Moss-draped. Shadow-drenched. Tortured tree trunks twist upward, reaching for rare sunlight. Suddenly, every creature in the forest was deadly silent. Neither bird, beast or insect makes a noise. A predator is near.

Then, in the distance, the sound of a twig snapping. Abruptly, the predator's on the move. Fast. Trees start whipping past at a dizzying speed, branches are dodged with preternatural agility. And speeding up, chasing something. It's exhilarating. Terrifying. Finally, up ahead, the first glimpse of the predator's prey.

A medium sized grey wolf.

The wolf is alert, ears erect and twitching, before it bolts. It is running for its life as it darts through the maze of a forest. It sprints forward, but the predator is gaining on it. Just beyond, the forest’s edge is ahead, white sunlight glowing against the trees. The carnivore races for the light, and for safety.

The predator is just behind it, about to emerge from the shadows. The wolf lunges for the light in a high arc, hovering against the white hot glare of the sun, then a figure—an indescribable yellow and blue blur, really—cruelly tackles it out of frame at an abnormal angle.

Present Day

Late August, 2013

Charleston, South Carolina

The sky was a beautiful, azure blue, clear of any clouds and the air still a bit too warm from the not-yet-gone summer. I was seated on the hood of my new stepdad Logan's 1967 Ford Mustang Fastback watching my twin sister, Bella. With her back to me, she crouched down in front of a row of small Christmas cactus that our mother planted near the walkway, with a small clay pot and garden trowel.

I watch as she carefully scoops up a cactus into a clay pot. Just as Bella turns around to head my way, our mother, Renée, slams the screen door as she exits the two-story Victorian, causing us to simultaneously look in her direction. Logan is right behind her, carrying Bella's three remaining suitcases with ease. Mine were already in the car.

Renée met our father, Charlie Swan, near Lake Crescent during the Spring of 1990. Her senior class at Porter-Gaud School, a college preparatory school in Charleston, were undertaking their annual camping trip as a last hurrah before graduation and going off to college. She was—and still is—a stunner: a voluptuous, headstrong, brunette beauty. My strict grandparents, Beaufort and Anne-Marie Higginbotham—Marie, for short—, tried hard to keep her under a strict thumb, but my mother was—and is, for better or worse—a bold free spirit who never fit in the role of a caged nightingale.

Dad was a great date, handsome and kind, newly graduated with an enlistment into the United States Marines, as per the wishes of his own father, Geoffrey. Grandpa served between the years of 1940 and 1975, rising to the rank of Major General before an injury forced him to retire. He deeply wished for his only child to follow in his footsteps—and Dad did.

Mom was pouting, fiddling with her cellphone and the moment she and Bella meet, she thrusts it toward her. "It won't work again, babydoll, what am I doing wrong?"

Even though Renée is in her early forties, she has always been more of a best friend than a parent to my sister and I. I know for a fact if Grandma Marie hadn't took over with raising us, important things like food and bills would've been left to either to one of us girls to manage. That's one of the things I'm grateful, oh so grateful for, in regards to Grandma Marie—she gave us a childhood.

"That's because you put it on hold," Bella laughs good-naturedly.

"I did?"

"And you called Canada."

Chuckling and shaking my head, I push off the hot car hood and walk over to my sister and mother. "How did you ever manage to do that?" I ask, earning a playful from her shove in return. We laugh.

"I'll figure it out," Mom reassures us. Or she tried her best to, anyway. "You girls gotta be able to reach me and Logan on the road—I love saying that—on the road."

"How romantic." Bella dramatically sighs, and we exchange a look.

"Yeah, sure." Logan pipes up from his position near the trunk. Our stepfather is in his late thirties, with an athletic body, brown hair and dark eyes. Before he and our mother decided to get married, they dated on and off from the time we were eleven. "If you call crappy motels, backwater towns and ballpark hot dogs romantic."

Making his way over to where the three of us stood, Logan took his Charleston Pirates baseball hat off his head, only to place it on top of our mother's; leaning in to kiss her as he did so. His love for her is reassuring to me and, judging by the look on Bell's face, she is reassured too. Arms locked together, our mother securely between us, we follow Logan back to the old car.

It has been sixty-five years since that fateful day in that New York City diner—the day I met Alice and was offered another way to live. For two years, we traveled together using her gift as our guide, in search of this family she enthusiastically told me about. In our time together, Alice and I learnt so much from each other and I would've gladly taken her as my mate, if not for her visions telling us to wait.

I owe her the world and more for all she's done for me.

This family, called the Olympic Coven—little did I know at the time when we were in search of them—are one of the major powers of the vampire world. In contrast to the more militaristic Volturi, the oldest and most influential coven that is based in Volterra, Italy, governing the European continent where they uphold all vampire laws; the Olympic Coven were different in their ruling of North America. Despite my own reservations for joining another coven of such magnitude, I quickly learned that they were peaceful and didn't war against other vampire clans without a damn good reason to.

Other than that, they tend to stick to their own affairs.

I'll never forget the love I felt when Alice met her mate in Edward Cullen. When she realized that him being able to read her mind meant that he could watch the future with her, she showed him all of the love and trust they would develop and the many lifetimes of happiness they would share. They never looked back. Now, after all this time of being together, it's like they have their own language. They can communicate without saying a word.

