A/N- I have fallen in love with Jasper/Bella fics... I am officially converted to this pairing. This story has been on my mind for quite some time and I hope that you all like it.
There will be swearing, lots of violence and lemons in the future. For now I will rate it T... when the sex comes, depending on how graphic I make it I will change the rating accordingly.
Please give me some feedback... good, bad, ugly... whatever. Thanks!
October 27, 1927
"Where is this shipment headed, Miss Jameson?" My eyes flew to the tall, bulky man in front of me. His dark hair was slicked back with copious amounts of grease adding to his overall appearance of a slippery criminal. Johnny McCormick really did look the part of a gangster bootlegger. His brown eyes turned curious, waiting for my response.
"Tallahassee and San Antonio. The next shipment is headed for Houma, Louisiana and Montgomery, Alabama. That will help keep Mr. Daniels territory afloat for a bit." I replied.
My territory actually. Mr. Daniels didn't exist, but he served the purpose of my elusive lover, the man behind the running of liquor to the southern states. Using my fictitious beau, I am able to run my operation with few questions from the thugs and gangsters that are using Prohibition to fill their piggy banks.
Johnny nodded his head in understanding as he walked towards the Mexican dock workers that were unloading the goods. I watched as crate after crate of booze was brought towards the waiting trucks, each crate wedged between bales of hay to throw off the cops that were trying in vain to uphold the 18th Amendment. Just the thought of that damn Amendment made me angry.
I glanced down at my calf-length black beaded dress. I looked like the quintessential flapper, with low heels, a long layered pearl necklace and bracelets dangling from my wrists. My large brown eyes were lined with kohl and my lips were painted red making my pale skin stand out. This was also part of my facade. I was not a party girl only intent on dancing and drinking in a shady speakeasy. I hated dressing like my air-headed peers, but like Mr. Daniels, the illusion I presented to my cohorts helped me do what I needed to do.
My men had just finished packing the last of the hooch into the dusty trucks, and began to gather near Johnny for orders. I walked briskly to the group and tried to look demure, while I was really analyzing the crew. There were eight men besides Johnny. Two men to a truck, and two trucks to each destination. Johnny told the men where the stops were going to be while I eyed each man in turn.
Each had a hungry, hard look about them. I could see the outline of a handgun tucked into the waistband of their trousers on each of them. A few even sported Tommy guns, slung over their shoulders. They eyed me back, leering slightly. They never dared approach me, for fear that the boss man, Mr. Daniels would hear that I had been messed with and retaliate. I helped rumors circulate of the last man that dared touch me inappropriately; he was never heard from again. In truth, I had handled that man on my own, using the small handgun that I kept under my dress (with the help of a couple garters), I had shot him once on each of his thighs. He survived but I never saw him again.
"Oh Boys? Mr. Daniel's wanted me to remind you all to be careful. Also, he wanted me to warn you that any skimming off the top of the take would be severely punished. Trust me when I say, he will know if you try any of that shady business." I said to my men, watching their expressions closely. I could see a few of them shift almost imperceptibly. I had a knack for knowing what was going on beneath the surface of the people around me. I pretended I hadn't seen a thing and flashed them all a quick, flirty smile.
I raised my cigarette to my lips and took a drag, exhaling with my lips in a pucker, drawing their eyes to my mouth. I winked and flounced away from the group. I made a mental note of the men who I now knew were stealing money from me, intent on devising a plan of attack to trap them and set them on the straight and narrow again. Leroy, Stan and Donny were going to have to watch themselves.
Johnny gave the last few orders and began to follow me to our car. He was my right hand man, though he didn't know I was the head of this operation. He trusted my orders and words because he thought they were supplied to me by Mr. Daniels. He was smart and he protected me, but he never delved too deep into my affairs. His paycheck depended on his unquestioning loyalty. I really did like him as a friend and I hated to lie to him, but he was first and foremost a criminal and I knew that if he smelled weakness, there would be an attempt at a takeover. I could not allow that. My reasons for running liquor were not like the others. Greed does not drive me to do what I'm doing.
"Ready to head back to Reynosa for the night, Freya?" Johnny asked me as he got in the car and started the engine. I nodded. Reynosa, Mexico was essentially my base of operations; we rented an old villa that housed my men when they weren't out doing deliveries. It's a large one story house that sat on an acre of land, away from the rest of the small town. There were six rooms, varying in size, four for my men and two for me. One of my rooms was used as my office and as a meeting room to discuss tactics or problems that were encountered on the runs. It's also where the money was counted and divvied up to my men. My take was always quickly taken to the bank to be wired to my accounts and from there it would go to its proper locations.
