A thick, gray sky pressed down on the trees in Forks, feeling depressing and endless. Rain pelted against the windshield, making the forest blur into shadows. Most would hate this place, this solemn corner where the sun never touched. But something pulled at me, murmuring to the part that preferred darkness. "Remember who you are," the rain seemed to whisper. "Remember what you've seen."
Two and a half millennia. The thought made my hands clench the steering wheel tighter. Witnessing the rise and fall of countless empires, like sandcastles succumbing to the waves, they waited through the centuries. The town felt like a place where time itself was holding its breath, unsure of whether to move forward or stay frozen in the past. Memories of kings I had known and queens I had watched die swirled in my mind. Their names had faded into oblivion, like forgotten words in unread books.
Teaching history. I almost laughed out loud, the sound catching in my throat. They wanted experience - if they only knew. My eyes gleamed as I thought of all the secrets I could tell, all the truths hidden behind the sanitized words in their textbooks.
The rain came harder now, drumming against the car like angry fists. Something about this place felt different, electric. My skin tingled with it. Maybe here, in this rain-soaked nowhere, I could finally stop running. Maybe here...
I pulled up to the small house, nothing special with its worn walls and crooked steps. Perfect. My keen ears picked up heartbeats in the woods - deer, rabbits, the pulse of life that never stopped calling. I tensed, pushing back the familiar burn in my throat. Not now. Not here.
Tomorrow I'd become Mr. Potter, the quiet history teacher who never spoke of his past. But tonight was mine. I slipped into the forest like smoke, moving through shadows that welcomed me like old friends. The thirst whispered at the back of my throat, an old song I knew too well. My hands brushed wet leaves as I walked, remembering touches from centuries past. "Soon," I whispered to myself. "Soon this will feel like home."
Dawn crept in, the light touching the clouds. I'd spent the night still as stone, watching stars hide behind the gray. Now I moved through human motions - making the bed, straightening things that didn't need it. Minor lies I told myself about belonging.
Debussy floated through the quiet ghosts of Paris dancing in my head. The window let in cool air, thick with pine and rain. I made tea I wouldn't drink, going through the motions like a dance I'd learned too well. My reflection caught my eye - face too young for the years I claimed, but something in my features made people look away before they asked too many questions.
At 6:45, I grabbed my worn leather bag, fingers tracing familiar creases. Inside were just props - notebooks, pens, lesson plans burned into perfect memory. I moved through the house, each step measured, practiced.
The moment I stepped into the school, every muscle tensed. Under the usual smells - floor wax, chalk, human sweat - something else hit me. Something cold. Electric. Familiar. Vampires had been here.
My feet made deliberate noise against the floor as I walked, keeping up the human charade while my mind raced. Friends? Enemies? The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting strange shadows that seemed to watch me pass.
The front office appeared, marked by dying plants drooping in artificial light. An aging man looked up as I entered, his smile automatic but his eyes curious. I saw the moment of hesitation, that split second where humans sensed something different about me but couldn't name it.
"Mr. Potter, right?" His hand reached out, warm with life. "Welcome to Forks High."
I took his hand, making sure my grip wasn't too firm, my skin not too cold. Just another teacher starting another job. But my mind kept circling back to those other scents, that other presence. For the first time in centuries, I wasn't the only immortal hiding in plain sight. My lips twitched into a smile as I entered the hallway. Maybe this wouldn't be so boring after all.
The sun was just peeking through the windows when the man who called himself Mr. Greene led me into his office. He smiled but it didn't quite reach his eyes, like he'd practiced this greeting a hundred times before. I settled into the worn leather chair across from him, trying to look interested as he droned on about the school's values and expectations, but his words just washed over me. I'd heard this speech so many times it had lost all meaning.
"Well, let's go introduce you to the other teachers before the students arrive," he said, glancing at his watch like he had somewhere more important to be. "It's a small group, but they're welcoming enough."
I followed him down the narrow hallway. The school was just coming to life around us, distant voices and footsteps echoing off the walls, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. He paused at a door marked "Faculty Room" and held it open for me with a brief nod.
Inside, three teachers looked up from their steaming coffee mugs, their expressions a mix of curiosity and something else I couldn't quite read. The first teacher, Ms. Cope, had a kind face and warm eyes, but she gazed at me a little too long, as if she were surprised by my youth. Mr. Thatcher, an older man with a patient sort of look about him, just gave me a nod and a small smile. And then there was Mrs. Jennings, the youngest of the bunch. She shook my hand and smiled but it disappeared as quick as it came, like she wasn't sure what to make of me.
They asked me the usual questions, where I was from, what brought me to Forks. I gave them the answers I'd prepared, the truth but not the whole truth, just enough to satisfy their curiosity. I could tell they wanted to know more, but they didn't push it, just accepted what I told them and left it at that.
