Our Flesh is a Tomb
Ada been through an excruciating two week transformation, but the question still remains, will she take the form of vampire or wolf? Jacob’s lonely, he’s been on the run for weeks now and avoiding the answer. Will he attend the wedding or won’t he? Fate’s waiting there for him in the shape of a blonde wolf, or maybe even a blonde vampire.
Jacob/OFC. Post-Eclipse, Pre-Wedding. Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, except Ada, all rights belong to the wonderful Stephenie Meyer. Rating is subject to change.
2. 1. Cry Wolf
Rating 5/5 Word Count 2364 Review this Chapter
1. Cry Wolf
They pushed me down the aisle and out the bus door into the sidewalk. The town seemed almost mystical at night, like a dream. Lights glittered from streetlamps and reflected off the fountains in the middle of an open square. The square itself was framed by buildings, at most four stories tall. From the lampposts hung large baskets of overflowing flowers, their fragrant hanging in the air. I sucked in a deep breath to collect myself.
I shook off my uneasy feelings, thinking to myself, It has to be a dream, and even if it wasn’t, my aunt and grandfather would start to worry when I hadn’t returned when I said I would.
“Here we are,” the cold voice smiled, “This is the Parliament building that houses Volterra’s government. Now if you’ll follow me inside, our group has been invited to a special gathering.” He chimed on about the building itself and the history of the government.
I looked around and saw at least forty people encircling me, wandering aimlessly, snapping photos and chattering with each other. I kept to myself, walking on based on instinct rather than want or need. The front room was warm with wood floors and white walls. Paintings of men and what seemed to be councilmen hung on the wall all framed in gold. I took interest in one in particular. I’d seen a very similar face before. The man stood with a stern look across his alabaster face. The dark hair combed back and greased down. His nose was sharp and came to a point just above his thin lips.
By the time I had dragged my anxious eyes from the paintings, I was in the last group herded onto the elevator. One of the men from the shadows in the alley stepped in after me. He glared around at the last of our group. I caught his eyes as he made the rounds. Black, cold… and… what I could have sworn was red. I shook off the chill that had sprung up from nowhere. The elevator chimed and the doors slipped open into a soft reception room where a young lady was sitting behind a large counter. The wood covered walls melted into the green floor covering.
My mind was blank, and yet I kept walking. My hands were shaking. I felt it coming now. It wasn’t a work house, not here in Volterra. There was an end of the line sort of feel to this place though the reception area was warm and welcoming, but the hallway we were heading down was not. It had the cold clammy feel of death. It felt like it wrapped around my waist and tugged me forward.
I was hopeless, and I felt like I was falling to my death. The pit of despair ate away at my stomach. 24 hours of not eating had taken a serious toll. I was weaker than I had ever felt in my life, the helplessness did nothing to help this situation either.
We had walked into a room that was just as cold as the others. A solid gold door stood before us, just down the hall. I would have been in awe of its grandeur, but I was distracting by what was eating at me. The finally tings of pain before I walked into that room. The room where we all would most likely die. I could hear a soft conversation next to me. People were starting to get a little suspicious. I looked to all the faces around me, some were amazed others were curious, some even frightened. Maybe it had just hit them that this seemed a little off. That there was something cold and unfeeling in the air. When I looked back to the wall with the golden door, I had expected it to be open, but instead ten feet away on the wall of the hallway a plain wood door appeared, and the cold voiced man was sliding it open, still rambling on about some sort of architecture… There was silence on the other side.
Then I heard a new voice, “Just wait,” he snickered. It was dark when I first stepped in with my fellow walking dead. This room was even colder than the previous one, but it wasn’t a cold from temperature. The cold seem to emanate from the other beings in the room. It hit me hard like a boulder. The sickly, mentholated aroma knocked the breath from my lungs. As the last of our ill-fated crew entered, the door behind us slammed shut. It was quiet, and I couldn’t feel my legs. I couldn’t be sure that I was still standing.
It was the crack of a match against stone. Soon the room filled with the dancing light of hundreds of flames brightening the walls. I could see them. Their eyes anticipating the killing, the same cold black eyes staring back at us, searching us. Each of them picking out one or two of us to have for themselves, it was feeding time. I felt the shudder of realization of the look in their eyes. Hunger.
They stood in what seemed a triangle. The front-most man had dark eyes and a heavy velvet cloak. He seemed to be their leader. His dark, black hair slipped down along side his thin face and down his back. He slipped off the cloak and handed it to the man next to him, who I recognized as the man that had scooped up the woman in the alley. He must have been a guard of some sort. The other four men stood behind him as well, looking gruff. He brushed his hair back from his face with his fingers, combing through the long strands. I recognized him then as the man in the painting downstairs, or was it upstairs. He cocked his head to one side and then the other. A motion I recognized as a stretching tactic, like that of a bull that scrapes his hooves into the dirt of an arena. He was ready to charge.
In an instant I was knocked off my feet by the flood of the soon-to-be-dead crushing backwards towards the door, screams began to ring out and our crowd was flattened by leaping white and black figures, pouncing directly on one person at a time. I scrambled to my feet and started towards the door when I felt his claws at my back, ripping my shirt as he pulled me down with him.
”You’re mine,” I heard him growl. It was the same voice I’d heard earlier coming from the room and his face was that of the leader. He pulled me to his face and took a long swift breath, taking in my scent, but instead of a look of pure ecstasy, he coughed, choking on his breath trying to expel it as fast as possible.
