The last of the shifters melted into the forest, the tension in the Cullen's grand living room dissipating like fog under a sudden sun. Jane's focus, however, never wavered from Reina. Her thumb stroked slow, possessive circles on the back of Reina's hand, a silent conversation passing between them.
"The night calls to us," Jane murmured, her voice a low hum that resonated deep in Reina's bones. It wasn't just a statement of fact; it was an invitation to a new kind of intimacy.
Carlisle gave a small, approving nod. "Port Angeles would be the most discreet. The traffic there provides… anonymity."
"We will run," Jane declared, her gaze locking with Reina's. The idea of being encased in metal, separated from the cooling night air and the raw power of their own bodies, was clearly distasteful to her. "I want to feel the earth move beneath us. I want you to feel your new strength."
A thrill, sharp and electric, shot through Reina. The memory of the forest, of Jane's hands and mouth on her skin, was still a fresh, aching brand. This, the hunt, felt like a continuation of that—a primal dance only they knew the steps to.
They left the house in a blur of motion, the world dissolving into a streaked painting of dark greens and blacks. Reina's previous life had been one of sluggish buses and weary footsteps. Now, she was the wind itself. Trees became mere suggestions of form, the ground a yielding force she pushed against with impossible power. And Jane… Jane was a streak of pale lightning just ahead, always in sight, a constant beacon. The sheer, intoxicating freedom of it was almost enough to make her forget their grim purpose.
Almost.
The glittering, rain-slicked streets of Port Angeles materialized around them, the air shifting from the clean scent of pine to the tang of saltwater and exhaust. They slowed to a human pace, two strikingly beautiful women drawing glances from the late-night crowds spilling out of bars and restaurants. But the glances slid away, unnerved by the unnatural grace, the predatory stillness that clung to them.
"I can't just… take an innocent," Reina whispered, the words feeling frail in the heavy air. "It has to be someone who… deserves it. Or we find a hospital. Blood bags."
Jane's fingers found Reina's again, lacing them together. "Your wish is my command," she said, her tone serious. "We seek a predator, not prey."
They moved away from the bright lights, into the veins of the city where the light was hesitant and the shadows held secrets. The thrill of the run was gone, replaced by a coiled tension in Reina's stomach. This was the reality. The taking of a life. Even one deemed unworthy.
Jane's crimson eyes scanned every doorway, every alley with a lethal efficiency Reina knew she herself lacked. "The Volturi have many donors, but the hunt… the hunt for justice… that is a purer sustenance." Her voice dropped even lower, a intimate caress next to Reina's ear. "It will make the blood taste all the sweeter. For both of us."
They turned a final corner, the sounds of the main drag fading into a distant murmur. Here, the alley was narrow, choked with the smell of damp brick and rotting garbage. And there, halfway down, was a man.
He was a large figure, his back to them, hunched over something—or someone—smaller pressed against the wall. A low, threatening growl of words reached them. "…just give me the wallet, old man. Don't make this harder than it has to be."
A frail voice, trembling with fear, tried to protest but was cut short by a sharp thud and a gasp of pain.
Reina froze. This was it. The exact scenario her new morality demanded.
Jane went perfectly still beside her, her pale face a mask of cold assessment. She didn't move, didn't speak. She was waiting. This was Reina's choice. Reina's hunt.
The man shoved his victim again, the older man crumpling to the wet pavement with a whimper. The attacker chuckled, a low, ugly sound. "Shoulda listened."
A new sensation flooded Reina, burning away her hesitation. It wasn't just hunger. It was a righteous, icy fury. This man was a poison. He took from others, hurt them, reveled in their fear. The emptiness inside her, the one she had always sought to fill with connection, now filled with a terrifying purpose.
She took a step forward, her movement silent on the asphalt. Jane's presence was a solid, supportive pressure at her back, a silent promise of power and partnership.
The mugger heard the faint scuff of her shoe and spun around, his eyes wide with surprise that quickly morphed into a leering appraisal. "Well, hello there, ladies. Lost?"
Reina didn't answer. She just looked at him, her crimson eyes no longer soft and understanding, but sharp, evaluating. She saw the cruelty in the set of his mouth, the cowardice in the way he preyed on the weak. Her lips parted slightly, a new, foreign ache building behind her teeth.
Jane's voice, a whisper only Reina could hear, swept through her like a dark tide. "He is yours, my love." The words were thick with possession and a deep, sensual pride. "Take what you need. Take what he owes the world."
The man took a step toward them, emboldened by their silence and their beauty. "You don't need to be scared. I'm just—"
Reina took another step, closing the distance. The world narrowed to the frantic pulse she could see beating in his throat, to the scent of his adrenaline and his wickedness. It was a perfume, dark and enticing.
She could feel Jane watching her, feel the intense, focused energy of her anticipation. This was a different kind of intimacy, a different kind of surrender. Her first hunt. Their first hunt.
She leaned in, her movement a fluid, deadly grace. The man's leer finally faltered, replaced by a dawning, primal fear as he truly saw her eyes, saw the impossible stillness of the woman behind her.
Reina's voice, when it came, was a low, husky thing that didn't sound entirely like her own. "We're not scared."