Mortality

Protecting the Innocent

They emerge one by one, my eyes searching intently for the blonde vampire that attacked me. That went after Alice. The first to emerge is a tall, dark-skinned man, his white shirt blowing in the wind, and tight curls haloing his head. At his side is a small, smiling woman with startling red hair — wild and flowing. She looks over her shoulders, her laughter whispering through the breeze as he appears.

James rushes to her, lifting her in the air and kissing her cheek almost tenderly. They cautiously approach the coven, the woman visually anxious, her back nearly meeting James' chest. It is almost like they haven't interacted with others of their own kind in ages.

Their movements are distinct from the others'. They aren't even trying to fake human — their limbs move fluidly, and legs are bent slightly, ready to pounce on anything that calls to them. And James, oh devilish James, his fingers twitch with anticipation. The tallest man's shirt contrasts his skin tone starkly, but his strange affinity for dress clothes covered in dirt and blood is almost normal next to the woman's torn clothing and James' choice to keep the torn, blue shirt that Charlie ripped to shreds with his pistol. The big difference? His hair. He cut it, it's shaved down to the scalp.

And his face, once the woman isn't looking at him, is stone.

While the woman picks leaves from her hair, the tall, dark-skinned man approaches Carlisle with a wide, friendly smile. And when he smiles, to my surprise, his fangs aren't nearly as pronounced as Edward's were when I saw his true face. He rakes his glossy black curls from his face, looking down at the red-haired woman with a raised brow.

She stands at his right hand; her posture better fitting a cat than a human. She looks around frantically, curiously, tugging on his arm and pointing at Rosalie and Esme and even at me, apparently unaware of my human status. James stays behind her, hand protectively — no, possessively — on her shoulder. He stays still, eyes locked on Carlisle and his casual approach.

With twenty glowing red eyes around me, I press closer to Edward's side as the leader of the nomads opens his mouth.

"We thought we heard a game," he says with a thick French accent. "Victoria is a massive baseball fan," he gestures to the small woman, whose nose scrunches when she smiles. "I am Laurent, and sourpuss back here is James." James nods stiffly, Carlisle returning the gesture with a friendlier air.

"A pleasure, monsieur. I'm Carlisle Cullen, and this is my family. Emmett, Jasper, Rosalie, Esme, Edward, Alice, and Bella." He waves his hand over us, letting the newcomers assume who is who. My stomach churns when he mentions my name, and from the corner of my eye, I notice Alice hiding just a bit behind Jasper's body.

"Such a large group!" Victoria says with a chuckle. "How in the world do you keep from tearing each other apart?"

"That's the miracle work of my son," he says as Jasper appears at his side. "Jasper is the master of keeping us calm. Would you like a demonstration?"

"Yes!"

"No," James snaps, and Victoria flinches, pulling back. No one misses that, but anything off script risks James running off before we can kill him. Patience, Bella...

"Maybe another time," Laurent offers, glaring down at James. "We were on our way to Canada when we heard you through the coast. It's been a while since we've seen others. We got curious. And Victoria is impossible to live with when she wants to investigate something."

"I'm honestly surprised to see anyone out here myself," Carlisle nudges Jasper, who nods. "We are the only ones who stay in this region, and nomads are difficult to come by nowadays."

I feel the air shift; the mood changing from tense curiosity to a simple, casual, normal conversation. I look at Jasper and my lip twitches in a smile. Clever move, cowboy.