[Twilight Saga]: Stupid Lamb
In part, it was that something that drew her back to him.
--
“You will be there.”
His voice was smooth, suave, cool. So very unlike Edward’s though still with that sophisticated edge that made her skin crawl.
“You will be there.” And it wasn’t just a statement. It was assured, as though he knew already that she would come, no matter what. Even if he hadn’t gone on to threaten her mother, he knew she would come, knew she wouldn’t dare not to.
Knew she couldn’t refuse. And she didn’t. And she couldn’t.
She told herself it was for her mother, but that was a lie; it was because she couldn’t say no to him.
--
The chill wind through the ballet studio made her shiver. She stood, unsteady, in the doorway, waiting, eyes flicking through the shadows with the terrified uncertainty of prey, tense with something that was half terror and half something akin to anticipation.
You will be there.
She shivered.
--
His voice rolled from everywhere at once. “What a stupid lamb…”
‘No,’ she could have said, or something inane like ‘you’ or ‘how can you do this?’ She said nothing, and trembled, and was afraid. And he laughed.
“I told you you would come.”
And you were right, she didn’t say, because she knew he knew it, and she knew it too. She didn’t allow herself to move. Tried to keep from shivering for the breath of air on her neck, knowing it wasn’t him, body arching slightly.
She could hear the smile in his voice. “The Cullens take them young. But you do not smell of their boy…so he has not made you his.” He laughed, again, dark and low. The sound made her shiver, but this time it was a shiver of heat, almost of desire. “Coward…young coward.”
“He knows nothing of what he is…nor will he ever learn, or ever be whole…”
--
“Do you want me to tell you why you think you love him?”
A whimper slipped out, involuntarily.
“You like the danger he offers. You crave it, the fear he can inspire, the risk you take by being near him.” A pause, and his voice was lower, almost a purr. “You want that. But he is a weakling. He cannot give that to you.” A hand closed on the back of her neck, the other on her wrist. “I can.”
--
She could have screamed. Everything told her to scream. Someone might have heard her.
But she could not make her throat make the sound.
--
His mouth lowered, near her ear, his breath cold, making her shiver. “What do you feel? You do feel it, don’t you…the thrill of fear, the titillating sense of danger, the threat of the nearness of death…” His tongue pressed to the skin just behind her ear, just for a moment. “This is what you want, isn’t it? This is the kind of…threat…you seek…”
She trembled more. His hand tightened on her neck, and her knees went weak, the heat spreading downward. She could feel his body behind her, cold and hard and immovable, and tried to shrink away. He laughed, and flung her down, and she felt her wrist snap and screamed -
And screamed -
--
He smiled at her, squatting on his heels, watching her struggle to rise with deadly amusement in his near-black eyes. “Pretty girl. Don’t you cry.” He caught her broken wrist and squeezed, lightly. She writhed in agony, fighting not to cry out again, but couldn’t help it. His other hand snaked out and caught her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Look at me. Look at me and tell me what you see.”
She looked at him through the haze of pain, but it was his eyes she couldn’t look away from, the eyes dark and hungry and dangerous, the eyes of a predator. Edward’s eyes had hinted, once or twice, at danger, at deadliness.
But never the way his did.
“Say my name,” he said, still smiling, and she couldn’t help but gasp it, helpless-
“James-“
Then he dragged her forward by her broken wrist and was lost as he kissed her, dominating and ferocious, not even pretending at gentleness, and she cried out even as her blood sang and her body arched, as her mind reeled in powerful revulsion and wrongness.
--
He was laughing when he pulled back, eyes slits, still smiling. “You want it,” he purred, deadly quiet, deadly vicious. “You want it.”
She cried, pulling her wrist to her chest, sniveling helplessly, terror ruling one half of her mind as desire ruled the other and she could not reconcile the two.
He laughed again, laughed and laughed, and kissed her neck, teeth just scraping the skin. “Pretty girl,” he whispered, purred, in his silk-sweet voice. “Pretty girl. Don’t cry.”