Twilight/True Blood

Bella/???

A/N: This is the first part in a four-part story, you would have had it all, but I had a major brain-block. Sorry ‘bout that. Also, this story isn’t the happiest and contains blood and violence, but not too graphic. I think, maybe, not too sure, I’ll let you judge. 🙂

Summary: When Godric rescues a broken girl, he never expected to find a reason to live, a new being that would help bring his family-by-blood back together. But this girl has a dark, supernatural past that her mind does not remember. Actually, she doesn’t remember anything but flashes and darkened blurs. Will she ever break through the chains of her past? Will she ever remember? Will she want to?

They are coming.

Her footsteps fell almost silent as she swiftly ran through the dense forest, bark scraping against her hardened skin and branches crunching under barefoot as she went. The icy raindrops that managed to slip through the drenched leaves, hit her skin with a piercing force that went unfelt as she races away.

She could hear them behind her, calling out orders and firing guns. All they knew was that she was to be taken, dead or alive… preferably alive, but not unharmed. It was their mission, their orders, and they would complete them, if she let them.

The fear and adrenaline pumping through her reached an all-time high as she broke through the trees and into a misty field, her once white nightgown, now ripped and dirt encrusted as it flew out behind her as she ran.

The field itself seemed to glow in shades of blue in the fog-covered moonlight. It also seemed to stretch on for miles and she just knew that they would get her if she continued forward.

But they were still behind her, so she could not go backward, the only way was on and to hope to lose them in the fog.

So she continued on as the soldiers converged, getting closer and closer to her as the seconds, or was it minutes, went by. Despite her barely unnatural speed, she felt tired. She had been running for what felt like hours and had barely any energy left, mostly because she had not been able to eat or drink often enough, but also from the injuries she had gained while she escaped.

Suddenly, a great white light blinds her so that she stumbles, barely catching herself in time as a voice, one that chills her right to the bone, blasted through a megaphone, making her cringe as the sound ricocheted in her ears.

“Project Zero One Three. Put your hands in the air and surrender and you will not be hurt.” The man said, his voice belittling and patronizing. They both knew if she surrendered, she would be in more pain than ever before.

She never knew his name or even his face. Just his voice, the one that taunted her, was always there, talking while doctors cut up her skin. She assumed by the way he spoke and the orders he gave that he was a military man and she always pictured him like William Stryker from the X-Men movies.

Though how she knew what William Stryker from the X-Men movies looked like was a mystery as she didn’t know what ‘X-Men movies’ actually were.

“I repeat. Project Zero One Three. Put your hands in the air and surrender and you will not be hurt.”

She didn’t know what to do. She could hear them all around her, their guns cocking, ready to fire, their heavy boots falling against the soft grass. She knew there was at least twenty of them and, she was tired. She was sure she was about to collapse, but she refused to go down without a fight even as her body shook and the fear consumed her.

She had not come this far just to give up and go back.

So backing down was not an option, even if she knew she was doomed to fail.

“Never.”

Her hoarse, unused voice seemed to echo through the almost silent air.

She could hear the soldiers. Some shifting uneasily, others ignoring the fact that they were about to shoot at an innocent and getting ready to fire.

“I will NEVER go back. Not alive.” Her unused voice was full of as much conviction as she could muster, though it sounded weak even to her ears.

“So be it.”

And with that, on instinct she crouched down, her hands going over her head as she waited for the impact of the bullets…

…an impact that never came.

Seconds went by and all she could hear was snarling, screaming and gunshots. What was happening? Was there an animal there? Was she going to die by an animal’s hands, or claws, rather than the peace of becoming Swiss cheese via bullets?

Soon the screaming stopped and all she could hear was the agitated pantings of a predator.

Cautiously and with fear, she peeked a look at the being that had… saved her?

A figure, short, a boy? No, a man. He had short, roguish brown hair that was coated in a dark red color, his back was arched slightly as his fingers curled into the clothing of the soldier his face was buried in the neck off.

