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The Dark Light Stories

“You created me as your toy and now you’re forcing me to sleep with a ghost. Can you still tell yourself that you’re not selfish?”*** Warning: This story is Carlisle/Edward slash. There will be sexual scenes between these two characters. If that bothers you, as they should say in marriage: run now or forever hold your peace. These stories will follow Carlisle and Edward through ten life-changing events, from Edward's transformation to meeting Bella. They will explore the love that evolved between the two men and the betrayal that 87 years together can bring.

Each section will be set to a song from HIM's "Dark Light" CD, which I recommend you listen to: A) because it rocks and B) because it follows the story. The chapters will be as follows: 1. Killing Loneliness: Edward’s Beginning 2. In The Nightside of Eden: Lovers 3. Rip Out The Wings Of A Butterfly: Carlisle’s Doubts 4. Dark Light: Esme’s Turning 5. Vampire Heart: Edward’s Rebellion 6. The Face of God: Carlisle’s Regrets 7. Under The Rose: Edward’s Return 8. Drunk On Shadows: Rosalie’s Turning 9. Play Dead: Edward’s Regression 10. Behind The Crimson Door: The Last Kiss

1. Killing Loneliness: Edward's Beginning

Rating 5/5   Word Count 3091   Review this Chapter

Carlisle will always remember Edward as being the hardest.

He’s tried to chalk it up to first times, he had never changed anyone and wasn’t quite ready for the consequences, but he knows that a lot of it had to do with Edward himself.

Edward was born vicious and angry, his eyes a muddy, deranged red. Even soaked in blood and fluids as his human body died, Carlisle could see that his choice had been perfect: Edward was absolutely stunning.

The venom had matured him and squared off his shoulders. Any baby fat that had clung to his 17-year-old cheeks had faded, replaced with a square jaw and angular cheekbones. From the length of his torso, Carlisle could assume that he probably grown a couple of inches. His muscle build was still wiry, always would be, but now it had a catlike ease to it instead of a gangly teen.

He strained at the bonds holding him until Carlisle worried the whole bed would collapse. The street was mostly empty, the flu had taken its toll here, but the thought of someone hearing the ripping mattress and splitting wood was enough to make his skin crawl. He approached the bed, shaking partly from fear but more so from excitement, and pulled out his scalpel. Edward eyed the instrument with a dangerous look that would become his trademark.

“Don’t be afraid, Edward, I’m not going to hurt you,” Carlisle said.

“Burn in Hell,” Edward hissed. Carlisle would have blushed if he could.

He began cutting away the ropes with a tenderness most people only reserved for lovers. All the while, Edward’s crazed eyes never left his face. As he cut the last shred of rope, he looked up at Edward, who had yet to move.

Maybe he’s too weak. Carlisle thought.

Edward leapt from the bed and pinned Carlisle to the wall with one steel hand to his throat.

“What have you done to me?” Edward said, his eyes blazing a hole into Carlisle.

“I saved your life,” Carlisle responded, sounding meek even to his own ears.

Edward parted his lips and laughed harshly.

This,” he said, motioning at his body, “is not my life.”


Edward was wheeled into the terminal ward 2 hours after his mother was admitted. He was already unconsciousness when Carlisle first saw him, a wiry teenager with thick, coppery-brown hair and long, graceful fingers. The fever had ravaged their home and they were the only two left out of a large, thriving family. Carlisle took their temperatures and checked their vitals. He noted to the nurses that they would most likely be gone by midnight; it was 3 pm. He glanced at the boy again. Even in this state, he was striking. Carlisle’s skin hummed at the thought of touching him, just once, just the graze of a finger. The pang of loneliness rolled up from his gut and engulfed his throat.

Suddenly, he felt a hand grappling at his coat. He turned and saw Edward Masen’s mother, Elizabeth, staring up at him with hard, frantic eyes.

“What is it, Mrs. Masen?” Carlisle asked, bending to be close to her lips.
“I know what you are,” she hissed.

Carlisle felt his stomach turn to rocks. “I’m sorry?”

“I…know,” she whispered, the words clumsy and slow on her fever-swollen tongue. “And I know you can save my boy.”

