Tanya

The Denali coven door swung open with a creak as Tanya stepped inside, her movements light and effortless, as if gravity had momentarily loosened its hold on her. A smile was pinned to her face—radiant, unrestrained—and it was enough to stop Carmen mid-sentence in the living room.

Kate, hanging off the side of the couch like a lazy cat, raised a brow, her senses immediately catching onto Tanya's mood.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Kate sang, a teasing grin already plastered on her face. "Someone have a good night?"

"The best," Tanya admitted, her voice soft, almost reverent. She crossed to the fireplace, letting the warmth brush against her ice-cold skin, but it was unnecessary. She was already warm. Bella had made sure of that.

"It was…" She trailed off, searching for the right words, still wearing that same smile—the one she had when she walked in.

Kate cut in before she could find them. "Let me guess—she laughed at your jokes, didn't flee in terror, and maybe—just maybe—held your hand?"

Tanya didn't respond, but her grin only widened, golden eyes twinkling with delight.

Kate's eyes narrowed. "Wait. No. You don't smell of sex—" Then her expression shifted into something equally scandalized and delighted. "Did you propose? Did she say yes? I'm glad you made a big romantic gesture, because someone—" she shot Irina a glare—"didn't think that would be a good idea."

Tanya was far too blissed out to take offence. Instead, she let out something that could only be described as a giggle.

A head popped around the doorframe.

"Tanya," Eleazar said, looking utterly incredulous. "You giggled."

"I did not," Tanya replied firmly.

"You absolutely did," he countered, his head tilting in utter confusion.

Carmen's eyes were shining, a hand placed over her mouth as if she were valiantly trying to contain her laughter.

Irina's jaw was clenched so tightly that the sound of her teeth grinding was audible, her lip twitching at the edges like she was barely holding back a smile.

Kate's mouth had formed a perfect O, her expression frozen in delighted horror.

"I can't—you didn't—you don't—how do I even—?" Kate stammered, her entire existence built upon teasing Tanya mercilessly, but for the first time, she was at a loss for words.

Tanya plucked some microscopic lint from her coat with exaggerated care. "Honestly, Kate, you're a thousand-year-old succubus. Am I to believe you can't even?"

She settled primly into her favourite chair—a decadent cream-colored loveseat—crossed her legs, and leaned back with practised elegance, watching her coven fall apart in front of her.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Carmen cracked first, her delighted laughter spilling into the room like sunlight. It set off a chain reaction—Irina's nearly silent but tell-tale mirth, and Kate, who outright guffawed, nearly sliding off the couch.

Eleazar, standing in the doorway, still looked poleaxed, as if witnessing something fundamentally impossible.

Tanya didn't realize she was laughing along with them until she had to brush the venom pooling in her eyes away, wiping at the shimmering world in front of her. She exhaled a long breath, pressing a hand to her chest as if she could hold onto this feeling.

She had never felt so light. So untethered.

The weight she always carried—the ever-present responsibility of her coven—was always there. It was part of who she was. But since Bella, something had shifted, rearranging her priorities, making room for something new.

Bella didn't take the weight away.

She made Tanya stronger.

Tanya let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. "She kissed me," she announced, victorious, proud, radiant.

The words tasted exquisite in her mouth, so she said them again, softer this time. "She kissed me. And it was perfect."

Carmen stood from her chair, crossing the room without hesitation to sit beside Tanya on the loveseat. Gently, she took Tanya's hand in both of hers, cradling it close to her lap.

Her expression was warm, filled with nothing but love and understanding.

"Will you tell us all about it?" she asked.

Tanya, the happiest she had ever been, squeezed her hand and began to tell the story.

Bella

The lookout point was breathtaking.

Snow spanned in soft waves endlessly beneath us, pristine and shining under the starlight. Denali township below us was a scattering of distant golden lights. The night air was frigid, biting at my cheeks, but I barely felt it. Not when Tanya stood beside me, close enough that the absence of her touch was almost unbearable.

"I come here often to think," Tanya murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

I turned to study her instead of the view. The wind had tousled her hair, and the starlight was glinting off her eyes. She looked like she belonged here, a creature of the night itself.

"And what are you thinking about now?" I asked.

Her eyes met mine, steady and unguarded. "You."

I should have been nervous. Should have felt the old instinct to retreat behind my walls. But instead, I felt warm. Grounded. Safe.

Tanya had never pretended, never danced around what she wanted. And now, she was giving me the choice.

I took a deep cleansing breath, trying to sort through the mess of thoughts in my head. She was a vampire. This should be terrifying.