He was wearing a once white hoodie and light gray sweatpants, though she could not see his feet beneath the bloodied, torn up bodies.

The body dropped and she shrunk back as striking, angry, blue eyes shot straight to hers. She fell backward as he appeared before her, pointed white fangs(?) peeking out from in between his lips.

Now she really looked, there was a black sun-like tattoo on his collarbone, partly hidden by his bloodied hoodie and his skin seemed sun-kissed, but still a nightly-pale.

She heard a sound, like a click but sharper. She drug her eyes up to bravely meet his eyes and was surprised at the sudden now calming, worried gleam in them, though she could still see the anger behind the blank-ish mask.

“Are you alright, barn?” (Barn means child in Old Norse) He asked. There was a barely veiled concern in his carefully controlled voice, and it made the girl wonder as to why he helped her, why he was trying to hide that he cared, cared what happened to her, cared for her.

Or maybe the care she saw in him was just fake, just a disguise that would help him get her to trust him. She wouldn’t, she would never make the mistake of trusting ever again.

He saw the hardening of her face, the blankness in her eyes, and was barely able to stop the surprisingly strong and quick attack of her right fist, then her left. He pinned her down, so that she would not hurt him or herself, but that just made her fight harder.

He blinked, stupid. Of course she would fight to being held down if what he had witnessed was anything to go by. He swiftly got off her, letting his grip go and was standing a good five feet away from her before she could blink.

He watched as she lay there, still, for a few seconds before she looked to him and scrambled to her feet, backing away but tripping over her feet in her haze. He was surprised she could see him, the fog was quite thick so no normal human would have been able to act as she was, see what she could.

Then again, he did not think her a normal human.

“It is ok, I will not hurt you. I give you my word.” He tried to reassure her, holding his hands out in a calming manner as he slowly etched closer to her.

“W-w-words me-mean n-noth-nothin-ing but-but broken promises an- lies.” Her words were strong, but her voice and body shook and stuttered, as if her mind and body were at war within itself as to what to do, whether he was a threat or not.

“Not with me, barn.”

She looked at him as if she were studying every part of him. Like she were taking apart and examining every inch and microscopic part, just to see if she could trust him.

She looked awful, like she was about to fall over. In fact, he was mildly surprised that she was still standing in the state she was in. Her dress was dirt encrusted and torn into nothing but dirtied rags. There was not one part of her that was not encased in mud or blood, most of which he could tell by the smells was not hers.

Her body itself was nothing more than skin and bones, a hollow, sunken frame. Her hair was almost non-existent, nothing more than a short, cropped mess of brown and red. Her eyes, a gleaming dark-chocolate brown, rich and warm but filled with horror and pain. Mistrust and defense was in her stance, despite the cuts and scraps, and the bullet hole he could so clearly see on her left shoulder, not to forget the limp in her left leg.

She was a wreck, to put it simply. It was her appearance, and the general’s words, that had made him go into what his eldest child often called ‘berserkr (berserk in Old Norse) mode’.

Godric, within the last millennia since he created his faðir, bróðir, sonr, (Father, brother, son in Old Norse) had come to love and respect most of humanity. Had come to not wish to kill, but with people like this, who would willingly and knowingly hunt a young girl, as no matter what she may or may not be, for Godric just knew she was not entirely human, she was still a girl. But for someone to harm another like that, a defenseless child no less…

It made him angry, very angry. An anger he had not felt in over four centuries, one that caused him to attack and kill all in that field, bar her, without a thought or second glance.

Looking at her now, he knew she was about to fall and she looked at him, all the fight and strength quickly leaving her as the adrenaline dissolved and the fear took over.

Her eyes locked with his as she came to a decision, her back straightening and shoulders locking with what little she had left.

Two simple, yet forceful words left her lips just as she collapsed, her body finally giving out and it was these two words that confirmed his growing and overwhelming need to protect and care for her.

Two words that she just knew she had spoken so many times before as they felt oh so familiar as they left her weak, chapped lips.

“Help me.”