Before long they were back to talking among themselves, gossiping about this and that. I just faded into the background, watching and listening. Those strange scents from earlier were still there, faint but impossible to ignore, threading through the entire building like a whisper of something not quite right. I knew I'd have to deal with it eventually, but for now, I had a part to play.
The bell rang, sharp and loud, breaking me out of my thoughts. The other teachers left, but I hung back for a moment, steeling myself. Then I stepped out into the hallway, ready to take my place among the people of Forks, hiding in plain sight.
The students trickled into the classroom, their whispered conversations buzzing around me like static. I could smell their blood pulsing just beneath the surface. It was a familiar scent, one I'd learned to tune out a long time ago. But something about it now, mixed with the adrenaline of a new place and a new start, it made everything feel sharper somehow, more real.
I walked to the front of the room and the chatter died down. I could feel their eyes on me, questioning, appraising. I kept my movements slow and even as I set my bag down on the desk, the picture of calm even though my mind was racing. Just another unremarkable teacher. That's what they needed to see. And so the game began.
"Morning everyone," I said, my voice filling the room without me even trying. I let my eyes wander over the kids' faces, watching as they stopped talking and turned to me, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. Some girls were staring holes into me, whispering to each other, and I could almost hear what they were thinking.
"I'm Mr. Potter," I told them, trying to sound warm and friendly. "I'll be teaching you history this year." I let that sink in, watching as they got more and more curious. I could feel it coming off them in waves, and I couldn't help but smile, the smile that just comes instinctively after so many years.
"I'm new to Forks too," I added, letting them see a little of the real me. "I've been traveling for a long time, learning, studying. I just love history, you know? The way people change but also stay the same, no matter where or when they are." I looked around the room, my eyes landing on the ones who seemed most interested, letting them see that there was more to me than met the eye.
You could almost hear a pin drop. They were hanging on my every word, and I knew I had them, hook, line, and sinker. Then this girl in the front row puts her hand up, looking at me like she's trying to figure me out, "Isn't Forks kind of dull compared to everywhere else?"
The other kids laughed, but I just looked right back at her, letting her see the humor in my eyes, "You'd be astonished," I said, smooth as silk, "every town has its stories, Forks included," I paused for a second, and let the possibility hang heavy in the air. "And those stories," I went on, looking around at all of them, "are there for the finding, if you know where to look."
The silence was back, but it was different now, full of something, like they were hungry for more, leaning towards me without even knowing they were doing it. I leaned back in my chair, giving them a little smile, "Don't worry, I'm not gonna put you to sleep with boring lectures." some of them relaxed a bit at that, even smiling back. "History is like a conversation, between the past and the present. What we learn in here, it's gonna change the way we look at the world out there, so let's keep that conversation going, yeah? You might be amazed by how interesting this conversation can become.
While I was talking, I could hear the girls in the front whispering, still looking at me like I was something special, "There's just something about him," one of them said, blushing a little. "Maybe this class will be okay," I heard a boy mutter.
I got up and started handing out the syllabus, walking around the room, catching little bits of what they were saying to each other, and it was like a little rush each time, knowing the effect I was having on them without them even realizing it. "He can't be that much older than us," I heard one girl whisper, "too young to be a teacher."
When I got back to the front, I started telling them a story, about this ancient civilization, painting a picture with my words, so real they could almost reach out and touch it, and they were perfectly focused, hanging on every word, the room so quiet it was like we were the only ones in the world, but it was more than that, more than just paying attention, it was like they were in awe, fascinated by me in a way that went beyond the surface, something I'd gotten good at bringing out in people over the years.
The bell rang, breaking the spell, and they started getting their stuff together, not wanting to, looking back at me like they weren't ready for it to be over. I just stood there, watching them leave, feeling pretty damn good about myself, knowing that a part of me would be stuck in their heads long after they left.
Blending in, it's an art form, one I've gotten damn good at over the years, and yet, standing there in the empty classroom, I could feel something stirring, a feeling that Forks might have more surprises in store for me than I thought, and I was looking forward to uncovering them, one by one.
The whispers echoed through Forks High like a sweet poison. My presence left a trail of curiosity that burned through the halls, making my throat tighten with each passing student. Their scents - some floral, others honey-sweet - drifted past me as I moved with careful grace.
"My soul is different now," the thought came unbidden, making my dead heart ache with memories of warmth. The fluorescent lights cast shadows across youthful faces that turned to watch me, their eyes lingering a heartbeat too long. Some brave souls held their stares, trying to piece together what made their new history teacher so... different.
The vibrant pulse of blood, a tempting melody I'd long ago learned to silence, surrounded me. The faculty lounge provided a brief respite, its corner table becoming my haven of peace amidst the constant Forks rain, its silver streaks tracing down the windows.
"Remember who you are," a voice whispered in my head, ancient and familiar. My fingers traced the edges of my props - the brown paper bag, creased, the apple red as fresh blood, the sandwich I'd never taste. All part of this careful dance of humanity.