When we finally found the Olympic Coven, they had started with eleven members. Eleven mature, fully grown vampires—three of which were gifted, the most I've seen in any setting. With my past involving large groups of vampires, meeting the Cullens for that first time set my teeth on edge and every instinct on high alert. Unless they were gifted or had proven their worth, Maria never allowed a vampire in her army to survive past their first year. I was an exception to that rule, and so was my Captain, Peter. One newborn—Charlotte—only survived past the annual purge because I allowed for her and my bub to go.

But that's an entirely different story.

After Alice and I joined in 1950, followed by Peter and Charlotte a decade later, for reasons even he won't divulge, the family decided to branch off to be more inconspicuous. Six members left to settle in Argentina—in the South American continent as a sort of 'cousin' clan, calling themselves the Atlantic Coven, after the Atlantic ocean located east of where they live. Once settled, they were quick to establish themselves as the law enforcers for vampires on that side of the world. The remaining nine of us stayed for another couple of years in Calgary, Canada, until trouble started brewing in the form of my sire showing up in want of her Major and Captain. After she saw who we joined with and had no intention of returning to her side, she was forced to return to her own territory empty-handed.

That's been years ago, and I've not seen hair or hide of Maria since.

Three weeks ago, the family made their move to a small town called Forks in the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington state. For the original five members of our coven—Carlisle, Esme, Edward, Rosalie and Emmett—this was the first time they have been back since the mid-1920s; over eighty years ago. It rains on this town more than any other place in the United States of America, which suits us vampires just fine and dandy. There are, however, sunny days. Just not as frequent as what one would expect if you lived, say, in the southern states—like Texas or Florida, for an example.

On this particular August afternoon, the family was scattered about the house doing their own thing. The sun was high today, which meant we were stuck at home, sequestered away from human eyes and the potential risk of exposure. Emmett and Peter were settled in front of the flat screen, playing Dynasty Warriors 4: Xtreme Legends and arguing over which female character was the better fighter between Zhen Ji and Zhu Rong.

Rather amusing, considering the fact Pete has a soft spot for the wild looking warrior woman. "I'm telling you, Em! Zhu Rong throws knives as her special attack! Knives! I know her knives can kick Zhen Ji's flute playing ass! It's science."

"I am starting to think you like Zhu Rong for more than just her knives, Peter. I mean, just look at the size of her rack. Now that's science." Emmett retorts, wiggling his eyebrows. This comment earned him two simultaneous slaps upside the head so harsh even I felt it. They came from Charlotte, and Emmett's own mate, Rosalie.

Lounging on the divan with my legs crossed and an old, well-worn book titled The Crucible open in my lap, I could feel a mixture of annoyance from Rosalie and frustration from Charlotte directed at Emmett. I found it rather amusing how close the two girls—Rosalie and Charlotte—have grown to be, just like actual sisters. Carlisle, my adopted father, was going over paperwork for the hospital and the official papers we 'teenagers' would need when we finally got started at the local high school—Forks High School. Esme was behind him with a long microfiber feather duster, dusting the books and various knick-knacks on display they collected over the years.

Rosalie and Charlotte were preoccupied with the game between Peter and Emmett; each wanting their respective mate to win. Though one of the girls would occasionally feel compelled to hit their mate for something stupid that had been said.

Alice moved slowly—for our species anyway—around the big living room, unnecessarily tidying the already immaculate space, straightening Esme’s perfectly hung garlands. I could see from the way her face fluctuated —aware, then blank, then aware again—that she was searching the future. I could feel her worry and nervousness, something she's prone to do every time we relocate and start at a new school. She must be worried and nervous about what to wear for the first day at Forks High School—a human thing to feel.

"Alice, my love," Edward spoke from his seated position in front of the grand piano. He undoubtedly read my thoughts. "You will look great no matter what you wear. So, please, don't worry so much."

She stopped re-centering Esme’s vases on the glass living room table to turn to him. "I don't want to look just great, Edward. I want to make a fashion statement, and look magnificent as I do it."

"And you will, my love."

She stuck her tongue out at Edward and then lifted one of the blue and gold Fabergé eggs situated on the mantelpiece. Reading my book, I didn’t see it when the egg slipped from Alice’s fingers. I only heard the whoosh of the air whistling past, and my eyes flickered up in time to see the egg shatter into ten thousand shards against the edge of the marble floor.

Alice was frozen in place and she wasn't the only one. Peter was frozen on the couch, mouth wide in the middle of shouting in victory, then in a span of a second, his mouth started curving into a dumbass, knowing grin. I felt the excitement coming from both of them, and the amusement from Edward as he sauntered over to stand beside Alice was almost too much.

"What did you see?" Carlisle asked. And at the same time, Edward asked her. "Are you sure?" Whatever answer she thought had Edward grinning, widely, and it made me nervous.

Alice averted her eyes from Edward and towards Carlisle, shooting him a reassuring smile before she answered. "Nothing that any us have to worry about right now."

Growling, and realizing I wasn't going to get any answers from Alice unless she wanted to share, I turned my attention to Peter. He still had that dumbass grin on his face, and worst of all, he had it directed at me. It's moments like this that make me want to smack the shit out of him.

"Oráculo," I growled at him. "What do you know?"

"Now, Major," Peter teased with that trademark shit-eating grin. "It's a beautiful surprise. And it wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, now would it?"