Chapter Text

“I’ve been thinking,” Carlisle begins, settling down onto the metal bench beside him.

“That’s worrying,” you jest as you sit beside him.

He tilts his head as he laughs. You’ve pivoted away from the stream of people occupying the park which Carlisle had suggested, unnaturally busy for this time of year, causing his mind to go into overdrive once by the sight of you and twice at the wave of scents hitting him. As you take this moment of respite, he feels the time is right to ask you something he’s been meaning to for quite some time.

“Would you like to, well.. could I have your number? My phone may be a brick but it’d be easier to contact you this way.”

“Of course,” you quip, as he pulls a thick cylinder of silver from his pocket. “Oh, you weren’t joking, Carlisle. That’s… an antique.”

“It works just fine, believe me,” he smiles to you, mischievously, wide enough to cause the corners of his mouth to dimple.

You grin back at him wordlessly, basking in the stillness of the moment, despite the intoxicating way in which his leg is so close to yours that your bodies touch with every bounce of your leg.

Once you’ve taken the phone from his pale hands and inputted your digits, he finds himself less confident than before. He feels.. young, for once. He feels bashful, as if he really isstill twenty-six, getting the number of his crush as modern lovers do. If this really was his twenty-sixth year alive, back beyond centuries to 1663, he fancies himself as leaving you weekly sonnets to hint at his affections, slipping them under your front door or beneath rocks only you could find. For now, he can only settle for the multitude of book recommendations he has for you and showing his affection by driving you home after every little meetup, hanging on until your door has closed with you inside to take his leave.

Today is no exception. You wave him off with that rosy smile of yours, and as soon as you’re concealed inside does his anxiety ascend. Each time he looks at the quaintness of your house he feels.. dread. He knows you spend most evenings alone, unprotected as your mother works long shifts, he hates it. He considers being as brazen as to tell you to stay with him and under the watchful eye of his family, but it’s too much. They scarcely see you around, and if Carlisle is truthful, he doesn’t feel like dangling another mortal in front of Jasper as much as he can help it. These feelings of unease never seem to leave Carlisle’s mind. They could simply be delusions, symptoms of his fear of losing you. Yet, a dread runs through his cold body which he hasn’t felt since his years with the Volturi - eyes, following him and his every move, the shiver of a target being on his back, the uncertainty of who lurks in the shadows he passes by. He keeps it to himself, dismissing his bizarreness, knowing that his family deserves better than his delusions. After all, the wound of Esme’s departure is still healing, and he knows far better than to undo its stitches with his superstitions.

—

“People talk sometimes of secret vices. There are no such things. If a wretched man has a vice, it shows itself in the lines of his mouth, the droop of his eyelids, the moulding of his hands even.”

With a sigh, the book slumps to rest on your lap. The television beside you plays to itself as you read, curled up upon the leather of your sofa, the knitted blanket your mother had made out of boredom keeping you cosy. Your thoughts flick to Carlisle, his perfect face, his perfect heart. You plead your infatuation to give you some rest from these embarrassing daydreams, yet, you find him everywhere you look. The golden hue of the sunset reminds you of his hair, the gloves in the store you wander around remind you of his freezing cold hands - even the book perched on your lap, gifted by him, has your thoughts lingering on his smile. Before you can become too lovesick, your phone vibrates.

+1 360-374-5634

Hello Y/N, this is Carlisle’s mobile. Did you receive this message okay?

With a smile, you save him into your contacts and begin your reply.

Y/N

Hi, Carlisle. Yes, everything worked - well done! :)

Carlisle

Thanks, Y/N. I’m better than you assume with technology. How are you?

Y/N

I’m great, just reading some dorian gray, not looking forward to university next week :( and you?

Carlisle

That’s good to hear. Don’t worry about university, you’ll be just fine. I’m fine, thank you for asking. :)

It takes a second for you to reply, on account of how much his smiley face makes you giggle.

Carlisle

I should leave you to read. I’ll see you soon, I hope.

Y/N

Of course, Carlisle. Any time you want my company, give me a text.

Carlisle

Likewise, Y/N. Sleep well, and I’ll be in touch soon. x

Carlisle places his phone on the coffee to his side, resting his head in his hands. He has not a single clue how to play it cool over text, pondering if the “x” he sent was too much - there are luckily few moments where he feels out of place in today’s modern society yet regretfully, this is one of such moments.

University begins and the stress hits you like a wave of crashing water. You meet up with Carlisle as much as you can, several walks in the park and conversing on fickle matters, arguing if Keats is superior to Yeats or not, and laughing together the way lovers do. Carlisle listens to all of your rants and your complaints, he takes it all in and delivers his steady stream of advice for every problem, never failing to remind you that you can make it through whatever task you face. At this point, you are both so clearly enamoured with one another and still so terrified to define what you both feel, it creates a daily waltz around your feelings as you constantly put off asking Carlisle what exactly he feels for you. You’re scared, and he is too. He fears losing you by ruining what a sweet harmony you’ve both built, and you’re equally as terrified at the idea of you reading every prolonged stare into your eyes as something it simply wasn’t - if every touch of your hand was simply platonic, if you’re deluding yourself into thinking his intentions are romantic - these thoughts race through your mind, daily.

It’s a wet and miserable Friday when Carlisle’s silver car rescues you from the rain after your class, and you have something to share.

“My mother sorta just dropped this on me,” you begin, “but my grandmother is sick, and she needs to leave the state - alone.”

Carlisle pauses, relistening to your words like rewinding cassette tapes.

“I understand… My condolences, Y/N. You’ll be alone, then?”

You sigh. “Yeah, she’s leaving late tonight. Cheaper flights, at night.”

Carlisle’s thoughts swarm. You’re alone, astray from what little protection you still have, aside from being under his guard. Unbeknownst to him, his mouth opens to release a delayed response of “Oh”, as his thoughts carry him away from the reality in front of his eyes. You’re saying something to him now, he sees your eyes searching for him, but your voice sounds a million miles underwater and he makes out exactly nothing of what you speak.

“Carlisle!” you half yell, and it has the effect you desired, as his eyes snap upward to meet yours. “I thought I lost you for a second. Is everything okay? What’s on your mind?”

He leans back into his seat, allowing his body to un-tense. He watches the students idly walking past his car, wondering who else is amongst the crowds of people that follow the pair of you - of all the danger out there that he isn’t around to protect you from. Worry creeps its way across his face, creasing his eyebrows as he thinks.

“Apologies, I’m just… well, I’m worried. You’re alone, Y/N. That’s still dangerous.”

“Oh please!” you snort. “I’m what, four years younger than you?”

“It’s certainly higher than four,” he retorts.

“My point is that you don’t have anything to worry about with me. I’m super tough, believe it or not, too,” you tease, and he can’t prevent the smile that spreads across his lips. He will never ever grow tired of how mischievous you are, even in the bleakest of situations.

“And besides, it’s not as if Forks is the hotspot for crime and burglary.”

“I wouldn’t be so confident in that, sweetheart. You forget, I’m good friends with Chief Black. I’ve heard my fair share of horror stories.”

“And I’m friends with his daughter. So is your, uhm, son. More than friendly actually. Besides that, if you’re really so concerned then I’ll drive to her place if I’m feeling scared, okay?”

Carlisle’s lips press into a thin line. “Okay, I’d like that. It’s not that I don’t believe you’re strong, Y/N, it’s..”

He pauses. It’s what? Paranoia? This feeling has become indescribable for him, in almost the same way that his love for you can never seem to be worded.

“I’d just like to know at least someone is keeping you safe.”

“You are,” you quip. “Look at us now. I could be drenched in the rain right now, but you came. You’re here, keeping me company.”

His hazel eyes soften as they watch the small smile bloom on your face. He follows your hand as it rests atop his own beside his lap, feeling your scorching hot skin enveloping his, the burn that he wishes to feel time and time again to keep you close.

