The last thing Alex Evans remembered was the screech of tires, the blinding glare of headlights, and a distinct, horrifying crunch. Then, nothing. Just a profound, endless, silent darkness. It wasn't unpleasant, not really. More like a waiting room without walls, time, or sensation.
"Interesting, isn't it? The transition, I mean."
Alex would have jumped if he had a body to jump with. The voice was... everywhere. It was deep, resonant, yet also light and amused. It held the wisdom of eons and the playful curiosity of a child.
"Who... what are you?" Alex thought, his consciousness a flickering candle in the void.
"Many names, many forms," the voice hummed. "God, The Source, The Universe, Bob on Tuesdays. Take your pick. You, Alex Evans, have reached the end of your current iteration."
"So, I'm dead," Alex stated, a surprising lack of panic in his non-existent being. It was a fact, like knowing the sky was blue.
"Correct! And rather messily, I might add. Drunk driver. Tragic, but common." The voice sounded genuinely sympathetic for a moment. "However, your thread isn't quite ready to be snipped and rewoven into the grand tapestry just yet. You've accumulated... let's call it 'cosmic credit.' So, I'm offering a deal."
"A deal?"
"Reincarnation. A new life, a new world. And because I'm feeling generous, and your file shows a distinct lack of being a complete arsehole, four wishes. Within reason, of course. I can't make you the new me, for example. Paperwork is a nightmare."
Alex processed this. Reincarnation. Wishes. It sounded like a bad power fantasy, but here he was, a disembodied consciousness chatting with God (or Bob). "Okay," he thought, "what have I got to lose? I'm already dead."
"Excellent! Now, for the destination. I have a particular world in mind, one you're familiar with from your fictions. A little place called Forks, Washington. Ever heard of Twilight?"
Alex's non-existent eyebrows would have shot up. Twilight? Seriously? Sparkling vampires and mopey heroines? But then a thought struck him. It was a world with established supernatural elements. A chance to be more than human.
"Alright, Twilight it is," Alex decided. "For my first wish, I want to be reincarnated there, obviously."
"Done!" the voice boomed cheerfully.
"Second wish: I want to be a vampire. But not one of those sparkly, emo ones. I want to be a folklore vampire – think Dracula, Nosferatu – but without the typical weaknesses. No sunlight issues, no stakes to the heart, no garlic, holy water, or needing an invitation. Super strength, speed, senses, regeneration, the works."
The voice chuckled. "Ambitious! A classic, powerful form. Granted. You'll be quite unique in that world, a true apex predator without the built-in kill-switches."
Alex felt a thrill, or what would have been a thrill. "Third wish: My unique vampiric ability, I want to have absolute control over blood. My own, others', the blood in a blood bag, spilled on the floor – all of it. Hemokinesis."
"Ooh, a connoisseur's choice! Versatile, potent. Not too flashy, but devastating in the right hands. Granted. Be careful with that one; it can get messy."
"Fourth wish," Alex paused, considering. He needed to integrate seamlessly. "I want to be reincarnated as Alex Swan, the older brother of Bella Swan. I want to retain all my memories from this life, Alex Evans, but also gain all the memories and experiences of Alex Swan up to the point of my 'insertion.' And I want my appearance to be based on my previous self, just... enhanced by the vampirism. My deep hazel eyes, I want them to become crimson red as a mark of my nature."
"A clever package deal! Integration, identity, and a rather striking new look. The crimson eyes are a nice touch. Granted. Your previous deep hazel will indeed shift. You'll be born Alex Swan, a couple of years older than Isabella. You'll have a life there, memories that will feel as real as your old ones. When you awaken, it will be a little disorienting as the two sets of memories merge, but you'll adjust."
"So, when do I—"
"Right... about... NOW!"
The infinite darkness fractured, shattered like glass, and then a blinding, overwhelming torrent of sensation crashed into him.
Alex Swan gasped, bolting upright in bed, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs – a heart that felt impossibly strong, impossibly alive. His lungs burned as they dragged in cool, damp air that smelled of pine needles and rain.
Rain?
He blinked, his vision sharpening with unnatural clarity. He was in a room, plain but comfortable. Wooden paneling, a simple desk, a bookshelf crammed with worn paperbacks. His room. Alex Swan's room.
The memories hit him then, a tidal wave of two lives crashing together. Alex Evans: twenty-four years old, engineering graduate, lover of sarcastic British comedy and decently made coffee, tragically flattened by a Ford F-150. And Alex Swan: seventeen, resident of Forks, son of Charlie Swan, older brother to Isabella "Bella" Swan. Quiet, a bit of a loner, liked hiking, good at fixing things, secretly worried about his dad's cooking and his sister's general clumsiness.
