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storms banner We're far away from Forks, now. And what a lovely city Knives is- the perfect place to start afresh, don't you think? Edward is long gone and Jacob loves his wife-to-be. Bella is not happy- but then again, she hasn't been for four years. She's used to it. But mistakes have been made, and a destructive chain of events has been set in motion. Nothing can stop it. The storm is fast approaching- it's too late to get out now. Much too late. The Cullens are back.Char made my banner. She's an awesome person who has good things waiting for her in the afterlife.

I'm alone, And more alone with every passing day; The danger is increasing every second that I stay. But the storms are fast approaching, And I cannot get away.

7. Beginnings Leading to Ends.

Rating 1/5   Word Count 480   Review this Chapter

It was inevitable, really. The wolf was childish, immature. And the vampire was angry. So angry. He had been for such a very long time.

The wolf was at the petrol station. He had left work an hour ago, but a call from the jewellers and a problem with engraving had effectively barred his journey home. He wanted everything to be just right for his fiancée. The ring had to be faultless. He wasn’t perfect, but he loved her. So very much.

Then again, so did the vampire. But I digress.

The wolf held the pipe as fuel chugged through it and into the car. It was rundown and bruised, this vehicle, but carefully maintained. Things hung from it, but they never fell.

The vampire was running. He ran a lot. He never knew, though, whether he was running to get anywhere, or just running to get away.

A sweet, bitter, sickly, wet-dog sort of smell wafted into their noses. And they knew. Instantly, they knew what would happen. What had to happen. The vampire stopped running for a second, and sniffed the air. The wolf snarled, and was filled with the urge to rip.

He was careful, though. He did not think of his beloved. He knew of this vampire’s skill, and he did not want to share her. No.

His mind was too busy with fight-thoughts, anyway.

The vampire was soon in sight. For him, this was a chance to vent some fury. He had so very much of it. More than enough to get rid all reason, and bring in only a desire to kill. He did not know who this wolf was, but that did not matter. Maybe if he had known the identity and significance of the creature in front of him, the wolf would not have lived. And the story would have been much shorter.

And much happier.

There were no words. The wolf snarled, ran and attacked. The vampire sprung back. There was no transformation. There was no grace or elegance or sportsmanship. There was only fight and growls and rage. The wolf fought for all that had happened to his love. The vampire fought for release.

The siren threw itself into the silent night, and then reeled itself back in. The anxious garage owner clung to his windowsill, mobile clenched tightly in his hand. Only then did the two pull apart. They both had facades to hold up. Neither of them was injured, neither of them was breathless. But both had passion in their eyes.

Later that night the vampire would claim innocence and the werewolf would not argue. The vampire wanted to win. The werewolf wanted to tell his friends. I attacked him, he would say. I began it.

And the cause of all this trouble? She was sat at home, head on elbow and eyes on the driveway.

If only they knew, those two silly boys, what they had begun. If only.


Shall we begin?