A Caralisle fanfiction unlike any other: "Predestined (Twilight Fanfiction)" by Lioni23 on Wattpad https://www.wattpad.com/story/410711870?utm_source=android&utm_medium=sms&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create&wp_uname=Lioni23
The chalk dust on my fingers was a meticulous lie, a powdery veil of humanity meant to hide the stillness of my skin. I didn't need to etch dates onto the chalkboard to remember the French Revolution; the scent of gunpowder and the panicked cries of the mob were etched into my memory, as vivid now as they were three centuries ago. But here, beneath the hum of the fluorescent lights, I was merely Professor Cullen, a man of history, not a witness to it.
Lecturing was the easy part—a practiced rhythm of speech and silence. The difficulty lay in the third row. Amelia Walsh sat there, leaning forward with an intensity that sent her scent crashing into me like a physical wave. It wasn't the searing burn of thirst; I had conquered that beast long ago through decades of surgical discipline. This was a different kind of hunger—a relentless, quiet gravity. My gaze was drawn, almost against my will, to the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat, visible in the delicate pulse at the base of her throat. I didn't want her blood. I wanted her.
The realization felt like a betrayal of my own nature. Since it had taken root, I had become a stranger in my own home, building walls of silence between myself and my family... and Esme. God, help me, I pleaded silently. I couldn't do this to her. Not to the woman who was the very center of my world.
"Class is dismissed," I said. My voice was smooth, a perfect silver chime that betrayed nothing of the tremor in my soul—if such a thing still existed within me.
The room cleared in a chaotic blur of shifting chairs and rustling paper. But Amelia remained. She waited until the final click of the heavy door echoed through the hall, her eyes locked onto mine with a singular, terrifying focus. My mind flashed to Esme—her gentle warmth, the century of unwavering devotion we had shared. A sickening weight of guilt settled in my chest. I loved my wife with every fiber of my being, yet when Amelia looked at me, I felt a spark of something volatile, a chemical reaction I hadn't experienced in three hundred years.
"You're staying late again, Amelia," I said, my hands gripping the edge of the mahogany desk to keep the distance between us.
"I didn't understand the part about the Reign of Terror," she lied. It was the same threadbare excuse she had used yesterday, and the day before. Her voice was thin and breathy, her pupils dilated until her eyes were dark pools. She stepped into my personal space, her human heat invading the perpetual chill that surrounded me.
I couldn't read minds like Edward, but I didn't need to. Her desire was a loud, unshielded thing, unlike the fortress I was trying to build around my own thoughts.
I had to stop this. I had to be the monster who played the gentleman. "I’m afraid you’ll have to finish your study at home," I said, my tone sharpening. "I must leave now. My family is waiting... my wife is waiting."
I turned to gather my things, a dismissal in every line of my body, but her hand shot out. Her fingers caught mine, and I froze.
"You can't possibly be married," she whispered, her voice trembling.
I turned back to face her, my expression a mask of cool curiosity. "And why is that?" Her silver eyes searched mine, feeling like cold blades piercing through the space where my heart once beat.
"You look so young," she murmured.
"Young people marry, Amelia. Besides," I added, a grim edge to my voice, "I am much older than I appear."
I tried to pull away, but her skin brushed the back of my hand again. She gasped, her eyes widening. "I still don't understand," she breathed, reaching out as if to confirm a suspicion. "You're so cold at touch."
Ice meeting fire. I didn't pull away immediately, and that was my first true mistake. I couldn't explain the coldness without exposing the nightmare, so I simply retracted my hand with a gentle, firm finality and walked toward the exit. Behind me, her heart was drumming against her ribs—a frantic, rhythmic thud that filled my ears like a war drum. I knew she would linger there for a long time before leaving. Would she study, or would she simply count the seconds until tomorrow?
I drove home through a heavy, misty rain, the wipers rhythmically clearing the windshield as I searched for a way to end this internal turmoil. In a world where I was alone, this might be simple. But I wasn't alone. What could I possibly tell the others? How could I look at Esme? I couldn't. I wouldn't act on these reckless desires.
But as the lights of the house appeared through the trees, a new dread settled in. Edward. As soon as I stepped through that door, my secret would no longer be mine. My thoughts would be his burden for eternity. No matter how hard I tried to protect them, I was failing miserably.
***He spent centuries learning the past. She was the only future he couldn't predict.***
Carlisle is an old vampire teaching history in the
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