The ride back was quiet as usual, Johnny wasn't much of a talker and neither was I. The road stretched out in front of us, dark and desolate. My thoughts quickly turned to what had led to me this point in my life. It was all so complicated, yet so resoundingly simple.
I was born Isabella Marie Swan on September 13, 1908. My family consisted of my father Charles Swan and my mother Renee Swan. We had loved each other fiercely and were tight-knit in the beginning. My father was the police chief of Houston, Texas. He was fair, steady and did his job well. So well in fact that he was pursued to run for governor of Texas shortly after I had turned 7. He was hesitant to run at first, but eventually he was swayed by the overwhelming support he received from our city. He ran and won. At first he was the same as he had always been, level-headed and firm. It began slowly, the transition from my dad to the man I came to refer to as Governor. He began to stay at the Capital more often, getting more and more involved with the dirty side of politics. He was never outright crooked, but he became more pliable to persuasion on bills and legislation that he would normally disagree with.
My mother remained consistent in my life. She never changed her kind, generous, and eccentric ways. In fact, as our wealth increased dramatically, so did her philanthropy. She worked with the poor and volunteered at hospitals, always trying to brighten the lives of others. She loved my father and never once did that love seem to lessen as he changed. She accepted him, growing faults and all. All too soon for me she was taken from this world. The doctors couldn't identify what was causing her sudden illness, and it wore her down in a span of six months. I was 12 and my only source of love and comfort was ripped away.
The Governor hardly ever returned home after she passed away, staying in D.C almost year round. He had run for a senator position and won after his term as Governor came to an end. I still referred to him as Governor though. I was left to be looked after by our housekeeper, a stern and efficient woman named . She was in her late forties and never married. She ran the house and monitored my education. My private tutors taught me at home until I was seventeen. They had all been impressed with my intelligence and thirst for knowledge; I had heard them whisper the word 'genius' a few times, but I paid no mind. I was finished with my secondary education by the time I was 15 and for the next two years I was taught all they could teach me about the things they had learned while attending University. My father eventually called a halt to my education, saying that I had learned enough and now it was time to focus on entering society and finding a husband.
That life was not on my agenda. I took up where my mother left off and helped the less fortunate wherever I could. When I was home I would hole up in my father's study and read books and newspapers until I was too tired to keep my eyes open. It was on one of these nights that I came across something that would change my life forever.
I was walking around my father's desk, a book in one hand and cigarette in the other. I was so absorbed in my book that I had forgotten about the lit cigarette until it began to burn my fingers. My arm shot out to rid my fingers of the burning cigarette and I knocked over a picture in the process. The frame made contact with the hard wood floor and the glass shattered. I extinguished the cigarette and then bent to gather the glass pieces. As I turned the frame over and began cleaning up I saw something silver peeking out from behind the picture of my father and a few of his fellow politicians. I reached down and moved the picture aside to reveal a key. My curiosity got the best of me and grabbed the key and walked around and sat behind my fathers' desk trying to fit the key in each of the locked drawers. It didn't fit. I stood and made my way over to where my father had installed a wall safe. He hid it behind a portrait of our family before his political years. I gently lifted the frame off the nail and placed it down near my feet. I stared at the key hole and then at the key in my hand, unsure if snooping was a good idea. Finally I gave in to my desire and lifted the key to the hole. It was a perfect fit. The safe clicked and I opened it to reveal the contents.
There was a large stack of crisp hundred dollar bills nestled on top of a pile of papers and letters. I had come this far I might as well continue, I had thought. I ignored the money and gathered the papers and letters in my hands and walked back to the desk to sit down and peruse them. Guilt was gnawing at me at first. I could hardly lift my eyes to read the first paper, but I managed eventually. By the end of it my guilt was replaced with confusion and I had reached for another paper and another, followed by the letters. The contents of those papers had shocked and appalled me beyond anything I had ever experienced. My father had truly become a dirty politician. I had denied it for years, even though I knew in my heart he was not the same man who had been my dad all those years ago.
