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POV: Atlas
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I awoke to stillness.
My body felt like lead, my muscles ached with phantom pain, and my throat was dry like a desert. No… not just my throat. Every cell screamed for sustenance. Two kinds. Blood and food.
The vampire in me clawed for what it was owed. The human in me begged for bread. But my soul, it just wanted to lie down again and never get up.
But I did. I pushed off the soft mattress, limbs trembling, head pulsing with static. The bed sheets were printed with sunflowers, faded from too many washes. The air smelled like vanilla lotion and lemon cleaning spray sharp and comforting in a way that whispered "home," even though it wasn't at least not to me.
The room wasn't large, but it felt lived-in. A collection of beaded curtains framed the window, letting watery sunlight through. A lava lamp, a dreamcatcher, and stacks of half-read books sat on the shelves. It was a woman's room, or maybe a free spirit's. Someone who danced barefoot in the living room.
From all those things I can safely say I wasn't in danger. At least not immediate danger. I don't know any Volturi that would have such taste. Or they might who knows. Immortality definitely comes with some quirks.
I exhaled slowly, then blinked toward the far corner where something caught my eye: The mirror.
My breath hitched. I staggered to it, unable to look away. My hair was wild and damp with sweat, my skin pale and slightly luminous under the sunlight. But my eyes… they weren't gold anymore. Not the gentle honey shade that I had from the animal blood I had consumed since my birth.
They were neon blue, pulsing with power.
They look like Starfire had been poured into a glass. I felt familiar pressure behind my temple, and I noticed it was far larger than before, it didn't hurt or anything but from that pressure, I can tell my Psychic energy reserves have increased considerably.
I felt it, humming behind my forehead, I know it wasn't truly there and I don't where it truly was. It's probably in my soul. That may make sense behind my eye color change since the eyes are the pathways to the soul.
As I looked deeper into the mirror, I saw more than just myself. There was… a thread. Glowing. Faintly. A rope made of light, no thicker than a vine, no more real than a ghost. But I could see it starting in my chest, in my heart, and reaching out toward the room's door.
I knew what it was.
Even before I wanted to admit it.
A bond.
Mate bond to be exact. Twilight had taught me that. Imprinting. Soulmates. Destiny. But this didn't feel… natural. It felt made, forced. Artificial.
Yet… as I focused, I saw more. Fainter, deeper, woven into the very fabric of his being like the golden artificial thread, they were other bonds. Natural bonds. Not one, but several, stretching out into an unseen distance, thrumming with a potential this artificial cord couldn't match.
Before I could fully unravel it, the door creaked. And she walked in. A woman in her twenties, with tousled blonde hair and laughter lines around her mouth. Renée. She was younger but I recognized her instantly, not from memory no, but from the movies, from scenes watched in a dark room beside my sister. Her hands were carrying a small bundle of clothes freshly folded, She was going towards the cupboard but stopped when she saw me sitting up.
"Oh! You're awake," she breathed before placing the cloth on a nearby chair.
I barely heard her voice. My eyes were locked onto the bond. The glowing rope between us flared faintly the moment her eyes met mine.
'Her. It's tied to her.' Panic warred with a desperate, aching comprehension. Something clicked as the memories before losing consciousness played before my eyes. It all made sense, horribly, quietly, heartbreakingly. I know why I felt safe at that time.
My psychic energy had latched onto her. In my lowest moment fleeing the Volturi, bleeding grief and fear and loss I'd reached for love. And found the first person who offered it. My mind, my power it had seized it, reacting to my emotions.
And made this. This tie. This fake connection that mimicked something real. I wanted to cut it but… I couldn't.
Because I was tired.
Because I was lonely.
Because… part of me needed someone.
I didn't want to float alone. Even if the warmth was artificial… it was warmth.
She smiled gently, walking toward me. I looked at her she wasn't tall but her body was the definition of curvy. She was wearing a white tank top that was tight around her impressive chest. The pair of blue jeans she whore snuggly hugged her thick thigh, perfectly showcasing her wide hips.
Weird…? When did I start noticing the opposite gender like that? Is it puberty? Am I hitting some Damphir puberty? Or is this the mate bond that is making me notice her as a woman?
"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" I was broken out of thought by her concerned voice.
