I'm nothing but a monster fed with flaming fury and running with bloody hands. There's no hope left until one harmless glance chances logic and binds two enemies together in a twist of fate. Can the escape from this hell be found in an irresistible dimpled grin? Or is this another dark, dirty trick of my own mind? A forbidden passion, heat and intense anger—this is no fairytale.
Disclaimer: Monster is an originally plotted fic. The ideas within this fic are not to be copied in any manner unless I have given my consent. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of their respective owners. The canon characters and plots from the Twilight Saga are the property of Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended. Similarities are for the sole use of fan fiction, and no money is benefited from this fic. Emerging Swan Award 2012, nominated into Fandom Choice Awards.
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My fingers clench the countertop. The sharp edges press into my palm, but I ignore them. My eyes are set on the mirror, watching a woman—a stranger—stare back at me.
The woman's dark eyes are distant, nearly sunken. The light has been completely drained from them, leaving her dark blue irises to shadow her pupil, appearing just a shade lighter. She is a grown person, by the look of it, just a few years over twenty. The makeup applied to her face brings out her striking features, adding a dangerous tone to her expression. She wears a torn, short dress that barely covers her thighs, the color matching the black, tousled locks of her hair.
I am this woman. We are dark, silent, mysterious, and alluring. I am a different person on the surface, although beneath it I am still the same young girl, falling deeper and deeper away from reality. I am a stranger.
Cracks burst across the counter as my grip tightens. The strain of my trembling fingers is breaking it. I can't help it, though, as the struggle of waiting prods my temper. I watch the small, white object placed over the sink in the corner of my eye as it thinks, processing.
"Uley! Hurry up! What's taking so damn long?"
A snarl passes through my clenched teeth. I shake my head, brushing off the impatient voice outside my window. I drag a deep breath through my nose before my hand snatches the object from the counter. My eyes lock on the single mark.
My fingers crush the test to bits. I don't hesitate anymore. My elbow connects with the door, busting it open. I let out a large breath, duck through the window, and don't look back.
Shortly after my return, I begin to fall into the forbidden places of my mind, opening them further and further with every passing moment. Every human emotion and memory rushes back to me at random instances, knocking me into a round of fury that can't possibly be sane. The monster isn't used to having to share a mind and it sure as hell doesn't like it.
I don't bend, though, because giving in wouldn't be only weak, but a dumbass route leading straight into a hotter hell.
I have to stay. Hell, it is hard, but once I have my mind set, there's no changing it. Even as the monster chomps at the bit, begging for release, I hold my ground. The pack can sense that something's off. They keep a wary distance, never coming close. Even Paul keeps a distance, averting his uneasy stare whenever I catch him looking. The space might seem breathable, but it slowly suffocates me.
Space equals quiet. Quiet equals lots of thinking. Lots of thinking equals a whole new magnitude of shit and struggle.
As the usual violent methods of escape fail and I find myself burning even more than before, alcohol becomes my peace. Alcohol, it gives me nothing but colors. No memories, no feeling. Just hues of red, blue, and purple. The pack never sees me drunk; I won't bother to cause a riot with that. Only one other wolf knows about all of this.
On the fourth day since my arrival, Leah invites me out to the cliffs. The sudden attention is suspicious, but I find it better to take her offer than to blow her off and end up with another bitching wolf on my tail.
When I get there, Leah introduces me to a new game. Once the patrols are over, we smuggle alcohol out from the Clearwater home, head out to the cliffs, and allow the salty breeze and the burns in our throats to take us away. I join her, needing nothing more than to feel. We stay together, with her legs dangling over the edge of the cliff and me crouched on the very edge, muttering about the stupidest things until we can't form words anymore.
As time passes, our game dulls in effectiveness and we have to step it up a notch. Our veins burn out the alcohol, washing out its effect. Leah becomes disoriented, masking it only with a whole new level of bitterness, while I feel my monster stretching, filling in the holes of absent feeling inside of me.
It isn't much longer that we form a new plan. At sundown on the third day of each week, I find the keys to Sam's truck, drive to the Clearwater house, and take the highway up to Seattle. Our new little game becomes habit. Something like the lost bitch version of a girls' night out.
There's a nice place on the outer parts of Seattle. The music alone is a therapy; the pounding beats trap my soul and bring me out of the earth. In between the music and alcohol, I find a whole new escape through the movements of my body that earn the hungry, waiting stares of a whole new opportunity.
Tonight's nothing new. Sam excuses our patrol and the pack disperses quickly. I'm already a good distance away from the rest. I sprint off through a few roads, waiting until the final mind fades into silence before falling into my human skin and heading straight for Leah's.
The club is full when we get there, but it's not my time. I stand in the shadowed corners, the glass in my hand empty. Leah leans heavily against the wall, her body swaying as she struggles to hold herself upright. I snort at the sight of her, my eyes trained on the motion of the expanding crowd.
"Hey, J. I, I uh, need a . . . a drink. Or, or two," Leah slurs. She slaps a hand against the wall, panting heavily.