As he caught her failing body, she fell into blackness, only just registering the sweet yet coppery taste that flooded past her lips as her mind went free.

Five weeks. That’s how long she had been here. Five weeks since she escaped the facility. Five weeks since Godric saved her. Five weeks since she almost died.

Once he had fed her his blood back in that field, he had scooped her up bridal-style and flown straight back to his home in Dallas. As sheriff of Area 9, Texas, he was known to be calm but strict when it came to discipline. Everyone knew of his love of the humans, how he fully supported the reveal and how he made sure that no vampires killed humans in his area.

However, everyone was shocked the day he landed back in his main house with a broken, bloodied girl in his arms. They had been broken out of their shock as he called orders and phoned up Dr. Ludwig, a supernatural doctor he knew he could trust.

Stan, of course, had his objections. They all did, in fact, but Stan was the only one to ever really question Godric.

That night, however, they all saw the true beast behind the calm and collected vampires blank façade. As Stan kept making snide and bitter comments, calling the bleeding girl names while the good doctor tried to save her life.

Godric had sat there and listened to every hate-filled word, but when Stan started to get confident. Saying things about how the girl was probably nothing more than a piece of trashy scum like the rest of the blood bags, and that the girl would be better of as dinner, if not for the fact that her blood smelt sour…

…Godric had snapped.

He had Stan up against the wall with a stake of wood at the area just above his heart, before anyone could blink. He had said, in no uncertain terms, that the girl was under his protection and that he, as sheriff, had power over any vampire residing in his area, meaning that their lives, were in his hands and, if any of them stepped out of line again, blood would be spilt.

Needless to say that no one had questioned Godric since, and most stayed away from the girl, or were kind to her, hoping to gain favor from Godric through their good deeds to her. Stan, also, had kept his distance, though he still gave them both the evils when he thought no one was looking.

The girl woke up five days after she fell asleep, and many had been shocked that she knew of more of the supernatural world than most humans knew of, especially as she could not remember much else.

It was worrying at best, suspicious at worst but no matter how hard she tried, despite Godric telling her to take it easy, she could not remember who she was, where she came from or how she knew what she knew.

Godric had taken to calling her Barnie, something that had started out as a joke after she had asked him why he kept calling her barn, but had eventually started calling her it all the time as she did not remember her own name.

When she had found out the meaning of ‘barn’, she had flipped out. Going on and on about how, even if she could not remember much, she wasn’t a child. She knew that much.

To the vampires, it had been quite comical. A human, or mostly human, girl bitching out to a two-thousand-year-old vampire, who looked barely younger than her in physical looks, about not being a child.

But when she said something about him being barely legal, and him being ‘just a kid’, Godric had calmly informed her that ‘I am older than Christ himself, Barnie’, then he had walked off. Every vampire that was watching could practically see the smoke coming from her ears, and it looked like she was going to follow him when she noticed all the eyes on her.

She had immediately started stuttering and had ran straight to her room, giving every other being a wide berth as she went. This was a normal thing for her. Whatever had happened in the facility, it made her body and mind feel afraid whenever she was near people, more so with males.

For some reason, Godric was the exception to the rule, but no one knew why. Most thought it was simply down to the fact that he had saved her, killed her attackers and did all he could to make sure she healed, gave her nothing but kindness and patience and made sure she was always looked after.

That was the popular theory, at least. But she knew that was not it. She still questioned why he helped her, questioned his motives and was still scared, to some extent, of him. But there was this feeling that she could trust him, one that came from deep within her and stuck to her very bones.

But she did not know why she felt this way and nor did Godric, though he had some idea as he had felt it once before, long ago, and he was now researching all he could. Not just on the differences and what was done to make her like she is, but also on their connection, something that, if he was right on his theory, was truly rare indeed.

But, back in present times, the girl was up in her room watching someone TV crime show, Criminal Minds. The horror she saw on that show rocked her to the core, and often made her paranoid mind expand and make her fear the shadows around her, but there was something addictive about it, something that made her want to know more.

She was currently on an episode where a child had been kidnapped and her divorced parents were arguing.

