Rosalie and Emmett
Rosalie and Emmett's story, starting where Rosalie is running to Carlisle with a dying Emmett in her arms. The teen rating is a precaution for later chapters. :]
1. Chapter 1- Flying
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I was flying. Flying, like a mad woman, with a man, a human man, curled up in my arms. I wasn’t breathing; the blood of the man was overwhelming, overpowering, filling my nose and my whole body, taunting me. But I would resist, and I had to resist. I was madly repeating every conversation I had ever had with Carlisle, looking for some hint that would tell me what to do, that could tell me whether I could save this man or not. How long did they linger, after being so badly mauled? No matter what, I wasn’t taking any chances; I flatly refused to attempt to bite him myself, instead only hoping that I could get him to Carlisle before his time was up. I was scared. What if I bit him, and then couldn’t resist? Could I bear to watch the man’s life slip away, to watch his blood drain out of his cheeks and down my throat?
The thought consumed me. I had to try harder than that to resist. I was still so far from Edward’s restraint, and that was saying something, seeing as that Edward had a horrible time controlling his thirst. And now, presented with an overwhelming challenge after only two years… The blood gurgling from the man’s chest caressed my skin, calling to me … I could not fail. I would not fail. I would not let this man die!
I looked down at his face again, this time ignoring his chest. Round, smiling, pure. His curly black hair fell across his eyes, and I hurriedly swept it back, barely missing taking off a chunk of his nose. I was so out of control that I wasn’t holding back my strength, and I wasn’t being careful. I slipped my hand away from the human’s face, and flew faster.
He’d been hiking, and I had been hunting—in fact, I was hunting the very bear that had just hurt him. The bear had been so enraged that when he fell upon the man as he was running from me, he’d simply attacked him. I knew I shouldn’t feel responsible—the man should have known he was hiking in an extremely dangerous mountain range, for humans at least. Still, the guilt and the compassion for the man spread through me faster and thicker than the thirst, and I flew.
The countryside was just a blur around me. I didn’t bother to look around, not once, for any lack of focus could kill the man, as well as my restraint. How did Carlisle do it? How could he be so indifferent to blood? Even he wasn’t perfect, but I was sure he would be completely immune in a couple hundred years. The thought was sickening—a couple hundred years. Why couldn’t I die, just like the man in my arms was about to? He was barely breathing. How much of a relief it must be, to know when your time came you could simply slip away, and go on! But I could never be sure if I believed Carlisle. What if slipping away was just that—disappearing forever? Would I really rather sentence this man to an eternity of struggle?
Still, if I had slipped away it would have meant leaving Them alive. Letting Them run free, hurting and killing others, and knowing what They did to me. Now compassion and thirst were joined by anger. The man wouldn’t be haunted by demons, would not exist knowing he had to one day find Them, and destroy Them. Would he want to destroy me? No. No, he couldn’t, I told myself. He wouldn’t. I love him. I need him. I ran, and flew, and resisted.