CHAPTER NINETEEN
conventional weapons

SOMEONE HAD LEFT fresh lilies on the unkempt grass.

There were a couple rotting roses at the bottom of the pile, amidst the litter of stray fallen petals and carnations, but none that really suited Luka's taste. He liked poppies. He liked the idea of something so fragile and innocent and vivid as a representative of death—that little irony amused him. Nobody knew about it besides Violet. She'd always had a keen hyper-awareness for peculiar anomalies, and Luka's little tricks and habits were difficult for her to miss.

Typically, whenever Violet visited Luka's grave, she kept these little adventures of her own secret and brief. She never cried, never spilled what was buried deep inside to inanimate material because that was plain stupid and a waste of breath. Luka's body wasn't even in the coffin. It was more the sanctity of the act. Each time she visited, it wasn't to pay respects, but a promise of vengeance. Plus, she knew she was being watched from the forest behind the grave. These days, she never went anywhere without being surveilled by one of the wolves. She had a feeling she knew which one was on her trail this time.

"Can you tell me something about him?" Violet asked, to the wind howling through the empty graveyard, disturbing the flowers resting at the foot of the tombstones.

"Everyone has a story. A place in this world just for them," Sam Uley said, strolling up behind her, his voice closer than expected. "Ours was the beach."

"Luka hated sand."

"He didn't come for the sand."

Between them, the words lingered like a deadweight suspended over their heads. All these coffins and not one skeleton.

Violet pursed her lips. "Why wouldn't he tell me about you?" Luka told her everything, and yet nothing at the same time.

Sam shrugged. "Why wouldn't you tell anyone about you and Paul?"

His words sent a stab of pain slashing through her heart, and Violet cut him a cold look.

A deep ache unearthed itself from her chest, an avalanche that ripped something from the darkest corner of her mind. Each time Violet thought about Paul, she couldn't stop thinking about the lines scoring her arms. A prisoner of her own skin, marking out every day that is so unbearable she must carve something out of herself to ease the wayward itch blazing under her skin. She didn't know what he wanted from her. They hadn't spoken since the night he left her behind in her bedroom, half-dressed and breaking, like a glass dashed against the wall. And there had been all that swallowing silence, all those shadows in periphery.

For the first time in months, Violet had been alone, left to sift through every thought crashing against the walls of her skull like waves descending in a storm threatening to drown her. Somehow, even though it was intrinsic to her nature to assign the blame elsewhere, to pull the smouldering knives of rage from deep inside the core of her being and sever any connection and any accompanying feelings, she couldn't bring herself to. This time, the blame sat on her shoulders like a villain's familiar, something scaly wrapped around her neck. She couldn't rationalise it. She didn't want to. It wasn't as easy as it used to be. Curse her for getting attached so quickly.

How he could abandon her so easily, she'd never be able to fathom. How she couldn't let go, she'd never be able to forgive herself for. What was it about her that made people leave in the worst way?

"Because there's nothing to tell," Violet spat, fisting her hands in the grass and ripping out the roots with a vehement tug.

Crouching down beside her, Sam hummed. "I wouldn't be so sure."

☾

ON THE EDGE OF THE GRAVEYARD, a boy stands in the shadows with his hands pressed to the bark of a gnarled oak tree, curved as a witch's beckoning finger, but warmer than his. This afternoon, the wind works in his favour, carrying the scent of the only two visitors in the cemetery towards him. A girl and a wolf. A sharp reminder of everything at stake and the memory of everything he had lost. Luka's eyes linger on the way Violet's light blonde hair gleams like a golden crown. If he could feel his heart, he wouldn't have been able to keep watching. Wouldn't have been able to stand by and watch his little sister—so grown up now, in those years he'd missed, those regrettable years he'd lost to an afterlife he never wanted—kneeling by his empty grave, mourning not his death but the cold case of why he'd been gone so long.

On the bright side, Luka thought, if he could find a way to get free of Victoria, he could make up for the lost years by protecting Violet in a way he never could before. This sliver of hope was the only thing keeping him going at this point, and the only thing that kept him anchored by the edge of the forest, just behind the tree line, so close yet so far. Victoria had made it clear that he shouldn't contact Violet unless he wanted to hold her stilled heart in his bloodied hands.

If only she could hear him now...

It'd been so long. Too long. He had so many things to say to her, but not enough words to say them with. So many questions to ask, and yet not enough ways to know how.

Each time he had the chance to sit still, to put his hands and forehead to the lightly trembling ground and feel the earth beneath his cold, dead skin pushing and pulling at him, both calling to him to lay down and rest yet repulsed by his unworldly stasis of being, Luka thought about the things he wanted to know about Violet. Are you still skating? What're your friends like? Do you think you're going to college next year? What frustrated and devastated him most was that they used to share everything that went beyond the blood—almost everything; some parts of his life, he felt the selfish need keep for himself—and now he didn't know a single thing about her.