“Okay?” You tilt your head as your thumb smooths over his ice-cold skin.

“Okay, Y/N,” He sighs with a smile.

—

Once again, you curl yourself up to an old movie on TV and go from chapter to chapter of your book, engrossed in its words, the metaphors, and all their eerie resemblance to your life. You’re engrossed completely, so much so that as you come back to your couch from the kitchen, you find your phone has flashed three new notifications.

Carlisle - 9:38

Hello, dear. Remember I’m on the other end of the phone, anytime you need me.

Carlisle - 10:02

I forgot to give you my copy of Dante’s Inferno. Please don’t let me forget next time, yes? Keep in touch any time you can. X

Carlisle - 10:06

Are you okay?

Carlisle paces circles in his living room, almost crushing his phone as his hands clench into fists.

“Don’t worry so much, Carlisle,” Edward hums. “You get used to it.”

“How?” The blonde-haired man groans. “How does this ever get easier, son? I almost forget how vulnerable mortals are sometimes, even with my job. I’ve never..”

“You’ve never loved a human,” Edward finishes. “I understand. The restlessness, the fear. It’s the sacrifice you make - for them.”

“I wish they were together. I should have told Y/N to stay with Bella tonight, you could have protected them there, Edward. God, am I an idiot?”

There’s no time to respond.

Ping.

Y/N

Hey! Sorry, I was making myself some food. Didn’t mean to worry you :(

Y/N

I can’t wait to start reading Inferno. I think I’m gonna nap, I’m pretty drowsy. Talk soon? x

Carlisle finally sits down, his mind at bay. You’re safe, you’re okay. There’s no danger, only the danger created in Carlisle’s own mind, tying him down and exhausting him. He taps a “sleep well” message quickly, before making his way to the balcony of his house. He watches the trees and their gentle sway against the wind, soaking in the absolute silence, except for the giggles of Rosalie and Alice who have preoccupied themselves with a game of volleyball, even in the sharp coldness of the night. He allows his mind to rest. His family is safe, and so are you. Everything is in place.

—

You wake up with a shrill gasp. Your head rises from the sofa with painful quickness. The room is pitch black except for the cobalt blue shade which midnight casts, and you immediately begin to shiver as you take in the coldness of the air. There feels to be a draft, something uncommon for you, who never wishes to open a window to the coldness of Forks outside. You stand with a groan at your body not yet being in harmony in your slumber, wrapping your cardigan around you and trudging up the stairs to your room.

Every step you take as you ascend feels…weighted. It almost feels that if you were to turn your head to the darkness behind you, something might just emerge out of the shadows. Whatever, you groan. This is what falling asleep to old Bela Lugosi films gets you - delusions over nothing. You sink into your bed with ease, allowing sleep to take hold of you, pulling you under and surrendering you to your dreams once again.

—

“See, Emmet, I told you my spike would win us the game.” Jasper teases as Emmet and Rosalie laugh contentedly. “There’s no getting past me and -”

“-Alice!” Rosalie cries out.

Alice stays frozen still behind Jasper, almost mannequin-like, except for the small tremors her body gives out as the vision strikes into her mind like lightning. She winces slightly in pain and the overwhelming blow of the vision, her palm resting against her forehead as the scene pans out behind her vacant eyes. She begins to mumble, making soft hums of syllables until Jasper rests an assuring hand over her forearm.

“It’s okay, Alice. You’re okay. Tell us what you’re seeing.”

There’s a room, littered with posters and sentimental postcards. The curtains are blowing. The lights are out, only moonlight fills the space. The eyes which possess Alice move closer from the corner of the bedroom to the bed, landing on a figure nestled beneath the covers there. Alice wishes with all her might that she could make out their face, but the visions leave her sight warped and hazed. She surrenders herself to the vision, yielding instead of fighting for focus. This time, her sight grows a little sharper. This time, she makes out a familiar mouth, a nose which she feels she knows, a head of hair she spots walking beside her father from time to time.

The mumbles continue. Jasper allows them to play out, never pushing Alice for an answer, resting by her side until the peak of the storm passes.

“Y-Y/N..” She whispers.

Jasper turns silent, hoping his ears are deceiving him. “Y/N?”

Alice sees in full definition the sight of you asleep, releasing soft sighs of breath in your slumber, innocent and unaware of the world beyond your dreams. Whoever Alice is looking at you through seems to examine you, curiously, like a laboratory-born creation. The voices in her mind distort and echo, yet she makes out a sadistic laugh, as the figure guiding her mind leans closer and closer into your sleeping figure. They hover inches above your face, taking in the sweet sight of you so unaware of their presence - until their focus is stolen by the veins below your jawline. Your neck is so perfectly bare in your loose top. The eyes surge closer to your clavicle, leaning into you yet keeping their distance, pushing the limits of just how much they can self-indulge without waking you. Your skin grows closer and closer, so much so that the thump of your heartbeat pounds into Alice’s ears, until it all crescendos into deafening quiet.

The vision ends with an abrupt gasp. Alice’s eyes are blown wide. She frantically scans her peripherals, clutching onto Jasper’s forearm with an iron grip. Her body shakes in panic, like a rabbit caught in a trap, fighting its way out.

There are no words quick enough to relay what she saw, so she allows her instincts to take over, and with a booming cry exhales Carlisle’s name into the forest air.

—

Your eyes fight to open. Your senses are askew, taking several moments to click into place and gain a grip on reality as you once again awaken. Wind, rain, trees blowing invade your head - yet you could have sworn you closed every window last night. Pale, dull moonlight streams in beside your window, barely illuminating you, leaving you almost sightless, but not quite. You begin to stretch your tired limbs, needing to adjust, but you find yourself frozen in place.

There’s a weight on your mattress. There’s a figure in the corner. There are eyes wordlessly peering at you.

“M-Mom? You’re here?”

The voice blanketed in the shadow laughs.

This is not your mother’s laugh, this is not her face emerging from the darkness into the faint light, nor her eyes, dark, staring into yours with ravenous delight.

“Don’t be afraid, Darling,” The feminine voice purrs out. “It’s about time we met.”

In a matter of milliseconds, your hand is flying to flick the switch of your bedside lamp. The warm light bursts out around your room, allowing you, at last, a look at the invader. You expect jaunt and ugly features, a terrifying scowl - yet, what your eyes scan over is a beautiful face by anyone’s standards. Her eyes hold an alluring darkness only amplified by her brunette hair, her eyebrows are thin and perfectly shaped, her lips are full and smiling smugly at the sight of you.

“Who are you?” you gulp. “What are y-”

“What am I doing here?” she interrupts. “What do I want? How did I get in? Please, sweetheart, spare me it.”

A pulse of anger surges around your body. Who is this woman, beautiful as she may be, to break into your house and make demands?

You sit up as she takes measured steps towards your bed, closer to the light of your lamp, allowing you a full look at her visage, her brown hair plaited away from her face, her all-black attire- except for one small detail.

Are your eyes deceiving you, or is that the scarf you miss so dearly on rainy days, dangling against her collarbones?

She reads your realization from your face alone. The woman laughs slyly, taking the scarf and allowing herself a deep inhale against its fabric, her eyes flickering shut as she huffs in your scent.

“I must say, you smell divine. I see why he wants you so badly.”

Your head cocks, confused. She takes a step closer toward you, towards your warmth, like a moth to a flame.

“But he’s… kept you. Poor little rabbit,” she sings, “Perhaps he’s maturing you. The time makes it so much tastier. Your flesh.”

“You expect me to have any fucking clue what you’re talking about?” You hiss.

She only smirks wider. “Of course not. How could you know, if he hasn’t told you? Wouldn’t want you running away, would he?”

