If you want to support or read some advanced chapters +8 please follow me on: patreon.com/Jayjayempi
Nate clenched his fists so tightly that the sound of his skin cracking echoed in the air, a faint crack like a branch splitting under pressure. The expression on his face transformed into a mask of contained fury—a mixture of hatred, frustration, and a barely restrained spark of violence.
Carlisle watched him with growing concern. Alistair's response had been unusual, yes, but what truly worried him was Nate's reaction. He had seen anger before, even in members of his own family, but this was different. Nate didn't just look upset… he looked ready. As if at any moment he could act.
Alistair, who didn't fully understand what was happening, took a step back without thinking. His tense eyes darted between Nate and Carlisle, searching for an explanation. He had tracked hundreds of presences over his lifetime—this was how he evaded rivals and maintained a carefully isolated life from other sentient beings. Through his gift, he had detected more vampires and humans than he could even remember… but nothing like what he had sensed in that shirt.
"What exactly are we tracking?" he asked cautiously, his voice low, almost hoarse. "I've never sensed anything like this before…"
Carlisle blinked, momentarily pulled from his thoughts.
"It was supposed to be a vampire… I don't know what's going on."
Alistair stared him straight in the eyes, silently assessing him. It was an inquisitive, calculating gaze, as if trying to determine whether his old friend was hiding something. Finally, noticing the genuine confusion on Carlisle's face, he relaxed slightly. Yet the sense of danger still lingered in the air.
"Anyway," he muttered coldly, "I've done what I came here for. I'm leaving."
He took a step back, tensing his body, ready to dart off in any direction. But the moment he began to move, a hand closed around his wrist with inhuman strength, halting him instantly. He tried to jerk free with a quick pull, but it was useless: the grip was relentless, firm as steel.
"Wait."
Nate's voice cut through the air with authority. It wasn't a plea or a warning. It was an order.
Alistair turned his head just enough to meet Nate's gaze. What he saw froze him momentarily: the young man's eyes shone with a deep, determined hue, and his body, though still, radiated contained predatory energy.
For a few seconds, silence reigned. Not even the birdsong or the whisper of the wind through the trees dared interrupt.
Calmly, Nate released his arm.
"It's not safe for you to leave just yet."
The tone of his voice was so firm, so confident, that even Carlisle—used to his own serene leadership—listened attentively.
Nate continued, controlled and precise, with a tone so convincing it made his words seem like the only logical choice:
"They didn't attack you because they saw you with Carlisle, or perhaps they just got lucky and didn't cross paths with them. But right now, wolves are patrolling the town. If they pick up your scent, they'll think you're just another vampire… and they'll kill you."
His words sounded so certain that even Alistair, naturally distrustful, couldn't suspect any falsehood behind them.
Panic flashed in Alistair's eyes as tension returned to his body. He stepped back and looked at Carlisle, his voice rising, sharp with alarm and anger.
"That's what I'm tracking? Sons of the Moon? But there are too many! They're not supposed to exist! And it's not even a full moon tonight! What is happening?"
Carlisle raised his hands in a calming gesture. His face reflected patience, though with a hint of weariness.
"They're not Sons of the Moon," he explained serenely. "They're something else… a native tribe in this area. They're human, but special. Normally, we maintain a truce with them, but things have become complicated lately."
Alistair frowned, processing the information, though he didn't seem fully convinced. Carlisle turned to Nate, seeking confirmation.
Nate stood still, eyes lost on the horizon as if his thoughts were already several steps ahead. Without a hint of agitation, he returned to the present and spoke, looking directly into Carlisle's eyes.
"This will be resolved today," he said solemnly. "Before nightfall, I'll meet with their Alpha. After that, the Quileute will cease their surveillance… and Alistair can leave safely."
Carlisle watched him silently, intrigued, but decided not to press further. It was still early, and the calm of the morning offered a temporary respite before the inevitable.
"Alright," he finally replied. "We'll discuss the details later."
