why was she even running with a stab wound?
Rosalie’s silk scarf brushed against her bruised knuckles. Julia groaned and threw back her head so it rested on the tree behind her. She always had trouble saying no to girls. That was her weakness. A flutter of eyelashes and she was as good as a puppy.
“We can get to the river quickly enough. You can rest and drink there. We can wash the blood too. That would make things easier,” Rosalie agreed, retracing her steps towards the policewoman. Her legs were splattered with mud.
“Yeah, just give me a minute, I need to catch my breath,” Julia repeated, her chest rising and falling with the effort.
“I can carry you,” Rosalie said, completely serious.
Julia laughed before clinging to her side: “Right, princess, I’m a foot taller than you and a few pounds heavier, but sure, you can carry me to the river in muddy terrain.” Her hair was clinging to her forehead and neck with sweat.
Rosalie “The Look” Cullen stared at her without blinking for a few seconds before shaking her head and taking the two steps separating them. Then, self-assuredly, she knelt in front of Julia and grabbed her arm.
“Hey, hey, wait,” Julia protested, “seriously, you’re going to drop me and it’s going to hurt us both…” Before she could raise more concerns, she was hoisted up unceremoniously on the smaller woman’s shoulders. She immediately fell silent. When was the last time she had been lifted? Probably during her training, and the 6”2 man had a lot of trouble with it. Yet, here she was, thrown across the shoulders of a woman who looked like she was around 18, and 5”7, with the slender build of a black and white actress.
It was… strange. Not bad strange, but strange nonetheless.
“Come on, wolfgirl, no time to lose,” Rosalie said before walking towards the river.
**
Meanwhile, back at the Cullen’s house, something of a war council was happening. Carlisle looked way more tired than he usually did. Edward couldn’t help but see the centuries weigh on his shoulders. His eyes looked darker, more sunken. He looked like a wanderer stumbling into battle. It was often easy to forget how longer Carlisle had spent alone, in the throes of the deepest despair, being refused even the ultimate recomfort of disappearing.
Now, Carlisle was pushing his hair back, thinking about strategies. After a minute, he looked up and, his voice firm and calm, started: “Who is missing?”
“Officier Swan was carried away. Rosalie went after him with Julia, but Julia is hurt so they might not have gotten far,” Emmett replied.
He looked like a faithful solider, Edward thought. He wouldn’t look out of place in Carlisle’s army, a devoted and restless lieutenant. He was standing, hands behind his back, tired, but alert, ready to jump to action.
“The utmost priority is to find where they are laying low for the day. They probably went back to their nest. It must not be difficult to find since they want us to find them. In which direction did Rosalie and Julia go?”
“They went East,” Jasper answered in turn. Jasper with his eyes wide and fixed, underlined with red, looked more like an assassin, the hidden ace, ready to be drawn in the more desperate of situations.
“Did they find anything, Alice?” Carlisle directed at his daughter. She shook her head, uncharacteristically serious. Her elfin face and her sheer purple dress made her look like an oracle.
“Not yet, but they are not in any danger. You should go to Charlie’s house: he has a map, I have seen it in my vision, where you might find clues. He has advanced a lot in his investigation, but he didn’t have our knowledge of… the supernatural. In the previous vision, I had seen him in a place surrounded by wood: we should look for old cabins in the forest.”
“Edward, do you hear anything?” Carlisle asked him. Carlisle never asked him to use his power, especially not him, since he had so much trouble disengaging after tuning in to the roaring river of thoughts surrounding him. Still, he knew it was important so he closed his eyes and let the river wash over him.
“Charlie is still alive. He’s asleep and dreaming. He’s not in any immediate danger. One of the vampires next to him is thinking about “The Plan” and the Volturi… He… It cut off,” Edward said, surprised. “One of them must be a blocker. That’s why we couldn’t find them before: they are being protected.”
“It doesn’t matter: they slipped once, they are bound to slip again,” Carlisle shook his head, his voice steely. “Keep listening as much as you can and inform us of anything new.”
Edward wondered what he was looking like to the others. How did they see him in this small army of virtuous vampires? He didn’t dare go investigate: it took him a long time to practice restraint and he didn’t want to give in the temptation for trivial reasons.
Carlisle walked to the middle of the living room, looking at his family, commanding their attention. They didn’t dare looking at one another but they all knew they needed to act together and protect the clan.
“Esmée, you’re going to have the most difficult task because you have to act alone: I need you to go to Ruth’s house and stand watch. This is the last place we saw them and they haven’t completed their mission there so they might come back. Do not let your guard down and contact Edward as soon as you sense the slightest danger,” Carlisle walked to her and caressed her cheek with his fingertips, a tender and recomforting gesture. Esmée nodded.
“Alice and Jasper, you will go to Ruth’s house and follow any tracks you find to the North. Look for the wooden place. If you catch even a whiff of Volturi, do anything not to come in contact, retreat as quickly as possible.”
The two of them nodded.
“Emmett and Edward, you need to go West, in the forest. This might be where they were hiding for a long time: they look like they come from deep withing the forest. Go as far as you can before sundown. Do not draw attention to yourselves.”
Carlisle put his hands on Emmett’s and Edward’s shoulders and they exchanged another nod.
“I will go to Charlie’s house to find his map, then I’ll go South. Although we are going to be separated, it is important to keep in touch as much as possible. Where the phones don’t work, I want you to move fast: if you stumble upon danger, do not engage and fall back to Forks in order to regroup with your siblings. You are all going to move in groups except for your mom, so she is going to be your priority: Edward, I do not ask this lightly of you, but you need to keep your mind open to Esmée. If you feel the slightest danger coming for her, you need to communicate to all of us immediately so we can go and protect her. If you don’t find anything by nightfall, come back home and we’ll devise another plan. I have no doubt they will come find us in the night if we haven’t found them before. Move fast. If you need, feed, but do so discretely. Now, go, and be as careful as you can.”
They all nodded and disbanded. Edward knew, despite his efforts, what they were all thinking: if they had meet Carlisle when he was still a vampire hunter, they wouldn’t have lasted long.
**
“It does feel good,” Julia had to confess, when she felt the cold water of the grey morning on her face and the wound at her thigh.
She was sitting on a rock on the riverbank, leg extended into the water, letting the cold wash away the dried blood and the pain. Rosalie was kneeling on the shingles in front of her, the knife in her hands. She was staring at it again, as if her entire world was now encased in the serrated blade.
The dark of the night was dissipating into the pale light of a grey morning. It would rain again today, light showers, probably. Julia looked up at the sky, watching the line of the mountains reappear and the mists of the morning cling to the top of the pines. The last of the stars were just glimmers. This was a welcome sight: the night had been incredibly dark, in more ways than one. Now, she felt she could relax. Her heart was lighter and the pain was fainter.