The papers, letters and money were proof that the Eighteenth Amendment, that had passed six years ago was based on greed and narrow-mindedness. My father had contributed to the passing of this amendment with a pocket full of pay-off money and assurances that it was for the greater good of America. In reality the amendment was intended as a jumping off point to begin systematically stripping away freedoms from American citizens. Any substance, activity or lifestyle that impaired America's labor force would be discouraged, outlawed and banned as it threatened the profits of the factories and corporations of the richest men in the country. I had always felt that Prohibition was an infringement on American's rights, but I had believed the farce that it was all in an effort to maintain a moral country free from alcohol impaired judgment.
I never liked the idea of a government that policed the morals of its people, but between my mothers death, schooling, charity work, and societal pressure I had not thought about my opinion of the 18th Amendment seriously in a while. I had kept up with the news articles about the exploits of bootleggers like Al Capone that ran Chicago and the various Italian mobsters that ran liquor through New York; that was the moment that I began to plot against a corrupt system in order to restore the freedom to make personal choices. I recalled all I had ever read about bootlegging and the areas that were claimed by violent gangs and ruthless mob bosses and I decided I would leave my mark on the unclaimed Southern states. Cultivating contacts and assembling a crew became my priority, but first I needed to create a new persona in order to be taken seriously.
That night I created my bootlegging alter ego, Freya Jameson. Freya came from the Nordic goddess of war, love, beauty, wisdom, and magic. I loved the idea of that goddess for several reasons, but the main one was the fact that I was waging war on infringers of freedom. Jameson came from the Irish Whiskey that my father had stocked up on before the alcohol 'drought'. Poetic justice, I had thought. I had access to a portion of my father's wealth, which I had usually given to the various charities that I supported. I began to use that money to persuade people to join me and my fake fiancée (Jack Daniels, my favorite drink). This required me to blend into the seedier parts of Houston, and I became a chameleon of sorts quickly. I met Johnny on one of my jaunts to the illegal speakeasies and he agreed to help when I thrust a fistful of cash in his face. I got in contact with a big time rum runner, William McCoy, and I added my name to his list of customers.
I had the booze, I had the men thanks to Johnny's help, and I soon found the perfect place for my headquarters. I wrote to my father and explained to him that my friend had invited me to tour Europe with her family and I would therefore be out of the country and unreachable for some time. He wrote back and expressed his acceptance and did not even bother to check with my friend's family. I left shortly after, Johnny and I checking in on the states that we would provide alcohol for before we headed to Mexico. Claiming our territory was simple, as the cities we planned on delivering to were not as large or criminally organized as the some of the well known eastern cities. If there was any resistance Johnny took care of it, or I paid them off courtesy of .
By the time I turned 18 we had established our routes, had a solid crew and made profits that rivaled the big cities. I paid my men well and provided for them while they rested in Mexico. My take of the cash mainly went to hospitals, women's leagues, churches and disaster relief organizations. I kept a small percentage of the profits, and while it was only about 10% I had accumulated close to a million dollars in less than two years. That money would eventually be used to fight to repeal the 18th Amendment and prevent any new rights stripping legislation from passing. That was my plan and I was succeeding thus far.
I was pulled from my thoughts when I noticed we had pulled into the long dirt drive that led to the house. Johnny parked in front of the cream colored house and turned the engine off, hopping out quickly. I gathered my satchel and turned to open my door just as Johnny opened it and held his hand out to assist me.
"Johnny, I've told you, I can get out of the car on my own" I chastised gently. He smiled sheepishly but did not withdraw his hand. I took it and allowed him to escort me to the house.
"I know, Freya. It's a habit." Johnny said. While he could be a selfish bastard, and a conniving criminal he had always been a gentleman with me. I smiled up at him and laughed softly.
"Of course, Johnny dear, of course. If you need me, I'll be in my office going over the books, and getting everything ready for when the boys get back." He smiled and nodded before walking towards his room.
I entered my small room and went to the bedside table to light the oil lamp that rested there. We didn't have many luxuries here, but we made do. I quickly stripped out of my frivolous dress and took the pins out of my mahogony hair, allowing the illusion bob to uncurl and cascade down to the middle of my back in waves. Opening my chest of drawers I grabbed my favorite pair of stolen jeans, originally belonging to Otto one of my crew, and a black short-sleeved blouse. While the main crew was away I enjoyed dressing in what made me comfortable, I adored men's jeans and loose blouses, and Johnny never commented my fashion choices. I was more careful when the house was full, maintaining my more girlish appearance. It was during the times that my crew was around that I disappeared for a few days to 'meet with 's'. In reality I just visited the bigger cities in Mexico for information, money deposits and supplies. Monterrey was closest to Reynosa, so that was where I went most often.
