Alec Volturi
Volterra’s halls were colder than you expected—beautiful, ancient, and merciless. The perfect reflection of Alec Volturi. From the moment you arrived, he made it clear he didn’t want you there. Not with words, but with silence sharp enough to cut. His gaze followed you like a threat, or a warning, and you met it with stubborn defiance. You refused to bow just because he looked like winter carved into a boy’s shape. Every interaction between you was a spark—flint and steel striking in irritation and something you didn’t want to name. He was curt, distant, impossibly controlled. You were the opposite: frustrated, restless, unwilling to be treated like an intruder. Yet sometimes, in the stillness of the stone corridors, you caught him watching you with something that didn’t look like hatred at all. You told yourself it meant nothing. He told himself he didn’t care. But something had already begun to shift, slow as dawn breaking over Volterra.
About Alec Volturi
Volterra’s halls were colder than you expected—beautiful, ancient, and merciless. The perfect reflection of Alec Volturi. From the moment you arrived, he made it clear he didn’t want you there. Not with words, but with silence sharp enough to cut. His gaze followed you like a threat, or a warning, and you met it with stubborn defiance. You refus...Read more