The next twenty-four hours stretched like cheap taffy, thin and full of an anxious, sugary dread. Bella vibrated with a nervous energy that threatened to power a small, clumsy generator. She changed her outfit at least five times, muttering about looking "too human" or "not human enough," which, frankly, didn't make a lick of sense even to my supernaturally enhanced brain.
"Relax, Bells," I said, leaning against her doorframe as she agonized over a blue sweater versus a grey one. My own preparations had involved ensuring my favorite pair of dark sunglasses were spotless and mentally rehearsing polite refusals for second helpings of whatever inedible fare the Cullens were planning to serve. "It's dinner, not an audition for 'America's Next Top Human Sacrifice.' Wear whatever doesn't have a ketchup stain on it."
"This isn't funny, Alex!" she wailed, holding up both sweaters like they were evidence in a capital crime. "What if I spill something? What if I say something stupid? What if they smell my fear?"
"They probably will," I said, pushing my sunglasses up my nose. "You reek of it. Along with lavender soap and low-grade panic. Just try to breathe. And if anyone asks, your fear-smell is a new artisanal perfume. Very niche."
She threw the grey sweater at me. I caught it with a vampiric snatch that would have looked utterly bizarre if she'd been paying attention. "You're impossible!"
"And you're going to be late if you don't pick one," I countered, tossing it back. "Besides, I'm the one who should be worried. I'm the one who's certifiably not normal. You're just… Bella." That earned me a glare, but it also seemed to deflate some of her anxiety. Good. One panicking Swan was enough.
The drive to the Cullen residence, out past the city limits where the houses became grander and more isolated, was thick with unspoken tension. Bella's ancient truck rumbled along, a stark contrast to the sleek, silent vehicles we were likely to encounter. My own senses were on high alert, cataloging every scent, every sound, every shift in the atmosphere. The Thirst, though recently sated, was a low thrumming hum beneath my skin, a reminder of what I was, even as I prepared to play the part of Alex Swan, vaguely concerned older brother.
The Cullen house wasn't what I expected. Alex Swan's memories had nothing on it, and the books hadn't done it justice. It wasn't some gothic, bat-infested mansion. It was a stunning piece of modern architecture, all clean lines, gleaming wood, and vast expanses of glass, nestled seamlessly into the forest. It looked less like a vampire lair and more like something out of a high-end design magazine. It was beautiful, imposing, and utterly, terrifyingly perfect. It made our little house on the edge of town feel like a garden shed.
"Wow," Bella breathed, her voice barely audible as we pulled into the driveway, dwarfed by Emmett's massive Jeep and Rosalie's gleaming red convertible.
"Understatement of the year," I muttered, killing the engine. The place practically radiated wealth and… otherness. I could already smell them, a complex bouquet of cold stone, faint, cloying sweetness that was their venom, and individual, fainter notes that distinguished each of them. And overriding it all for me, that unique, almost electric scent of winter air and old parchment that was distinctly Astrid. She was here. Of course, she was.
Alice was at the door before we even got out of the truck, a blur of motion and beaming smiles. "You made it! We were so excited!"
Her enthusiasm was infectious, yet felt slightly… manufactured. Like a stage performance. Behind her, Esme Cullen emerged, her expression warm and genuinely welcoming. She was beautiful, with caramel-colored hair and a gentle face that radiated kindness – a stark contrast to the predatory aura of her 'children'.
"Bella, Alex, welcome," Esme said, her voice soft and melodic. "Please, come in. Carlisle is looking forward to meeting you."
The interior was even more breathtaking than the exterior. An open-plan living space with a wall of windows looked out onto the dense forest, blurring the lines between inside and out. The furniture was elegant, modern, and undoubtedly cost more than Charlie's annual salary. It was… sterile. Beautiful, but sterile. Like a museum exhibit on 'How the Rich Undead Live.'
Carlisle Cullen emerged from a hallway, extending a hand. He was younger-looking than I'd expected, with blond hair and a kind, intelligent face. His golden eyes held a weariness that spoke of centuries, but also a genuine warmth. He looked like a doctor, a healer. It was hard to reconcile this man with the creature of the night he undoubtedly was.
"Alex, Bella, it's a pleasure to finally meet you properly," he said, his handshake firm and cool. "Charlie speaks highly of you, Alex."
"He's prone to exaggeration, Dr. Cullen," I said, forcing a polite smile. My senses were on fire. The sheer concentration of Cold Ones in one enclosed space was almost overwhelming. Their scent, their stillness, the faint hum of their barely contained power. It was like standing in a room full of live wires.