She loosened the scarf around her thigh.
“Wait,” Rosalie exclaimed, her voice shriller, her head snapping up at her.
A single rivulet of fresh blood escaped from the wound as it was released, much less than should be normal for such a wound, but it seemed enough to make Rosalie turn her back to Julia quickly. She dropped the knife to press her hands to her mouth, shoulders hunched over, as if she were wounded too.
“Are you okay?” Julia asked, worried. She had seen Rosalie jump, fight, and punch: she didn’t look like the type to be afraid of a little blood, but the very sight of it made her turn in horror. Julia wondered if it looked worse than she had thought. She had always healed quicker so wounds never looked gnarly for long, but still…
“Yes,” Rosalie said, her voice muffled by her hands. “But wash it quickly. None of our clothes are sterile.”
“Sure, yeah,” Julia replied, still bewildered. “So, uhm… Not a fan of blood then?”
Rosalie exploded in peals of laughter that, somehow, sounded both bitter and sincere. She shook her head with her back still turned: Julia could only guess the movement through her pale golden hair. Without the sound, clear, like rocks skitting on the surface of a frozen lake, Julia would have thought Rosalie was sobbing.
**
Carlisle looked at his family dispersing from the window of his office/bedroom. Their skin were shimmering in the pale grey sky but he was not too worried. They would not be around humans much today, and the sky would be overcast most of the day. Now that they were gone, he had one last thing to do before he could leave on his own quest.
He turned to the wall just behind his desk. Just like the other walls in his office, it was covered by bookshelves, but there was one catch. Carlisle pressed on the spine of his cloth-bound copy of James I’s Daemonologie. It hit the back of the shelf with a click and released the mechanism opening the secret compartment he needed. He had installed it in every single house they had lived in. There were a lot of things Carlisle could live without: food, a bed, a house, but not this. Not the last vestige he had been able to keep from his former life.
He opened the mahogany lid that revealed his sword. His vampire-hunting days sword. That was the sword he had carried when he had met John, the sword he had carried when he had been killed, the sword he had first and last tried to kill himself with after his transformation. He had not touched it since his arrival in America: it had never been much of a sword-carrying continent. Today, however, he would carry it once more for it to fulfill its original purpose.
Carlisle extended his right hands to seize the grip. Despite being made in the 1630s, it had none of the slender silhouette of the rapiers and the smallswords popular at the time. It was a double-edged broardsword, wide and brute. The only concession to its time was the basket-hilt decorated with a mortuary mask. The sheath has been redone four times since Carlisle had been transformed. The last time, he had chosen the simplest of leather. It was not full of refinery and jewels: it had only been made to kill monsters and today, it would do so once more.
He took the sword from its hidden compartment, feeling the darkness of countless deaths spread from the cold hilt to his cold hand. He remembered how it felt, suddenly, to brutally kill instead of healing. He remembered the bitter taste of bile and the coppery taste of damned blood that would inevitably fill his mouth after a hunt. This sword was cursed. It was everything he had tried so hard to repress, to hide, to put behind him. It was violence begetting violence, the cycle ending in so many condemned souls. It was the loss of the control Carlisle had fought so hard for. It almost felt like a defeat.
Carlisle couldn’t cling to his purity ideal now. Not while Charlie was passed out in pain in a mysterious location for the ignominous crime of trying to protect his town, and be close to the Cullens.
Carlisle left the mahogany lid open as he turned to leave the house. He put the sword in the backseat of his Mercedes and drove to Charlie’s house. He had a map to find.
**
Carlisle found himself in front of Charlie’s house in the middle of the grey morning. He parked his car and, for a while, just sat there, watching the mist rolling off the pine trees and the dew glimmering on the blades of grass. The contrast between the domesticity of the garden and the mystery of the forest reflected Charlie so much. It made him think of his dark brown eyes: there was nothing supernatural about them, but they were enthralling nonetheless.
He remembered the softness of his eyes when he had opened the door last night. “Ready for our date” it had told him. “Welcome to my home,” it had assured him, his lips stretching in a smile. Carlisle had heard his heart beat faster as he welcomed Carlisle in: Charlie had been nervous but less so than facing the crime scene. Humans got nervous at the strangest of times. Yet, not all of it had been nervousness. There had been excitement too. Charlie had been happy to welcome him to his place. He had not touched him too much, barely even a tap on the back or the shoulder, which would have been completely normal in any setting. Charlie had, however, refrained from doing so, probably out of nervousness. They had been engaged in this exhilirating dance where everything feels too stiff and you don’t want to anticipate any steps lest you reveal you know nothing about your partner.
Oh, how he would have loved making him come undone in the comfort of his own couch. How he had longed for lingering glances, more touches, the surrender to another…
The neighbour leaving to walk his dog brought him back to reality. Carlisle shook his thoughts away and covered the sword in the backseat with the sun visor. He wouldn’t need it today: it was going to rain.
He walked to the front door and no one needed to know how he opened it. As soon as he opened the door, he was hit with the smell of coffee and comfort. The lasting scent of leather and evergreen that seemed to follow Charlie wherever he went, even when he used that god-awful aftershave.
He couldn’t be distracted: he was looking for clues. Alice had told him he was investigating on his own, he was hiding something he had discovered. Something that could help track him. Carlisle walked to the living room and looked all around him. The couch still had the blankets and cushions thrown on, awaiting two bodies. There were two coasters on the coffee table, clean, positionned in an unnatural way.
The carpet.
Carlisle looked down. There were faint lines on the carpet and on the floorboards around the carpet. It had been moved recently. He pushed the couch away from the center of the room as silently as he could, so as to not alert the neighbours. There were two different imprints from the legs on the thick fabric. Charlie had been moving furniture. Since he had been hurt and sewn back together, that couldn’t be spring cleaning. No, Charlie had been hiding things.
Once the couch moved out of the way, Carlisle slid the carpet away from the center of the room. Nothing. That was disappointing… Wait. Carlisle frowned, focusing his eyes on the floor. There was a post-it there, laying forgotten on the left. He picked it up and turned it over. There, in a messy handwriting were scrawled the beginning of a word: “Jun”. A date. Carlisle remembered the meager file she had access to. They had discovered the first body parts in June. It was close.
He would just have to open a lot of doors.
**
Charlie couldn’t carry anything with his arm, which ruled out the first floor immediately. Carlisle closed his eyes to focus. He could pick up something enticing close by. It was both fragrant and a little bitter. He could almost taste it, Carlisle thought, his tongue absent-mindedly caressing his palate. He might as well follow it: he head no other leads so far.