He clutched his head, groaning as the two Alexes fought for dominance before slowly, painstakingly, beginning to merge. It wasn't one overwriting the other; it was like two rivers flowing into one, creating something new, yet familiar. He was Alex. Alex Evans-Swan. Or just Alex Swan, now, with a whole lot of extra baggage and a universe of secrets.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet hitting the cool wood floor. He felt… powerful. Coiled. Every nerve ending hummed with a subtle energy. He looked at his hands. They were his, yet refined. Leaner, stronger, the skin flawless and pale, almost like porcelain but with an underlying vitality. He ran a hand through his hair – deep brown, almost black, thick and a little unruly, just like Alex Evans's, but it felt silkier.
A small, framed photo on his nightstand caught his eye. It was him, Alex Swan, maybe a year younger, grinning lopsidedly with his arm around a younger, far more awkward Bella. He remembered that day. A rare sunny afternoon in Forks, they'd gone down to La Push. Bella had tripped over a piece of driftwood and nearly face-planted into a tide pool. He'd caught her, laughing.
Bella. His sister.
The protectiveness he'd always felt for the Bella Swan of his memories – the fictional one – was now magnified tenfold, intertwined with genuine, lived experiences of this Bella. She was due to move here permanently soon, leaving Renee and Phil in Arizona. He knew what that meant. The Cullens. James. Victoria. The Volturi.
A grim smile touched his lips. Well, things were about to get a damn sight more interesting for everyone involved. And Bella was going to have a very different kind of protector this time.
He stood, stretching, and felt the smooth, powerful play of muscles that were far beyond peak human. He padded over to the small, slightly warped mirror on his closet door.
The young man staring back was undeniably him, yet… more. Sharper features, a certain intensity in his posture. And his eyes. They weren't the deep hazel Alex Evans had possessed. They were a startling, vibrant crimson, like freshly spilled blood, glowing faintly in the dim morning light filtering through the window.
"Well, Bob, you weren't kidding," he murmured, a dry smirk playing on his lips. His voice was deeper too, smoother, with a subtle resonance.
A faint scent drifted to him, cutting through the smell of damp earth and pine. Bacon. And something… else. Something coppery and tantalizing. He frowned, focusing. It was coming from downstairs. Charlie was cooking breakfast. And Charlie, bless his accident-prone heart, had nicked himself. A tiny cut, probably shaving. Alex could smell the single drop of blood that had welled up before being wiped away.
The scent tugged at something primal within him, a deep, hollow ache that had nothing to do with normal hunger. Thirst.
He needed to control this. The "God" entity had said no weaknesses, but hunger, or thirst in this case, was a biological imperative. He quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a dark t-shirt. Sunglasses. He definitely needed sunglasses until he figured out how to manage the glowing crimson eyes. He found a pair of cheap aviators on his desk.
Downstairs, Charlie was at the stove, flipping bacon with surprising dexterity for a man whose culinary skills usually hovered around 'charred' and 'potentially hazardous'.
"Morning, Al," Charlie said without turning, a small bandage on his chin. "Thought I heard you up. Sleep okay?"
"Morning, Dad," Alex replied, his voice deliberately casual. The merged memories made this feel completely natural. "Slept like a log. What's the occasion for the deluxe breakfast?"
Charlie grunted. "Bella called last night. She's definitely coming. Next week." He turned, offering a hesitant smile. "Figured we could use a good breakfast to prepare for the whirlwind."
Alex felt a pang of… something. Excitement? Trepidation? "Right. Operation Bella-proof the house." He managed a genuine smile. "Good to know. I'll make sure the first-aid kit is restocked."
Charlie chuckled, shaking his head. "Still got that sarcastic streak, huh?" He plated up bacon and eggs. "At least you're not moping around like you were last month."
Alex Swan's memories supplied the context: a sort of teenage ennui, a feeling of being stuck in Forks. The current Alex, however, was anything but moping. He was thrumming with a barely contained energy.
He sat at the small kitchen table, the aroma of bacon and eggs warring with the subtle, far more enticing scent of Charlie's minuscule, healing shaving cut. He focused on the bacon. He could do this. The entity had said he had control.
As they ate, Alex subtly probed his new senses. He could hear the soft thumping of Charlie's heart, the rustle of leaves in the trees outside, the distant hum of a truck on the highway. His vision was so sharp it was almost overwhelming; he could see the individual grains of wood in the tabletop, the tiny imperfections in the cheap cutlery.
After breakfast, Charlie headed off to the police station. "Don't get into too much trouble," he said, clapping Alex on the shoulder. "And maybe clear some space in your room? Bella might need to store some of her stuff temporarily."
"Sure thing, Dad."