The bustling room seemed to fade around him as Carlisle looked down into Mrs. Masen’s green eyes. He had an almost overwhelming urge to run. His shift was almost over anyway, no one would notice. He could flee this room and this mad woman and go hunting for fast, nimble deer in the woods where the fresh, moist air could perfume his nose.

“I know you want to save him,” the woman mumbled. “I know that. So you—“ at this point she grappled for his hand, which she clutched in hers with a strength that was surprising for a dying woman—“you swear to me that you’ll save him. You do every thing you have to.”

And then Carlisle had another vision, one of him running through those woods with another shape keeping pace with him. Edward Masen, pale and faster than light, sprinting through the woods beside him with a smile playing across his lips. They would catch deer together and feed and then go home, to wherever that might be, and Carlisle could talk again about who he truly was and teach the boy how to exist in the ever-changing world. He leaned down to Mrs. Masen with a new confidence.

“I will save your son, Mrs. Masen,” he whispered, his voice fervent. “And he will never know death again.”

The woman smiled at him, a serene smile, and then closed her eyes. Carlisle checked her pulse and it was faint, but present. He looked back at Edward one last time before fleeing to his office. He paced the floor; trying to understand the dying wish he had just given the woman. He had witnessed people being turned before. The Volturi had done it hundreds of times before while he was with them, but he had never taken part, and his interest had been waning at best. He would watch the dying human start to twist and squeal on the marble floor before murmuring that he had enough and escaping to his quarters. His plan to change Edward seemed suddenly massive and terrifying, like a gaping jaw.

A knock interrupted his thoughts.

“Dr. Cullen?” A young nurse poked her head in the door. “Mrs. Masen has just passed.”

“And the boy?”

“Two hours at the most,” she said, glancing at her chart.

“Thank you.”

She closed the door quietly. Carlisle stood and grabbed his medical bag. He thought about stashing a syringe of tranquilizer but then realized it would probably do him no good. Closing the office door behind him, Carlisle went downstairs to collect Edward Masen.


“Where is my mother?” Edward demanded suddenly. He had been pacing the room for the better part of an hour. Carlisle was amazed that he could withstand the thirst so thoroughly. The manifestation of his self-control stunned him. He assumed his newborn would be more helpless somehow.

“The flu took her three days ago,” Carlisle said.

Edward stopped and stared at him. “How long have I been here?”

“Almost four days,” Carlisle said, glancing at his watch. “You were dying, Edward.”

The young man snorted. “As you’ve pointed out.”

He looked around him at the destroyed house, bloodied sheets piled in the corner and broken furniture from his sudden outbursts, and grimaced. Suddenly, human voices could be heard walking by. Edward’s head snapped around like it was on a string. Carlisle barely had time to register the voices and the rich, warm smell of the blood before Edward was leaping for the boarded up windows and tearing at the planks. He grabbed the newborn’s shoulder but Edward’s strength was phenomenal. He had to use every ounce of power in his ancient body to restrain Edward’s trashing body.

“Let me go! I want them!” he yelled.

“No, you won’t live like that. I won’t allow you to murder people,” Carlisle murmured.

His muscles strained as Edward threw his force into getting Carlisle off his back. The voices faded into the darkness and the smell of blood drifted off, replaced by the smell of rotting flesh and illness.

Edward started to sob then, his shoulders heaving uselessly. “I’m so thirsty. What have you done to me?”

Carlisle had yet to decide on an answer for that question. He glanced at the plank hat Edward had partially removed and pounded the bent nails back in with one tap of his palm. Edward watched, amazed.

“It was your mother’s dying wish that I save you,” Carlisle said lamely.

“And what about my dying wish?” Edward demanded. “Maybe it was just to die!”

“Your mother asked first,” Carlisle said, chuckling softly.

“Tell me what I am!” Edward screamed suddenly.

Carlisle paced the room, confused. He didn’t remember the change being like this. He always knew the newborns’ were strong and bloodthirsty but also mostly naïve and dependent on their maker. That they would not question their existence until told. He shook his head at his own naivety. He watched as Edward clawed at his throat, the burn of thirst driving him mad. Pinpricks of blood appeared and dripped onto his nails, the wounds closing almost immediately. His eyes went wide and he suckled at his fingers ravenously.

“That’s what you are,” Carlisle whispered.