He crossed the living-room to the south side of the house. There, it was amplifying. Carlisle forced himself to relax his shoulders and not walk in a half-crouch: this was not a hunt. Not really a hunt. He was only looking for anything that could lead him to where Charlie had been taken the night before. He laid his hand on the cold doorknob leading to where the smell was stronger. He felt a strange apprehension, a voice in his head warning him about what he was about to find. Still, he didn’t have much choice: he needed to find Charlie.
He opened the door. It smelled deeper, more intense, like the bottom of a river. Carlisle immediately recognized the smell.
It was blood.
It shouldn’t be surprising: Charlie had often bled on his clothes recently. It would make sense to find the smell in his laundry room. This is what Carlisle told himself over and over, in order to keep his calm. He needed in his head on his shoulders, not in Charlie’s laundry. Still, the smell felt irresistible. Carlisle felt called, beckoned by it. The dark thing that had appeared inside him last night, straining at the bounds of his sanity, stirred again. Carlisle shook his head more forcefully this time and looked around.
Clues, clues, clues, he muttered to himself as he looked at the washing machine. There was a closet door right next to it. Of course. Carlisle opened it and found gold: in front of him was a tower of piled boxes, clearly marked with the stamp of the Forks Police Department. He grabbed the first one, ready to analyse its contents when two things fell on him.
The first one was a folded map of Forks and its surrounding. As soon as it fell on him, little yellow sticky notes rained. However, Carlisle didn’t have time to declare victory on his discovery as the second item fell on his right arm.
It was the flannel shirt Charlie had worn when Jerry had slashed him up. The very thought of Charlie suffering made Carlisle grip the coarse fabric tight. Then it hit him. The smell.
Divine.
Earth, river, moss…
Divinedivinedivinedivine.
Want surged in him as the rounded back of the creature slowly rising. The thing that had chosen his chest as its home ever since he had felt Charlie to be in danger was awakening. The first time, Carlisle had been able to keep it in check because Charlie’s life depended on it. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
Want, growled the creature. It made his canine itch. Where is he? It called.
Carlisle bit his lip and screwed his eyes shut. He was on a mission: it was not the time to get distracted by his own selfish desires.
I want him. Where is he? The creature asked. On the inside of his eyelids, he could see Charlie’s pulse under the thin skin of his neck. He remembered… How Charlie had clung to him for dear life, for an escape from the pain. How Charlie had smeared his blood on him. How Charlie had trusted him.
Smell, the creature asked. It was amorphous in the darkness of his mind but it had teeth. Hungry teeth. Smelling wouldn’t be bad, he decided. He brought the shirt to his nose and inhaled deeply. The creature purred. Carlisle saw a little muddy road just off the highway, by a felled birch tree.
Taste, the creature demanded. Carlisle shook his head. Smelling was one thing, but actually ingesting his blood… again… He had only done so to turn his family, those lost souls, destined to long agonies in dark despair.
Would it be so different? He thought. Charlie’s life was already in grave danger. The blood had already been spilled. Carlisle wouldn’t be hurting him. And it smelled so good. It smelled how it would feel like to curl next to him, to bury his face in his neck, to feel his hair on his face…
Charlie, the creature called. Taste.
Charlie, back in his own bed, confortable, his shirt open on his warm chest. Warm, inviting, confortable.
Eyes still screwed shut, trying to ward off the utter humiliation of wanting so much, Carlisle tentatively opened his mouth and licked at the patch of dried blood on Charlie’s shirt. It tasted like dried berries, mostly tart with a hint of sweetness. Carlisle heard a distant moan, barely registering it as his own. He felt a rumble in his throat. The creature was waking up, struggling at its bounds. He licked at the blood again and saw the little muddy road again. Past the birch tree, the road went up a gentle hill, an alley bordered by trees, deserted long ago, and entirely silent.
There, he saw it: the wooden place. An abandonned house, three storeys high, with all its windows broken. The Douglas fir spreading its needles both inside and out as its branches invaded the house like a lover.
Here, the creature told him, get him.
Carlisle laughed without mirth, his voice shaken by want and abandon. How long had he fought against the animal he found inside of him, a traitor to his own self? How long, how hard had he fought against the call of blood? And yet, here he was, a mouth full of it, a decayed, subpar taste of what he wanted so badly?
He needed it. He needed it because Charlie was lost and in pain and no one else was going to rescue him in time. He needed it because Charlie always looked at him with kind eyes and inviting warmth. He needed it because Charlie needed him right now. He needed the beast with his gnawing teeth and his sword in the backseat.
He would have time to feel pity for himself later.
First, he needed to confirm what he had seen. One hand holding the shirt to his nose, Carlisle shook the map open with his other hand and looked at the careful analysis Charlie had left him.
**
Carlisle used his turn signal to veer off to the little overgrown road. He could not get far in his car: the birch tree barring the way, and the beast inside telling him to park far away so no one could hear the car and take desperate measures.
The sky was so overcast it felt like 6pm when it was barely 3. The wind had picked up, cold for the summer, and menancing. The trees forming the alley shook their leaves to the wind like dryads. As Carlisle parked, the first drops started to fall on his windshield. It would only get worse from now on. Still in his car, Carlisle called Esmée on her cellphone (picture a trusted Nokia here).
“Hey there, Carlisle, anything new?” she sounded worried.
“Yes, I found a place that might be worth exploring,” he lied. He felt guilty for it but he knew it was the only way not to expose any of them to any danger. The place was probably crawling with the hippie clique of the tall man. “It’s a little bit south of Forks, just off the highway. It’s an old hotel, the Great Southern Hotel, abandonned in the 80s. Probably nothing but I should check it out nonetheless. I’ll call you if I find anything worth calling the children over.”
Sensing his deceit, Esmée hesitated on the other end of the line: “Well… Be careful Carlisle. It’s not just your burden to bear. You can ask for help.”
“I know, my darling,” Carlisle answered, his eyes softening under his wife’s wise words. “I’ll be careful. See you soon.”
“See you soon, hubby. I mean it,” Esmée replied. Carlisle could hear her shaky smile from miles away and he knew she heard his steely determination just as well. He smiled to the rainy sky before hanging up the phone.
He then stepped outside the car and retrived his sword from the backseat. As soon as the pommel touched his skin, the creature inside him purred, eager for what was to come.
**
“Wakey wakey,” a sinister voice intruded on Charlie’s uneasy dream.
Charlie opened his eyes, groaning as the pain came back to him. He was laying on an old, dirty mattress on the floor. He did his best not to move his arm as fresh pain shot up to his shoulder. He gritted his teeth.
“Good afternoon, little guardian,” the tall man mocked him, kneeling next to the matress, his hair falling in his face. His eyes were bright red, gleaming in the semi-darkness of the room. Charlie tried not to let fear creep up on him, but, watching the tall man’s smile widening, knew he had failed.
