Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It rained the way she remembered — soft, constant, and soaks-you-to-the-bone cold. But memory could never replicate the feel of it. Not like this. The weight of it in the clouds, the endless gray of the sky pressing down on her skin like fog come alive. Forks had a way of getting inside you, of making you feel like you were breathing underwater.

Bella Swan pressed her forehead lightly to the cold window of Charlie’s cruiser and watched droplets streak down the glass like racing tears. Trees blurred past in wet smears of green and black, branches heavy with moisture, needles slick with mist. Every inch of the Pacific Northwest looked like it belonged in a faded photograph.

And yet, something in her chest ached.

Forks had never been home. Not really. It was the place her father lived. The place her mother left. The place she visited every couple of summers when guilt outweighed her discomfort. But now? Now it was permanent. She had packed her life into three duffel bags and left Phoenix behind for good.

Charlie cleared his throat beside her, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming absently against the steering column. “Truck’s already in the garage,” he said, not looking at her. “Figured you’d want to drive yourself to school.”

She gave a faint nod. “Thanks, Dad.”

Neither of them was good at this — at talking, or sharing, or finding the right words to make it less awkward. But Bella appreciated the effort. She always had.

Still, her stomach wouldn’t settle. Not from the move. Not from the new school. It was something deeper, sharper. A low hum beneath her skin that hadn’t gone quiet since she stepped off the plane. It wasn’t nerves.

It was pull.

Like something inside her was stirring. Watching. Waiting.

Charlie’s house was unchanged — same tan walls, same battered recliner, same faint scent of coffee and worn leather. Her room upstairs looked untouched from the last time she visited, as if her fourteen-year-old self might still be hiding under the covers with a flashlight and a dog-eared book.

She didn’t unpack. Not really. Just enough to find a hoodie and jeans for school in the morning. The rest stayed zipped away, like if she kept the bags full she could pretend she wasn’t really staying.

Sleep didn’t come easy.

The rain had softened to a steady patter on the roof, rhythmic and soothing, but the heat in her bones wouldn’t fade. Her skin felt tight, like her muscles were bracing for something. Her dreams were worse — shadows in trees, running feet, silver eyes flashing in the dark. Something just out of reach.

When the morning light finally crept across the floorboards, pale and weak, Bella was already awake.

Forks High School looked exactly like she imagined it would — squat buildings connected by covered walkways, a dozen students huddling beneath their hoods and umbrellas. No one looked particularly thrilled to be there.

She parked the old rust-colored truck Charlie got for her at the back of the lot, out of the way. Its engine still growled too loud, but she found she didn’t mind the sound. It felt honest.

The office was warm and smelled like toner and dust. The receptionist handed her a slip of paper with her schedule and a map she barely glanced at.

“Hope you brought a good jacket,” the woman said with a smile. “You’ll need it here.”

Biology was fourth period. The morning passed in a haze of introductions and half-hearted small talk. Angela, a quiet girl with a kind smile, showed her to English and offered to help her catch up on the reading. Mike Newton tried to flirt in the way teenage boys often did — clumsy, overeager, and too confident. Bella was polite but distant. She wasn’t here to make friends. Not yet.

But it was biology that stopped her short.

The classroom was warm, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and damp wool. The lights hummed faintly overhead.

And there, by the window, she saw her.

Bella’s feet stalled. Her heart did too.

A girl sat in the far seat, spine impossibly straight, her golden hair cascading down her back like molten silk. Her skin was the kind of pale that wasn’t natural — flawless, marble-smooth, and unreal. There was something sculpted about her posture, her presence. Like she didn’t belong in a high school classroom. Like she didn’t belong in this world at all.

Rosalie Hale.

Bella had heard the name whispered earlier in the day. One of the Cullens. Gorgeous, cold, unapproachable. But gossip had done her no justice.

The seat beside her was the only one left.

Bella moved toward it slowly, her palms suddenly damp.

As she slid into the chair, Rosalie turned her head — just slightly. Their eyes met.

And something snapped.

Not in a painful way. More like a thread pulled taut. Bella felt it down to her bones — a sudden, electric jolt that shot through her chest and made her breath catch. Her skin prickled. Her heart skipped, then thudded, hard and uneven.

Rosalie’s gaze was sharp, unreadable. Her eyes — a pale, honey-gold — lingered for a moment too long. Her jaw tensed.

And then she looked away.

Bella swallowed hard. Her throat was dry.

What the hell was that?

The teacher began the lesson, droning about cell division and mitochondria, but Bella couldn’t focus. Couldn’t think.

Because next to her sat a girl carved from myth — and every part of Bella was suddenly, irrevocably aware of her. The heat under her skin flared, the hum in her chest louder than ever.

Rosalie didn’t speak. Didn’t glance her way again. But Bella could feel the tension in the air like static before a storm.

And the strangest thing was… she didn’t want to move.

She wanted to stay there.

Next to her.

Whatever this was — whatever strange gravity pulled between them — Bella felt it like the pull of the tide.

And it terrified her.

Because she wasn’t supposed to feel anything like this. Not yet. Not for anyone.

Not for her.

Chapter Text

The cold in Forks wasn’t just temperature.

It was in the way the air sat still in the morning, heavy and watchful. In how the sky never really lit up, just faded from black into different shades of gray. Bella found herself pulling her sleeves over her hands more than she used to — not just for warmth, but for comfort.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Rosalie Hale.

