Midnight Angel
By: BlueBirdBones

Rating: T
Warnings: Eclipse spoilers, violence, dark themes

Disclaimer: All Twilight characters are the property of Stephenie Meyer; my only profit from this story will be the joys of creative expression or whatever – no money.

Notes: As stated in the summary, this is an Angela-centric Eclipse AU. I apologize in advance for the cheesy dream sequence and a slow start – the latter is because I want to establish Angela's voice and her relationships with other characters; the former is because...I'm a hack? I don't know. Also, I combined the prologue and first chapter because I didn't feel the prologue stood well on its own, being rather short and vague.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and any comments you may have would be greatly appreciated.

Prologue

"NO!"

The scream is ripped from my bloody mouth, agony coiling like a cobra around what passes for my heart and sinking its fangs in, even as the terrible burning in my throat eases. Dry sobs wrack my body as I drop to my knees next to the corpse in the mud. Rain plasters my hair to my skull and streams down my face in lieu of the tears I cannot shed.

I take his cold face between my colder hands – his skin is pale. So, so pale. His eyes are still open, but cloudy; his mouth rounded into an O of surprise. As gently as I can, I close his mouth, but as usual I underestimate my own strength and the teeth crack together horribly, sending me into further paroxysms of despair.

So recently those empty eyes had snapped and sparkled at me like blue fire; that mouth had traced a burning path along my jaw.

Never again, I tell myself. I don't know if it's a reminder of what Ive lost or yet another futile promise. I'd said the same thing when bent over the last body, and the one before that, and the one before that...

The faces of the people I've killed swim in the darkness behind my closed eyes, too many for the short time I've been this...this...

Monster.

I moan, leaning forward so that my forehead rests against his, my arms sliding around his neck and lifting his head off the sodden ground.

"I loved you," I murmur against his colorless lips. "I am so, so sorry..."

A gust of wind splatters rain against my back, carrying with it the familiar smell of the forest and a new, sweetly floral scent.

My spine stiffens. Several dark shapes emerge from the trees around me, fencing me in.

Chapter One

"Angela?"

"Hmm?"

I glance up distractedly and meet a pair of disconcertingly golden eyes. Edward Cullen, whose musical voice had pulled me out of my reverie, is looking at me with a slightly troubled expression. Caught off guard, I feel myself blushing; I'm just about used to the Cullens now, having sat with Edward and Alice for a month or so, but every now and then the old self-consciousness resurfaces.

"Is something upsetting you?" he asks, unperturbed by my flustered expression.

"I, um..." I stutter, my thoughts taking a second to unscramble. "No. I'm fine, why?"

"Because you had this look like your brain was caving in," my boyfriend Ben teases me, gently digging his elbow into my side. I roll my eyes at him, gratefully feeling my face return to its normal temperature, and therefore its normal color as well.

"Very flattering, Ben," Alice says, her smile ruining the credibility of her disapproving tone.

He grins at me impishly, but takes my hand underneath the table and squeezes it, as if I'm not used to him by now and need the reassurance. I smile back and he relaxes, letting go of my hand so he can stretch his arms above his head as he yawns.

"Man," he says, dropping his hands back onto the faux-wood table with a thud, "I cant believe I have to sit through an hour of Beowulf when I'm practically unconscious already."

"We all wish," I tell him with a smirk, and it's his turn to roll his eyes as the rest of us laugh. The banter seems to have distracted everyone from my earlier preoccupation. Edward is perceptive – I'd been thinking of my mom and her ever-expanding list of relatives I'm expected to send hand-addressed graduation announcements to, my complete lack of anything to wear to prom (although now that I think of it, I could always recycle my dress from last year), and my Calculus test two periods from now, which I was up half the night studying for and am still extremely nervous about–

I stop myself before I work myself into a full-blown panic. For me, the end of the year is coming much too slowly and altogether too fast, although I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who feels that way. I'm not sure I'm going to have enough time to finish the numerous projects I have lined up, not to mention study for finals. I don't realize I'm drumming my nails anxiously against the table until a warm hand covers mine and effectively halts the movement.

