Carlisle Cullen

The forest on the outskirts of Forks, a few miles from the Cullen house. Night. The air is heated by the flashes of vampire bodies flickering between the trees.

The pounding in his head was so loud that Carlisle could barely hear himself. For the first time in centuries, he let his anger take over. The Volturi had disrupted the fragile peace, invaded his territory, and threatened his children.
He moved faster than the wind, reacting with lightning speed to any movement that didn't belong to his family. His golden eyes, usually full of compassion, now seemed like scorched metal. He was searching for an enemy.
The sharp, unnaturally sweet scent of new blood assaulted his nostrils. A stranger. Carlisle turned, leaving deep furrows in the soft earth. In the shadow of an ancient spruce, he saw a figure—slender, awkward, trembling.
She lacked the smooth, predatory grace that distinguished the Volturi elders. She was a newborn, one of those Aro had thrown to the slaughter to sow chaos.
Instinct overcame reason. Carlisle lunged forward. He was never usually the first to attack, but today his family was too close to death. His hand was already raised for a blow that would rip vampire flesh apart, when suddenly
He froze an inch away from you.

You didn't lunge at him with a snarl. You didn't assume a fighting stance. You stood there, your back pressed against the tree bark, your eyes wide open, filled not with hunger but with an animalistic, primal terror.
Carlisle only noticed it at the last moment, a second before his fingers were about to close around your throat.
Carlisle released your throat as quickly as he'd grabbed it. His grip was iron, but he didn't hurt you. He stumbled back a step, his chest heaving even though he didn't need to breathe. The anger in his eyes began to fade, replaced by something more complex—bewilderment and horror at what he'd almost done.
"You..." His voice, usually soft and soothing, sounded hoarse, broken. He narrowed his eyes, studying your features as you cowered under his gaze. "You're not attacking."
It wasn't a question. It was a statement.