Which was ridiculous. It was one class. One moment. They hadn’t even spoken. And yet, the memory lingered like a splinter under her skin, impossible to ignore.

Bella had barely made it to lunch before Angela caught up with her, tray in hand, offering a quiet, “You can sit with us, if you want.”

Bella had never been one to chase after crowds. But she also wasn’t the kind of girl to spend lunch alone in a bathroom stall like the cliché new kid in a bad teen drama. So she nodded, gave a small smile, and followed Angela to a table near the windows.

Jessica Stanley was already seated, talking animatedly about something Bella didn’t quite catch. Mike was beside her, eyes brightening as Bella sat down, and Eric joined a minute later, pushing his glasses up his nose and asking what she thought of Trig so far.

It was… fine. They were nice. Mostly harmless.

But her eyes kept wandering. Across the cafeteria. Past the lines of buzzing teenagers. To the farthest table — the one near the door that led to the woods beyond the school.

That’s where they sat.

The Cullens.

Five of them. All pale, all too beautiful, and all sitting like they weren’t entirely part of the same world the rest of them inhabited. Edward — with his sharp cheekbones and distracted stare. Alice — delicate and lively, her black hair like ink spiked in every direction. Jasper, who looked perpetually uncomfortable. Emmett, broad and laughing. And—

Rosalie.

She was turned slightly toward her siblings, golden hair falling in gentle waves over her shoulder, as if a camera crew had spent an hour placing every strand. She said something quietly to Emmett, who grinned. Her lips moved. Her voice didn’t carry.

Bella’s fingers curled under the edge of her tray.

It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t desire, exactly. It was something else. Something deeper and harder to name — a restless, hungry thing gnawing at her ribcage.

Like her body was tuning itself to a frequency only Rosalie emitted.

She startled slightly when Jessica nudged her elbow. “Don’t even bother,” she said with a teasing scoff. “Everyone stares. They’re all taken. And weird.”

“They’re foster siblings, right?” Bella asked, voice low, as if speaking about them might somehow draw them in.

“Adopted,” Angela corrected gently.

“Still weird,” Jessica muttered. “They all date each other. I mean, it’s kind of gross if you think about it.”

Bella didn’t reply. The comment left a sour taste in her mouth.

She glanced back — just once.

Rosalie’s eyes met hers.

For a split second.

Like the world narrowed down to just that thread — that pull again, strong and sudden, like wind through trees. Rosalie didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. And Bella felt her lungs forget how to work.

Then Rosalie turned back to her siblings as if nothing had happened.

By the time school ended, Bella felt like she was holding her breath. The air in her lungs was wrong, her skin too tight, her heartbeat trapped somewhere in her throat. It wasn’t anxiety. It wasn’t nerves. It was… heat. Energy.

Something inside her was building.

It wasn’t just Rosalie.

It was her. Something wrong with her. Something changing.

The sensation had started the week before she left Phoenix — a sudden fever, wild and unbearable. Her mother had thought it was the flu. Bella had locked herself in the bathroom, shaking, the mirror fogged over, her pupils blown wide.

It passed. But it left something behind. A tension under the skin. A strange awareness.

Like now.

She could hear birds in the trees past the parking lot. Hear the slow scrape of a student dragging a backpack across gravel thirty feet away.

Smell things.

Grass. Hot engine oil. The vague scent of citrus on Angela’s scarf as they waved goodbye.

And Rosalie.

Even now, even across the lot, Bella knew where she was without looking.

She was leaving early, walking toward a sleek black car parked on the side of the building. Her stride was elegant, calculated. Controlled.

Bella’s hands trembled slightly as she unlocked her truck. She gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles went white.

“Get a grip,” she muttered to herself. “You’re not imprinting. You can’t even control your wolf yet.”

But even as she said it, she wasn’t sure she believed it.

She took the long way home.

Forks had barely any traffic to speak of, but she still turned off the main road and drove down one of the side routes that wound past the woods.

She needed air. Space. She rolled down the window, letting in the pine and petrichor, hoping it would settle her. It didn’t. Her skin itched. Her spine felt too tight, her senses too sharp.

At a stop sign by a narrow dirt road, she saw movement in the trees.

A flash of white. Then gold. Then nothing.

She blinked. The woods were still again. Birds chirped. Leaves rustled.

But her heart pounded like it wanted to crawl out of her chest.

That night, she dreamed again.

She stood barefoot in a forest bathed in moonlight. The trees pulsed like they had hearts of their own, and the wind whispered in voices she couldn’t understand. Something howled in the distance — low and mournful.

She turned.

Rosalie stood at the edge of a clearing, barefoot in the moss, her golden hair glowing like firelight. She didn’t speak. She just looked at her. Like she’d been waiting.

Bella stepped forward.

The ground trembled beneath her feet. Her breath came out in clouds, even though she wasn’t cold. Something deep and wild rose inside her — a shift, not just in body, but in meaning.

But before she could reach her, the ground cracked. The trees fell away. The world broke open — and she was falling.

Bella woke up gasping, the sheets tangled around her legs, her body soaked in sweat.

Her window was open.

She was sure she hadn’t opened it.

The air was thick with cold.

And on the wind, faint and fleeting — a scent.

Not wood. Not rain.

Wildflowers. And metal.

Chapter Text

Rosalie didn’t breathe when Bella Swan walked into the room.

