Carmen, Eleazar, and Kate

The Denali coven's living room was its usual sanctuary of warmth, the crackling fire in the hearth casting golden light across the polished wood floors. Carmen perched gracefully on the edge of the couch, Eleazar leaned against the mantle, his gaze fixed on the flames, while Kate lounged in her usual armchair, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"I'm just saying," Kate drawled, breaking the quiet. "It used to be easier, you know. A thousand years ago? You find your mate, you take your mate, you turn them, and voilà. Problem solved." She twirled a strand of golden hair around her finger, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Now? It's all complicated and modern. Consent. Courting. Explaining the whole 'oh, by the way, I'm a vampire' thing. Where's the drama? The flair?"

Carmen arched a brow, her lips curving faintly. "You mean the flair of kidnapping a human and forcing eternal life on them without warning?"

Kate shrugged, unabashed. "Worked well enough back then. Though I suppose it's not exactly romantic by today's standards."

"It was never romantic," Eleazar said dryly, though his tone was softened by affection. "And we're not living in the Dark Ages anymore, Kate."

Kate sighed dramatically, throwing her arms over the back of the chair. "Fine. But you have to admit, watching Tanya agonize over this is getting a little painful. She's all… broody."

Carmen's smile softened, her gaze flicking toward Eleazar. "That's because it's more than infatuation. You know what the mate bond does. How much it changes you. How much it demands of you."

Eleazar turned from the fire, his eyes meeting hers. There was a quiet understanding between them, a bond that needed no words. "She's feeling the weight of it," he said, his voice low but steady. "The bond isn't just about love. It's about connection, permanence. And until she bridges that gap with Bella, it's going to keep gnawing at her."

Kate groaned, tossing a cushion into the air and catching it lazily. "So what's the plan? Sit around and wait for her to implode? Or do we actually help?"

"We are helping," Carmen said, her tone calm but firm. "We're giving her space. She's navigating this in her own way, and she'll find her moment when the time is right."

Kate snorted. "Space isn't exactly her strong suit. Tanya's never been patient about anything, let alone something as big as this."

Carmen chuckled softly. "True. But this isn't something she can rush. Bella's human, Kate. She's not like us. She's been hurt before, and Tanya knows that. She has to tread carefully."

Eleazar nodded, his expression thoughtful. "And eventually, Bella will have to know. About Tanya, about us, about the world she's stepping into. That's not an easy conversation."

"Which is putting it mildly," Kate said, sitting up straighter. "The last time humans got involved with us? Let's just say it didn't end well."

"She's Tanya's mate," Carmen said simply. "That's all that matters."

Kate tilted her head, considering. "True. But it'll matter to Tanya a whole lot more if she actually does something about it. The longer this goes on, the more unbearable she's going to get. You've seen her lately—she's changed, yes, but she's also restless. It's like she doesn't know how to balance it."

"She doesn't," Eleazar said quietly. "Not yet. The mate bond is overwhelming. And until Bella's part of her world, that ache isn't going to go away."

Carmen reached over, placing a hand on Eleazar's. The silent reassurance passed between them was palpable, a reflection of the bond they shared. "Tanya will find her way," she said, her voice filled with quiet conviction. "She has to."

Kate leaned back, her smirk returning. "Well, when she finally makes her move, let's hope it's a good one. No pressure or anything."

Carmen's gaze shifted, her expression turning thoughtful. "In the meantime, there's still the matter of the property acquisitions."

Kate groaned. "Oh, great. Back to the real estate saga."

"It's important," Eleazar said patiently. "Alice saw what the future holds. She was clear—being hidden won't be enough as human technology advances. Owning the land gives us leverage, control. A way to keep the supernatural world safe."

"And Tanya agreed to this?" Kate asked, skeptical.

"She did," Carmen said. "Alice's foresight is rarely wrong. Tanya trusts her judgement. And she understands the necessity of it. The land isn't just for us—it's for others like us, who might need it in the future."

Kate frowned, though she didn't argue. "Fine. But I still think it's weird. Vampires buying up property like we're prepping for the apocalypse? It's not exactly subtle."

"It's not meant to be," Eleazar said. "It's meant to be effective."

Carmen's gaze softened, her voice quiet. "And when the time comes, it will be."


Laurent

Laurent leaned against a jagged outcropping of ice, his sharp features illuminated by the fractured moonlight spilling over the snow. Alaska's stark beauty had always appealed to him—the isolation, the quiet—but tonight, it was merely a backdrop. His focus was entirely on the woman standing a few feet away.

Irina.

She was captivating in a way that went beyond the usual allure of their kind. Her golden hair shimmered in the faint light, and her movements were unhurried, elegant. But it wasn't her beauty that intrigued him—it was her warmth. In a world of cold immortality, she carried an openness that felt almost human.

"You're quiet tonight," Laurent said softly, his voice carrying easily over the stillness.

Irina turned to him, her golden eyes catching the light like fire on snow. "Just… thinking," she replied, her tone distant.