I shake my head slowly without moving my stare. "God damn, Leah. You're wasted."
Leah throws her head back, spreading her arms against the wall as she laughs. "No! I'm not, not really! No!"
I hum low in my throat, turning my empty glass in my fingers. "If you say so."
"What. . . Whatever. You're the one who's . . . who's missing out. Big, big time!" Leah drops her arms, taking a step toward the crowd. She grins like a fool before starting into it, casting a final look my way. "See ya, uh, later, hater!"
With that, I watch Leah stumble her way into the crowd of closely packed bodies, nearly tackling mingling couples as she tries to make her way. I breathe out a hot breath, flexing my fingers. Now is not my time.
My eyes find the dance floor again and I study the people; a hunter measuring the awareness of her unsuspecting prey. Their movements are human—sloppy and nearly careless, unable to follow the pounding beat. My body heat strains near its peak, my pulse speeding with the rhythm of the music that thunders through my bones. I brace my feet on the cool floor, forcing myself to wait for the right moment.
It might have been seconds, or maybe even hours, but eventually, the sound of the DJ's voice breaks over the thump of music and the crowd parts, inviting all those up for a challenge onto the floor. The music stutters before blaring again as both men and women enter the center of the crowd, all fighting to get in the center as the spotlight makes its way around.
A twisted smirk curls on my lips. I open my hand and my glass slips, breaking over the ground in a thousand bits of shattering ice. I slip into the sea of people, making my way to the center of the floor. The nerve of my action earns me many aggravated glances, but each man and woman steps aside as they look up to see my face, their expressions paling. The last line of people make way for me just as the lights go dead and the black lights blare, adding the final edge.
Now is my time.
My style is different than the others. My movements are carefully planned yet made in an instant, following the patterns of years and years of deadly dances. It attracts, stuns, and frightens all at once. Some of the men hurry away as they take sight of me. Others stop, stare, and prowl at a distance while they wait for their chance. Either way, it doesn't matter, because the movements of my style always sends common sense on a trip down south.
Tonight, I draw in a small crowd. My movements are so much different. I move with the balance and skill of someone with experience, my body working with a fighter's limitless movements, but a vicious strength that arouses the stink of fear. Fighting and dancing are both lethal, in different yet exactly the same ways. They're both sinfully wrong, yet so satisfyingly right.
There isn't any time to consider. Once I'm in, there's no going back.
Adrenaline courses through my veins as my moment nears. Bodies move in sync, all trapped in the same beat. I can feel myself already getting pulled in, my control slipping away. The spotlight's coming closer, brushing my skin, but I'm already moving. I can feel the white light hit me, blinding but intoxicating as it captures my movements, bringing me out; a spot of crimson on a sheet of grey. Many pairs of eyes are glued to my body, trailing lower as they study my movements. The second the spotlight slips away, a pair of hands grab me, claiming me, pulling me into another world.
In just a few seconds, everything is physical. The music infects me, running beneath my skin and tearing me apart. My partner is my shadow, following my lead. His hands trace the shape of my body, moving slowly as if they like what they find. Eventually, the tension of his body becomes too much and his movements cease. A hand catches my wrist, guiding me away from any curious eyes.
The night blurs away from there. My body feels fuzzy from the dull burn of the fading adrenaline. I ignore it. My body is trapped in the hypnotizing pulse of music, making everything else in the world have no importance to me. My partner never leaves, staying with me while somehow keeping up with my pace; touching, holding, groaning. Gradually, the world fades away.
Time zips by. It seems like the music only grows louder and the bodies around me are only getting closer.
Eventually, my blood starts to boil. I can prominently feel my heart hammering in the cage of my chest. The wolf in me rises, struggling for dominance. My control is slipping.
One word forms in my scattered mind: feel. I've come here to feel and if I don't feel soon, I'll lose my head. I murmur sweet words into my partner's ear, luring him through the crowd once more. The flashing lights blur my vision as my temperature rockets. I charge through the crowd of closely packed bodies, the world around me closing in. The air is suddenly too thick and humid. Everything is so hot.
When I finally make it through the crowds toward the back, I face two identical doors. Both of the doors are crowned with blinking emergency exit signs. I blink once and growl under my breath, shaking my head to clear it. My fist draws back, strength surging through my muscles. The door looks fuzzy as it sways from side to side, but I can still picture it exploding into millions of slivers of wood on contact. My lips pull back, my arm just about to fire forward when a sure, steady hand catches my fist.
"Hey, sweetheart," a masculine voice whispers. "Just where are you going?"
The closeness of another's body triggers another ripple of heat. I launch myself back around, moving with impossible speed. The man's eyes bulge as I suddenly have him pinned to the wall, his arm awkwardly twisted behind his head while my forearm blocks his airways. I hold the man there, his feet dangling above the ground, studying his face with skeptical eyes.
By just a glance, there's nothing unusual about him. His features are soft with the recent passing of youth, his style unique, his eyes an alluring shade of hazel. My senses stretch through the natural, though. The sharp scent of alcohol taints his breath. His eyes are glazed and bloodshot, and there's something not right about the angle of his crooked smile. I narrow my eyes, my lip curling back over my teeth as I am struck with recognition.