She didn’t need to, not really — not for oxygen, not for survival. But in moments like this, she had learned the importance of stillness. Of control. Holding her breath was instinctual now, a small safeguard in the presence of humans whose scents might tempt her.

But this wasn’t temptation.

This was something else entirely.

The Swan girl stepped into the fluorescent light of the biology classroom like she didn’t know she was dragging a storm behind her. Damp hair, rain-wet boots, hoodie sleeves too long for her fingers — ordinary in every way. Human in every obvious sense.

And yet, something about her felt off.

Rosalie didn’t look directly at her. She didn’t have to. She could feel her — like heat on the back of her neck, like the invisible pressure of someone watching her from a distance.

And then Bella sat down next to her again.

Of course she did.

Same assigned seats as before. Rosalie kept her posture perfect, her eyes forward, her face carved from practiced indifference. The teacher hadn’t even begun the lesson yet, but already she could sense Bella fidgeting beside her — nervous, maybe. Unsure.

Rosalie’s jaw tensed.

Why does she smell like that?

It wasn’t blood. It wasn’t even enticing. It was… something deeper. Something buried beneath her skin. Earthy, sharp, metallic — like pine needles snapped between fingers, like rain on hot stone. Not entirely unpleasant, but wrong in a way Rosalie couldn’t name.

And then, there it was.

Not desire. Not hunger.

Something far more dangerous.

Rosalie had lived long enough to know the difference between ordinary attraction and unnatural fixation. She didn’t let people in. She didn’t get distracted. She chose her distance, her silence, her isolation.

But the moment Bella sat beside her — again — the air thickened, and her chest tightened with something she hadn’t felt in decades.

Recognition.

It made her furious.

Bella was trying. That much was clear.

She offered a small smile, soft and unsure, the kind of smile that wanted to be met halfway.

“Hi,” she said quietly. Her voice carried a rasp like she didn’t speak unless she had to. “We didn’t really get to introduce ourselves yesterday. I’m Bella.”

Rosalie didn’t look at her. “I know.”

The words hung in the air for a beat too long.

Bella hesitated. “Right. Of course. Small school.”

Rosalie turned the page of her textbook even though there was nothing new to read. Her fingers moved with the kind of precision that could only come from a century of feigning normalcy.

She didn’t respond.

Silence bloomed awkwardly between them.

Bella shifted in her seat, clearly unsure if she should try again or just retreat. Rosalie didn’t give her anything. She’d mastered the art of being unapproachable.

And yet — her thoughts would not stop.

Why had Bella tried? Why sit next to her with that open expression, that softness? Why did her scent linger in Rosalie’s nose long after she exhaled?

Why did she feel it too?

That low, magnetic tug in her ribcage. That deep, quiet hum under her skin whenever Bella was near.

It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t safe.

And Rosalie hated things she couldn’t explain.

The class passed slowly.

Bella didn’t speak again.

She kept her gaze on her notes, taking them diligently even when the lesson was something basic like Punnett squares. Rosalie could feel her concentration slipping, her own pencil idle in her hand, unmoving. She didn’t need notes. She knew this material better than the teacher did. And yet, she found herself listening to the scratch of Bella’s pen against paper, to the little breath she held when their arms almost brushed.

Rosalie shifted slightly away.

It didn’t go unnoticed.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bella’s face falter — just for a second. The smile that had tried to take root at the beginning of class had long since withered.

Good. Let her stop trying.

Because if she didn’t — if she kept looking at Rosalie with those warm, confused eyes — something would give. Something would break.

After class, Rosalie stood first.

She moved with purpose, gathering her things quickly, calculating the exact pace it would take to leave the room without looking rushed.

Bella was still putting her notebook in her bag when she passed, but their eyes met — unintentionally.

And again, it hit her.

That strange sensation.

Like some unseen tether tightening between them. Rosalie saw it mirrored in Bella’s eyes, that flicker of unknowing panic. Of recognition without understanding.

Rosalie hardened her expression, blinked once, and walked past without a word.

She didn’t go straight to her next class. Instead, she slipped through the building and out into the parking lot, ducking behind the old gym. She needed a moment — not for her breathing, but for her thinking.

The clouds were thick above, heavy with unshed rain. The trees rustled softly in the distance.

Rosalie pressed a hand to the stone wall and closed her eyes.

What the hell is she?

It wasn’t human instinct. It couldn’t be.

This was something primal. Something old. And dangerous. A pull she didn’t choose — and couldn’t ignore.

But Rosalie had spent her second life defying things that tried to claim her. She wouldn’t let this — whatever it was — sink its claws in.

She wouldn’t be tethered. Not to anyone. Not again.

Later that evening, she stood by her bedroom window in the Cullen house, arms folded over her chest, watching the rain streak the glass. Behind her, the house was quiet. Emmett was downstairs with Jasper. Alice and Edward were gone — hunting.

She thought she was alone until Carlisle’s voice came softly from the hallway.

“You seemed distant today,” he said gently. “Is something wrong?”

Rosalie didn’t turn. “No.”

A pause. He waited. He always waited, offering space rather than pressure.

She appreciated that about him.

Finally, she added, “There’s a girl at school. She’s new.”

Carlisle stepped into the doorway, silent as ever.

“She smells strange,” Rosalie continued. “Not bad. Not human. But not vampire either.”