Your confidence simmers, your eyes gloss over as the cogs turn in your mind. Little men are of great importance in your life, so the elusive man that the woman in front of you speaks of can only have one answer, and you don’t like the sound of it being correct.

“Carlisle. You mean Carlisle.”

“Clever bunny.”

“What does he have to do with this? Do you… do you know him?”

A flash of pain crosses against the woman’s face. “Well, you could certainly say that. Does ‘former spouse’ qualify?”

You gulp. Your stomach sinks. Of course - of course, others have been before you. Of all times, why right now must your thoughts turn sour in jealousy, instead of prioritizing your way out of the danger you’re in, you wonder.

“We had a happy life,” the woman continues. “We had a family, a sanctuary, we had routines of keeping ourselves safe and fed. We were - happy. But eventually, it wasn’t good enough for him and his conscience. Saint Carlisle, always denying who he is,” she grits her teeth, “ruining everything I had, to pretend to be someone else. Always lying to himself, and now you, it seems.”

Your hands grab your blanket, scrunching into fists, as you scowl.

“Carlisle is a good man. He’s the best man I’ve ever known. I don’t know who you are or what you want but you don’t know Carlisle. You’re…you’re wrong.”

“Is that so, little one? Well, allow me to fill you in,” she soothingly responds, sitting on your bed beside your feet and facing you. “My name is Esme. I was married to your precious Carlisle for eighty years. Do you understand the words I’m saying, dear?”

Your bedroom walls seem to close into you, growing narrower and narrower by each second that passes by as you process her words. Your head lulls as if you’d been spun around without end.

“No…that’s-”

“Impossible?” she laughs. “Quite! Now, tell me, how could he have loved me for eighty years and still be twenty-six years old, hmm? Why hasn’t he aged, at all, why hasn’t he changed all the time that you’ve known him?”

You shake your head, forcing her voice out of your mind with little success.

“Have you touched him? Has he eaten in front of you? Been in sunlight in front of you? Oh, you poor thing… has he touched you?”

“Enough!” You bellow. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

“I want you to see!” she thunders. “I’m doing you a favour. He’s too ashamed to tell you, so I will. That man, the one you defend so adamantly, is undead. He’s a monster, my love, one which lives on blood, and kills pretty things like you just to live. Do you see what he’s doing to you, or are you just so blinded to realise? You’re in love - with a vampire. And we both know this only ends two ways.”

Hot tears rise to your eyes. Carlisle, your perfect man, the warmth in your heart and the centre of your universe - is undead. He’s fated. Your relationship disintegrates into impossibility - you’re mortal and this can never, ever, no matter how hard you wish it could, end well. Esme is right, you can see the end staring you in the face. Death, or heartbreak. You ponder which would cause you less agony. Either Carlisle abandons you, or he sinks his teeth into you. Perhaps this was his plan all along, to play the part of mister nice, rebuilding your faith in love so that the time spent will have prepared your body perfectly for his next feast. You should be enraged, but the flame never ignites. Carlisle has been a walking bear trap the entire time, and now he has himself firmly clasped around you, you still cannot seem to bring yourself to hate him. For the spark of happiness he brought to your life, you’ll forever be grateful, until your dying day - even if he is the judicator of when such a day is.

Esme surges forward, hovering beside you, until her thumb strokes away your tears. The action feels the furthest thing from genuine. Perhaps she finds your emotions too embarrassing to witness, for her ex-husband. She’s freezing cold, just as his hands usually are, cementing the truth into your mind that she is the same as Carlisle - vampires.

“What do you want from me?” you weakly grumble.

“Well, I never got to explain our parting. You see, we had migrated - to Alaska. We were safe there, with everyone being so pale and cold. Carlisle was a doctor, and I was an architect’s assistant. He would smuggle blood from donors, every month, keeping us all fed enough to go by. It all worked, like clockwork. With the blood he gave us, we never needed to hunt. We kept to ourselves and avoided suspicion. That was, until he got too guilty. Poor Carlisle, the one that turned me into a monster himself, couldn’t cope with keeping me fed. Keeping his family fed. No, he wanted to be good. To be humane. So he stopped and demanded we only hunt animal blood. Animal blood … sweetheart, do you think a junkie willingly cuts their supply? Do you think a lion finds a diet of mice enough?”

You gulp.

“No. Exactly not. So, I took things into my own hands. I hunted what I needed. What my body needed. And he was furious. He banished me from my own family, said my love for human blood had taken over my love for him - and here he is,” she scoffs, tilting your face up with her fingers underneath your chin. “Fooling around with a mortal. Well, isn’t it funny how the finger of morality never points to him, hmm?”

You scoff.

“Carlisle wouldn’t hurt me. I know what he is, but he’s changed. He’s loving.”

Esme laughs, dropping her hand. “Oh, yes he is! Loving enough to kick his own wife away from her family for the thirst he himself created. Loving enough to throw me to the wolves and spend his time playing lovers with you. Do you realise how much danger you’re in, sweetheart? Look at you. Alone. Not a strong lock on a single one of your windows.”

Her tone grows colder and her eyes darken. The room seems to grow icier. The plunge of fear you feel has your stomach falling.

“Carlisle’s little pet. How is it, that you get everything, and I get left in the gutter, hm? How is it fair?”

“I’m sorry,” you croak. You begin another explanation, but your thoughts click into place. You realise that Esme is here, not confronting Carlisle, for good reason. She has you served on a platter at this moment. The one she envies, all alone, no one to save you. You brace yourself for what you know is coming - the end of everything itself. Your Armageddon is here, her eyes have turned completely black.

“If he’s too weak to do the job, I will.” Esme sneers, leaning into you completely, her face above you with mere centimetres between you both.

You bite back your whimpers of fear, you’re not giving her the satisfaction. You’re not going down without a fight, either. You need the perfect moment, you plot, and your feet can kick a hard blow into her abdomen. For this to happen, you must surrender yourself, let her believe she has you frozen in fear. So, you close your eyes, as her hand rests over your throat. You feel swept up in the violent crashing waves of the sea - all you can do is lay back and allow yourself to sink.

“I want him to remember this, every day,” she smirks. “This is beyond any revenge I could ever have paid him, all those years ago. Every time he sees you, I want him to remember who turned you into the monster you’ll become. Just like he did with me.”

She gives a final sadistic laugh, and her nose begins to press against your throat.

Oh god, this is it. This is your chance. This is your window of opportunity - but your feet just aren’t moving. You cannot even muster a grunt in frustration. Your body is surrendering, so close to the end, your fight to stay alive begins to dwindle smaller and smaller.

Death has you, you smile to yourself. There is no use fighting the current. Besides, If Carlisle is the reason you’re to perish, there are certainly worse ways to go.

One final tear rolls from your eye and across your cheekbone as you feel the friction of Esme’s mouth widening and exposing her teeth.

Death has you, inevitably.

Until Jasper’s shoulder collides with the wood of your bedroom door and in quicker than a blink, Esme’s body is pried away from you and shoved against the wall by a chokehold.

A pair of hands softly land over both of your shoulders, whispering something you cannot make out. The motions around you feel distant, as if you were watching them through a screen. You blink hard, and you’re back. A girl with a pixie cut and a dainty nose stares into your eyes.

“Y/N? Are you okay? Oh my god. You’re okay, you’re with me. I’m Alice.”

Alice, you let the name mull over your brain. You remember something Carlisle had told you once - “You should meet my family, one day. My… daughter, Alice, you’d like her. She’s always joking, just like you.”

Your eyes drift from Alice’s curious eyes to the scene behind her - Esme thrashes against the grip which the blonde-haired man holds her in, unrelenting. Reality sets into motion once again as Carlisle emerges from the haze of the chaos in front of you. He’s shockingly calm and controlled, commanding that the man keep hold of Esme, as his eyes search for yours with deep urgency.

