The warm embrace of the Cullen home felt alien after the dark opulence of Volterra. Reina stood in the grand, airy living room, the space too bright, too open. It was a stark contrast to the closed, possessive circle of Jane's presence. And now Jane was leaving.
Jane's hand was a brand on Reina's lower back, her touch speaking of a possession she was loath to relinquish. She guided Reina away from the watchful eyes of the family, into the relative privacy of a book-lined study.
"Aro must be informed. Immediately," Jane said, her voice a low thrum that vibrated through Reina's bones. Her crimson eyes burned with a ferocity that was both terrifying and enthralling. "I do not wish to leave you here, among them." Her gaze flickered towards the door, a silent indictment of the trusting Cullens.
"I'll be fine," Reina murmured, though the emptiness Jane's impending departure carved inside her screamed otherwise. The connection they'd forged, first in the alley of her death and then sealed with blood and fire, was a tangible thing, a taut wire between them. The thought of it stretching across an ocean was agony.
Jane's cool fingers came up to cradle Reina's jaw, tilting her face up. The pad of her thumb traced the line of Reina's lower lip, a whisper of a touch that sent a jolt straight to her core. "They are sentimental. They believe in the goodness of their own hearts. Do not be fooled. Their compassion is a weakness, but it can also make them unpredictably brave." She leaned in, her lips a breath away from Reina's ear. Her cold scent of frost and antique parchment enveloped Reina. "Do not let the blonde one, Rosalie, near you. She is… protective. And do not let the mind-reader, Edward, into your head. Your gift is new, untested. Shield yourself."
The intensity of the warning was undercut by the sheer intimacy of her proximity. Reina could feel the hum of Jane's power, a dormant volcano waiting for her command. This is what it is to be cared for by something dangerous, Reina thought. Every warning is a caress.
"I will think of you," Jane whispered, the words a forbidden promise. "And I will return for you before you have even had time to miss me."
Then she was gone. One moment her cold presence was everything, and the next, the space where she had been was just cold air. The sudden absence was a physical blow. Reina swayed, her hand coming out to brace against a bookshelf, the world tilting on its axis without Jane's dominant energy to anchor it.
She was alone. Truly alone, for the first time since she'd woken up in Italy with nothing but a name.
The Cullens were a study in cautious hospitality. Esme offered her a room with a gentle smile that didn't quite reach her wary eyes. Carlisle spoke in low, reasonable tones about boundaries and respect. But it was Bella who was the most perplexing.
She found Reina later, standing uncertainly in the hallway outside the room where the child, Renesmee, slept. Bella's expression was a fortress of maternal suspicion, her body positioned as a living barrier.
"She's resting," Bella said, her voice more of a snarl.
"I wasn't going to go in," Reina replied, her own voice sounding small. The emptiness inside her yawned wider. "I just… I felt…" She didn't know how to explain the quiet pull, the strange comfort that seemed to emanate from the child's presence. It was nothing like the violent, all-consuming pull of Jane. This was softer, a gentle tide rather than a riptide.
Bella's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Reina felt the strange, pushing pressure of the shield she'd encountered in the woods. Instinctively, the new, nebulous part of her mind—the gift Jane had hinted at—shifted. It wasn't a wall, not yet. It was more like a mist, a diffusion that caused Bella's power to slide away harmlessly. Bella's eyes widened a fraction in surprise.
Just then, a small voice came from the cracked door. "Momma?"
Bella turned, and Reina glimpsed Renesmee padding toward them, her unusual, wise eyes landing on Reina. A brilliant smile broke across the little girl's face, and she reached out a tiny hand.
"See?" Renesmee said to her mother, her voice chiming with a certainty that belied her years.
Bella looked from her daughter's trusting face to Reina's lost one. The rigid line of her shoulders softened, just a fraction. A silent war waged behind her eyes—distrust against the undeniable evidence of her daughter's preternatural intuition.
"You can sit with her," Bella finally said, the words clearly costing her. "While I'm in the room. She seems… drawn to you."
It was a concession, a fragile truce built on a child's whim. Reina slowly entered the sunlit room, the weight of the Cullen family's gaze following her. She sat on the floor beside Renesmee, who immediately placed her warm little hand on Reina's cheek.
The flash was gentler this time. A sun-dappled meadow. A large, russet-colored wolf loping playfully. The feeling of unconditional love, safe and deep. Reina gasped softly, not from pain, but from the sheer purity of the emotion. It was a balm on the raw, empty spaces within her.
From the doorway, Bella watched, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. But she didn't intervene.
Hours later, tucked into a guest room that was too peaceful, Reina stared at the ceiling. The silence was a roaring in her ears. She curled onto her side, clutching a pillow, desperately trying to summon the sensation of Jane's cool skin, the possessive grip of her hands, the thrilling threat in her voice.
In a castle an ocean away, Jane stood before the three ancient kings, her report delivered. Aro's delighted, twisting curiosity was a palpable force in the throne room.
As Aro clapped his hands with glee, exclaiming over the fascinating development of a half-human, half-vampire child, Jane's mind was not on the political ramifications. It was on the echo of a feeling—a fleeting, ghostly impression of Reina. Longing and loneliness brushed against her consciousness for a single, heart-stopping second.
Soon, I will be with her again soon.