Under the Cursed Moon - CH - 83

The sky above Forks was a blanket of iron gray, casting the trees and rooftops in soft shadow. It was the perfect weather for a vampire seeking discretion. No sun, no tourists, just the hush of rain and the steady whisper of wind through pine needles.

Riven stood at the tree line near the Cullen estate, staring at the elegant house nestled among the trees. The windows glowed faintly with light. Music played softly inside—piano, classical, possibly Edward Cullen.

Riven took a deep breath he didn’t need and adjusted the straps of his travel-worn leather satchel. His clothing was simple: dark jeans, an old sweater, a jacket patched at the shoulder. He looked like a drifter—which was the idea.

But the key was his mind. Even now, as he approached the Cullen property, he knew Edward Cullen wouldn’t hear a thing. His thoughts were as sealed and silent as stone.

He stepped forward and deliberately broke a twig beneath his boot.

Within seconds, Alice Cullen appeared on the porch, eyes sharp but not unkind.

“I saw you coming,” she said evenly, folding her arms. “You waited until now on purpose.”

Riven offered a tired, half-smile. “Didn’t want to cause alarm.”

The front door opened. Esme stepped out next, followed by Emmett—broad-shouldered, arms crossed, not yet aggressive but clearly alert.

Then, Edward emerged.

Riven’s eyes locked briefly with his.

Nothing.

No flicker. No pause.
He couldn’t be read—and Edward knew it instantly.

Riven raised his hands slowly, palms open.

“My name is Riven,” he said. “I’m a nomad. I’ve heard stories about your… lifestyle. I want to learn.”

Edward exchanged a silent glance with Alice, then nodded once.

“We don’t usually accept visitors lightly,” Esme said, stepping forward, her voice warm but cautious. “But you’re here with purpose. That matters.”

“I’m not looking to join,” Riven added quickly. “Not unless… I prove myself. I’ve lived alone for a long time. I’ve only ever fed from humans, but… it’s been hard. I heard there’s… structure here.”

Emmett raised an eyebrow. “Most nomads scoff at structure.”

“I’m not most nomads,” Riven replied.

Edward’s voice was quiet. “I can’t use my power on you.”

Riven tilted his head. “I know. I’m told I have a kind of… shield. Mental silence.”

“Like Bella,” Alice murmured.

Riven let the comparison pass without comment, but he tucked it away.

Esme stepped forward with a gentle smile. “Come inside. You can eat with us—well, not eat, obviously—but join us. If you're sincere, you’re welcome to stay a few days. You’ll be watched, but not unkindly.”

Riven dipped his head. “That’s all I ask.”

He followed them through the wide entrance of the house, into a space that felt more like a museum than a home. Marble floors. Glass art. A grand piano. The air was laced with old wood and music.

Carlisle was seated in an armchair, flipping through a medical journal. He looked up as Riven entered.

“A visitor?” he asked, standing.

Riven extended his hand. “Riven, sir. Heard you were the father of the house.”

Carlisle chuckled and shook his hand. “I try to be. Welcome.”

“I’d like to stay a few months. Learn. Maybe work if there’s work to be done. I don’t need much.”

“Do you know what you’re asking?” Edward said softly. “This life—this diet—it’s not just difficult. It’s defining. It changes how you see the world.”

“I already see it differently,” Riven replied. “That’s why I’m here.”

Esme gestured to the couches. “Sit. Tell us your story.”

Riven sat, perfectly poised.

“I was turned in Canada,” he began. “Twenty years ago. By someone who didn’t stay long. I wandered. Stayed away from cities. I’ve been hunting mostly criminals. But loneliness and hunger wear you down.”

He let his voice tremble slightly.

“I started slipping. But I didn’t want to become… something else. So when I heard of you—a coven that’s more than just a diet, a family—I came.”

Carlisle nodded thoughtfully. “A rare thing. And a brave choice.”