You look like a deer caught in headlights. He feels rotten to the core as he sees the panic dissipating from your face. Your body rises from your bed on instinct.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos as he meets your body and engulfs you into a tight hug, resting his chin above your head. At long last, you breathe a sigh of relief. Everything is okay, he’s here, keeping you safe in his arms. Carlisle may be a demon, but he’s your demon, he’s your home.

“I’m okay, Carlisle, it’s okay,” you sigh, knowing he will never forgive himself for the events of this fated night.

“I’m so foolish,” he mumbles into your hair, “I could have lost you.”

A fake laugh emits from the throat which Jasper has his grip around. “How very romantic.”

“Enough of this!” Carlisle bellows. You realise that this is the first time you’ve ever caught him angry - it’s quite the sight. His heckles are up as he crosses the room with lightning-fast speed to stand in front of Esme, yet he keeps himself restrained and level-headed through it all.

“I told you, Esme. I told you what would happen if you ever crossed my path again.”

“Look at you,” she sneers. “So high and mighty. You can delude your family all you want with your little human girlfriend but I won’t stand for it. The Volturi won’t stand for it!”.

“The Volturi..” Carlisle repeats under his breath. “You…it’s been you. You’re - you’re wearing Y/N’s scarf, that’s how you’ve been doing it. You’ve been blocking my senses with Y/N’s scent, spying on me. For them?”

“She’s conspiring with them,” Alice chirps. “She’s been using their shield to hide her from my visions. I only saw Y/N because-”

“Because of your disgusting soul bond,” Esme sneers, worming against Jasper’s grasp which is sharply strengthened by Alice’s hands on her shoulders. “She could be dead right now and you would have no one to blame but yourself. You made me this way, Carlisle. Could you live with yourself if she became as sick as you? As sick as you made me? I should have taken her when I had the chance!” She huffs and with an almighty cry, she thrashes her body against Jasper and Alice, fighting to push against their hold and seize you. Her body begins to push Jasper’s feet against your carpet with the force of her rage, her eyes dead set on you, her teeth bared and gnarling.

Carlisle keeps your body behind him at all times as you peak beside his shoulder, lifting his hand to Esme. “Jasper, take her, now,”

The blonde man, now Jasper in your mind, wrangles with her wrists.

“Jasper, my son,” Esme wails. “You wouldn’t kill your mother.”

“You’re no mother of mine,” Jasper deadpans, and in a blur your window is fully opened and his body is flying out towards the night with Esme in toe.

Carlisle ushers you to sit back down on your bed, a hand atop your hair, stroking slightly. You have no words, for no words could ever suffice to describe the emotions rushing through you - the chaos, the confusion, the amazement. In the pandemonium of everything that’s happened, all you can do is rest your head against Carlisle’s shoulder. You’re weak, so much so, you can’t even fight how desperately you love him.

He welcomes your weight against him, continuing his gentle movements against your hair.

“Alice, make sure Jasper is okay. He can take her, but… she was his mother. Your mother, too. I’m sorry. None of this should have happened.”

“She betrayed us. She was never my mother from that moment, all those years ago. I’ll find him and make sure Edward is still with Bella,” she affirms, pausing to turn to you before she leaves.

“It was nice to finally meet!”

With that, she leaves, and Carlisle is alone with you at last.

“My dear,” Carlisle begins, cupping your cheek to tilt your chin and meet his eyes. The familiar shine of his golden eyes makes you smile. “I cannot apologise enough for the danger I’ve put you in. Not just this night, but every moment you spend with me. Esme is right about that - it’s a torturous thing of me to do, and I’m so, so sorry.

Your head shakes again his cold palm. “I…should care. But I just don’t. She - she told me.”

He tenses. “I see. Part of me is almost glad. I’m too much of a coward.”

“Don’t say that,” you sigh. “You’re the bravest man I’ve ever known. You…deny yourself. Every day, right?”

Carlisle’s expression falls into sadness. “If only you knew, the monster inside me. I do try to forget, but … only so much pretending can be done.”

You fall silent, opting to look into his eyes with deep adoration. When your words fail, you hope your loving gaze will convey every inch of what you’re dying to say.

He never falters from looking back into your eyes. Your love radiates from you, it has Carlisle’s mood subsiding into nothing but calmness, of warmth, of contentedness to be beside you once again.

Carlisle presses his nose to yours, his striking face against your own, soaking in the sounds of your laboured breaths and the way your skin is so hot against his own. You stay like this for a moment, you simply breathing and Carlisle simply basking in the closeness, until the book lying beside your thighs peaks his attention.

He holds your copy of ‘Dorian Gray’ with a chuckle.

“You know, when I bought you this, I never even considered the messages I was sending you within it. All the signs I was practically handing you.”

A deep giggle bubbles from you. “The most spellbinding beauty anyone had ever known. A face made from the gods themselves,” You begin, gently cupping his own face as you speak. “Hair as blonde as sunlight, with fair skin and perfect complexion..”

Carlisle laughs. “I think you and I are focussing on two different areas of Dorian.”

“I know what you mean, Carlisle,” you tease. “A man with a perfect face, frozen that way forever, even though he sees himself as a monster.”

“He is a monster,” the man grins, slightly sadly.

“His face remains as handsome despite all the sin he commits, yet he feels that his soul is horrid and ugly.”

Carlisle nods. “Exactly. He wears a mask; one he cannot take off. He and I… we’re not so different, I realise. Creatures of the night, pretending to be good people, unable to change the ugliness inside. You have to admit, this is me. I can’t change. I can’t… become better. I wish I could, darling. You deserve so much more - well, a human, would be an amazing start. You-”

You cut him off with a soft kiss against his lips. He makes a small hum of surprise, but not for long, as his lips move perfectly in sync with your steady movements. It feels different from every romantic climax you’ve read and you’ve watched on TV - there are no fireworks or sparks flying - only Carlisle. Carlisle, here and now, invading your senses, filling you from head to toe with a warm glow of love. The moment is so tender and these feelings have been brewing for so long that you can’t suppress the grin which takes over your mouth, pulling away from Carlisle to laugh softly into his shoulder. His fingers twirl a strand of your hair, placing little pecks against the top of your head.

“Is that your way of telling me to shut up?”

You only laugh harder into his cardigan. “Yeah, actually.”

“Well, you should do that more often. I suppose I’ll keep talking.”

“Carlisle,” you giggle, rising to face him. “You’re so cheesy.”

There’s a beat of silence when realisation dawns over your mind.

“I love you.”

Carlisle’s stomach surges.

“I love you, too,” he responds without a second of delay. “I love you and I always want to take care of you, Y/N. You’ve become so precious to me; I don’t think I could ever let you go. Not even if I tried, God knows why I would ever want to. I know what we have isn’t…normal. But it’s worth it. For you, it’s all worth it.”

You’re smiling from ear to ear as you lock your arms around the back of his head, pulling him until he’s laying down on your bed, beside you. He lands with a slight grunt, smirking at you adoringly as if you’d put the stars in the sky.

“I hope you never let me go,” you whisper.

“I know, angel,” he responds. “It won’t be easy, I have to warn you. There’s so much to tell you, to warn you about”

“That’s okay with me… not much in my life goes straightforward, anyways. It’s almost meant to be.”

He laughs. “You’re such a precious thing. Here you are, in bed with a monster.”

“If you’re a monster, then I’ll happily oblige to be as equally disgusting and grotesque right beside you, forever - well..” you snort. “Forever, or for the rest of my life, whichever one you’d prefer.”

Carlisle pulls you into his chest, allowing you to rest your head atop his torso, hearing no heartbeat thump as your ear presses against him. It’s bizarre, and beautiful, and you cannot feel anything but adoration for the man.

Time may pass, enemies may advance closer, seasons may change, you don’t care. All that matters is with you in this room, stroking your hair as if you were made of porcelain. You love him, and he loves you too. For that, eternity cannot come soon enough.