Then he turned to Alistair.
"Forgive me, I promise your safety is guaranteed. I only asked you to come as a favor to my new son. I assure you, I won't put your life at risk for anything."
The echo of those last words made Nate look away, as if something inside him had stirred.
Carlisle continued softly, unaware of the gesture.
"Please, stay until nightfall. At least until this matter is resolved. I wouldn't leave my family alone when I've just returned and they're still worried… After I speak with the leader of the wolves, I'll personally accompany you to the state borders."
Alistair studied him for a long moment, expression stone-like, brow slightly furrowed. He was annoyed, clearly, but he also understood it wasn't wise to argue.
With a barely audible huff, he spun on his heels and leaped with agility onto the roof of the house. In a fluid movement, he disappeared through an attic window, leaving a dense silence behind.
Carlisle exhaled a long sigh, bringing a hand to the bridge of his nose, that mixture of resignation and concern only centuries of experience could yield.
Beside him, Nate remained still, eyes fixed on the spot where the vampire had vanished. The tension in his body hadn't eased; if anything, it seemed to have condensed, his red eyes glowing dangerously with a calculating gaze.
Carlisle watched him for a moment, almost scrutinizing, before speaking in a low voice.
"I didn't sense any Quileute lingering on the way… I didn't mention it because, when I left, they were watching us twenty-four hours a day. Are you sure it's not safe for him to leave immediately?"
Nate studied him for a few seconds. The anger still burned in his eyes, but he contained it, softening his features slightly before answering.
"Your family is eager to speak with you. They'll fill you in on what's happened. I need to step out for a moment… The meeting is in a few hours, and I want to clear my head a bit."
Carlisle watched silently, as if wanting to say more, but Nate interrupted with a slight smile.
"Please, tell Alice I won't be long. If possible, I want a few minutes alone."
Carlisle pursed his lips and nodded slowly.
"I understand. Just don't go too far, or she might worry. I don't know how things are out there, but it's not entirely safe if the Quileute see you alone."
Nate gave a faint smile, already stepping forward.
"Don't worry about that. I know if I take too long, Esme will come for me. It'll only be a few minutes."
And with that, he vanished in a blur, leaving behind only the soft ripple of air.
Carlisle followed him with his eyes until he disappeared among the trees, then exhaled with a smile and turned his gaze back toward the house, eager to see his family again.
..............................................................
Everything became a blur of trees and dirt flying as Nate ran. It wasn't his usual speed; this time, he allowed himself to go completely free, running at the maximum power his body could endure. Each stride kicked up leaves, fragments of earth, and gusts of wind that enveloped him in a barely visible trail.
He couldn't afford to take more than a few minutes. If he did, one of the Cullens would come looking for him… and if it wasn't Alice or Edward who found him, he'd be forced to give explanations he had no intention of offering.
That wasn't an option.
But he also couldn't stop thinking. His mind, which until moments ago had been trying to stay under control, was now a whirlwind of fury and frustration. Everything kept getting more complicated. Everything slipped further out of reach.
The shirt had been a dead end, and with it vanished the trail he had sworn to follow. He felt the chances of tracking Riley slipping through his fingers, and worst of all, he had no one to blame but himself. Everything had started to go wrong the moment he arrived in Forks… from the decision to waste time on a detour he should never have taken.
He nearly scolded himself under his breath, jaw clenched.
If he hadn't come, if he had gone straight to the hunt, things would have been different. With the shirt intact, he would still have had a reference point, an anchor to follow the trail. But now he had nothing. Only a growing void with every step.
Rage began to climb from his chest to his head. He felt his muscles tense, fists clench, jaw creak under the pressure.
A roar escaped his throat, and without thinking, he leaped forward and unleashed a brutal blow against the trunk of a tree. The impact rang with a dry crack, and the wood split as if it were paper, reducing to splinters that flew in all directions.
For a moment, the echo of the strike hung in the air.
