Recommence ° Edward Cullen[Rewriting]

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Chapter Twenty-Six | Hope Can Drive A Man To Insanity

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"I didn't expect our paths to ever cross again, Aleksandra." Her eyes gleamed onyx, glinting in the gray light as she cocked her head at the vampire. He had seen more horrors than most. He had witnessed a God-forsaken world as he and others were subjected to relentless torture and yet. . . here he was, a man of faith. A creature representing every reason that belief was false praying in the quiet times never again to meet the monster that tormented him in his nightmares. The beast in mention found that immensely amusing as she smiled, wicked and sharp. 

"Loran," she purred, "Pochemu ty zdes'?" Her voice wasn't doubled as it had been times before, instead singular and feminine amidst a slight Russian accent. The vampire, Subject 655, went by many names but he favoured one the most; one he had taken from a French scientist after he'd torn the man's throat out. "You are things without names because you have no power over us, no mastery. You are nameless because you are nothing." He had said. Days later, he regretted his words. Like clockwork, Subject 413 was released into 655's cell, wired to torture the vampire relentlessly to see how he would adapt. 

Once he was subdued, Dr. Laurent would confidently enter, so certain he had developed control over 413. "Where is he, Beast?" The creature bent its neck at an odd angle from where it clung to the lip in the ceiling. Its answering grin was sinister, the French man furrowing his brows before he stiffened at a deep growl resonating behind him. "Mon Dieu." An amused 413 emitted a deep though distant sound akin to measured, crisp knocks against a hollow surface, watching from above as the vampire ripped into the unfortunate man. 

"Take his name, and take his power." Eyes as red as the blood he consumed glanced up at her, dilated and wild. It was a few minutes before he could tear himself away from his meal to speak. "I. . . I am Laurent." Loran was the version of it in their native language. One only she called him by considering he had murdered all others who used it. As far as he had been concerned then, he was being stripped of his power and being so quick to anger. . . he lashed out at anyone who dared to repeat what Alexandra had. Though she doubted he was as volatile now as he was then, she still delighted in the subtle twitch in his expression at the use of it. 

"Izvineniya, Aleks. My friends and I were simply passing through." Unease was a curious smell, she found, a precursor to fear in how it was a muted yet sweet scent. Loran stunk of it. "Hunting, as we were, and you stole our meal." Her eyes drifted lazily to the blonde man who flanked Loran. Alexandra wondered if she left him a stump of a corpse, would he still have the nerve to look at her like she was the prey in the clearing? "You should've kept better track of your meal, then," her smile was mocking, her eyes flashing dangerously, "hard to deny prey when it runs right into your arms." 

Although, given his nerve, it appeared the vampire. . . James. . . had never been shown he was certainly not the biggest or nearly the worst predator around.

He snarled, inching forward as if he were a threat to her but Loran seized him by his arm, hissing at him in warning. "It is of no consequence, Aleksandra. We will be moving on." Deep black burned a hole in crimson red. "My? Net my." Loran's expression shuttered as he picked up on the fact that in their short interaction, James was hers. She would have him as she saw fit; have him in a way the older vampire knew well. He was her toy, now—her mouse to bat around as the cat who would only let it get so far, let it believe it was safe before she got bored and bit its head off.