“I’ve been thinking,” Carlisle begins, settling down onto the metal bench beside him.

“That’s worrying,” you jest as you sit beside him.

He tilts his head as he laughs. You’ve pivoted away from the stream of people occupying the park which Carlisle had suggested, unnaturally busy for this time of year, causing his mind to go into overdrive once by the sight of you and twice at the wave of scents hitting him. As you take this moment of respite, he feels the time is right to ask you something he’s been meaning to for quite some time.

“Would you like to, well.. could I have your number? My phone may be a brick but it’d be easier to contact you this way.”

“Of course,” you quip, as he pulls a thick cylinder of silver from his pocket. “Oh, you weren’t joking, Carlisle. That’s… an antique.”

“It works just fine, believe me,” he smiles to you, mischievously, wide enough to cause the corners of his mouth to dimple.

You grin back at him wordlessly, basking in the stillness of the moment, despite the intoxicating way in which his leg is so close to yours that your bodies touch with every bounce of your leg.

Once you’ve taken the phone from his pale hands and inputted your digits, he finds himself less confident than before. He feels.. young, for once. He feels bashful, as if he really isstill twenty-six, getting the number of his crush as modern lovers do. If this really was his twenty-sixth year alive, back beyond centuries to 1663, he fancies himself as leaving you weekly sonnets to hint at his affections, slipping them under your front door or beneath rocks only you could find. For now, he can only settle for the multitude of book recommendations he has for you and showing his affection by driving you home after every little meetup, hanging on until your door has closed with you inside to take his leave.

Today is no exception. You wave him off with that rosy smile of yours, and as soon as you’re concealed inside does his anxiety ascend. Each time he looks at the quaintness of your house he feels.. dread. He knows you spend most evenings alone, unprotected as your mother works long shifts, he hates it. He considers being as brazen as to tell you to stay with him and under the watchful eye of his family, but it’s too much. They scarcely see you around, and if Carlisle is truthful, he doesn’t feel like dangling another mortal in front of Jasper as much as he can help it. These feelings of unease never seem to leave Carlisle’s mind. They could simply be delusions, symptoms of his fear of losing you. Yet, a dread runs through his cold body which he hasn’t felt since his years with the Volturi - eyes, following him and his every move, the shiver of a target being on his back, the uncertainty of who lurks in the shadows he passes by. He keeps it to himself, dismissing his bizarreness, knowing that his family deserves better than his delusions. After all, the wound of Esme’s departure is still healing, and he knows far better than to undo its stitches with his superstitions.

—
“People talk sometimes of secret vices. There are no such things. If a wretched man has a vice, it shows itself in the lines of his mouth, the droop of his eyelids, the moulding of his hands even.”

With a sigh, the book slumps to rest on your lap. The television beside you plays to itself as you read, curled up upon the leather of your sofa, the knitted blanket your mother had made out of boredom keeping you cosy. Your thoughts flick to Carlisle, his perfect face, his perfect heart. You plead your infatuation to give you some rest from these embarrassing daydreams, yet, you find him everywhere you look. The golden hue of the sunset reminds you of his hair, the gloves in the store you wander around remind you of his freezing cold hands - even the book perched on your lap, gifted by him, has your thoughts lingering on his smile. Before you can become too lovesick, your phone vibrates.

+1 360-374-5634

Hello Y/N, this is Carlisle’s mobile. Did you receive this message okay?

With a smile, you save him into your contacts and begin your reply.

Y/N

Hi, Carlisle. Yes, everything worked - well done! :)

Carlisle

Thanks, Y/N. I’m better than you assume with technology. How are you?

Y/N

I’m great, just reading some dorian gray, not looking forward to university next week :( and you?

Carlisle

That’s good to hear. Don’t worry about university, you’ll be just fine. I’m fine, thank you for asking. :)

It takes a second for you to reply, on account of how much his smiley face makes you giggle.

Carlisle

I should leave you to read. I’ll see you soon, I hope.

Y/N

Of course, Carlisle. Any time you want my company, give me a text.

Carlisle

Likewise, Y/N. Sleep well, and I’ll be in touch soon. x

Carlisle places his phone on the coffee to his side, resting his head in his hands. He has not a single clue how to play it cool over text, pondering if the “x” he sent was too much - there are luckily few moments where he feels out of place in today’s modern society yet regretfully, this is one of such moments.

University begins and the stress hits you like a wave of crashing water. You meet up with Carlisle as much as you can, several walks in the park and conversing on fickle matters, arguing if Keats is superior to Yeats or not, and laughing together the way lovers do. Carlisle listens to all of your rants and your complaints, he takes it all in and delivers his steady stream of advice for every problem, never failing to remind you that you can make it through whatever task you face. At this point, you are both so clearly enamoured with one another and still so terrified to define what you both feel, it creates a daily waltz around your feelings as you constantly put off asking Carlisle what exactly he feels for you. You’re scared, and he is too. He fears losing you by ruining what a sweet harmony you’ve both built, and you’re equally as terrified at the idea of you reading every prolonged stare into your eyes as something it simply wasn’t - if every touch of your hand was simply platonic, if you’re deluding yourself into thinking his intentions are romantic - these thoughts race through your mind, daily.

It’s a wet and miserable Friday when Carlisle’s silver car rescues you from the rain after your class, and you have something to share.

“My mother sorta just dropped this on me,” you begin, “but my grandmother is sick, and she needs to leave the state - alone.”

Carlisle pauses, relistening to your words like rewinding cassette tapes.

“I understand… My condolences, Y/N. You’ll be alone, then?”

You sigh. “Yeah, she’s leaving late tonight. Cheaper flights, at night.”

Carlisle’s thoughts swarm. You’re alone, astray from what little protection you still have, aside from being under his guard. Unbeknownst to him, his mouth opens to release a delayed response of “Oh”, as his thoughts carry him away from the reality in front of his eyes. You’re saying something to him now, he sees your eyes searching for him, but your voice sounds a million miles underwater and he makes out exactly nothing of what you speak.

“Carlisle!” you half yell, and it has the effect you desired, as his eyes snap upward to meet yours. “I thought I lost you for a second. Is everything okay? What’s on your mind?”

He leans back into his seat, allowing his body to un-tense. He watches the students idly walking past his car, wondering who else is amongst the crowds of people that follow the pair of you - of all the danger out there that he isn’t around to protect you from. Worry creeps its way across his face, creasing his eyebrows as he thinks.

“Apologies, I’m just… well, I’m worried. You’re alone, Y/N. That’s still dangerous.”

“Oh please!” you snort. “I’m what, four years younger than you?”

“It’s certainly higher than four,” he retorts.

“My point is that you don’t have anything to worry about with me. I’m super tough, believe it or not, too,” you tease, and he can’t prevent the smile that spreads across his lips. He will never ever grow tired of how mischievous you are, even in the bleakest of situations.

“And besides, it’s not as if Forks is the hotspot for crime and burglary.”

“I wouldn’t be so confident in that, sweetheart. You forget, I’m good friends with Chief Black. I’ve heard my fair share of horror stories.”

“And I’m friends with his daughter. So is your, uhm, son. More than friendly actually. Besides that, if you’re really so concerned then I’ll drive to her place if I’m feeling scared, okay?”

Carlisle’s lips press into a thin line. “Okay, I’d like that. It’s not that I don’t believe you’re strong, Y/N, it’s..”

He pauses. It’s what? Paranoia? This feeling has become indescribable for him, in almost the same way that his love for you can never seem to be worded.

“I’d just like to know at least someone is keeping you safe.”

“You are,” you quip. “Look at us now. I could be drenched in the rain right now, but you came. You’re here, keeping me company.”

His hazel eyes soften as they watch the small smile bloom on your face. He follows your hand as it rests atop his own beside his lap, feeling your scorching hot skin enveloping his, the burn that he wishes to feel time and time again to keep you close.