“Do you hear that?” the tall man asked as Charlie shook the remnants of sleep from his heavy eyelids. Charlie shook his head.
“That’s your Cullen, coming to rescue you. He thinks he’s foiling whatever plan I have but he’s walking straight into it. Clever plan we came up with, along with the Volturi. Who knew those European bloodsuckers could be so wise when it came to the hunt?”
“You know, you talk a lot for a mysterious creature of the night,” Charlie interrupted him. He had always been grumpy after a nap. Couldn’t help it.
Also, the sinister smile on the pale face was really starting to creep him out. The very thought of Carlisle having to face him was terrifying.
“You’re in no position not to listen, policeman,” the tall man said. Immediately, incredible pain shot up his broken arm as the creature squeezed it. Charlie bit his tongue in order to keep silent. He would not give him the satisfaction. “Now, you listen. You’re about to see the doom of your beloved Cullen one way or another. Did you know that he’s the oldest vampire not to have tasted human blood except to turn his family? Yeah, that righteous little doctor looking like a good daddy turned aaaaaaall those poor souls to the fate that he himself abhors. Ironic how living centuries can turn your brain into the very opposite of what it was, isn’t it?”
Charlie tried to sit up, if only to put some distance between his face and the tall man’s. His breath smelled of carrion. The tall man tutted, his fingers tightening slightly on his arm, warning him. Charlie sighed but remained still.
“He’s known for his legendary self-control. No one can shake him. Oh, they tried. Tried really hard, they did: offered him golden chalices full of the purest blood, offered him the willing necks of beautiful virgins, mostly skinny monks but still, everyone’s got a type, right? He said no to all that. It infuriated Aro, it did. Aro likes to get what he desires, that devil. What he don’t understand is that Carlisle isn't a man. He's a beast. A hunter. If you want to catch the hunter, you have to give him something to hunt.”
Charlie frowned. He had already come to the conclusion that Carlisle was a supernatural creature. Hearing that he was incredibly old and, most importantly, famous among monsters, was a surprise. Carlisle had always carried himself like a simple doctor and here, Charlie was learning that he was basically a vampire legend.
“And Carlisle isn’t just any type of hunter, he’s the difficult type: he only hunts to feed and protect his pack. The rest of the vampires are too powerful and disciplined to tempt, except for Jasper, of course, but he’s way too strong and… sanguine. Can’t tempt the most dangerous beast of the pack, right?”
“You’re making no sense,” Charlie protested. His head was pounding, and he wanted peace and silence above all else.
“Doesn’t have to make sense to you, little human,” the tall man answered. He was evidently gloating to himself about a devious plan well-made. “So what do we do? We get to the prey he wants. He doesn’t want to hunt it, but no hunter wants someone else to get their paws on what his heart, and his teeth, truly want. So off you go in the river and on dangerous crime scenes, dipping your hands in blood. Now another hunter is baiting the prey he wants. How that drives a hunter crazy, to see what he wants running towards someone else.”
Charlie wants to spit in his face. The fear and despair he had felt as corpses piled around his town had been a ruse to this monster. He had been game, a pawn into his sick plan. He wanted to yell at him to shut up, shut up and disappear, like a nightmare fading away with the dawn.
“You see, you can’t just offer the results of the hunt to a hunter. He won’t want it dead on a plate. He wants to wriggling, alive under his teeth. So I’m offering him what he truly wants. I can smell him now: he stinks of bloodhound. He has already started developing his… special skill. Methinks someone has been a little whore and offered him his blood in advance,” the tall man explained in a sing-song voice, his smile mocking Charlie.
“But that’s okay. It’s only going to make him want more. He’s here for you. He thinks he’s here to rescue you, but he’s just hunting for what he wants: blood. And when he sees you here, bleeding, struggling against your own fate, he won’t be able to resist you. He just needs a little push towards what he wants.”
The plan was twisted and sickening. Charlie felt queasy with pain, fear, and disgust. Hopelessness fell on him like sudden rain. It seemed like the pain would never end.
**
Below, the massacre had begun. As soon as Carlisle had battered down the old door, two of the vampires had jumped on him, but they had not expected the weapon he was wielding.
While his movements were not as gracious as they had once been (it had been centuries since he had wielded his sword), the choreography was imprinted on him by years of practice. One does not forget what could save your life. Two heads fell on the floor, soon joined by their two lifeless bodies. It was not enough, Carlisle knew, to kill what was already dead, but it would have to wait until he could torch the place. And torch the place, he will.
The lobby was dark and falling to pieces. The grand reception desk was splintered in half, the wall behind covered in rusting keys and a huge mirror broken into menacing shards. Carlisle walked behind the desk but found no one. He then walked to the lobby couches, their fabric torn their cotton showing like entrails. They had obviously been used recently: they had been moved into a circle and there were the remains of a fire in the middle. Foolish.
Carlisle did not have the time to linger. He had no doubt the other vampires would find him soon, and he couldn’t waste any more time finding Charlie. His arm was broken, he was in pain, confused, and terrified. All because of him. He had to make it right.
He found another group of vampires, three of them this time, in the ruins of the restaurant. They had been hiding behind the bar and jumped out to surprise and overwhelm him. Carlisle disposed of two of them with a graceful arc of his sword, cutting the first one’s head at the neck and the other through the face. Two great fountains of dark blood splashed him as they fell. Carlisle took a step back, his right hand raised to his face to prevent the blood from stinging his eyes. He should have been more careful: evidently, they had fed recently, and had more blood than expected. He felt the blood, cold now, splatter on his face, hands, and shirt. It smelled bitter and distasteful.
He would have to go shopping soon: so many of his shirts had been stained recently, he would run out before the fall.
His distraction cost him: the third vampire had enough time to push him against the wall, to get him out of the way so he could flee. Carlisle’s back thudded against the wall, and he had to shake his head to regain his bearings. His deepest instinct told him to run after the vampire, to find and kill him, to clean out the place, as he always did when he accompanied his father. But centuries had elapsed since then, and he had taught himself patience and kindness. He would not kill what he didn’t have to. Let him run away: it was still an obstacle removed.
He had a bigger vampire to stake.
The restaurant was empty again, so that left him with the two storeys of rooms above him. Carlisle walked the first flight of stairs, not caring about them creaking under his weight: he wasn’t trying to hide his presence but to draw out his adversary.
He didn’t have to search long: Carlisle could hear Charlie’s breathing halfway down the long dilapidated corridor. The beast inside of him called out his name again, straining against his ribcage. Carlisle followed the beast to the last door, room number 8. He paused, gathering his strength and his spirits. Whatever was waiting for him on the other side of the door was sure to be a trap laid out especially for him. The Volturi had always found his resistance insulting and had long tried to chip at it. He wondered what they had concocted this time. He tightened his grip on his sword and ripped the door from its hinges.