I swallowed. My voice scraped out like wind over gravel.
"Thirsty… and hungry."
"Of course, sweetheart," Renée said, her hand fluttering nervously before settling gently on my forehead. A jolt, sharp and electric, passed through the artificial bond at her touch, mirrored by a physical spark where her skin met mine.
I suppressed a shiver. "You gave us such a scare. Just rest, I'll get you some soup and juice." She smiled, a soft, caring expression that made the warmth in his chest bloom treacherously.
"Thank you," I managed another word, nodding gratefully, the movement sending fresh pangs through my empty stomach while speaking felt like tiny needles poking through my throat.
As she turned and walked towards the door, my traitorous eyes followed the retreating view. The denim stretched taut over her frankly magnificent backside, her hips swaying with a natural, unconscious rhythm. I closed my eyes, leaning back against the pillows, the image seared into my mind.
"What am I doing?" I muttered trying to calm myself.
After some time she returned with a tray and laughed softly. "I thought you might be more hungry. I made some toast too alongside the soup."
I nodded. "Thank you."
Her expression softened even more. "I'm Renée, by the way. My daughter and I… well, we sort of hit you with our car."
I winced. "I remember… running straight into your headlights."
She set the tray down beside me. "Can you tell me your name?"
I hesitated. "Atlas."
"Just Atlas?"
I gave her a tired smile. "I… don't remember anything else."
That was a lie but I don't feel like explaining anything right now.
.
.
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Days blurred as I settled in the Swan household. Or is it a Dwyer house?
Renée decided I could stay until we figured things out after I told her I lost my memories. She believed my lie and felt guilty, thinking it was the accident that made me forget my memories. And that probably made her mother instincts go into overdrive.
She let me sleep in the guest room. Gave me some of her old clothes- Jeans and shirts, good thing people liked to wear loose clothes in the 90s.
She cooked for me. Watched me. And much to my embarrassment woke me when I cried out at night from the nightmares.
As for Bella… she was cautious at first, wide-eyed and curious. But after a few days, she started leaving drawings outside my door. A few had stick figures with wings. Did she think I was an angel? Was it my vampiric beauty?
Slowly she started to open up to me, it also helped she didn't have many friends due to her introverted nature.
On one morning she finally decided to speak while I eating oatmeal.
"You look like someone from a story, too beautiful like those typical mysterious characters," she said
"Is that good or bad?" I asked.
She shrugged. "Depends on the story."
I stared at her for a moment but she didn't speak anything else seeing that I went back to my oatmeal.
But I couldn't for long as I felt being watched, turning my head I caught Renée watching me over her coffee cup. Her gaze lingered too long. Not afraid but unsure. She has started to notice it too.
And I'm not talking about the bond, that she noticed immediately it was too powerful, too forced to be missed.
What I was talking about was I was growing. Faster than a normal boy should. A few weeks passed and I looked older by at least a year. My features sharpened. My limbs stretched. My voice deepened slightly. She said nothing. But I caught her eyes narrowing every time she folded my laundry. Every time my limbs filling the loose cloths more.
And as for the mate bond, it pulsed softly whenever she touched my shoulder. Or handed me a mug. Or smiled that gentle, absent-minded smile. I felt guilty sometimes. Like I was manipulating her.
But… was it so wrong to want to be held? To want comfort? To want safety again?
As more days passed I grew more, my strength increased so did my speed along it my stamina and vitality. Vitality that didn't mix well with my raging teen hormones.
Teenage hormones, amplified by my hybrid physiology and the artificial bond worked in overdrive. Every interaction became charged. When she leaned over me to fluff my pillows, the scent of her shampoo apples, and cinnamon was intoxicating. My eyes traced the line of her neck, the way her t-shirt dipped slightly at the collar, showcasing her deep valley. When our hands brushed passing a plate, that electric jolt surged, stronger each time. I found reasons to touch her arm, to stand close. I saw her notice too. A blush would creep up her neck, but she didn't pull away. Her gaze would sometimes linger on my face, on the startling blue of my eyes, a flicker of something unreadable not repulsion, but… Interest? Arousal? before she looks away.
Our interaction became more heated, more physical not only by me but by Renée too. She held my hand longer and touched my forehead to check my fever more often. Hugged me longer after every nightmare.
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