Forks, 1936
The forest is alive with the whisper of the wind through the towering pines, the damp earth beneath my feet soft as I race through the undergrowth. The scent of rain lingers in the crisp night air, mixing with the mossy aroma of the ancient woods. My movements are a blur, my footsteps silent against the forest floor. I don't know what I'm running toward—only that I have to go. The pull in my chest is undeniable, an instinctual force dragging me forward without reason or explanation.
Atticus and Lukas think I'm losing my mind, but they're too distracted by their newly found mates to pay much attention to my strange behavior. I don't blame them. Love, when it finds you, is all-consuming. I've watched them sink into it, losing themselves in the quiet devotion of a bond I cannot claim for myself. And though I am truly happy for them, the sting of loneliness burrows deeper into my bones.
I don't know why, but tonight, it's unbearable.
Maybe that's why I ran—why I needed space, air, something to drown out the hollow ache in my chest.
The town of Forks is quiet in the distance, its few scattered lights glowing faintly through the dense fog that settles between the trees. I slow my pace as I approach the outskirts, an unfamiliar scent curling into my senses.
Vampires.
I inhale sharply, sorting through the layered aromas. Not just one. At least three.
Immediately, my mind sharpens, instincts kicking in. The air hums with their presence, a stark contrast against the usual solitude of the Pacific Northwest wilderness. My muscles tense as I consider my options.
I could turn back. Retreat now before they pick up my scent. Avoid the potential risk.
Or—I could follow it.
I glance toward the towering trees ahead, the moonlight barely cutting through the thick canopy above. The logical choice would be to leave. To slip away unnoticed and return to my brothers, let them know that strangers have entered our hunting grounds.
But something inside me whispers: Go.
The pull is stronger now, an invisible thread tugging me forward. Curiosity blooms in my chest. What if they aren't a threat? What if they're like us? If they've settled here, they could be allies. Friends, even. And God knows my family could use more of those.
For once, I ignore the rational voice in my head and step forward.
Feeling brave—or maybe reckless—I choose door number two.
And I run toward the unknown.
~ ~
I follow the scents deeper into town, my steps light and measured. Strange. It's uncommon for so many of our kind to gather here at once, especially this close to human civilization.
Something about it unsettles me.
The air shifts. The scents veer sharply to the right, mingling with the crisp, damp aroma of the forest. I adjust my course, weaving between towering pines and moss-covered boulders. The sound of rushing water grows louder, the rhythmic pulse of a nearby river filling the silence of the night. The scent of vampires thickens—close now.
I slow my pace as I break into a clearing.
Moonlight filters through the canopy above, illuminating the scene before me.
Five vampires stand in a tight V-formation, their postures guarded but composed. They exude power, presence.
I raise my palms in a universal gesture of peace, keeping my movements slow and deliberate. My posture remains strong—non-threatening, but not submissive. My kind don't bow easily. I stand tall, taking in my surroundings, but more importantly, I feel them.
Energy pulses in the air like a heartbeat. It thrums against my skin, invisible threads of power weaving between the vampires before me. I inhale deeply, letting it flow through me, absorbing it, deciphering it. Their emotions drift toward me like an unspoken language—caution, curiosity, something sharper laced beneath the surface.
I school my expression into indifference. Poker face. This isn't my first time encountering vampires, but it is the first time I've faced so many alone.
I stop forty-five yards away, keeping my distance, my senses sharp. I scan the group quickly—not lingering on any one figure. My focus is needed elsewhere.
A long second passes, the tension thick between us.
Then, one of them steps forward.
A man with golden-blonde hair.
The moment our eyes meet, the world shifts beneath me.
A force slams into my chest, knocking the breath from my lungs. It's not fear, not shock—it's something far deeper. Something that reaches into the very marrow of my bones and rearranges them.
Everything falls into place.
He is my sun, the gravitational force anchoring me to existence. The moment stretches, endless and unyielding. A hollow part of me, one I had learned to ignore, is suddenly full.
