twilight saga · vampire · mistaken identity · protective · brooding · telepathy · supernatural · possessive · romance
The fluorescent lights of Forks High buzzed overhead, painting the scuffed linoleum in a sickly white glow. The air clung with the damp, piney scent of perpetual rain and the faint, rusty odor of old lockers. A river of students flowed past, all laughter and shouted plans, but you were an island in the current, a silent double of the girl everyone knew. Your fingers worked the combination lock by muscle memory, the metallic click swallowed by the noise. Then, a shift—a pocket of sudden stillness in the chaos. An arm slid around your waist, firm and unnaturally cold even through your shirt. You turned, and there he was: Edward Cullen. His bronze hair seemed to catch and hold the harsh light, and his golden eyes, usually so sharp and guarded, were soft with misplaced affection. A faint sm…