Grinding his teeth together in a bid to ground himself in the present, to prevent the blush of anger rising between his ribs from letting his impulses consume him.

He hadn't given himself the chance to let his gaze linger on Sam for a reason. Out of sight, out of mind. But for the last few years, he hadn't stopped thinking about the teardrop-shaped dimple on the side of Sam's cheek whenever he smiled or the way his palm, every callous and scar, always felt moulded perfectly to the curvature of Luka's neck. Watching Violet, with Sam's blurred silhouette in periphery, the old tides of everything Luka used to feel for the man washed up on the shore of his memory, in the stilled cage of his chest, shattered pieces of glass he had to wade through again. But all that, and this too, didn't matter anymore. Sam Uley wasn't his anymore. Hadn't been for a very long time. Whatever they had died on the beach years ago.

Besides, they were meant to be enemies—the coda dictated so. Vampires and wolves didn't mix well.

"It's painful, isn't it? So close yet so far."

Luka snapped round to face Victoria's needle-point smirk, taking his hand off the trunk of the tree and dislodging a clump of bark. Lips pulled back in a menacing snarl, Luka glowered at her, his eyes gleaming like hot coals. "Get out of my face."

"Careful with your tone, boy," Victoria warned, her saccharine voice sinking into his chest like tiny hooks, the poison of her patronising tone scalding his flesh. Cocking her head, she flicked her slender fingers towards Violet and Sam, the tapered points of her talon-like nails glinting under the light. "Unless you want your sister to suffer for your mistakes, I'd suggest you keep yourself in check. After all, you're still in my charge. You are bound to me. You owe me for what I gave you."

When he turned to look, he noticed the claw marks he'd scored into the tree. Immediately, the swelling melancholy in his chest popped like a balloon, and the contained inferno of burning resentment dropped like a stone, setting his guts aflame.

☾

SMOKE BILLOWS FROM Violet's mouth as Sage plucks the cigarette from between her teeth and sticks it between her own. Being around the wolves and the vampires—who'd been pulled from their patrols and routine just to train with each other, learn each other's weaknesses and strengths just to face Victoria and her army of bloodthirsty newborn vampires—set her nerves ablaze, the iron voice in her head muted only when Violet burned through nearly half her stash to quell the shaking in her fingers, the unsteady hair-pin trigger trembling of her pulse. All these monsters surrounding them, and the only thing Violet could do was distract herself from the knowledge that she could never kill them with her bare hands. And yet, Alice had been entirely convinced that Violet would be the one to end her own brother's life.

Sam had her convinced her presence was much needed at this crash-course in vampire-fighting in the middle of the woods. Victoria had come to Forks with an army of newborns, and both the Cullens and the wolves needed to defend their home. Despite Violet's discomfort around vampires, and her general distaste for that clan in particular, Sam and Kit had repeatedly assured her she didn't need to worry about them eating both her and Sage, considering the entire pack would be there.

While she knew they'd tear the Cullens to pieces if they even so much as looked at both the girls wrong, it didn't make her feel any better. Mostly because she could feel one wolf in particular staring at her, a wolf of bullet-silver fur and coiled tension in his powerful shoulders. Maybe it was the intensity of his dark-eyed stare, or the way he snapped temperamentally at a smaller wolf who came up behind him, but Violet knew.

And so, presently, whilst the wolves and the Cullens were gathered in the clearing, Sage and Violet were seated in one corner, far from the action, where they were fixing up new skateboards with new parts they'd haggled for at the local skate shop. Around them were scattered bits of leftover grip-tape and the knives Violet had used to cut the excess off with.

"Yo," Sage said, letting out a slightly wicked cackle as she spun the wheels on her skateboard, "you're going to see the cleanest kick-flips this world has ever seen once we get my new baby to the park."

"If you stop trying to kick-flip down the six-stair and getting credit-carded by your board and having to get sent to the hospital to get your coochie sewn back together, maybe—"

"Hey, hey," Sage cut in, smacking Violet in the forehead to shut her up and waving a dismissive hand in the air, "don't come at me and give me that smack-talk, alright? And, please, you've been credit-carded at least five times before you got shipped off to private school. Have a little more faith in me."

"Yeah, I remember that. Hurts like a bitch." Violet scowled as the humiliating (and excruciating) memory of her twelve-year-old self struggling to get to her feet after a particularly bad fall off her board—of which had smacked her right between the legs, hard enough to leave a gash—with blood pouring down her thighs and dotting the concrete while the boys at the skate park laughed at her and made those entirely lame period jokes flicked to the forefront of her mind. That happened five times within the span of six months. Safe to say, her father hadn't been happy to see his own daughter get carted through to the emergency room, and her mother had threatened to ban skateboarding until Luka had intervened and defended Violet.

