Felix stood tall near the ornate stone column, arms casually folded, but his body was anything but relaxed. His crimson eyes narrowed sharply, scanning, calculating, claiming.

There she was.

Not the fragile-looking human clinging to the Cullen seer’s hand, nor the pixie with the eerie self-assurance—but her. The third. The stranger. The girl whose scent curled into his lungs like fire and velvet, whose gaze met his with hesitant curiosity.

Time slowed.

His breath caught—a rare occurrence for someone who hadn't truly breathed in over a millennium.

Mate.

The word was silent, sacred. It detonated in his chest like a cannon.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t move.

But he watched.

Drank in every inch of her like a dying man crawling to water.

She was… imperfect in the most perfect way. Her eyes—confused, wide, so very alive—kept flicking back to him, drawn in by something she didn’t understand. Her mouth opened slightly as if she could sense it too. The pull. The claim. The quiet declaration in his stare: You are mine.

Felix straightened his posture instinctively, subtly adjusting the line of his shoulders so his robe shifted—revealing more of the shirt clinging to the hard ridges of his chest, the V-cut of his abs hinted at beneath the fabric. He didn’t usually care for showboating.

But for her?

He wanted her to see him. All of him.

He rolled his shoulders back and allowed a half-smirk to grace his lips. His face—a brutal sculpture of masculinity—softened only slightly. Just enough to be seen as... dangerous and enticing. He tilted his head, eyes dragging across her slowly, reverently, like a lion admiring its prize.

Jane’s arrival sliced through the tension like a cold blade.

“Come. Aro is waiting,” she said sharply.

Alice and Bella exchanged glances, their expressions guarded. Jane barely spared them a glance before turning her crimson eyes to Felix. Her gaze flicked quickly to you, then back to him.

Something flickered in her expression. Awareness. Displeasure.

Felix didn’t look at her.

Instead, he stepped forward. Not too close. Not yet. But closer.

He turned just slightly so that when the group moved to the elevator, he would be the one standing beside you. His shoulder almost brushed yours, and he could hear your pulse spike—just slightly.

Good.

Inside the elevator, the tight space became unbearable. You could feel his presence, not just physically, but viscerally. It was heat and hunger, something primal and powerful pressing against the air itself.

Felix didn’t speak. His eyes remained forward. But his fingers twitched once, subtle and sharp, at his side.

He could smell the warmth of your skin, hear the rhythm of your breath—and it was intoxicating.

He would not touch you. Not yet.

But he would have you.

And every predator’s bone in his body promised this truth:

She will be mine.