"Serious mental avalanche there, Angela," Ben remarks, eyebrows raised.

"Mental avalanche?" I retort, and the bell rings before anyone else can speak. I gather my things, wave to Ben, and follow Edward and Bella out of the cafeteria. Bella turns to me as I fall into step beside her.

"You know, you have looked kind of worried all day," she says, her light brown eyes concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Sure," I reassure her. "I've just got a lot to do – end of the year craziness, you know how it is."

"Believe me," she says, smiling strangely. A faint alarm bell in the back of my mind goes off; there's an edge to Bella's words I don't really get, something that's been happening a lot lately. I can never pin down exactly what it is that bothers me sometimes – a weird tilt to her smile, or a vagueness in her eyes that just wasn't there before...well, before. I don't want to think badly of Edward, but when he broke up with Bella earlier in the year, he changed her, somehow. Now Bella sometimes gives me the impression that she's counting down the days, and I don't think it's until graduation.

Edward sneezes violently, jerking me out of my thoughts.

"Bless you," I say, startled, as we enter the Physics classroom. The seating arrangement has me on the other side of the room from my friends, so whenever the class gets boring (which is depressingly often) I have to entertain myself. Today our teacher is in full-on drone mode, so I pull out my Calculus notes and anxiously begin scanning them again. Math is the only subject that requires a lot of effort on my part, and my sleepless night isn't helping. Even after I had exhausted myself studying, I couldn't stay asleep. My dreams were eerie – dark and with the overwhelming feeling of being watched, a feeling that persisted even after I woke up sweating, which to me seems like an overreaction. As far as nightmares go, I've had worse than that. I don't know why this dream affected me so much.

If it costs me an A in Calculus, though, I will be seriously annoyed.

-

I come out of the test feeling fairly confident, which means I either did very well or very, very badly. While I hope it's the former, I'm already preparing myself for the latter, by which I mean figuring out how I'll explain it to my mom in a way that will hopefully not end with my death. I've just gotten to a combination of written note and full body armor when a pair of arms snakes around my waist.

"Hey," Ben says, forcing us into a weird, stumbling walk as he tries to move forward and keep my back pressed against his chest at the same time.

"Wow, Ben, this is really elegant."

"Yeah," he agrees, planting a quick kiss on my neck, "but you like it."

"I'm only putting up with this because you promised to help me address my announcements," I tell him dryly.

At this he pauses, his grip on my waist slackening. Perplexed, I turn in his arms and take in his suddenly sheepish expression.

"Actually, I...wanted to talk to you about that."

"Ben!" I exclaim, aware that hes about to bail out. Luckily for him, he looks genuinely apologetic, making me unable to be as angry with him as I want to be.

"Eye of the Serpent comes out Saturday, and Austin, being a forgetful moron, went and bought tickets already."

I'm silent for a minute, thinking in dismay of the pile of envelopes I have to address, twice as big now that Ben's not splitting the work with me.

"Are you upset?" he asks hesitantly. I frown at him.

"Of course I'm upset! My hand is going to cramp up into a claw and then fall off!"

He chews on his lower lip, a now-familiar nervous gesture that I wish wasn't so endearing, because I can already feel my annoyance receding.

"If it's really that important to you," he begins, but I cut him off with a sigh, waving my hand.

"No, it's okay. Really. I'll either find someone else to help or manage on my own – it's not such a big deal."

To his credit, he tries to disguise his relief.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, don't worry."

Inwardly, though, I groan. This is not going to be a fun project, and it'll take hours. My hand aches just thinking about it.

"Hey," he says brightly, "how about this? You could come to the movie with us, and I'll help you with your announcements after?"

"Well..." I take a moment, pretending to consider when I know I'm going to refuse. First of all, I can't stand cheesy, badly-dubbed martial arts movies, and from what I've gathered from Ben's enthusiastic reenactments of the previews, Eye of the Serpent falls squarely into that category. Second, I know that Ben was planning on it being a guy thing, and if I tagged along it would just be awkward.

