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Time went on, and with it, the months slipped by almost without Nate noticing. Each week represented a small victory: his control over his thirst improved steadily, as did his ability to blend in with the Denali family. What had first been simple tolerance, cautious and reserved toward the newcomer, slowly began to shift into genuine acceptance. Each distrustful glance softened, and, without anyone saying it aloud, Nate was earning his place among them.
Though he never admitted it to the others, he too enjoyed his time in Denali. Life in that frozen land, surrounded by mountains and endless forests, moved at a different rhythm—almost serene. And for the first time since his transformation, he felt he could breathe the peace that a simpler life offered.
Most of his time was spent with Alice. They were inseparable, a constant presence in each other's lives. They wandered the mountains, ran between the snowy trees like children discovering a new world, and sometimes simply chased one another aimlessly, laughing at their own speed and freedom. Since that first time they had let themselves go in the Denali house, they had learned to be more discreet, seeking out secluded places to give in to the attraction that seemed to grow stronger every day. The forest under the silver light of the stars, or the summit of the highest mountain where only the icy wind seemed to listen, became their havens where they could surrender to their impulses.
For Nate, now fully a vampire, no place felt uncomfortable. The entire world had lost the limitations that once held him back: the cold, the altitude, the wild animals. None of it mattered anymore. But in the midst of all this newfound power, he felt a trace of guilt for dragging Alice into such unsuitable environments. Even though his control improved each day, the thought of living among humans without being a threat remained an ever-present goal. He longed for the day when he could walk beside her in a city without fear of harming anyone.
Still, Nate did not spend all his time only with Alice. He found in each member of the Denali clan a different way to grow.
With Tanya, he often shared long talks, deep conversations about vampire society, its rules, and its history. Tanya seemed delighted to have such an eager listener, someone who absorbed every word with the focus of an apprentice. Though she didn't flaunt it, she was even older than Carlisle, and her experience was invaluable. Nate enjoyed listening—not only for the knowledge itself, but because her eyes always held a spark of enthusiasm whenever she passed on that wisdom.
With Eleazar, the talks took another turn. Nate soon discovered that he had once been a member of the Volturi guard. At first, Eleazar was reluctant, almost uneasy whenever Nate pressed for details. But little by little, with the trust Nate earned, he began to open up. He spoke of the Volturi—their structure, the unique gifts within the guard, and the centuries he had spent among them. He told stories of battles, political decisions, and the strategies that kept the clan in power. Nate listened in calm silence, though inside, each detail ignited sparks of keen interest. Yet outwardly, he betrayed nothing more than a mild smile. Eleazar, reassured, never noticed the way Nate's eyes seemed to glimmer with each new piece of information.
Carmen often joined those talks, offering her more serene perspective. There was something about her that reminded Nate of Esme: a maternal calmness, a patience that seemed endless. Always willing to listen and advise, Carmen—along with Laurent—was the one who most often offered to obtain blood bags so Nate could feed without risk. That gesture filled him with gratitude, though he rarely expressed it openly.
Laurent, in turn, became a close companion. Always friendly, always eager to be on Nate's team in any activity, he seemed to genuinely enjoy his company. His warm temperament never faltered, and he and his partner Irina often joined Nate and Alice on their walks.
With Irina, he did not speak much, but she had one constant gesture that Nate valued more than he admitted: she was especially kind to Alice. She accompanied her into town whenever something was needed—a simple act for Alice, but one that meant much to Nate. He was not yet ready to move freely among humans, and Irina's willingness gave Alice a slice of the life he could not yet offer her.
And then there was Kate. To his surprise, she was the one he bonded with the most. After their first duel—where he had defeated her decisively—what could have become lingering resentment instead grew into an unexpected connection. Kate seemed to relish the chance to improve and often sought him out to train. She asked for advice, challenged him over and over, and with each match grew more determined, more eager to surpass herself. Nate accepted every challenge, not only because he too enjoyed their clashes, but because he found a mirror in them: each strike, each movement taught him more about his own power, his limits, and his potential.
Sometimes, after an especially intense duel, they laughed as if nothing had happened. Other times, Kate looked at him with shining eyes, grateful and eager to try again. Nate, though he never said it aloud, valued those moments more than he thought possible.
And so, between walks with Alice, talks with Tanya and Eleazar, Carmen's serenity, Laurent and Irina's friendship, and battles with Kate, Nate discovered something unexpected. The Denali, without meaning to, had each in their own way earned his appreciation. And in that time, amidst the calm and the snow, Nate began to feel that maybe, just maybe, there was a place for him in this world.
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On one particularly quiet morning, Kate and Nate were training beneath Denali's gray sky, a firmament heavy with clouds pressing down on the mountains, smothering the stillness of the landscape. The snow cushioned their steps with soft crunches, and the icy air swirled around them, biting at their immortal skin without causing harm. The silence was broken only by the sharp collisions of their movements.