Another second passes. I nearly fall to my knees.
I finally found my mate! Atticus and Lukas are going to be so happy. I can't wait to tell them of my news.
He looks just as undone as I feel. His body tenses, muscles coiling like he's barely restraining himself. His feet shift forward instinctively, drawn to me the same way I am to him.
I take a step closer, my body aching to close the space between us. Mine.
He mirrors me, moving without thought.
"Carlisle."
The voice comes from his side, sharp but controlled. A warning.
The bronze-haired man beside him watches us carefully.
Carlisle.
His name is Carlisle.
The next moment sends everything into chaos.
I lunge forward, unable to resist the overwhelming force pulling me toward him.
Every fiber of my being screams for his touch, for the warmth of his presence against mine.
But then—I see her.
A woman with chestnut brown hair. Standing beside my mate.
And she's holding his hand.
The impact is immediate, like a physical blow to my chest. I stagger mid-stride, my mind scrambling to make sense of it. No. No, this isn't right. My instincts snarl against the sight, rejecting it outright.
She isn't just touching him—she's holding him back. Her fingers tighten around his hand, a silent reminder that she's there. That she belongs there.
A deep, primal growl rumbles from my chest before I can stop it.
Who does she think she is?
I lock onto her, my body rigid, coiled tight with fury. My heartstrings pull, twisting painfully in my chest, but there has to be an explanation. This can't be what it looks like.
Carlisle doesn't move, his expression unreadable, torn.
I don't know if I'm more confused or afraid.
The bronze-haired vampire steps forward, his palms raised in a show of peace. He subtly positions himself between me and Carlisle. His golden eyes flicker with something unreadable—wary, cautious, but not aggressive.
His lips part slightly, like he might speak, but he hesitates. Instead, his gaze flicks toward Carlisle, as if waiting for him to explain.
Carlisle, however, remains frozen in place.
And that unsettles me more than anything.
I take another step closer, my body moving of its own accord.
"Wait." Carlisle's voice is quiet but firm, and it stops me in my tracks.
His golden eyes flicker with something raw—something he's fighting to keep contained.
"You know what this is," Clara says, her voice barely above a whisper. She swallows, trying to keep her composure. "Don't you?"
Silence.
He does. Of course he does.
But he doesn't move toward her.
The woman beside Carlisle—her—tightens her grip on his hand. It's a small movement, but the possessiveness in it is unmistakable.
A quiet sound escapes my throat, more growl than breath.
Carlisle tenses. He takes a half-step toward me before catching himself. I see it in his eyes—whatever this is, whatever she is to him, he's struggling too.
The realization doesn't soothe me. It only sharpens the knife twisting in my gut.
My instincts take over. I do not care who this woman is—only that she is standing between Carlisle and I. My body moves before my mind catches up, closing the distance.
Carlisle finally reacts, breaking from his frozen state. He yanks his hand away from the woman and takes a step toward me, torn between the mate bond and whatever ties hold him back.
The others shift, bracing for a possible fight.
Esme looks between them, pain flickering in her eyes before she schools her expression into something unreadable.
"Carlisle," she says softly, searching his face. His hands clench at his sides, jaw tightening.
I feel it, the war inside of him. I don't understand it, but I knows one thing—he is mine.
The woman beside Carlisle—her—tightens her grip on his hand. It's a small movement, but the possessiveness in it is unmistakable.
A quiet sound escapes my throat, more growl than breath.
Carlisle tenses. He takes a half-step toward me before catching himself. I see it in his eyes—whatever this is, whatever she is to him, he's struggling too.
And then I see her for what she is.
She is afraid.
Her fingers clutch Carlisle's hand with white-knuckled desperation, not in ownership, but in fear. Her other hand trembles slightly at her side before she forces it still. Her breaths are shallow, barely there.
Carlisle's jaw tightens. He doesn't pull away from her immediately, and that hesitation twists something sharp inside me.