"About?" he pressed gently, his words laced with curiosity but careful not to push.

Irina hesitated, her gaze drifting toward the treeline. "You'd think that after centuries of living, I'd have it all figured out," she said with a quiet laugh. "But instead, I feel like I'm breaking every rule I've ever set for myself."

Laurent raised a brow, stepping closer. "Rules are meant to be broken," he said with a charming smile.

"Not these ones." Irina's laugh softened, but her expression remained conflicted. "My sisters and I… we have a rule. No… entanglements with other vampires."

Laurent's smile didn't falter, though inwardly he was intrigued. "And why's that?"

Irina's gaze dropped, her voice quieter now. "Because vampires don't forget. Humans… they fade. But us? Every attachment, every betrayal—it lingers. Forever."

Laurent tilted his head, studying her. "And yet, here you are."

She looked at him, a rueful smile curving her lips. "Here I am."

The silence that followed was companionable, but Laurent's mind churned with thoughts. Carlisle Cullen had mentioned this place once, and Victoria had sent him here to gather information. He hadn't expected to find Irina—a woman whose presence made him feel almost… grounded. Human, even.

"You mentioned cousins," Laurent said after a moment, keeping his tone casual. "Other vampires who share your… unusual diet."

Irina nodded, her expression softening. "The Cullens. They're like us—kindred spirits in a way."

Laurent leaned against the icy rock, his posture deliberately relaxed. "I've heard of them. A large coven, isn't it? Must be nice, having family like that."

"It is," Irina said wistfully. "Though they're not as close as they used to be. They've scattered a bit recently."

"Scattered?" Laurent asked, feigning mild curiosity. "Where to?"

Irina hesitated, but his easy charm coaxed her to continue. "Carlisle and Esme are in New Hampshire. The others… they've gone their separate ways. Except for Edward. He stayed behind in Forks, I think."

Laurent felt a flicker of triumph but kept his expression neutral. So Bella was still there. Victoria's instincts had been right.

"That's a shame," he said lightly. "But family always finds its way back together, doesn't it?"

Irina smiled faintly. "Yes. They always do."

Laurent stepped closer, his voice softer now. "And what about us, Irina? Are we breaking your rules, or rewriting them?"

Her breath hitched slightly, but she didn't pull away. "I don't know yet," she admitted.

Neither did Laurent. But one thing was certain—Victoria would want to know what he'd learned tonight.


Mary and James

Mary paced the length of James's small apartment, her notebook in one hand and a half-empty coffee mug in the other. Her movements were sharp, purposeful, her thoughts practically sparking in the air. James, sprawled on the couch, watched her with equal parts amusement and concern.

"I'm telling you, it's all connected," Mary said, her voice charged with determination. "Eterna Supply Co isn't just selling coffee beans and booze—they're buying up property. A lot of it."

James raised an eyebrow. "How much is 'a lot'?"

"Enough to matter," Mary shot back, flipping through her notes. "They're doing it through shell companies and private buyers, but every transaction leads back to them."

"And you figured this out how?" James asked, leaning forward.

Mary smirked. "They got lazy. The notary stamp. Every document—different buyers, different sellers—uses the same notary. Sloppy, but lucky for me."

James blinked, impressed despite himself. "Okay, that's actually pretty clever. But why the hell would a supply company want to own half of Denali?"

"That's the million-dollar question," Mary said, her brow furrowing. "And here's the thing—Bella started avoiding the Haven right after Eterna got involved. She knew something was up."

James frowned, his playful demeanour dimming. "You think it's connected?"

Mary nodded firmly. "I do. And I think Bella knows more than she's letting on."

James studied her for a moment, then sighed. "If Bella's avoiding them, she probably has a damn good reason. Maybe we shouldn't push her."

Mary sighed, pacing again. "You're probably right. But something's going on here, James. I can feel it."

"Just don't burn the town down figuring it out, okay?" he said, grinning faintly.

"No promises," Mary replied with a smirk, her determination undimmed.


Tanya

Tanya stood at the edge of the frozen lake, the jagged ice catching the faint light and refracting it in soft, muted tones. The world was still, as if nature itself had paused to witness the storm within her.

Her thoughts circled back to Bella, as they had done since that single, perfect moment.

In over a thousand years of existence, Tanya had seen and done more than most could imagine. She had loved, lost, and lived through a millennium of fleeting passions. But none of it had prepared her for the mate bond.

It wasn't just love. It wasn't infatuation or attraction. It was a force—raw, unyielding, eternal. Shifters' imprinting was powerful, but the mate bond? It consumed everything. It was the deepest truth of their kind, a connection more profound than she'd ever dared to believe possible.

And Bella was hers.

The realization filled her with both wonder and terror. For centuries, she had been untethered, free. Now, she was bound—irrevocably, eternally—and her every thought revolved around Bella. But Bella was human. Fragile, fleeting, and so heartbreakingly mortal. And worse, Bella was afraid.