**
Inside was Charlie, sat on an old wooden chair, the broken arm laid on his thigh, the other tied to the armrest with rope. Both his feet were tied together at the ankle. Even his neck was tied to the back of the chair with rope, which looked very uncomfortable.
“Hey, doc,” Charlie said, looking both worried and relieved, but trying to appear unbothered.
Carlisle stood there for a moment, taking him in. He looked… ravishing. His hair was wild and some of it was stuck to his forehead with sweat. His shirt had been torn open over his chest, lean and muscular, as Carlisle discovered, and enticingly hairy. The rope, as uncomfortable as it looked, was pushing his head slightly back, forcing Charlie to look like he was offering it to him.
The beast purred, and Carlisle could feel it in his throat. There was the smell of dried blood that had driven him half mad back in Charlie’s house. And there was Charlie, smiling at him, relieved to see him… Carlisle licked his lips before he could stop himself and he watched as Charlie’s eyes dropped to follow the movement.
Carlisle had been offered many, many humans who smelled delicious, like persimmons, roses, cloves, freshly cut bread… But he had never been tempted like this. Charlie smelled of everything that was weak in him. It smelled deep, raw, and alive, and Carlisle wanted to lick the smell off of him.
“Charlie, I’ll free you, I’m…” Carlisle answered, feeling his voice strained. He was ready to drop his sword when Charlie frantically shook his head no, as much as he could, rubbing his skin raw against the rope.
Immediately, Carlisle tightened his grip on the sword, just in time to see the tall man step out of the shadows. How had Carlisle not seen, or even smelled him? His stature, his eyes, the smell of mud, everything came to him now, when he had detected no traces of it earlier. His power, Carlisle thought, that was his power: to be undetected, even to vampiric senses.
“Your game is over,” Carlisle declared, hoping the blood splattered all over him spoke for itself. “Surrender him and I’ll let you leave with the rest of your coven. We do not have to fight because of some game the Volturi want us to play.”
“Game?” the low, cavernous voice sounded, half-amused, “I suppose it is a game, in a way… But the game doesn’t matter as much as the result. You are insulting us, Carlisle, in your stubborn rejection of what makes us strong. You gladly accept the weaknesses of vampires, and yet you reject its strength. You think that all this denying your desires, your nature, makes you a martyr? It makes you a blind fool, leading other fools to a pathetic state of weakness. You do not want the wanton orgies of refinery they offered you in Europe? Fine!” The tall man answered, walking leisurely to Charlie who couldn’t turn his head to see his progress, no matter how he struggled against the rope. He only stopped when one of the tall man’s hands laid on his neck, his long, sharp nails dangerously close to his jugular.
“But you must want this kind of hunt I’m offering you. You have run around him for days. You must want a taste, desperately now. He could be your first real hunt. You have but to say the word and I cut his loose, watch him run, and hunt him down. Taste his blood: you like it now, imagine how it would taste when you catch him. Or…” The nail of his index started digging into the thin skin without breaking it. “Or I could just open him now and watch how long you struggle with this precious control of yours while your one chance of tasting him fresh slips between your fingers,” the tall man offered with a sinister smile.
The beast in Carlisle’s gut wanted desperately, yearned for a hunt, for blood, for anything coming from Charlie. His mind was flooded with images he had tried so long to push away for centuries. He thought of John by the river, how he would have tasted. He thought of Charlie in his car, driving too fast in the night, how he could have…
Carlisle looked at Charlie now, his neck turning red from the rope, sitting still, fear in his eyes. He took a step forward. Charlie still smelled like dried blood, from the wound the tall man had inflicted on him the night before, wanting Carlisle to chase after him. He was offering him the perfect prey, the one he could never resist. Another step forward and he could feel Charlie’s knee brush against his leg, the contact deliciously tempting. The tall man’s smile widened, showing sharp teeth smelling like rotten meat. He looked satisfied as a cat that finally got the canary stuck with no escape.
Then, Carlisle threw his head into his face. His forehead met his adversary’s nose with a sickening cracking sound. The tall man, surprised and hurt, took a step back, swearing and groaning. Carlisle immediately cut the rope tying Charlie’s hand to the chair with the sword, carefully sawing it so he wouldn’t hurt the human. He didn’t, however, look at Charlie, he couldn’t yet: his work wasn’t finished.
Carlisle advanced on the tall man as he was regaining his bearings. He pulled out his mean-looking hunting knife, the blade glimmering in the darkness. That didn’t stop Carlisle who disarmed him with a swift move of his sword. The tall man went down, crawling to get to his knife. Carlisle let him, for a few seconds, walking slowly behind him. This man had taken satisfaction at terrorizing his family for weeks, now, he was crawling on the floor like a worm.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Carlisle, I’m your nature. We are part of nature, just like the trees, the rivers, the packs of bears and the wolves roaming the forests. We were made for hunting, just like predators are. Denying it would be like denying rocks the right to fall from mountains!” The tall man protested, his voice coming out as garbled, now that his nose was broken and bleeding.
He seized the knife and brandished it at Carlisle who now stood over him. All this talk was starting to make him weary. He was tired and hungry, and he wanted this man to just stop talking. Carlisle merely taped his sword against the blade, pushing it away: “You talk of nature, yet you seem to forget that animals protect themselves, if you attack a…”
He didn’t have time to finish before a sharp pain stabbed him in the calf. Carlisle growled like a beast as he looked down and realized he had been foolishly distracted by his own answer, allowing the tall man to stab at him with a second, smaller knife. Two knives. Of course. The pain shot through his leg, making him sway slightly as his left hand clutched at his calf. The beast howled and snapped its jaws shut, fighting against the pain.
Then, Carlisle laughed. It started as a chuckle before expanding, shaking his chest and his shoulders. It sounded breathy and dark, in the obscurity of the ruined room. Even the tall man laid there, confusion written plainly on his bloodied face. The next thing he knew, Carlisle had cut his offending hand at the wrist with one fell swoop of his sword. He screamed in pain, rolling over to hold his wrist. Carlisle remained unmoved at the blood gushing from the wound and used his foot to roll him back unto his back, facing him.
“You fancy yourself old as the rocks and the mountains and think that gives you the right to put order into the world around you,” Carlisle said, his voice steely and implacable, “I’m eons older than you. I’m the primordial darkness before the Sun was even an idea. Even when I was light, darkness resided in me. You should not have awakened me. You are merely an idol to an ancient god. I am Erebos.”
Carlisle then cut his other hand but this time, the tall man didn’t dare scream, his eyes fixed on Carlisle’s: “You have made me doubt my family. My blood. My. Blood. You have made them scared and uncertain. That alone deserves the true death. But then…” Carlisle chuckled almost to himself, “then, you have hunted that which belongs to me. You are no hunter: you are vulture. When you arrive in Hell, you would do well to remember: what the dark has chosen, the dark will keep, and it will not belong to any other.”