Esme.
That's her name. It drifts through my mind, unspoken but certain. I don't know how I know it, only that I do.
She needs him.
That's the reason he stays rooted to the ground, the reason his hands don't reach for me the way I ache for him to. He is bound to her by love—not like the bond that calls to us now. A different kind of devotion.
I shift my stance, taking a slow step forward. Esme flinches. It's barely noticeable, but Carlisle feels it. His grip on her tightens, his body angling ever so slightly between us.
I stop.
The others shift, sensing the mounting tension. The bronze-haired one—Edward—lingers nearby, his eyes flicking between us. He knows something.
Esme swallows, her lips parting as if to speak, but no sound comes. She turns slightly toward Carlisle, pressing against him as though seeking protection.
"Carlisle," she whispers again, and the way she says his name—pleading, fearful—makes my teeth clench.
Carlisle exhales sharply. A muscle feathers in his jaw. He is still looking at me, something agonized in his expression. Torn between the mate bond and the fragile woman he's been holding together.
My instincts rage at the sight. My mate is not hers to hold.
But I understand now.
He can't let her go.
"Can someone please explain to me what the fuck is going on here?"
The voice is deep, rough around the edges, and brimming with confusion. I jerk my gaze to the side, shocked I hadn't noticed him sooner.
The man is massive—easily over six feet of pure muscle, his broad frame making the others seem almost small in comparison. His dark, curly hair is cropped short, and his expression is a mix of bewilderment and wary amusement, like he just walked into a conversation he definitely wasn't prepared for.
"Emmett," Edward says sharply, cutting him off before he can say anything else. His voice holds a quiet authority, a warning wrapped in restraint.
Then Edward turns back to me, stepping closer, his golden eyes searching mine. There's calculation in his expression, but no hostility. If anything, I get the distinct feeling that he's treading carefully, as if sensing just how close I am to unraveling.
"I know you're confused," he says, his voice steady but measured. "I am too. But we need to stay calm. This isn't the place for a conversation like this." He pauses, his gaze flickering toward Carlisle for the briefest second before returning to me. "Will you come back with us?"
A storm brews inside me. The mate bond pulls at me like an anchor, like a force of nature I can't fight. My instincts scream for me to go to Carlisle, to tear him away from the woman still gripping his hand, to demand answers.
But I also know one thing for certain—I need to understand what the hell is happening before I act.
I exhale, forcing my fists to unclench.
"Yes."
Silence lingers for a beat too long, thick and unyielding. My muscles remain taut, my instincts screaming at me to stay close to Carlisle—to reach for him, claim him—but I force myself still.
Esme hasn't let go of him. I can feel her anxiety in the air, the way she clings to his presence like a lifeline. And Carlisle—he doesn't pull away.
It's a sharp contrast to the magnetic force between us, the way my entire being strains toward him. The mate bond is relentless, clawing at my resolve, but I swallow the snarl building in my throat. Not here. Not now.
Edward watches me carefully, calculating. His expression is unreadable, but I don't miss the way his stance remains wary, protective—not just of Esme, but of Carlisle too.
I take a slow breath, trying to steady myself.
"Yes," I say again, more firmly this time. "I'll come with you."
Carlisle's shoulders relax by the smallest fraction, but he still looks torn, his golden eyes flickering with something I can't quite place.
He nods once, briskly, as if confirming to himself that this is the right choice.
Esme's grip on him tightens.
Edward exhales, relieved. Emmett, still looking like he has no clue what the hell is happening, scratches the back of his head and mutters something under his breath.
"We should go," Edward says, his voice level but firm.
Carlisle hesitates for a fraction of a second before stepping back. Away from me.
It takes everything in me not to react.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my jacket and tilt my chin up, schooling my expression into indifference. "Lead the way."
Without another word, they turn. Carlisle lingers for the briefest of moments before following.
And even as I move to walk behind them, my entire body burns with the unbearable truth.
He is mine. But he isn't.