This particular scene sparked something in the girl watching the show, and she found herself hearing some broken words, and watching a blurry scene, like she was watching TV screen in the middle of a storm. You know, when it stops and starts, the picture pixelates and the words become broken and static.

“I can’t do this anymore!” A young woman’s voice was first to hit her ears. “I-

The scene before her was of two blurry figures, a man and a woman, in what she assumed from the shapes, was a kitchen.

“-can’t do that!” The man’s voice sounded heartbroken, disbelief in his tone.

The woman said something else, but it was just a shrill in the girl’s ears.

“R- possi- think that- best for her.”

“It is.” The woman sounded confident, “Now I’m tak- Char-“ The woman was suddenly looking at the girl as the memory distorted and started to fade out, “-la.”

The girl gasped, her body shaking as she realized that she had remembered something of her past, not much and it was barely there, but she had remembered something. That was good, it meant that she might remember more soon.

“Char-la.” She tested the word out on her tongue. It felt familiar, and yet foreign. “Charla.” She said again, she liked it. It sounded right, different, but right. She, Charla, felt the excitement well up inside her, even as the fear hid at the edges. “Charla!” She said again, beyond happy to finally have a name for herself.

She heard a knock at the door and instantly spun around, her happy mood disappearing as the fear swallowed her.

“Barnie?” Charla sighed out in relief, it was only Godric. “Can I come in.”

“Yes.” She said, not as loud as you might have thought, but not a whisper either. More like, in between the two. A human would not have heard her answer, but a vampire would.

She sat back down on her twin bed, wondering when she stood up, as Godric entered the room, an amused smile on his face.

He walked at a human pace over to her, looking at her questioningly and waiting for her approval before he sat on the other end of the bed as she scooted so her back was to the headboard.

Godric’s eyes flickered to the now commercial-playing TV, then back to her. “What had you so happy, Barnie?” The strong emotions he had felt through their weak bond had been enough to rouse him from his office, it wasn’t often he truly felt her feelings, and when he did, it was usually fear or sadness.

She hesitated for a moment, before stuttering out, shyly, “Ah, I re-remembered s-something.”

Godric sat up straighter at hearing this, “You did? What did you remember?” He asked her in a calm manner, not letting the wonder, worry and slight fear show as he stayed strong, though he knew she more than likely could see some hint of his true feelings despite his mask. She was good like that.

“There, there was a man and a woman. They, they were blur-blurry and ah-I think we were in a kitchen. T-they were ar-ar-arguing and, and, the woman said, something.”

“What did she say?”

“My name, I think.”

Surprise registered on his face for a fraction of a moment before it was a clean slate again, he looked at her, silently asking her if he could know her name.

“Charla, I-I think.”

“You think?”

“It-it doesn’t sound r-right, but it does, s-s-sound, sound right.”

“Hmm…” Godric hummed. Charla. The female version of Charles, meaning ‘manly’. The Spanish word for ‘chat’ and not typically a common name in this day and age, if he remembered correctly.

It didn’t seem right somehow, it just didn’t seem like her name. But he could see the hope and excitement hidden in her eyes and couldn’t help but smile at her.

“Charla.” He said with an affirmative nod.

“Charla.” She smiled.

That night, Charla ventured out of her bedroom while everyone was out. Godric had told her that he would be back in a few hours and to not worry. That she could explore the house and grounds, but to not leave the property, not that she had any intentions in doing that.

She was just trailing through the open living area when she heard a noise behind her and, gasping, she whirled around, backing up against the wooden draws, looking back for a second as they banged against the wall, the trinkets on the top and the fine brass handles rattling as it did.

“Now what do we have here?” The unfamiliar man asked, his clean-shaven face twisting up into a smirk, “Godric left me a snack, how thoughtful.”

His hand reached up to brush a strand of brown hair out of her face and she flinched, her body shaking with fear and her heart thumping loudly in her chest. She tried to stutter out that she was not a snack and under Godric’s protection, but her mouth was frozen shut as she cringed back in fear.