I slipped into my clothes, not bothering with shoes and grabbed my lamp to light the path to my office. I navigated the narrow corridor and entered my small office quickly. I spent most of my time in this room, and it had a calming effect on my mind. The smell of the books that I kept on the shelves that lined the walls always soothed me after a stressful day. My desk was made from a solid and affordable oak and was not fancy in the least. I padded over to my seat behind the desk and situated myself comfortably. I rifled through my satchel, until my fingers found a small brass key. I always kept my satchel with me; it had the most important parts of my life in it. I had passports, identifications, bank information and the only momentos I bothered taking from my home in Houston, a locket that had a small picture of my mother and father before he ran for office and her wedding ring.
The key fit into the top drawer of my desk, the drawer that help my maps, contact information and accounting books. I wanted to calculate how much had been skimmed from the usual take by the three men I would need to deal with. I went over the numbers and began doing the calculations in my head, it only seemed to be a few thousand dollars a shipment. I was poring over a map, trying to find new exit routes for my crew if there was ever a problem when I felt it.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and the feeling that I was being watched hit me. I had felt this off and on for a month, never in the same place and always intense and unnerving. I had first felt it on a rare rainy day while I was in Monterrey on a supply run. I dismissed it at the time because I was a pale creature in a sea of mocha skinned towns people, of course I was being stared at. The next few times were harder to dismiss. They were often when I was managing my crew near the docks or when I would practice shooting in the areas surrounding my house. Tonight was the first time I felt like I was being watched in my own home. I could hear Johnny's light snores coming from his room down the hall, so I knew that this was either extreme paranoia or someone else was near. I kept my face neutral and folded the maps and placed them in the drawer along with the accounting books I had gone over. I leisurely closed the drawer, not bothering to lock it and slipped the key back in my satchel.
I stretched my limbs slowly, trying in vain to hear any sounds that would indicate the cause for this feeling. I had always been hyper aware of my surroundings and I was good at reading people and their emotions, it was like a sixth sense for me. This hyper-sensitivity always seemed to help me keep one step ahead of everyone else and I always seemed to be able to see the bigger picture. My decisions always seemed to be spot-on as a result, usually getting a favorable outcome. I decided to trust my instincts and investigate outside, to be sure that I was not being watched.
I didn't have a good feeling about going outside alone, but I ignored my cautious side and tucked my handgun into the waistband of my jeans just in case. My instincts told me something was out there and I needed to know once and for all. I rose from my seat and threw my satchel over my shoulder. I left the lamp on the desk and walked out of my office, allowing my eyes adjust to the darkness. As I walked outside, past the porch my steps became smaller. I moved as silently as possible scanning my land for movement. I walked around the back of the house into the field that was filled with waist-high corn and weeds. The house used to be a family farm and while we didn't cultivate it the remnants of the previous owner's labors still remained.
A small swishing sound came from behind me as I reached the middle of the field and I turned my head around quickly to scan the area where the noise originated from. My eyes met nothing but the soft swaying of corn, lit by the light of the full moon. The foreboding feeling that had steadily grown since I came outside began to take on new proportions as I heard a soft whisper from in front of me. I slowly turned to face the sound while reaching slowly for my gun. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight that lay in front of me.
My brown eyes locked on glowing red ones set in the pale face of a beautiful woman. My heartbeat quickened but I kept my face neutral, not wanting to show fear. The woman smirked at me and my instincts kicked into overdrive. This woman was not human, nor was she good. The aura of evil fell from her in waves despite her angelic facial features. Her long black hair fell in ringlets around her and swayed slightly in the light breeze. She stood about three inches shorter than me at what seemed to be 5'4. Her frame seemed deceptively frail, she was thin but busty and her lips, still in an evil smirk were full and began to part showing me glinting white teeth. I remained as stoic as possible and her perfect eyebrows rose and she smiled menacingly.
My hand took comfort in the cold metal of my gun and I began to ready myself to shoot when I had an opportunity. I had never killed anyone, but my instincts told me that in this moment it was kill or be killed. I saw the light of the moon reflect off her teeth and they seemed to glisten with something that I couldn't identify, for surely it wasn't simply saliva. My jaw clenched as I heard her open her mouth and speak.