Ms. Cope's voice carried across the room like honey dripping from a spoon: "The students..." she leaned close to Mrs. Jennings, wonder threading through her words, "they're spellbound. Like he's weaving magic instead of teaching history."
A flash of gold caught my eye as Mrs. Jennings studied me, curiosity burning behind her professional mask. "There's something about him. The way he makes the past feel..." she hesitated, searching for words that wouldn't come.
I allowed myself the smallest of smiles, each movement calculated with decades of practice. The charm had to be subtle - a warm current beneath still waters, drawing them in while their minds scrambled to explain away the impossible that stood before them.
The bell shattered my careful composure like crystal.
Rising with fluid grace, I straightened my sleeves when electricity shot through my dead veins. A presence wound through the hallways ahead, distinct as a fingerprint, yet familiar as an old wound. Earth and frost mixed with raw power, contained but unmistakable. Another vampire. Here.
My muscles coiled tight beneath my pressed shirt, ready to spring. The scent grew stronger with each step - pine needle and winter storms wrapped around a core of power that set my teeth on edge. Recognition clawed at my mind, memories trying to surface through decades of careful restraint.
Fire danced in my chest where my heart once beat. Students parted before me like water, unaware of the predators walking among them. For now, I was still their mysterious new teacher, my cold skin and strange eyes masked by generations of practice at this masquerade.
The scent sparked something deep inside, sending my thoughts into a hazy descent of possibilities. The air crackled with tension as I followed that presence, each step bringing me closer to a confrontation that would shatter my constructed world. My hand trembled as I reached for the classroom door, knowing that on the other side, destiny waited with teeth bared and ancient power stirring.
The silence before the storm stretched thin as paper, ready to tear at the slightest touch. There he was, still as death in the back of my classroom. His eyes burned into me, dark with hunger and curiosity. The other students shuffled and whispered, their warm blood singing to me, but my attention stayed fixed on him. He sat, almost too, but his eyes gave him away - sharp, predatory, watching my every move.
"Good afternoon," I kept my voice steady, though power thrummed between us like electricity. I met his gaze for just a heartbeat longer than necessary. Show no fear. Show no recognition.
Then it came - the subtle brush against my mind, like smoke trying to slip through cracks. Mind reader. My shields snapped up, an instinct as natural as breathing. I'd faced his kind before, vampires who thought they could slip into others' thoughts like thieves in the night. But my gift was older, stronger - a wall of pure silence that could turn their powers back on them.
The presence withdrew as quickly as it came. I arranged my materials with careful precision, every movement measured while my senses stayed alert to his presence. The surrounding humans did not know they sat between two predators, no clue about the silent battle of wills taking place.
Well, I thought as I began the lesson, keeping my face neutral, Forks just got much more interesting.
The name matching the seat on my roster- Edward Cullen meant nothing to me. I'd learned long ago to let such things slide past like water. If he suspected anything, he would find only what I showed - a constructed image of unremarkable humanity.
Every heartbeat in the room sang to me, a symphony I'd learned to conduct rather than consume. Control the thirst first, my mind calculated as I taught. Regulate breathing - one inhales every 43 seconds, keeping the burn manageable. Jessica's perfume mixed with Mike's anxiety sweat made my throat flame, but I'd mastered this dance centuries ago.
A familiar voice whispered in my head, "You still have a soul." I pushed it away, focusing on the precise movements that kept my predator nature hidden. Blood type analysis: two A positive in the front row, B negative by the window - adjust standing position three degrees to minimize scent exposure.
I pitched my voice at a calculated 47 decibel, making it sound human and warm enough to draw listeners in, but not so captivating that they'd be enthralled. I began monitoring my voice. "The ancient world," I said, observing Edward's presence. I controlled every movement, even as my vampire senses tracked the fifteen heartbeats, twelve blood types, and ninety-four fidgets of my students, to appear human.
The burn in my throat pulsed with each heartbeat, but I'd learned to weave it into my performance. Let the thirst sharpen my focus, use the predator's instincts to read micro-expressions and adjust my teaching. Anna's confusion registered in her elevated pulse - shift teaching approach 2.3 degrees toward visual demonstration.
Tyler's challenge came with a spike of adrenaline that made his blood sing. The monster in me calculated the 0.4 seconds it would take to silence that challenge forever, even as the teacher in me prepared the mediocre response. Centuries of practice kept both impulses locked behind careful walls of control.
"Historical analysis," I replied, stumbling over 'analysis' while tracking Edward's subtle mental probe. I crafted my shields to be more than barriers, turning them into mirrors that reflected manufactured thoughts, layered with just enough truth to seem real. Concern about lesson plans, coffee cravings, human worries. All calculated for the microsecond.
The thirst burned deeper as the afternoon heat raised their temperatures by 0.3 degrees. Adjust ventilation pattern, recalculate scent dispersal, maintain 1.87 seconds eye contact to avoid triggering predator responses. My hands moved with precise human clumsiness, dropping a paper every 7.4 minutes, fidgeting with my tie when their attention wavered.