“Stop,” he panted, holding his breath back from my face, “she isn’t right!” he howled with much more force. I heard grunts and moans as the others held back from their prey with mouths watering and finicky eyes. He whipped around looking for what I assumed to be his bodyguards as they, themselves, hunched over more helpless and almost lifeless bodies. “Get her out of here, Jane!” he howled to them. The short woman, he’d addressed as Jane, stole away from her prey almost gliding over the others, a chestnut-haired woman right behind her.
“What is it?”
“Don’t ask questions! Get her out of here!”
She grabbed me by the back of my sweater and hauled me across the strewn bodies to the door. I clutched my bag with all my might, praying that I would make it out safely. But then another scream shot from the air breaking the tension-filled air around us. My thoughts fluttered from my own selfish safety to the others lying around me, dying. I panicked, who could I save? I reached my hand out to grab someone, but my hand only caught air. We were already out of the room.
“Who the hell do you think you are?!” she yelled throwing me into the room. The force of her arms caused me to slam into the chair and fall out, rather than rest there. I cracked my head on the floor with such a force that I was forced out of my own head with a throbbing pain. “Get up!” I forced myself to my knees and crawled into the chair. I gathered what thoughts I could and glance around the room. It was plain, like a governor’s office. A few portraits lined the honey coloured walls that stretched up into high pitched ceilings. From the chair I was sitting in, a desk was in reach. The short, young woman walked around the side of the cherry wood desk and snatched my bag from my death grip. She ripped it open with such force that my things scattered across the desk and onto the floor. She began rummaging through it look for something, anything.
The door flew open so suddenly it caught me completely off guard. He stood there in the middle of the door way, a softer look now on his face. “Jane, dear,” he spoke, “They’ve saved a couple for you. Why don’t you go down there and feast.” The last sentence was more of an order than a request even though he made it sound like she had a choice, but that he knew what her answer was going to be so he must have seen that there was no need to be pushy.
She stole out of the room in a great gust, the air spinning behind her. He reached down to me and simply touched the skin of my sweaty brow. His eyes slipped shut. I could feel him leech my energy for his own personal satisfaction. “Hmm,” he mused as he pulled back “Very interesting.”
I looked down at my hands that were kneading the invisible knot in my stomach. “What’s that?” I asked softly, with a trembling voice.
“Well, my dear Adelaide,” he spoke my name with no trouble and completely confident in his assessment. “I think that we should talk.” In no time I found him staring back at me from the other side of the desk. He gently pulled open a drawer of said desk and retrieved a large leather bound book. He slipped it open. “What’s your grandfather’s surname?” he asked, but I knew he already knew that too.
“Cosmescu,” I said timidly.
“Of course.” He played with the pages of the book flipping through them quickly then stopping suddenly. “And your grandfather’s name?”
“Alexandru.” But of course he already knew that.
I watched him behind the locks of messy hair that had slipped over my face. The door behind me flew open, startling me, yet again. As if I wasn’t enough of a nervous wreck these people, if you could call them that, had to keep fluttering about banging doors and suddenly showing up in places that they couldn’t possibly be so quickly and startling me.
I turned quickly in my seat almost falling out, again. It was the man from the tour. The cold voiced man.
“Jonathan… What’s the meaning of this?” he said gesturing to me, glowering at the man who had plucked me from the streets of Vienna.
“Of what?” he asked, obviously realizing that he was in some sort of trouble, but refused to accept it.
The leader rose to his feet in a swift movement, that sickly smell flushing towards me. I caught a new whiff of it and immediately brought my hand to my mouth. Sickening. Anger was breaking his statuesque face in two.
“Explain to me why you decided to attempt some sort of vigilante performance Saturday evening.”
“You heard me,” he scowled, red burning in his eyes. I took a second glance into his eyes, surely I had mistaken the red colour, but there it was burning back at me.
“Sir,” Jonathan cleared his throat as he began his explanation, “I apologize, but the usual hunting trip had become somewhat irksome. It’s one of the longest facades that we put together, and I often find myself not interested...”
“Why her?! What possessed you to collect this specimen?! What’s so damn special about her that you chose her over… everyone else?!” His voice was now raised in anger, unable to grasp the concept that I was just chosen at random.
“I d-don’t know,” Jonathan whispered, keeping his eyes lowered. “She smelled different… and I liked it.”
The leader scoffed and turned his back to the man and me. He took two steps over to the large plate glass window that was darkly tinted. He stood there a moment before speaking again, looking down at who knows what, maybe the people below who were in their own day dreams of reality, while I sit here surrounded in my own personal hell. He looked down at the floor, and as I looked I saw what he was looking at. It was my father’s watch laying there, the back open, glinting in the soft florescent lighting. He stooped down in one quick moment, snatching it from the floor and back to his standing position. He examined it for a moment before commenting, “This is much worse than I feared.” He closed the watch back and set it softly onto the desk, where it accompanied my other strewn belongings. “Does the name Cosmescu meaning anything to you?” His voiced raised concern in my heart, and Jonathan took a step back to avoid the glare the man was giving him. The coldest look I’d ever felt. It seemed like I was in its war path, and I was hit with the shrapnel of ice.
“You-you don’t think t-that-” the man stuttered pulling his eyes back up to meet his leader.
“Of course I do, and now, I am most assured that my assumption is correct.” He motioned to the watch lying on the table. “The crest, there, on the inside. She’s of wolf-blood; Romanian wolf-blood to be exact.”