“Okay?” You tilt your head as your thumb smooths over his ice-cold skin.

“Okay, Y/N,” He sighs with a smile.

—
Once again, you curl yourself up to an old movie on TV and go from chapter to chapter of your book, engrossed in its words, the metaphors, and all their eerie resemblance to your life. You’re engrossed completely, so much so that as you come back to your couch from the kitchen, you find your phone has flashed three new notifications.

Carlisle - 9:38

Hello, dear. Remember I’m on the other end of the phone, anytime you need me.

Carlisle - 10:02

I forgot to give you my copy of Dante’s Inferno. Please don’t let me forget next time, yes? Keep in touch any time you can. X

Carlisle - 10:06

Are you okay?

Carlisle paces circles in his living room, almost crushing his phone as his hands clench into fists.

“Don’t worry so much, Carlisle,” Edward hums. “You get used to it.”

“How?” The blonde-haired man groans. “How does this ever get easier, son? I almost forget how vulnerable mortals are sometimes, even with my job. I’ve never..”

“You’ve never loved a human,” Edward finishes. “I understand. The restlessness, the fear. It’s the sacrifice you make - for them.”

“I wish they were together. I should have told Y/N to stay with Bella tonight, you could have protected them there, Edward. God, am I an idiot?”

There’s no time to respond.

Ping.

Y/N

Hey! Sorry, I was making myself some food. Didn’t mean to worry you :(

Y/N

I can’t wait to start reading Inferno. I think I’m gonna nap, I’m pretty drowsy. Talk soon? x

Carlisle finally sits down, his mind at bay. You’re safe, you’re okay. There’s no danger, only the danger created in Carlisle’s own mind, tying him down and exhausting him. He taps a “sleep well” message quickly, before making his way to the balcony of his house. He watches the trees and their gentle sway against the wind, soaking in the absolute silence, except for the giggles of Rosalie and Alice who have preoccupied themselves with a game of volleyball, even in the sharp coldness of the night. He allows his mind to rest. His family is safe, and so are you. Everything is in place.

—
You wake up with a shrill gasp. Your head rises from the sofa with painful quickness. The room is pitch black except for the cobalt blue shade which midnight casts, and you immediately begin to shiver as you take in the coldness of the air. There feels to be a draft, something uncommon for you, who never wishes to open a window to the coldness of Forks outside. You stand with a groan at your body not yet being in harmony in your slumber, wrapping your cardigan around you and trudging up the stairs to your room.

Every step you take as you ascend feels…weighted. It almost feels that if you were to turn your head to the darkness behind you, something might just emerge out of the shadows. Whatever, you groan. This is what falling asleep to old Bela Lugosi films gets you - delusions over nothing. You sink into your bed with ease, allowing sleep to take hold of you, pulling you under and surrendering you to your dreams once again.

—
“See, Emmet, I told you my spike would win us the game.” Jasper teases as Emmet and Rosalie laugh contentedly. “There’s no getting past me and -”

“-Alice!” Rosalie cries out.

Alice stays frozen still behind Jasper, almost mannequin-like, except for the small tremors her body gives out as the vision strikes into her mind like lightning. She winces slightly in pain and the overwhelming blow of the vision, her palm resting against her forehead as the scene pans out behind her vacant eyes. She begins to mumble, making soft hums of syllables until Jasper rests an assuring hand over her forearm.

“It’s okay, Alice. You’re okay. Tell us what you’re seeing.”

There’s a room, littered with posters and sentimental postcards. The curtains are blowing. The lights are out, only moonlight fills the space. The eyes which possess Alice move closer from the corner of the bedroom to the bed, landing on a figure nestled beneath the covers there. Alice wishes with all her might that she could make out their face, but the visions leave her sight warped and hazed. She surrenders herself to the vision, yielding instead of fighting for focus. This time, her sight grows a little sharper. This time, she makes out a familiar mouth, a nose which she feels she knows, a head of hair she spots walking beside her father from time to time.

The mumbles continue. Jasper allows them to play out, never pushing Alice for an answer, resting by her side until the peak of the storm passes.

“Y-Y/N..” She whispers.

Jasper turns silent, hoping his ears are deceiving him. “Y/N?”

Alice sees in full definition the sight of you asleep, releasing soft sighs of breath in your slumber, innocent and unaware of the world beyond your dreams. Whoever Alice is looking at you through seems to examine you, curiously, like a laboratory-born creation. The voices in her mind distort and echo, yet she makes out a sadistic laugh, as the figure guiding her mind leans closer and closer into your sleeping figure. They hover inches above your face, taking in the sweet sight of you so unaware of their presence - until their focus is stolen by the veins below your jawline. Your neck is so perfectly bare in your loose top. The eyes surge closer to your clavicle, leaning into you yet keeping their distance, pushing the limits of just how much they can self-indulge without waking you. Your skin grows closer and closer, so much so that the thump of your heartbeat pounds into Alice’s ears, until it all crescendos into deafening quiet.

The vision ends with an abrupt gasp. Alice’s eyes are blown wide. She frantically scans her peripherals, clutching onto Jasper’s forearm with an iron grip. Her body shakes in panic, like a rabbit caught in a trap, fighting its way out.

There are no words quick enough to relay what she saw, so she allows her instincts to take over, and with a booming cry exhales Carlisle’s name into the forest air.

—
Your eyes fight to open. Your senses are askew, taking several moments to click into place and gain a grip on reality as you once again awaken. Wind, rain, trees blowing invade your head - yet you could have sworn you closed every window last night. Pale, dull moonlight streams in beside your window, barely illuminating you, leaving you almost sightless, but not quite. You begin to stretch your tired limbs, needing to adjust, but you find yourself frozen in place.

There’s a weight on your mattress. There’s a figure in the corner. There are eyes wordlessly peering at you.

“M-Mom? You’re here?”

The voice blanketed in the shadow laughs.

This is not your mother’s laugh, this is not her face emerging from the darkness into the faint light, nor her eyes, dark, staring into yours with ravenous delight.

“Don’t be afraid, Darling,” The feminine voice purrs out. “It’s about time we met.”

In a matter of milliseconds, your hand is flying to flick the switch of your bedside lamp. The warm light bursts out around your room, allowing you, at last, a look at the invader. You expect jaunt and ugly features, a terrifying scowl - yet, what your eyes scan over is a beautiful face by anyone’s standards. Her eyes hold an alluring darkness only amplified by her brunette hair, her eyebrows are thin and perfectly shaped, her lips are full and smiling smugly at the sight of you.

“Who are you?” you gulp. “What are y-”

“What am I doing here?” she interrupts. “What do I want? How did I get in? Please, sweetheart, spare me it.”

A pulse of anger surges around your body. Who is this woman, beautiful as she may be, to break into your house and make demands?

You sit up as she takes measured steps towards your bed, closer to the light of your lamp, allowing you a full look at her visage, her brown hair plaited away from her face, her all-black attire- except for one small detail.

Are your eyes deceiving you, or is that the scarf you miss so dearly on rainy days, dangling against her collarbones?

She reads your realization from your face alone. The woman laughs slyly, taking the scarf and allowing herself a deep inhale against its fabric, her eyes flickering shut as she huffs in your scent.

“I must say, you smell divine. I see why he wants you so badly.”

Your head cocks, confused. She takes a step closer toward you, towards your warmth, like a moth to a flame.

“But he’s… kept you. Poor little rabbit,” she sings, “Perhaps he’s maturing you. The time makes it so much tastier. Your flesh.”

“You expect me to have any fucking clue what you’re talking about?” You hiss.

She only smirks wider. “Of course not. How could you know, if he hasn’t told you? Wouldn’t want you running away, would he?”