But beneath the calculations, beneath the perfect predator's camouflage, an ache lingered no amount of practice could suppress. Centuries of playing human left marks even on a vampire's soul. Sometimes, in moments between the careful measurements and precise pretense, I felt the weight of all the connections I could never make.
Monitor rising blood pressure in row three, adjust tone to reduce stress response, maintain non-threatening posture. The checklist continued. Each item honed by years of hunting turned to pedagogy. I'd learned to use my predator's instincts differently, tracking engagement instead of prey, hunting for understanding instead of blood.
Edward's presence hummed at the edge of my awareness, but I kept my thoughts focused on the mundane. Let him see the careful fabrication of an ordinary life - coffee cups, grading worries, wrinkled shirts. I chose each detail to construct the perfect camouflage of unremarkable humanity.
The monster in me tracked every racing pulse, every quickened breath, even as the teacher guided them through measured mediocrity. This was my true hunt now - the perfect balance of engaging enough to teach but forgettable enough to survive.
You never see the perfect predator, I thought as I wrote on the board with imperfect handwriting, because they've learned to hunt for something more than blood.
The loneliness echoed beneath every calculation, a quiet ache behind the careful facade. But I'd learned long ago - survival meant being the teacher they'd remember with vague fondness, not the vampire they'd never fear.
"A soul for a soul," whispered the familiar voice as I slipped through my human interactions. The thirst clawed at my throat - a thousand years of hunger held in perfect check while Edward's presence stirred memories of darker times. A young immortal, still wearing his power like new armor, unaware that something far more dangerous taught his history class.
My dead heart ached with the weight of centuries as Jessica's pulse fluttered beneath delicate skin. Every instinct screamed to hunt, to claim, to rule this territory as vampires once did. Instead, I let my hands tremble, a masterpiece of deception, crafted from millennia of studying prey.
"Remember your purpose," the ancient voice steadied me as Edward's mind brushed against my shields. I fed him constructed thoughts, layered like silk over steel - lesson plans, coffee cravings, the mild anxieties of a new teacher trying to connect with his students. Behind those gentle deceptions, the predator in me calculated every heartbeat, every warm breath that filled my classroom.
Blood sang through young veins all around us, but I wore my mask of humanity like a second skin. Each imperfect gesture calculated, every minor stumble a work of art. I'd spent centuries perfecting this performance - not just hiding my immortal nature, but making it impossible to imagine I'd ever been anything but human.
"Share your stories." I kept my voice warm but weak, stripped of the command that once made armies kneel. Power thrummed beneath my skin, begging to be unleashed, to show this young one what true immortal strength felt like. Instead, I fumbled with my papers, letting Edward see the fabricated tremors of human fatigue.
Loneliness pierced through my perfect control for just a heartbeat. How long since I'd spoken with another of our kind? How many centuries of hiding, of crafting masks so perfect they became prisons? But survival meant solitude - the ancient ones had learned that lesson in blood and fire.
Their mortal voices washed over me like echoes of countless pasts, each fragile life burning bright against my endless night. Stay in control, my instincts urged as I gathered their stories, measuring heartbeats against centuries of hidden knowledge. Fifteen young pulses, each one carrying dreams that sparkled against the vast darkness of time.
Jessica's blood painted her cheeks rose-pink as she spoke of leaving Forks, her pulse quickening with nervous hope. I maintained my mask of gentle interest while the predator in me tracked every flutter of her heart. Behind walls built from millennia of deception, I'd heard thousands of such dreams - all faded now, like photographs left in sunlight.
The weight of ages pressed against my dead heart as I crafted each response with perfect imperfection. Edward remained oblivious to his corner, still searching for prey when an ancient hunter stood before him. Such beautiful irony - the young immortal studying the very predator he sought to detect.
Their whispered hopes painted portraits of mortal desires - delicate as morning frost, precious as spilled wine. I collected each confession, wrapping them in layers of fabricated emotion that could deceive even vampire senses. The monster in me savored this sophisticated hunt - not for blood, but for trust given.
"Philosophy interests me," Edward offered, his tone careful but carrying that edge of immortal grace he hadn't yet learned to mask. I responded with just the right amount of academic enthusiasm, while the ancient predator in me purred at how completely my deception fooled him.
We are the oldest hunters, my instincts whispered as I maintained my gentle teacher's smile. We learned to hide among our prey so well we became their protectors, their guides, their trusted friends. The perfect hunt wasn't for blood anymore - it was this endless dance of appearing a unremarkable human.
Behind my walls of careful thoughts and fabricated memories, the weight of ages pressed against my dead heart. The loneliness of perfect deception, the bitter triumph of fooling even my kind, the endless vigilance that kept me alive while so many ancient ones had fallen to pride or carelessness.