“You’ll have a place here, for now,” Edward said, though his eyes were still wary. “But don’t mistake hospitality for trust.”

“Understood,” Riven replied.


The morning fog rolled through the trees like breath from some great beast, clinging to trunks and drifting across the mossy ground. The Cullen estate was still, its walls glowing faintly against the silver sky. Inside, however, the air was tense.

Riven stood at the edge of the great room, his expression calm, but his golden-flecked eyes flickered with something restless.

It had been a full day since his arrival.

And the thirst was setting in.

He could feel it—that dryness coiling behind his teeth, the instinct creeping beneath his skin. Animal blood might dull the ache, but it was no substitute for the fire of human blood. He knew it. The Cullens knew it.

This was the test.

Though Riven had been invited into the house, no one truly trusted him. Centuries of caution couldn’t be unwound in a day.

Carlisle remained polite and warm.
Esme offered him a tidy guest room and a clean wardrobe.
Alice smiled, but always watched.
Rosalie said little.

Edward… never let him out of sight.

Riven understood.

Still, there was a quiet tension—an acknowledgment that he wasn’t unwelcome. If they could help him stay clean… it was a victory for their kind.

At breakfast—though none of them ate—Esme had placed a small glass vial on the counter.

Riven eyed it briefly.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Something our friends make,” Emmett said, plucking the vial and holding it up to the light. “Blood-replenishing elixer. Takes the edge off.”

Riven tilted his head. “And… you give this to guests?”

“No,” Edward said before anyone else could answer. “Not to you.”

Riven looked at him.

Edward's tone was steady. “You said you came to learn our way. That is not an easy one. If you're going to join us, if you're serious, you'll need to learn control, not dependency.”

Riven didn’t argue.
He didn’t ask for the potion.
He nodded once. “Fair enough.”

Later that morning, Edward, Emmett, and Riven trekked deep into the Olympic Forest. The sun remained hidden, and the branches above dripped with dew. The air smelled of pine, loam, and distant water.

The silence stretched between them.

Riven kept pace easily, though Edward always walked just a step ahead, not as a guide—but a guard.

Emmett cracked a branch underfoot and sniffed the wind.
“There’s a grizzly about two miles south.”

“You sure?” Edward murmured.

“I can smell it,” Emmett grinned. “Big one.”

Riven nodded. “That’ll do.”

They moved fast, but not recklessly. As they neared a clearing, Riven felt the pulse of something primal stir in his throat. A deep, heavy heartbeat. The bear was nearby—massive, lumbering, unaware of the death walking silently toward it.

His muscles coiled.

The thirst clawed at his senses.

One strike. One bite. Just like I’ve done before...

But this time, something different hummed at the edge of his awareness. He wasn’t alone. He wasn’t hiding. And he couldn’t lose control.

The bear reared up, sensing something wrong.

Riven moved like a shadow. Not a single wasted motion. He pounced, bringing the beast down with a precise grip to the neck, avoiding a messy thrashing. He held the bear gently, almost reverently.

And then—he bit.

Minutes later, Riven knelt in the ferns, wiping the blood from his lips with the back of his sleeve. The coppery sting lingered in his throat—not as satisfying as a human feed, but enough.

Emmett approached, impressed.
“You didn’t hesitate.”

Riven exhaled. “If I had, I wouldn’t have done it.”

Edward’s voice was quieter.
“You didn’t let instinct take over. That’s the first victory.”

Riven nodded. “The first of many, I hope.”

They returned in silence, Riven walking slightly behind the others—not from shame, but from thought. It had been harder than he expected, not because of the kill, but because of the lack of fire. The restraint.

It was quieter now, the thirst soothed—but not gone.

This is the price, he told himself. If I want a place here… this is the price.

That evening, seated quietly in the Cullen library, Esme brought Riven a change of clothes and a notebook to write in.

“You’ll find that journaling helps,” she said gently. “We all did it, in the beginning.”

Riven looked down at the soft leather cover. “Thank you.”