"Hello, my darling Freya. Or should I say Isabella?" Her voice was light and melodic like a chorus of bells in perfect harmony. My ears detected the malice behind her beautiful voice and I tensed again. I honestly was at a loss on how to proceed, but I quickly decided on a course of action. I whipped out the gun that was held in my right hand and pulled the trigger. My eyelids had shut involuntarily shielding my eyes from the blood and gore that was sure to come from such a close range shot. I opened my eyes slowly when I realized I heard no sounds of a body dropping.
My eyes widened as I took in the sight of the woman before me, looking no worse for the wear besides a small dent in between her thin eyebrows. She noticed my shock and laughed a high, tinkling laugh.
"Oh Isabella, you are a brave one. You have yet to run away screaming, though that wouldn't get you far. You stand here, gun still pointing at me, with hardly any signs that you are frightened beyond anything you have ever felt. Your heart is thrumming like a hummingbird, yet your face indicates that you are almost bored. I am so pleased that I found you." Her words made me repress a shudder of fear.
"Found me?" My voice sounded rough and deep in comparison to her high, honey coated words. Her glowing dark red eyes traced my figure from my toes to my face, her appraisal unnerved me further.
"Yes, found you. I've been watching you, child. You have impressed me with your schemes and the power you wield over your men. I have sensed you will do great things for me. I feel that you have a strong mind that I can use for my purposes. You will also make a lovely Vampire." She explained as if speaking to a toddler. My blood ran cold at the last word. Vampire.
I had heard the superstitions of the locals regarding the undead. I had dismissed the thought with my rational mind, but a part of me always believed the truth in the legends. Whole towns sold braids of garlic and crosses in an attempt to keep the evil at bay. I never laughed at their precautions, but a part of me thought their protections were futile. I felt like my mind was stuck on repeat, the word Vampire echoing and growing louder matching the speed of my heart.
"Vampire." My voice was a gravelly whisper. The red-eyed devil grinned.
"Your heart will cease to beat after three days and you will emerge from the fire as one of us." As she spoke she stalked towards me, looking like the evil predator that she was. My muscles locked and I came to a decision. I would not show this evil bitch an ounce of fear or pain for as long as I lived.
She reached me and lifted her small hand to caress my check, her cold skin cooling my flushed face.
"When you awake, you will come to know me as your Mistress; know that it will be Mistress Maria to you." And with that, she lunged at my neck.
I could feel her teeth ripping my skin and my head began to swim as I smelled my blood pouring down her throat. My muscles began to give way and I felt my gun drop. I felt a fire begin to boil in my veins, seeming to spread and intensify with each passing second. It traveled from my neck to the rest of my body and it was the most excruciating pain imaginable.
I felt her unlatch herself from my neck and I let out a groan of pain as I felt the fire burn hotter than I imagined hell would feel.
"That's it Isabella, scream. Scream for me, precious." Maria's voice took on an excited edge. I realized that she thrived on causing other's pain, thrived on the destruction of life. I would be damned if I satisfied her need for my pain. I locked my jaw tighter, so tight I felt like my teeth would crack. I wanted to curse at her, condemning her to the fieriest pits of hell, a place I felt I was visiting right then, but I knew if I opened my mouth a cry of agony would emerge.
"Oh brave one, you will scream eventually. The fire only burns hotter and hotter. It's only a matter of time." Her words rang true as the fire continued to intensify. I felt my body being lifted and I was aware she was holding me to her chest and moving. I could hear the wind whipping past me at an alarming rate, but the coolness of it did not soothe me.
I could vaguely hear her whispering to me about how she would enjoy watching me writhe and scream, but I began to focus my mind on anything but my pain. I thought about how I would kill her, how I would survive, how I would not give in to her demands for me to scream.
The wind was no longer rushing by and I could feel her slow. I heard several voices, growls and angry exclamations. I couldn't distinguish anything at that moment as I was still focused on not showing an ounce of my agony. I felt the arms that locked me against the cold granite painfully drop, and my body came in contact with the ground hard. I was left on the ground, and I heard growls and raised voices that sounded far away. I stopped trying to be aware of my surroundings and dove into my mind.
I thought of my life, the good and the bad, over and over again as I locked my muscles and jaw. The memories kept me from giving Maria the satisfaction she craved. I could feel my body twitch occasionally, but I would not writhe for the evil bitch. Every muscle in my body felt the effects of my stubbornness, aching and pulsing with the need to release itself. Time meant nothing to me as I continued to burn and ache. Years seemed to pass, yet my only focus was on distracting my mind from the unfathomable pain I was in.