"Thank you for sharing," my voice carried crafted warmth, each word stripped of the power that once bent kingdoms. Let Edward sense only human authority, never glimpsing the weight of centuries beneath. "History lives in moments like these." In all the moments I can never share, all the lives I've watched fade into shadow.
The perfect predator, I reminded myself as he entered with his human smile, survives by becoming what no one remembers to fear - the patient teacher, the quiet guide, the keeper of other people's stories. And in this elegant deception, I had found a different immortality.
The fire in my throat blazed as Tyler's adrenaline spiked the air. I watched Edward fight his thirst, sympathy warring with ancient amusement. So young, I thought behind my walls of deception, still believing control means constant struggle. The real art was in making the struggle itself invisible, turning predatory grace into mortal clumsiness so convincing it fooled even our own kind.
Edward's presence stirred something deeper than thirst - a hunger for recognition, for someone to see past the lies. But that way led to death. I'd watched covens fall, watched proud immortals burn because they forgot the primary law of survival: the perfect predator is the one no one believes exists.
The afternoon light painted shadows I failed to avoid, each human imperfection another thread in my tapestry of deception. My throat burned as the classroom heat raised the temperature of fifteen young pulses by precious degrees.
The bell rang as silence settled over the room like twilight. Loneliness clawed at my perfect control - the ache of endless years spent watching, forever apart, always hidden behind masks so flawless they became chains. Perhaps here... but experience crushed hope before it could bloom. Survival demanded solitude.
I remained at my desk, a predator playing a scholarly distraction. Every secret they'd shared filed away with immortal precision, each nuance preserved in perfect clarity. These fragments of humanity - I hoarded them like precious gems, holding them against the hollow echo of endless existence.
The borrowed glasses weighed heavy as I adjusted them, another thread in my tapestry of lies. My fingers moved with calculated clumsiness, masking the liquid grace that could betray me to immortal eyes. Decades of practice had deceived instinctive - survival meant never revealing the shadow beneath the smile.
Mr. Greene's approaching heartbeat broke through my contemplation. I arranged my features into a mild welcome, letting him see nothing but a thoughtful teacher lost in lesson plans. His aging blood called, but centuries had taught me to hunger for different prizes - knowledge, connection, the brief light of understanding in inexperienced eyes.
Mr. Greene's heartbeat filled the quiet room, steady and unsuspecting, as he smiled at me. Every movement I made was a careful calculation - the slight tilt of my head, the measured warmth in my return smile, the way I let weariness ghost across my features.
"Not overwhelming," I kept my voice soft, human-gentle. Years of practice deceived effortless, each gesture imperfect. Smelling his aging blood carried traces of coffee and concern, but centuries had dulled such temptations to background noise.
His pulse quickened with pride as he spoke of my impact. "You've made quite the impression." I tracked the minute changes in his scent, his posture, while maintaining my mask of mild pleasure at the praise. The monster in me purred at how completely my camouflage had worked - not just fooling students, but deceiving even those tasked with watching over them.
"Different," I echoed, tasting lies and truth together on my tongue. History lived differently when you'd walked through its ages, but that wasn't something I could share. Instead, I crafted a response that felt genuine while revealing nothing: "It's about making connections."
Twilight painted shadows through the windows, and I felt the familiar shift in my predator's senses as day bled into dusk. Hunting time, my body whispered, but I remained still, playing the role of tired teacher with meticulous care.
"These moments matter," I spoke with calculated passion, adjusting my unnecessary glasses. The weight of centuries pressed against my dead heart as I thought of all the moments I'd witnessed, all the lives I'd watched, unfold and fade. "If they carry just one thing forward..."
Mr. Greene's expression softened, his guard dropping. The perfect predator's greatest triumph - when prey offers trust. "You'll be valuable to us," he said, echoing words I'd heard in a thousand schools across time.
The drive home cut through the darkness as my immortal eyes pierced. Rain traced patterns on the windshield while memories traced patterns in my mind. Each curve in the road measured against centuries of similar journeys, each moment of solitude embraced like an old friend.
My house emerged from the shadows, designed to be forgotten as soon as seen. Perfect camouflage wasn't about hiding - it was about being what everyone expected to see. Just a teacher's modest home, nothing to draw attention or spark memories.
Peace whispered through the shadows, offering its familiar temptation. But peace was a luxury an immortal couldn't afford. Better to remain alert, ready, the perfect predator hidden behind the perfect disguise.
Yet something about Forks pulled at my ancient instincts. Perhaps here, in this rain-soaked corner of the world, I might find... I let the thought fade unfinished. Hope was more dangerous than any hunter.
The night settled around me, filled with sounds no human ear could catch. In this moment of solitude, I was neither teacher nor predator, but something between - an ancient creature playing at mortal life, finding purpose in the gentle deception.