Your confidence simmers, your eyes gloss over as the cogs turn in your mind. Little men are of great importance in your life, so the elusive man that the woman in front of you speaks of can only have one answer, and you don’t like the sound of it being correct.

“Carlisle. You mean Carlisle.”

“Clever bunny.”

“What does he have to do with this? Do you… do you know him?”

A flash of pain crosses against the woman’s face. “Well, you could certainly say that. Does ‘former spouse’ qualify?”

You gulp. Your stomach sinks. Of course - of course, others have been before you. Of all times, why right now must your thoughts turn sour in jealousy, instead of prioritizing your way out of the danger you’re in, you wonder.

“We had a happy life,” the woman continues. “We had a family, a sanctuary, we had routines of keeping ourselves safe and fed. We were - happy. But eventually, it wasn’t good enough for him and his conscience. Saint Carlisle, always denying who he is,” she grits her teeth, “ruining everything I had, to pretend to be someone else. Always lying to himself, and now you, it seems.”

Your hands grab your blanket, scrunching into fists, as you scowl.

“Carlisle is a good man. He’s the best man I’ve ever known. I don’t know who you are or what you want but you don’t know Carlisle. You’re…you’re wrong.”

“Is that so, little one? Well, allow me to fill you in,” she soothingly responds, sitting on your bed beside your feet and facing you. “My name is Esme. I was married to your precious Carlisle for eighty years. Do you understand the words I’m saying, dear?”

Your bedroom walls seem to close into you, growing narrower and narrower by each second that passes by as you process her words. Your head lulls as if you’d been spun around without end.

“No…that’s-”

“Impossible?” she laughs. “Quite! Now, tell me, how could he have loved me for eighty years and still be twenty-six years old, hmm? Why hasn’t he aged, at all, why hasn’t he changed all the time that you’ve known him?”

You shake your head, forcing her voice out of your mind with little success.

“Have you touched him? Has he eaten in front of you? Been in sunlight in front of you? Oh, you poor thing… has he touched you?”

“Enough!” You bellow. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

“I want you to see!” she thunders. “I’m doing you a favour. He’s too ashamed to tell you, so I will. That man, the one you defend so adamantly, is undead. He’s a monster, my love, one which lives on blood, and kills pretty things like you just to live. Do you see what he’s doing to you, or are you just so blinded to realise? You’re in love - with a vampire. And we both know this only ends two ways.”

Hot tears rise to your eyes. Carlisle, your perfect man, the warmth in your heart and the centre of your universe - is undead. He’s fated. Your relationship disintegrates into impossibility - you’re mortal and this can never, ever, no matter how hard you wish it could, end well. Esme is right, you can see the end staring you in the face. Death, or heartbreak. You ponder which would cause you less agony. Either Carlisle abandons you, or he sinks his teeth into you. Perhaps this was his plan all along, to play the part of mister nice, rebuilding your faith in love so that the time spent will have prepared your body perfectly for his next feast. You should be enraged, but the flame never ignites. Carlisle has been a walking bear trap the entire time, and now he has himself firmly clasped around you, you still cannot seem to bring yourself to hate him. For the spark of happiness he brought to your life, you’ll forever be grateful, until your dying day - even if he is the judicator of when such a day is.

Esme surges forward, hovering beside you, until her thumb strokes away your tears. The action feels the furthest thing from genuine. Perhaps she finds your emotions too embarrassing to witness, for her ex-husband. She’s freezing cold, just as his hands usually are, cementing the truth into your mind that she is the same as Carlisle - vampires.

“What do you want from me?” you weakly grumble.

“Well, I never got to explain our parting. You see, we had migrated - to Alaska. We were safe there, with everyone being so pale and cold. Carlisle was a doctor, and I was an architect’s assistant. He would smuggle blood from donors, every month, keeping us all fed enough to go by. It all worked, like clockwork. With the blood he gave us, we never needed to hunt. We kept to ourselves and avoided suspicion. That was, until he got too guilty. Poor Carlisle, the one that turned me into a monster himself, couldn’t cope with keeping me fed. Keeping his family fed. No, he wanted to be good. To be humane. So he stopped and demanded we only hunt animal blood. Animal blood … sweetheart, do you think a junkie willingly cuts their supply? Do you think a lion finds a diet of mice enough?”

You gulp.

“No. Exactly not. So, I took things into my own hands. I hunted what I needed. What my body needed. And he was furious. He banished me from my own family, said my love for human blood had taken over my love for him - and here he is,” she scoffs, tilting your face up with her fingers underneath your chin. “Fooling around with a mortal. Well, isn’t it funny how the finger of morality never points to him, hmm?”

You scoff.

“Carlisle wouldn’t hurt me. I know what he is, but he’s changed. He’s loving.”

Esme laughs, dropping her hand. “Oh, yes he is! Loving enough to kick his own wife away from her family for the thirst he himself created. Loving enough to throw me to the wolves and spend his time playing lovers with you. Do you realise how much danger you’re in, sweetheart? Look at you. Alone. Not a strong lock on a single one of your windows.”

Her tone grows colder and her eyes darken. The room seems to grow icier. The plunge of fear you feel has your stomach falling.

“Carlisle’s little pet. How is it, that you get everything, and I get left in the gutter, hm? How is it fair?”

“I’m sorry,” you croak. You begin another explanation, but your thoughts click into place. You realise that Esme is here, not confronting Carlisle, for good reason. She has you served on a platter at this moment. The one she envies, all alone, no one to save you. You brace yourself for what you know is coming - the end of everything itself. Your Armageddon is here, her eyes have turned completely black.

“If he’s too weak to do the job, I will.” Esme sneers, leaning into you completely, her face above you with mere centimetres between you both.

You bite back your whimpers of fear, you’re not giving her the satisfaction. You’re not going down without a fight, either. You need the perfect moment, you plot, and your feet can kick a hard blow into her abdomen. For this to happen, you must surrender yourself, let her believe she has you frozen in fear. So, you close your eyes, as her hand rests over your throat. You feel swept up in the violent crashing waves of the sea - all you can do is lay back and allow yourself to sink.

“I want him to remember this, every day,” she smirks. “This is beyond any revenge I could ever have paid him, all those years ago. Every time he sees you, I want him to remember who turned you into the monster you’ll become. Just like he did with me.”

She gives a final sadistic laugh, and her nose begins to press against your throat.

Oh god, this is it. This is your chance. This is your window of opportunity - but your feet just aren’t moving. You cannot even muster a grunt in frustration. Your body is surrendering, so close to the end, your fight to stay alive begins to dwindle smaller and smaller.

Death has you, you smile to yourself. There is no use fighting the current. Besides, If Carlisle is the reason you’re to perish, there are certainly worse ways to go.

One final tear rolls from your eye and across your cheekbone as you feel the friction of Esme’s mouth widening and exposing her teeth.

Death has you, inevitably.

Until Jasper’s shoulder collides with the wood of your bedroom door and in quicker than a blink, Esme’s body is pried away from you and shoved against the wall by a chokehold.

A pair of hands softly land over both of your shoulders, whispering something you cannot make out. The motions around you feel distant, as if you were watching them through a screen. You blink hard, and you’re back. A girl with a pixie cut and a dainty nose stares into your eyes.

“Y/N? Are you okay? Oh my god. You’re okay, you’re with me. I’m Alice.”

Alice, you let the name mull over your brain. You remember something Carlisle had told you once - “You should meet my family, one day. My… daughter, Alice, you’d like her. She’s always joking, just like you.”

Your eyes drift from Alice’s curious eyes to the scene behind her - Esme thrashes against the grip which the blonde-haired man holds her in, unrelenting. Reality sets into motion once again as Carlisle emerges from the haze of the chaos in front of you. He’s shockingly calm and controlled, commanding that the man keep hold of Esme, as his eyes search for yours with deep urgency.