Carlisle was quiet for a long moment. “Have you sensed anything… dangerous?”

“No,” she said. “Just… different.”

Carlisle nodded once. “Then we observe. Cautiously.”

Rosalie’s fingers curled around the edge of the curtain. Her reflection in the glass looked pale and composed. Perfectly still.

But beneath the surface?

Fault lines.

She didn’t know it yet — didn’t have the words — but something had shifted. Something irreversible. And it wore Bella Swan’s face.

Chapter Text

Rosalie had rules.

Unwritten, unspoken, but as real as the laws of gravity.

Rule one: Don’t engage with humans unnecessarily. They’re unpredictable, messy, and fleeting.

Rule two: Distance keeps everyone safe — especially herself.

Rule three: Never let curiosity get the better of her.

Today, she broke all three.

Biology had been uneventful for the past few days — at least, on the surface. She came in, took her seat, kept her eyes on her textbook, and left as soon as the bell rang. The same could not be said for what happened inside her head.

Bella Swan sat next to her each day, radiating that strange, grounded warmth Rosalie could feel even without touching her. Humans didn’t do that. People didn’t do that. They weren’t supposed to draw her in without trying.

And yet, this morning, when Bella slid into her chair with a quiet, “Morning,” something in Rosalie’s carefully crafted walls shifted.

It was curiosity, she told herself. Not interest. Certainly not kindness. She wanted to know what Bella was, or why she smelled the way she did. That was all.

So, when the teacher stepped out of the room for a moment and the low hum of classroom chatter filled the air, Rosalie turned her head slightly.

“You’re from Phoenix,” she said. Not a question — a statement.

Bella blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Uh… yeah. Just moved here.”

Rosalie leaned back in her chair, studying her in the way one might study a painting — not for the art, but for the flaws in the brushstrokes. “Why Forks?”

Bella hesitated, then gave a small shrug. “I needed a change. My mom’s… not really the ‘settling down’ type. Figured it’d be better here with my dad.”

Rosalie didn’t respond right away. She was too busy watching the way Bella’s eyes softened when she talked about her father, how her voice carried an undercurrent of something — not regret, not sadness, but a quiet acceptance.

“And you?” Bella asked suddenly, tilting her head. “Have you lived here long?”

Rosalie almost laughed. Longer than you’d believe. Instead, she settled for, “A while.”

It was Bella’s turn to study her. Rosalie could feel the weight of her gaze, warm and searching, like sunlight pooling over cold stone. She hated the way she didn’t immediately look away.

“You’re… different,” Bella said after a pause, though the words came out more like a thought than a judgment.

Rosalie arched a brow. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“No,” Bella said quickly, shaking her head. “Not bad. Just… different.”

Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed something else — that same flicker Rosalie had caught before, the one that said Bella felt it too.

Rosalie straightened her spine, turning back to her notes. “Most people don’t like different.”

“I’m not most people,” Bella replied softly.

And there it was again — that heat, that almost tangible aura Bella seemed to carry. Cozy, familiar, dangerously inviting. Rosalie ignored it. She was good at ignoring things.

When the bell rang, Rosalie didn’t bolt for the door like she usually did. Instead, she allowed herself a measured pace, feeling Bella’s presence linger behind her until they reached the hall.

The urge to glance back was almost unbearable. She didn’t.

That evening, Rosalie had just finished rearranging a set of engine parts in the garage when she heard Carlisle’s light footsteps in the doorway.

“Rosalie,” he greeted, his tone carrying that calm authority only he could manage. “We’re having a family meeting tonight.”

Rosalie looked up from the open hood of the car. “About?”

He hesitated — just a fraction of a second, but enough for her to notice. “A… diplomatic matter. Another coven will be present.”

She frowned, wiping her hands on a rag. “We don’t meet with outsiders unless it’s important.”

“It is,” Carlisle said. “And I’ll need everyone there.”

She didn’t argue, though her mind itched with questions. Carlisle’s definition of diplomatic could mean anything from discussing territory lines to preventing all-out war.

Across town, Bella was washing her hands at the kitchen sink when Charlie walked in, jacket already half-zipped.

“Got a pack meeting tonight,” he said casually, like it was a normal part of conversation.

Bella glanced over her shoulder. “Pack meeting?”

Charlie scratched his jaw. “Yeah. Whole group’s getting together. Thought you might want to come — you’re old enough now to be part of it.”

She blinked. “What’s it about?”

He shrugged, playing it off. “Some old… arrangements. Making sure everyone’s on the same page.”

Bella felt that restless stirring again — the one that had been in her since she’d arrived in Forks. She didn’t fully understand the pack or its history yet, but the idea of being included in whatever this was pulled at her in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

“Sure,” she said finally.

Neither of them knew.

Neither of them could have guessed.

That night, under the cover of low clouds and mist, the vampires and the wolves would meet — not to fight, but to talk. To try for civility, however uneasy.

Rosalie didn’t drive to the meeting spot. They went as a group, their pale figures moving like shadows through the trees, each step silent. She walked slightly ahead of Emmett and behind Carlisle, her senses sharp, the forest pressing in on either side.

The clearing they emerged into was wide, ringed with old pines, the ground soft with needles. She could hear movement in the distance before she saw them — heavy, measured footsteps that belonged to something larger than humans.

And then they came.

