CHAPTER TWELVE:

The line of black advanced on me through the shroud-like mist. I could some of the figures with dark ruby eyes glinting with desire, lusting for the kill, lips pulled back over their sharp, wet teeth– some to snarl, some to smile. The other figures wore bone-white masks like skulls and held wands.

Behind me, a child whimpered and I spared a second to glance back surprised. I then gasped. The child was beautiful; utterly adorable, and definitely not human. He was a toddler, maybe two years of age, with soft curls framing a cherubic face with round cheeks and full lips. And the darling thing was trembling, his eyes closed as if he was too frightened to watch death coming closer every second.

I was struck with such a powerful need to save the lovely, terrified child that the Volturi and the Death Eaters, despite all their devastating menace, no longer mattered to me as I spun firmly back around to face them, holding my wand out defensively before me. I could still hear the baby whimpering but I couldn't turn to look at him again. Though I was desperate to be sure that he was safe, I couldn't afford any lapse in focus now.

The crowd ghosted closer, their black robes billowing slightly with the movement. I saw the vampires' hands curl into bone-colored claws while the tips of the Death Eaters' wands started to glow a nauseatingly familiar green. They started to split apart, angling to come at us from all sides.

We were surrounded.

We were going to die.

We–

I jolted upright up, shocked out of my dream and gasping for breath. It came out in shallow drags of air and I could taste copper in my mouth. Brushing my fingers against my lips they came away wet, smeared with blood from where I'd bitten them to muffle my screams.

The room was steamy hot and sweat matted my hair at the temples, rolling in beads down my throat. I frowned shakily, looking down at my red-streaked fingertips, my brain scrambling to figure out what was wrong in this scenario. It hit me after a moment, and I blamed the horror of my strange dream on why I'd been so slow to realise.

Edward was gone.

Before I could panic too much I spotted the note on his pillow, the outside of which was addressed to Mrs. Cullen because my husband thought he was a sneaky bugger.

I'm hoping you won't wake and notice my absence, but, if you should, I'll be back very soon. I've just gone to the mainland to hunt. Go back to sleep and I'll be here when you wake again. I love you.

I sighed. We'd been here awhile now, so I should have been expecting that he would have to leave, but I hadn't been thinking about how much time had passed. We seemed to exist outside of time here, just drifting along in a perfect state.

My growling stomach interrupted any plans to try and go back to sleep, and I honestly wasn't that eager to return to the world of dreams without Edward by my side to wake me before they started getting really bad.

Wiping the sweat off my forehead as I stood, and slipping my wand from the bedside table through the waistband of the silky short-things I was wearing as an afterthought, I followed the demands of my impatient stomach, making my way to the kitchen where I found the ingredients to make chicken quesadillas and got to it.

Absently flicking my wand to check the temperature of the cooking chicken at one point, my midnight snack plans came to a screeching halt when I ended up having to grab onto the kitchen island for support and gasping in shock as I almost lost both my eyebrows- and gained what would probably have been at least second degree burns! The flames under the frying pan had just shot up about three meters, burning straight the metal of the frying pan and billowing out the sides– my reflexes had had me jerking back in time to avoid being burnt, but my heart was still racing at the unexpected near miss.

"The hell?" I asked out loud, incredulous. Warily eyeing my wand, I gave it a gentle flick over a glass by the sink with a quietly murmured; "Aguamenti!" The simple spell should have filled the glass with water– instead, it flooded the kitchen.

Swearing– loudly– I hoisted myself up onto the kitchen island (literally now) and looked down in disbelief at the ankle-deep water. Switching my gaze to my wand I gave it a deeply betrayed look. Being only a stick of wood, admittedly with a few extra additions, it didn't respond.

Looking back at the disaster that was the kitchen– my late-night snack burnt, the pan scorched and half-melted and the floor flooded– I gave it up as a bad job. I was tempted to try and use magic to clean up the mess, except I was a touch unnerved. My magic hadn't reacted like that since I was a kid and didn't even know that witches and wizards existed, let alone that I was one. It certainly hadn't acted like that last time I'd cast a spell, which had only been... I paused then as I realised I couldn't actually pinpoint the last time I'd used my magic to cast a spell. Using portkeys didn't require magic– the magic was already imbued in them, they only needed the activation word. Thinking hard, I couldn't remember using my wand since I'd cast bubble-head charms to go snorkelling, back during the first few days of the honeymoon.