Carlisle then raised his arms and plunged the sword into his adversary’s throat.
Silence fell on the room, as heavy as darkness. Everything stood still for a moment and it seemed that even the leaves didn’t dare shake in the wind. Carlisle took a deep breath he didn’t need to take and released it. He blinked slowly and felt as if a spell he had not known to be under released him.
He fell to his knees, groaning against the pain in his calf.
Charlie was next to him in a minute, removing his shirt to tie it around Carlisle’s leg, using his good hand and his teeth. Carlisle merely chuckled, amused, at the gesture: “I’m not going to bleed to death, Charlie,” he protested with a pained smile.
“Well, that would have been useful to know before I removed my shirt,” Charlie answered.
I beg to disagree, Carlisle thought, before asking: “How’s your arm? How much does it hurt?”
Charlie stared at him, his brown eyes open wide in surprise: “Look, I understand your concern, doc, and it does hurt, but I think the real emergency in the room is you being covered in blood.”
Carlisle was feeling all the fury, the fight, the drive, leaving him as blood from the wound. He felt slack like a puppet whose strings had been cut off. He felt even colder than before: “It’s mostly not my blood,” he answered. “We need to call Edward.”
“Edward?” Charlie frowned. “You’re sure you don’t want to call Suzy, or…”
“I’m not sure Suzy quite knows what I am, and I’m in no hurry for her to find out,” Carlisle answered, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
“What… are you?” Charlie asked. Carlisle looked at him carefully: Charlie was looking him up and down, looking both worried and curious but not disgusted. Carlisle had never revealed his secret to someone who he did not plan to turn soon. Yet, Charlie knelt by his side, cut open and broken from saving him and being saved by him. He looked so handsome, so tempting, and he felt so warm. He looked like exactly what Carlisle craved.
“I’m a vampire, Charlie,” he confessed, looking deep into his eyes for the slightest spark of panic or disgust, but he only saw worry.
“And vampires don’t bleed out?”
“Well, it’s like dehydration in humans, it’s uncomfortable and it hurts, but it’s not lethal in the early stages,” Carlisle explained, feeling strangely comfortable revealing all of this.
“I see… Do you need… more blood?” Charlie asked. Carlisle frowned and stared at him, watching with utter disbelief as Charlie pointed to his own throat, still raw from the rope. The vampire blinked slowly. He could see in Charlie’s eyes that his own were suddenly gleaming like topaz under bright sunlight, as they usually did near an irresistible prey. Yet, he still saw no panic in Charlie’s eyes.
He was facing a man covered in blood, a vampire, a predator for whom he was the natural prey, someone he saw kill only minutes ago… And there was no fear in his eyes. It broke something in Carlisle. He could feel tears prickling at his eyes and his control shatter. He reached for him, his Charlie, what was chosen by the dark and belonged to it, and dragged him to his lips… in an earth-shattering kiss.
Their teeth clicked with the violence of the shock, but the pain didn’t prevent them from deepening the kiss. Carlisle’s tongue found its way into Charlie’s mouth, licking at everything within reach. He was hungry, famished really, and he found Charlie so willing to indulge him. Carlisle licked at his palate and his tongue, discovering him. Everything was warm about him and everything was a delight. Charlie’s tongue met his, stroking it, making him growl.
Soon, way too soon, Charlie struggled to disengage. It took Carlisle a second to remember that he needed to breathe and allow him to break the kiss. He couldn’t let go for long, however, and he found himself peppering kisses on his lips, feeling his moustache ticking him, waiting for the moment Charlie would allow him to kiss him deeper again. His hand found its way into his hair, holding on to it.
“Wait, wait,” Charlie protested, still breathless.
Carlisle whined against his better judgement.
“I like this but I don’t want to make out next to a dead body, if you don’t mind,” Charlie explained, without moving or pushing Carlisle away.
“You are making out with a dead body,” Carlisle deadpanned.
Charlie sighed and stared at the vampire: “You are a brat, you know that right?”
Carlisle laughed and jerked forward, stealing a kiss, then another. He was about to get carried away when Charlie pressed his hand, warm, so warm and comfortable, against his chest. Carlisle pressed his forehead against Charlie’s shoulder: “You’re right. I do need to call Edward. We need to torch this place down. This is how you kill vampires.”
“Alright,” Charlie answered, looking a little overwhelmed suddenly.
Carlisle composed Edward’s number and pressed the phone to his ear as it rung.
“Carlisle,” Edward answered, sounding almost panicked, “where are you? We’ve been trying to call for hours!”
“I found the nest,” Carlisle said, calmly. “I found Charlie and we are both fine. Lightly wounded. I took care of the head of the nest and four other vampires, but I need you to come and burn it all down.”
Charlie’s hand was still on his chest and Carlisle couldn’t help but stare at him. He probably sounded very distracted on the phone, which made Edward suspicious: “Are you sure you’re alright? You sound… Oh! Wow! A warning would have been nice!”
“Yes,” Carlisle protested turning his eyes away from Charlie in order not to be tempted, “a warning before looking into people’s mind would have been nice. We’re at the Great Southern Hotel, the old one that closed down decades ago. It’s a ruin now, and mostly made of wood, so it shouldn’t take too much effort, but Charlie and I are both wounded so we can’t burn it efficiently. Please get Emmett and Jasper and torch it with the vampires inside.”
“Alright, I’ll get them, we’re on it,” Edward answered. “Does he know…?”
“Yes, he knows now. I’ll see you very soon, stay out of my head,” Carlisle answered before hanging up. He turned his head back towards Charlie who was staring hard at his mouth. Carlisle didn’t know whether he wanted to kiss him again or was staring at his teeth. He felt suddenly very self-conscious.
“Is everything…” He started hesitantly.
“Can I… It’s weird, I’m sorry, can I…” Charlie sighed in frustration, shaking his head.
“Ask,” Carlisle answered, both his hands coming to cover Charlie’s on his chest.
“Can I touch your mouth?” He asked.
Carlisle blinked, thrown off by the request.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s weird, I shouldn’t have…” Charlie scrambled.
Before he could confound himself in excuses, Carlisle took the hand on his chest and gently pressed it against his lips, kissing the fingertips. Charlie looked up at him, bewildered and blushing. He then seemed to gather his courage and, gently, as if he were afraid of breaking Carlisle, pressed his fingers on his lower lip, opening his mouth. The vampire followed the movement obediently, presenting his mouth to Charlie’s intent eyes. Charlie’s fingers caressed his lower lip before tentatively touching the fangs with his index finger.