Once Charlie's cruiser pulled away, Alex let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He was alone. Time to experiment.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the faint, lingering scent of blood from Charlie's cut, now sealed by the bandage. He reached out with his mind, tentatively, searching for that specific trace. And then he felt it – a tiny, warm, liquid presence. He focused, pulled gently, and imagined the blood receding from the very surface of the skin, retreating deeper into the capillaries. He couldn't see it, but he felt a minute shift.
Interesting.
He needed a better test. His gaze fell on the kitchen counter, where Charlie had left the knife he'd used to open the bacon package. With a deliberate, steady hand, Alex picked it up and made a small, shallow cut on his forearm.
Pain. A brief, sharp sting, much duller than he'd expected. Blood welled, crimson and rich. His crimson eyes dilated, the thirst roaring to life, sharp and demanding. But alongside it was a strange sense of calm, of control. This was his blood.
He focused on the wound. He willed the bleeding to stop. And it did. Instantly. The flow ceased as if a tap had been turned off. He then urged the blood back into the cut, watching in fascination as the red liquid seemed to reverse course, seeping back into the flesh. Then, he focused on the skin itself. He could feel his cells knitting together at an accelerated rate. Within seconds, the cut was gone, leaving not even a hint of a scar. Only a faint smear of blood remained on his skin.
"Holy shit," he breathed, a wide, slightly feral grin spreading across his face. "No weaknesses, folklore vampire, and blood control. Bob, you magnificent bastard, you weren't kidding."
He spent the next hour testing his physical abilities. He lifted the bulky, outdated television in the living room with one hand, feeling no strain. He moved across the room so fast his own eyes barely tracked the movement. He went outside into the damp woods behind the house. He jumped, clearing a ten-foot high branch with ease. He punched a thick pine tree, his fist sinking a good inch into the wood without any pain, just a satisfying thud.
The thirst, however, was a constant, nagging presence. It wasn't painful yet, more like a persistent craving that colored his every thought. Human blood had smelled… exquisite. But he wasn't about to go hunting the sparse population of Forks. Not yet, anyway. Not ever, if he could help it. The "twisted morals but not cruel" part of his personality kicked in. He needed to survive, but he wouldn't be a monster.
He remembered the Cullens and their "vegetarian" diet. Animals. That was the key, at least for now.
His enhanced senses picked up the scent of deer, not too far off. He moved through the woods with a speed and silence that was utterly inhuman. He spotted it – a young buck, grazing peacefully. The predatory instinct flared, hot and sharp. He stalked it, his body moving with an innate grace he hadn't possessed an hour ago.
The kill was… surprisingly easy. Fast. One moment the deer was alive, the next its neck was broken, its lifeblood spilling onto the forest floor. He knelt, his crimson eyes fixed on the pooling blood. The smell was rich, earthy, but not as intoxicating as Charlie's accidental offering. He hesitated for only a moment. Then, he drank.
It wasn't disgusting. It wasn't divine either. It was… sustenance. It quieted the gnawing thirst, filled the strange hollowness within him. As he drank, he felt his already considerable strength surge, his senses sharpen even further.
When he was done, he stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at his reflection in a puddle. No fangs, at least not permanently visible ones. He tentatively prodded his canines with his tongue. They felt subtly sharper, longer, but not outrageous. They could probably extend if he willed it. Another thing to test later.
And he definitely didn't sparkle in the weak, filtered sunlight that penetrated the canopy. Good. That would have been a deal-breaker.
He used his blood control to draw the remaining blood from the carcass deep into the earth, leaving the scene cleaner, less obvious. Nature would take care of the rest.
Returning to the house, he felt… settled. More himself. The initial disorientation was fading, replaced by a growing confidence. He was Alex Swan, folklore vampire, blood-bender extraordinaire, and big brother to the girl who was a magnet for supernatural trouble.
He glanced at the calendar in the kitchen. Bella was arriving in five days. The Cullens would already be at Forks High. Edward.
A smirk touched Alex's lips. "This," he murmured to the empty house, his crimson eyes glinting, "is going to be fun." He wondered if his blood control would work on Cold Ones. They had venom, not blood, circulating. Or did they? Meyer had been notoriously vague on the actual mechanics. If they did have something analogous to blood…
And then the core question from the prompt given to him by 'Bob' echoed in his mind: Is he the only unique vampire? He was certainly unique compared to the Cold Ones. But were there others like him? Other folklore-types, perhaps with their own distinct abilities and lack of weaknesses? The world suddenly felt a whole lot bigger, and potentially, a whole lot more dangerous. Or, at least, more complicated.
For now, he had a room to nominally clear, a sister to prepare for, and a whole new set of abilities to master before the supernatural circus truly came to town. And he couldn't shake the feeling that his new life was going to be anything but boring. His only regret was not asking Bob for a lifetime supply of decent coffee. Some things, even vampirism couldn't fix.