Chapter Text
Choosing to be a Nomad is choosing a life of constant upheaval. She knew what she was choosing. And even though the Volturi wanted her so badly, she said no, wanting a life of isolation. Who would want to work for a bunch of guys on Thrones anyways?
She thought the world of covens to be far too prophetic. Claustrophobic and unruly. She had once been part of a tribe in South Asia. A group of other nomads set on living off the land. It seemed good in theory. But good intentions can only go so far.
Angel, the self-appointed leader, craved human blood so much that he became feral. That’s the only way she could explain it. He’d lose control and lash out at anyone close enough, even her. In one night he could take out an entire village, massacring anything within a foot of his reach. That scared her. Some vampires have no control over themselves. She really couldn’t trust any other for they were capable of exactly what she could, or even worse than that of Angels' wrath. Those days would be hard to forget.
She’d gained an affinity for memorization. Everything she saw was recorded in her head. She could recall a memory and see it as it truly was. But It never happened when she was human. She can barely remember her human life, just snippets of color and warmth with something nostalgic.
Ever since she’d been turned she could remember every single moment. The burning as the venom spread through her veins then the coolness that followed. She could never forget the one who turned her. His long hair, deep dark eyes. The way he had watched her. Stalking her like a lion to a gazelle. Then when she lay out watching the stars he took her. “Such sweet blood you have.. how sweet you are. A pretty little thing” the words almost silent coming from his venomous lips. Hooded eyes. Hands that touched. Screaming and thrashing. Blues and purples of night colors mix and separate as trees sway. The Smells and sounds cloud thought. Then she woke up feeling everything had magnified. Her hair was longer, teeth were pointed. And something very new, an inexistent heartbeat.
She can’t run as fast as others and her strength was average. She was cunning and a skilled fighter. A result of her months spent in South Asia. Her senses are never dull. Where she lacks in athleticism she excels in her mind. Though in some instances brains couldn’t outsmart brawn. But not always. What always worked was persuasion. This she could do. What the Volturi wanted was her power of persuasion. Being able to make man do whatever she asked was the greatest gift of all. And though it felt like cheating she could get anything she wanted. Need money? A bank teller wouldn't even remember giving away hundreds of bills. As easy as that.
She had quite a life before becoming a Nomad. Rich, spoiled, and well-fed. She lived with a coven for decades living lavishly on a throne and having her way with whoever, whenever. When that got boring she lived in a temple for a while trying to find what modern man deemed spiritual. Eventually, she landed in America and began to travel across the country. She now finds herself in the Olympic peninsula.
She gets that feeling.
The feeling before something bad.
She sits on top of a tree branch. Her muddy duck boots sway in the chilly Olympic air. Though it was below freezing she couldn’t feel it, but if she could she’d be chilled to the bone, probably hypothermic or even dead. She wore a pair of running shorts showing muscled legs covered in dirt and different shades of green. Enveloping her form is a large knitted turtle neck sweater painted shades of brown. On her back, a beat-up navy-colored Jansport. She adjusted her headphones. In her palm was a small mp3 player turned low. Radiohead had been her new muse.
Then, a crack. A stick falling off a tree maybe. She stood on the branch and began to glide from tree to tree. Then she heard the soft pants and the sound of paw pads on the forest floor. A wolf maybe. No, bigger. A bear? A big snack? Then all too quickly teeth are gnashing and she’s jumping from tree to tree. Wolves 7 feet tall snap at her heels. But in no way is this normal. She makes it to a large cliff overlooking a chasm. A similar cliff is just far enough out to jump on. She goes for it, taking the fastest path, she jumps as hard as she can flowing over the stream rushing below. She clings to the Side of the cliff barely having made it over.
The wolves skid to a stop snapping and snarling at her. She begins to climb up. Only to stop as she makes eye contact with a pair of golden eyes.
“Don’t be alarmed” the man said. But all she could be was alarmed. “I’m Carlisle Cullen this is Emmet and Rosalie” he points to the people looking down at her. A large male vampire stands next to a skinnier blonde. “Please come up”. She lets go of the cliff, tumbling down to the river below. The sudden entourage of vampires scared her to her core. Three of them. Three too many to fight off. They watch as she falls. Then a crack as she pummeled into the water and rock at the bottom of the chasm.
Then hands reach down and pull her out. One of the men, Emmet, had managed to pull her out throwing her with a thunk at the base of the cliff. “Well that was dumb now we're both wet” the man smiles and chuckles. She bared her teeth hissing feeling startled. Immediately the others join him. “Please let us help,” the man Carlisle says stretching out a hand, the corner of his lips slightly lifting. And then, she takes it.