The fabric of my coat whispered against marble skin as I hung it with calculated human clumsiness. Every movement a performance, even in solitude - the slight hesitation before loosening my tie, the measured pace of footsteps that could have crossed the house in milliseconds.
My kitchen filled with mortal scents as I prepared a meal I'd never taste. The knife danced through vegetables with precise imperfection, slower than vampire speed would allow. Steam rose like memories of breath, each curl reminding me of warmth I'd lost centuries ago. The ritual calmed a part of me, a remnant of humanity that I was unwilling to relinquish.
The sizzle of oil masked the perfect silence of my dead heart. How strange, this comfort in playing human when no audience watched. Yet these minor acts grounded me, kept me tethered to the world of warmth and life I guarded .
Hot water cascaded over ice-cold skin, another luxury I maintained for the sake of remembering. Over a thousand years, and still I found peace in these borrowed moments of mortal comfort. Each drop tracked paths across scars that would never fade. Marks of ages lived in shadow and silence.
My study welcomed me with the musty perfume of ancient leather and aging paper. Books lined the walls - not props, but treasures collected across centuries. Some were so old their pages crumbled at mortal touch, others were bound but carrying wisdom from ages past. Each one a piece of history I'd witnessed, stories I could never share.
The day's work spread before me, assignments crafted with predatory precision. Multiple-choice questions layered with subtle traps, designed to hunt for minds sharp enough to see beyond the obvious. My fingers traced the papers, each one carrying faint traces of human scents - fear, confidence, confusion.
Then his paper caught my attention. Edward Cullen.
The young vampire's answers carried a different weight, each word chosen with immortal care. He saw through my laid traps, his mind moving with the grace of our kind even on paper. But why? Why would one of us choose this path - surrounded by warm blood and beating hearts, playing at being prey?
Memories stirred of others I'd known, vampires who tried to walk among humans. Most had failed, their nature betraying them in moments of weakness. Some had burned for their mistakes, others had disappeared into legend and nightmare.
The question nagged at my predator's instincts. Was this a self-imposed challenge? Some private penance? Or did darker purpose lurk beneath his careful performance of humanity? I'd watched too many of our kind destroy themselves with such games.
My reflection ghosted in the window glass - the perfect mask of humanity hiding centuries of careful hunting. Perhaps that's what drew my attention to young Edward. In him, I saw a shadow of my own dangerous dance, another immortal trying to find meaning beyond the endless thirst.
But youth made for careless hunters, and mistakes in our world carried prices and paid in death.
Something about the new teacher made my skin prickle with unnatural awareness. His thoughts remained blank when I reached for them - not the usual chaotic stream of human consciousness, but perfect stillness. Like touching smoke.
The burn in my throat flared as Jessica's blood perfumed the air with desire, her thoughts a whirlwind of attraction toward Mr. Potter. But my attention stayed fixed on his too-perfect movements. Something's wrong, my predator instincts whispered. Even among humans who resisted my gift, I'd never encountered a mind ...perfect.
My fingers gripped the desk edge as I watched him write on the board. Each gesture calculated, precise - yet somehow wrong. Like looking at a reflection that didn't quite match its source. The monster in me tensed, recognizing something it couldn't quite name.
Smelling fifteen warm pulses filled the room, mixing with the dry chalk, dust and paper. But under it all, something was missing. Mr. Potter had no scent at all. My dead heart would have raced if it could. In a century of walking among humans, I'd never encountered this... absence.
"Edward Cullen," he called my name with perfect inflection, his dark eyes meeting mine across the classroom. For a heartbeat that never came, power crackled between us like lightning before a storm. I reached for his thoughts again, pressing harder this time, but found only constructed walls.
Blood sang in the veins around us as students shifted in their seats. Their thoughts washed over me in familiar waves - Mike's jealousy, Jessica's infatuation, Angela's quiet curiosity. But the space where his mind only showed basic thoughts.
His voice carried strange undertones as he spoke of ancient history, like he was holding back something vast and terrible. Each word seemed chosen with inhuman care, yet he played his role flawlessly. Too flawlessly. The predator in me recognized a more sophisticated hunter, though I couldn't understand how.
"Philosophy interests me," I answered his question, watching for any reaction. A faint smile touched his lips, gone too quick for human eyes to catch. Was that amusement? Recognition?
The afternoon light shifted through windows, but he moved through the sunbeams with practiced ease. Never quite letting them touch his skin, yet making it seem natural. My enhanced vision caught the fluid grace he almost hid.
What was he? I would have recognized one of my kind? Yet something ancient lurked behind those mild eyes. Something that knew how to hide in plain sight.
The monster in me coiled tight, ready for threat or flight. But he continued teaching, his performance so perfect it had to be false. He's hunting something, I realized with growing unease. But what?
As class ended, his gaze met mine once more. In that moment, I felt the weight of ages press against my mind - then nothing but those constructed thoughts. He was more than he seemed, this strange creature playing at humanity.
And for the first time in decades, I felt like prey.