Edward shook his head violently, a force that would have broken a human’s neck, and sobbed uncontrollably. “No! I’m not what you are. I don’t know what you are but I’m not like you.”

“You need to hunt. You need blood. It will stop the burning,” Carlisle continued, trying to sound soothing. He reached for Edward’s shoulder but the newborn swatted at his hand, breaking Carlisle’s index finger. He hissed at the pain and then quickly set it. The sound of the bone healing was like someone chewing on the cartilage in a chicken bone. Edward watched all this with his mouth slightly agape. He looked down at his own graceful fingers and grabbed his pinky in his hand.

“Edward—“ Carlisle warned.

The sound of the snap was overshadowed by Edward’s fierce whimper.

“Come here, let me set it before it heals.” Carlisle said. Edward stared at him. “Hurry up. I’m a doctor. It’s fine.”

Edward extended his hand and Carlisle snapped the finger back into place with barely a flinch from the young man. Edward stared down at his hand and then at Carlisle.

“I’ll get you a coat,” Carlisle muttered.

When he came back from the foyer, an extra coat draped over his arm, the room was empty. He could hear the hand pump working in the kitchen and a sinking suspicion filled him.

“Edward! Don’t drink water!”

He raced to the kitchen where Edward was bent under the stream of clear water, gulping desperately to cool the flames in his throat and whimpering. Carlisle grabbed him and tried to pull him away but Edward clung to the sink with all his force, bending the metal sink under his grip. Carlisle sighed and took a step back, watching as Edward’s back began to heave as he continued to try to drink.

“Oh God,” Edward muttered, “I feel—“

He began vomiting clear liquid back into the sink as the water streamed over his hair. Even when his body had purged the unwanted water, he stayed curled over the sink, shaking from his sobs.

“You can only drink one thing now,” Carlisle said, rubbing Edward’s rock-hard back.

“I don’t want to.”

“You need to,” Carlisle said. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be with you.”

“Take me, then,” Edward finally whispered.


Edward was a natural hunter, tracking the herd of whitetail deer with ease. He grabbed two females by the neck, one in each hand, and then looked to Carlisle for guidance. Carlisle took his own deer and lowered his mouth to the fragile neck, his eyes never leaving Edward’s. He broke the skin and the blood bubbled up into his mouth. He let the animal’s frantic heart pump the blood to him until it slowed and, finally, stopped. His eyes had slid closed, but he could hear Edward’s whimper of relief as he drank from, first one animal, and then the other.

“I need more,” Edward growled.

Carlisle motioned off into the woods and then followed Edward as he fed from successive animals, seeming to grow more calm and alert as he went. Carlisle had been feeding almost every night before he turned Edward and it was healing to be back outside again, away from all the dying humans and the lights of the city. He finished feeding before Edward and perched on a boulder to watch the newborn kill. When Edward was finished, he approached Carlisle with a calm, steady step. His shirt was torn and dirty and his angular face was smeared with blood.

“How do you feel?” Carlisle asked.

Edward snorted. “Disgusted and satisfied.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

Edward looked up at the sky for a long moment and then chuckled. “Will I?”

Carlisle didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and reached towards Edward’s face. The newborn didn’t flinch, so Carlisle started to hesitantly clean his face. He wiped some of the blood from his forehead before working down to his chin until the cloth was a dirty brown from the old blood.

There’s a river nearby. He could clean himself there before we go back to town. Carlisle thought.

“I know,” Edward answered.

Carlisle’s head snapped around to examine the beautiful man.

“What did you say?”

“I said: I know there’s a river nearby,” he said. He seemed nonchalant with the information, unaware of what he had just done.

“I didn’t say that out loud,” Carlisle pointed out.

Edward frowned. His eyes had faded to a softer red, the glow of embers.

“What do you mean?”

Edward, can you hear me? Carlisle thought.


The two men looked at each other as a quiet understanding dawned.

“Is there something wrong with me?” Edward asked.
Carlisle shook his head.

“No. You’re a mind reader. I’ve witnessed it before but I didn’t know you would be capable of it.”

“Why am I?’

Carlisle shrugged. “Vampires often bring over special skills we had from our human life. You were probably very good at reading people.”

Edward looked suddenly distraught.