Edward passed nearby, pausing at the doorway.

“You didn’t lose control,” he said simply. “That means you’re not a danger to us—yet.”

“I don’t want to be a danger,” Riven replied.

“We’ll see.”

And high in the woods above Forks, Lysara crouched in a tree, watching through a distant scope, marking each face and movement as the Volturi’s infiltration advanced, unseen.

Lysara had learned long ago that patience was a more dangerous weapon than fangs.

Perched high in the shadowed canopy of a pine tree, far above the clearing near the Cullen house, she lay perfectly still—just another motionless silhouette in the forest’s design. Even the birds didn’t flee her presence anymore.

She had been there for nine days. Not always in that tree, of course. She shifted locations every few hours. She was too experienced to leave a trail. Too cautious to let scent cling to her cloak or her skin. She even cleaned her footprints with pine resin before moving from one location to another.

And in all this time, she had remained unseen.

Because she was not here to strike.
Only to watch.

Lysara knew the unspoken laws of vampire society. No one truly owned land, not even powerful clans like the Cullens. There were only understandings—territorial customs held in place by the threat of exposure.

So long as she remained hidden...
So long as she didn’t draw attention...
They could not touch her.

If they discovered her, the worst they could do was issue a warning. The Volturi had ensured she knew the boundaries. Stay invisible. Don’t interfere. Don’t hunt nearby. Avoid confrontation.

You are the eyes, Aro had told her. Nothing more. You see, you learn, you disappear.

She felt the thirst now and then. A low, dull throb in her throat. But she refused to hunt in Forks. Too close. Too risky.

Instead, every three days, she vanished to Seattle, blending with the crowds beneath the shadows of the city skyline.

She would track the vile—those who hurt others, whose disappearance wouldn’t be noticed. A quick feed, a clean escape. No patterns. No signs.

Then, she returned to her post.

She knew all their names now.

Edward — the silent, restless one. A mind-reader. Dangerous if you didn’t prepare for him.

Bella — a shield. Impossible to read or manipulate. Emotionless as frost.

Renesmee — the child. The hybrid. The purpose of her entire mission.

Lysara had only seen Renesmee twice—once running alongside Teddy Black near the woods, and another time near the Cullen garden, where Esme was teaching her to paint.

Each time, Lysara watched the child project her thoughts into others. Through touch. Through intent.
Her power was gentle, but deeply intrusive.

A weapon wrapped in innocence.

Lysara knew she might one day be confronted by Edward. And she knew how his ability worked.

He couldn’t see your past. He couldn’t pull truth from memory like Aro.
He could only hear what you were thinking at that moment.

So she trained herself.

She filled her mind with static. Unwanted thoughts. Repetitive mantras. Mundane nonsense.

“There is a pine cone in the tree. The tree is tall. There are twenty-seven needles in the branch. I do not like poetry. The sky is gray. The tree is tall. The tree is tall.”

She looped these ideas constantly.

If Edward ever looked her way, he would find nothing but a monotonous mind—a harmless wanderer or curious nomad.

She never contacted the others—not directly.

But every three nights, she left coded marks carved into the bark of a dead tree ten miles west of Forks. Only Riven, Maltheon, and Ivy knew how to read them.

They were symbols of position, timing, caution.
A silent code of the Volturi’s slow and patient infiltration.

She wasn’t blind to Aro’s ambition.
He didn’t fear the Cullens. He feared what protected them—Harry Black.

But Lysara wasn’t interested in that.

She watched Renesmee, not out of duty, but out of quiet curiosity. She’d seen centuries of vampire lore, of hybrid myths whispered across Eastern Europe. But never had she seen a child born of vampire and human survive.

Much less thrive.

What will she become?
What happens when that girl grows into her power?
Will she favor humans—or vampires?

If she became dangerous, Aro would strike.
But if she could be controlled…

That thought never finished in her mind. Lysara did not allow herself the luxury of hope.

She was the eyes.

Nothing more.