The night passed in restless silence. I sat by the window, watching the rain as it blurred the edges of the world, my mind caught in a storm of its own. Sleep didn't come—couldn't come—because every time I closed my eyes, I felt it: something vast and powerful stirring within me.
It wasn't just hunger anymore.
There was something deeper inside, a well of energy that churned and shifted, waiting for me to acknowledge it. But every time I tried to grasp it, it slipped through my fingers, elusive and untamed.
By morning, I was no closer to understanding it, but one thing was clear: whatever had brought me to this world hadn't just made me a vampire. It had made me something more.
The walk to school was uneventful, the rain reduced to a faint drizzle that clung to the air like mist. The streets of Forks were quiet, the familiar stillness of the town settling over me like a second skin.
But as I approached the school, that stillness cracked, replaced by a buzzing tension that hummed in the back of my mind.
I could feel them.
The Cullens were here, their presence brushing against my senses like a distant pulse. It wasn't just their beauty or their unnatural grace—it was something deeper, an energy that resonated with my own in a way I couldn't explain.
And then there was Alice.
Her presence was sharper than the others, more vibrant, like a beacon cutting through the fog. It drew me in, whether I wanted it to or not.
I clenched my fists, willing the sensation away.
The day passed slowly, each class blending into the next. I kept to myself, avoiding the curious stares and whispered speculation that seemed to follow me wherever I went.
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't avoid her.
Alice was everywhere—just out of reach, her golden eyes flicking toward me in passing, her smile lingering in my peripheral vision. It was as if she was waiting for something, testing me, trying to unravel the mystery of who I was.
And then there was the bond.
I could feel it now, a subtle pull in the pit of my stomach that grew stronger every time she was near. It wasn't overwhelming, but it was persistent, like a thread tying us together, tugging me toward her.
I fought against it with everything I had.
Whatever this was—this mate bond or imprinting or whatever you wanted to call it—I wasn't going to let it control me. I didn't ask for this, didn't want it, and I wasn't about to let some mystical connection dictate my life.
It wasn't until lunch that things came to a head.
I entered the cafeteria, scanning the room for an empty table, but before I could sit down, Alice appeared at my side.
"Mind if I join you?" she asked, her voice light but carrying that same undercurrent of curiosity that had been there yesterday.
I hesitated, my instincts screaming at me to say no, to walk away. But the pull of the bond made it almost impossible to refuse.
"Sure," I said finally, forcing a casual tone as I sat down.
She slid into the seat across from me, her movements fluid and graceful. For a moment, neither of us spoke, the silence stretching between us like a taut wire.
"So," she said, breaking the silence. "How's your first week going?"
"Fine," I replied, keeping my tone neutral.
Her lips quirked into a smile. "Just fine? You don't seem like someone who settles for 'fine.'"
I raised an eyebrow. "And what do I seem like?"
She tilted her head, studying me with that same unnerving intensity from the day before. "Like someone with secrets."
I froze, my mind scrambling for a response. But before I could say anything, she leaned back in her chair, her smile softening.
"Don't worry," she said. "I'm not here to pry. Just curious."
Her words didn't put me at ease. If anything, they only made me more suspicious.
"What about you?" I asked, deflecting the attention. "Your family seems… interesting."
Alice's smile widened, her golden eyes sparkling with amusement. "You could say that. We're a bit unconventional, but we make it work."
Her tone was light, but I could sense the guarded edge beneath her words. She was testing me, just as I was testing her.
The conversation moved to safer topics after that—classes, teachers, the quirks of small-town life. But the entire time, I couldn't shake the feeling that she was seeing more than I wanted her to, her sharp gaze cutting through my carefully constructed facade.
And then, just as I thought I might make it through lunch without incident, it happened.
I felt it again—that strange, restless energy stirring inside me, pushing against the edges of my control. My hands tightened around the edges of the table, and I forced myself to take a deep breath, trying to suppress the rising tide.
Alice's gaze flicked to my hands, her expression shifting ever so slightly.
"You're holding back," she said, her voice soft but certain.
I looked up sharply, my heart pounding. "What are you talking about?"
She leaned forward, her golden eyes locking onto mine. "You don't have to pretend with me, Jason. I know there's more to you than what you're letting on."
For a moment, I considered denying it, brushing her off with some excuse. But the bond between us—however much I tried to resist it—made it impossible to lie to her.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said finally, my voice tight.
Her lips curved into a knowing smile. "You will."
After lunch, I managed to avoid Alice for the rest of the day, but her words lingered in my mind, gnawing at me like the hunger I couldn't fully escape.
That night, as I sat in my apartment, staring at the blank wall in front of me, I felt the energy inside me stir again. It wasn't just hunger or power—it was something else entirely, something that demanded to be acknowledged.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensation, and for the first time, I let it in.
The energy surged through me, filling me with a warmth that was almost blinding. My mind raced, images and ideas flashing through my consciousness faster than I could process them.
And then, before I could stop myself, I reached out.
The air in front of me shimmered, and suddenly, there it was—a small object floating in the space between my hands.
It was a simple thing, a tiny, glowing sphere of light, but it was mine. I had created it, pulled it from the swirling chaos inside me and made it real.
For a moment, I just stared at it, awe and terror warring within me. This was power—pure, unbridled creation—and it was mine to command.
But as the glow began to fade, I realized something else: this wasn't just a gift. It was a responsibility, a weight that I would have to carry for as long as I was in this world.
And if the Cullens—or anyone else—found out what I could do, I wasn't sure if they'd see me as a friend or a threat.
The next day, I returned to school with a renewed sense of purpose. I wasn't just some pawn in this game—I had power, and I was going to figure out how to use it.
But as I walked into the cafeteria, my resolve faltered.
Alice was waiting for me, her expression unreadable as she stood by the table where we'd sat the day before.
"Morning, Jason," she said, her voice light but carrying that same unshakable certainty. "Care to join me?"
I hesitated, the bond tugging at me, pulling me toward her.
But this time, I resisted.
"Not today," I said, forcing a polite smile as I turned and walked away.
As I left the cafeteria, I could feel her eyes on me, her gaze burning into my back like a question waiting to be answered.