A small group emerged from the opposite treeline, moving as one. Broad shoulders, steady gaits, faces she didn’t recognize — except one.

Bella Swan.

She stopped dead.

Her mind didn’t immediately register the others — not the man who must have been the alpha, not the silent figures flanking her. Only Bella.

Bella, standing at the front of the pack, eyes wide as they landed on Rosalie.

It wasn’t just surprise on her face. It was the same jolt Rosalie felt in her chest, magnified, raw, undeniable.

The realisation snapped taut between them like a live wire.

And for the first time in over seventy years, Rosalie’s carefully controlled expression faltered.

Chapter Text

The cool night air carried the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke as Rosalie stood near the edge of the clearing. The truce meeting buzzed with low voices — vampires on one side, wolves on the other, space between them like a taut wire that could snap at any moment. She stood rigid, arms folded, her eyes tracking every subtle twitch and shift among the wolves.

One in particular.

Bella Swan.

She was trying to look engaged, standing close to the others in her pack, but Rosalie noticed the way Bella’s gaze kept darting toward the treeline, like she needed an escape route. She smelled of pine, rain, and something wild — something Rosalie had been trying all evening to ignore, but now that they were in the same space again, it was impossible not to notice.

When Bella finally moved, slipping away toward the shadows, Rosalie’s focus followed without thought. She hesitated — curiosity wasn’t a habit she liked indulging — but her feet moved before she made a conscious decision.

She found Bella leaning against the trunk of a moss-covered tree, head tilted back, eyes closed.

“You know,” Rosalie said, stepping closer, her voice deliberately cool, “most people at a tense supernatural meeting don’t wander off alone.”

Bella opened her eyes, startled, but her expression softened when she saw who it was. “I needed air.” She gave a small shrug. “Too many… eyes. Too much posturing.”

Rosalie tilted her head, studying her. “That’s how these things work. You stand your ground. Show strength.”

Bella gave a faint, dry laugh. “I thought I was doing pretty well until you showed up.”

Rosalie raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Bella shifted her weight against the tree, folding her arms. “You… have this way of looking at people like you’re stripping them down to their bones. Makes it hard to keep your composure.”

The corner of Rosalie’s mouth twitched, but she didn’t let it turn into a smile. “Maybe I’m just observant.”

“Or maybe you’re sizing me up.” Bella’s tone was lighter than her words, but her eyes didn’t waver.

Rosalie stepped closer, just enough that the faint warmth from Bella’s skin brushed against her. “You’re not wrong. I’ve been trying to figure you out since the first time we met.”

Bella’s brows lifted slightly. “And? Any conclusions?”

“Not yet.” Rosalie’s voice was even, but her gaze lingered in a way that betrayed her restraint. “You don’t fit the mold here. You don’t act like the others in your… circle. But you’re clearly one of them.”

Bella’s throat bobbed in a swallow. “That’s funny, because I’ve been thinking the same thing about you. You’re not like the others in your coven. You carry yourself like you don’t care what anyone thinks — but you notice everything.”

Rosalie didn’t answer right away. She could hear Bella’s heart beating faster, the way her scent was sharper this close. It was making something low in her chest tighten.

Finally, she said, “So, you’ve been watching me too.”

Bella smirked faintly. “Maybe.” Her voice softened. “You feel… different. There’s this pull, and I don’t know why. It’s… unsettling.”

Rosalie studied her, jaw tight. “I feel it too. But I have a suspicion.”

Bella tilted her head. “And what’s that?”

Rosalie let the silence stretch for a beat before speaking. “You smell like a wolf.” Her words were calm, but her eyes sharpened, searching Bella’s reaction.

Bella’s breath caught, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, her lips curved in something between a grimace and a smile. “You’re not wrong. And you smell like a leech.”

Rosalie’s posture stiffened, but she didn’t move back. “So, it’s true then. We’re supposed to be enemies.”

“Supposed to be,” Bella echoed, her voice quieter now.

For a moment, neither moved. The sounds of the meeting — low voices, shifting feet — were distant background noise. The only thing in Rosalie’s world was the girl in front of her, warm and alive, with that strange gravitational pull she’d been trying to ignore since they’d met.

Rosalie spoke again, her voice low. “This truce doesn’t change the fact that you and I… are on opposite sides.”

Bella’s gaze dropped briefly to the ground, then back up. “Maybe. But I’m not ready to see you as an enemy. Not yet.”

Rosalie felt something flicker in her chest — irritation at the vulnerability of the moment, but also something she didn’t want to name. “Careful,” she said, stepping back slightly. “That kind of thinking gets people hurt.”

Bella’s expression didn’t waver. “I’ve been hurt before.”

Rosalie turned away, letting the shadows swallow her figure. “Then maybe you should stay away from me.”

And yet, even as she walked back toward the clearing, she knew she didn’t mean it.

Chapter Text

The meeting took place deep in the forest, well past the point where human footsteps dared to wander. The trees rose like sentinels, tall and old, their skeletal branches swaying in the faint breeze. Moonlight spilled in broken silver lines across the clearing, revealing two distinct groups — the Cullens on one side, the wolves on the other. The air was thick, tense, and bristling with the scent of earth, pine, and something sharper — the musk of the wolves and the cold marble scent of vampires.

Rosalie stood with her arms folded, her chin tilted upward in practiced indifference. The polished mask she always wore remained firmly in place, though her golden eyes moved with quiet calculation. She was used to staring down strangers, but this… this was different.