You look like a deer caught in headlights. He feels rotten to the core as he sees the panic dissipating from your face. Your body rises from your bed on instinct.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos as he meets your body and engulfs you into a tight hug, resting his chin above your head. At long last, you breathe a sigh of relief. Everything is okay, he’s here, keeping you safe in his arms. Carlisle may be a demon, but he’s your demon, he’s your home.

“I’m okay, Carlisle, it’s okay,” you sigh, knowing he will never forgive himself for the events of this fated night.

“I’m so foolish,” he mumbles into your hair, “I could have lost you.”

A fake laugh emits from the throat which Jasper has his grip around. “How very romantic.”

“Enough of this!” Carlisle bellows. You realise that this is the first time you’ve ever caught him angry - it’s quite the sight. His heckles are up as he crosses the room with lightning-fast speed to stand in front of Esme, yet he keeps himself restrained and level-headed through it all.

“I told you, Esme. I told you what would happen if you ever crossed my path again.”

“Look at you,” she sneers. “So high and mighty. You can delude your family all you want with your little human girlfriend but I won’t stand for it. The Volturi won’t stand for it!”.

“The Volturi..” Carlisle repeats under his breath. “You…it’s been you. You’re - you’re wearing Y/N’s scarf, that’s how you’ve been doing it. You’ve been blocking my senses with Y/N’s scent, spying on me. For them?”

“She’s conspiring with them,” Alice chirps. “She’s been using their shield to hide her from my visions. I only saw Y/N because-”

“Because of your disgusting soul bond,” Esme sneers, worming against Jasper’s grasp which is sharply strengthened by Alice’s hands on her shoulders. “She could be dead right now and you would have no one to blame but yourself. You made me this way, Carlisle. Could you live with yourself if she became as sick as you? As sick as you made me? I should have taken her when I had the chance!” She huffs and with an almighty cry, she thrashes her body against Jasper and Alice, fighting to push against their hold and seize you. Her body begins to push Jasper’s feet against your carpet with the force of her rage, her eyes dead set on you, her teeth bared and gnarling.

Carlisle keeps your body behind him at all times as you peak beside his shoulder, lifting his hand to Esme. “Jasper, take her, now,”

The blonde man, now Jasper in your mind, wrangles with her wrists.

“Jasper, my son,” Esme wails. “You wouldn’t kill your mother.”

“You’re no mother of mine,” Jasper deadpans, and in a blur your window is fully opened and his body is flying out towards the night with Esme in toe.

Carlisle ushers you to sit back down on your bed, a hand atop your hair, stroking slightly. You have no words, for no words could ever suffice to describe the emotions rushing through you - the chaos, the confusion, the amazement. In the pandemonium of everything that’s happened, all you can do is rest your head against Carlisle’s shoulder. You’re weak, so much so, you can’t even fight how desperately you love him.

He welcomes your weight against him, continuing his gentle movements against your hair.

“Alice, make sure Jasper is okay. He can take her, but… she was his mother. Your mother, too. I’m sorry. None of this should have happened.”

“She betrayed us. She was never my mother from that moment, all those years ago. I’ll find him and make sure Edward is still with Bella,” she affirms, pausing to turn to you before she leaves.

“It was nice to finally meet!”

With that, she leaves, and Carlisle is alone with you at last.

“My dear,” Carlisle begins, cupping your cheek to tilt your chin and meet his eyes. The familiar shine of his golden eyes makes you smile. “I cannot apologise enough for the danger I’ve put you in. Not just this night, but every moment you spend with me. Esme is right about that - it’s a torturous thing of me to do, and I’m so, so sorry.

Your head shakes again his cold palm. “I…should care. But I just don’t. She - she told me.”

He tenses. “I see. Part of me is almost glad. I’m too much of a coward.”

“Don’t say that,” you sigh. “You’re the bravest man I’ve ever known. You…deny yourself. Every day, right?”

Carlisle’s expression falls into sadness. “If only you knew, the monster inside me. I do try to forget, but … only so much pretending can be done.”

You fall silent, opting to look into his eyes with deep adoration. When your words fail, you hope your loving gaze will convey every inch of what you’re dying to say.

He never falters from looking back into your eyes. Your love radiates from you, it has Carlisle’s mood subsiding into nothing but calmness, of warmth, of contentedness to be beside you once again.

Carlisle presses his nose to yours, his striking face against your own, soaking in the sounds of your laboured breaths and the way your skin is so hot against his own. You stay like this for a moment, you simply breathing and Carlisle simply basking in the closeness, until the book lying beside your thighs peaks his attention.

He holds your copy of ‘Dorian Gray’ with a chuckle.

“You know, when I bought you this, I never even considered the messages I was sending you within it. All the signs I was practically handing you.”

A deep giggle bubbles from you. “The most spellbinding beauty anyone had ever known. A face made from the gods themselves,” You begin, gently cupping his own face as you speak. “Hair as blonde as sunlight, with fair skin and perfect complexion..”

Carlisle laughs. “I think you and I are focussing on two different areas of Dorian.”

“I know what you mean, Carlisle,” you tease. “A man with a perfect face, frozen that way forever, even though he sees himself as a monster.”

“He is a monster,” the man grins, slightly sadly.

“His face remains as handsome despite all the sin he commits, yet he feels that his soul is horrid and ugly.”

Carlisle nods. “Exactly. He wears a mask; one he cannot take off. He and I… we’re not so different, I realise. Creatures of the night, pretending to be good people, unable to change the ugliness inside. You have to admit, this is me. I can’t change. I can’t… become better. I wish I could, darling. You deserve so much more - well, a human, would be an amazing start. You-”

You cut him off with a soft kiss against his lips. He makes a small hum of surprise, but not for long, as his lips move perfectly in sync with your steady movements. It feels different from every romantic climax you’ve read and you’ve watched on TV - there are no fireworks or sparks flying - only Carlisle. Carlisle, here and now, invading your senses, filling you from head to toe with a warm glow of love. The moment is so tender and these feelings have been brewing for so long that you can’t suppress the grin which takes over your mouth, pulling away from Carlisle to laugh softly into his shoulder. His fingers twirl a strand of your hair, placing little pecks against the top of your head.

“Is that your way of telling me to shut up?”

You only laugh harder into his cardigan. “Yeah, actually.”

“Well, you should do that more often. I suppose I’ll keep talking.”

“Carlisle,” you giggle, rising to face him. “You’re so cheesy.”

There’s a beat of silence when realisation dawns over your mind.

“I love you.”

Carlisle’s stomach surges.

“I love you, too,” he responds without a second of delay. “I love you and I always want to take care of you, Y/N. You’ve become so precious to me; I don’t think I could ever let you go. Not even if I tried, God knows why I would ever want to. I know what we have isn’t…normal. But it’s worth it. For you, it’s all worth it.”

You’re smiling from ear to ear as you lock your arms around the back of his head, pulling him until he’s laying down on your bed, beside you. He lands with a slight grunt, smirking at you adoringly as if you’d put the stars in the sky.

“I hope you never let me go,” you whisper.

“I know, angel,” he responds. “It won’t be easy, I have to warn you. There’s so much to tell you, to warn you about”

“That’s okay with me… not much in my life goes straightforward, anyways. It’s almost meant to be.”

He laughs. “You’re such a precious thing. Here you are, in bed with a monster.”

“If you’re a monster, then I’ll happily oblige to be as equally disgusting and grotesque right beside you, forever - well..” you snort. “Forever, or for the rest of my life, whichever one you’d prefer.”

Carlisle pulls you into his chest, allowing you to rest your head atop his torso, hearing no heartbeat thump as your ear presses against him. It’s bizarre, and beautiful, and you cannot feel anything but adoration for the man.

Time may pass, enemies may advance closer, seasons may change, you don’t care. All that matters is with you in this room, stroking your hair as if you were made of porcelain. You love him, and he loves you too. For that, eternity cannot come soon enough.