COLD HANDS• VOLTURI KINGS

CHAPTER TWO

The air was warm, it hugged close to him, and he closed his eyes in complete bliss. The Italian sky was rich and blue, not a stormy cloud in sight, he sighed contently.

But Bella grew more anxious as the seconds passed, fingers tapping against the window and teeth nipping at her lips painfully. Bella whispered hushed frantic words to Alice, like they were both in some sort of secret club that Oliver was shunned from.

But he paid it no mind because he was in Italy, far away from all of his problems. "Whoever said you can't run away from your problems was stupid, right?" Oliver asks happily, gaze never leaving the landscape.

Bella nods uneasily, "Yeah, definitely," her voice still layered in concern. Oliver's happiness dims for a brief moment, but he blames her anxious demeanour on jet lag and allows himself to get lost within the scenery once more.

"we're approaching Volterra Bella. Are you ready?" Alice sounds worried now. There's an edge to her sweet voice. Oliver filters out their conversation, to enamoured by the view of the oncoming city.

It's beautiful, completely, and utterly breathtaking. Cobbled streets, lined by colourful houses. Flowering vines twirl across lampposts and slither up chairs that sit outside rustic looking restaurants. And a large castle-like structure, so ancient he can feel its importance  in his bones.

But most surprisingly, the streets are clogged with people wearing deep red cloaks, similar to the colour of blood. It's very beautiful, the contrast between the paleness of the buildings and the vibrance of the people, different. Oliver decides he loves it already.

"What's with all the red?" He asks, curiously staring at a young lady in the crowd raising her red hood. "It's for the San Marcos day festival. Here, it's very important," Alice explains, Oliver had always loved her seemingly endless knowledge.

San Marcos, he turns the words in his head, an odd desire to speak them and see how it feels against his tongue consumes him. He's never felt that before, and it leaves him with a hopeful, longing feeling. He can't explain it, he doesn't want to explain it, the mere feeling of it is enough to satisfy him.

Shaking off the foreign feeling, he now sees that they've stopped at the mouth of the street opening to the city, "I can't go any further, quick there's no time, he's at the clock tower. Go!" Alice is yelling, and Bella frantically fumbles with her seat belt.

Bolting from the car, Bella is swallowed by the cloaked figures. Oliver is at a loss again. He wants to ask Alice what the hell was going on, but his jackrabbit instincts take over. Jerking forwards, he unclasps his seat belt and flees the car.

Alice shouts at him to stay, yelling so rawly that Oliver almost forces himself to return. But no, his concern and curiosity took over. Squeezing between the red figures, he began to feel suffocated. But still he continued, following the smudge of green that was his sister's shirt.

Running down narrow cobbled streets, taking sharp turns, bouncing off cloaked people who curse at him in Italian. Oliver's heart is racing, beating loudly like a drum and ridding his ears of any ability.

Growing annoyed, he resorted to just pushing the locals away and apologised half heartedly whenever a small child whined.

Finally, he'd made it through the worst of it. Bella was striking, the only non-red one there and wading her way through a fountain, kicking water everywhere . He almost wants to be embarrassed by her behaviour, but he knows his sister, and she'd never go swimming in a fountain for fun.

Then he sees the clock tower, standing tall and intimidating among all of the short cramped houses. It demands attention. Bella is running towards it, screaming babbles of words cut off by a lack of breath. After a few seconds, it makes sense in his brain.