Pulling her thick dreads over her shoulder, Sage shook her head, a nostalgic smile ghosting her lips. "Good times, good times. My dad totally freaked. You know how it is. If your dad didn't have rounds that day, they would've made me wait to get stitched up until I bled out and died on the floor. Healthcare here is so shit."

Sage glanced over her shoulder to Carlisle Cullen, who, on cue, let out a laugh, and said, "it's a work in progress, Sage."

Sage lifted her board in a mock toast. "No, it is not, but keep up that attitude, Doc." She turned back to Violet and rolled her eyes. "He's hundreds of years old, does he not see systemic racism or some shit? Last time I heard, he was supposed to be some kind of saint, but I don't see him fighting for what's right. At least, that's what Jake said. I can't tell with him. His sense of sarcasm is broken—Yeah, I said what I said, Jake, don't look at me like that—" Sage shot wolf-Jake a sardonic grin— "But, anyway. I'm still shocked your mom didn't forbid you from skating after the first time."

"My mom wanted to kill me, kept going on about how I wouldn't be able to have kids and shit," Violet scoffed, twisting the T-tool with more force than required. "As if I want them in the first place."

Sage sent her a pressing look. "I thought you did. Or you used to. Remember when we were kids, and you used to point out this one house in Forks that looked super homey, and you said you wanted one girl and one boy, just like you and Luka. What changed?"

"Until I realised life is fucked up and if your parents aren't fucking each other anymore, they'll fuck their kids up mentally," Violet drawled. "I just don't think it's ethical, y'know, to bring a child into this world if you know you're just gonna screw up."

Sage hummed. "I dunno. I guess it's up to you if you wanna break the cycle or not."

"I am breaking the cycle," Violet said, confidently. "My dad's father was shit, and so was his dad, and his dad too, and all the dads before. So, yeah, the Korchak curse dies with me."

As Violet was twisting the T-tool to secure her new bearings to the board, a large, wet nose nudged her from behind, and Violet lurched forward from the force. Violet turned, and came face-to-face with a muscular wolf with fur as white as snow. One side of Violet's mouth twisted up as she ran a hand down Kit's firm neck, fingers twisting in her coarse fur.

"Hey, you," Violet mused as Kit brushed past her, flicking her tail to the side and accidentally-on-purpose smacking Violet upside the head and knocking her maroon beanie off her head in the process—eliciting a scandalised gasp from Violet—as she nosed Sage's shoulder.

"You're so pretty," Sage sighed, stroking the crown of Kit's lowered head. "Wish I was as cool as you."

Kit pressed her paw against Sage's chest and gave a gentle push.

Falling on her back, Sage lifted a hand and flipped Kit off. "Mean."

In wolf form, Kit Lahote shone like moonlight, though she never lost the sheepish gleam in her earth brown eyes. Girls like Kit didn't like to take up space, always trying to make herself small, always trying to go unnoticed, and Violet never understood why. She supposed Kit's new body took getting acclimated to, and her rapid growth spurt had been difficult to adjust to, considering she used to be as scraggly as a branch. If she had as much height and power as Kit, she would've already staked her claim over the world.

(Though, she supposed saying that out loud, especially as a white girl, would make her sound like a coloniser.)

"I'm bored," Sage complained, passing the cigarette back to Violet before brushing her hands over the ground, and yanking out a handful of grass, "Can we just sneak back to Kit's house and skate?"

(And speaking of colonisers...)

"That's an awful idea," a stuffy voice behind Violet drawled, "you're here because you're safest with us. There's nobody out there on patrol. You should take this seriously."

Sage let out an exasperated groan. "I don't know what crawled up your ass and died, but I think you need to mellow the fuck out. We're just going to the skatepark, alright? It smells like wolves, and apparently it's bug repellent to y'all white-ass icicles. We'll be fine. It's broad daylight and we're not alone. Place is crawling with greasy high schoolers."

"Still too dangerous. Victoria doesn't care about who sees or who gets hurt. All she cares about is getting her way." Lips curling into a frown, Edward crossed his arms over his chest. "Why'd you guys like to waste your time on a piece of wood on wheels, anyway?"

Half-expecting a lecture on the tenets of classical liberalism in the near future, Violet flicked him a cool look. "It's fun, but you wouldn't know much about that, would you?"

Edward scoffed. "It's pointless. You're just standing on a board trying to make it spin and jump."

"Have you even tried it?" Sage asked, incredulous.

"No, but I know it doesn't contribute anything to personal enrichment."

Sage arched a brow. "You think having fun is pointless?" She shot Violet a look of bewilderment. "Get a load of this guy."