Tanya's gaze dropped to the snow beneath her feet, her mind racing. How could she reach Bella without scaring her away? How could she explain something so monumental to someone so wary?

Her eyes caught on a patch of snowdrops pushing through the icy ground, their delicate blooms defying the cold. She crouched, carefully plucking a few. They reminded her of Bella—resilient, fragile, and achingly beautiful.

Clutching the flowers, Tanya turned toward home, a quiet determination settling over her. Bella was her mate, and Tanya would do whatever it took to show her that.


Bella

The campus was a mosaic of greys and whites, the snow stretching in smooth, unbroken sheets while bare trees reached toward a muted sky. Clouds hung low, heavy with the promise of more snow to come, casting the world in a soft, cold quiet.

I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets, the frigid air biting at my cheeks. My boots crunched with every step, the only sound accompanying my solitary trek. Since the pub quiz a few nights ago—and the way Tanya had looked at me, spoken to me—I hadn't been able to shake the memory of her golden eyes, her knowing smile.

But something had changed.

The restless flutter that had churned in my stomach for weeks, the one that had left me constantly unsettled, was gone. In its place was something else—a gentle pressure, like a tether pulling tight. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but it wasn't painful either. It felt… expectant, like an ache you could only name by its absence.

I tried to ignore it, chalk it up to nerves or the lingering weight of the past. But no matter how many excuses I gave myself, I couldn't deny that I felt different. Lighter, in a strange way.

As I trudged along one of the snow-covered campus trails, the feeling shifted. The ache, the absence—it wasn't just pressing down on me anymore. It was filling up, threading through my chest, warming me from the inside out.

I slowed my steps, glancing around the quiet path. There was no one else in sight, no sound but the soft whisper of the wind. And yet, the ache continued to fade, replaced by something I couldn't name.

Before I even realized what I was doing, my feet had changed direction. I wasn't walking back to my apartment anymore, or toward the library, or anywhere I'd planned to go. I was following something—a pull, subtle but impossible to ignore.

The path curved, and as I rounded the bend, I saw her.

Tanya.

She stood beneath a row of bare, snow-laden branches, her coat a deep red against the stark white world around her. Her golden hair gleamed, catching what little light filtered through the clouds, and her face was turned slightly away, as though lost in thought.

I stopped in my tracks, my breath catching. The pressure that had been building in my chest eased completely, leaving a strange sense of relief in its wake. I didn't understand it, but in that moment, I didn't care.

As if sensing my presence, Tanya turned toward me. Her golden eyes met mine, and the faintest smile curved her lips. It wasn't the dazzling, confident smile she'd worn at the Haven—it was softer, gentler, and it made my chest tighten in ways I wasn't ready to examine.

"Bella," she said, her voice warm and low, carrying easily through the still air.

I swallowed hard, suddenly hyper aware of the cold against my skin. "Hi," I managed, my voice coming out quieter than I intended.

She took a step closer, her movements fluid and unhurried, as though she had all the time in the world. Her hand shifted slightly, and I noticed the bundle of snowdrops she was holding—delicate white flowers, their petals tinged with frost.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here," she said, stopping a respectful distance away. "But I'm glad I did."

I couldn't look away from her, from the way the snowdrops seemed to glow in her hands. "Me too," I admitted before I could think better of it.

Her smile deepened, and she extended the flowers toward me. "These are for you."

My gaze dropped to the snowdrops, then back to her face. "For me?"

Tanya nodded, her expression soft but steady. "I saw them earlier and thought of you. They're beautiful, but they also grow in the harshest winters. Resilient. Like you."

My cheeks burned, and I looked down, unsure how to respond. The flowers were fragile, ephemeral, and yet… something about them felt right. Carefully, I reached out and took them, my fingers brushing hers for the briefest moment. A spark, soft and warm, skittered up my arm, leaving me breathless.

"Thank you," I murmured, clutching the flowers close.

"You're welcome," Tanya said, her voice quiet and filled with something unspoken. Her eyes lingered on mine, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink until it was just us.

I should've walked away. I should've said goodbye and left. But I didn't move.

Tanya took a step closer, her gaze searching mine. "Bella," she began, her tone careful, almost hesitant. "Would you… would you like to meet again? Somewhere warmer, where we could talk?"

My mind screamed at me to say no, to keep my distance, to protect myself. But my heart—the part of me that felt whole, even just standing here with her—spoke first.

"Yes."

The word slipped out before I could stop it, and Tanya's smile widened, her golden eyes softening in a way that made my chest ache.

"Then I'll see you soon," she said, her voice like a promise.

I nodded, clutching the snowdrops tighter as she stepped back, her movements as graceful as ever.

As she disappeared into the trees, the ache in my chest began to return, but it wasn't the same as before. It was softer now, quieter. And as I turned back toward campus, the flowers still cradled in my hands, I couldn't stop the tiny flicker of hope that had begun to take root.