Being a vampire is not easy. It is not "fun." It is lonely and unbearable most of the time. Everything gets left behind upon being changed—everything: friends, family, life. While humans carry on living, aging—making new life—vampires are stuck eternally. Frozen. Never moving forward.
Humans want things, ridiculous things, but things they think will make them happy nonetheless. They work so they can have these luxuries, but it's never enough to please them; they always seem to want more.
Vampires, though? There is only one thing they want more than anything else in the world. One thing they will kill for.
To get it, vampires hunt, they stalk, they take. Hunting is probably the most exhilarating part of being this. The speed, the agility, the power behind knowing you will never be the victim again...
Yes, there is at least one bright side to this ... existence.
Right now, the steady tha-thump tha-thump of a grown doe's heart fills the wooded area, or it feels that way, anyway. A let-down of venom is all that is needed to signal the beginning of the hunt. At this speed the trees should be a blur, but they're not; every detail on their trunks and each and every leaf can be made out before they disappear and others take their place.
Suddenly, footsteps are heard several yards away and a scent much more appealing (but off-limits) has filled the air; immediately the deer is forgotten. It doesn't take long to track the scent, to see what magnificent creature it belongs to. And magnificent he is.
He is confident (that much is obvious by his gait alone) as he treks through the woods, his hunting rifle slung over his shoulder. His build is strong with large, muscular arms covered by the flannel of his jacket and thick legs hidden beneath his jeans. While his size alone should make him seem frightening, his face—his eyes in particular—are far too kind. Comforting.
He has not come alone, however; he has got a companion with him and they are talking in hushed tones, not that it makes them inaudible to a vampire's sensitive hearing. There is only one piece of information to focus on when the smaller companion speaks...
Emmett. His name is Emmett.
There is something intriguing about him, something familiar... The deep, brown-back colour of his curly hair shines whenever he walks through a beam of sunlight that has forced its way through the trees. When his companion speaks, he laughs so genuinely that his soul is nearly visible. It is almost infectious, the way it comes from somewhere deep within him, and his dimples are prominent when his smile reaches his eyes: similar to Henry's.
I am drawn to him in a way that's unfathomable.
They stop suddenly, Emmett holding a finger to his lips in order silence the irritating prattle of his partner. Even from this distance, his blue eyes sparkle with the thrill of the hunt when they zero in on his target, his prey. It is exciting to hear his heart beat a little faster, pumping a fresh surge of adrenaline through his veins as he lifts the rifle to take aim. The black bear on the receiving end of his bullet is none the wiser, and it's thrilling to watch. The anticipation of waiting for him to fire is maddening, thickening the air of the forest.
He steps forward when the bear shifts, refusing to let it get away, and that is when everything goes terribly wrong. The bear's head snaps toward Emmett, its eyes flashing something unnervingly familiar: hunger. The hunter has just become the hunted.
There is a shot that rings through the forest, echoing for miles as the bear closes the gap between them. The smaller weasel screams before running away, leaving Emmett to fall victim to the large predator. Unfortunately, it doesn't take long before the ravenous animal has Emmett on the ground, his large jaws wrapped around Emmett's shoulder while enormous claws dig viciously into every other part of him. The scent of his blood saturates every particle of air, causing a resurgence of venom within that burns like wildfire.
Everything happens so fast as the burn continues to take over completely. Razor sharp teeth sink into the furry flesh of the animal's jugular, and it doesn't take long before the bear's blood almost completely extinguishes the blazing inferno within. With its heart no longer beating, the corpse falls heavily to the ground, disturbing the earth beneath him. While disposing of the body of the bear should be a top priority, it soon falls to the bottom of the list upon hearing Emmett gurgle around the blood that has pooled in his throat.
He can't die.
Lifting him is effortless, but resisting the temptation of his blood is not. There is so much of it, and as his heart beats, more and more escapes. Flames erupt once more, begging to be sated with just one bite—one small pull—and every moment that passes makes it harder and harder to resist. The need for his blood is powerful, but there is something about him, not just his blood, that is far more appealing; it is enough to keep the monster within at bay for the moment.