On the other side of the clearing, Bella Swan stood flanked by her pack. The moon caught in the waves of her hair, giving it an almost burnished glow. Her posture was taut — shoulders back, jaw tight — but her eyes… her eyes kept darting toward Rosalie.

And, damn it, Rosalie kept glancing back.

She told herself it was simple strategy — she was gauging the opposition, nothing more. She needed to understand how the wolves carried themselves, who was the most volatile, who might make a foolish move. Bella, however… Bella carried herself differently than the others.

She didn’t bare her teeth like some of the others were doing, didn’t posture or flare her stance. She was quiet. Watchful. It made her harder to read, and that fact alone made Rosalie want to read her more.

Carlisle stepped forward first, his voice even and diplomatic, the kind of tone that could smooth the edge off even the sharpest hostility.

“We’re here tonight,” he began, his gaze sweeping between the two factions, “to discuss a path forward that spares unnecessary bloodshed. Our families have a… complicated history. That doesn’t have to mean an endless one.”

One of the older wolves — Rosalie guessed the Alpha — gave a low, rumbling grunt. “We’ve been keeping to our side of the land. So have you. But recent events…” His eyes flicked briefly toward Bella before returning to Carlisle. “Recent events have us concerned. You’ve been getting closer.”

Rosalie’s jaw tightened, though her expression didn’t falter. The “recent events” were vague enough to be a catch-all accusation, but the undertone was clear: We’re watching you.

Carlisle inclined his head, unshaken. “And you’ve been expanding your patrol routes. Clearly, we’re both guilty of brushing too close to the lines we’ve drawn.”

The Alpha’s stare was like a physical weight, but Carlisle didn’t flinch. “So we propose a formal truce. You patrol your borders, we keep to ours. We share information if a threat enters the area — human or otherwise. In return, no interference with one another’s affairs. Civil, but separate.”

Rosalie’s gaze drifted back to Bella. The girl’s expression was more complicated than the rest of her pack. There was skepticism, yes, but also something else… a hesitation, as though she didn’t entirely agree with the unspoken hostility in the air.

Their eyes met — fleetingly, just long enough for Rosalie to catch the flicker of uncertainty in Bella’s gaze — before Bella turned away.

The Alpha’s second-in-command stepped forward, folding his arms. “That sounds like a nice speech, Cullen. But we’ve been burned before. Trust is earned, not handed over.”

Carlisle’s voice remained steady. “Which is why we’ll start small. Neutral ground for meetings, no provocation, no trespassing. Let’s prove it’s possible before we try anything bigger.”

The discussion went on, volleying back and forth between terms and conditions, minor concessions and clarifications. Rosalie heard every word, but her attention was fractured.

Every so often, she’d catch Bella glancing her way again — quick, almost shy, before she snapped her gaze back to the wolves’ circle. And Rosalie… she wasn’t sure why she kept letting herself look back.

It wasn’t interest — not the kind she would ever admit to. No, it was something closer to… curiosity sharpened by an instinct she didn’t want to name. Something about the way Bella’s presence felt — warmer, heavier in the air than it should have been — made Rosalie’s senses hum, the way static gathers before a storm.

Carlisle’s voice finally cut through the tension. “So we’re agreed?”

The Alpha gave a reluctant nod. “We’ll try your way. But one wrong move…” He let the threat hang in the air like smoke.

Rosalie felt the weight of it. And from the glance Bella shot toward her — brief, but loaded — she knew Bella felt it too.

Chapter Text

The pale morning light stretched long fingers through the dense foliage outside Bella’s window, casting a cool green glow over her room. The rain from the night before had left everything slick and fragrant — earth, pine needles, and the faint lingering sweetness of wildflowers crushed beneath damp boots.

Bella stood quietly, gazing out at the forest edge. The silence of the weekend settled heavily around her, but inside, her thoughts churned like a restless tide.

The truce meeting replayed in fragmented flashes. The stiff formality. The taut silences. The subtle, sharp glances exchanged like invisible barbs. And always, Rosalie — regal, distant, impossibly still — standing apart from the others, the weight of her gaze still lingering in Bella’s mind.

She’d told herself to push the thought away, to focus on normal things. But how could she, when the very air seemed charged with unspoken questions and dangerous possibilities?

Downstairs, the house was beginning to stir. The soft scrape of Emmett’s footsteps echoed from the garage, a steady, rhythmic noise as he tinkered with his old Jeep. Nearby, Alice flitted from room to room, her presence like a quicksilver spark of light, humming softly as she organized the morning’s small tasks. Jasper sat at the kitchen table, his expression thoughtful, watching Alice with an unreadable calm.

Rosalie entered the kitchen with her usual quiet grace, the light catching the golden sheen of her hair. She paused to glance at her family before grabbing a glass of water, her eyes briefly meeting Carlisle’s. He gave a subtle nod — a silent conversation between two beings burdened with long memories and long nights.

“Breakfast soon?” Alice asked, already moving towards the stove.

Rosalie’s lips pressed into a line. “Soon.”

Meanwhile, Bella wandered into the small town center. Forks was a quiet place, where everyone knew your name, your business, and sometimes even your secrets — whether you wanted them to or not.

She spotted Angela crawling along the sidewalk with her mother and stopped to wave. Angela’s face lit up, her warm smile breaking through Bella’s fog of unease.