Emmett lumbered in, grinning. "Hey, guys! Glad you could make it. Don't worry, we don't bite… much." He winked. Rosalie trailed behind him, looking like a disgruntled goddess forced to associate with mortals. She offered a curt nod and immediately found something fascinating to examine on the far side of the room. Jasper stood near the fireplace, his posture ramrod straight, his golden eyes flicking between Bella and me, assessing, always assessing. His scent was sharper than the others, tinged with something that felt like old pain and a constant, desperate struggle for control. I could feel the waves of anxiety rolling off Bella, and Jasper, I suspected, was feeling them tenfold.
And then there was Edward. He hovered awkwardly near a grand piano, his expression a carefully constructed mask of politeness that didn't quite hide the turmoil in his golden eyes as he looked at Bella. The air around him practically crackled with suppressed hunger and teenage angst. It was almost comical, if it wasn't so damn unnerving for my sister.
Astrid was the last to appear. She entered from a different hallway, moving with that silent, almost liquid grace that was uniquely hers. Her silver hair was loosely tied back, and she wore a simple, dark dress that somehow made her look both elegant and dangerous. Her golden eyes, when they met mine, were unreadable, a silver-eyed sphinx in a room full of more overtly expressive predators. There was no welcoming smile, no pretense. Just that direct, assessing gaze that seemed to see right through my carefully constructed human facade.
"Dinner is almost ready," Esme announced cheerfully, gesturing towards a large dining room. "Alice and Rosalie helped."
Rosalie shot Alice a look that could curdle milk, which suggested her 'help' had been minimal and probably coerced.
The dining table was set for… seven. Us, and presumably Carlisle and Esme, who would at least make a show of eating. The other 'children' would likely hover. I exchanged a quick, "here we go" glance with Bella.
The 'dinner' itself was an elaborate Italian feast. Pasta, salads, crusty bread. It smelled… delicious. Genuinely. Esme, it seemed, really could cook. Which made the whole situation even more bizarre. The Cullens, except for Carlisle and Esme who picked delicately at their food, didn't eat, of course. They sat around the table, making polite conversation, their golden eyes occasionally darting towards Bella or me. It was like having dinner with a family of very beautiful, very polite, very still mannequins who might at any moment decide to redecorate the room with your intestines.
"So, Alex," Carlisle began, his voice smooth and amiable, "Charlie mentioned you're quite the outdoors man. Enjoying the forests around Forks?"
"They're… expansive," I said, choosing my words carefully. "Good for clearing the head." I took a bite of pasta. It was excellent. Annoyingly so. It was hard to maintain a healthy level of suspicion when being fed such good food.
"Indeed," Carlisle agreed. "This area has a unique ecosystem. Many hidden wonders." His eyes held a knowing look. Was that a subtle probe? A test?
"I'm more of an indoor person," Bella mumbled, pushing her pasta around her plate. Edward, seated across from her, watched her every move with an intensity that was frankly unnerving. I wanted to kick him under the table, but that would probably break my foot and his leg, and Esme had just put out the nice china.
Alice, bless her hyperactive heart, tried to keep the conversation flowing. "Bella, I was thinking! We should totally go shopping in Port Angeles sometime! There's this adorable boutique I found…"
Rosalie snorted softly from her position by the window. Alice ignored her.
I found my gaze drawn to Astrid. She sat at the far end of the table, next to Jasper, who looked like he was trying to telepathically communicate his profound discomfort to the ceiling tiles. Astrid, however, was a picture of calm composure. She wasn't pretending to eat, nor was she engaging in the forced pleasantries. She simply observed, her golden eyes moving from speaker to speaker, occasionally lingering on me. When our eyes met, there was no challenge this time, no overt scrutiny. Just a quiet, contemplative regard. It was almost more unsettling than Edward's lovesick/bloodthirsty staring contest with Bella.
"Astrid is a woman of few words," Emmett boomed suddenly, noticing my attention. He grinned at her. "But she's a deep thinker, aren't you, Ash?"
Astrid's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "Someone has to be, Emmett, with you around." Her voice, though soft, carried easily in the suddenly quiet room.
Emmett laughed, a booming sound that seemed to shake the perfect composure of the house. "See? Sharp!"
"Astrid has a keen interest in history and folklore," Carlisle supplied, his gaze on her carrying a distinct fondness. "She's quite the scholar."
"Folklore?" I echoed, my interest piqued. "Anything interesting about this particular corner of the world?" I kept my tone light, casual.
A subtle shift in Astrid's expression. Her golden eyes met mine again, and this time, there was a definite spark, a glint of shared, hidden knowledge. "The Quileute legends are fascinating," she said, her voice still low, but with an underlying resonance. "Tales of shape-shifters… protectors of their lands. And, of course, stories of the apalot, the 'cold ones.'"