“Shhh…” He said, condescendingly, “It’ll only hurt a little… or a lot.” His smirk widened as she tried futilely to move and his hands came up to bruising grip her arms.

“P-p-p-p-ple-p-p-please.” She stuttered out while she whimpered, internally shouting at herself for being so weak.

Fight, fight fight.

That’s what she wanted to do as he lowered his face to her neck, breathing in her wondrous, mixed, yet slightly sour, scent. But she couldn’t move, her body had locked down in itself and Stan’s words, from when he had been left alone with her last week, came back to her.

­­“You’re just a weak, pathetic blood-bag who will always be too afraid to do anything. If you are ever in a life-threatening situation, you will die. I personally don’t know what Godric sees in you, you are weak and you will always be weak, because you are afraid.”

She honestly did not know if that was advice or not, but she guessed by his hateful sneer and cold personality, that it wasn’t. But now, thinking back on it, she realized that what he said was true, she was weak. She was letting her fear control her, and she didn’t want it to.

But even as she made the internal decision to fight, her body would not, only managing to push him back but as she started to run, something grabbed her ankle and next she knew she was hitting the wall. Hard.

Blood came out of her mouth and she had no time to recover as she was thrown into another one, the sound of something snapping and crunching, and the agony her back was now in was nothing compared to the paralyzes that encompassed her body, locking it down as though she were frozen in ice and she could do nothing but watch as the predator stalked towards her, her eyes wide with fear.

His fangs dropped down as the scent of her fresh blood filled the room and he bit into her neck, pulling blood from her greedily as her heart became slower and slower.

Her last thoughts before she passed out, was not that she was about to die; she did not care for the fear of death anymore, more the fear of life. No, her last thoughts were that this seemed all too familiar, like it had happened before, but she could not remember how or when…

Meanwhile, the vampire, Samual, was enjoying her taste. Most did not like the bitterness of sour blood, but it was his favorite and this blood-bag was like a cocktail of mixed flavors, all blended together to make such a beautiful bouquet.

But, suddenly, he was thrown off of his meal and was being held back by two other vampires, watching as the famed calm Sheriff, the one who he had come to ask if he could stay in the area, snarled into his face.

Samual was confused, why was he being taken from his meal, had he drank out of the Sheriff’s personal blood-bag? He hadn’t smelt his scent in her, on her yes- but he had just assumed that was because she was in the Sheriff’s home, he had not thought…

“Taken him to the basement. He is to have nothing and to be chained in silver until I come to deal with him. No one hurts those under my protection and gets away with it.”

The guilty vampire could only watch with disbelieved horror as he was dragged off, somehow knowing that he would never leave this place undead, again.

Godric tried to desperately heal her wounds, feeding her his blood, but she had lost too much blood and so, all he was doing was helping in turning her. Though he did not mind this, in fact he had been working towards doing such since he had rescued her, this was not how he wanted it to happen.
“Go dig her a grave, quickly!” He shouted to no one in particular, but no one moved, too frozen in their shock. They knew he cared greatly for the girl, but to turn her? “NOW!”

His angered command sent the vampires into a frenzy as they went to dig her a grave as

Godric carefully lifted her up and vamped outside with her in his hold, so that he could put her in as soon as the grave was dug, which would not be long as the vampires were digging, abet grudgingly, at an inhumanly fast pace.

He didn’t even know if turning would work, he knew the risks of turning someone who was as close to death as she was. But for a reason he did not fully know, he could not lose her. He would not.

Once the grave was dug he carefully placed her inside, kissing her forehead and muttering, “Gipta eða rísa vel, minn barn.” (Good luck and rise well, my child in Old Norse) before he jumped out and personally closed the grave.

He was not sure how long he stood there, staring at the freshly turned dirt, but it was enough time for his saddened thoughts to turn to anger as he set his sights on the one who hurt his new barn. His Barnie.

The idiot was locked up beneath Godric’s home, and Godric had at least two days to make the one that hurt his child paid. Violently.

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