AN: Okay, I've gotten some positive reviews for this. I didn't mean for this to go past the first chapter; I just thought I should at least post some of Isabelle's thoughts as well. This won't be constant, so I'm sorry for that. If you do like it, review and tell me where you think this could go!

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.

Third-Person POV

The shadows lapped against the grimy brick walls of the alleyway, leaving little to be seen. The revolting combination of stale blood and urine permeated the air, gradually becoming more nauseating as time marched on.

Sound was the strongest sense, unfortunately. Subtle murmurs of the sultry sinners clashed with the squeaking of persistent rodents, fighting for a meal. The wind's gentle sigh sent trash clattering across the ground, eventually slowing to a stop as the breeze died down. Even the occasional ping of dropped needle could be heard, followed by the thud of a drugged body hitting the wall.

It was the perfect night to hunt, the perfect night to kill.

Resting a few stories up was a grand figure dressed in shades of gray and black. Her body was parallel to the wall, stretched out in mid-air. Long tendrils of gold hair were pleated into a simple braid, pinned to her head to stay out of the way. She smiled as her prey was spotted, leaving her gidddy with excitement.

Her eyes trailed his every movement, watching his hands constantly twitch to the concealed gun in his waistband. Persperation left his face glimmering in the occasional lamplight as he hustled to his corner. Even from where she reclined, the fresh blood splatter on his navy blue hoodie was visible. His rising fear made Isabelle assume he was new to this game of keep-away.

Unfortunately, that would cost him his life tonight.

Freefalling fifty feet, her body landed loudly; the thump echoed down the street, leaving the man to pause for a brief moment. Casting his gaze around, the cursory glance revealed nothing out of order. Shrugging, he sped up his pace out of paranoia, leaving the girl to curse quietly before breaking into a run.

She ran on all fours, ignoring the occasional sting of a cut on her bare hands and feet or the startled glance of a john with his whore. She couldn't let him get away. The night's only just began.

He turned down another alley, this one with a wider opening than the one prior. As she rounded the corner, she used the opposite wall to propel herself forward. Isabelle only had that following second to stop before nearly ramming into the barrel of a revolver.

Falling into a crouch, she stared down the business end of the gun. The irony of the situation was most certainly not lost on her. Slowly a smirk widened her lips, scaring the man with the weapon. With a taunting drawl, she said, "Go ahead. Shoot me."

The following chuckle angered the man, making him disregard his worry and force the barrel in her mouth harshly. He heard the clatter of it against her teeth, and swore he saw her green eyes morph into orange. Of course, this was moments before a metallic crunch was heard.

He swallowed dryly, surprise painting his features. Where his gun once was, was nothing but a blunted end of iron tubing. A light tink!could be heard as Isabelle spat the metal onto the cold ground.

"What are you?" he asked, as the man began to stumble backwards. His stomach was weighted with dread.

Gradually unfolding from her crouched position, she took the time to notice his slight build quivering. Isabelle wiped her palms on her jeans slowly, taking cautious steps around puddles and such. Her bare feet padded against the ground as she slunk forward.

Trapping him with her gaze, her fluorescent green eyes dimmed to brown as time progressed, lulling him into false security. His eyelashes fluttered over his hazel eyes as her weight pressed against his shorter frame. Isabelle's forehead gently touched his, feeling the warmth of his breath on her lips.

Then she quietly stated, "I'm your worst nightmare."

Her palm slapped over his mouth, quieting his screams as white whisps began to flee from his eyes. Appearing as steam, his soul rapidly parted from his crumbling form. Twisting around did little to help him. If anything, her enjoyment grew, so she forced herself to linger, letting the residual essence torment him before painfully being dragged out. Eventually, the man silenced, his writhing form nothing but a hollow corpse now with dead grey eyes.

Dropping the fleshy, Isabelle vaguely noticed the crunch as bones shattered post-mortem. Roughly she closed his eyelids, sealing the doorway to his absent soul. However, too much force was applied. This left squirts of eye jelly staining his clothes, making her job that much harder.

The work of a scolapiatti is never done, she thought ruefully.

Hefting him over her shoulder, Isabelle took to the air, leaving nothing behind but the broken butt of a gun. Being in the warehouse district allowed her easier access to the ocean, so within seconds she was hovering over the Seattle bay. Once there, she released the body, letting him sail nearly a hundred feet before hitting the water with a splash.

If she focused, Isabelle could see the outline of his dark physique slowly being submerged, as bottom feeders converged around his form. Had she stayed, her eyes would have been drawn to the last bubbles of oxygen leaving his body as he touched the bay's sandy floor.

Of course, as humans were long beneath her, she headed home, leaving behind the bright city lights for her small cottage in the Forks woods. After being cursed to live like this for centuries, Isabelle's tolerance of humanity has greatly depleted. Their simpering and whining only served to aggravate her, but the scolapiatti did realize how they outnumbered her kind a billion to one.

So Isabelle waited. She blended in and played their games, living by most of their rules. She relived her high school years over and over, yearning for the right time to strike.

The time may be sooner than she thought, however. After all, how many times in one's life can you stumble upon a coven of controlled red-eyed vampires, with gifts?

As she thought this, a ginger-haired teen took to the trees around her home, with his inquisitive mate at his side.

She's the one, Jasper thought. The responding influx of lust only affirmed his partner's mind. Isabelle will be with us soon, love. I guarantee it.