But all I could think about was how she never made me feel fragile.

Edward had loved me like I was something delicate, breakable, something to be protected from himself. But Tanya? Tanya was looking at me like I was something to be chosen.

Like she wanted to stand beside me, not above me.

"Bella." Her voice was quiet but certain. "I want to be with you."

My breath caught.

She wasn't asking—not in a way that left room for doubt. But she wasn't demanding either. She was offering.

I swallowed, my fingers tightening slightly in my coat. "You mean—"

"I mean," she interrupted gently, "I want to be more than this. More than casual meetings and wondering where I stand." A soft smile curved her lips. "I don't want to rush you, but I won't pretend I don't want this."

I swallowed thickly.

She wanted me—not in theory, not when it was convenient, not from a safe distance.

I thought of the way her touch had felt like relief, like coming home. How being near her quieted something inside me I hadn't even realized was screaming.

I thought of the way distance felt wrong, like I was missing a part of myself when she wasn't close.

And I knew what this could be.

It was different from what I felt with Edward.

This time, I didn't feel trapped.

This time, I wanted it.

I wanted her.

So I nodded, my pulse racing. "I want that too."

Tanya's smile was slow, golden and sure, wrapping around me like warmth in the cold.

"Yeah?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," I said, and for once, I didn't second-guess it.

She stepped in closer, and I let her.

"I'll do my best to make it worth your while," she murmured, teasing, but her voice was softer now, dipping into something that sent a shiver down my spine.

I let out a quiet snort, shaking my head. "You're really sure of yourself, aren't you?"

Tanya smirked. "Only when it counts."

And heaven help me, but I liked that about her.

The wind whipped suddenly, rustling the trees behind us. A glance at my watch, and I realised just how late it had gotten. I knew that we should head back.

Neither of us moved.

I should have felt awkward, should have struggled with the decision I had just made. That we had just made. But instead, I felt steady.

Like something had clicked into place.

Finally, Tanya tilted her head toward the path, her fingers brushing lightly against mine in silent invitation.

"Come on," she said, voice warm. "Let me walk you home."

I held her hand the entire way back.

By the time we reached my building, the streets were silent, the fresh snowfall muffling the world around us. The light from the streetlamp cast a soft glow over Tanya's face, catching the gold in her eyes, the edges of her hair.

We reached the entrance, but I didn't move to go inside.

Neither did she.

"I had a great time tonight," she said, and her voice was quieter now, reluctant, like she didn't want the night to end either.

"I did too," I admitted.

Tanya watched me for a long moment, like she was waiting for something.

I checked my pockets absently, my fingers running through the usual checklist.

Keys? Check.
Tanya's number? Check.
Kiss for Tanya? Check.

Wait—

Before I could even process what I was doing, I leaned in and kissed her.

It was natural. Instinctive. Like something I had always meant to do.

And then I realized what I had done.

I pulled back, our lips barely parting, my eyes wide, a startled squeak escaping me. "I—I didn't—"

Tanya blinked, her lips parted in momentary surprise. And then, before I could say something stupid like I'm sorry , she reached out, curling her fingers lightly around my wrist, and pulled me in.

And kissed me.

Not just a kiss—nothing so simple, nothing so fleeting. This was deliberate. Certain. A promise wrapped in silk and fire.

Tanya kissed me like she had been waiting forever to do it, like the moment demanded nothing less than absolute devotion.

It was slow, deep, breathtaking—not the frantic rush of new infatuation, but something steadier, something unshakable. Her lips were cool but impossibly soft, her touch featherlight against my jaw, like she was savouring every second.

And I felt it—everywhere.

My fingers curled into her coat before I even realized I had reached for her, as if my body had given up on pretending I wasn't already lost in her gravity. My pulse was a drumbeat in my ears, and when her hand brushed the back of my neck, I arched into her touch, pressing into her as if I could close every last space between us.

By the time she pulled back, I was breathless, my legs more than a little unsteady beneath me.

Tanya was watching me carefully, as if waiting to see if I'd bolt.

I didn't.

I licked my lips, tasting her there, and exhaled slowly. Holy hell.

Tanya's mouth twitched. "Okay?"

I swallowed hard and nodded, still reeling. "Yeah. Okay."

Tanya let out a quiet chuckle, stepping back—but not too far.

"Good."

She lifted a hand, running the tips of her fingers down my cheek, the touch lingering, electric. Addictive.

"I'll call you," she promised, and then, with one last lingering look, she turned and disappeared into the night.

And even though she had walked away, I knew she wasn't really gone.