My partner is no stranger—he's a forgotten night catching up with me.
I shake my head, wordlessly expressing my disgust. I release him and he falls, stumbling over the ground, his mouth moving in silent laughter. I exhale sharply again and spin around, sending the door clean off its hinges. I watch it explode against the alley wall as I slip outside the club and into the shadowed alley.
The night air greets me kindly, covering my skin in a thin, cooling layer. I breathe it in, allowing it to soothe my buzzing senses. I blink away the flashes of lights, leaning my back against the rough, bumpy surface of the wall. I can still hear the thumping music in the background. My mind hums as it works way too quickly. A breeze tickles my nostrils, carrying the sweet scent of alcohol with it. It swirls around me and lingers in my nose as if it is attempting to lure me back in.
My gaze darts back to the door, clearly seeing the red exit sign flash. I stare at the door, my thoughts rushing together as I try to decide what to do next. I don't have to decide, though; the decision is made for me.
Lights shoot out into the alley as the door swings open. A figure stands in the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck as he peers down the alley. Through my suddenly hazy vision, I can still see the lazy, drunken smile on my partner's face as he spots me. The door clatters shut and he strolls over to me with a sway to his step. The wolf inside me rises again, the heat smoldering words right out of my throat.
The next thing I know, the man is there, his arms braced against the wall as he hovers over me. He reeks of trouble and he speaks nonsense, his words slurring and tangling together. I stare at him, my eyes level with his, my body fighting to stay in its false form. The man lets out a shaky, crazed laugh as he presses in closer to me. I can tell he's still trapped in the beat, his body working as he tries to get a response out of me.
There is nothing else to do but play along.
I whisper to him smoothly. "You like this?" I slide my hands over his shoulders, my arms wrapping around his neck.
He nods and grins, his hands sliding around my thighs to grip my ass.
"You want that?"
The man breathes more heavily now as my legs lock around his waist. His careless, open lips press into my flaming skin, melting against my heat. He shudders violently and groans. I smirk as my nails catch in his shirt. The man's teeth grind together, his rough hand traveling up my exposed back and neck while sliding into my hair and grabbing a fist full. He firmly shoves my head back and braces himself, grunting as she tries to find a grip on my clothing.
"Hold still, nasty little bitch," he orders. His grip tightens as he starts to pull at my clothes, peeling them away.
The wolf inside me stretches and starts to fight ferociously against my control. I can no longer deny the wolf as the man's words light a spark in me, his actions setting the fire. I'm blazing now, and I can't control it.
My hands catch his head and jerk it roughly to the side. I hold his head steady, forcing him to look at me. His eyes twitch at the murderous glint in my expression and a sneer rises on my face.
"What did you call me?" I ask, the words a vicious demand.
"Nothing," the man answers quickly. His hands fall away from me, dropping to his sides.
My legs constrict his waist slowly, the pressure building until they make an audible crack. The man coughs roughly and shoves me, but his attempts are useless. "You're lying," I snarl.
"What the hell is w-wrong wi-ith y-y-ou?" The man gags, his knees buckling as he stares at me blankly. His face pales as blood trickles from his nose.
A smile appears on my face, spoiled with darkness. "The list's a little too long."
It is then that I can no longer suffocate the wolf inside me. The wolf erupts inside of me and my body stretches out, exploding into another form. The man doesn't get a chance to scream; his voice doesn't even pass through his throat. The man's flesh tears from his body, blood splattering the alley in a thick wave of crimson. The mangled body falls limply to the ground, a puddle of his own blood expanding around him.
I am left alone, staring at the twisted, deformed shreds of the man. I know that he had full intentions to corrupt me, but I am not one to allow anything like that to happen. Nobody messes with Jordan Uley. Some just have to learn that lesson the hard way.
My body spins back around and steadily paces out of the alley, heading toward the glowing lights just beyond the alley. Thankfully the pack mind is silent and I have no company, so putting this behind me won't be an issue. Leah will find her own way back; she even doesn't want me to wait around for her. Just a quick charge through the park and I can hit the forest again, leaving all of this behind me. Sure, there would be new rumors of Washington's killing wolves on the news. I won't be the one who gives a damn, either. Sure, this probably has been a mistake that, once uncovered, will make hell for me. But I have to learn lessons, too, and what the pack doesn't know doesn't kill them.
The instant my paws touch the soft, undisturbed grass of the park, I shoot off again. I soar through the park with acquired speed and grace, not bothering a single blade of grass, before I hit the forest. My speed accelerates and my mind goes free, muscle, bone, and body all working in harmony. Even the questioning thoughts that scroll through my mind don't bother me now; the memories all slip away soon enough.
I force my thoughts away as I rush toward home. I don't need to wallow around any longer, just waiting for myself to snap. I came here with a task to complete and I need to fulfill it. I need to fight. I need to kill.
As long as the Cullens are still existing, this need won't go anywhere.
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