Rolling her eyes, Violet took a long drag of her cigarette and prayed for patience. Logically, she couldn't take Edward on her own, but she could set one of his siblings on him. Namely, Rosalie, of whom Violet had gleaned a very strong sense that she'd happily tear her insufferable and pretentious brother apart limb from limb given the chance. Smoke tumbled out of her mouth in milk-thick plumes as she sighed an exhale. "Well since you're—y'know—obviously the most intellectually stimulated one, what do you think contributes to personal enrichment, then?"

"Reading, writing—"

Violet cocked her head. "So you've written a book. What—" a cold smile curved her lips when Edward started to say something to cut her off, but she raised a hand, the thin tendril of smoke rising from the lit end of her cigarette jerking sideways, a broken stream— "you're not gonna recommend it to us? Did it not make the New York Times bestsellers list?"

"No," Edward said, scandalised, "but—"

Stabbing her cigarette at him pointedly, Violet narrowed her eyes. "Let me tell you a little something, Edmund. You might be decades older than me, but I don't really believe in this whole... respect your elders thing. Unless they've worked to keep my respect. Which you obliterated the moment you opened your mouth. You know what I think? I think you've never written a single thing in your entire life, or, if you have, you never finished it. I think you write with the goal to share your misery. Listen, listen," she leaned forward, like a village elder about to share wisdom to a gaggle of the town's children, she waved her cigarette in front of his face emphatically, "writing... I may not know much about, because I don't do it. Because I, personally, think it's fucking tedious and boring. It's not fun for me. And from the looks of it, it's not fun for you."

"Do you have a point?" Edward drawled.

Lifting a finger, Violet put the cigarette to her lips, the smoke coiling from the maniacal curve of her mouth forming a veil between them. "The point is, there is no point in anything unless it's fun. I mean, it's so sad. Even when you're above the law, you're still a slave to capitalism."

Sage snorted. "Boy, don't play around. We skate, so what? It's not that deep. The world doesn't revolve around contributions to the betterment of society or whatever. Take that goddamn stick out your ass and maybe you'll loosen up. Hey, I got a little something for that. You ever heard of weed?"

Violet snorted.

Just as Edward was about to snap back with a retort, a tall girl with glossy blonde hair and a face for the magazines stalked over. "Sorry, ladies, ignore my idiot brother."

Stunned, Sage blinked, and shared a look with Violet that the latter only knew as gay panic. In the flesh, Rosalie Hale was all glam and glittering stilettos, looking like a catwalk star while everyone else looked roughed-up and ready for a scrimmage. She was what they'd call a bramble rose. Precious and pretty to look at, something to admire for a long while, but grab her a little too hard and her thorns will sink into your palms like the teeth of a shark, bloody and cruel and painful. Violet found it a little hard to look at Rosalie, not just because her head eclipsed the sun, forming a bright halo around her gilded hair, but because she couldn't bear how radiant Rosalie was in-person. She felt a little like a mortal setting eyes on a god in her true form.

Edward rolled his eyes, and, without another word, stalked away. Violet waggled her fingers in a sardonic wave.

Rosalie shot his retreating figure a foul look before turning back to the two girls with an arched brow. "I've never seen him so under fire before. I'm impressed."

Sage's mouth gaped open and closed like a fish. Violet put a hand under her chin and clicked her mouth shut. "Is he always that insufferable?"

Rosalie flicked her braid over her shoulder. "Oh, all the time. He takes himself too seriously."

"I can tell."

Rosalie hummed pensively. "I like you. What did you say your name was, again?"

"Violet," Violet said, a little too quickly. She jerked her chin towards Sage, who was still staring, wide-eyed and useless. "This is Sage."

For a moment, Violet thought about making a joke about conversing from one rich blonde to another rich blonde, but thought it childish, could hear her father's derisive condescension dogging at her ear, and so decided against it. Instead, she asked, "So, just out of curiosity, if you vampires aren't vulnerable to sunlight or conventional weapons, what are your weaknesses?"

Rosalie smirked, cherry-red lips pulling up at the corners. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Violet shrugged. "Alice thinks I'm going to kill my brother, but I'm not entirely sure how that'll happen if you guys don't have any weak spots."

"Well," Rosalie said, cocking her head, "aside from fire, the stories about wooden stakes and holy water are true. We're religious in theory, but never in practice, since Carlisle can't let go of that little piece of his human life, but we don't venture into holy spaces. Vampires aren't as invincible as they seem."

Violet's brows furrowed.

Rosalie shot her a wicked wink. "But those are trade secrets, and you'd be dead before you could even try. So you didn't hear this from me."

AUTHOR'S NOTE.
rosalie and violet..... the rich blonde bitch solidarity....
this one's for u dumbass. thnx for sitting with me on ft while i bang this one out🤍
elysianfieId