Bubble-head charms which kept popping, which was why I'd switched to using a snorkel. I'd just put it up to my unfamiliarity with the charm, but now...

Unsettled, I pocketed my wand and decided to write to Luna– and possibly Hermione too– at a more reasonable hour. Meanwhile, I tossed the ruined frying pan with the burnt remains of the chicken quesadillas and great big bloody hole in the middle into the bin under the sink, noting with amusement all the empty egg cartons stacked up next to it. I'd never been a big egg fan before; this slice of paradise was really messing with my appetite.

Unsure about what to do about the flood in the kitchen, I used a mop to try and move the water outside. It sort of worked– the floor of the kitchen and the living room too now were both drenched, but it was the sort of drenched you got when you spilled a glass of water, not when your magic accidentally flooded the kitchen.

Exhausted, and with my stomach snapping and snarling like a rampaging nundu, I looked in the fridge and cupboard with no small amount of desperation for something quick to eat. Salvation came in the freezer, where a tub of rocky-road ice-cream sat. In the clammy heat of the house, the cool, delicious treat was, well, cool and delicious. I curled up on the couch in the living room, the coolest room in the house with the door open to let in the slight breeze. My skin had started prickling with unease at the thought of casting a cooling charm while my magic was acting so... weirdly unpredictable, and I made an effort to listen to my instincts; I was after all, and against all odds, still alive.

After inhaling practically the entire carton, I started to doze off there on the couch until a sudden pain twisted in my stomach, almost like the aftershock of catching a punch in the gut.

Half asleep or not, I still made it to the bathroom post haste where I crouched over the toilet and proceeded to be violently sick. My hair was falling in the toilet bowl and getting mixed with vomit but I couldn't find it in myself to care, not when I could barely breathe between retching.

When I finally stopped throwing up, I half staggered over to the sink, leaning against it for support and breathing harshly. When my body eventually stopped shaking like I'd just run a marathon and my legs felt like they could support me again I bent over and rinsed my mouth thoroughly.

The nausea had gone just as fast as it had come. I grimaced in disgust, feeling my sticky, grotty hair smearing against my cheek, and, after flushing the toilet twice to get rid of all the mess inside, I stripped out of my nightgown and turned on the shower.

Stepping under the purposefully cool water I started scrubbing my hair and face clean of the mess. Once all traces of the vomit had been washed away, I turned off the water, stepping back out and drying myself with one of the huge fluffy white towels.

While I was already undressed, I frowned and stepped over to the full-length mirror, letting the towel fall away so I could examine my naked body closer.

I looked fine. None of my scars were inflamed and, with the aid of the copious amounts of bruise paste I'd been using, other then a recent bouquet of finger-width, light purple marks that unfurled on my upper ribs, most of the love-making bruises were completely faded, pale yellow at the most. I couldn't spot any immediate signs of sickness either; my cheeks were a bit flushed, but it was hot here on the island, and I didn't look any thinner then normal– a bit tired, maybe, but I blamed that on the vivid dreams I'd been having. Some of them, like the one with the immortal child, the Death Eaters and the Volturi, seemed so real, albeit entirely implausible, it was like I'd never even been sleeping in the first place. This meant I didn't wake up feeling rested and the past however many days we'd been here had been pretty exhausting with all the high activity, copious amounts of sex and constant travelling.

Maybe I just needed to slow down for a few days, I reasoned, as I ran my fingertips absently over some of the scars on my torso, lightly tracing the knotted skin more by memory then sight, only to go very, very still when my fingertips brushed against what was inarguably a slight but very solid bump right under the skin of my abdomen.

Practically invisible before, something my eyes had skated right over, suddenly the defined, minute curve of my abdomen was all I could see. And maybe it was the nightmare I'd just had, but the sudden implications of what it could mean was all I could think.

Hey Bells, you ever gonna make me a granddad? Not that I want to be one just yet. Just wonderin' if it's possible.

My legs gave out from underneath me and I had to grab the nearby sink so I didn't fall on my arse. My chest was tight and I felt beyond panicky as I shifted my weight so I could lift one hand from the sink to press against the small but firm bump. It definitely wasn't food weight– if I pressed down lightly I could feel how hard the bump was under my skin, almost like stone. Like vampire skin.

Vampires can't have babies, dad.

My head started spinning and I managed to lower myself down so I was sitting on the bathroom floor before I lost control of my arms too and just looked down at my stomach in disbelief.

Vampires CAN'T have babies.