The drive home filled with Alice's troubled thoughts as they merged with my unease. Her mind kept flickering back to fragmented visions of Mr. Potter - each one showing him watching her, as if he knew when she was looking.
"Edward," Alice's voice trembled. "Every time I try to see him... he's already seeing me. Just standing there, waiting, like he knows." Her hands twisted in her lap, a human gesture she'd never quite lost. "I've never had my visions respond like this."
"Show me," I whispered, letting her thoughts flood into mine. The images sent chills down my spine - Mr. Potter in his classroom, looking at future-Alice's viewpoint with calm, knowing eyes. Another vision: him grading papers, glancing up when she tried to see. Each glimpse felt deliberate, choreographed.
Emmett caught our exchange in the rearview mirror. "You two look like you've seen a ghost." His attempt at humor fell flat against the weight of our shared disquiet.
My mind circled back to history class, to that arranged surface of thoughts he'd presented. Too neat, too organized - like a stage set for my benefit. And now Alice's visions showed him expecting her gift, responding before she even looked.
The Cullen house emerged through the mist, but its familiar comfort felt hollow against this new threat. A creature that could manipulate both our gifts, making us see what he wanted us to see. The predator in me recognized a superior hunter, though I couldn't understand how.
"He's playing with us," Alice murmured as we parked. Her next vision hit us both - Mr. Potter in tomorrow's class, a faint smile touching his lips as he glanced toward where she would try to watch. "But why? What does he want?"
Esme's concerned thoughts reached us before we entered. I forced a calm expression, but Alice's mind raced with new attempts to see our strange teacher. Each time, he acknowledged her presence with that same knowing look.
"How was school?" she asked, but I could focus on crafting a normal response. The sense of falling into that crafted mind still clung to me like a cold mist.
The laptop offered no answers - just that perfect background. My fingers hovered over the keys as Alice perched nearby, both of us caught in the unsettling knowledge that somewhere in Forks, Mr. Potter knew what we were doing.
"Carlisle needs to know," Alice whispered. "Whatever he is... he's been expecting us."
The truth of her words settled like ice in my veins. Every normal interaction now felt like moves in a game we didn't know we were playing. Facing an opponent who was prepared for us before we were even aware of their presence.
The piano keys felt cold under my fingers as I tried to lose myself in music, but even Esme's favorite melody couldn't drown out my racing thoughts. Below, my family's minds hummed with their usual evening activities, none sharing my growing unease.
"You're overthinking this," Rosalie's thoughts cut through my brooding. Her perfect features arranged in familiar annoyance as she filed her nails. "He's just another boring human teacher. God, Edward, not everyone's out to get us."
But Alice's eyes met mine across the living room, her visions still showing that same unnerving scene - Mr. Potter pausing mid-lecture, looking at her future sight with knowing eyes. Everything too precise, too calculated.
Perhaps you're just unused to not hearing someone, Esme's gentle mental voice suggested as she arranged flowers none of us needed. Her motherly concern wrapped around me like a warm blanket, but even that couldn't ease the cold certainty in my dead heart.
"Look, bro," Emmett dropped onto the couch, making the frame creak. "So what if he thinks about coffee and lesson plans? Sounds like what a teacher should think about." His thoughts painted simple pictures - just another human, nothing special.
I wanted to explain how those thoughts felt constructed, arranged like furniture in a show home. How Alice's visions caught him watching her through time itself. But my family's minds reflected only mild concern for my "paranoia."
"Carlisle," I tried when he returned from the hospital, his thoughts still lingering on patients and procedures. "The new history teacher at school-"
"New teacher?" Carlisle's mind shifted with genuine interest. "I haven't had the pleasure yet. Though the hospital staff mentioned Forks High hired someone impressive for the history department." His thoughts drifted to scheduling a proper introduction, always mindful of maintaining our careful social connections.
"He's... different." I struggled to find words that wouldn't sound paranoid. "There's something about the way his mind works- "
"Perhaps it's good for you to encounter minds that challenge your gift," Carlisle mused, his thoughts radiating gentle reassurance. "Not everyone's mind works the same way, son. We've discussed this before."
The frustration choked me. They couldn't see it - how his perfection circled past normal into wrong. How those arranged thoughts felt like breadcrumbs laid out to lead me somewhere.
"Maybe you should hunt," Rosalie suggested, her mental tone dripping with disdain. "You're getting weird about this."
Only Alice remained troubled, her visions continuing their strange dance with our too-perfect teacher. Each glimpse showing him aware, waiting, watching her watch him. But even her gift couldn't convince the others something was wrong.
Then another vision hit Alice, her hand clutching my arm with crushing force. Through her mind, I watched the scene unfold with growing unease.
Mr. Potter stood at his desk after class tomorrow, writing in what appeared to be a lesson planner. His movements were too precise, too deliberate. Then he paused, looked up into Alice's viewpoint, and smiled. The pen continued moving across the paper, but now he angled it just enough to let future-Alice read:
"Curiosity is natural for your kind, Alice and Edward. But some predators are best left undiscovered."