Kate moved with the elegance honed over centuries, her body fluid and swift like a frozen river's current. Her strikes were short, precise, carrying the weight of long practice. But something held her back—this time, they had agreed she would not use her gift. Nate, with unsettling composure, deflected each attack effortlessly, as if his body already knew the path of every blow.
"You rush too much," he said calmly, his voice firm but not harsh. With a light motion, he brushed aside her arm before it could connect. "You open up too much when you strike… You rely too heavily on your gift."
Kate resisted the urge to scoff, to show the irritation that once would have dominated her. Now she knew that listening to Nate was more fruitful than clinging to pride. He had something different—a way of seeing the world that unsettled her: he didn't just observe, he understood. Whether in training, a trivial game, or one of Eleazar's riddles, Nate always seemed to find the solution within seconds. He didn't just reason—he seemed to unravel the very essence of whatever was before him.
That ability sometimes unsettled her. Just one glance from him was enough to know exactly how to defeat her. Eleazar had theorized this was his gift, though they had yet to name it. For Kate, the name didn't matter—what mattered was how much it helped her sharpen herself.
Following his advice, she adjusted her stance, focusing on tightening her defense. Then she launched again, swift as lightning. But Nate moved with equal lightness, sidestepping her strike and countering with an open palm to her stomach. The impact threw her back, sliding her several meters across the snow, which split beneath her like a white sea before closing again.
Nate lowered his arms, unshaken. "That's all for today."
Kate, used to his blunt way of ending things, took no offense. She rose in a graceful motion, her golden hair falling over her shoulders, and followed him toward the house. Still, she wasn't ready to give up so easily. Along the way, she tried several times to catch him off guard and use her gift—a habit she had adopted once she realized it was her only real chance against him. She remembered clearly the single time she had succeeded, when he had been distracted in conversation with Laurent. The shock had dropped him instantly, and her laughter had echoed through the whole house. But since then, Nate never let his guard down completely around her.
Now, with a quick motion, she raised her hand toward him. Nate, without even looking, brushed it aside casually, as if swatting a branch out of the way. Kate let out a dry laugh, accepting defeat with good humor.
As they entered the house, a warmth enveloped them, so unlike the frozen outdoors. The wood creaked softly under their steps, and the murmur of voices filled the space. Tanya, seated beside Carmen, laughed freely, but upon seeing them enter, she rose slightly and gave them a welcoming smile.
"How did it go?" she asked in her melodic voice.
Kate, her pride still lingering in her tone, answered, "This time I almost beat him."
Laurent let out a mocking snort, a sound that held back a full laugh, while Eleazar poorly hid his own stifled chuckle. Both knew Kate had never landed a true hit on Nate during training.
Nate, with his usual neutrality, simply said, "She's improving."
Those two words were enough to make Kate's eyes sparkle with pride. Tanya, well aware of her sister, gave her a knowing smile, as if silently sharing in that small victory.
The cheerful mood filled the room when Tanya, in a lively tone, added, "Today would be a good day to test your control, Nate. Alice needs a few things… You could go with her. We'll see how much you've improved."
Nate thought for a moment. He had fed only a few hours earlier; his body felt stable, and he trusted that with Alice by his side, nothing would go wrong. He remembered his first attempt to approach town, how clumsy and dangerous it had been, and couldn't help but compare it to how far he had come since then. His lips curved into a faint smile. He turned to Alice to ask if she agreed.
But she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes, fixed on the window, held a troubling distance. It wasn't the intense gleam of a vision that kept her there, but a quiet sadness, a veil shadowing her face. Nate frowned, uneasy at once.
"Alice," he called softly.
She blinked, as if waking from a dream, and offered a fleeting smile. She stepped close, brushing away that shadow with a gesture that seemed too practiced.
Tanya repeated her suggestion, this time addressing Alice directly. The little seer wrapped her arms sweetly around Nate's neck, smiling with an enthusiasm that to less perceptive eyes might have seemed genuine. "I think it's a wonderful idea. I trust Nate will be able to be around humans for a while."
Nate watched her longer than necessary, still caught on that strange sadness he had glimpsed in her. But he didn't press. For weeks now, the reason for her melancholy had been circling in his mind.
Instead, he let out a light smile and remarked, "It'll be nice to see more people… I've been shut in this house for four months, I need to talk to someone other than you lot."
The comment drew a few laughs from the group. After so much time together, they had learned to take Nate's sharp remarks with humor. The room filled with warm cheer, as if no one had noticed anything unusual. No one except Nate, who kept silently replaying the image of Alice—her gaze lost out the window, her melancholy etched on her face, lingering in him no matter how she tried to hide it.