It had been several weeks since you’d first met the Cullens, and although Alice’s initial reaction had been one of wary distance, things were starting to shift — if only slightly. You, a werewolf — part of the very pack that had been at odds with her family for years — had imprinted on her.

It was a bond you couldn’t explain, and one that only seemed to deepen the more you tried to prove yourself to her. But Alice wasn’t like the others; she wasn’t easily charmed or fooled. She didn’t care for the whole idea of imprinting — particularly when it came to a werewolf — and she had made that clear with her first icy words.

“You do realize this is not how things are supposed to go, right?” Alice had said the first time you tried to get close to her, her words dripping with that quiet but potent disapproval that only a Cullen could muster.

But you didn’t give up. You couldn’t.

It was strange, really — being bound to someone who seemed to detest your very existence. You weren’t supposed to be the one trying to get her attention. You should’ve been the one she avoided. You should’ve been the one that hated her.

But the imprinting bond, that strange pull, didn’t care for logic. And there you were — a werewolf, a creature that lived by its instincts, standing at the front door of the Cullen house, holding a messy bouquet of handpicked wildflowers.

Your hair was a tangled mess from just shifting back from wolf form, your clothes wrinkled, stained with dirt and leaves. You had barely bothered to clean up, too focused on delivering the flowers to Alice. She’d been avoiding you the past couple of days, and even though it had been frustrating, you didn’t care. You were determined.

She has to like these, you thought, staring down at the bundle of flowers, which looked like they had been picked by someone who had never seen a flower in their life — which, to be fair, was probably true.

You took a deep breath and rang the doorbell, heart pounding despite the familiarity of the situation. The door creaked open just a few seconds later, and there she was.

Alice Cullen. Her black bob was perfectly styled as always, and her fashion-forward outfit looked like something straight out of a high-end magazine. She looked at you, eyes narrowing with that signature skepticism she seemed to wear whenever she saw you.

You held out the bouquet to her with a sheepish grin, hoping she’d somehow see the sincerity behind the mess you’d brought.

“Uh… these are for you. I know they’re not much, but I—” You started, but Alice’s expression shifted as she looked at the bouquet, and then back at you.

Her lips twitched, as if trying to suppress the smile that was threatening to break free.

“You’re not really good at picking flowers, are you?” she said, her voice light, teasing. But there was something in her eyes — a glimmer of something more that made your heart beat even faster.