Ghost of Ourselves (Twilight X Reader)

°Peck°
To be lightly kissed.

Honestly, I don't think I'll be headed home anytime soon. But I feel I'm okay with that.

The day unfolds before us like a gift, the storms coming and going in typical Washington fashion. Laurent shows me places he's discovered in his nocturnal wanderings-hidden waterfalls, ancient nurse logs covered in moss so green it almost glows, clearings full of wildflowers that shouldn't bloom this late.

"Forest hold secrets," he says, helping me over a fallen cedar, his cold hands careful but lingering. " and like you, it refuses to follow expected patterns."

The scattered sunlight through the canopy intensifies, creating dappled patterns across the forest floor. As Laurent helps me over a fallen cedar, his skin catches the light in a way I've never witnessed before-not the ostentatious diamond sparkle of the Cullens, but something more ethereal. The sunbeams dance across his dark complexion, creating a subtle luminescence like moonlight reflected on obsidian waters.

I can't help but stare, transfixed by the interplay of light and shadow across the planes of his face. Unlike the Cullens' skin, which fractures sunlight into rainbow prisms, Laurent's absorbs it, then releases it back in gentle waves of silver-blue iridescence. It reminds me of frost blooming across a window at dawn or starlight caught in black volcanic glass.

"Your skin," I whisper, my voice barely audible even to myself. "It's different."

Laurent begins to withdraw his hand, instinctively retreating toward the shadowed refuge beneath one of the many ancient trees. A flash of something-vulnerability, perhaps-crosses his features.

"Don't," I say, reaching for him. My fingers brush his wrist before he can fully step away. The cold of his skin sends a familiar shiver up my arm, but I don't release him. "Please. Let me see. You look dazzling. "

For a moment, he stands perfectly still, caught between centuries of hiding and this unprecedented moment of exposure. His crimson eyes search mine, looking for fear or revulsion and finding only wonder.

"Different covens carry different... traits," he explains softly as I gently pull him back into the sunlight. "The Olympic coven's crystalline effect isn't rare due to their complexion. Most of us merely... shimmer."

"Your so pretty" I stare softly.

His laugh holds that familiar thunder. "I'm a predator, ma chérie. Everything about me is designed to draw you in."

I step closer, mesmerized by how the light seems to get caught beneath his skin, as though his very essence has absorbed centuries of moonlight. My hand lifts of its own accord, hovering just above his cheek.

"May I?"

His nod is almost imperceptible, a movement so slight it would be invisible to anyone not watching him with the intensity I am. As my fingertips brush his cheekbone, the cold of his skin contrasts with the warmth of the dappled sunlight.

"Stay still," he murmurs, his French accent thickening with the tension that suddenly coils between us. His eyes darken, the crimson deepening to burgundy. "Please. Just... don't move." A quieter plead.

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. The forest around us seems to still as well-no birds call, no leaves rustle. There is only the sound of my heartbeat, embarrassingly loud in the sudden silence.

Laurent lifts his hand with excruciating slowness, giving me every opportunity to pull away. When his cool fingers trace the outline of my jaw, I fight the urge to lean into his touch. The restraint creates an electric current between us, a palpable tension that makes my skin prickle with awareness.