Carlisle found himself enjoying the gesture, the careful exploration of his mouth. A strange heat was flooding him, caressing at his spine, making him want to arch his back to get closer. He wanted to lick those fingers and suck on them, and yet, he stayed still, letting Charlie look at him as he wanted. Charlie looked so focused, entranced by what he was seeing: his lips were parted and his chest was heaving. He looked so damned delicious. Carlisle wanted to whine and drag his attention back to kissing but he forbade himself and sat still. Charlie, now more assured, let his fingers drop to Carlisle’s tongue, opening his mouth wider, looking deeper inside his mouth. The calloused fingers felt rough but enticing on his tongue and Carlisle felt his mouth water. Pleasure was polling in his stomach, and he could feel himself harden a little. And yet, he remained still to satisfy Charlie’s curiosity.
“So only your canines are fangs?” Charlie finally asked, taking a minute to remove his fingers, almost unwillingly. His eyes were blown out and impossibly darker. He was licking his own lips as if they were suddenly dry.
“I don’t need any other fangs,” Carlisle replied, mesmerized by Charlie’s darker eyes.
“I see,” Charlie answered, nodding to himself before absent-mindedly putting the fingers that were in Carlisle’s mouth into his.
At this, Carlisle whined and threw himself at Charlie, pressing his lips to his, kissing him ravenously. He sucked at his lower lip, careful with his fangs before licking his way back into Charlie’s mouth. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted, and Charlie was oh so eager to give him. Charlie groaned a little, opening his mouth to him, welcoming him with his tongue in rough strokes.
Then Charlie winced in pain. Carlisle’s blood turned colder than it already was and he stopped immediately. Charlie had tried to hold himself up, using his broken arm for support, refreshing the pain. Charlie swore under his breath, looking at his poorly bandaged arm in frustration.
“We need to get out before we burn in this hotel,” Carlisle was the voice of reason this time. He stood up, using the wall as a crutch before offering his hand to Charlie to help up stand up. He politely did not mention the other part standing up.
Together, using each other for support, they exited the room where the tall man, once so terrifying, laid motionless in a pool of his blood, looking shrivelled. They walked down the stairs at a torturous pace but feeling hope, light, and breath coming back to them as they put some distance with the terror and violence they had lived though.
They found themselves under the canopy of stars and foliage, feeling the cool night breeze on their bloodied faces. They sighed with relief, Charlie chuckling a little:
“For a minute there, I actually thought I wouldn’t survive.”
“I was always coming to get you,” Carlisle answered, seriously.
“I know, but… I wondered whether they would kill me first.”
“I won’t let anything else happen to you again, that is a promise, Charlie.”
This time, Charlie initiated the kiss. It was slower, more tender, but just as passionate. Charlie’s warm hands holding his face, guiding him into the kiss Charlie wanted were a powerful aphrodisiac. Carlisle closed his eyes to savour everything Charlie wanted to give him. How he had longed for this warmth, for being held and revelling in it. He shuddered, wanting this sensation to last and to engulf him whole.
When Charlie broke the kiss, Carlisle let go, licking at his lips for the aftertaste. Charlie was staring at him, devouring him with his eyes darkening again: “Actually, you know what,” he said, breathless, his voice raspy and urgent. “I don’t think I want to wait.”
Carlisle frowned for a second before realising what Charlie meant. His eyebrows shot up: “Your arm…” he reminded him.
“My arm has been a pain since yesterday, it can wait a little more. Just… be careful, okay?”
Carlisle nodded, dumbfounded: “Do you want… in the car?” he asked.
“Sounds like a recipe for more hurt,” Charlie shook his head no. Then, he smiled mischievously: “What about… you catch me,” he suggested.
Oh, that was dangerous. Charlie didn’t know how dangerous. Carlisle had just broken his vow of keeping peace whenever he could just to get Charlie, he had licked Charlie’s dried blood on his shirt, the beast in his gut called for him… And Charlie wanted to run and have him catch him…
“Yes,” Carlisle nodded.
Immediately, Charlie turned his back on him and, keeping his arm close to his chest, ran down the hill. Carlisle stood there and waited until he saw Charlie reach the forest below. Then, with his calf on fire, he followed. If Edward kept his promise of staying out of his head, no one would know there were here. He would have Charlie all to himself, on the forest floor in this summer night. The thought inflamed him and he hurried his pace as much as he could.
Here in the night, protected by the dark sky and the cold air, he allowed himself to feel wild and unburdened. He had killed his foe, now he would claim his prize.
Turns out, he didn’t have to get far, or even to chase. As Carlisle stood at the foot of the hill, sniffing the air for a track, Charlie surprised him, appearing from behind a tree and pulling him into another kiss. This kiss was passionate, inflamed, searching, as Charlie’s hand found its way into his hair, mussing it up, and his tongue caressed his own. Carlisle had the passing suspicion that Charlie had tried to reverse their positions and lay out a trap to catch him instead.
Carlisle took a few steps back, pressing Charlie into a tree before pressing himself into his body. It was warm, burning him with the most delightful sensation. He craved it, wanted it to last forever. The kiss turned dirty as their hips met. Carlisle groaned, rubbing himself against Charlie who threw his head back, biting his lips. Carlisle rolled his hips again, his hands finding Charlie’s hips to hold him there. Charlie’s hand in his hair tightened, hurting him in a hungry and delectable way.
“Charlie,” he called out, needing more.
“Your eyes,” Charlie breathed out.
“They do that when I’m… I want…” Carlisle tried to explain it in a way that didn’t sound like he was going to eat Charlie in the woods. He knew his eyes would look even more unnatural in the darkness of the forest where they were the only source of light apart from the stars. Still, Charlie sounded more curious than frightened, so Carlisle indulged in his own hunger and held Charlie’s chin in his hand to kiss him again.
This time, Charlie’s rolling hips met his and Carlisle had to groan again. The pleasure was like electricity crackling up his spine, making his hips roll again and again, searching for the perfect sensation. Charlie was so warm, he couldn’t bear to part from him.
“Carlisle, fuck, I…” Charlie started to talk, breathless. “When I saw you, at the morgue, I knew, ah, I knew something was wrong with you. Not bad,” he hurried to explain, his hand now roaming over his back, making Carlisle shudder and press harder against him. “But fuck, you were hot. You’re so beautiful. Dangerous beautiful, like something you should not touch…”
Carlisle whined at that, it was so good, Charlie’s touch, and his voice, deeper from the arousal, it was so good he didn’t want it to stop. He brought his hand between them, cupping Charlie through his jeans, making him moan and delighting in the sound.
“Gods, Carlisle… Your mouth… I thought about your mouth… It already seemed dangerous before, but now…”
“It’s all yours,” Carlisle promised, closing his fingers around Charlie’s hard cock through the fabric.