“Hey, Bella! How are you holding up?” Angela’s voice was gentle but curious.

Bella shrugged, managing a small smile. “Good, I guess.”

Angela nodded knowingly.

They fell into an easy rhythm, walking together toward the diner, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the moist air.

Inside the diner, the bell over the door jingled, and Jessica Stanley appeared with Mike Newton close behind her. Both paused as they saw Bella and Angela, the corners of Jessica’s mouth twitching into a smile.

“Bella! We were wondering where you’d been all morning,” Jessica said, sliding into the booth opposite Angela.

Mike grinned and added, “La Push bonfire later. You should come.”

Bella hesitated. The pack felt complicated now — safer, perhaps, but charged with tension she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

“I’ll think about it,” she said softly, eyes flickering toward the window where the rain had begun again, fine and steady.

Back at the Cullen house, Rosalie was quietly observing. Jasper was at her side, noting the restless set of her shoulders. Emmett was already outside, shouting challenges at the rain.

Carlisle joined them briefly. “The truce is a good first step,” he said, voice calm but heavy with unspoken concerns. “But it’s fragile. We must be vigilant.”

Rosalie nodded. The idea of being cautious was second nature — but part of her still wondered if the fragile thread tying her to Bella could hold through what was coming.

The afternoon drew on, the clouds thickening as the day edged toward evening. Bella returned home, the weight of the world pressing softly on her shoulders.

She found Charlie in the living room, the faint glow of a news report flickering on the TV. His expression was tired but steady — the rock she sometimes wished she could lean on more.

“Everything okay?” he asked, eyes gentle.

Bella shrugged again, the simple gesture carrying more than words. “I’m trying.”

Charlie nodded, and the silence between them was warm, a small island in the storm.

As twilight fell, Bella’s phone buzzed — a message from an unknown number, brief and to the point: We need to talk.

Her heart clenched, the pull of the night’s events drawing her back into the web she was only beginning to understand.

She didn’t reply.

Instead, she stepped outside, letting the cool air wash over her as the first drops of rain began to fall again, mixing with the pulse of uncertainty that was growing stronger with every breath.

Chapter Text

The charity shop sat quietly on the corner of Forks’ main street, a small, weathered building with faded lettering and creaky wooden floors that seemed to hold the weight of every whispered secret and stolen glance it had ever witnessed. The morning light filtered weakly through the dusty windows, casting mottled patches of pale gold onto piles of secondhand books, clothes, and knickknacks arranged in neat disorder.

Bella wandered slowly through the aisles, her hands occasionally brushing the soft fabric of an old sweater or the cracked spine of a forgotten novel. She welcomed the mundane distractions—the faint scent of lavender soap mixed with the mustiness of old paper—and tried to still the restless swirl of questions and doubts tangled deep inside her.

Her steps were deliberate but aimless, circling toward the back of the shop where a small photo booth had been tucked away by some long-ago patron. It was a relic from a time when instant photos were a novelty, its faded red curtains slightly frayed and dust motes swirling in the narrow shaft of light that cut across its plastic roof.

Bella had just reached for a chipped porcelain cup on a nearby shelf when she sensed the air shift, a subtle tightening of the atmosphere as if the room itself braced for impact.

Rosalie had entered the shop moments before, gliding through the narrow aisles with the poise of someone used to commanding space despite her slight frame. She moved with measured steps, scanning the shelves without much interest, her thoughts replaying the tension from the truce meeting. She hadn’t expected to see Bella here. She especially hadn’t expected to bump into her.

The collision was soft but jarring.

Bella’s eyes widened as she looked up, meeting those golden eyes that were at once beautiful and forbidding. The air between them charged with a tension that had nothing to do with the charity shop’s quiet calm.

Without thinking, driven by some urgent need to cut through the stilted distance, Bella grabbed Rosalie’s arm and tugged her toward the photo booth.

The sudden proximity startled Rosalie. Her heart fluttered—a rare loss of control for someone who usually held her every expression in ironclad check. She blinked, her gaze darting downward to the surprising contrast between their bodies. Bella was tall—taller than Rosalie had expected—and her frame was solid, powerful in a way that made Rosalie feel almost fragile by comparison.

“You can’t just drag me like that,” Rosalie hissed under her breath, voice tight with disbelief and a flicker of irritation.

Bella’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t release her grip. “I need to talk. Not here.”

Rosalie’s mouth twitched in what might have been a half-smile—or a sneer. “Fine. But don’t expect me to enjoy it.”

Inside the cramped photo booth, the red curtains swallowed them whole, enclosing them in a dim, claustrophobic cocoon. The space forced them into close quarters, the faint hum of the camera’s ancient machinery filling the silence.

Rosalie’s eyes flicked away, suddenly aware of how much taller Bella was, how her presence seemed to fill the tiny space with an overwhelming weight. She adjusted her posture, fully aware of Bella’s large hand which was placed on the wall by the side of her head. She was trying to reclaim some semblance of control but the tightness in her chest betrayed her.

Bella, for her part, was biting back nerves she hadn’t expected. The image of Rosalie—aloof, untouchable—so close and vulnerable in this tight space, unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

“So,” Rosalie began, her tone sharp, “what exactly did you want to talk about that you couldn’t say in the middle of a shop?”