Nate took a deep breath. One, two, three times. Trying to calm the fire that devoured him from within.
From that moment, his priority would be singular: find Riley.
If achieving that required confronting the Quileute, threatening them, or even leaving them with broken bones—and will—he would do it. He wouldn't allow anything else to interfere. He had already lost too much time.
He had promised himself that he would leave Forks that very night. The trail grew colder with each passing minute, and he didn't intend to stand by and watch it disappear completely.
With that resolve igniting in his gaze, he accelerated again. The landscape warped around him, reduced to a succession of blurred colors and shapes. The shadows of the trees passed like rapid flashes, and the cold air brushed against his skin as a constant reminder of his speed.
After a few minutes, the forest near Port Angeles began to take shape ahead of him. That's when he sensed them.
First, a faint trail in the air, then a sharper wave: Stefan and the neophytes.
But they weren't alone. Among those scents, he recognized another, older, drier, almost as similar to Stefan's as to deceive anyone…
Vladimir.
His pace changed. Agility turned into tension; his movement became a straight line aimed at the clearing. With a single leap, he landed in front of them.
The impact kicked up dust and leaves. The Romanians looked up, visibly surprised. Nate was not his usual self; there was none of the control or coldness that normally defined him. Instead, he radiated something wild, a violent energy that seemed to pulse under his skin.
The neophytes reacted instantly. Some froze; others instinctively lowered their gaze. Nate's expression alone was enough to remind them who was in charge here.
One of them stepped back; another, more fearful, knelt. The rest followed suit, too afraid to raise their eyes.
Nate ignored them. His eyes were fixed on the two Romanians.
Stefan and Vladimir exchanged a brief glance. A shadow of doubt flickered across their faces, barely noticeable, before both recovered their characteristic sly smiles.
Stefan's tone was almost cheerful, so out of place that it felt like a sharp strike against the tense silence surrounding them.
"You've arrived just in time, Nathaniel," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Vladimir just got here with some… very interesting news."
Nate's eyes, still burning, locked onto Vladimir. The Romanian began to speak:
"As we were informed, several members of the Volturi guard were in Seattle … they began to"
He didn't finish. Nate's gaze cut him off with such force that Vladimir didn't even dare appear offended by the interruption.
"From tonight onward, we move as a group," Nate cut in with a solemn voice. He paused briefly, measuring each of those present. "Stefan, you'll take most of the neophytes. Meet us at the river that divides the Push from the Forks forests; you should arrive a few minutes after nightfall, precisely. Vladimir, you'll take five neophytes."
Vladimir barely nodded, expression contained; Stefan inclined his head, receptive, though both still showed signs of lingering doubt. Nate continued without hesitation:
"In the Cullen house, there's a vampire we need. I'll try to convince him to join us in the next step; if I can't, I want you to intercept and detain him. Preferably, let him get a little distance, at least enough so Carlisle doesn't suspect. Once you've captured him, bring him here; we'll regroup here when I finish my business at the river."
His instructions fell with precision, without embellishment. The Romanians listened, partially pleased that Nathaniel was finally taking action, but aware they still didn't know all the details of the plan.
Stefan, in a low, somewhat inquisitive voice, voiced the doubt that lingered in the air:
"So… once you speak with those dogs and Vladimir captures the vampire… where do we move, Nathaniel?"
Nate didn't look at them immediately. His eyes were fixed on the edge of the clearing, as if mentally tracing the route. Finally, he answered, returning to his cold tone:
"We go to Seattle With that vampire with us, we'll only need more samples of Riley's scent. The factory where he lived with the neophytes is abandoned; his things should still be there. If we're lucky, the tracker will locate him, and we move immediately toward him."
The Romanians' faces lit up with cold satisfaction; the proactive nature of the plan pleased them. Vladimir, with a smile that reeked of malice and the casualness of someone commenting on the weather, added—though inwardly knowing his words were gasoline on the fire—:
"Then you might be interested in what I discovered in Seattle…."