“Please, don’t use that word.”

“What word?” Carlisle asks, frowning.

“Vampire. I knows it’s…what I am now, but just don’t say it.”

I want to touch him, Carlisle thought, distracted by Edward’s frown. He felt a sudden rush of embarrassment as Edward’s eyes narrowed at him.

“I’m sorry.”

Edward ignored this and stood.

“I apologize,” Carlisle said again, his voice stumbling.

Edward walked off into the woods. His gait was still odd but it has the seed of grace in it. Carlisle stayed seated, uncertain as to whether or not Edward was abandoning him, until he heard the splash of water. He could smell the dried blood dissolving into the rushing water and, above it all, the scent of Edward’s skin. Carlisle tried to place it; a fresh, cool scent, like cut melon, coupled with something primal and almost spicy. It made his skin tingle and he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, letting images of Edward’s nude body rush through his mind. He had been forced to strip Edward during his transformation, as he vomited and bled out all over his clothes, his preternatural body purging itself of unnecessary human fluids. He had picked Edward up and bathed him twice in lukewarm water as Edward thrashed and shook, barely conscious. He had watched as Edward’s skin lost its pink flush and his muscles became tight and defined, pressing against the white, marble-hard skin, until his biceps and abdomen looked like carved stone.


His name came floating through the forest. It was the first time Edward had used it, even though Carlisle had never formally introduced himself. He was off and running through the woods immediately.

Is he hurt? Carlisle’s mind raced.

Edward was standing in the rushing water, his torso bare and shimmering in the blue moonlight. He still looked 17, in a way, it was there if his supple movements and his sharply pretty features, but he was too tall and too well-built to ever be mistaken for a child again.

“I’m fine,” Edward said. “Can we go home?”

We, Carlisle thought, smiling softly.

Edward stepped out of the water with rivulets running along the lines of his nude body and looked over at Carlisle. “Yes, we.”


Carlisle guided Edward back to his small home on the outskirts of town. The quiet, rustic dwelling was simple but clean and far enough from civilization that Carlisle was left in peace. He owned a horse for show but rarely rode it. He was too tempted to eat it when he did. The house had been bought furnished and still had a massive iron bed in the single bedroom. Edward walked across the floors on the tips of his toes, silent as a whisper. He was still shirtless but his trousers were back on.
“What time is it?” Edward asked, looking in at the bed.

“A quarter past five,” Carlisle said, glancing at his watch.

Edward frowned and went into the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the edge and looked back out at Carlisle, who was standing awkwardly in the living area.

“I’m not tired.”

“You don’t need to sleep anymore,” Carlisle said.

Edward’s eyes narrowed.

“Ever?” he sounded perplexed.


He lied down anyway, looking sad and curling into a fetal position. Carlisle sat down beside him and placed a hand on Edward’s calf. The young man’s eyes were closed and his face was still as ice.

He’s beautiful, Carlisle thought.

“Thank you,” Edward murmured.

Carlisle chuckled. “I’ll have to remember you can do that.”

For the first time, Edward actually smiled. Carlisle stretched out beside him and left his hand open on the quilt in case Edward wanted it. As dawn crept over the house, Carlisle felt Edward’s finger steal into his palm. Sunlight flooded the room and Carlisle heard Edward’s quick intake of breath as crystalline sparkles filled the area. Edward stared down at his skin and twisted one arm. The glittering jumped erratically in time to his movements. He squeezed Carlisle’s hand and sat up, his eyes wide.

There was a lot Carlisle had to explain.


“Memories sharp as daggers pierce into the flesh of today

The suicide of love took away all that matters and buried the remains in an unmarked grave in your heart

With the venomous kiss you gave me, I'm killing loneliness

With the warmth of your arms, you saved me

I'm killing loneliness with you

The killing loneliness that turned my heart into a tomb

I’m killing loneliness

Nailed to a cross together as solitude begs us to stay

We disappear in the lie forever and denounce the power of death over our souls

As secret words are said to start a war

With the venomous kiss you gave me, I'm killing loneliness

With the warmth of your arms, you saved me

I'm killing loneliness with you

The killing loneliness that turned my heart into a tomb

I’m killing loneliness with you…”

-HIM "Killing Loneliness"