Bella hesitated, then plunged forward, words spilling out in a jumble. “Last night. The truce. The way you look at me, like I’m some kind of threat but also… something else. I don’t get it. I don’t get any of this.”

Rosalie’s brow creased. “Maybe that’s because you’re a werewolf, and I’m a vampire. Maybe because we’re supposed to hate each other.”

Bella swallowed hard, nodding. “I know that. But it’s like there’s this… pull. I don’t understand it. And I feel like you don’t either.”

Rosalie’s eyes narrowed, suspicion sharpening her features. “Why do you think I’d tell you anything?”

Before Bella could answer, a sudden pang of unease twisted through her—something primal, raw. Her fingers curled tightly, nails lengthening and curving into claws, slender and sharp beneath the dim light.

Rosalie’s eyes snapped wide open in shock, her breath catching as she registered the change.

“I’m sorry,” Bella whispered, pulling her hands into her lap as if trying to hide the sudden transformation. “Sometimes when I’m overwhelmed… this happens. I can’t fully shift yet. It’s frustrating.”

For a moment, the tension between them faltered, replaced by a fragile understanding. Rosalie’s gaze softened just a fraction, but only barely.

“You’re… dangerous,” she said quietly, voice taut with warning.

Bella nodded, eyes downcast. “I know. And I don’t want to be.”

Chapter Text

Saturday had bled quietly into Sunday, and before Bella knew it, Monday morning arrived with its own kind of heaviness. Forks High buzzed with its usual half-hearted energy, the students trudging through the parking lot under skies the color of unpolished stone. Bella slipped her hood over her head and kept her bag slung high on her shoulder, her steps brisk, though her eyes wandered almost absently across the school grounds.

It wasn’t until she reached the front steps that she noticed them—splashes of color breaking the gray monotony. Bright banners had been taped haphazardly across the entrance walls, curling a little at the edges from damp air.

PROM NIGHT: A NIGHT TO REMEMBER.

The letters were written in gold glitter paint, the edges outlined with clumsy stencils of stars.

Bella paused at the doorway, her gaze lingering on the sign longer than she meant it to. A faint crease appeared on her brow. She couldn’t imagine herself under those gold letters, twirling in a dress while music thundered in her ears.

“Bella!”

Her name tugged her attention back down to earth. Angela was smiling softly as she fell into step beside her, clutching her binder to her chest like it was something precious. Jessica trailed behind, her voice carrying brightly across the walkway as she tugged on Mike’s sleeve to hurry up. Eric lagged in the back, his ever-present camera slung around his neck.

Angela’s gaze followed Bella’s toward the banner, and her lips curved in something halfway between amusement and shyness. “It’s a bit early for all that, don’t you think?”

Jessica jumped in before Bella could answer. “Oh, please. Early? The prom committee lives for this kind of thing. They’ll be plastering glitter on everything until June.” She rolled her eyes but with a trace of fondness.

Mike, catching up at last, let out a low whistle at the banner. “Guess that means the countdown’s on, huh?” His grin widened as he glanced, too casually, at Bella. “Biggest night of the year.”

Bella gave a small laugh, more out of politeness than anything. “I don’t think I’ve ever really… thought about prom.” She adjusted her bag strap, the weight of their eyes suddenly too much. “I mean, back in Phoenix it wasn’t exactly on my radar.”

“Oh, Bella,” Jessica said, looping her arm through hers with a dramatic sigh, “that’s only because you haven’t experienced a Forks High prom yet. It’s tradition. Everyone goes.”

“Not everyone,” Angela added gently, though she smiled like she already knew her words would be ignored.

“Everyone,” Jessica pressed, shooting her a look, “at least everyone who isn’t a total hermit.” Her gaze flicked back to Bella with a mischievous sparkle. “And you, Bella Swan, are definitely not a hermit.”

Bella tried to smile, but the knot in her stomach only pulled tighter. “I don’t even have a dress.”

Jessica dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “That’s what shopping trips are for. Don’t worry—you’ll thank me later.”

“Yeah,” Mike chimed in, trying too hard to sound casual. He rubbed the back of his neck. “And, I mean, you wouldn’t have to worry about… going alone or anything. Plenty of people would, you know, want to make sure you had a good time.”

Bella’s head tilted slightly, her eyes narrowing, though not unkindly. She caught the way his words tripped awkwardly over themselves, how his glance lingered on her just a little too long before darting away.

Her heart sank a little with realization, but she kept her tone steady. “That’s… nice of you, Mike.”

He shrugged, his grin lopsided, trying to play it cool. “Just saying. No one should miss prom. Especially not you.”

The hallways grew more crowded as the group made their way toward their lockers, chatter swelling around them in waves. Snippets of conversations about prom dates and dress colors floated through the air, and Bella felt herself sink a little further into her own thoughts.

Angela must have noticed, because she leaned toward her as they walked, her voice pitched low so it wouldn’t carry. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. Don’t let anyone pressure you.”

Bella looked at her gratefully, lips curving into a small smile. “Thanks, Angela.”

Jessica, oblivious, was already planning out how she’d convince Bella to come dress shopping with her. Mike hovered nearby, eager but hesitant, while Eric mumbled something about filming the whole night for posterity.

Bella let their voices wash over her as she walked, her mind still snagged on the glint of those gold letters. PROM NIGHT: A NIGHT TO REMEMBER.

She wasn’t sure if the words felt like a promise… or a warning.