“I thought about you in my kitchen, in my shower, in my bed. You fit everywhere. I wanted you everywhere,” Charlie confessed, closing his eyes against the pleasure.
Carlisle felt he was going to go mad with arousal. He was panting now, urgency overwhelming his senses. He wanted everything Charlie was describing. He opened the button of his jeans and drew his cock out. Charlie hissed as his cold hands touched his overheating flesh but didn’t protest. His nails dug into Carlisle’s back.
“Carlisle, please,” he breathed out. The vampire licked his palm before holding him again, the movements smoother and quicker.
“Keep talking,” Carlisle prompted him, his hand tightening around him. Charlie groaned and then chuckled.
“I have to tell you I didn’t picture you quite so needy. I like it. I like that you moan for me. You would sound so good on your knees for me. Or in my bed. I want to open you up. I want to see you when you moan for me, when you open your mouth and I can see your teeth. I want to see you lose control and hold on to me. I want to make you feel so good…”
“You do,” Carlisle promised, pressing his own hard-on against Charlie’s thigh, rubbing himself to keep from going mad at his words. The wound on his calf was burning, the ghost of the knife still in the wound. He could feel his muscle cramping up, and yet nothing seemed to matter more than what Charlie was describing.
“Oh, fuck, I shouldn’t have thought about this, but you were so gorgeous when you arrived, and you were covered in blood, you looked like a knight. You look so good, don’t stop, don’t stop,” Charlie was moaning as Carlisle quickened his pace. The warmth of his skin was bleeding out into his and Carlisle felt warm, truly warm, in decades. It felt like a relief, like the dawn after a terrifying night.
Then Charlie pressed his face against the side of Carlisle’s neck, his lips exactly where he would need to be if their roles were reversed, and Charlie were the vampire looking for blood. Instead, he just kissed him, small kisses at first, then he opened his mouth and bit lightly on the tender but cold skin of his neck. That made Carlisle smile but he said nothing. He could hear Charlie’s delicious blood sing, calling out to him with each beat of his heart. Charlie was tensing up, his movements more frantic, disorganised as he was chasing his orgasm. Carlisle tightened his hand a little more, careful not to hurt him and it was now his turn to speak: “I will lay you out on the most exquisite velvet sheets like a feast and I will devour you,” he promised. “I will take everything you give me, and I will taste every inch of you. Oh, Charlie,” he whispered to his ear, feeling his human shudder. “I will give you everything you ever wanted, you will have me however you want, for as long as your heart desires. I chose you, I will keep you…”
Charlie’s nails broke the skin, and Carlisle knew he would have four red half-moons on his back for days. Charlie groaned, stifling the sound against Carlisle’s skin. Charlie then went rigid under Carlisle’s hands, spending himself all over them with a few delicious broken moans. That made Carlisle moan in return and hold him up against him.
Charlie’s heart slowed and his breathing evened out as he came down from his orgasm. He was shaking and shivering in the aftermath. His hair was a downright mess and his chest heaved deliciously. Carlisle held him for a moment before the shivers were too noticeable and he gently extricated himself from his embrace.
“The night is fresh, you’ll catch your death,” Carlisle explained when Charlie started to protest.
Charlie looked at Carlisle as he was wiping his hands on his expensive-looking trousers already covered in sweat and blood. He looked like he had just crawled out of a grave, which shouldn’t be as attractive as it was. His pale blonde hair was falling in his face and he suddenly looked like a marble statue a clearly enamoured sculptor had made of the devil. Charlie couldn’t believe this man was whining and moaning against him seconds ago.
“You didn’t come,” he said, moving towards his ruined trousers, feeling suddenly very self-conscious now that he wasn’t clinging for dear life as pleasure ravished him.
“I… It’s… difficult for us to… Maintain an erection,” Carlisle explained, shaking his head. “When we don’t drink blood, there’s no blood to circulate. I haven’t had a lot of blood, so I can’t maintain it. It’s nothing about you, you are very… handsome,” he scrambled a little at the end.
“Do you want to…” Charlie offered again, tempting him further. He looked ravished, his damn moustache making him incredibly attractive, the red mark of the rope highlighting exactly where Carlisle wanted to plunge his fangs.
“That is the other problem: if I were to drink from you now, I’ll probably stay hard for hours.”
“Oh, really?” Charlie asked with a devious smile. His hand ran down Carlisle’s arm.
“Yes, and I’d rather we do this in a more comfortable place… You’re shivering, here,” Carlisle redirected the conversation to less tempting grounds, removing his shirt and covering Charlie with it. It was not enough to ward off the old, but it would have to do until they got to the car.
**
When they turned back, the fire had just started on the ground floor. They could see the sunset-coloured flames licking at the old creaking wood, pushing out great volutes of black smoke.
All his children, except Rosalie, were there. They looked tired, mud on their feet, branches in their hair, staring at the fire with blank stares. They turned to Carlisle and Charlie as they appeared up the hill but most of them didn’t dare look at them in the eye. Curse the vampire hearing.
“You look terrible,” Edward greeted them.
“Could be worse,” Carlisle shrugged. He was feeling good-humoured.
“You even forgot your sword,” Jasper noted, pointing to Alice who was leaning on it with the beginnings of a smile on her wan face.
“It’s okay,” Emmett answered with a smile, “looks like he found another,” he laughed, elbowing Edward who almost fell backwards under the strength of it.
Charlie looked mortified. Alice was polite enough to hide her smile in her hands.
“Thank you for thinking about it before you lit the fire,” Carlisle answered patiently, sounding just like a father. “Now, Charlie and I,” what pleasure it brought to say this simple phrase! “are wounded, and I need to see to our wounds. Could you please make sure the fire doesn’t burn down the forest before the firefighters arrive? And bring the sword home.”
They all nodded and answered in a chorus of “Yes, dad” and “Yes Carlisle”.
Charlie just greeted them with an embarrassed smile, looking like he was dying inside, as he followed Carlisle back to his car. The pain was starting to rise again, and he felt suddenly wrung out. He wanted nothing more than to just drop and sleep where he fell, but Carlisle was patiently guiding him back to the car, where taking a nap would be a hundred times more comfortable.
Carlisle opened the passenger door to him and Charlie stopped, staring at the seat:
“You brought a granola bar and a bottle of orange juice to recue me from a coven of vampires in the middle of the woods,” he said, blinking several times.
Now, it was Carlisle’s turn to look embarrassed. He looked at Charlie as if he was trying to read his mind before showing any emotion: “Well, it wouldn’t be much of a rescue if you were to die from exhaustion.”
Charlie laughed a little at that, biting his lower lip and Carlisle couldn’t help but think his eyes looked like the most precious stars in this dark night.