The vision shattered like glass, leaving Alice trembling beside me. "Edward," her thoughts screamed in panic. "He knew. He knew I would look. He knew you would see it through me."
"Impossible," I thought, though the monster in me recognized the elegant threat beneath those chosen words. No one could manipulate Alice's visions like that - write messages through time itself.
"What did you see?" Jasper asked, feeling Alice's fear spike. He moved toward us, concerned radiating from his thoughts.
But how could we explain? That our human teacher had just written a warning through Alice's gift? That he'd addressed us both, knowing I would watch through her mind?
"Nothing clear," Alice lied, but her thoughts raced with implications. He's playing with us, Edward. Showing us what he wants us to see. Even my visions... they're just another path for his messages.
My dead heart would have raced if it could. The predator in me recognized the elegant sophistication of his move - using Alice's own gift to deliver his warning, proving his power while maintaining perfect deniability.
"Just a headache," Alice assured Jasper with a weak smile. But her mind replayed those written words over and over: some predators are best left undiscovered.
We sat in shared silence while our family's thoughts swirled with mild concern for us. Both of us knowing that somewhere in Forks, Mr. Potter had just changed the rules of a game we hadn't known we were playing.
And he was winning.
I retreated to my room, the sounds of my family's unconcerned thoughts following me up the stairs. They saw only what they expected to see - a normal human teacher going about his normal human life.
But I'd felt that power humming beneath his constructed surface. Their eyes, wells of sorrow, reflected the weight of centuries, leaving me feeling insignificant. Whatever Mr. Potter was, normal had nothing to do with it.
Now I just had to prove it.
Their voices echoed in my consciousness, each worried whisper about me stirring memories I'd rather forget. Young Edward's gift - so similar to the first vampire mind I'd encountered centuries ago. That one hadn't survived our meeting, his power becoming mine in a way that still haunted my dreams, if vampires could dream.
My fingers traced the ancient scars hidden beneath my sleeve, each mark a reminder of powers taken, abilities absorbed through blood and death. The ability to sense conversations about myself had come from a vampire in Salem - her last curse becoming my eternal blessing. The power to craft perfect illusions, stolen from an ancient vampire in Venice who'd trusted me too much.
Alice's gift reached out again, and I let her see what I wished. Her visions reminded me of a small vampire in Paris, 1742, whose ability to see the future had fascinated me. She'd begged at the end, understanding too late what I was. That guilt still burned, even after all these years.
"Something ancient watches us," her words drifted to me, making my dead heart ache with bitter truth. If only they knew how ancient, how many lives I'd ended to become what I am. Each power taken had seemed necessary at the time - survival in a world where vampires hunted their own kind.
The monster in me purred at their confusion, but the man I'd become whispered its regrets. I remember each face, each gift that became mine through blood and betrayal. The weight of centuries pressed down as their voices filled my study - young immortals who did not know the price of true power.
Tomorrow I would continue my careful dance of revelation and concealment. Let them see just enough to fear, not enough to run. Perhaps this time could be different. Perhaps these young ones could learn with no death, without adding their gifts to my collection through violence.
My reflection ghosted in the window - a face unchanged since my first death, though the eyes held the weight of a thousand stolen powers. Each ability I'd taken had seemed justified when I took it. Protection. Survival. Power. The excuses rang hollow now.
Edward's determination to uncover my nature tugged at old memories. Another mind reader, another time, another death I'd justified as necessary. The taste of gifted blood still haunted me - sweeter, more potent, filled with power that became mine even as I damned myself further.
Their voices faded as the night deepened, but the connection remained. Every mention of my name was another thread connecting me to their lives, their fears. I'd grown too powerful, acquired too many abilities to ever hide. Now I could only hope to guide these young ones away from the fatal curiosity that had led so many others to their deaths.
Let this time be different, I thought as their whispers painted pictures of tomorrow's plans. Let me be teacher rather than executioner, guide rather than destroyer. The predator in me hungered for their gifts - Edward's mind reading would complement my own stolen abilities, Alice's visions would add new depths to my power. But I'd grown weary of taking life, of adding new regrets to my ancient burden.
"The perfect predator," I whispered to the shadows, "is the one who learns to resist the hunt."
Yet their voices pulled at my consciousness, sweet with possibility. Every power I'd stolen had made the next one easier to take, more tempting to add to my collection. Fighting that urge had become its own kind of eternal struggle.
My fingers traced the spines of books older than their entire bloodline, each one containing secrets of abilities long lost to time. Would these young vampires be students or victims? Could I teach them to fear enough to survive without being forced to take their gifts for my own?
The night pressed close as I listened to their plans, hoping they would prove wise enough to heed my warnings. For their sake, and for what remained of my damned soul.