But if I wasn't mistaken, and there was this gut instinct inside me, this feeling that I couldn't shake off that said I wasn't, I was somehow, impossibly pregnant.

Well, shit. Apparently I'd just been boned by the fickle finger of fate.

I started crying then.

I wasn't entirely sure why, but to my utter confusion tears started to overflow rather enthusiastically from my eyes, gushing down my face. They were disturbing but I couldn't make them stop, couldn't get control of the staggering emotions inside me, too busy reeling with shock and confusion.

How was this even possible? I wasn't an idiot– even though I hadn't thought it was really necessary, I'd still used birth control; I'd taken a contraceptive potion on the day of my wedding, one thats effects were supposed to last a month. Not that I'd actually thought I'd need it, just that it was better to be safe then sorry– in one of the vampire books Qiang had leant me there'd been a few pages discussing the possibility of half-vampire children, though research into the phenomena had proved inconclusive, with the likely probability being that the so-called 'half-vampires' were actually immortal children.

And I'd just assumed they were too– none of the Cullens had ever mentioned anything about a need to use protection to avoid the risk of me getting pregnant.

My whole body twitched as I thought that word. I actually felt nauseous, like I might throw up again.

Why hadn't the contraceptive potion worked? The instructions had clearly stated that only the woman needed to take it, the man didn't, and...

...and oh bollocks! My stomach sunk and despite the heat in the bathroom my face felt cold as I realised something, something I hadn't really thought about before now– the contraceptive potion was designed for humans to use. Not vampires.

I swallowed back more bile as I wondered if it was as blindingly simple as that. Was I maybepossiblyprobably pregnant because I hadn't looked into the contraceptive potion to see if it was compatible with species other then witches, wizards and muggles?

I slumped against the bathroom wall, sliding down until I was sitting then pulling my knees up to my chin. Hugging my legs to my chest, I rested my head on my forearms and tried to stop the tears as I faced the tangle of emotions inside me.

Having a child was... not something I'd ever predicted for myself. Before Edward I had thought, like most girls do, that I'd probably have one at some point in the future. Then I'd met Edward and accepted that it just wasn't going to be a possibility for me anymore, and I honestly hadn't really minded. Babies weren't my thing.

Except... a possessive hand slid down to my abdomen, lightly cupping the tiny bump, because maybe babies weren't my thing, but those were stranger's babies. This tiny thing growing in my stomach wasn't a stranger's baby– it was Edward's baby. It was my baby.

It wouldn't, I was sure, be too complicated to get Qiang to... remove the fetus. Carlisle could probably do it too. Except even the thought of that had me ready to start clawing out the eyeballs of anyone who dared even try.

I was racing ahead with this, I reminded myself. I didn't know for a fact I was pregnant, it was just a theory. There was a spell I knew, one Madam Pomfrey had taught to all the fourth year girls, but with my magic strangely on the fritz I really didn't feel the urge to point my wand at the possible life growing inside me.

Oh hell's bells, I realised suddenly, my eyes widening in dismay. Witches and wizards who were Turned couldn't use magic anymore– this was a widely understood fact, and quite the deterrent in the magical world for those who viewed vampirism as a possible source of immortality. It had never, ever happened before, a witch getting knocked up by a vampire, but I had the sinking feeling it was very possible that being pregnant with a half-vampire was interfering with my ability to use my magic.

Bloody bollocksing buggering bollocks.

I knew immediately that the first thing I needed to do was tell Edward, but I already knew exactly how that would go. Well, I wasn't sure how he'd react about the possible-very-likely baby itself, but I knew that as soon as I confessed my suspicions then our honeymoon would be over. He'd drag me back to Forks to get either Carlisle or Qiang to confirm what was happening and then... well, I wasn't sure what would happen then, but the sinking in my stomach had me convinced it wouldn't go over well. Edward was going to panic and freak out and he was never going to have sex with me again.

Feeling utterly miserable and horrified at that awful thought, I moved my hand to the imperceptible bump again and felt a wave of soothing calm wash over me. Alright. There was no need to panic, I decided. I could be wrong about the pregnancy thing– I shouldn't be able to see a bump at all this early. I was probably just putting on a few with everything I'd been eating...

My appetite; Morgana's tits, I swore as my stomach sunk. The constant cravings for eggs. Waking up starving at one in the morning. And god, the crazy dreams, the sudden throwing up, being so exhausted... it was improbable, so, so very improbable, but every instinct I had was screaming one thing– there was a baby growing inside me. And it was growing fast.