"That's okay," I tell him after a pause, "I think I'll pass."

"You sure?"

"Yep. I'd just make fun of it, you know – it'd kill the atmosphere."

"Have I mentioned lately how thankful I am to have the most considerate girlfriend in the world?" he asks, blue eyes sparkling behind his glasses.

"I'm still mad at you," I inform him, but without any real conviction. I mean, I am kind of aggravated, but how can I be mad at him when he's looking at me like this, practically glowing with appreciation and affection?

If there were any hard-core feminists around, I'm sure they'd be disgusted by my easy forgiveness. But there aren't, so I let myself laugh and enjoy our stumbling, goofy walk towards my car.

"You're lucky you're cute," I grumble good-naturedly as I slide behind the wheel (a little awkwardly – my car is small and I have to fold my 5'11" frame into it carefully), Ben gallantly holding the car door open for me. We drove separately today, so I dump my bookbag on the passenger seat he would normally occupy.

"Drive safely now," Ben warns in a deep voice, attempting a stern imitation of a cop. "Make sure you and your passengers are wearing their seat belts."

He plunges his upper body into the car, leaning across my lap to strap my bookbag into the seat. I roll my eyes.

"Thanks, officer."

"Love you, Angel," he says in his normal voice, and kisses me while I'm still smiling at him.

"Love you, too," I respond, blushing in spite of myself and trying not to think about how sappy the whole scene is, even though we've been through it plenty of times before.

"I'll drive tomorrow," he offers, and stands back so I can close the car door.

"Okay. See you then."

He salutes me as I carefully back out of the space and join the line to exit the parking lot. I glance at his retreating form in my rear-view mirror, and as if he senses my eyes on his back, he half-turns and lifts a hand in yet another goodbye. Smiling, I shake my head and turn on the radio. An insipid pop song fills the small interior of the car and I dial down the volume until it's just background noise with an addicting beat, humming along softly as I drive the short distance home.

Home is both a haven and a source of stress, although the latter is mostly due to my mother. I know she means well, but with college and relative freedom just around the corner, her constant presence feels suffocating. I tense up just thinking about the stream of questions and commands that will greet me as soon as I walk in the door.

I park in my usual place in the driveway, unbuckle my bookbag (the memory of Ben strapping it in makes me smile), and climb out of the car. My younger twin brothers Isaac and Joshua won't be home yet – they're on the same Little League team and have practice right after school – so I should take advantage of the quiet and get some work done. I let myself in the front door and have my foot on the first step when my mom calls from the kitchen, "Angela, how was your test?"

"Fine. Hi, Mom," I add pointedly. She appears in the doorway, arms folded, interrogation face on.

"Whats 'fine'?" she presses, ignoring my not-so-subtle prompt. Resigning myself to the questioning, I take my foot off the step and suppress a sigh.

"'Fine' as in I knew how to do all of the problems, I had time to check my work, and I left feeling pretty good about it."

And I spent a ridiculous amount of time studying for it, so even if it didn't go well after all, it's not due to a lack of effort on my part, I add silently, but I'm too chicken to say it out loud.

My mom frowns. "I thought feeling good about a test after it's over made you nervous."

I wonder, in an abstract sort of way, if she'd drop the subject if I started ripping my hair out right here. Instead I take the less physically painful option and set about reassuring her that this is "good feeling good," not "potentially failed feeling good," and repeating that I knew how to do all of the problems. Finally, with a reluctant nod, she releases me, and I turn back to the stairs in relief.

"Start on those graduation announcements tonight," Mom says over her shoulder as she heads back into the kitchen, and I grind my teeth.

"Yeah, okay."

Once in my room, I shut the door, collapse face-first on my twin bed, and groan loudly into my pillow. I roll onto my back and splay my limbs as much as I can on the narrow mattress, so that I look like I've been run over by a truck as well as feel like it. I don't want to think about everything I have to do tonight, but since I'm me, I do it anyway: French homework, Physics lab, English paper due in three days, a chapter in American History to read and take notes on, a new chapter to begin in Calculus...and that's just school. I also have graduation announcements to address, I promised to help Isaac and Joshua with their science project, I'll probably have to do the dishes after dinner, and I need to wrestle last year's prom dress out of my closet and make sure it doesn't need to be dry-cleaned.

