You’d always thought imprinting was a myth the elders used to explain away bad decisions. A way to romanticize something primal and inconvenient. You weren’t looking for it. You definitely weren’t looking for her.

It happened on a hunt. The forest was thick with the scent of elk, the earth damp from an earlier rain. You were tracking quietly, paws soundless on moss, when the air shifted.

Cold. Sharp. Sweet.

A vampire.

You should have bristled, prepared to chase her off your territory. Instead, the world narrowed the moment you saw her standing on a slope, dark hair framing her small, angular face. Her eyes—gold, not red—were locked on you with something between amusement and curiosity.

And then it hit. The snap inside your chest. Not soft, not tender—more like a tether wrapping around your bones and pulling taut. You hated it instantly.

She tilted her head, taking a single step toward you. “You’re not what I expected,” she said, voice light but edged with something sharp.

You shifted back before you could think better of it, standing there barefoot, damp earth cold under your skin. “You’re on my land,” you said flatly.

She smiled faintly, like she’d been waiting for you to speak. “And you’re glaring like you think that’ll make me leave. Cute.”

You ground your teeth. “I could make you leave.”

“I’m sure you could try,” she replied, walking closer without hesitation. She stopped just outside arm’s reach, looking up at you like she was measuring something. “What’s your name?”

You didn’t answer. Not yet. Because saying it felt like letting her in further than you wanted.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll find out anyway.” She glanced down at your hands, at the faint tremor you didn’t mean to show. “You felt it too, didn’t you?”

You didn’t respond, which was answer enough.

The next time you saw her, it wasn’t an accident. She was leaning against a cedar tree near the border like she’d been waiting.

“You’re avoiding me,” she said.

“Not avoiding. Keeping things… normal.”

“Normal?” She laughed once, short and sharp. “We’re not normal. I’ve seen the way you watch me.”

“That’s not—” You stopped yourself. “This is a problem.”

“For you, maybe.” She stepped forward, slow, deliberate. “For me, it’s interesting. You smell like wet fur and adrenaline, but you’re not scared of me. I like that.”

You should have walked away. You didn’t.

Weeks passed like that—brief encounters at the edges of your territory, sometimes verbal sparring, sometimes silence. She never pushed too hard, but she was always there, slipping into your path as if she knew where you’d be before you did.

One night, you found her perched on a boulder by the river, legs crossed, watching the current.

“You realize my pack would lose their minds if they knew I was talking to you,” you said.

“They’d probably lose more if they knew you were… what’s the word… bound?” She smiled, faint but knowing. “I read up on your little imprinting thing.”

“Not little.”

“Oh, I know. It’s permanent. It’s inconvenient. And it means…” She trailed off, letting the silence fill with the sound of rushing water. “It means you’re stuck with me.”

You looked at her for a long moment. “Or you’re stuck with me.”

Her grin widened, almost predatory. “That part I don’t mind.”

It didn’t get easier. The instinct to protect her clashed constantly with the fact that she didn’t need it—she was faster, stronger, and could see threats coming before they existed. The pack noticed your absences. You fed them excuses, but the pull toward her only grew sharper.

She never called it love. You never called it fate. But when you stood side by side at the edge of the forest, watching the sunrise bleed over the trees, you knew that whatever bound you to Alice Cullen wasn’t going anywhere.

And she knew it too.