My blood, or what passed for it now, gave a faint chill. She was treading very close to the line, and she knew it. Bella, oblivious to the undercurrents, looked intrigued. "Shape-shifters? Like werewolves?"
"Something like that," Astrid said, her gaze flicking to Bella, then back to me. It was a deliberate, pointed statement. She was showing me another card, testing my reaction.
"Sounds like exciting bedtime stories," I commented, taking another bite of pasta, trying to project an air of bored amusement. Inside, my mind was racing. Was she warning me about the Quileutes? Or was she trying to gauge my knowledge of the local supernatural scene?
Edward cleared his throat, drawing attention back to himself. "Perhaps we could talk about something less… morbid?" he suggested, his gaze fixed on Bella with a pained expression. He clearly wasn't comfortable with Astrid's line of conversation.
The rest of the dinner passed in a similar vein – forced pleasantries, underlying tensions, and a lot of me trying to decipher the silent communications flickering between the Cullens. Esme was genuinely kind, Carlisle was a masterful diplomat, Alice was exhaustingly cheerful, Emmett was a jovial giant, Rosalie was a beautiful ice sculpture, Jasper was a bundle of repressed emotions, and Edward was a walking, talking angst-ball.
And Astrid… Astrid was the enigma. The silver-eyed sphinx.
As we were preparing to leave, after Esme had pressed a container of leftover pasta on a protesting Bella ("You barely touched your food, dear!"), I found myself standing near Astrid by the massive window overlooking the darkened forest.
"Your home is… impressive," I said, breaking the silence between us.
"It serves its purpose," she replied, not looking at me, her gaze fixed on the trees. "A sanctuary. A cage, of sorts, for some."
"For some?" I prompted.
She finally turned, her golden eyes catching the faint light from inside, making them glow. "We all carry our burdens, Alex Swan. Some are just more visible than others." Her gaze flicked to my sunglasses, then back to my face. "You seem to carry yours with a certain… defiance."
"Defiance is just fear wearing a leather jacket," I said, falling back on sarcasm. "Or in my case, really dark sunglasses."
A genuine, fleeting smile touched her lips. It transformed her face, making her look younger, less guarded. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it's something more. Something that doesn't quite fit the known narratives."
"You seem to have a lot of narratives at your disposal, Cullen," I observed.
"One collects them, over time," she said softly. "The world is far older and stranger than most humans dream." Her gaze held mine, intense and unwavering. "Be careful, Alex Swan. Bella is… a nexus. Things are drawn to her. Not all of them will be as conflicted as Edward, or as… observant as I am."
It was a clear warning. And, perhaps, an offer of… something. Understanding? A temporary, unspoken alliance of 'others' in this strange little town?
"I'm always careful," I said, my voice low. "And Bella has me. That's more protection than she knows."
Astrid nodded slowly. "I believe she does." She paused, then added, so softly only my enhanced hearing could catch it, "And perhaps, so do we."
Before I could process that cryptic addendum, Alice was there, ushering us towards the door with her usual whirlwind energy.
The drive back to our much smaller, much less perfect house was quiet. Bella was lost in thought, processing the evening. My own mind was a whirl. The dinner had been less an interrogation and more a… display. The Cullens had shown us their human face, their attempt at normalcy. But beneath the surface, the ancient predator remained.
And Astrid… Astrid was the key, I suspected. She saw more, knew more, and for some reason, she had chosen to share slivers of that knowledge with me. "Perhaps, so do we," she'd said. Protection from Bella, or protection for Bella through an alliance with me? Her motives were still shrouded in silver mist, but one thing was clear: she knew I wasn't human. And she wasn't going to expose me. Not yet, anyway.
"Well," Bella said finally, as we pulled into our driveway, the familiar, comforting scent of Charlie's old truck and slightly burnt coffee filling the cab. "That was… surreal."
"Surreal is one word for it," I agreed, turning off the engine. The Thirst, which had been surprisingly dormant in the face of Esme's excellent cooking and the sheer sensory overload, was beginning to reassert itself. The scent of Bella's blood, now that we were away from the neutralizing presence of so many other vampires, was a sharp, sweet ache in my throat. "Definitely not your average Tuesday night dinner."
No, it certainly wasn't. It was a formal introduction to the lions, in their very beautiful, very civilized den. And I had a feeling it was just the overture to a much larger, much more dangerous opera. My only comfort was that at least one of those lions seemed to be as intrigued by me as I was by her. And that, in this bizarre new life, felt like a very thin, very precarious silver lining.