My memories repeated in a timeless loop, a sequence that began with my earliest memories and continued on into my last moments. I prayed to God for death, silently begging and pleading for Him to have Mercy and show me death. The fire only burned hotter in response.
As I begged internally for mercy I felt moisture on my face. The tears that had been leaking out of the corners of my shut eyes were hot and ran in a continuous line, dripping down to my ears. This moisture was cool and seemed to be running along my face, as if wiping away my tears and sweat. I felt the cool dampness run along my jaw and dip down to my neck, wiping at the spot that Maria had clamped down on.
"Almost done, kitten. Almost" A voice whispered. The voice was deep but had the smooth and beautiful quality that Maria's had. He began whispering to me, telling me that the burning would soon end. It didn't. While listening to his voice vaguely, I continued repeating my memories, reminding myself of who I was. I was strong, a fighter, compassionate, just…suddenly I heard the malice laced words of Maria.
"It's been more than three days! What is wrong with her?!" So that was how long I'd been in hell?
A new voice joined in, a male whose words were calm and cold, yet I could hear an undertone of pain in them.
"I don't know. I've never seen anything like it before." I wanted to open my eyes, but I knew if I moved at all, I would break, and that wasn't an option in front of Maria. I heard her leave with an angry, inhuman growl.
My personal sweat and tear wiper paused at the base of my throat and I heard him whispering with the new male.
"Do you think she'll turn?"
"I honestly don't know. It might be better for her if she didn't." The pain was more prominent in his voice now.
"Jasper!" My cleanser admonished. He continued his ministrations and I could almost feel the affection flow from him to me. "She looks like so young and innocent. But damn is she tough. I've watched her and she hasn't moved or let out a single whimper. Maria's venom burns hotter than Hades and she's as quiet as a goddamn mouse!"
"I've noticed, Peter. She feels it though. I can feel her pain and her determination. Maria sure knows how to pick 'em." Jasper said quietly, and I could detect a light Texan drawl. That comforted me. Something told me that these two were not the diabolical evil that Maria was and I wanted desperately to see their faces. Gathering all the strength I possessed I forced my eyes open.
My eyes tried to focus, but the images were hazy. I could make out a dirty blond head near me and I knew that this was my cleanser, Peter. I could tell he was paler than Maria, but I couldn't distinguish much else besides the color of his compassionate eyes. Burgandy.
"Jasper, she opened her eyes! Is the pain gone? Why are her eyes brown?" Peter spoke in an excited whisper. My eyes followed Peter's and landed on Jasper.
My vision seemed to clear and I saw Jasper's own burgundy eyes lock on my own. He had ear length wavy honey blonde hair that fell beautifully over his eyes. His face reminded me of the sketches and portraits I had seen of the gods of the ancient world. His cheekbones were high and his nose was perfect and straight. His lips had a plump, juicy look to them. I never wanted to close my eyes.
"She's still burning. I can't understand why she is able to open her eyes and I don't know why her eyes are brown." Jaspers spoke, never looking away from me. I noticed his eyes were probably as pain-filled as my own and I didn't understand why that was.
"Kitten, were your eyes brown before?" Peter asked me. I didn't know how, but I managed to nod ever so slightly. With that movement the floodgates opened and I had to slam my eyes shut to try and keep from screaming. The fire seemed come alive in the worst possible way and for a moment I thought I would literally burst into flame. Then as suddenly as it had grown it began to recede. I felt a sudden welcome coolness began in the tips of all my limbs and the fire began to consolidate as it retreated. I could feel it pulsing and it seemed to concentrate itself in my heart. I could hear my own heartbeat thrum and accelerate and I wondered if it would fly out of my chest in a ball of flame.
When it seemed that I could last no longer in my stoic state, my heart suddenly stopped. The stillness unnerved me, and for a moment I thought I had finally been granted the mercy I had begged for and was dead. That thought was ruined by Peter's voice.
"Open your eyes, kitten. It's over."
I listened to his words and slowly opened my eyes to a whole new world.
A/N- Next chapter will have Jasper's POV, and maybe Peter's…. If you are confused at all let me know when you review and I'll try and clear it up for you. Hit that button for me and tell me what you think! Thanks!