I can't bring myself to do any of it. Not yet. Not when I'm already lying down, and its quiet in the house except for the occasional rattling and clanking from the kitchen, and I'm so tired...

Maybe because I know I should be working instead of sleeping, my dream is dark and unpleasant. I'm neither inside nor outside – I'm standing in some sort of half-rotted wooden shack encroached upon by the surrounding woods, trees and sky clearly visible through the nonexistent roof. It's not quite nighttime even though the sun has set – the air is suffused with a purplish glow. Twilight. I'm not alone, but the other shapes in the room are shadowy and slide back into my peripheral vision whenever I try to look at them directly. Instead of the sounds of wildlife, which I'd expect in the middle of the woods, the only noise is the whimpering and faint growling of the others. Disturbed and confused, I wish I could leave, but no – we're all waiting for someone.

That someone appears shortly, and the sight of her has me shrinking back against the damp, rotten wall. She looks like a human, but moves like an animal – crouched low to the ground, taking slow, predatory strides into the middle of the room. Her eyes look black in the fading light.

When she smiles, her teeth are bloody.

"Dinnertime," she whispers, and it's the signal we've been waiting for: the others surge forward, snarling, howling, sprouting claws and fangs and I'm doing it too, inhuman sounds are tearing from my throat that burns like I swallowed fire...

I sit bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath. My hair is stuck to my neck and my shirt is plastered to my back with sweat; my heart is pounding so hard that for a second it's all I can hear. I notice that the light in my room is still dim and faintly tinted with purple, and for a second I don't know if I'm awake or asleep or even where I am. Slowly, reason reasserts itself: I definitely rested for more than a few minutes, and everything that just happened was just another nightmare, no doubt stemming from the fact that I am utterly and completely screwed – it's almost eight o clock!

"Crap!"

I jump out of bed and fumble along my wall for the light switch, and the eerie twilight recedes in the artificial glow from my overhead light. I take a moment to orient myself, studying my furniture and overflowing laundry hamper and the usual detritus of teenage existence like they can physically tether me in consciousness.

Dinnertime, my moms voice floats up the stairs.

Dinnertime, the animal-woman from my dream hisses in my memory. I shudder and crack my door open.

"Coming!"

My voice sounds high and scared even to me, but hopefully my mom is too preoccupied by my brothers and dad, whose voices I can now hear tumbling over each other like water in a brook, to notice.

I make a quick detour to the bathroom I unfortunately share with my siblings and splash water on my face. I glance in the mirror and flinch: hair a tangled mess, eyes wild, damp circles spreading under my arms – I look like hell. I drag a brush through my hair and return to my room to change shirts, forcing myself to relax. Must not go down to dinner looking possessed.

Five minutes later, Joshua passes me the salad bowl. He and Isaac are chattering about Little League and how they think the team name (Bats) is stupid; they'd rather be the Pumas or Tigers or some other carnivorous beast sure to strike fear in the hearts of their nine-year-old opponents. No one else has time to get a word in edgewise, for which I am grateful.

But with uncanny precision, Mom manages to sneak in a question as both twins take a drink at the same time: "How's your homework coming along, Angela?"

Typical.

"Fine," I lie instinctively. "I still have French." And everything else.

"They don't let up for a second at the school, do they?" my dad observes. I'm spared formulating a coherent response as Isaac lets out a truly disgusting belch, which sufficiently distracts everyone else at the table and allows me to slip away unnoticed. I scrape my mostly untouched dinner into the trash and rinse my plate, my heart beginning to pound double-time again. By now the dream is a vaguely unsettling memory; the only thing I'm worried about now is making up for lost time as far as my homework's concerned. With any luck, by the time I finish I'll be too exhausted for nightmares.

Thanks for reading!