The trip back to the house is short given the speed at which vampires travel, and on the way, his eyes flutter open. "Are you an angel?" he asks quietly, wasting his energy by saying such ridiculous things. Every second that passes, his heart slows substantially, bringing him one step closer to death.
"You are an angel," he carries on. "You're here to take me to Heaven with you. My beautiful angel..." He drifts out of consciousness again just as we approach the house.
The door crashes against the wall, the window in it shattering upon impact.
It does not take long before the Cullen patriarch enters the room along with his wife, Esme, and his first "child," Edward, on their heels. It is evident when the smell of the free-flowing blood from Emmett's wounds assaults them, because their eyes immediately darken as they stare at the scene before them, one that can't look good given the state of the bloodied human. Barely unable to control the frenzy they both must feel, Esme and Edward grind to a halt. Desperately, Esme slaps her hands over her mouth and nose as she retreats to the doorway, almost clumsy from the intensity of the bloodlust that likely consumes her. Meanwhile, Edward, seemingly curious yet wary, remains several feet away with his nose tucked firmly into the crook of his elbow.
"Rosalie? What is going on?" Carlisle asks. His tone is almost accusing as he rushes forward, his eyes never leaving Emmett.
"He was attacked by a bear out in the woods. Save him, please."
Carlisle seems torn, and for good reason.
"I have never asked you for anything until now. If you save him, all will be forgiven. Please." The demand is completely selfish and beyond desperate. Having not been given the choice to become this, it is difficult to ask Carlisle to force it on another, but there is something about this man that brings about an intense reaction, one that should have been long-dead after that horrible night: want.
Carlisle nods solemnly, likely remembering that fateful day back in 1933 when he thought what he was doing was for the best. And, with that, he takes Emmett and sets him down on the couch.
"A—are you God?" Emmett asks, coming to for a very brief moment.
With a sombre shake of his head, Carlisle places a comforting hand on his cheek before speaking. "This is going to hurt, but will free you from your suffering, my son." Without another word from anyone in the room, Carlisle leans forward and sinks his teeth into an unmarred patch of flesh on his neck.
It does not take long to recognize the signs of Carlisle's venom forcing its way into Emmett's body like poison. He begins to sweat and thrash for what seems like an eternity; it brings back faded memories from two years ago along with an unnerving feeling of helplessness.
"Unnnh!" he cries out after several minutes, his back arching up off the couch. "This is Hell! I'm in Hell!" Tears of agony seep from his eyes as he continues to cry out; it's unbearable to watch. "Please, help me! What did I do? I'm sorry! Oh, God! Please forgive me!"
He is suffering, and while it will not last forever, it is still the worst kind of pain that one can experience. At the request of a selfish girl, Carlisle has just stripped this young man of a chance at life. Who is to say that his companion wouldn't have come back for him in time to save his life? Who is to say that this wasn't going to harm him irrevocably? The guilt of the situation was thick. No one deserved what he was going through, not even the worst of criminals. But in a moment of sheer desperation and selfishness, that thought never once came to the forefront.
This goes on for three days; it is hard to listen to him in so much pain and it awakens something primal within that feels the need to destroy everything in sight. His heartbeat is suddenly wild and much too fast; it is concerning, but it soon slows before stopping altogether. Then, in an instant, he stops writhing, and when his eyes open, relief fills everyone in the room.
Marvelling at the way his skin has hardened and softened in pallor, the room is silent with trepidation for him to make the first move. Newborns are dangerous—volatile—but Emmett? Emmett is simply breathtaking.
In a move that is relatively slow for a vampire and yet far too fast to be human, he sits up and begins to absorb his surroundings. The way his eyes widen as he registers how the dust particulates float in the beam of sunlight that is streaming through the window is fascinating, and he even smiles as if amused or, dare I say it, happy. He is amazingly calm in his first moments upon awakening as he begins to become accustomed to his heightened senses. There are questions that linger in his blood-red eyes as they shift focus, finally settling on one thing.
"My angel," he whispers as we lock eyes, sealing an eternal bond.